by Amy Frazier
“It’s Isabel that keeps everybody at a distance. Not me.”
“No, you’ve got it wrong. Isabel might stick to herself with her poems, but she’s got a big, soft heart. She wants to take care of people, and she knows she needs to be taken care of, too.”
“And people with chips on their shoulders?”
“We think we can take on the world all by ourselves. But I’ll let you in on a little secret. We can’t. And the sooner we let others help us, the sooner we let them know we appreciate their help, the better off we’ll feel. The lighter the chip will be. Pretty soon it’s all gone. And we’re a lot nicer people to be around.”
The waitress came with the check.
“She’s paying,” Gramps said, pointing to Gabriella.
It took most of her eighteen dollars to cover the bill plus the tip.
ALTHOUGH CHESSIE AND Nick stayed in bed until the alarm went off, neither slept. Nick held her because she’d asked him to, but he was stiff and cold beside her. She doubted he took any comfort from her.
He shut the alarm off, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Why wouldn’t he bring her home?”
“You said he wanted a shot at talking to her.”
“Because he thought I hadn’t handled her very well up until now.”
“Did he say that?”
“He didn’t have to.”
“Why would you think your father doesn’t approve of the way you’re raising your daughters?”
“Because he didn’t approve of the way I took care of my brothers and my sister.”
Chessie was stunned by the vehemence in his tone. “Nick, your father has never said one word against the way you handled your siblings.”
“You’ve got it. He never said a word to me about it. Period.”
“And all these years you’ve interpreted that silence as condemnation?”
“How else should I interpret it?”
“That Penn was never one to express his feelings. He’s not an effusive man, but he’s not uncaring.” She stroked Nick’s bare back and felt him tense. “That your brothers and your sister have grown to be good people is testament to the care you gave them. Penn is proud of them. And you.”
“If you say so.” He headed for the bathroom.
It came to her in a flash. Jumping out of bed, she followed him. “This whole distance from your family is because you think you failed them in some way.”
He didn’t answer.
“And this control you exercise over your own family— Gabby, Izzy, me—it’s because you’re afraid of feeling that way with us.”
“It’s not a fear thing.”
“Semantics.”
“Okay.” He inhaled sharply. “I always felt as if I was going to screw up back then. And the stakes were so high. We were always one step away from state care.”
“But you made it through. Your brothers and sister are okay. Let yourself breathe now.”
“Now I have my own family.”
“And you have me. You’re not alone.” She put her arms around him and drew him into a kiss.
Responding with a passion she hadn’t felt from him in a very long time, he groaned and pulled her closer yet. Kissed her with an insistence that made her think they might end up making hot, rough sex against the bathroom door.
But just as quickly as he’d drawn her to him, he stepped away. Although she could see longing in his eyes, his stance was wary, making Chessie wonder for the first time whether Nick had ever given himself totally to her. It was clear now that he’d set himself apart, emotionally, from the McCabe family to cope with the horrible possibility of losing them. Even today, when he was in a position to keep her and the girls safe, did he suffer from the double-edged specter of failure and loss? She’d always thought Nick-in-charge was simply who he was. Was it a front? If so, her Fourth of July rebellion would’ve looked like a direct assault.
“Nick—”
“I have to get going.” He stepped into the shower. “I have an eight o’clock interview with a possible Latin teacher. At this late date, if she’s breathing, she’s got the job.”
“You can’t stay until your dad brings Gabriella home?”
“You’ll be here.”
The phone rang. Isabel picked up an extension just as Chessie answered. It was Penn. Gabriella was going to help him prep the pound for opening, and he’d bring her home in an hour or so.
Chessie and Isabel met up on the landing, Isabel in sweatpants and a long-sleeved sweatshirt despite the warm morning. “How’d you sleep?” Chessie asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Me neither. Let’s go make some coffee.”
As Isabel went in search of the newspaper, Chessie began to make coffee. When she opened the bag, the aroma of beans that usually gave her a lift made her downright queasy. Family turmoil and lack of sleep were beginning to affect her on an elemental level. This had to stop. She had to find her way back to her center, and her center was Nick.
There would be no working on that relationship this morning, however. Before Isabel could come back with the paper, Nick came downstairs ready for work. When he saw the coffee hadn’t been made, he said he’d pick up a breakfast sandwich combo at Branson’s, gave Chessie a quick kiss and headed out the door. It almost—almost—seemed as if he were avoiding the possibility of running into Penn and Gabriella.
“I can’t find the paper,” Isabel declared, coming in five minutes later. “Do you suppose anything will ever be right again?”
“Of course it will.” Chessie gave her daughter a quick hug before the teenager flopped into a chair. “But I think you’re mistaking right for perfect.”
Isabel shot her mother a quizzical look.
“You’re the poet. The wordsmith,” Chessie said, pulling up a chair. “What you put on the paper is never as perfect as that thought or image in your head, but sometimes it comes out right. Or right enough. Like life.”
“So Gabriella’s running away is all right?”
“Not right as in the best choice, but right as in fitting a fourteen-year-old’s developmental pattern. You’ve taken an introductory psych course. You know impulse control is both hardwired and learned. Well, Gabby’s hardwiring is under construction. Just like every other teenager. Hers more seriously than some, it seems.”
“And because of it, she gets off?”
“No. As a parent I need to understand, then help her learn to curb those impulses. To become an adult.”
Isabel gazed at her hands. “You’re an adult, but it didn’t look as if you were curbing your impulses on the Fourth of July.”
Ah, her daughter still hadn’t reconciled that episode.
“Do you think I’m selfish for trying to be my own woman?”
Isabel looked up. Almost looked Chessie in the eye. “Don’t you think you’re a little old to be finding yourself?”
“Honey, we’re always finding ourselves.” Chessie took Isabel’s hand. “Think like a poet, not like my daughter.”
Enlightenment suddenly flickered in the seventeen-year-old’s eyes before worry replaced it. “Does Dad understand all this?”
“Yes.” Chessie thought he did. Hoped he did. They needed some serious couple-time to confirm it.
At that moment Gabriella came into the kitchen with Penn close behind. Her younger daughter looked exhausted, but, at the same time, calm.
Penn put his hand on Gabriella’s shoulder.
“Mom,” Gabriella said, staring at a spot on the floor near Chessie’s feet, “I’m sorry.”
Penn cleared his throat, and Gabriella actually looked Chessie in the eye. “I really am.” She sounded sincere.
Chessie couldn’t remember the last time her fourteen-year-old had apologized. After the terror she’d put them all through last night, Chessie wanted to read Gabriella the riot act, but Penn caught her eye. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head he seemed to tell her things were okay. For now.
“Apology accepted,” she finally
said.
Gabriella exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. “Where’s Dad?”
“At work. He had an early interview.”
Both Penn and Gabriella looked disappointed.
Penn patted his granddaughter’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, scout. You can apologize to your dad when he gets home.”
“Thanks, Gramps.” Gabriella threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck before dashing upstairs.
“Thank you, Penn,” Chessie said. “Words can’t—”
“As the kids say, no problem.” Penn grinned.
“Did she tell you why she ran away?”
“She said she could take care of herself. But my opinion? I think she just painted herself into a corner and couldn’t think of a way out. You know how that sometimes happens.”
Yeah. Chessie felt sort of painted into her own corner.
“I gave her a few things to think about,” Penn added, “from a grandfather’s perspective. But I have to shove off. The tourists will be beating down the pound door otherwise. Who knew lobsters were a breakfast food?”
Chessie tried to hug her father-in-law, but he brushed her off. “No mush!” He ruffled Isabel’s hair, then left.
Isabel looked up at Chessie. “I know one thing that’s right. Moving back to Pritchard’s Neck where we have family.”
Yes. If parenthood was easier in a tag team, the bigger the team the better.
GABRIELLA FELL into bed and let the tears flow. She was so, so tired, but when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, all she could see was Gramps without a wife and Dad without a mother. The two of them working to keep the kids out of a foster home. The worry. If she thought she felt like crap when Keri abandoned her, how much worse had Mom and Dad felt when they thought she’d left for good? Would her running away mean they weren’t fit parents? Would social services start sniffing around, as Gramps had said? Obviously, she hadn’t thought things through. Her grandfather had made her see the stakes.
THAT EVENING Nick came home, eager to see for himself that Gabriella was safe and sound. And eager to talk to Chessie. He had big news. A major decision. A way, perhaps, to get their family back on track.
Isabel and Gabriella were in the kitchen, making salad and what looked like homemade pizza. He was surprised at the ordinary domesticity of the scene.
“Dad?”
Gabriella stood near the stove, uncertainty on her face. Pop had called him at work to fill him in, to urge him not to be too hard on his daughter. Their conversation was brief. Nick had been in the middle of a meeting, and his father had seemed irritated by that.
“Yes, Gabby?”
She flew at him and hugged him around his middle. Held on as if she had no intention of letting go. “Daddy!” she sobbed into his shirtfront. She hadn’t called him Daddy since first grade. As he held her, he was amazed that his tough-as-nails daughter was so soft and small. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Gently he asked, “Where’s your mom?”
“At her art class,” Isabel replied as she grated cheese. “She should be home anytime now.”
Was it Wednesday already? A whole week since he’d charged into that class and suffered a dog bite for his efforts? Unbelievable.
“Something smells wonderful!” Chessie burst through the doorway, sketch pad in hand, her face aglow.
“Pizza,” Gabriella said, snuffling and stepping out of his embrace. “Homemade.”
“And Caesar salad.” Isabel untied the dish towel wrapped around her waist. “Ready to eat?”
“I’m starving,” he said, wondering anew at the fluctuations of adolescence. One minute chaos, the next quiet accomplishment. “How’d your class go?” he asked Chessie.
She seemed taken back by his question, but quickly recovered with a smile. “Great! You remember Sandy Weston, the sculptor? Well, while we were drawing, he gave me some great technique pointers for my commission piece. I still don’t have a real handle on the execution. Maybe his suggestions will help. How was your day? Did you get a Latin teacher?”
“Yes.” And so much more. But he didn’t want to disturb this rare, calm family moment. Not with talk of work or Gabriella’s stunt last night. There’d be time for discussion later. He washed his hands, then sat down to a meal his daughters had prepared, apparently without setting off the smoke detector.
“This is fantastic!” he announced, taking a bite of crusty cheese pizza with fresh tomatoes and what looked like fresh herbs.
“Not like the chicken flambé?” Isabel asked with the most tentative of smiles.
“Izzy and I decided fresh from scratch was best.” Gabriella’s voice held pride, a trait not observed in his daughter of late, and the use of the co-operative Izzy and I did Nick’s tired heart good. What had Pop said to her?
“Dessert’s cantaloupe with sherbet,” she added. “We figured it’d be pretty hard to screw that up.”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Isabel said, reaching for a second piece of pizza. “Mrs. Weiss stopped by, looking for a plate of hers. She said she brought cinnamon buns over on it, sometime around the Fourth of July. But I think she just wanted to talk to you, Mom.”
Nick watched Chessie’s face. He knew she couldn’t help being hurt by Martha’s accusations after the beach club episode. Last night, after learning from George that Gabriella had run away, she’d brought coffee, but hadn’t stayed long. A peace offering of sorts.
Chessie’s expression remained noncommittal. “Did you find the plate?”
“In your studio. And Mom…? I looked at your new piece. I think you’re trying to be too figurative. Maybe you should go more abstract. You’re trying to get across a concept after all.”
“Wow.” Chessie put down her salad fork. “You might have something…”
Wow was right, Nick thought. This was his quiet Isabel. Talk about still waters running deep.
He hadn’t wanted to talk about what happened today at work, but maybe now was the perfect moment, when both girls were acting so mature. He’d learned a lesson from the contract. No surprises. Besides, this decision was far too big.
He cleared his throat. “Actually… I have some news we should discuss. It could be really good news.”
Three sets of eyes turned his way.
“A headhunter called today. Remember that associate superintendent job in Atlanta? The funding finally came through. The job’s mine if I want it. Starting immediately.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHESSIE STARED at Nick in disbelief. “Surely you’re not considering this offer.”
“I’m putting it on the table for family discussion.”
The girls appeared stunned into silence.
“You have another year on your contract here,” Chessie protested.
“And that contract releases me if I accept a better offer. The Atlanta offer is much better. A promotion. A big salary increase.”
“But how could you leave here now? The school year’s about to begin.”
“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. And Eleanor’s ready to assume a principal’s position. It’s only a matter of time before some system lures her away. It would be better for Coastal High if she were promoted here. As for the assistant’s position she’d vacate, there’s a whole new crop of teachers who’ve acquired their administrative certificates since spring. There wouldn’t be a problem filling her spot.”
“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” Isabel’s voice was small, her eyes troubled.
“No, hon, I haven’t. I want this to be a family decision.”
Gabriella suddenly came to life. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. We lived in Atlanta once before, and we liked it.”
“Good attitude, Gabby. Very open,” Nick replied, encouraged by the support.
Chessie wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. “This last move was special, Nick. Your family’s here.”
“We’ve lived all these years with the idea that family was where the four of us were.”
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“But I like having a grandfather and aunts and uncles in the same town,” Isabel protested.
“But you hate cold weather,” Gabriella returned. “Atlanta has mild winters. Besides, we’d be halfway between Maine and Disney World.”
“These are just some of the points we have to weigh,” Nick interjected. “That’s why I want you all to think about it.”
“When do you have to give your answer?” Chessie asked, suddenly very tired. She hated the exhausting process of moving, had hoped this move to Pritchard’s Neck would be their last.
“It’s a newly created position, so they’re not pressed,” he said, “but they want the new hire to start as soon as possible. I could probably stall for a week before they offer it to the next person on the list. If I accepted, I’d have to go on ahead. Get an apartment while you stayed behind to sell the house. The girls could live with me and start school.”
Chessie looked hard at her husband, trying to figure out if he had an ulterior motive. Was he seriously considering this new job, or was this more of a power struggle? Had her Fourth-of-July rebellion sparked Nick’s enthusiasm for a transfer? She didn’t want to ask in front of the girls.
“This is Isabel’s senior year,” she said, instead. “She’s had three different high schools so far. Heading into college it would be best if she had a couple years’ stability. Two straight years in Pritchard’s Neck.”
“Through all our moves,” Nick countered, “both girls have maintained excellent grades. Isabel isn’t going to have any problem getting into a top college no matter what high school’s listed on her diploma.”
Isabel looked down at her hands and said nothing.
“I wouldn’t mind moving,” Gabriella interjected.
Sure she wouldn’t, Chessie thought. Between junior high and high school, between friends and, at present, between a rock and a hard place, their younger daughter would jump at a chance for a fresh start.
“I would have to restart my pottery business from scratch,” Chessie said.
“With the raise I’d be getting, you wouldn’t have to work.” Nick gave her that satisfied provider look, and she had to suppress the urge to scream.