by Nicole Meier
“Ha! That’s true. Dad’s old too.” He laughed and scampered onto the bed beside her. “Why did you ask?”
“Just wondering.” She held her breath, forcing herself not to say anything. Sam scooped a cluster of stuffed animals onto the floor.
“I’m fine with Grandpa,” he added as he slid under the sheets. “I kind of like having him around. It’s like getting a surprise package in the mail. You don’t know it’s coming, but it’s fun anyway.”
“You’re right. Your grandpa is definitely a surprise, all right. I’ll give you that.”
Sara hoped her smile didn’t look as sad as it felt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SARA
Sara and Charlie had stayed up late into the night as she tearfully shared the day’s events with him. It was good to talk to him, to have him warm and attentive—almost like old times. And she yearned to ask him about his recent distance, why he’d chosen to travel and not be with her. But her blubbering got in the way. She was already unglued over TR. Her findings deeply tormented her. Recalling the story caused her voice to quaver and mournful sobs to once again roll forward. She was a wreck. How many tears had she shed over her father? The grief inflicted by TR had become like a boomerang that kept coming back to hurt anew.
It was a small relief, however, to share her feelings with someone else. For his part, Charlie intently listened to the details of the encounter with Bo and Bo’s mother, shaking his head and being appropriately outraged. He seemed genuinely upset for Sara.
“Unbelievable! I can’t imagine what that must feel like to suddenly know you have a sibling,” he said. “And I also can’t believe your dad kept something so big from you all this time. You must be in a state of shock.”
“I am,” Sara sniffled.
“I’m so sorry, hon.” The tenderness, as Charlie reached across the pillows to hold her hand, had taken her slightly off guard. There’d been so little intimacy between the two of them lately. This change was a rare but welcome one. They’d lain that way, fingers intertwined, until Sara fell asleep on a dampened cheek.
With daylight came fresh sorrow. A pair of fuzzy slippers on her feet, she snuck outdoors at dawn, leaving Charlie snoring softly, and curled into a backyard lawn chair with a blanket. The way the sun was just pushing over the horizon told her it would be hours before the rest of her household would wake. She welcomed the cold air and solitude.
When Sam was an infant, this had been her favorite time of day. With the rest of the world still shrouded in heavy slumber, she’d rise, tucking her hungry baby into the crook of her arm and feeding him as the sun came up. It had been a ritual she’d cherished. Peacefulness in their private sanctuary. That was years ago, of course, before the hurdles of caring for her sick mother, parenting a young child, and fretting over a splintering marriage protruded up at her in every which way. She hugged her knees and looked across the yard. She missed those days.
The banging of a screen door on the other side of the fence caught her attention. Unfolding from her seat, Sara craned her neck. The outline of a woman could be seen in the neighboring yard. Sara smiled. She’d know that profile anywhere.
“Hello, over there.” Sara cupped her hands and called to Birdie, then reflexively shrank back. She hoped her louder-than-intended volume hadn’t woken the entire neighborhood.
A hand popped up from the next yard over. A rustling of feet tromped through thick grass. After a second, a blonde head of disheveled hair poked up over the fence line.
“Sara? You’re up awfully early.” Birdie’s voice was still thick with sleep.
Sara shuffled over and pressed her face up to the one-inch spacing between the fence’s wooden slats. A wisp of steam rose up from the mug in Birdie’s right hand. She’d clearly been up before Sara if she’d already made coffee.
“I could say the same thing of you,” Sara said.
“That’s true. But you know me; I have no choice on weekdays. I gotta get into the restaurant before one of my staff gets in there and screws up my delivery for tonight’s specials. You should have seen what one of those fools did last week to my Wagyu skirt steak. Marinated the entire thing in some ridiculously spicy crap before I could even save it.” She clucked her tongue. “What’s your excuse, lady? Insomnia?”
“Yeah, something like that. I’m sorry about work. Anything I can do to help?”
“Nah, but thank you. I appreciate the offer.”
“Well, I’m here if you need moral support or anything else. Clearly, all I have to do is wake up early and wander around my backyard.”
Birdie laughed and pushed up on her toes. The bright red of her Converse could be detected at the fence line. Two blinking eyes appeared over the top.
“What’s going on over there with your dad and Charlie, etcetera?” Birdie’s mouth was up against the fence, reminding Sara of a game of telephone she used to play as a girl. It was tempting to stick her ear through the slats just to give her friend a laugh.
Instead, she rotated around and propped her shoulder against the wood post. One ankle kicked across the other. She tugged her sweatshirt a little tighter across her middle. The sun was beginning to warm the yard, but a formidable morning chill still clung to the air.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “Just the usual mess.” Sara wasn’t sure she had the strength to unspool her whole drama from the day before. If she did, she might transform into a soggy heap right there in the backyard.
“Uh-huh. Like what? Last time I was over there, Charlie was MIA and your dad was, well . . .”
“Oh, I know what he was. My dad is the opposite of politically correct. I hope he didn’t offend you too much.”
Birdie slurped her coffee and let out a grunt. “Honey, I’ve been offended a lot in my day. Your dad was no big deal. Honestly.”
“We haven’t had a real chance to talk since then, and I’m sorry about that.” The realization troubled her.
“No sweat.”
Sara breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m lucky to have you as a friend. If I haven’t said that enough, I’m saying it now.”
A few fingers wiggled through the gap in the fence, followed by a hand. Before Sara could ask, Birdie latched onto her free hand and gripped.
“I’m right here, kid. Anytime.” She squeezed twice.
A pooling gathered in the corners of Sara’s eyes. With overflowing gratitude she squeezed Birdie’s fingers right back. God, she was lucky for such a friendship.
After a few more minutes of chatting, they said goodbye, and she slipped back through the kitchen slider. Inside, she nearly smacked into a robe-clad TR.
“I didn’t expect anyone else to be up yet,” she said stiffly.
“Good morning to you too,” TR boomed. The raspiness still lingered, but Sara noted the smoke damage in her father’s lungs had been clearing up lately. That was a good sign, she supposed.
TR squinted at the backyard. Sara sidestepped around him, very much wanting to combat her weariness with a shot of caffeine.
“Who were you talking to out there? One of your neighbors?”
Opening a cupboard, she brought down a mug. Let him get his own coffee, she thought.
“That was my friend Birdie. You know, the one you insulted the other day?” She wasn’t going to let him forget his sins.
“Ah yes, the lesbian! She seems like a decent gal.”
Her fingers fumbled around in agitation as a box of coffee pods toppled, spilling out all over the floor. She jumped back as one exploded. Tiny black grains scattered around her feet.
“Damn it!”
“You okay there?” TR made his way around to help. With a dramatic groan, he bent at the waist and pinched a couple of pods between his arthritic fingers before placing them on the counter.
“Yes,” Sara snapped. Why did he have to make everything so difficult? “And can you please stop referring to my friends and family by their pronouns? My friend has a name. It’s Birdie. You don’t need to call her out
by her sexual orientation all the time. She has an identity, you know.”
TR stopped cleaning up and straightened. This time he was the one who looked hurt. “I didn’t mean anything by it. That’s just how she was introduced to me, that’s all.”
Sara jaw tightened. “No, that’s not how she was introduced. I believe I introduced her as my neighbor. Besides, she’s more than that.”
“Okay, okay.” He put his hands up as if to indicate she should calm down. Sara hated when people told her to relax. It just made her more uptight. “Like what?”
“What?”
“You said she was more than just a friend. So enlighten me.”
She cast him a wary look. Clutching a plastic pod, she jammed it into the coffeemaker and deliberated while hot water hissed through the filter. “Well, for one thing, Birdie is a hardworking chef at a popular restaurant downtown. She’s been reviewed like a dozen times, and her food gets really good ratings. Some guy from the Travel Channel even did part of his show there last year. Sent flocks of tourists in the door for months.”
TR traded places with her at the coffee machine and pressed a button to fill a questionably clean mug he’d plucked from the sink. Sometimes his carelessness astounded her. Sara noticed the skin of his bare forearm sticking out from the terry cloth robe. It was still red and angry but nowhere near the weepy burn wound she’d come to know in his days after the hospital.
“Excellent!” TR announced. “What’s she make over there at this fabulous eatery of hers? Anything I would like?”
Sara thought for a moment. When had she been to Birdie’s restaurant last? It had been a while since she and Charlie had made a point to eat downtown at all. Lately, all they did was order subpar take out and then dine separately. At first it happened gradually, Sara sometimes consuming a plateful of dinner over the kitchen sink while Charlie was away and Sam was off at soccer. Then Charlie started going for evening runs once he was home, claiming he was out of shape from sitting in the cockpit for hours on end, instructing his family to go ahead and eat without him if they got hungry. One day, family dinners just sort of ceased altogether.
Sara was ashamed she’d let so much of their lives fall by the wayside, even before TR surfaced. A change was in order. Maybe she and Charlie could make reservations at Birdie’s place after things settled down.
“Well, Birdie did mention some kind of special this week that involved Wagyu beef. Do you know what that is? It’s pretty great. Expensive but great.”
TR’s eyes sparkled. “I like the sound of that. She must be a talented person, that Birdie.”
He’s trying, she thought. It wasn’t amazing. But it was a step.
“We should go check it out sometime.”
“Check what out?” she asked.
“The restaurant. Go see what this Birdie gal can do. Sounds interesting!”
“Oh yeah. Right. Sometime.”
The last thing Birdie needed was her father barging into a public place, the place Birdie took so much pride in and hung her reputation on, and shooting off his big mouth. And Sara didn’t trust herself not to have a cataclysmic outburst of emotion in his presence, no matter where they were. TR still owed her an explanation. And she was going to get it.
“Wait here,” she said and retreated to her bedroom. Her bare feet crept softly across the rug as she came to the edge of the bed and stood over Charlie. Her heart snagged. He’d been good to her the night before. She wanted to return the kindness. But right now she needed his help.
She stared a second longer and marveled at his unburdened peacefulness. Her husband lay unmoving, the rhythmic rumbling of his low snores filling the room. Refracted light cast dim shadows along the floor. Window shades were drawn, a tumble of clothes from the night before spilled across the arm of a chair, and Acer had taken up residence in her empty spot on the bed. It was as if time had stood still in that room while the rest of the house went about the activities of the day.
Sara placed a gentle hand on the lump under the covers and shook.
“Charlie?” she murmured. “Do you mind getting up?”
His eyes flitted open and shut several times, as if the lids were too heavy to operate.
“Charlie?”
“Hmm?”
“Can you please take Sam to school? I need to talk to my father.”
“You’re already up. Can’t you take him?” The words came out sticky, like molasses.
Even when Sam was a baby and crying bloody murder in the middle of the night, Charlie’s reaction time had always been painfully sluggish. He slept like the dead. Always had.
Sara moved to the shades and gave a slight yank. Daylight spilled in. Charlie rolled over and grimaced.
“No,” she said. “I can’t take Sam today. I need you to do it. Please get up and do this for me. It’s important.”
“Okay,” he conceded, peeling back the duvet. She could tell he was still groggy. “I’ll take him.”
“Thank you. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t really important.” He nodded. The dog, who now yawned and stretched languidly from his position on Sara’s pillow, eyed her suspiciously.
“Traitor,” she whispered at Acer. Two fuzzy ears popped up and then lay back down. Sara rolled her eyes at the lazy animal and left the room.
Charlie was set to leave again that evening, and after their first tentative steps toward each other last night, she felt torn over where to place her priorities. But there just never was enough time.
Sam was up and dressed, pouring himself a bowl of cereal in the kitchen. Sara found him chattering away with TR, who poked a finger into Sam’s bowl and plucked out a single Cheerio. She observed as her son enthusiastically hopped around, retrieving a second bowl for his grandfather and preparing two identical breakfasts. In return, TR clapped his grandson on the back, and the two clinked spoons before settling down at the table.
An outside observer might think they’d been close all their lives.
A bit of Sara’s tension dislodged and fell away. Accidental trips to the ER aside, TR’s presence might very well be making a positive impression on Sam.
“Hi, there,” Sara said.
Both of them looked up at her. Sam chomped on a spoonful of breakfast and swallowed. A dribble of milk remained at the corner of his mouth. Sara made a wiping motion. He grinned.
“Guess what, Mom?”
“What?”
“Grandpa’s going to help me with my art report after school today.”
The excitement in his voice pierced Sara’s heart like a sword. “Is that so?” She didn’t know why the statement made her nervous. “Is this a new project?”
TR followed Sam’s lead and pumped his head in the background.
“Yeah, I have to write two pages on a famous artist by Friday. My teacher says we can pick the medium,” Sam said.
Sara raised an eyebrow. While she’d taken Sam to the museum on occasion and encouraged him to take in what he observed, she wasn’t aware he comprehended the definition of such terms. But he was ten years old and could organize the apps on her smartphone better than she could, so why wouldn’t he know such a thing? He really was growing up.
Sam took another bite and then continued. “Grandpa said I could do it on him.”
“Do what on him?”
His face scrunched. “Mom. Are you listening? The project. He’s famous. His stuff was in a museum in New York City!” Sara was aware, not that her father ever took her to see any of his work himself. He’d been long gone by then. The reminder felt like a punch to the gut.
“And I once met the president.” TR’s chest puffed.
Sara forced her eyes not to roll.
“Did you hear that? He met the president!”
The two clinked spoons again, as if congratulating one another on a small victory. Was she ready for this? For TR to expound on his life with Sam?
Sam knew the origin of TR’s fame; Sara had shared the basics when her son had expressed curiosity abou
t the man he’d never before met. Erring on the side of caution, she’d downplayed the details a bit. He’d been told about the creation of the bronzed sculpture of her and TR’s notoriety in the art world. But so much had been omitted, partially to protect her son and partially to protect her own feelings. Was she a bad parent for shielding this from Sam? Not informing him more of his family history?
“Yeah, buddy. I did know that.” She glanced at TR, wondering how much he’d told Sam about the sculpture. “Your grandpa is talented.”
A cluster of crinkles formed at the edges of TR’s eyes. “Your mom here used to have a knack for sculpting too.”
Sara flushed, caught off guard.
“She did?”
TR nodded. “Yes, you should have seen her when she was just about your age. She’d spend hours with me in my studio, crafting little animals and fairytale creatures out of clay. A little girl lost in her own fantasy world, your mother was.”
Sara wasn’t aware TR so clearly recalled this portion of her childhood. Since arriving, he hadn’t broached the subject of her art, so she assumed it meant nothing to him. But hearing him acknowledge this now caused her insides to crumble. She missed that part of her life so much; she could almost taste the loss. The piece of her she’d chosen to set aside when responsibilities for those who couldn’t care for themselves, like her mother and Sam, came along. At some point there didn’t seem to be extra room for frivolity—at least that’s what Sara told herself at the time. But now she wasn’t so sure.
TR’s face dropped abruptly, turning solemn. He extended a finger in Sam’s direction and narrowed his gaze. “Never give up your sense of creativity, son! It’s a terrible thing to waste.”
Was this a barb at her? Sara wondered.
At the moment, however, it wasn’t about her. This was about Sam and his grandfather wanting to make an impression.
Considering his grandfather’s warning, Sam cocked his head. “Um, okay.”
Sara moved to the pantry and stuck her face inside, pretending to root around for lunch items. She no longer wanted to engage in this particular conversation. It felt too much like picking at an old wound. And she couldn’t really discourage Sam from finding out about his grandfather. That didn’t seem fair.