by Sandi Ward
“Tommy . . .” she begins, her tone sharp and unforgiving.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, still unable to look at her. I watch his hands clench into fists. “I’m really sorry. I should have had Mary call you.”
“Yes. You should have.” She tips her head, searching for something in his face, but he stares at the floor. “You send poor Jimmy to do your dirty work for you? Honestly.”
Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Mother turns around and sees me. When she takes steps toward me, I cannot move. She’s mesmerizing. I feel just as trapped as Father. “Boo,” she coos, and I allow her to lift my plump body up with her hands and rest me against her chest.
“Is Boo happy here?” I hear her ask, her voice softening. “Are you feeding her?”
I see Father’s shoulders relax a little. “Of course. You see how fat she is?”
“Well, yes.” Mother carefully sits down on a stair and allows me to settle comfortably in her lap. It’s a sturdy place to sit. Mother has never once in her life leapt up without warning and sent me flying.
Father approaches and leans on the banister. “Do you . . .” He hesitates, and then stops, his mouth closing quickly. By his frown, I think he regrets saying anything.
“Do I miss her? Of course I do,” Mother says with a sigh.
Me? I feel my eyes open wide. Are they talking about me? I stare at them, curious.
Mother looks up at Father and smiles at him, her big, wide smile an echo of Jimmy’s crooked grin when he’s very happy. “Do you think she misses me?”
Father pauses again. He and I make eye contact for a brief moment. Did she really just ask that question? “Yes,” he answers, almost a whisper.
“Do you think she’d be happier living with me?”
Father clears his throat, but his voice is still hoarse as he says, “I know she’s always made you feel better when you’re down.” His forehead creases together as he speaks. It’s that look he gets when he’s very worried.
No, I start to think. Wait.
I freeze up. I look quickly back and forth between the two of them.
Of course I still love Mother. Deep in my heart I will always love her. But I also don’t want to leave this family. Doesn’t Father feel the same way? Does he think I belong with Mother?
I am not something that can be traded away, or a peace offering. Do I need to prove to him that I am part of this family, that I want to stay here?
I start to panic, and I get to my feet, all in a rush. I can’t lie still. I hop out of Mother’s lap and tear up the stairs at a gallop, my back legs kicking out behind me. I’m not sure what else to do, so I run into Finn’s room, leap up to his high dresser, and then plop down with a thud into the crib. I snuggle right down near the baby’s feet, defiant.
I belong here. I am furious, and I feel wild in my anger.
Mother was right: Father is stupid sometimes. He offered her the baby at the holidays. Now he thinks he is going to let me go? I will not go.
It is not long before they come and find me, peering over the crib railing to watch me with Finn. The baby is asleep, and Mother runs her hand through Finn’s hair.
I hiss at Mother, and she draws her hand back in surprise. “Boo,” Father commands, a hard edge in his voice. “No.” The two of them. The two of them! Doesn’t either one understand me at all? Don’t my wishes count in all of this?
Father watches Mother, and she returns his gaze for a moment.
I remember:
When she ran the back of her knuckles over the scruff on his face.
Honey.
When he moved a curl of her dark hair off her neck.
Baby.
How when she loved Father, she truly, passionately loved him and there was no doubt in it, not a shred of hesitation, not a moment of care for anything in the world but Tommy Tommy Tommy.
How he was always hungry for more of her, when she was happy.
For a moment, I think—
For a moment, I worry that—
For a moment in time, I can see that there is a chance he will do anything in the world for her, anything she asks, and—
He leans in toward Mother, speaking slowly and softly. “If you need Boo, I think you should have her. She used to follow you around this house, day and night. You always held her when you were under a lot of stress. It might not be a bad idea.”
My resolve melts away when I see his face. When I realize how hard it is for Father to say these words. But he means every word he says.
Oh dear. I fear he is right.
Someone must look after Mother. I am ready to do what must be done.
Mother watches him. I wonder if she can see what I see, how much strain he is under himself. His tired eyes. How tense his arm is as he grips the side of the crib. She pats his hand and shakes her head. “Yes, but . . . I don’t know.” With a wave of her hand toward me, she asks, “I think the kids would miss her, don’t you?”
Father’s mouth opens slightly, but he doesn’t respond. He freezes for a moment.
I realize she is offering him an opening. Take it, I think.
“Well . . . yes. The house would feel wrong without the cat,” he finally says, breaking the silence, standing up straight. He clears his throat and glances at me, seeing the way I am guarding Finn. “Finn loves the cat. And it would be very quiet without her. The house would feel so empty.”
I’m not sure what Father means by very quiet, because I make no noise.
I think he just means he cannot bear to lose anything else.
The important thing is that he understands. I comfort Father now, not Mother. I want to help with the baby. I belong with my siblings. I’m an important part of this family. And he knows it. He knows it. He has found his courage, and he is able to say it.
Thank goodness!
Mother studies him carefully. She moves her hand to rest briefly on Father’s arm. Rubbing his elbow, she nods. “Then don’t worry about it. Boo should stay here, of course.”
“The kids would be mad at me if I let the cat go,” he goes on, his voice breaking.
“I understand. It’s okay. Don’t get upset. Tommy, don’t—don’t fall apart.”
“I can’t expect you to take on extra work right now.” He stumbles over his words as they spill out. “I don’t want to ask too much of you.”
“I’m okay, Tommy. I’m fine. I’m better. It’s not hard to take care of a cat.” She raises an eyebrow, I think to try to make him laugh. But Father is upset and not in a laughing mood. “Oh, Tommy. I’m sorry. I think you’re right.”
Mother continues to rub his forearm until he glances up. Finally, he gives her a small smile.
I meow my approval. Mother strokes my head, and this time I let her. She is a strong woman. Not afraid of me, not afraid of Father, not afraid of anything but those pesky, horrible neighbors.
And suddenly I come to see that the most astonishing thing is not that Mother disappeared one day.
It’s not that she up and left all of us without warning.
No, the most astonishing thing is that between Mother and Father, she was the one who was strong enough to make a change that may improve life for all of us. When she first disappeared, I thought she was injured or kidnapped or killed, but she was none of these things. She left because she needed to leave.
She is happier and healthier than she was before. Mother found Robert, who is helping her get the care she needs. And Mother is showing Father that it is possible for them to live apart and go on with their lives. To start over.
Mother clears her throat. “I’m glad you cleaned out those drawers. Did it feel good to clean them out?”
Father’s face darkens, and he looks away. “No. But it was a relief, to be honest. I needed to do it.”
“Okay. Then I’m glad you did it.”
Finn stirs. His eyes open wide when he sees Father and Mother both looking down at him.
“You didn’t do me—or yourself—any favors by
hiding me away,” Mother whispers, smiling down at Finn. “Keeping all of our problems shut up in this house.”
“I didn’t—” Father frowns. “I just didn’t want anyone to—” He presses his lips together tight, unable to go on for a moment, but then bursts out with: “I don’t trust doctors. I don’t like any of them. They don’t really fix anything.”
I notice Father is looking at the baby when he says this.
This much is true: The doctors don’t seem to be able to fix Finn’s ears.
Mother pauses, thinking this over. “I don’t like them much either. I know you were trying to protect me. But it wasn’t good for any of us.”
Mother picks up the baby and takes him into her arms. She kisses Finn on the cheek. He laughs and then wiggles because he’s ready to visit Father next. Father lets Finn pull on his sleeve.
I wonder if Father ever waits for Finn to say his name. I wonder if he ever thinks about that baby looking at him and saying, “Daddy” like Mary does or “Pops” like Jimmy does. He must realize it may never happen.
I guess Finn will find a way to say Father’s name using his hands. I wonder how they will figure that out. I don’t understand human hands very well, although I can see they are quite complex and can accomplish all kinds of tasks.
To me, Father still looks worried when he gazes at Finn. I suppose it is hard for him not to worry. It may take years for him to stop worrying.
He may worry long past my lifetime. About Mother. About Jimmy and Mary. About Finn.
It’s just something that Father must live with. There will be no end to it, I see that now. But maybe his burden will be just a little bit lighter, now that Mother has found the help she needs.
Mother notices the gloomy look on Father’s face. “Finn is so happy,” she remarks. “Have you ever seen such a happy baby?”
“You’re right. He’s always happy.” Father takes Finn and holds him close, but Finn is squirming and wants to be passed back to Mother again. He enjoys this game.
But the time for games is over.
I am staying, for good!
Later, after Mother has gone, Father sits on the couch in the living room. I flop down right in his lap and rest a paw on his strong arm. I arch my head all the way back so he can scratch under my chin.
I have never been so relieved in my life. When Father lies down, I climb up on top of his chest and lie there. When he closes his eyes in exhaustion, I do too.
26
Drawing the Line
Father sits in the dining room, the afternoon sun filtering through the sheer curtains to give the room a golden glow. The window is cracked open, and a sweet, spring breeze flows through the screen. A few weeks have gone by, and Father’s cast is off. He is incredibly relieved to be rid of it.
Occasionally I see him limp a little out of habit, but he now puts weight on his leg again, and he moves around without pain. He especially loves jogging up the stairs to bed at night after he’s walked Jasper.
I know he loves the feeling of the new sheets on his bare legs and feet, now that the cast is off. Every morning he wakes up and stretches against the downy flannel. I do too. We lie there in bliss for a few minutes, loving the softness of the bed.
The nights are getting warmer. It’s actually almost time to switch to the cotton sheets. I wonder if Father knows to do that. I suppose when he’s sweating at three in the morning and has the ceiling fan cranked on high, it will occur to him to go dig the cotton sheets out of the closet.
Now, he has his jeans on and an old T-shirt, with bare feet. He sits in a dining room chair with something on the table in front of him. I jump up on the window seat to see what it is. It’s a pad of blank, unlined paper, and Father holds a pen. Finn is asleep in his car seat on the floor, which is where Father sometimes parks him at nap time because Finn seems to like the security of the way the seat wraps around him. It gets him to sleep faster than the crib.
Mary walks in. She was doing homework upstairs and has come down for a break. “What are you doing in here, Dad?”
Father stutters at first, but then explains he’s going to write Mother a letter.
Mary sits right next to him, interested. “You mean . . . You mean, like the one she wrote you?”
Father presses his lips together. Maybe he forgot that he mentioned the letter to Mary late one night, a few months ago, after the holidays. “Yeah, kind of like that.” He scratches his head. “It’s just . . . She doesn’t want me to call her too much. But I really need to talk to her. And this way, I can think about what I want to say.”
“Oh.”
Jimmy walks in, puzzled, holding a bottle of water. “Why are you guys in here?” He tips back the bottle to finish it off.
“Dad’s writing Ma a letter.” Mary turns to him. “Why, Pops? What do you want? I mean, why do you need to talk to her?”
Father puts his hands in his lap and stares at the blank piece of paper. He pauses as if he has no idea how to answer that question.
Finally, he explains that he needs to figure out what’s going to happen next.
“Happen next?” Jimmy sits across the table from Father and Mary.
The grandfather clock clicks off the seconds as my family sits and thinks about it.
“Pops, what is it that you want to happen next? I mean, you don’t still want Ma to come back, do you? Is that what you still want? I mean, no, right? Because you’re with Charlotte now?” Jimmy runs his fingers over the label that is peeling loose from the empty water bottle still in his hands. “You want Ma to come back?”
There is a hint of hope in Jimmy’s question.
I understand. We’re talking about his mother.
Father shakes his head. He says he knows that Ma isn’t going to come back. He thinks maybe it’s time they all moved on.
Mary sits up straighter and puts her hand on Father’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Daddy. It’s okay to feel like that. So, tell her. If you want a divorce, tell her. She can handle it.”
Father looks at Mary and makes a face. He is skeptical. I can see he doesn’t know if that’s true at all, that she can “handle it.”
“Robert will be there,” Mary suggests. “How about you give the letter to him? And he can give it to her. They can read it together.”
I can see Father doesn’t love that idea either by the way he winces at Robert’s name. He hunches over the paper and stares at it again.
“Pops.” Jimmy leans across the table. “You want me to call her?”
“No.” Father is adamant. “No, Jim. I’ve got to write it. You see, it’s my fault that—”
Jimmy throws his hands in the air. “JESUS, POPS. FOR THE LOVE OF OUR GOD IN HEAVEN STOP SAYING IT WAS YOUR FAULT.” Jimmy runs his hands through his hair and then rubs them over his eyes and face. “Mary and I have been here the whole time, and there is nothing that was your fault in particular. You guys fought all the time. It just happened.”
Father takes in a deep breath.
“Pops. Pops,” Jimmy continues. “I am not letting you say that it was your fault again. I DRAW THE LINE.” Jimmy dramatically draws a huge imaginary line in front of him in the air.
It is so much like something Mother would do that I hold my breath in awe.
Father is startled also.
In fact, I think Mother literally spoke those words—“I draw the line”—in one of her last fights with Father.
And she made the same exact gesture. And everyone saw it.
Father suddenly starts breathing very hard. I think he is having the same kind of panic attack he had months ago in front of the fireplace when he first read the letter from Mother.
Mary stands up quickly, hunching over him as he gasps to try to catch his breath. Father presses his hand to his heart and winces with pain. Jimmy is also alarmed and moves around the table to the other side of Father.
“Are you okay?” Jimmy asks, sinking into a seat, his hand lightly on Father’s back. “Dad. You’re not having a heart
attack, are you?” Jimmy looks scared, his face pale and his confidence drained away.
“Should I call 911?” Mary demands.
Father shakes his head no, vigorously, and slowly he catches his breath. A long minute goes by where my siblings wait and make sure he can breathe. My whiskers twitch as I watch.
“I’m okay. It’s just anxiety. I’m fine. Just—I’m sorry. I’m fine.”
Mary slowly lowers herself back down into her seat, frowning. “You don’t look fine.” She rubs her fingers together, a nervous gesture. “Dad. Seriously. I don’t think you’re fine.”
Father takes a deep breath. “I am. I’m okay. I’ll live.” He looks from Mary to Jimmy. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. But I want to tell you guys something.”
It’s quiet in the room. I listen carefully. The big clock in the hall counts off: tick-tick-tick.
Father tells my siblings how when their aunt Shannon died in that drunk driving accident—right after their uncle got sentenced to five years in jail—Mahmee started asking Father if he and Mother might have another baby. Mahmee was depressed and missed the daughter she had lost and the son who could no longer be with her. She had expected to have many grandchildren, and she was starting to realize that her dream was never going to come true. Father thought about it more and more, until it was all he could think about. He missed his brother and sister too. And he decided another baby was a good idea.
He thought maybe it would make things better with Mother. He was worried that Mother was thinking about leaving him. All they did was fight, and make up, and then fight again.
Father’s right. I remember. Mother either passionately loved or absolutely hated him, and there wasn’t a lot in between.
Mother was against it, but Father pressured her, and she finally said okay and got pregnant. But then the baby doctor said he thought Mother should stop taking all of her pills. The doctor handed Father a brochure that explained all the horrible things that could possibly go wrong if a pregnant woman took medication. It was a small risk, but still. A risk.