“Here you go. Nine dollars for the Wings of Fire book you’re missing. To complete the series. I thought we could stop at Purple Crow Books and pick up a copy. Didn’t you tell me it was eight dollars?”
Maisie stared at the money but didn’t take it. “That’s super kind of you, Uncle J, but can you give me eight?”
“You’ll need a dollar for the sales tax.”
“Oh, I can’t take nine. It has to be eight.”
Maisie and her moral compass. “Put the change toward something else.”
But Maisie shook her head and ran off, leaving him alone on the bridge with a handful of money.
“Hey, Maisie,” he called. “Wait up.”
She sprinted to the right and continued along the riverbank. Jake took chase, stopping when she disappeared inside the large stick sculpture that could have grown from the forest floor. A natural observatory, the structure was woven out of saplings of elm, sugar maple, and sweet gum. Jake and Maisie had watched its installation: Maisie with horror because it had a limited life expectancy, Jake in awe because it was a thing of temporary beauty. One day it would break down and disappear back into the trees.
Late-afternoon sunlight and a crazy-ass squirrel kept him company while Jake stood guard. Maisie was by herself, but he glimpsed red hair as she dashed around in circles. Could be she just needed to burn off her mood. Maisie might be a chatterbox, but she couldn’t be rushed if something was chewing at her. When she finally emerged, Maisie reached for his hand, and they started walking along the trail.
“Wanna tell me what happened back there?” he said.
“I’m very sorry, Uncle J. But I don’t like odd numbers. They feel scratchy.”
By three Maisie had developed her own expressions, but that seemed off, even for her. “How about I pay for the book? Would that work?”
She nodded. “Thank you, Uncle J. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, nothing to apologize for.”
They kept walking as the cicadas continued their music and the air grew still and gray. Jake glanced up to check for storm clouds.
“Maisie, you know I don’t expect you to talk if you’re not feeling the vibe.”
“I know.”
“But anything you tell me stays in confidence. I don’t squeal to your daddy.”
“I know.”
He raised her hand and tucked it under his arm. “You know a lot, ’Mazing Maisie.”
A couple came toward them, dragging a puppy on a leash. The woman smiled at him, blushed, but the man didn’t make eye contact. Their body language screamed, We’re in the post-argument phase. Given the guy’s slumped shoulders, all bets were on him as the culprit. When they were out of earshot, Jake leaned in to Maisie.
“What d’you think their story is? Guy messed up big time, woman let him have it?”
“Whose story?” Maisie said.
“Darlin’, you’re slipping. Writers and actors never switch off their people radar. Observe, observe, observe.”
“And observe.”
He nodded at a bench that overlooked the Eno. “Let’s sit and talk. Catch up on our week.”
Maisie sat and examined the hem of her oversized T-shirt.
“You and Lilah Rose gettin’ along?”
Maisie shrugged. A bird gave a solitary whistle that sounded mighty ticked off.
“I’m finding it hard, sharing your dad,” he said. “How about you?”
“It’s getting easier. Although I hope the baby’s a girl. I don’t think I want a brother.”
“Sorry, but you won’t have any control over that one. Is it still bothering you, the whole idea of calling Lilah Rose Mom? Want me to talk with your daddy some more?”
“No. Thank you. It’s very important to him, and I’m trying super hard to cooperate.” Maisie pulled up her legs and hugged them. She’d always been able to tuck herself up like a hermit crab. Oh, to be young and flexible. Every day he had more aches and pains. Gray hairs would be next. Well, would be if he stopped dyeing his hair, but that was a tough step for someone who’d always gotten by on his looks. Although, they’d also been the cause of so many bad decisions it was hard to know where to begin.
“Tell me something about my real mom again,” Maisie said.
“Not much you don’t know. Your mama was beautiful and smart, kind and funny. Real good at math, too. C’mon, baby,” he said. “What aren’t you telling me?”
A crow cawed, and they both looked up at the dead tree in front of them, its skeletal fork pointing into the now cloud-covered sky.
“Do you ever worry about bad stuff happening to me?” Maisie chewed on her lip.
“Only since the second I moved in with you and your dad. It was a huge responsibility being your babysitter. Bigger than huge.” Jake measured out huge with his arms spread wide, and Maisie giggled. “’Cause I love you more than anyone, and I didn’t want to mess up.”
The birds fell silent.
“Do you ever think about starting a family, Uncle J?”
“Now what nonsense is that? I have a family. You and your daddy.”
Maisie heaved out a mighty big sigh for a small person. “Don’t you miss Los Angeles?”
“My heart was always here, you know that. Besides, I never cared too much about the fame. That kind of drive can wreck a life. Since I was younger than you, all I wanted was to act, and that part wasn’t working out so well. After I got fired off that god-awf—not very nice soap opera, I was jobless. When your daddy suggested I visit for your birthday, seemed like the perfect time to check out the movie scene down south. But it didn’t take more than half a day to decide your daddy needed my help more. Once I moved in with you guys, life got real simple real fast, and simple’s pretty darn good.” He paused. “Is that how you feel, that life’s good?”
She rested her cheek on her knees. “Actually, I find there’s quite a lot to worry about.”
“Wanna be more specific?”
“One of our teachers had to take time off because her sister died having a baby.”
“Ahhh, I get it.” Jake wrapped his arm around her. “Childbirth can turn dangerous, but the doctors know ahead of time if there’s a problem brewing. Your stepmama’s in great shape, and everything’s as normal as normal can be with her pregnancy. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.” He paused. “Is this why you’ve been wound a little tight recently?”
Maisie shrugged.
For a moment he wondered if she had inherited something nasty from her mama. If only he could remember what Delaney said about her sister. Not that they’d ever done a whole lotta talking.
“But what if I’m the problem?”
“Darlin’. You’ve never been a problem a single day of your life. Except when you got thrown out of preschool ’cause all you did was cry for your daddy.” And started sleeping so poorly that I became nuttier than a squirrel turd.
The Eno had stopped moving. A frog croaked, and humidity bore down on his shoulders.
“But I keep worrying I am.” Maisie sat up. “I keep worrying that I’m a bad kid and Lilah’s going to die because of me.”
“Whoa. Back up. You and I might have active imaginations, but there’s no relationship between your behavior and Lilah Rose’s pregnancy. Flat-out ain’t possible.”
Maisie gave him that adoring look with her huge hazel eyes. How come she never saw him as others did: a screwup with above-average acting skills?
“But what if I’m the causation of stress? Stress is very bad for pregnancy, and Ava Grace once said I can get on her last nerve like no one’s business.”
“That’s Ava Grace’s mama talking, and she’s got less sense than a flamingo lawn ornament.”
“Uncle J!”
“Well, I’m just statin’ fact.” Any guy could figure out that woman’s greatest assets had nothing to do with her brain. “If you’re going to start worrying as much as your daddy, you’ve got to come clean with me. Because I know you, ’Mazing Maisie. You’ll keep it all to yourself so
as not to upset anyone. Next thing, you’ll start building up those walls, and you know what I always say about walls.”
“You have to tear them down,” Maisie said slowly.
“That you do. And you and me? We tell it like it is with each other and stay positive, because your daddy worries enough for all three of us, right?”
She puckered her lips.
“Know what I think?” he said. “When a brilliant young mind has something tough to process, it gets way too creative. Is this all about what happened with your real mama?”
Maisie cleared her throat several times.
“Please tell me, baby.”
“Promise you won’t tell my dad?”
“Jake-Maisie pinkie swear.”
“Sometimes I see Lilah dying. And I worry that if I thought it, it’ll come true. She’s not, is she? Going to die?”
“That’s the storyteller in you looking for the dark side of life.”
“But my brain fills up with stuff I don’t want to think about, and even my absolute favorite things aren’t fun anymore.” She scratched her leg like she had a mess of chigger bites. “It’s very frightening, Uncle J.”
Jake pulled her closer. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I promise I’ll do all I can to help. And you know how seriously I take my promises.”
An ugly thought crept in: the one person he wanted—needed—to discuss this with was the one person he couldn’t contact. She had made that clear when she met Patrick. “I want more,” Delaney said. “And you’re never going to be that guy, are you?” And he’d answered no.
TEN
KATIE
Katie’s empty stomach growled. Not just from hunger, but from lack of bedtime stories and snuggles, lack of wiped tears and kissed boo-boos. Lack of motherhood. Maisie, head down, continued to ooh and aah over the sketch for the buckshot piece. Weren’t mothers meant to praise their kids’ artwork and not vice versa? Katie straightened the corner of her sketchbook. Smoothed out the page, shifted in her seat. Chewed off a hangnail.
Am I making a good impression? Does she like me? Does she want to know me better? Why didn’t I eat lunch? I never deal well on an empty stomach. Why didn’t I eat something?
What if I never see her again? What if I get up and run away from her—again?
What if the six-week CAM program, already half-over, was her once-in-a-lifetime shot at mothering her own child? How could she destroy it with talk of monsters?
I don’t love her. But I do, I do love her, don’t I? Didn’t I promise to protect her, keep her safe? Isn’t that what I’m trying to do?
Another stomach growl echoed through the huge white-and-glass meeting space, empty except for her and Maisie.
Maisie stared up with big owl eyes. “Did you skip lunch again, Ms. Katie? My dad always says it’s super important to eat three nutritious meals a day.”
“Guilty as charged.” Katie focused on a car moving slowly down the street. “I make incredibly bad decisions for an adult.”
“I’m sure we could ask Mr. Whitmore if he has any more baguettes and Nutella.”
“You know what I’m in the mood for? A huge hunk of real chocolate. Preferably white.”
“Which is super hard to find.” Maisie sighed. “I know because white chocolate is my favorite.”
Katie sat on her hands so she wouldn’t grab her daughter’s face and smother it with kisses. “I think I know where to look.” She stood up and pushed her chair back under the table; Maisie did the same. “Let’s go on a chocolate hunt.”
Did your dad ever read We’re Going on a Bear Hunt to you? I would have; I would have read it until you had your first book hangover.
“Unfortunately,” Maisie said with the sweetest frown in the history of frowns, “I think the chances of finding chocolate in an art museum are—” She held up her hand, her thumb and index finger curled together to form a perfect zero.
“Exactly. Have you ever been to the Chocolate Factory down the street?”
“Nooo, but I don’t think that’s an option.”
“Because I don’t have your father’s permission?” Katie winced as if a splinter had driven itself into her eye.
Maisie nodded.
“What if another adult in a position of responsibility could grant us a chocolate pass? I bet Whitmore would let us sneak out if we built an airtight case.”
Maisie scratched at the skin on the back of her wrist. “But I don’t have any money,” she said, blushing.
“Good, because I wouldn’t let you pay under any circumstances. This would be my treat.”
“Thank you. Thank you, that’s super generous.” Maisie continued to scratch.
“I feel as if there’s another but coming.”
“We would also have to watch the time really, really carefully.”
“We can do that.”
Maisie glanced up. Her eyes said, More, I need more. OCD always wanted more. Muffled voices moved through the exhibition space above, real voices from the real world.
“We’re not breaking any rules if we have the director’s permission,” Katie said.
Was she feeding Maisie’s OCD? No. That was a statement of fact, not reassurance, but did Cal or New Mom know the difference? When she told Delaney she could help Maisie, Katie hadn’t believed it. Not one hundred percent. Not even seventy-four. But as she watched Maisie, feet pointed inward, mouth closed in a tight line, fingers dancing to a soundtrack only she could hear, it was as if Katie were looking into a mirror. And then Maisie straightened her hair twice on one side, twice on the other, with her thumb folded under her fingers, creating a makeshift flat iron.
I used to do something similar—twice on one side, twice on the other.
“What do you think, Maisie?” Katie swallowed. “Are you up for the chocolate challenge?” Say yes, please say yes.
Maisie hesitated. “I am very good at debating.”
“In that case, we’re off to Whitmore’s office.” Shoving her hands into her back pockets, Katie led the way.
She knocked on the open door, and Whitmore glanced up from his keyboard. “Good afternoon, ladies. Can I help with something?”
Katie ushered Maisie inside. “We have a problem and a solution.”
He raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “I’m all ears.”
“We’re trying to have a serious discussion about art. And we’ve been stumped by a desperate, clawing need for chocolate.”
“That is quite a problem. What’s your solution?”
“A quick visit to the Chocolate Factory,” Katie said. “I’m appalled to learn Maisie’s never visited this fine establishment. To be honest, neither have I.”
Maisie nodded. “Ms. Katie’s quite right. I’ve never been, but I don’t have my dad’s permission, which”—she glanced at Katie—“we realize would be a very good thing.”
“I see. But you came to the right place, since I’m the king of the CAM universe.” He smiled. “Well, Trudy, who mans the information desk, is the real boss, but I do have executive veto. How long until you get picked up, Maisie?”
Maisie looked at the clock. “Forty-two minutes.”
Forty-two was a perfect, round number. A sign, a good sign.
“And do you share this desperate need for chocolate?”
“Oh, yes, I concur,” Maisie said. “Plus Ms. Katie skipped lunch because she didn’t want to be late for me, so indirectly it’s my fault that she’s in need of—”
Katie’s stomach rumbled as if on cue.
“I hear your problem.” Whitmore studied the abstract painting on his wall. “However, I can’t let you leave the building without parental permission. On the other hand”—he gestured at the landslide of papers across his desk—“I am drowning in admin and can’t help but feel a change of scene might help. What if I came with you and sat at a different table? Maybe by working off-site I could find the bottom of the black hole formerly known as my Gmail inbox.”
“Black holes don’t have
bottoms,” Maisie said.
“Exactly,” Whitmore said. “Which proves that my short-circuiting brain needs cocoa.”
“Thank you,” Katie said in a breathy whisper.
A supervised visit, but the Newbery Medal of progress. Not only a mother-daughter outing, but a shared first that involved chocolate. And walking along a road. With moving vehicles. What if she pushed Maisie under a car? What if, what if . . .
“Give me two minutes, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Whitmore unplugged his laptop from a large monitor.
Katie walked out of the office and down into the lobby, Maisie by her side.
I could push Maisie under a car; I could kill her. No, no. That’s OCD talking. I would never do that. I’m her mother. But what if I’m a monster? What if I don’t love her? What if I never did? But that’s not true . . .
Maisie glanced at her bright plastic watch. “We only have forty minutes left, Ms. Katie.”
“I can set a timer on my phone, if you’d like.”
“That would be awesome! Uncle J does get in a fluster if I’m not where I’m supposed to be when I’m supposed to be there. After Ava Grace and I spent a bit too long in the woods, he—”
“Uncle . . . J?”
“Yes! He’s my favorite person on the planet. After my dad, of course. My dad always says Uncle Jake needs a girlfriend. Are you married?”
Katie grabbed the gold chain around her neck and held on as the links dug into her flesh.
“Ready, ladies.” Whitmore appeared with his laptop and phone, and pushed open the big yellow door. A blast of August heat smacked Katie in the face, along with the sounds of construction: drilling, crashing, a yell of “Look out!”
Look out, Maisie. You’re not safe around me.
She’s so small, so defenseless; I could hurt her so easily. Push her under a car.
An image played, a depraved image. Katie sucked in her breath and briefly closed her eyes. Blocked out the sun, her daughter, the street, the passing car.
A thought is just a thought. It has no power.
“Ms. Katie and I are hoping for white chocolate. What’s your preference, Mr. Whitmore?” Maisie had skipped through the open door and was on the sidewalk.
The Promise Between Us Page 9