Rules for Moving (ARC)

by Nancy Star

  you hear about Jem?”

  She told him she’d heard the news about Jem. Her

  basset hound–eyed seatmate had told her: Jem had been

  laid off. Lane had already called Jem to offer the name of an attorney she used for her column, the one who specialized in workplace discrimination. “I’m not suggesting

  you sue,” Lane said. “But at least talk it through.” And

  Jem had agreed. But Lane hadn’t heard anything about

  Sam other than that he was away. “Sam’s working on

  Guild-Europe. Is there something else I should know?”

  “Just rumors”—he lowered his voice—“that he might

  not be coming back.”

  That was an alarming thought. “Don’t listen to ru-

  mors,” she told Hugo and herself.

  “The thing is…” He looked around to make sure they

  were alone. “Bert without Sam is a nightmare. People are

  starting to bolt. Do you think I should leave? Or should

  I wait it out? I mean it’s awful here, but at least I have time. To write.” He whispered the next. “I’m working

  on a play.” He lifted up his phone to show her. “If I start a new job, I won’t be able to—”

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  The double doors whooshed open. “Hugo.” It was

  Bert. “I need you. Now.”

  “Don’t wait it out,” Lane advised under her breath.

  Hugo pasted on a smile and jogged over to where

  Bert was waiting. “How can I help?”

   h h

   h  h

  There were delays on the A, C, B, and D lines. By the

  time a train finally came there were no seats left. Lane

  snagged a leaning spot at the door at the rear of the car. A team of buskers boarded and brushed by doing backflips

  and spins around the poles. Everyone’s dead eyes stayed

  stuck on their phones. When they finished and walked

  the car with their hats out for money, Lane thought about

  how Aaron would have put in a dollar. She thought about

  how often his dollar made the people around him reach

  into their pockets. She didn’t have any dollars on her so

  like everyone else she stared at her phone, half reading an article she’d clicked through from the Guild home page.

  Your Child Is Stressed: The News Could Be Good.

  A muffled announcement came over the speaker.

  She turned to a woman standing near her. “What did

  she say?”

  “Who knows?” The woman shrugged. “Guess we’re

  going express. Next stop, 137th Street.”

  Lane peered out the window as the train accelerated

  past the 96th Street station and struggled to accept the

  fact that in her haste she’d gotten on the right train in

  the wrong direction. She pulled out her phone and called

  the school but there was no service between stations so

  she had to make do with reminding herself Henry was

  safe. The aftercare teacher would stay with him no matter

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  when she picked him up. Hopefully he’d be happily

  drawing and wouldn’t even notice she was late. Unless

  he was watching the clock. Henry liked to draw clocks,

  different kinds, different shapes. If he was drawing clocks

  … She shook off the thought but she couldn’t shake off

  the feeling that she was failing him again.

  If she were a person who wept, that’s what she’d do

  now. She’d weep. But she wasn’t a person who wept and

  anyway, what would weeping do? She checked her watch.

  Sprinting. That’s what was called for. Good thing she was

  wearing flat shoes. Sprinting was more useful than weep-

  ing. With luck, when she got out at Times Square, if the

  sidewalk wasn’t clogged with gangs of Elmos smoking

  cigarettes or people walking four abreast while taking

  selfies, she might get to the Port Authority in time to

  make her bus.

   h h

   h  h

  She was a fast runner. The flat shoes were a help. But she missed the bus anyway. When she got to the aftercare

  room, Henry was the only one there. As soon as she

  walked in, he looked up at her and his face lit up. She

  walked over and saw, with relief, that today his drawings

  were not of clocks. They were of buses. The Red Rooster.

  The Green Squirrel.

  Mrs. Lindsey called over a hello and then motioned

  for her to come to where she was sitting, at the desk. She stopped Lane midapology. “I get it. Stuff happens. But

  you should know there’s a strict two-strikes-you’re-out

  policy here for late pickup. Personally I think it should be three. Two seems severe. But no one asked me. Anyway

  it’s different for me. I live alone with a cat. Most teachers 210

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  here have to get home and make dinner for their families.

  They have kids waiting for them. We can’t leave until

  the last child is picked up.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lane told her. “It won’t happen again.”

  In the car, she apologized to Henry. “I’m sorry you had

  to wait, buddy.”

  He was looking out the window when he answered.

  “I wasn’t waiting. I was drawing.” Then he met her eyes

  in the rearview mirror. “How come you were late?”

  “I got on the wrong subway. Can you believe it?”

  Henry nodded and she smiled. Then she took a breath and

  told him what she’d forgotten to tell him in the morning.

  “We’re invited to a dinner at Dana’s house tonight. She’s

  making a party for us. A little party. With kids your age.”

  His eyes locked on hers. “Will they try and make

  me talk?”

  “Absolutely not.” Like a child she crossed her fingers;

  like a mother she crossed them at the bottom of the steer-

  ing wheel where Henry couldn’t see.

   h h

   h  h

  Agreeing to come to the dinner was a mistake. While

  none of the women in Dana’s bumped-out family room

  seemed interested in making Henry speak, they were

  unanimous in their opinion that he would have a much

  better time if he went downstairs, where the other children were gathered under the supervision of Dana’s son, Eric.

  “In human years he’s sixteen but he acts like he’s eight,”

  Dana said. “Kids always love him. You’ll love him too,”

  she told Henry. “Plus they have some really good food.”

  A peal of laughter came from the direction of the

  basement. Henry’s head swiveled toward the stairs.

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  “There’s red velvet cupcakes down there.” It was

  Karin, the baker from next door. “I’m famous for them.

  I made biscotti for us,” she told Lane.

  “Up to you,” Lane said quietly. “Want to have a quick

  cupcake and then we’ll go?” He nodded and she excused

  herself to take him down.

   h h

   h  h

  The basement, which had the same layout as Lane’s,

  was crammed with a timeline of clutter. Bins of wood

  blocks, stacks of kits and, against the wall, standing sports equipment: hockey and lacrosse sticks, baseball bats and

  shin guards, a paddle with the name of a summer camp

  etched on
it.

  In the center of the room Eric sat surrounded by

  children who had dug into what appeared to be an open

  and nearly empty dress-up trunk. So far Eric was wear-

  ing what looked like part of a hamburger costume, one

  clown shoe, one skeleton-hand glove, and a hula skirt.

  Two children stood next to him painting his hair with

  green glitter glue. He smiled when he noticed Henry.

  “Hey there. Who are you?”

  “This is Henry,” Lane said.

  “The new kid. Cool. Hey, everybody,” Eric called

  out. “Say hey to Henry.”

  Commingled voices shouted greetings and then ev-

  eryone went back to what they were doing. A girl opened

  a Sharpie. A boy pulled the stuffing out of a sock puppet.

  “Don’t worry,” Eric told Lane. “I’m not letting anybody

  do anything even remotely dangerous. But if they want

  to pull out some stuffing or paint my hair?” He shrugged.

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  “Cool with me. I get a hundred bucks if everyone stays

  down here tonight. One person goes up, I get zero.”

  A boy came and asked Henry if he wanted to help

  him knock down a block tower. Henry looked up at Lane

  for permission.

  “Want to me to stay down here?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Eric said.

  Henry confirmed this by running with the boy toward

  a high tower of precariously arranged wood blocks.

  “He doesn’t speak,” Lane told Eric quietly.

  “Cool,” Eric said.

  “If he needs me, I’m right upstairs.”

  “Got it.”

  She hesitated. Henry noticed and waved goodbye.

   h h

   h  h

  “Fabbo,” Dana said, when she returned upstairs alone. “I

  made you a plate.” She handed it over. “I knew Henry

  would love Eric. Everyone loves Eric. Come sit.”

  Lane returned to her seat and balanced her plate on

  her lap. She tried to think of something to say but came

  up blank. She was always a failure at small talk.

  “So.” Rory the dentist sat next to her. Lane felt herself

  relax. The conversational reins had been picked up. “What

  happened that night all those cops came?”

  Of course. Word had gotten around. Everyone was

  wondering. “There was a mix-up,” she said and then

  stopped. Best to leave it at that.

  A woman whose name eluded her sat down in a chair

  across from her. “I heard it was Francesca.” The woman

  turned to the crowd. “Francesca went missing. And the

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  cops came. And a bunch of teachers went over to help.

  Mrs. Abramowitz told me,” she confessed. “She was

  there. Francesca’s teacher was there too. And the gym

  teacher, I heard.”

  “I just love this town,” Dana said. “Something goes

  wrong, everybody pitches in to help.”

  “It was a mix-up,” Lane said again. “Her mother asked

  me to take her to book group and when we got back to

  her house the cops were there. They thought she’d been

  kidnapped. I don’t really know what happened. Francesca’s

  aunt was there when I picked her up. I told her aunt we

  were going to book group.”

  “Weird,” Karin said. “What did Claudine say?”

  “I never heard from her.”

  Karin looked puzzled. “You didn’t call her?”

  Now everyone looked puzzled.

  “No. Claudine asked me to take Francesca to book

  group,” Lane said. “And then the police accused me of

  kidnapping. I thought it was on Claudine to call me.”

  “On Claudine?” a woman repeated.

  “On the aunt, maybe,” Rory said.

  “I know the aunt,” Karin said. “She’s definitely weird.”

  “All’s well that ends well,” Dana said. “If you think

  about it, the way we all rush around from one thing to

  another it’s a miracle there aren’t more mix-ups like that.

  You know what I’m upset about?” She turned to Lane.

  “Your house. I honestly cannot believe all the things that have gone wrong in there. And it’s not like Nathan didn’t

  take care of it. He did.”

  “Just the surface,” Karin muttered. “Remember when

  his driveway cracked? Right down the middle? He never

  got it repaved. He threw on some tar and called it a day.

  He’s a patch-it-up guy is what he is.”

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  “Karin’s got a problem with Nathan,” Rory said.

  “I’m not the only one,” Karin said.

  Lane wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say so she

  said, “Mmm.”

  A shouted curse rocketed up the basement stairs.

  Footsteps followed. Henry bolted over to Lane.

  Eric was right behind him. “You cost me a hundred

  bucks, you little snot.”

  “Eric,” Dana warned.

  Henry looked pale. Lane pulled him closer. She heard

  the zoop of a text and watched as all hands moved to

  phones, except for hers. Right now there was nothing

  that would take her away from holding Henry.

  “Mine,” Dana announced. Everyone set their phones

  down. “Actually it’s for you.” She handed her phone to

  Lane. “Nathan,” she told the crowd.

  All eyes on her, she took Dana’s phone and read the

  text. “My alarm went off again,” she said. “Sorry. My

  phone must have been on silent. We need to go. I have

  to organize a time for the electrician to come over.” She

  hoped Dana wouldn’t challenge her. The text said her

  alarm went off again, but it didn’t say anything about her needing to go home right now. But Dana was otherwise

  occupied, putting out dessert.

  “Before you go…” Karin hurried over to the buffet

  and returned with a paper plate. “Sea salt and caramel

  biscotti. My first try at making them. Let me know what

  you think.”

  “I once lost a tooth eating caramel,” a depressed-

  sounding woman was telling the crowd as Lane and Henry

  headed toward the door.

   h h

   h  h

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  According to Henry, the problem in the basement was

  that he didn’t have a hundred dollars.

  “They have a toe,” he explained

  “What do you mean?”

  “A toe. Like the kind you pay when you go over a bridge or in a tunnel.”

  “You mean a toll?”

  He nodded. “Eric said if anyone wanted to use the

  stairs before it was time to leave, they had to pay him

  a hundred dollars. But I didn’t have any dollars. So I

  had to wait for you to know I wanted to leave. But you

  didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” She laid a hand on Henry’s head and gen-

  tly twirled one of his curls around her finger. “But you

  left anyway. You didn’t listen to Eric. That was brave.”

  “I listened until he went to the bathroom and then I

  stopped listening. I tried to make my feet tread lightly on the stairs, like in Grandma Sylvie’s Rule Number Four.

  But it didn’t work. They have a squeaky step. Probably


  so no one leaves without paying the toe.”

  Tread Lightly So You Don’t Leave Tracks. Another

  rule Lane didn’t remember sharing.

  “You know what, buddy? What Eric told you about

  the toll—he made that up. He said that because his mom

  promised to give him a hundred dollars if no one went

  upstairs. I’m really proud that you left anyway. If you feel uncomfortable somewhere, you leave.”

  “Like when we felt uncomfortable in the apartment

  and we left? Rule Number Three?”

  Move Forward and Never Look Back. It was unnerv-

  ing, Henry knowing so many of her mother’s rules. Had

  he overheard her discussing them with Shelley? Where

  was Shelley? They hadn’t spoken in days.

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  “Do we have rules like Grandma Sylvie’s?” Henry

  asked.

  “No. I don’t think her rules work very well.” She

  stopped. She was supposed to listen carefully to Henry.

  “Do you want rules? Would you feel better if we made

  some rules?”

  “I would feel better if I went to bed.”

  For Tell Me That Story, Henry asked for one about

  the time they went camping, which was another story

  Aaron often told him.

  “We all slept in a big tent,” she said to start.

  “Medium-size,” Henry corrected her. “And the door

  zipper got stuck. And the flaps got stuck. And the screens that were supposed to keep the bugs out didn’t. And every

  time you heard a bug, Dad made a buzzing noise and said,

  ‘No, that’s just me. I’m the biggest bug here.’”

  That was true. He did do that, back when things were

  good. She laughed remembering it.

  “What else happened in that story?” Henry asked her.

  Lane thought about it. “The campground was at the

  edge of a lake. And we had kayaks.”

  “Canoes,” Henry said.

  “Canoes. And no one else was camping there. It was

  quiet. Peaceful.”

  “Except when the loons came out,” Henry said. “At

  night.”

  “Right. And they started to cry. That mournful cry.

  And it woke us up.”

  “Except not dad,” Henry said. “He stayed asleep.

  Even when the loons stopped crying and started laughing.

  And then we started laughing like loons.” Henry did an

  imitation of his loon laugh. “And you had a laughing fit.

  Which made your arm hit the pole. Which made the tent

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