Custody (30 page)

“What are you doing!”

Tessa almost flew straight up into the air. She’d been so engrossed in the movie—this was the part where Cher realizes she likes her ex-stepbrother—that she hadn’t heard her mother come in.

“I was just watching a movie, Mom.”

“Haven’t I told you I don’t want you watching television without my permission?”

“Yes, but—”

Anne grabbed the remote control and pressed the
OFF
button. Cher vanished into obscurity.

“I’m disappointed in you, Tessa.”

Tessa hung her head. “Sorry.”

“I leave you alone in the house for one minute and you sneak down and watch
trash
.”

“It’s not trash, Mom—”

“Go to your room.”

“Mom—”

“Now.”

Tessa slumped out of the room and up the stairs. It was only eleven. An hour before her dad was to arrive. She fell facedown on her bed, her nose buried in the covers. She could smother like this. What if she smothered? Why not?

But without thinking, her head turned. Involuntarily she gasped for air.

She had friends whose mothers sat and watched
Clueless
with them. And laughed. Tessa wished her mother would do that. Or she wished she didn’t have a mother.

If you thought about it, all the best books were about orphans.
Anne of Green Gables. The Secret Garden
. Anastasia—well, that was a movie, not a book. But her favorite fairy tales:
Cinderella, Snow White, The Little Mermaid
. Their mothers were all gone. Dead. They had mean stepmothers.

Oh, no. Tessa had a terrible thought. What if her dad remarried? What if she had a mean stepmother?

She pulled the pillow over her head.

“Tessa?”

“Yes, Mom?”

“Are you ready?”

Tessa looked at the clock. “Almost,” she lied. Flinging herself from the bed, she threw herself into shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair, and clipped it back. She galloped down the stairs.

Her mother was pacing up and down the marble hallway, her heels clicking like little bursts of gunfire.

Dread plunged through Tessa. “What’s wrong, Mom?”

“Your father’s late.” Anne glared at her wristwatch. “He promised he’d be here at twelve
on the dot. This is incredibly irresponsible of him! Typical!”

“Not typical, Mom,” Tessa protested. But she was worried. Her father had always been late for everything until he moved out and filed for divorce; since then he was blamelessly punctual. Was he backsliding into old habits? Didn’t he realize that her mother would use even the tiniest of sins against him in court, to prevent him from gaining even joint custody of her?

“I have an important appointment! And Randall knows this!”

Wrenching the powder room door open, Anne flew inside, turned on the hot water, and frantically scrubbed her hands.

Tessa came to the doorway to watch her. “Go to your appointment, Mom. I’ll be fine here till Dad comes.”

“That’s not the point! The point is: your father will do anything he can to demonstrate his lack of affection and respect for me. He knows I have an appointment!” Angrily she dried her hands on a thick terry-cloth towel, and then dropped the towel into the hamper below it, took a clean one out of the cupboard above the toilet, and draped it on the rack.

“Mom,” Tessa said, “hand lotion.”

“What? Oh. Right. Thanks.” It was important to Anne that her hands look soft and well-tended, and she did have a weekly manicure, but her constant hand-washing turned the skin on her hands red and scaly. She was trying, God knew, to cut down on the hand-washing, but at times like this, when Randall made her so
frustrated
 …

“
Go
, Mom. Go on. I’ll be fine.”

Anne wiped the excess lotion on a tissue. “I suppose I have no choice if I want to be on time for my appointment.”

Tessa followed her out to the front door.

“Tell your father I want you home in time for dinner.”

“All right.”

“And don’t let him fill you up with junk food.”

“All right.”

“And if you ride those filthy horses, wash your hands afterward.”

“All right.”

“I’m serious, Tessa.”

“I know you are, Mom.”

“Oh, Tessa, I wish you wouldn’t look at me that way. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You have no idea.” Anne checked her image in the mirror one last time; then she stepped out into the harsh glare of a summer day. “You’ll be sure to lock the door behind you.”

“I will.”

“All right, then.” Leaning forward, she pecked a kiss on her daughter’s forehead and hurried to the shelter of her air-conditioned car.

After Tessa shut the door, she stood by the front window and stared through the leaded glass. She waited a few moments until she was sure her mother was gone. Then she hurried back to the kitchen.

She was still hungry. She hated herself for it, but she couldn’t seem to subdue her stomach’s cravings.

Inside the refrigerator were some watermelon, bean sprouts, baby carrots, lettuce, and radishes. She shut the door.

She knew what was in the cupboards, but she searched through them anyway, just in case Carmen had left something. Her mother’s Ry-Krisp crackers stood next to the nearly empty box of Cheerios, a small jar of instant coffee, a large box of white powdered artificial sweetener (which Tessa had tried once to eat by itself; she shuddered at the memory), and some old cans of bouillon. As she stared at the food, her heart did that funny skipping-racing thing it was doing more and more, as if it had turned into a bird fluttering to escape its cage. It was a disgusting feeling, but it certainly turned her thoughts away from food.

“Tessa?” Her father’s voice came booming down the hallway.

“Hi, Dad. You’re late.”

“I know, honey. I’m sorry. Did your mother throw a fit?”

Tessa hated it when her father dissed her mother. It made her feel sick inside, as if she’d done something really wrong.

“No. She was all right. She just had to leave for an appointment.”

“Great. Ready to go?”

Tessa stared at her father. Something was different about him. His face looked … soft, kind of. “I’m ready.”

They left the house, double-checking as Tessa’s mother always reminded her to, to be sure the front door was locked, hopped into the Jeep, and headed out toward the country.

Her father steered them down Brattle toward Route 2. “Want to stop at McDonald’s on the way?”

Hunger and guilt battled within her. She weighed herself all the time, secretly, on the professional scales in her mother’s bathroom, and she hadn’t gained any weight. In fact, she’d lost a couple of pounds. Now the thought of the plump, yielding, hamburger bun, the zest of onions and mustard, the dense dark meat obsessed her. Her stomach growled. Some girls her age dreamed of Leonardo DiCaprio. She also dreamed of hamburgers.

And the French fries … golden sticks of hot salty grease …

“Sure.”

Her father bought her a hamburger and fries, and a cheeseburger for himself. Riding toward Concord, they ate while listening to the radio. Her dad liked some of the music she liked, which was kind of cool and kind of weird.

After they’d crumpled their wrappers and tossed them into the bag, her father said, “Tessa. I’ve decided to make another change in our lives.”

Tessa’s lunch turned to stone in her stomach. What now? she thought. Not another woman in his life, not yet, it would make her mother insane. Her mother hadn’t given up on the hope they might reconcile. Tessa hadn’t, either.

“I’ve decided to move in with Grandpops. My apartment is just too small. I know you hate staying there. I know how much you love the farm. And heaven knows the house is big enough for me to have my own space, and for you to have a really nice room. Concord has excellent schools … if it turns out that you end up living with me. With us. I know how much you love your grandfather, and this way, if I have to go off on an emergency, you’ll have him there to take care of you.” He looked over at her, smiling.

So this was why he was so happy. He looked younger, and kind of glowing, as if a light had clicked on inside.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

“Cool, I guess.” Tessa chewed on a fingernail. A convertible passed them, a man with a white poodle in the passenger seat, its long ears flying backwards. Her mother hated convertibles, said they were accidents waiting to happen.

“You
guess
? Anything you want to tell me?”

She’d made her father’s brow furrow with concern. The light coming from him dimmed. It was so hard, being responsible for her parents’ feelings. Sometimes she thought she didn’t have the energy to do it anymore. Sometimes she felt like opening the door and throwing herself outside. She’d smash into a million pieces, her molecules would escape into the open air, and it would all be over. She’d never make anyone feel bad again.

“What will Mom think?”

“You mean because it’s further away from her house? Or because she doesn’t like the farm?”

“The farm.”

“Well, Tessa, let’s look at the problem rationally. Your mother’s concerned about germs from the farm, right? So remember that not only did I grow up there in abundant health, but your Aunt Evangeline did, as well. If you did some research, I believe you’d discover that most people consider farms, country life, to be a bonus as far as health goes. Fresh air, that sort of thing. Besides, I’m a physician. I’m qualified to judge whether or not you’re healthy and to take care of you in an emergency. Not to mention that your grandfather is also a physician and has been healthy all his life.”

“Mom thinks he’s getting senile.”

“I know she thinks that. And not without reason. Grandmom’s death really knocked the stuffing out of him. It’s only natural that he’s been forgetful recently. This isn’t the reason I’m moving out there—I’m thinking of you, and what’s best for you—but I know it will be a great joy in Grandpops’ life to have you around. The best medicine in the world for grief.”

I don’t want to be medicine
, Tessa thought crankily. She couldn’t bear it that her father was so
happy
, humming along with Britney Spears and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, happy for his father, happy for Tessa, happy for himself, and totally not caring how upset her mother was going to be about all this. She knew her father wasn’t moving to the farm simply to drive her mother crazy, but he had to know that’s what would happen, and he had to know that it would be Tessa who would have to try, somehow, to make things right.

When she grew up,
if
she grew up, she was never having children.

Mont Madison was out in the vegetable garden, weeding. He’d been there since six, with a break for lunch. After Madeline’s death, he’d just let the garden go, unable to summon up the energy to give a damn about anything, but now that Randall and Tessa were moving out to the farm, he realized he couldn’t expect them to feel comfortable with him sitting around with a long face, and besides, if he ever got to heaven, Madeline would kiss him first and slug him second, for allowing her beloved garden to go to pot.

Hearing the Jeep’s tires crackle on the gravel, Mont straightened, pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, and wiped the sweat off his forehead and neck. He never could believe how Tessa’s face lit up when she saw him. The sight of his wrinkled old mug in a mirror always made him shake his head in despair.

Tessa jumped out of the Jeep. “Hi, Grandpops!”

She came toward him, all long legs and dangling arms, a scarecrow of a girl.
Why
did they let that child get so thin? He didn’t want to be an interfering old pain in the ass, but it took all his willpower not to pounce on Randall about it.

“Hi, Tester,” he said. Just this year, perhaps because of the divorce or perhaps because of her own inner clock, his granddaughter had become less physically affectionate. She didn’t run to squeeze him in a rib-cracking hug anymore, and she seemed in general more hesitant about any kind of touching. Now he reached out and ruffled her hair.