Every Fifteen Minutes (4 page)

Eric pulled over, cut the ignition, and climbed out of the car. Suddenly the front door of the house opened and Caitlin hurried out, dressed in jean shorts and a white T-shirt, carrying a few Wegman's bags to her silver Lexus in the driveway. She didn't notice him, hustling to her car, chirping open the hatchback, and tossing in the plastic bags. She was so cute, her figure gym-toned and sexy, and in any other circumstances, Eric would have felt a stab of suburban lust.

“Caitlin!” Eric hustled past the abelias while she stopped in front of the door and turned to see him, her ponytail whipping around and her eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“Eric. Oh, no, I forgot you were coming over. Sorry, we have to go out.”

“What's going on?” Eric realized she hadn't meant for him to see the sign. “You're
selling
the house?”

“Yes.” Caitlin pursed her lips, unhappily but firmly. She was a strong, smart lawyer, an assistant prosecutor with the Chester County D.A.'s Office.

“You can't do that.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can't.” Eric wanted to raise his voice but didn't, because Hannah was home and the screen door was open.

“I own it, remember?” Caitlin's eyes narrowed to sharp blue slits. “I bought you out. You sold it to me.”

“I let you buy me out because we agreed Hannah would stay here.” Eric couldn't believe he was explaining this to the person whose idea it was in the first place. “We said it was in Hannah's best interest to live in the house she grew up in. You said it was closer to work for you, so it made sense for me to move, even though I saw patients here. We did it for Hannah.”

“None of that is in the settlement agreement.”

“Does it have to be?” Eric couldn't believe his ears. “We understood what we were doing and why. We sat down with the lawyers. We agreed what the reason was. We're not even divorced yet.”

“So what?”

“You can't turn around and sell the house, just like that.” Eric couldn't bring himself to say that selling the house made it real. That they weren't getting back together. That their marriage really was over. He was in professional denial.

“I own it, and I'm selling it. I sold it.” Caitlin put her hands on her hips. “Now lower your voice. The neighbors will hear us.”

“Caitlin, why sell it?” Eric didn't understand. “It's a great house and Hannah loves it. It's her
home.
What did she say about this?”

“She doesn't know.”

“She saw the sign, didn't she? She can read.”

“She didn't see it. She fell asleep in the car on the way back from the mall.”

“The mall?”

“We went to the mall. I took the day off. She didn't see the sign. It sold before it was on the market and they only put the sign up to promote themselves.”

“So when were you going to tell her? Or me?” Eric couldn't remember the last time Caitlin had taken a day off from work, but he let it go.

“Look, it just happened today. Like I said, it didn't even get listed yet, but the broker had a buyer for me. I didn't turn it down, not in this market.”

“But you knew you had it with a broker. Why didn't you say anything?”

“I didn't know when it would sell, or even if.” Caitlin scoffed. “What am I supposed to tell her, someday Mommy might sell the house?”

“Why not tell
me
?”

“I knew you wouldn't agree and I didn't need your permission. I decided I didn't want to live here, with the memories. It's not good for Hannah.”

“I'm not dead, Caitlin. I'm her
father.
” Eric thought Caitlin had lost her mind. “Are you taking her out of the school district? You can't do that. She's only in second grade. She just started—”

“No, I'm not.”

Eric's heart eased. At least, that. “Where are you going to go? When's settlement?”

“I don't have to tell you.”

“What? Why wouldn't you?”

“When it's final, I'll tell you. This is about you, not her.”

“But I'm concerned about her. Can't you think how this will affect her? It's too much for her to deal with, all at once. She's still working out that we broke up.”

“She'll be fine.”

“Not necessarily. She's a sensitive kid.” Eric knew Hannah's emotional health had been a major problem during their marriage. He feared that Hannah had inherited his anxiety disorder, which was genetic, but Caitlin always argued that he reinforced Hannah's anxieties, so that she played them up for him. Caitlin would never believe that Hannah wasn't perfect, like her.

“We'll start over. Fresh.”

Eric switched tacks. “Can I buy the house from you? I'll buy it back. My
own
house.”

“No. It's a done deal, cash, for full ask.”

Eric didn't know when Caitlin started talking like a Realtor. “What did they pay? I'll pay more. I'll top it.”

“No, it's done.” Caitlin threw up her hands. “Let it
go.
You never let anything
go.
”

Eric felt his temper flare, but stayed in control. “Where's Hannah? We were supposed to have dinner tonight.”

“We can't. We have softball practice.”

“Since when does she play softball?” Eric felt as if he'd stepped into bizarro world. Hannah didn't like sports. The child had absolutely no athletic prowess. She liked to write, draw, and read. She was a bookworm, like him.

“It's the first night, a practice, in the summer league on the playground.”

“You can't sign her up for softball without talking to me about it. We're supposed to agree.”

“We're giving it a try for one practice. I don't need your agreement to try.” Caitlin waved him off with a manicured hand.

“Yes, you do. We have joint legal custody.” Eric felt everything slipping away. His life, his home. His wife, his daughter. Control. He was big enough to admit that, too.

“What possible objection could you have?”

“You know my objection. You push her into sports. You want her to be an athlete because you were. You don't care whether she wants to play.”

“What's the big deal? Let her be a normal kid, for God's sake.” Caitlin waved him off like a fly. “Normal kids like sports. Don't you want her to be normal?”

“I want her to be who she is—”

“No,” Caitlin snapped. “You want her to be
you.
”

“And you want her to be
you,
” Eric shot back, wondering when exactly they'd gone from I-hope-our-little-girl-is-exactly-like-you to I-hope-our-little-girl-is-the-exact-opposite-of-you.

“Leave, Eric. You have no right to be here.”

“Where is she? I want to see her.”

“No, you can't. She has to get dressed. We're running late.”

“I can't see her? Really?” Eric stepped toward the door, but Caitlin blocked it with her body, folding her arms. He was a big guy, but he wasn't about to intimidate her and she knew it. It was the last thing he would do, ever.

“We got cleats and a uniform. She's excited. Don't mess it up for her.”

“I'm not going to mess it up for her, I'm going to say hello. She expected to see me—”

“You can't see her.” Caitlin's blue eyes flashed coldly. “It's not your night.”

“She's my
child.
” Eric hated this my-night/your-night business. He missed seeing his daughter every day, and he got to see her only every other weekend and one dinner a week. It was a custody plan the lawyers said was conventional, but Eric had been doing it for three months and it wasn't getting any easier.

“I'm calling Daniel.” Caitlin slid her iPhone from her shorts pocket and hit a button. “You better call Susan.”

“Battle of the lawyers? No thanks. Please stand aside.”

“Knock yourself out.” Caitlin stepped aside, phone to her ear, then said into the phone, “Daniel, I have a problem—”

Eric passed her, entered the house, hustled through the entrance hall, then took the hardwood stairs two-by-two. He reached the landing and put on his game face.

“Daddy, is that you?” Hannah called from her bedroom, excitedly.

 

Chapter Five

“Daddy!” Hannah ran down the carpeted hall to him, and Eric caught her up in his arms, hoisted her into the air, and hugged her close, breathing in the fruity perfume of her Disney Princess shampoo mixed with the oddly synthetic odor of the yellow polyester jersey, which read David's Dental For Kids.

“How did you know I was here?” Eric stopped himself before he said
home.
He had no idea where his home was, now. For Sale. Sold. Gone.

“I heard you on the stairs. You have big feet.” Hannah wrapped her bare arms tight around his neck, clinging like a kitten. Her straight, chin-length light brown hair framed a face as round as a button, and she was skinny, with coltish knees. She had on matching jersey shorts and her feet were bare.

“I love you, honey.” Eric kissed her on the cheek.

“I love you, too.”

“How did Mrs. Williams like your diorama?” Eric set her down on the carpet. She looked so cute with her softball gear and pink plastic glasses. She was farsighted, so her prescription lenses magnified her sky-blue eyes, and there was something about a little girl in glasses that stole his heart.

“She loved it!” Hannah beamed, showing mostly even teeth, except for one missing on the upper left. “She said it was one of the best in the class.”

“That's great, I knew she would.”

“Three other kids made their diorama about
James and the Giant Peach,
but I was the only one that showed the magic crystals.”

“Way to go.” Eric knelt down and touched her jersey. “Hey, I like this cool uniform. I hear you're going to play softball tonight. That sounds like fun.”

Hannah fell suddenly silent, frowning, but Eric didn't want to project his feelings onto her, so he tried again.

“I hear you get to wear cleats, too. Cleats are very cool.”

“No, I hate them. They're weird. You can't walk in them unless you're on the grass. We went to the mall and got them.” Hannah wrinkled her upturned nose, a miniature version of Caitlin's. “Mommy used to wear them when she played feel hockey.”

Eric hid his smile. Caitlin had played varsity field hockey, but she wasn't as good at feel hockey.

“We got ice cream, and Mommy got me my own glove, too. You have to put it on your hand and it helps you catch the ball.” Hannah brushed her bangs from her forehead. “And we got Croakies for my glasses, to keep them on. In yellow, to match my uniform.”

“Wow, that sounds great.” Eric realized that Caitlin had staged a charm offensive, mall trips and ice cream. “Looks like you're ready for softball. That sounds like fun, doesn't it?”

“No.” Hannah looked up from under her bangs, pained. She reminded Eric so much of himself, not her looks, because her fair coloring and clear blue eyes resembled Caitlin more than him. But the way Hannah acted, her mannerisms, her
gestalt
—he couldn't help using the psychiatric term of art—it was all him.

“Why not? It sounds like fun to me.”

“I'm not good at it. It's so hard.”

“What's hard about it?” Eric kept his tone light, but his heart ached for her.

“It's just hard.” Hannah shrugged, averting her eyes.

“But, how?” Eric knew that helping her express herself was better than bottling it inside. He'd always used his expertise to benefit Hannah, like her resident Shrink Daddy.

“You only get three chances to hit the ball. If you don't get it in three times, you have to sit down.”

“Just have a good time, honey. It's only practice, to see if you like it. Give it a chance.”

“They'll get mad at me. They already don't like me, from school.” Hannah's eyes met his directly, her eyebrows sloping down unhappily. “I'm not good enough to be on the team. I never hit the ball, I don't know how to catch it. I only caught the ball one time in recess, but Sarah T. ran into me and I dropped it. What if I drop the ball and they laugh? What if they make fun of me?”

Eric heard her anxiety, the litany of what-ifs that ended in disaster. Hannah's signs of an anxiety disorder had been evident from toddlerhood, when she had been shy around the other kids in preschool and generally phobic: afraid of bees, flies, the dark, the windows at night, even butterflies. As she had gotten older, she had become only more cautious, careful, and worrisome, articulating fears that went beyond reasonable. Eric gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “The best thing is to try and have fun.”

“How?”

“Just say to yourself, it's fun to be outside in nature. Like James with Miss Spider and the caterpillar.”

Hannah blinked, dubious. “Mommy says I have to try it for the summer, then I can quit.”

“I see.” Eric kept his thoughts to himself. So much for Hannah's trying it only one night. “Your mom wants you to have fun outside, that's all.”

“What if I don't know the rules?”

“You'll learn them.”

“Ms. Pinto has to tell me in school.” Hannah began to finger her hair, taking a few strands between her thumb and index finger, a nervous habit. Eric prayed it wasn't a precursor of trichotillomania, in which kids pulled hair from their heads. It wasn't uncommon among his patients at the hospital; most recently, he'd treated a high-school girl who tore out her eyebrows and eyelashes.

“Hannah, listen to me. They'll help you understand the rules. It's not like they expect you to know them. That's what practice is for. To learn.”

“Everybody else knows them already.” Hannah twisted her hair. “I'm the only one who doesn't. Emily is the captain and she says I'm a loser.”