Family Interrupted (8 page)

“Buck up, Claire. No running. You’ve got people here, a party going on. And by the way, you’re normally a great mother.”

A kaleidoscope of scenes ran through my mind. Claire pushing a baby carriage, Claire playing catch with Ian and then with Kayla, Claire and the kids working in her studio—a fun project we worked on together. Claire loved being a mom.

And I thought I was a pretty good dad. Always imagined Ian and I had a special relationship, that he trusted me. Now I wasn’t sure. He had a home. No one was pushing him out the door.

“I want him to be happy,” Claire said. “I told him so. You know I told him.” She paced two steps back and forth, her hands fluttering. “But his bags are packed to the brim. He’s ready to head out, maybe even tonight.”

Too many memories accosted me, too many emotions. Ian was leaving us. He was really doing it. And my wife? I couldn’t understand her strange questions and thoughts. A heavy ache lay in my heart, almost as heavy and familiar as the one from last September. I was the one who wanted to be alone now. I popped an antacid instead, left Claire, and approached my son.

#

“Hey, champ,” I said, putting my arm around him but facing Maddy. “Can I steal him for a minute?”

She grinned and disappeared. But Ian’s brow lifted; suspicion darkened his chip-off-the-block blue eyes. He glanced at his doting grandparents, and instantly his natural smile and accompanying dimple were in place. “No more homework lectures, Dad. School is definitely over.”

Everyone chuckled, including me. Ian had never needed lectures about schoolwork. His report cards had reflected his fine abilities...at least until this year. Other than saying “do the best you can” a few months ago, I avoided berating him on his falling grades. However, I wouldn’t avoid another attempt to change his mind about leaving.

“Take a walk with me, Ian. Let’s have a man-to-man conversation.”

He paused then continued with me down the hall, away from the crowd. “I don’t want to talk, Dad. Please, just leave me alone. You and I? We’re good. But I’ve got to be on my own now. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“That’s what I don’t understand. We’re all sad, we’re all grieving. Each of us in our own way. There are no rules about it. You’re free to cry, yell, curse.” I took a breath. “Ian, Ian...don’t you think families should stick together in a crisis?”

He stared at me but remained silent. At least he was listening.

“Work with me at the company until you’re ready to go to school again. It’ll be like the last three summers, but better. Better pay for you,” I joked, “and more responsibility. The refinery can survive without you. Barnes Construction can’t—not in the long run. It’s your future too, a future I thought you wanted.”

Tears glistened in my son’s eyes. “I-I do. Someday. But not now. I-I need my own space. I’m sorry, Dad, but I have to work this out for myself.”

I pictured him driving away in the morning, and my gut twisted in the kind of pain an antacid couldn’t touch.

CLAIRE

I heard Ian stirring early Sunday morning, the day after his graduation party, anxious to be on his way. Anxious to be rid of us.

Sure enough, when I reached the kitchen, he was wheeling one of his bags through the door. I stepped outside and watched as he hoisted it into his new truck. New to him, that is. A six-year-old genuine beater with almost a hundred thousand miles and two previous owners. He hadn’t asked our advice; in fact, he drove it home after making the purchase. Jack immediately brought it to our mechanic for an in-depth engine check. Of course, it needed fixing with a new water pump, a new alternator, and God knows what else. And of course, it would have been smarter and less expensive to buy a better vehicle in the first place. Ian paid for the repairs, wouldn’t take a penny from us. I guessed he used up almost all his savings between the car and his new apartment. I let Jack handle the situation and kept mum.

My son was avoiding me, couldn’t even look at me. I’d apologized for lashing out at him, so now he was free to blame me for Kayla’s death. And he did. He never said the words, but I understood. Because of me, he had to live with the memory of watching his sister get mowed down by an SUV. He hated me. I hated me too.

None of it mattered now. Kayla was gone. Ian was leaving. He and Jack just hauled two more cartons to the truck and returned inside.

“Hey, Mom. I’m heading out. Thanks for the kitchen stuff. Oh, I also left something for Maddy in my room. Could you give it to her?”

“Sure.” Anything. I wasn’t even curious.

He leaned over, air-kissed my cheek, and I grabbed him.

Fear’s metallic flavor edged my tongue, slowly consuming me. My breaths became shallow. I squeezed Ian as tightly as I could, and he froze in place, his limbs and muscles quiet except for his heart, which pounded under my ear.
My son, my son!
Pain joined fear, stabbing and pulsing in my head to a salsa beat. I released Ian and pressed my temples, trying to stave it off.

“Don’t go, Ian. Don’t leave. You’re our child too. We love you.”

He turned toward his father. “I gotta get outta here.”

“Wait, wait,” I said, latching onto a different tack. “Did the landlord clean your place? Shampoo the carpets? Exterminate?” Jack had seen the apartment. He’d come home shaking his head. “It can’t be ready yet.”

“I’m doing most of the work myself and getting a month’s free rent.”

Jack said, “By the time he’s finished, the place will be in better shape than when it was new. He’s replacing windowsills.”

Which probably meant termite damage. Roaches. A wave of nausea had me running to the sink. “Please, Ian....”

“Sorry, Mom. Feel better. I have to go. Talk to you soon.”

The door closed behind him. Silence filled the kitchen, and my husband popped another antacid. I wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the covers, but Jack looked so sad, so lost, I needed to do something nice for him, something he’d appreciate. Inhaling deeply a few times, I got the nausea under control then said, “Come on. Let’s go to bed. A little hands-on therapy should help.”

But he didn’t answer. No laugh. No happy face.

“Jack, did you hear me?”

“I just lost my son!” he shouted, and I lost my breath. “I don’t care about bedroom antics right now!” His fists hit the table; his face took on a purple hue. “How the hell did this happen? How the hell did we go from a noisy, kid-filled house to a tomb? How did we go from two children to zero? I talked myself hoarse with Ian, don’t know what else I could have said or offered. What else could I have done?”

I stroked his shoulder. “You did everything right. His leaving home is not about you. It’s about me...and Kayla.”

“Oh, please. That’s such bull. You weren’t even home at the time.”

And that was the crux of the matter between us. My husband didn’t give credence to the horrible jokes life could play. It was Sarah Levine, not Claire Barnes, who drove the car that hit Kayla. End of story. He totally ignored my lateness getting home.

“Do you think Ian might be happier if we moved?” The words formed slowly as the idea came to me. “Maybe he relives the accident every time he turns down our street.”

Jack rolled back on his heels, his complexion returning to normal, his forehead creased in thought. “What has that got to do with him ‘having to earn his own way?’ But...do you think that’s a possibility?”

I shrugged. “You can ask him.” But dear God, what if it were true? Or even partly true? What if our home really did haunt Ian? My off-the-cuff distraction for Jack might boomerang on me. I didn’t want to uproot. I didn’t want to leave my memories of Kayla in this house, helping me in the kitchen, running through the halls, bent over her desk doing homework.

In her bedroom, I could still inhale her fragrance as I placed her stuffed teddy bear on the pillow. Grandma Pearl had crocheted the doll, and Kayla had cuddled with it every night even at the great age of twelve-and-a-half. In my mind’s eye, I could see her applying nail polish to her toes and fingers in the bathroom. Part jock with her soccer team, part woman-in-training. Discovering the differences between girls and boys. Trusting me! Trusting me to share the secrets, a woman’s secrets.

Jack stood close now, but his shoulders slumped, and his mouth was bracketed with familiar lines of pain. “I think we’re driving ourselves crazy with guessing games. We’ve got to stop it. We’ve got to put it behind us.”

Like forget we had a daughter?
I thought about my recent visits to the cemetery where I chatted with Kayla. Oh, no. I’d never forget. My head started its salsa dance again, and I rummaged for some aspirin as Jack continued to speak.

“Folks who know about these things say the first year is the toughest. I think they’re right.”

“Maybe.” But in my heart, I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine our lives any other way—first year, second year, third year. Would I love Kayla any less as time passed? God forbid. I could put up a good front with other people for awhile. I’d already done that a few times. Heck, I’d been doing it every day at work in between crying jags. But genuine laughter was for others. As for me, I wanted my daughter...I
yearned
for my daughter and always would. I felt tears form but managed to thwart them. I had to try—for Jack’s sake.

“Hmm... Are you finished lecturing and yelling?” Forcing a smile wasn’t easy, but he needed to see one.

“I guess...for now.” His brow rose and he grinned. “Scared ya, huh?”

“I’m shaking.” At that moment, our glances locked, and I started to laugh. Almost giggled. The sound shocked me.

Jack stared, eyes wide open. Seemed I’d shocked him too. “Wow! What was that strange music?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” I looked aside.

“Sure you do.” He caressed my cheek and added, “I’d call it the sound of...of hope.”

Naturally, he would, the optimist. His eagerness to believe in something good—to see the best—defined my husband. I couldn’t match his attitude, so responded in the only way I knew how.

“Come on.” I dragged him to the bedroom, and this time, he followed. I stripped him down to the skin. He took over from there, until I took the lead again. We were living in the moment, a timeframe I could manage.

In the end, we were a collapsed tangle of arms and legs as we gasped for breath. But for those few minutes, pain had given way to pleasure right down to my toes, as I knew it would. Lovemaking allowed me to escape reality, recharge, and face the next day.

There would always be a next day—lots and lots of them—for however long I lived. And somehow, I’d have to get through each one of them.

#

“I should have waited to clean his room,” I wailed, staring at Ian’s gift to Maddy.

Propped on his pillow stood a hand-drawn graphic he’d called Girl Power. I wasn’t ready for it. Wasn’t ready to see Kayla and Maddy in their fantastical uniforms—including capes— guarding Heaven and Earth. Bold red and yellow for Maddy, perfect with her dark hair; bright green and yellow for Kayla, enriching her auburn shade. The girls flew, fingers almost touching. And surrounding them, scattered everywhere, were stars, flowers, balloons, kites, and the faces of children.

“Wow!” Jack stared in disbelief. “I knew he could draw, but...but this is terrific.”

An understatement. But I, of course, couldn’t take my eyes from Kayla’s image. Swallowing hard, I brushed my fingers across her face. “Miss you, sweetheart, I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

Jack twirled toward me. “This isn’t about Kayla or you,” he said. “It’s about Maddy. Can’t you figure out what Ian’s done?”

“Maddy’ll take one look and start crying,” I replied.

“No, no. This is a happy picture. Ian’s giving her a message. Girl Power. Maddy has the power to do anything, including getting on with her own life. Naturally, her friendship with Kayla is part of her, but I think this picture will take the edge off her sadness. It’ll give her permission to be happy again.”

Peering at my husband, I said, “You have a habit of seeing only what you want to see. Only the bright side. I bet this picture can be interpreted a hundred different ways.”

He started to speak, but I patted his hand. “This time, Jack, I hope you’re right.”

Not only for Maddy’s sake but for mine. I couldn’t bear adding the death of a child’s spirit to my list of transgressions.

JACK

Sunday, one year after accident

September again
. A year could seem like forever, at least to me. Today the entire family was gathering at the cemetery for a memorial service and then lunching at our favorite Tex-Mex place. This commemoration was Claire’s idea, and I went along with it. So now, I was dressed up in a black suit and tie—also Claire’s idea—but the damn tie’s choking me. Why in hell did I need a tie? Kayla wouldn’t care. Before I could rip it off my neck, however, Claire was in front of me loosening it. One whiff of her familiar light fragrance and I pulled her close, realizing once again how waif-like she’d become.

“Look in the mirror, Claire. I’m glad we’re going to Casa Olé later. You need those calories!” She was beyond slender now, heading toward skinny. Her cheekbones—both sets!—were sharp. When she sat on my lap, her bottom dug into my thighs.

“Oh, don’t start that again. I eat all the time, just in little bits. Didn’t you like the shrimp and veggies I made yesterday?”

“Loved them. But I wish you’d eat more.”

“Trust me, Jack. I’m tasting while I cook. That’s how I know I’m good.”

She forced a smile, and I had to admit she was trying. Even at work, she and Barbara had become a team, and the design center was finally operating smoothly. She also went into her studio most evenings, leaving me in the house with the TV. I’d respect her choice more if she didn’t fall into bed exhausted, but I wouldn’t call her on it. Painting kept her busy, gave her less time to brood.

I kissed her and wanted to cry. Her blond hair was half gray again. She’d never gone back to her salon after the first visit. I’d see if Judy could book another appointment. Or I would. I’d insist. Claire was the artist. She knew the color wasn’t flattering, and neither was the way she’s pulled her hair into a rubber band.