Untethered (5 page)

“We had some very good times on those trips,” Char said.

“Yeah,” Allie said. “We did.” She turned a few more pages and studied them before lifting her face to Char. “I know I was a holy terror for a while there. But for some reason, I never let that bleed over into camping trips.”

“That's probably why they're some of my favorite memories,” Char said, winking.

Allie closed the book. “You know, CC, I'm not sure I've ever really apologized to you for that year—”

Char raised a finger to her lips and turned away to inspect the remaining stacks of papers on Bradley's desk. She was having a hard enough time holding herself together after what had happened in the past six days. She couldn't possibly find the capacity to relive hurts that had occurred years ago. And this was hardly the time for Allie to have to add guilt to all of the other emotions she was feeling.

“No better time than now to let all of that water rush under the bridge, wouldn't you say?”

W
ill insisted on getting a cab to the airport. “Allie can't come with us,” he told Char, when she offered to drive him. “She has to wait for Lindy. And if the woman doesn't show, and you arrive back home to find she's been sitting here, alone—”

“Enough said.” Char kissed his cheek.

He said good-bye to Allie in her room, and Char walked him out. “You're the world's best brother,” she told him as the cab pulled up.

She held the front door open for him, and he pushed through, pulling his bag with one hand and balancing the two file boxes for Bradley's office on the other arm. Will nodded to the cabbie and handed him his bag and the boxes to put into the trunk, then hugged Char tightly.

“Call me anytime,” he said. “And remember, open invitation next month, when the kid goes to California for spring break. There's a lumpy pullout in Clemson, South Carolina, with your name on it.”

“As inviting as that sounds,” Char said, “I think I'm going to
spend the week playing an old role of mine. It's one you might not remember: your sister as an independent woman. I'm going to start fishing for some new projects, see if I can make myself as busy as I used to be. I'm hoping to spend Allie's break with a tall pile of manuscripts and a pot of tea—my two old best friends.”

“Sounds good,” he said, kissing her cheek and lowering himself into the car. “And you never stopped being independent. You just became a different kind of independent. A scaled-down version. You'll be fine. You just need to, you know, find your . . . um . . . scales.”

“Was that your version of a pep talk? Because if it was, I'm reconsidering the ‘world's best brother' comment.”

Will laughed. “This is one of the many times when being your
only
brother is my saving grace.”

•   •   •

C
har hadn't even taken her boots off when the doorbell rang. It was Colleen and her daughter, Sydney, Allie's best friend. The girls weren't the only reason Colleen and Char had become close. There were many other mothers on the field hockey and soccer sidelines whom Char hadn't bonded with. There was something special about Colleen, though. She had moved away for college, stayed away for a job, and returned to Mount Pleasant only after she was married.

It had become clear to Char that people who moved back to town despite having many good options elsewhere seemed to have a different worldview than those for whom, for whatever reason, staying put was the only choice. Char had met some “townies” who openly seethed about Lindy's so-called escape, as though her
rejection of her husband and her hometown censured them, too. It put Char in the position of having to defend Lindy, which she didn't always feel like doing.

Colleen wasn't personally offended by Lindy in the least. She sometimes made one comment too many about her, but mostly, she found the whole thing amusing—even Lindy's habit of introducing herself to Colleen each time she came back to town, as though the two women hadn't grown up two blocks apart and attended school together for fifteen years.

“Hi, sweetie,” Colleen said. She kissed Char on the cheek and bent to pick up three sympathy cards from the front-hall floor. “Charlotte,” she said, straightening and turning the cards over. None had been opened. “Seriously?”

Char hadn't been able to face the cards that had been dropping through the mail slot for the past few days. At first, she had let them lie there, but Colleen, who had been checking in every day, had clucked and shaken her head and piled them into neat stacks on the foyer table with strict orders that Char needed to stop stepping over them and start picking them up from the floor and reading them.

“Will must have knocked those off when he went past,” Char said.

“Uh-huh.”

Allie appeared then, jumping down to the front hall from the top of the three-step stairway that led to the living room at the front of the house. “Sydney!”

Sydney squeezed past the adults and ran to Allie, and Char pretended to listen to Colleen chastising her about the mail as she kept an ear tuned to the girls. Eavesdropping had always been a bad habit of hers. It was like reading the kid's diary, Bradley said once.

“Not even close,” she told him. “There's no reasonable expectation of privacy when you're having a discussion in the same room as someone else.”

He chortled. “What are you, a lawyer? It's a bad habit. It's not respectful. And it's going to get you in trouble one day.”

“I'll quit, I'll quit,” she promised. But she didn't really mean it, and from the way he sighed, she knew he knew that. It wasn't like he didn't have his own bad habits, she had reasoned at the time, some of which had driven her crazy. Although, standing in the front hall now, she couldn't remember a single one.

“Hey, Allie,” Sydney said. “You okay?”

Char strained to hear Allie's answer, but couldn't.

“So, what've you been doing?” Sydney asked. Char could hear the sound of Sydney pulling off her boots and unzipping her coat.

“Not much. We had brunch.”

“Oh, right, the brunch thing. Did your mom actually eat anything?”

“She didn't come,” Allie said.

“What? Why not?” Char heard Allie whisper something and Sydney sighed and said, “Whatever. Sorry. But maybe it's for the best. You hate eating in the morning anyway, and the combination of food and your mom—”

“Not the entire morning,” Allie said, “just the first part, when I get up. Breakfast: big no. Brunch: definite yes.”

Char smiled. Every morning, Bradley had sat alone at the kitchen table, eating oatmeal or cold cereal or toast before work, while Char and Allie, nauseated at the thought of food so early, stayed as far away as they could. He once called out a lament that they were missing out on a key opportunity for family bonding, and Allie texted him from the living room:
If I come anywhere near your
stinky breakfast I'll
barf all over the table and ruin your Norman Rockwell
moment. You really want that?

After that, it became a running joke. Every morning, he would ask if anyone would care to join him for a pleasant talk about world news over the most important meal of the day, and every morning, they would respond, “No thanks, Mr. Rockwell.”

“Right,” Sydney said. “You're so weird.” She laughed. “Anyway, look what Kate told me about Justin.”

Char adjusted her head a fraction of an inch and saw Allie peering at her friend's phone. “Oh, yeah, I heard about that,” Allie said.

“From Kate?”

“From Justin.”

“He's still texting you?”

Allie shrugged and looked over to see if the adults were listening. Char rolled her head dramatically, pretending she hadn't been watching—just stretching. She put a hand on the back of her neck and swiveled her head the other way. “I must've slept funny,” she said to Colleen. She missed Colleen's answer, though, because she was still listening to the girls.

“Did you text him back?” Sydney asked.

“Get real. Fake IDs, sneaking into the casino, partying at CMU? Not really my thing.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“Shut up,” Allie said, and the girls, laughing, ran up the stairs.

L
indy arrived an hour later. Allie bounded down the stairs to answer the door, and Char, standing in the kitchen with Colleen, saw the girl glance at her watch and frown as she rounded the corner into the living room.

“It's only four thirty,” Char called after her. “That's late afternoon, which is what she said.”

“Why are you constantly making excuses for that woman?” Colleen whispered. “It's four thirty, she's been in town all day, and she's just making her way over now?”

“It's not constant,” Char whispered back. “And it's not for the woman's sake. It's for the kid's.” From the foyer, Char heard Lindy's and Allie's voices, and the stomping of boots.

“Anyway,” Char whispered to Colleen, “it worked out better this way. Brunch with just the three of us, and the time in Bradley's office, was all really nice. Will's so great with her. Comforting, reassuring, willing to completely focus on what she's saying, how she's feeling. Lindy . . . isn't. I'm not sure more time with her is better, no matter what Allie thinks she needs.”

Char had learned from Bradley that when it came to Lindy, it was better to accept her limitations than to hold out hope she would ever overcome them. The trick was in getting Allie to see things that way. How do you guide a child into trading expectations for reality when it came to her own parent?

“Whatever,” Colleen said.

Char laughed. “You spend too much time with teenage girls.”

“We both do.” Colleen jiggled her wineglass, now empty.

Char reached for the bottle and slid it over, along with her own glass.

“A little liquid courage to face Ms. Hollywood?” Colleen asked, giving them each a generous pour.

“I admit nothing.” Char reached into the cabinet for another glass as Lindy appeared, wearing gray wool leggings and a tunic in her signature pink. Char greeted her and pointed to the bottle. “Wine? There's this merlot, or I have a Chardonnay in the fridge.”

“Merlot would be lovely,” Lindy said. While she waited for Char to pour it, she reached a hand across the bar to Colleen. “Lindy Waters. You must be a friend of Charlotte's.”

Colleen took Lindy's hand and showed all her teeth as she smiled. “The name's Portia. I just moved into town.”

Char moved her foot to the right and stepped on her friend's.

Colleen laughed. “Joking. Colleen. And yes, I'm a friend of Char's, for a few years now. And of Bradley's, for . . . oh . . . four decades or so. Since
I grew up here . . .”
She dropped her chin and widened her eyes, waiting for Lindy to admit to the memory.

Char stepped harder on Colleen's foot.

Lindy played with the chunky glass necklace around her neck and looked from Colleen to Char expectantly, as though waiting for the punch line. “Well, it's nice to meet you,” she finally said.

Colleen sighed and took a long sip of wine.

“So, where's Allie?” Char asked. The girl hadn't returned from the foyer.

“Oh, she's greeting the other guests,” Lindy said. “That family who was at the church yesterday—”

“What family?” Char asked, as Morgan Crew's gravelly voice called out, “Catch me!” Seconds later, the ten-year-old bounded up the stairs, squealing.

“Slow down, Morgan!” Allie called from somewhere behind the younger girl.

She had barely gotten the last word out when Morgan slammed into Lindy, who shrieked and let go of her wineglass. It landed first on Morgan's head, splashing its red contents over her hair, then fell to the counter where it shattered. Glass shards flew in all directions and dark liquid splattered on the kitchen tile, the light gray family room carpet, and the counter that separated the two.

“Sorry!” Morgan cried, her hands at her mouth. “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” She looked frantically at the spreading red stain at her feet as Lindy and Allie bent to pick up the bits of glass from the carpet. Colleen did the same in the kitchen. Char bent to the cupboard under the sink to find carpet cleaner and a sponge.

“I'm so stupid!” Morgan said, tears running down her cheeks. “I'm such an idiot! I'm so clumsy! I ruin everything!”

“Oh, it's not such a big thing,” Lindy said, patting Morgan's shoulder. “A little red wine never caused a house to collapse.”

Char and Colleen murmured similar assurances while Allie ran a hand over one of Morgan's cheeks, wiping the tears. “It's fine, Morgan. It's only a spill. Don't move, though. I don't want you to step on a piece of glass.” She put a hand on Morgan's leg.

“Oh, Morgan, goodness, what have you done?” It was Sarah
Crew, struggling to carry three large casserole dishes, her purse dangling from one elbow. At the sight of the mess her daughter had created, she seemed to lose her strength, and the stack of casseroles tilted in her arms. Colleen reached out quickly to retrieve them, and Sarah smiled gratefully before turning back to her daughter and sighing.

Char greeted Sarah. “I'm sorry you had to let yourself in. I was about to come to the door when Lindy said you were here, but . . .” She raised the container of cleaner and the sponge in explanation and made her way to the carpet. Gesturing to the casseroles now sitting on the kitchen counter, she asked, “What have you brought us?”

“Besides a terrible carpet stain and a broken wineglass?” Sarah asked. It was then that she finally looked at her daughter. Morgan was frozen in place, her body rigid, shoulders lifted practically to her ears. The only movement was the tremor in her lips. Char watched as the annoyed, straight line of Sarah's mouth fell open.

“But,” Sarah sang, “it looks like you're getting it all cleaned up! See, Morgan? Mrs. Hawthorn has all kinds of cleaners, and Allie and her mother are finding all the glass. Everything will be fixed up, just like that”—she snapped her fingers—“and it'll all be fine. Okay?”

Morgan didn't respond.

“Morgan,” Sarah said, “look at me.” Morgan did, and Sarah held her hand out, lowering it slowly in a “Calm down” gesture. “It was an accident. Could've happened to anyone. It's no big deal. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. It's all going to be fine. Okay?”

Morgan nodded, and Sarah turned to walk into the kitchen. “We thought it might be helpful if we brought you some meals,” she
called to Char as she walked, her voice unnaturally loud and bright. “Actually, it was Morgan's idea. She did all the work, while I just stood by to give tips. It took her all day, from the time we got home from church until just a few minutes ago. Didn't it, Morgan? She wanted to make three different kinds of casseroles, but I convinced her to make three lasagnas, to keep it a little simpler.”

Sarah took three squares of paper and a pen out of her purse. “I'll just write out the heating instructions and tape them on the top of each before I set them in the freezer,” she said, to no one in particular. “And then, I need to run and get Stevie. His Sunday School class was having a party, so I left him there.”

“Wow, Morgan,” Allie said. “You're awesome!” She reached a hand up for a high five. Morgan didn't move.

Bending, Char kissed the little girl's hair, tasting merlot. “You're like a wineglass with freckles!” she said, laughing, but Morgan didn't join in. Char patted the girl's shoulder. “Messes, I don't care about,” she said. “Thoughtfulness, I do. How nice of you to make those lasagnas for us. Thank you.”

The child still didn't respond, and Char caught the worry lines around Sarah's eyes and mouth as she watched her daughter. Char hadn't seen Morgan overreact this way before, but her mother clearly had, and it didn't appear to be a minor thing.

“Colleen!” Char called to her friend, who had retreated with Lindy to the family room to get out of the way. “Did I tell you that Morgan does sweet things like this for us all the time?”

Colleen and Lindy returned to the group and gave Char a questioning look. She angled her eyes down and sideways, to the potbellied girl standing like a statue, her cheeks mottled red now, and wet with tears. Lindy and Colleen jolted into action, practically
racing to look over Sarah's shoulder at the lasagnas as they marveled, at too-high decibels, over Morgan's handiwork, her thoughtfulness, her devotion to Char and Allie. They reminded Char of two hens as they dipped their heads and craned their necks to get a better view, all the while clucking away at what the little girl had created.

“She's made us, what, half a dozen batches of cookies, Morgan?” Char went on. “Probably more. And so many drawings and paintings. Look!”

She pointed to the fridge, where Morgan's latest creation was fastened with magnets—a painting of Morgan and Allie standing arm in arm, each holding a giant ice cream cone. The two hens made their way to the fridge, where they bobbed and fussed some more before finally turning to Morgan.

“Such talent!” Lindy said.

“And creativity,” Colleen added.

“I cut heart shapes into the lasagna noodles,” Morgan said quietly.

“What a lovely idea,” Lindy said, and Colleen agreed.

“And you can imagine how long that took!” Sarah called, still working on her instructions. “But she insisted!”

“If I didn't like lasagna so much,” Char said, “I might not want to eat one with hearts cut into it. It would be too special.” She reached a hand out to touch the child's damp cheek.

“Speaking of lasagna,” Allie said from her knees on the floor, where she was still searching for stray glass fragments. She looked up at Morgan. “I once spilled some onto this same carpet. As in, an
entire pan
of it. Not just one plate. You should've seen the mess! It was way worse than this, believe me.”

Morgan's quivering lips rose briefly at the ends before drooping again.

Sarah closed the freezer door and turned to face the others. She smoothed her sweater, which had been creased slightly by the weight of the casseroles, and then her pants, which had not been.

“All done!” she sang to Char. “Morgan's lovely lasagnas are stacked in the freezer, instructions attached, ready for you to gobble up! And it looks like the carpet stain is about gone, and the glass is almost all picked up!”

She looked at her watch and grimaced. “I hate to drag you away before you've had a chance to visit, Morgan, but I'm afraid . . .” She looked from Morgan to Char. “Actually, would it be okay if I left her while I go get him? I won't be longer than about thirty minutes. That way—”

“Of course!” Char said.

Sarah, relieved, bent to kiss her daughter on the cheek as she walked past. “I almost stuck to you!” she said. “Maybe Allie can give you a damp washcloth and you can run it over your face and neck.” Morgan nodded, and Sarah called her good-byes and left.

Allie stood and carried a handful of glass to the garbage under the kitchen sink. “Crisis averted. Come on, Morgan. Let's go get you a washcloth, and then find something to do upstairs.” She extended a hand for Morgan to take.

But Morgan remained frozen in place. “My hair's all sticky,” she said. “And my clothes are ruined.”

“No problem,” Char said. “You can rinse off in Allie's bathroom. She can lend you something to wear home. We'll put your clothes in a plastic bag, and your mom can wash them later. Wine stains will come right out. You'll see.”

“Yeah,” Allie said, pointing to the staircase, on whose bottom step Sydney now sat. “You know where my room is, right? And my bathroom? You go clean up, and Sydney and I will look in the basement for some old clothes of mine. I'll bring you a plastic bag, too.”

When they were gone, Char took the cleaning supplies into the kitchen, washed her hands, and stood for a moment gazing at the space where Morgan had stood. She reached into the cupboard for a new wineglass, filled it, and handed it to Lindy. She found her own glass, still sitting on the counter, and Colleen's, which she slid to her friend.

“I'll hang on to this one more tightly,” Lindy said.

Colleen, pointing to the almost-empty bottle, said, “I hope you've got more, for when Sarah comes back. If ever a person needed a drink, it's that woman. That was a lot of mood managing. I'm exhausted from the effort, and she's not my daughter.”

Char walked into the family room with her wineglass and a new bottle of merlot, and motioned for the others to follow. “I have a feeling the Crews don't drink.”

“She deserves to make an exception for today,” Colleen said, sitting heavily. “I forgot how much work young kids are. And they have that younger one, too.”

“Stevie,” Char said, sitting beside Colleen on the couch to leave one armchair for Lindy, the other for Sarah. “Very sweet boy,” she said, and here she lowered her voice, leaning forward so they could both hear. “He's got some pretty significant speech and motor issues. They just found out in the fall, and it's been a real strain. They've been told that with intensive work, he might be able to catch up by kindergarten.