Ellen Hartman - Calling the Shots

Clare’s face felt hot and there were tears in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to talk to Lindsey about Tim’s attitude.

“How about instead you tell me what to do next?” She pushed her glasses up on her forehead to rub her eyes. “He’s really mad at me about moving him again. I understand what he’s saying, that we don’t live the same way as other people. But that’s always been okay with him. We get to see all these new places and meet people and we’re not tied down. Do you think he actually wants to settle down or could this be a phase or…I don’t know…him pushing back against me and my values?” She was talking too fast.

“Your values?” Lindsey asked. “You move all the time because of your values?”

Clare was confused by Lindsey’s surprise. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing. I guess I never realized. I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. “What I mean is I assumed you were eventually going to land somewhere, once you got to the point where you could…” Lindsey shrugged on the computer screen.

“Could what?” Clare asked.

“Relax?” Lindsey suggested.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, for a while there, your life was a minefield. In the space of four years Gretchen died, you had Tim, you graduated from college and then your mom died. I didn’t blame you for wanting to get far away from Seattle. It made sense that you weren’t ready to really connect with anyone or build new relationships.”

“Freelancing meant I had more time for Tim,” Clare said.

“It’s been good for you.” Lindsey put one finger on the screen. “Listen, I’m not trying to fight. It’s just, I guess because you never sold the house here that I always thought you’d be back.”

“I can’t sell it, Lindsey, but I can’t come back.”

Clare’s mom had died in a car accident while driving home alone at night from a bereavement support group. Her father moved into an apartment a few years later and gave Clare the house. Tim had been about two at the time and she had briefly considered settling in Seattle, close to Lindsey and her father, but she hadn’t been able to face living in the house. Frankly, she thought her dad gave it to her because he couldn’t stand to live there or to sell it, either. Her dad was more and more withdrawn, even from Tim, so she could only guess at his feelings. She tried not to think about the place beyond making sure the taxes were paid and that when she signed with new renters they had decent references.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Lindsey said. “You have so much to offer if you ever decide to put down roots somewhere. Maybe Seattle isn’t that place, but maybe there is a place that could be home for you.” She paused. “If you’re ready for a home. Which you might not be.”

“Maybe for me, home isn’t one place, it’s a feeling. How I feel about Tim and you. Can’t that be true?”

Lindsey shrugged. “It can be. But is it? For Tim, too?”

Clare looked out the window into the dark backyard. A spotlight mounted on the house lit the snow-covered bushes. “If my son was going to lobby for a permanent address, I don’t know why he picked this one. It’s freezing cold and all anyone wants to talk about is hockey. I mean, we lived in Monterey, we were in Baltimore, we had that place with the river in the backyard in Indiana…and he’s digging his heels in over Twin Falls, New York?”

“It might not be where so much as when. He’s thirteen. I bet being the new kid is harder in middle school.”

“That’s what he said.”

“I’m not colluding with him, I swear, but I remember how tough middle school was, and it got worse every year straight through high school. Maybe he’s nervous about fitting in.”

“He doesn’t seem nervous. He seems mad.” Clare sighed. “What’s with all the maybes, anyway? You’re supposed to be telling me what to do.”

Lindsey frowned. “I should probably skip the advice and just come throw eggs. I bet I’m better at revenge than I am at sympathy.”

“If I decide vandalism is the appropriate response, you’re my first choice for second-in-command.”

“Throwing eggs is hardly ever appropriate, Clare,” Lindsey said in a prim tone. “I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘emotionally satisfying.’”

“Thanks, Lindsey. I’m pleased I picked an appropriately bloodthirsty godmother for Tim.”

“I got your back, my friend. Fists or eggs, whatever you need.”

LATER, AS SHE LAY ON her side, holding the extra pillow close to her chest, listening to another snowstorm tapping on her window, the fight played over and over in her mind. With everything she did to keep him safe, that mess had happened right under her nose. She heard the crack of Tim’s head on the ground, the shattering of the window, him saying, “I’m handling it.”

Tim didn’t understand yet that so much about life couldn’t be handled. You could go along the way her parents had with your two daughters and your ordinary life on a friendly street in a good neighborhood and life could still run so far off the rails you’d never find your way back.

No one could expect to handle life. Loving anyone sometimes seemed like the biggest, stupidest mistake you could make. She couldn’t un-love Lindsey or her dad, and Tim was a part of her own soul, but she could try her best to keep him safe.

That must be what all parents wanted, right?

She remembered the confusion and determination in Bryan James’s voice when he’d told her that Allie was a good kid. She wondered what he’d said to Allie once he caught up with her. Did he have the right answers? Or was his house full of the kind of empty upset that hers was?

BRYAN TRIED TO TALK to Allie over breakfast but she studied her bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats cereal with complete concentration and refused to answer his questions. He followed her down the hall when she went to the shower but stopped when she closed the bathroom door in his face. He knocked.

“I’m getting ready for school, Dad.”

Not that long ago, “getting ready for school” meant scrambling into her boots and snowpants before she ran to the bus. Now it meant an hour in the bathroom doing God knew what. Actually, Erin would have known what she was doing. Would have been able to help her with it. He hated feeling so useless.

“I can’t pretend nothing happened, Allie.”

She turned the shower on.

He spun around, but there wasn’t anything handy for him to kick. She was so good at avoiding him, but that was how they’d gotten into this mess. He didn’t know what was going on with her and based on what Clare had said, he’d already missed a lot. The trouble was, she wasn’t going to talk to him about it. Not voluntarily, anyway.

She stayed in the bathroom until about forty-five seconds before the bus pulled up out front. He’d retreated to the kitchen, leaving the hallway empty, letting her think she had a clear shot at escape. When she got to the entryway, he waylaid her, positioning himself between her and the door as she stepped into her sneakers, shrugged on her backpack and flipped her braid over her shoulder. Even though he was squarely blocking the door, she did an excellent job of pretending she was alone, not even glancing at him when she accidentally stepped on his foot.

“You’re grounded,” he said abruptly. “Come home straight after school.”

Finally she looked up, her mouth open. “Grounded until when?”

“Until you sit down and tell me what’s going on.”

She closed her mouth. He prayed he wouldn’t cave. The bus beeped. He willed her out the door. She didn’t move. The bus door groaned as it closed and she flicked a glance over his shoulder to the road.