Hannah Gersen - Home Field

“Why do you keep going?”

“I don’t know, we just do. Dad doesn’t go. He stays home.”

Listening to him, Stephanie got a glimpse of her own childhood, the way things just happened to her and she just accepted them because what choice did she have? Maybe going on walkabouts was Robbie’s way of getting some freedom.

“Hey, Steffy, a voice said I have to put in more quarters but I don’t have any. So good-bye!”

“Wait, Robbie! Go back to school, okay? Robbie? I love you!”

The line was dead. Stephanie wondered how much he’d heard. A sense of his vulnerability overwhelmed her. Where would he go next? To Willow Park? The cemetery? Back to Asaro’s, where their mother used to take them? She had an urge to tell someone his whereabouts and wondered if she should try to call her father at school. But at the same time she took a kind of angry satisfaction in knowing something he didn’t.

LAURA’S SMALL, WINDOWLESS office was barely unpacked, the decor echoing her apartment, with stacks of books and files piled on the floor, waiting to be shelved. “I keep meaning to come in some weekend and straighten things up,” she said airily as she let Dean in. Dean understood her small-talk excuses were a show put on for her receptionist, a woman who also worked for the principal and vice principal. Their offices were nearby, but more prominently located, with interior windows overlooking the main corridor.

He began to kiss her as soon as she shut the door, feeling protected by the painted cinder-block walls.

“Dean!” Laura pushed him gently away. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” He stroked her arm, bare below a silk shell. A blazer was draped over a chair nearby. He liked how formally she dressed for work.

“Because we have to talk about Robbie.”

“Oh, right,” he said, uncertainly, stepping back. He had thought that Robbie was just an excuse to meet midday on a Friday — a meeting they needed because they probably wouldn’t get to see each other over the weekend.

“I thought I had made it clear. .” Laura trailed off. “On the phone?”

“Yeah, you did,” Dean said, recalling a certain sternness when she had called the day before to schedule their meeting. But sometimes she was stern as a way of being flirtatious.

Laura sat down at her desk, pausing to put on her blazer. She gestured for Dean to take a seat in one of the two vinyl chairs across from her. He felt ridiculous in his gym teacher clothes, his shorts and warm-up jacket. He should have changed into khakis, at least.

“I know this isn’t ideal, me talking to you about this stuff, but it’s what we’re dealing with, so I’m just going to tell you and I want you to respond to me as a parent, if you can. What I mean is, don’t worry about hurting my feelings or anything like that. We’re talking about Robbie now.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “Did he get into trouble?”

“No, not really,” Laura said. “But he did leave school yesterday — again.”

“What? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Because he wasn’t caught. He told me yesterday afternoon, which is when we usually meet—”

“Where did he go? What did he do?”

“He walked around town. Then he came back at the end of his lunch period. No one was the wiser. I think on some level he wanted to get caught, though. He was eager to tell me, and he wanted to know if he would be in trouble.”

“He should be. He has to stop doing this.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not sure it’s the best idea to report him. I think the punishment would be too harsh. At the very least, he would be put in long-term detention, which would keep him from doing the play. And he probably wouldn’t be allowed to go on field trips, not to mention his Outdoor School stay, which is coming up soon.”

“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting about that.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, too. Robbie told me that he brought home a list of things he needs for the trip and he’s worried that you aren’t going to get those items for him.”

“Of course I’m going to get them,” Dean said. “It’s basic camping stuff, a lot of it we already have. He doesn’t even go until the end of the month.”

“I think Robbie just wants a little more fanfare around it. You know, he wants the two of you to spend an afternoon getting these things together from around the house or going to the camping store or whatever you need to do. He wants attention.”

“He wants attention? That’s your great psychological advice?” Dean was trying to be lightly sarcastic, the way Laura sometimes was, but the words landed too hard.

“I know it sounds trite. But I also know the lines of communication are, you know, not what they were, now that Stephanie is away at school. I’m sure she used to fill you in on stuff like this. And obviously with your wife. .” She looked up from her notes. “Is any of this making any sense?”

“Not really.” It bothered Dean that she hadn’t finished her sentence about Nicole. Wasn’t it her job, as a counselor, to state plainly what others shied away from? But what really bothered him was that she was evaluating him as a father, and this evaluation had not been shared with him; it was a secret sketch drawn with knowledge gleaned from his son and who knew what psychological theories.

“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “I shouldn’t presume any of this stuff.”

“I know I should talk with him more. It’s just a lot, Laura. I have a long day at work and then I get home and there’s the boys and I have to get them fed and into bed. And there’s errands and things to do around the house. I don’t even want to get into it because it’s not worth complaining about. It’s my life and I accept it. The point is I’m not their mother, and I’m not going to turn Outdoor School shopping into a big production.”

“You sound angry,” Laura said.

“You sound like a therapist.”

She raised her eyebrows without saying anything, and he knew he’d proved her point, whatever it was.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m just tired of being told that I’m angry.”

“Who else tells you that?”

“Who do you think? Stephanie, Joelle, Nicole—” It was an odd slip, one he wouldn’t have made in front of anyone else. “In my mind, Nicole,” he corrected.

“And why is she angry with you?”

“I don’t know, because I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not saying our marriage was perfect, but it wasn’t something to kill yourself over.”

Genuine alarm flashed in Laura’s eyes, her youth betraying her. “We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.” It was such a charade, her talking to him like she knew nothing of his life. He tried to think of what she might know, what insights she might have uncovered from their cafeteria conversations, way back when. Had he complained about Nicole to her? He didn’t think he had; that was what a good husband he had been — he hadn’t even allowed himself that small betrayal. He should have made a move on Laura when he had the chance. She wasn’t above sleeping with a married man.

“I know this is difficult,” Laura said. He could see she was right on the edge of tears, as if she could read his thoughts.

“Just admit to me that you’re not objective. That you can’t be.”

“I never said I was.”

Dean stood up. “If you’re going to be Robbie’s counselor, we obviously can’t be doing what we’re doing.”

“I know, I know.” Laura wiped away tears. “I’m sorry I’m crying. This is ridiculous, this is not supposed to go this way, we’re supposed to talk about Robbie.”

Her naïveté shocked Dean even as he knew it was the very thing that had drawn him to her in the first place.