“How much longer will you be in Oregon?”
“I don’t know. Nobody seems to want to live this far out, and we can’t leave the house empty.” She glanced down at her left hand, curled in her lap. The diamond ring was still there. Everything about it, her wearing of it, was both a lie and the deepest truth. Looking at it now, all she saw was the lie.
“So, how’re classes going?” she said to change the subject.
It worked. Stephanie told several funny “Jamie stories” about how her sister had gotten into and out of trouble. “As usual,” Steph said, “Jamie caused the social equivalent of a ten-car pileup and didn’t even notice. Tim says she needs a rearview mirror to see her own life.”
Elizabeth laughed. “She gets that from my dad. He never once looked before he leaped. He said it ruined the surprise.” Her voice snagged on the thought: He’s gone.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“I miss him.”
“I know. Jamie’s having a hard time with it. She and Grandad were so close. I think it’s affecting her swimming. And she’s not sleeping well.”
Elizabeth sighed. Her poor little girl. Jamie might be all hard shell on the outside, but inside, she had a soft candy center. “Keep your eye on her for me. I’ll call her tomorrow after her physical anthro class.”
“I tried getting her to see a counselor on campus, but you know Jamie. She told me to butt out.”
“You’re a good girl, Steph,” Elizabeth said. “Do I tell you that often enough?”
“Yes, Mom.”
Elizabeth chose her next words carefully. “Just don’t forget how to put Stephanie first. Sometimes, you have to be selfish or life can slip through your fingers.”
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“Sure. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”
Stephanie was quiet for a moment. In the background, a television was playing. There was a swell of applause. “Is there something you wish you’d done, you know, like besides having kids and getting married?”
It was the kind of question a woman usually came to too late in life, after she’d chosen one road and realized it was a dead end. “What makes you ask that?”
“I’m watching this program about a woman who killed her kids. It seems she always wanted to be a policewoman. Like that would have been a good choice. Anyway, the shrink is blabbing about how women sublimate their own needs. He compares it to loading a weapon. Someday: bang.”
Bang, indeed.
It would have been easy to deflect, but she didn’t want to take the easy way. There were things she should have told her daughters, advice she should have given them. Unfortunately, some truths she’d learned too late. “Not instead of; then I wouldn’t have had you and Jamie. But in addition to, maybe. I used to love painting. It got lost somewhere along the way.”
“I didn’t know that.”
That was, perhaps, the worst of all her failings. She’d been so afraid of her own lost dream that she’d pretended it had never existed. How could a woman who’d clipped her own wings teach her babies to fly? “I don’t know why I didn’t talk about it. I used to be something special, though.”
“You still are, Mom.”
“I’m thinking of taking a painting class at the local college.” There, she’d said it. Molded a dream into words and given it the strength of voice.
“That’d be awesome. I’m sure you’ll blow the shit out of the curve.”
Elizabeth laughed at that. She hadn’t even thought about grades. “You just remember, Stephie, these are your glory years. No husband, no babies, no one to tell you what you can’t do. This is your time to dream big and soar.” Elizabeth heard the fierce edge of regret in her voice. It was so easy to see the world in retrospect. She started to say something else, then heard a sound that brought her up short. “Baby? Are you crying?”
“You’re not that inspirational, Mom. I just feel lousy. Now I’m getting a headache. I think I’m gonna crash. I’ll have Jamie call when she gets back from swim practice.”
“Okay, honey. Drink lots of fluids. And tell Tim hi for me. For us,” she amended. How quickly she’d begun to think in the singular.
“Tell Dad I love him.”
“I will.”
“And tell him to call me tonight. I want to hear how his big interview with Jay went.”
(Jay who?)
“Okay,” she said. “I love you.”
“Love you guys, too. Bye.”
For the last few days, Jack’s life had been a full-speed running game. Drew Grayland’s arraignment had been broadcast on Court TV. The young man had admitted nothing and pled not guilty, but that didn’t matter. The whole sordid, sorry story had come front and center. All across America, students and parents were protesting the lack of athlete accountability. Female students from dozens of universities had filed rape charges against football and basketball players.