“It’s good that Katherine and Dad are becoming friends,” Mom said. “Much easier for me.”
“Will you talk to Dad about it?”
“About what, sweetheart?”
Harry cracked his knuckles, tried not to sound irritated. Irritated fell under the category of stressing out Mom. “The Northeast college tour.”
“I thought you wanted to stay in state.”
Harry paced the room. Would Dad accuse him of wearing out the carpet? “I don’t know what I want, Mom, that’s the whole point. But Dad won’t give me space. It’s like my future is something to check off his to-do list, like he has a gun to my temple and he’s saying ‘make a decision or we’re playing Russian roulette.’” He should slow down, but he needed to talk. Needed to get this stuff out. His mouth and his brain were a pair of runaway trains racing over a cliff. “There’s nothing for Dad but forward motion to Harvard, and that’s the one place I know I don’t want to go. Maybe you and I could do college visits in the summer when you’re feeling stronger. But I can’t do it now, not when I’m so worried about you. I’m scared enough about the future and leaving high school and Max and”—and Sammie—“and Dad’s making it a gazillion times worse. Why can’t he see that?”
“Wait a minute.” Mom held up a hand. “Slow everything down and separate it out, Harry. No more worrying about me. Yes, I’ve had a bit of an upset, but—”
“A bit of an upset, really? You want me to believe this is a bit of an upset?”
“I’m making progress. It’s just long, hard, and slow.” Mom stared down at her hands. She’d knotted them into a tight ball and buried them deep in her lap. “And there’s light ahead with the transplant.”
He might have believed her if she’d made eye contact. But Mom had retreated into a timid shadow. She just wanted to sit in that chair and stare into the forest, and when she did leave this end of the house, which she hadn’t done in five days, she panted like an old person hiking the Appalachian Trail.
“How can I not worry about you, Mom?”
“Have we switched roles?” Finally, she looked up. “Harry, sweetheart, I’m tough—you know that.”
He used to know that. But now? Hell, all bets were off.
Mom stretched awkwardly, not with her usual grace. “And as for leaving home, everyone’s terrified of going to college, but once you get there and find friends, it’s the experience of a lifetime.”
“Were you terrified?”
“Catatonic with fear. But that’s how I met Anson, and if I hadn’t met Anson, I wouldn’t have moved to London, wouldn’t have met your dad, and wouldn’t have this wonderful son called Harry. Once you make friends, everything settles. And you make friends quickly, Harry. You’ll be fine. But I don’t think you should wait till the summer. I think you and Dad need to move forward with your plans for spring break.”
But he and Dad didn’t have plans. All that existed was Dad’s college-tour manifesto.
“You need to see the campuses while schools are in session.”
Harry frowned. “That’s what Dad says.”
Mom turned to stare through the sliding glass doors. A pair of psycho squirrels was playing tag on the concrete; in Duke Forest, a hawk screeched. Her attention, everything that had anchored her to the conversation, floated away like ectoplasm. He kept waiting for Mom to come back, the old Mom. She was everywhere but nowhere. A bodiless voice repeating public service announcements: “There’s nothing to worry about. Regular programming will be resumed soon.”
“Dad’s under a lot of stress,” she said.
“We all are, Mom.”
She turned her head back toward him. “I know, baby. That’s why I think it would be good for you and Dad to get away. Do something normal, like a college tour, that has nothing to do with me being an invalid.”