“Yeah,” Cailey agreed. “I know she would if she could.” She glanced over at Zell. “She’s a good mom.”
“She sure is, honey.” Zell had noticed Cailey’s penchant for defending her mom even though no charges had been levied against her. The woman, Lisa, was clearly in over her head, cursed with more responsibility than she had resources to handle, exacerbated, Zell guessed from things that Cailey had said, by a tendency to pick cruel, freeloading men. Zell had seen it before. Her own sister, for example, was now living in Arkansas with husband number four. She wasn’t judging Cailey’s mom—at least she hoped it didn’t come across that she was. She was just trying to help. Somewhere deep inside her a warning bell went off, but she ignored it.
“Can I go see her?” Cailey asked, seeming to sense a weak moment, an opportune time to strike. Kids, Zell recalled, were exceedingly good at that. “I want to go see her and Cutter.”
Zell had spoken with Lisa just yesterday when she’d stopped by to see Cailey. Cutter was still touch and go. He was hanging in there, but not improving as they’d hoped. Lisa and Zell had agreed that it was best for Cailey not to see Cutter until he was awake. That was exactly how they’d put it, stringing the words until and awake together in an act of good faith—both of them wanting to believe that this kind of positive talk could make all the difference. Zell had said a little prayer for the boy after Lisa left, even though she wasn’t in a position to be asking for favors from the Almighty.
“Soon, honey,” Zell promised. “I’m waiting for your mother to let me know the doctors have cleared Cutter for visitors.” When all else fails, blame it on the doctors. This was also something she remembered from raising her own children. The doctor said you have to eat that. The doctor said you have to go to bed now. The doctor said you have to have sunscreen or you can’t go swimming. The doctor was always a good scapegoat. Zell held her breath and hoped her ploy would work on Cailey like it did with her own kids.
“I wish those doctors would hurry up,” Cailey grumbled, sinking down beside Zell on the lawn.
“What if . . .” Zell spoke aloud, her mouth uttering the words even before the idea had fully taken shape. Cailey looked up, her face expectant, eager. Like most children, she knew that questions that started off with “What if” were usually good questions. “What if,” Zell continued, “you and I turned my yard into a wildlife habitat? It could be our little project while you’re here.” She watched Cailey’s reaction, hoped this wasn’t a colossal mistake. Something inside her said, You never learn. But something else said, Maybe this time will be different.
Cailey hesitated for just a moment, as if she were having an internal dialogue of her own. But then the eager, expectant look returned, and a grin broke out across her little face. Cailey’s genuine smiles were rare, and Zell let herself take this one in, because this one was just for her. “Yes?” she prompted, wanting to hear the word on Cailey’s lips.
Cailey nodded vigorously and the grin widened. “Yes!” she said. She sprang up and started sprinting away, then turned back to beckon Zell to follow her. “I know the website we have to go to!” she hollered from across the yard. “Come on! I’ll show you!”
Zell smiled and started the slow process of getting herself up off the stool, her knee already protesting with even the slightest movement. In a flash, Cailey was back at her side. “Here,” she said, extending her small hand, “I’ll help you up.” Zell did the only thing there was to do: she took Cailey’s hand and allowed the child to help her stand.
BRYTE
She sank down onto the cold tile of the laundry-room floor and willed herself to get a grip. She’d found the business card in the pocket of her shorts, rescued seconds before being thrown into the washing machine and destroyed by the hot water she was about to send pouring into the tub. Her heart pounding, she remembered and pinched it out of its hiding place, nestled there between the layers of denim, put there as a protective weapon on a night she’d felt vulnerable. She thought not of Jencey’s face, but of Everett’s as he looked at Jencey. She worried that Jencey’s return had put everything she’d created for herself at risk.
As a child, she’d wanted exactly what she’d grown up with. She wanted to replicate the life she’d known. She was the only one of her friends who felt that way, her teen years spent listening to various accounts of how the future was going to be different for them. Jencey wanted a big house. Everett wanted Jencey. Other friends wanted more religion or less, more freedom or less, more money (but never less), different politics, different traditions, different lives from the ones they’d been brought up in. She would listen politely, nod when appropriate, and make encouraging comments. But inside she was thinking, Is it wrong to want more of the same?
She loved her parents, her home, her neighborhood, even her school. She loved swimming with the same kids each summer at the pool, the big Fourth of July celebration that lasted all day and into the night, the way the sun’s rays glinted off the lake and the breeze rippled the water. She loved church on Sundays and takeout pizza on Fridays, the Christmas-card photos of friends and family members affixed to the refrigerator door for months after the holidays were over, and afternoons reading in the backyard hammock. She loved belonging to this place and these people. She knew she was lucky—many kids didn’t have what she had. What more was there to want?
Crouched on her laundry-room floor, running her fingers across the raised black letters, she waffled between remembering and forgetting, between who she was, then and now. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted, but it had come at a price she’d never expected. She stood, feeling restless and anxious, her heart beating much too hard for a stay-at-home mom doing laundry on an ordinary summer Tuesday.
She palmed the card and walked it back to its original spot in the drawer. But before she could hide it away again, she paused, taking one last look. She took in the name, then the phone number, then the e-mail. Could it still be the same? Would it hurt to try?
She took a deep breath and reached for her cell phone, charging on the desk where she left it each night. She gave herself a pep talk as she entered the numbers on the card into her phone’s keypad. This was about a job, and that was all. She was doing her due diligence in the face of the repeated requests from her former employer; she was just being smart. Her heart hammered as the line rang and rang and rang. It went to voice mail, and the minute she heard his voice, she hit “End”—a reflex. This was wrong and dangerous and stupid. She stood there panting as if she’d run a marathon, her insides churning. She paced back and forth a few times in front of the desk, calming herself, still holding her phone.
This morning before he’d left for work, Everett had said he was going to make an appointment at the clinic, that they couldn’t keep putting it off. He’d brushed aside her objections, put his hands on her shoulders, and with a serious look told her that he’d be with her every step of the way. He’d never understand that this was the last thing she wanted. She would do anything to keep from hearing the same verdict, the same options she’d heard before. And going back to work could stop that from happening.