“Don’t encourage her, Dad,” Zach said, tossing his keys on the table by the door. “She’s already looking at cage fighting as her only career option.” He hung up his backpack, pausing for a second at the green sweater still hanging on the hall tree. His long fingers brushed the fabric. They all did that, touched the sweater like a talisman every time they came into the house. Then he turned away and headed toward the great room.
Jude was so removed from her own life that she saw her son from a distance even when he was right in front of her. His blond hair had grown out again; it was too long, messy and unkempt. His jawline was stubbly—his beard grew in some places and not others because of the burn; his shirt was on inside out, and probably had been all day; and when he took off his sneakers, his socks didn’t match. Worse than all of that was the exhaustion in his eyes. No doubt he’d spent last night studying and still gotten up bright and early to make Grace breakfast. One day he was just going to drop where he stood.
“You want a beer?” Miles said to his son as he kissed Grace’s pink cheek.
“I’m not allowed to drink beer,” she said brightly.
“Very funny, young lady. I was asking your daddy.”
“Sure,” Zach said.
Jude grabbed two beers from the fridge and poured herself a white wine; then she followed her men out to the patio.
She sat down in the lounge chair by the barbeque. Miles was to her left, and Zach sat at the outdoor table, slumped in an armchair, with his stockinged feet planted up on the table. Grace walked past them and sat alone at the edge of the grass, where she started to talk to her own wrist.
“She’s still got her invisible friend, I see,” Miles said.
“Ordinary kids have invisible friends,” Zach said. “Grace has an invisible alien friend who is a princess trapped in a jar on her planet. And that’s the least of our problems.” He took a sip of beer and set the bottle aside. “Her teacher says she has trouble making friends. She lies about everything, and she’s … started asking about her mother. She wants to know why she doesn’t live with us and where she is.”
Jude straightened in her chair.
“She needs us more,” Miles said.
“Maybe I should quit med school for a while,” Zach said, and it was obvious from his voice and his body language that he’d been considering this for some time. “Third year is supposed to be wicked hard, and, honestly, I’m jammed as it is. Every second of my life I’m either studying or rushing to be with Grace. When I’m with her, I’m so tired I’m useless. You know what she said to me last night? ‘Daddy, I can take care of myself if you’re too tired to make dinner.’” He ran a hand through his hair. “She’s five years old, for God’s sake. And she’s worried about me.”
“And you’re twenty-four,” Miles said. “You’re doing a hell of a job, Zach. We’re proud of you, aren’t we, Jude? You can’t quit med school now. You’re almost there.”
“Tomorrow I have study group at night. If I don’t go, I’ll blow the final. I know it.”
“I’ll pick her up and feed her dinner,” Jude said. It was expected of her; she knew it. “You study as long as you need to.”
Zach glanced over at her.
He didn’t trust her with Grace; of course he didn’t. He still remembered the early days when Jude had tried to be a grandparent and failed. Her grief had been knife sharp then: it stabbed at the strangest times and left her for dead. Because of it, she used to oversleep and forget to pick Grace up. Once—the worst of times—Miles had come home at night to find Grace lying forgotten in Mia’s bedroom, in a dirty diaper, while Jude lay curled in the fetal position on her own bed, sobbing, holding Mia’s photo.