“Nate, we have to go. I have to go. This isn’t working.” She talked into his shoulder to hide her tears.
“What? We just got here. Alecia, it’s a party. Let Gabe go upstairs for God’s sake. Let him play with other kids for once.”
Oh God, not here. Not this conversation, not like this, not now.
“Nate, he doesn’t play with other kids. Have you ever watched him? He’s never, not once, interacted with another kid. He just doesn’t.” Her voice pitched up to a wail; she could hear the high note, even as the crowd quieted around her.
“Alecia.” Nate’s voice was low, his teeth gritted. “People are starting to stare. We can talk about this at home. We just got here. Come stand here, next to me. Let Gabe play on the floor. Have a glass of wine. Here, have my whiskey.” His voice edged up, louder, and he gave a wide smile, to the nervous titter of the women—Alecia suddenly realized it was all women, so typical—around him.
Alecia’s eyes searched for Gabe, standing in the brightly lit, noisy living room and found him under the tree, his hands over his ears, rocking. Alecia watched him, a sense of dread creeping up her spine, her hand to her mouth.
Gabe began to scream.
?????
The car ride home was as quiet as the ride there, with Gabe humming loudly from the backseat. Nate tried to shush him but gave up, and twenty minutes later they parked in their driveway.
“I’ll get him to bed. It’s late anyway and you know how long it takes,” Alecia said, gathering up her purse, her coat. “Sorry about the night.”
“Alecia, it’s fine. It’s not your fault, I just wish . . .” Nate’s voice faded in the dark, his fingertips drumming on his knee. “I just wish he didn’t upset you so much. I think he feeds off of you, that’s all. I think he feels your stress.”
She was too tired for this. Maybe he was right, who knows? It was possible. But mostly, this conversation felt old and tired and she felt old and tired and she just wanted to sleep for days.
“I forgot my coat,” Nate said suddenly. “My sport coat. I need it for Monday, I’ve got that baseball luncheon.”
“Okay,” Alecia said.
“I’ll be right back. Just go in, I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
“Forty,” Alecia corrected, but shook her head and waved her hand.
“I’ll be right back, okay? I’m sorry.” He hopped over the console to the driver’s seat and Alecia hesitated with the keys for a second. How many whiskies had he had? It might not matter, Gabe’s meltdown sobered everyone up quick.
He backed out of the driveway as Alecia ushered a tired Gabe inside, his head drooping under her palm. She changed him into jammies and got him into bed, tonight without protest. His tantrums seemed to exhaust him lately, and for once, Alecia was thankful.
When Gabe was asleep, she flopped facedown on the bed, peeling off her pumps and replaying the night in her mind. The woman in the pencil skirt. Bea’s long blond hair and carefree smile. Jennifer Lawson’s calculating eyes, her private jokes with Nate. Finally, she thought of Gabe, screaming under the Christmas tree, his hands over his ears, his eyes shut. Her heart twisting for the discomfort of her child and yet, at the same time, hating that he couldn’t just be a normal kid for one night. They never seemed to be able to just go places, do things, like other families. It was all so hard, or maybe it just seemed that way and she wasn’t doing a very good job. That’s how Nate seemed to feel.
Alecia closed her eyes, so tired. She just wanted to sleep, to end the night, to have it be tomorrow; it was bound to be better. She drifted off almost immediately, so fast, so hard that she didn’t hear her phone buzz. She didn’t see the incoming text until the next morning.
1:42 a.m.: Took Jenny home. Burt left her at the party, they had a fight. Drama! Will explain tomorrow. On my way back now.
As she read the message, she looked over at her soundly sleeping husband, wondering what time, exactly, he had gotten home.
CHAPTER 19
Lucia, a year ago
Like everywhere else, there was a hierarchy to baseball games, where the crowd sat. Parents and teachers perched in the bleachers, backs pressed against cool metal, lined up, expectant along the bottom few rows. Coaches’ wives sat higher up, showing up all at once, coordinated through text messages. As if there was an unsaid requirement to attend a certain number of games to be supportive, and they’d fill it by God, but they’d do it together, and are those new shoes? Most of the kids sat along the fence: they wanted to yell, hoot, and catcall. Whistle and insult. Andrew’s crew sat up on the grass hill, behind the dugout, but high enough to watch him, face pinked and shining, his arm like a rocket.
Mt. Oanoke had baseball. The football team limped along in last place, fraught with ligament sprains and concussions, the consequence of too much weight, too little speed, and half-assed training. Basketball did okay, but they hadn’t made postseason in as long as Lucia could remember. Most of the kids felt like Taylor did about track: it was something to do.
No one felt passionate about anything. Except baseball.
Lucia watched Coach Winters, his face scrunched and red, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, watching Andrew. Pick his hat up, run his hand through his hair, put it down, resting back on the tuft of his blond-brown curls, the sweat down the back of his neck, and Lucia wanted to dip her finger in it.
She watched the boys in the dugout vie for him, just for a second to feel the heat of his eyes, so intense, cut you right to the center like you weren’t fooling anyone, to feel the thrill of being called out on your own bullshit.
Some days she’d trade anything for that, even in a class as boring as statistics. She’d started to hang around after, seeking it, that look in his face, the way he’d say Lucia! What sort of interesting discussion do you have on probability today? His eyes twinkling, like something out of the paperback romance novels she saw at the library, where every man’s eyes sparkled and twinkled like they were all made of glittery icing or pure goodness, and that’s what she started to think about Mr. Winters. That he was made of goodness.
Her eyes darted to Andrew, his arms and legs tangled up, so fast and long, that ball coming like buckshot across the dusty white plate. Batters up, then down. So fast you could hardly count them.
She sat behind them, Porter and Riana whispering. Taylor twining her gum around her finger, her phone in her hand, thumbs flying over the keys, glossy lips laughing. At what?
Lucia had no idea. Taylor had asked her in the hall, an offhand comment, you coming? So quiet she almost didn’t hear it. Andrew’s mouth had smirked at that, Porter elbowing him in the ribs. This is how she got invited to things now: last minute, a guilty sigh, a laugh she didn’t understand. Ever since last year.