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Chapter Fifty-one
I don’t know how my mother said it, if the truth gushed or seeped from her lips. Neither Jase nor I could hear above the clatter of the kitchen, only see their silhouettes in the deepening darkness when we had a moment to steal a look as we cleaned up pizza boxes, shooed the kids into bath or bed or toward the hypnotic mumble of the television. What I know is that after about twenty minutes, Mrs. Garrett opened the screen door of the kitchen, her face giving nothing away. She told Alice and Joel she was headed to the hospital and needed them to come with her, then turned to Jase. “You’ll come too?” When they’ve gone, and Andy, obviously still suffering from the aftereffects of her Jake Gyllenhaal marathon, falls asleep on the couch, I hear a voice call from the back porch.
“Kid?”
I peer out the screen at the ember glow from Tim’s cigarette.
“Come on out. I don’t want to smoke indoors in case George wakes up, but I’m chaining, I can’t stop.” I step out, surprised by how fresh the air smells, the leaves of the trees shifting against the darkened sky. I feel as though I’ve been locked in stale rooms, unable to breathe, for hours, days, eons. Even at McGuire Park, I couldn’t take a deep breath, not with knowing what I had to say to Jase.
“Want one?” Tim asks. “You look like you’re go
I have to laugh. “I definitely would if I did. Too late for you to corrupt me, Tim.”
“Corrupt” comes back to slap me—the Garretts know now. Have they called the police? The press?
Where’s Mom?
“So.” Tim flicks the lighter open, crushing the previous butt under his flip-flops. “The truth is out there, huh?”
“I thought you’d gone home.”
“I booked it outside when you and Grace left. Thought Jase was going to spill it all, and it was a family time and all that shit.”
Yes, a nice little family gathering.
“But I didn’t want to go home in case, you know, somebody needed me for something. A ride, a punching bag, sexual favors.” I must make a face, because he bursts out laughing. “Alice, not you.
Babysitting, whatever. Any of my many talents.”
I’m touched. No Nan, but here is Tim. And after so much time away.
He seems to interpret my feelings, because he rushes to continue. “The sexual favor part is purely self-interest. Also, I fucking hate going to my house, so there’s that…Where’s Gracie?” Being read her rights?
My eyes fill. I hate this.
“Hell. Not this again. Stop it.” Tim waves his hand at my face frantically, as if he can shoo the emotions away like flies. “Did she go to the hospital to ’fess up?” I explain about the ICU. He whistles. “I forgot about that. Well, is she home?” When I tell him I have no idea, he drops the cigarette to the ground, mashes it, sets his hands on my shoulders, and turns me toward my own yard. “Go find out. I’ll man the fort here.” I walk down the Garretts’ driveway. Mom isn’t answering her cell. Maybe it’s been confiscated by the police who have already patted her down and fingerprinted her. It’s ten o’clock. The Garretts left here over an hour ago.
There are no lights on at our house. No sign of Mom’s car, but that could be in the garage. I climb the porch steps, pla
She’s sitting on the wrought iron bench by the front door, the one she bought to reinforce the fact that we should sit there and take our shoes or boots off outdoors. She’s wrapped her arms around her bent knees.
“Hi,” she says, in a quiet, listless voice. Reaching beside herself, she picks something up.
A glass of white wine.
Looking at it, I feel sick again. She’s sitting on the steps with chardo
When I ask, she shrugs. “Oh, I imagine he’s halfway back to his summer house by now.” I remember her saying that if I told, she’d lose him too. Clay plays for the wi
“So…did you guys…break up?”
She sighs. “Not in so many words.”
“What does that even mean?”
“He’s not very happy with me. Though he’s probably coming up with a good ‘resignation from the race’ speech. Clay does thrive on a challenge.”
“So…you kicked him out? Or he left? Or what?” I want to pull the glass out of her hand and toss it off the porch.
“I told him the Garretts deserved the truth. He said truth was a flexible thing. We had words. I said I was going over to talk to you. And the Garretts. He gave me an ultimatum. I left anyway. When I came back, he was gone. He did text me, though.” She reaches into the pocket of her dress, pulling out her phone as if it’s proof.
I can’t read the screen, but Mom continues anyway.
“Said he was still friends with all his old girlfriends.” She makes a face. “I think he meant ‘previous’
girlfriends, since I was probably the oldest. Said he didn’t believe in burning bridges. But it might be good if we ‘took a little time to reassess our position.’” Damn Clay. “So he’s not going to work with you anymore?”
“He has a friend on the Christopher campaign—Marcie—who says they could use his skills.” I bet. “But…but Ben Christopher’s a Democrat!”
“Well, yes,” Mom says. “I mentioned the same thing in my little text back. Clay just said, ‘It’s politics, sugar. It’s not personal.’” Her tone’s resigned.
“What changed?” I point at the bay windows of her office, curving gracefully out to the side of our house. “In there…you and Clay were on the same page.”
Mom licks her lips. “I don’t know, Samantha. I kept thinking of his speech about how I’d done it for you. To protect you and that Garrett boy.” She reaches out, sliding her palms down either side of my face, looking me in the eye, finally. “The thing is…you were the very last thing on my mind. When I thought of you…” She rubs the bridge of her nose. “All I thought was that if you hadn’t been there, no one would know.” Before I can respond or even let that sink in, she holds up a hand. “I know. You don’t have to say anything. What kind of mother thinks that? I’m not a good mother. That’s what I realized. Or a strong woman.”
My stomach hurts. Though I’ve thought this myself, though I’ve just recently said it aloud to Jase, I feel sad and guilty. “You told now, Mom. That’s strong. That’s good.” She shrugs, brushing off the sympathy. “When I first met Clay this spring, I stalled on mentioning I had teenagers. The truth was just…inconvenient. That I was in my forties with nearly grown daughters.” She gives a little rueful laugh. “That seemed like a big issue then.”
“Does Tracy know?”
“She’ll be home tomorrow morning. I called her after I got home.” I try to picture Tracy’s reaction. My sister, the future lawyer. Horrified at Mom? Devastated at having her summer interrupted? Or something else entirely. Something I can’t even picture? Oh Trace. I’ve missed her so much.
“What did Mrs. Garrett say? What happens now?”
She takes another big sip of wine. Not reassuring.
“I don’t want to think about that,” she says. “We’ll know soon enough.” She straightens her legs, stands up. “It’s late. You should be in bed.”
Her motherly, admonishing tone. After all this, it seems ridiculous. But when I see the slump of her shoulders as she reaches for the doorknob, I can only tell her another truth, however inconvenient.
“I love you, Mom.”
She inclines her head, acknowledging, then ushers me into the chill of the central air. Turning to lock the door firmly behind her, she sighs, “I just knew it.”
“Knew what?” I ask, turning.
“Knew no good would come of getting to know those people next door.” Chapter Fifty-two
Contrary to Clay’s predictions, the Garretts don’t call a press conference the next day. Or go directly to the police. They do, after all, bring out the talking stick. There’s a family conference at the hospital, with all the children down to Duff. Alice and Joel want to report Mom immediately. Andy and Jase argue against it. Ultimately, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett decide to keep the matter private. Mom had offered to cover all the medical bills and the additional expenses of hiring someone to work at the store, Jase tells me, and his parents struggle with that. Mr. Garrett doesn’t want charity—or hush money.