Effortless With You (21 page)

How have I missed so much?

Eric finally settles himself next to me. His small legs touch mine. He looks up at me with the goofiest grin. “Hey, buddy,” I say as I give him a side hug. His mouth opens up into an even larger smile. My heart tweaks in pain—obviously I have neglected him too.

Eric starts swinging his legs. I copy him. It seems like the only appropriate thing to do.

“Lucy.” He grabs my face between his hands, pulling my head toward his seriously.

I laugh. “Yes?”

He pauses a moment, as if searching for the right words. “What did you do at work today, Lucy?” Perfect sentence. He looks back toward Mom and smiles. Clearly, they have worked on this today.

“Well, Eric, I painted.”

“And?” He grabs my hand, studying the bandages.

I sigh; he is never satisfied with one answer. “I got to stand on a big front patio.” I pretend it is much more exciting than it was. His eyes widen like I have discovered a dinosaur or something. My heart melts for him. I want to give him more. “And, Eric. Guess what else I did today?”

“What?” he whispers in amazement. He puts his pudgy hands back on my face in anticipation.

 I can’t turn back now.

I exhale, looking down into his eyes and say, “I played basketball.”

Crack
. A plate hits the floor. I don’t need to look to know who’d dropped it. Eric’s body startles, though he doesn’t seem to be aware of it. He doesn’t miss a beat.

“Did you make a basket? Did you win?”

I nod in the exaggerated way you say “yes” to a five-year-old. He squeals with delight. He loves watching me play basketball, cheering from the sidelines louder than anyone I know. He went to every game he could. Until I quit.

He misses it.

I hate myself for taking that away from him. I rub my eyes. I am a crappy sister.

Before Eric can ask more questions, Dad puts the food out onto the table and Mom slides into her chair next to me. Eric spreads both his hands wide, waiting for us to grasp them so we can say grace. I grab his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell Mom is about to crumble. I’m sure she is overwhelmed. I can’t blame her. I was talking about playing basketball, I’m eating dinner with the family, and I’m not being overly sensitive.

Even I’m shocked.

I contemplate Mom’s hand. This would be the perfect opportunity to blow her off again, refusing to take it. But I can’t do it. Not this time. How can I drive in the knife when I know I am in control? She’s too broken to deal with it.

I extend my hand, laying my palm open on the table. She grabs it quickly as if she is worried I will change my mind. Her quickness startles me. She chokes back a sound. I study the birds etched on the white plate.

“Mom, why are you crying?” The ever-observant five-year-old. Mom’s attempt to stifle the noise in her throat is fading.

Dad intervenes. “Lord, thank you for this opportunity to dine as a family. Please bless this food to our bodies and bless our conversation. Amen.”

“Amen,” Eric chimes in loudly.

I look up at Dad, thanking him with a soft smile for his quick prayer. He nods back ever so slightly then he claps his hands together and begins telling us all about his day. He over-describes every detail to safely monopolize the conversation. I concentrate on eating. The food is delicious. I’d eaten too many processed meals from under my bed. When the meal ends, I sit awkwardly not knowing if I should ask to be excused. Suddenly, Mom’s hand rests on my arm.

Dad stands up and takes Eric to help him fix the lawn mower’s engine. Before Eric leaves he asks me if I would play basketball with him sometime soon. I say yes. When the squeak of the kitchen door stops after their exit, I turn back toward Mom. I tense as I wait for her to begin.

“So, you played basketball today?”

“Yup.” I poke at the extra chicken fat I’ve chosen not to eat.

“I’m glad.” She opens her mouth, as if to say more about the subject but doesn’t. “Have you made friends at your new job?”

I pause, wondering this myself. “Sort of,” is the most honest answer I can give.

“Well, that’s good.”

I nod some more. I’ve become really good at nodding.

“Lucy, I just want you to know,” I clutch the side of the table, bracing myself. She notices and stops speaking.

We sit in silence for a bit more, trying to cope with everything unsaid between us. I focus on the second hand of the clock, thinking of
Pride and Prejudice
. “Well, I have some homework to do.”

Mom nods, not remembering it’s summer and homework shouldn’t be on my radar. I get up from the table, crossing the room to leave. As I reach out my hand to push the swinging door open, Mom says, “Lucy. Please remember what you just promised.”

I swing around. I can taste that this is going to sting. “What are you talking about?” I can’t believe she is going to force a fight now. It’s like she wants us to be miserable.

“You promised Eric you would play basketball with him.”

I nod, and my eyes widen. This is no news to me.

Mom stands up and walks toward me. Her face is serious. “Lucy. I intend on you keeping this promise. I do not want to have to explain to him all over again why you won’t play with him anymore. Not to mention teaching him what promises mean despite your example.”

There it is.

I glare back at Mom with the deadliest look I can muster. I lock my target and go in for the kill. “Thanks Mom,” I begin sarcastically. “I was totally excited to play with Eric until now. Way to turn it into an order.”

“If you make a commitment, you do it, Lucy!”

My blood pressure doubles while she continues to speak, her voice becoming more shrill.

“You can’t treat Eric like you do school, basketball, or me. When you don’t follow through, I’m the one explaining why he can’t follow your examples.”

My examples? I feel like she has punched me in the face. Spiteful energy surges through my system.

“Fine. I’ll save you the trouble.” I walk toward the garage door, pulling it open and shouting out, “Sorry Eric. I was lying. I will NEVER play basketball with you because I’m a witch.” Dad looks back, stunned. Eric’s lower lip quivers before he starts to wail.

My heart breaks into a million pieces.

“There, Mom. Now you won’t have to.”

I swing open the kitchen door and storm out. Eric continues to wail in the garage while Mom follows me with heavy footsteps. I grab my purse, slam the front door in Mom’s face, and climb into Dad’s car in the driveway. I am surprised the front door didn’t fly open and Mom didn't run out and throw herself on the car. I can’t believe her. I actually was myself and she ruined it, forcing me to become a horrible person. Of course I wanted to play with Eric. I remembered how happy it made him. I wanted to make him happy again.

I turn the dial of the radio, fumbling in my purse for my keys. I can’t get out of there quick enough. I throw the car into reverse, ready to peal out of the driveway. But Eric’s intense sobs pouring from behind the garage door stop me. Did I really just hurt my five-year-old brother in a backwards attempt to hurt Mom? I stare at the garage; he sobs so uncontrollably he starts choking.

I bite my tongue. Who have I become?

I have a choice. I can get out of the car and do the hard thing, go back inside and apologize to Eric or I can drive away and leave a huge knife in Mom’s back and give Eric reason to hate me forever. I take deep breaths, trying to force myself to reason. Mom was trying to protect Eric. I’d have done the same thing had Eric needed protecting from me. My heart sinks. Wait, he did need protection from me.

I turn off the ignition and, before I can change my mind, I click the garage door opener. I step out of the car as it retracts up. My parents glare back at me, daggers of disappointment thrown my way. Eric stops crying, turning toward the noise of the garage door. He takes a moment to look at me before reburying his head in Mom’s lap with further sobs.

They hate me and I can’t blame them.

I take a step toward them. “Can I speak with Eric?” Eric, ever trusting, turns around. He nods.

Mom stands up, red-faced. “No. Absolutely not. You’re done.”

Dad cuts her off. He puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes. “Sarah, let me have a word with her and then she can speak with Eric.” He looks in my direction, his eyes piercing mine, “And then Lucy will speak with us.”

Mom relents, taking Eric by the hand into the house. Dad motions for me to join him next to the lawn mower. He busily bends over it, moving parts and playing with wires. I stand next to him watching and waiting. He usually plays mediator not direct discipliner. I wonder how many weeks of grounding this conversation will send my way.

“Lucy.” Dad continues to tinker with the motor as he talks. “Do you have any idea how cruel your choices and words are to this family?” His bluntness feels like ice cold water.

I can’t answer. Of course I knew how cruel I’d been. That’s why I came back. Apparently, I’d become an expert in cruelty. I hated it. I hated myself for it. Tears well in my eyes. I wipe them away—I don’t deserve to cry. Thankfully, Dad keeps on tinkering with the motor, not noticing.

“You’ve come to a point in your life where you’re old enough to make choices that define yourself and your future. If you continue down this path, do you think you will have a relationship with your brother when you are away at college? Or how about a mother to call and talk to when your heart breaks? Or even farther than that, dear—what about your children? Do you want them to be able to have a relationship with their grandparents? A relationship with you?” He pauses, looking up from the mower.

I stand there, finally allowing my tears to spill down my cheeks. Of course I want all of that.

No. I need it.

Have I already jeopardized this? How did I get this way? How could I intentionally hurt Mom, over and over, when I know how fragile she really is? Why am I so evil?

I swallow.

That is the truth.

I am evil.

My chest is hit with a sudden pressure, like I’m roped to cement blocks.

My throat thickens. It's hard to breathe. The usual tense air that hangs between my parents and me has solidified. Too thick to inhale. What I can get in, exits in quick sobs.

My hands shake and my heart races out of control. What is happening? The room spins. I watch Dad stand up from the motor, extending a hand which I grab. He lowers me to the ground.

I hug my knees, sobbing, trying to take in a deep breath. I rock back and forth. My ears are ringing.

I am evil.

It is the saddest thing I’ve ever known.

“Sarah, come quick.” Dad’s voice echoes behind the loud ringing.

My crying turns into a wail. I rock back and forth.

I am evil.

About to break Mom for the second time.

Evil.

The room spins.

No wonder Mom was depressed after I was born.

Somehow, she had always known I was evil.

I feel a hand on my shoulder.

A warm body sitting behind me, arms wrapped around me.

Rocking with me.

Was I seriously born to be so cruel?

The body rocks me back and forth, changing my rhythm.

I take deeper breaths. The ringing stops.

My sobs turns into normal breaths and tears.

I rock.

We rock.

Back and forth, in the corner on the sweaty, concrete floor of the garage.

Rocking.

I don’t know how long we rock. I feel her arms around me.

Mom.

When I turn around to look at her, her face is red, tears running down them.

I take a deep breath, “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

I start sobbing again, falling into her arms. She holds me. She sobs too.

We rock and sob.

“I love you,” she whispers in my ear.

I try to say “I love you” back but it’s incoherent.

I don’t deserve her love when I am so evil.

But she really does love me and that just makes me sob more.

She holds me tighter, rocking me back and forth and whispering her love for me.

It hurts to be loved so much. 

Finally, my sobs get under control. Mom holds out her hand, helping me up to my feet. She keeps her hand on my back as she leads me into the house. We pass through the kitchen, where Dad sits, waiting. Mom whispers, “It’s okay, Dan.” When I see Dad’s pale, concerned face, I start sobbing again. Mom leads me to my room. I crawl in bed. She sits next to me. We never speak, the tears falling from my eyes and an occasional sob escaping my chest seems to be enough.

I am pure evil.

I don’t remember falling asleep. I do remember her stroking my hair.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I wake up to the early morning light, when the air is fresh and slightly tinged blue. Five thirty-five a.m. It feels like I have been sleeping forever but I have a horrible headache behind my eyes. Why?

Crying. Last night’s events resurface. I freeze, holding my breath. Did that all really happen? And to think Mom looked like she was about to crumble. Ironic. Apparently I'm the person one crack away from shattering.