“I’m sure you would,” said Ann, dabbing at her left eye with her napkin.
“Pass your plate down to me,” said Eileen, picking up the silver spatula. “Whole or half?”
“Whole,” said Mike at the same time Ann said, “Half.”
“We’re celebrating tonight,” said Eileen, picking up a whole piece and sliding it onto Mike’s plate. “He can start his diet tomorrow.”
“It’s awfully good lasagna, Lauren,” said Mike. “You’ll make someone a good wife someday.”
Lauren gave her father a weary look, but held her thoughts. When would he learn what she was interested in, what she might become? He scolded Nate every marking period, always asking the same question: How was he ever going to get into a decent college with a 2.95 GPA? With grades like that, Mike’s only choice would be to bring Nate into the company through the maintenance department. It didn’t seem to matter to her father that Lauren’s GPA was 3.67, which was more than adequate, even for a competitive town like the one they lived in. Of course, it was competitive everywhere, Mike often told his children, always making eye contact with Nate. More and more people were climbing the ladder of success, and every one of them would be happy to step on the fingers, shoulders, and heads of those less eager as they ascended. While Nate wasn’t compelled by such images, he did use his father’s “hopes and dreams” speeches as cafeteria lunch table entertainment.
After Eileen’s Black Forest cake dessert, also made by Lauren, Mike raised his wineglass. Lauren looked at Nate, smiling with her eyes. “Here’s to Eileen and Sam,” he began. “We’ve enjoyed having you here. From your mouths, we’ve heard wisdom. From your minds, we’ve gathered knowledge. And from your hearts, we’ve experienced kindness and love. May your journey be swift and easy and may your new home bring you happiness.”
Eileen raised her glass and said, “Hear, hear. Thank you, Mike.” She set her glass back down on the table, twirled its stem, and then took a deep breath. “I really don’t know where to begin,” she said. “Sam and I are so grateful for everything you’ve done. I know it’s not easy having near strangers come live with you. You’ve been so accommodating and so loving.” Eileen looked at Lauren and smiled. “I know Sam and I will be okay in our new home. I know it’s the right place for us. But I shall miss you all very much. You will be in my thoughts and prayers every day. I thank God for your kindness.”
While Eileen and Lauren struggled to remain composed, it was Ann who wept openly, then left the table. “Why is that woman crying?” asked Sam, who had been quiet until then.
“I’ll check in a minute, after she’s had a moment to herself,” said Mike. “In the meantime, Eileen, can I have another slice of that great cake?”
Ann was standing at her cappuccino machine in the kitchen, making herself a decaf, vanilla latte, when Mike walked in from the dining room. He stood behind her and encircled her upper body with his arms. “It’s going to be okay,” he said.
She turned and faced him, and then rested her head against his chest. “How do you know? Because it hasn’t been okay, not for some time. And the only people who seem to be able to make it okay are driving out of our lives forever tomorrow morning.”
“It is not forever, Ann,” said Mike. “We can visit them, more often than we have in the past. And you—and Lauren—can go anytime you’d like.”
“It won’t be the same.”
“That is not all bad,” Mike said. “We are a strong family. Your parents have helped us to see this. But now it’s our turn. We are out of practice, Ann, on how to be a family. We—all of us, but you and I in particular—are sluggish, rusty from sitting too long on the bench.”
“Is it too late?” asked Ann, tilting her head up to see as well as hear Mike’s answer.
“No,” said Mike, kissing her forehead. “But only if we are serious in our efforts.”
After dinner, Lauren lay on her bed and looked at the ceiling instead of her history notes, the test tomorrow occupying only the back of her mind. She sighed, rolled over, and lay on her stomach, which ached. She had eaten a lot for dinner, but was sure the pain wasn’t related to food. Tears again gathered in her eyes. She jumped when her cell phone vibrated her entire abdomen. Lazily, she sat up and pulled the phone out of her jeans pocket. It was Josh. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay,” Lauren lied.
“They leave tomorrow, right?”
“Yes,” said Lauren, sliding off her bed and sitting on the floor, “in the morning.”
“Can I drive you to school tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Josh. “I just thought you might need to talk.” Lauren smiled at the phone. Josh had always been nice to her, even and especially when Nate had not. He told Nate this was because he had three sisters; he understood females. And when his sisters were unhappy, they made him unhappy. Keeping them content was his way of secretly controlling them. Nate didn’t understand this strategy, but Lauren did. She loved his kindness almost as much as she loved his handsome face. Plus, her grandmother had been right: Judd Acker wasn’t ready for a relationship with anyone but Angel. Three weeks after the breakup, they had reunited. Most said it wouldn’t last, that the second time was never as good as the first, but Lauren didn’t care one way or the other. “That’s so nice of you,” she said. “What about Nate?”
Josh cleared his throat. “I’ve talked to him about you.”
“What did you say?” asked Lauren, sitting tall, her heart suddenly alive.
“I told him I liked you, and I wanted to take you out, and I hoped he didn’t have a problem with that.”
“Oh my gosh!” said Lauren. “What did
he
say?”
“He just kind of shrugged,” said Josh. “Then he said if I broke your heart, he’d kill me.”
“Really?” asked Lauren.
“I think he was kidding,” said Josh. “Sort of.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said, “for talking to him. That took a lot of courage.”
Josh hesitated for just a moment. “You’re worth it, Lauren.”
“So are you,” Lauren responded.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” said Josh. “Sleep well.”
“Good night,” said Lauren.
The next morning, Eileen, Sam, Lauren, and, remarkably, Nate, gathered in the driveway at first light. The car was packed, had been since the previous afternoon, and Lauren’s chocolate chip cookies sat in Eileen’s red tin on the front seat. Two travel mugs—another gift from Lauren—filled with steaming black coffee, stood tall in Eileen’s cup holders. It appeared everything was in place for the journey. Resolved not to cry, Lauren hugged and held on to her grandmother. “I’ll call you,” she said. “You can solve my social problems long distance.”
“Every fifteen-year-old girl would love to have your social problems,” said Eileen. Lauren laughed.
Nate extended his hand to his grandfather, who took it and pulled Nate in for a hug. “You are my best friend,” Sam whispered in Nate’s ear. “Good luck in the Air Force.”
“Thank you,” said Nate, choking up. Nate hugged Eileen and Lauren hugged Sam, and then Nate helped Sam into the car and buckled his seat belt. Eileen sat down behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition key.
“Call when you get there,” said Lauren.
“I will, my dear,” said Eileen. “I’ve got your number.” Eileen put the car in gear and slowly rolled forward. She put her hand out the window and waved. Nate and Lauren walked behind the car several paces as Eileen drove around the bend to the end of the driveway. She tooted the horn, then pulled the car out of sight. Lauren immediately began to cry. Before he had time to think, Nate took a step toward his sister and wrapped his arms around her.
C
HAPTER
22
A
nn took a towel from the stack next to the water fountain and wiped the moisture from her face as she walked through the Lifecycles to the treadmills. She checked her watch, by habit more than interest; she already knew she was right on schedule. She’d done thirty minutes on the Precor, twenty minutes of weight work, and would finish with a twenty-minute run at a nine-minute-mile pace on the treadmill. Even though the five treadmills were occupied, Ann walked directly to number four, the newest and most reliable of the bunch. She’d signed up for it and had no problem asking its occupant to get off. She bent down to retie her running shoes, then stood right next to the woman, who was apparently engrossed in a cooking show. Ann tapped her on the shoulder, and the woman turned her head, looking surprised. Ann raised her wrist and pointed at her watch. The woman looked at her own watch, smiled, and held up three fingers. “Please?” she said too loudly, overcompensating for her headphones. Ann looked at her watch again. She waited a moment, and then held up three fingers. “Thank you,” shouted the woman.
To pass the time, Ann went to the matted area next to the treadmills. She lay down and immediately began doing sit-ups. She counted out two hundred and then stood and returned to the treadmill. The woman, sweating heavily, was standing next to the machine spraying the handles and console with the disinfectant supplied by the center. The television had been turned off. “Thank you,” she said.
“No problem,” said Ann.
“I didn’t mean to go over.”
“It’s okay,” said Ann, sliding past her and stepping onto the wide belt. She entered her program while the woman stood, too closely, and wiped her wet brow. Ann settled on
The Today Show
and started walking. She inserted her earbuds, signaling the end of any social interaction, and the woman walked away. Thirty seconds later, she was into her running groove. Matt Lauer was interviewing the author of a book about child prodigies and Ann began to relax. She held on to the handrails and closed her eyes for two seconds. And that was all it took for an image of her parents, sitting in the living room of her guesthouse, to fill her mind. She opened her eyes and focused her attention on the television.
When Ann finished her workout, she showered and walked out of the center. She met Sally in the parking lot. “Hey,” she said, jogging toward Ann. “I called you this morning, but I can see you’re already here. Why so early?”
“I have a bunch of things to do today, Sally,” said Ann, lying.
“So do I,” Sally said. “But let’s make time for a bagel in about ninety minutes. My treat.”
“I’d love to another time,” said Ann. “I’ve got to run. I’ll call you.” And with that, Ann left her friend and walked briskly to her car. She knew Sally was probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her—that was the third invitation she’d turned down since her parents left the week before. Ann started her car and turned on her seat heater. She shivered as she put the car in gear and drove out of the lot. It was only nine-thirty in the morning and Ann had no idea what to do with herself, so she drove home.
In her kitchen, filled with sunlight, she found small comforts. The sink area was scrubbed clean, smelling like cleanser. And the floor, which Emma had washed just the day before, had not yet accumulated dirt and dust. The copper-bottom pots and pans all hung in their proper place above the center island. And the gleaming cappuccino machine stood ready on the counter. That, of course, was exactly what she needed. She retrieved the skim milk from the refrigerator and the espresso beans from the freezer. Ann found solace in the
shoosh
of the machine. She poured her drink into a large ceramic mug, indulgently sprinkled chocolate powder on top, and walked to the kitchen table, where she sat amid the pillows on the window seat and put her feet up. Taking a sip and closing her eyes, she, again, saw her parents. She opened her eyes and glanced over at her sanitized stove. Her mother, of course, was not bending over the oven. She turned her head and looked out the window at the guesthouse, which was dark. She had not been in it since her parents’ departure.
Coffee in hand, Ann rose from her seat and grabbed her coat from the peg and her keys from the basket. She walked down the salted path, unlocked the front door, and walked in, closing the door behind her. The cool emptiness and silence surrounded her immediately like morning fog, and for a moment, she was unable to breathe. Inhaling and exhaling slowly like her mother had taught her, Ann slowly moved the rest of the way down the front hallway and into the living room. The carpeting was freshly vacuumed. Ann spun around and entered the kitchen. The counters were bare, as were the cupboards she opened one at a time. A bowl of colorful wooden fruit sat in the middle of the kitchen table instead of the real fruit her mother had always kept handy. It was a good tip for mothers, Eileen had told Ann shortly after her arrival last fall. If the fruit is sitting there, in full view, a child will sometimes eat it. And even though Ann had laughed at the time, she had since noticed Lauren eating apples—something she had never done before Eileen’s arrival.
Ann walked through the living room and into the bedroom where her parents had slept for seventeen weeks. She sat down on her mother’s side of the bed, inhaling and exhaling, and ran her fingers over the dustless bedside table. She hesitated and then opened its single drawer. Sitting in the middle of the drawer was a three-by-five recipe card:
Mama’s Butternut Squash Soup
. Ann lifted it and found a note underneath.
My dear daughter,
I cannot thank you enough for the love and kindness you have shown your father and me over the past months. While we are ready for this next chapter in our lives, we will miss you, Mike, Nate, and Lauren so, so much. I finally feel like a grandmother!
I’m leaving you this recipe. Your soup on Thanksgiving was superb, better than I have ever managed to produce with the same ingredients. You are a good cook, Ann. And so is Lauren.
I’ll be in touch. But until we talk, know that I love you very much. Mother
Inhaling, she wiped away the tears on her cheeks. She was tired, so tired that all she could think about was rest. Ann put her feet on the carpet and stood, just long enough to peel back the quilt covering the bed. She sat back down, removed her Italian loafers, and then lay down, pulling the quilt over her shivering body. Emma had washed the sheets, but Ann smelled a faint vanilla scent on the pillow. She gently set the card and note down on the table, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.