The Second Half (13 page)

“Yes. Someone in our church has bequeathed this to the community. They were a highly thought-of couple in business and have laid out specific guidelines regarding budgets for setting this up and then maintaining it. Hopefully our school will be paying its own way before two years are out.”

“All businesses hope for that. When would you like to meet?”

“Would next week be all right?”

“Let me explain the ways I work the fee situation. On a project like this, I need to be on retainer with the first month paid in advance and will require hourly payment due on the first of the month for any hours billed beyond the monthly retainer.” Since she'd never anticipated a project like this, she was basically flying blind, but some business advice she'd read had talked about retainers. “Our first meeting will be gratis. What would you like me to bring?”

“Possible suggestions for a campaign and then can we brainstorm? I will e-mail you all the info we have so far.”

“Good. Once I am on retainer, I will gladly meet with your planning committee and go to work. We have basically seven months to make this happen.” She could feel a bubble of excitement starting in her middle.

“I know, but this whole enterprise is a surprise for all of us. Their stipulation was that it happen ASAP. I think that is what we are all committed to. How about we meet at Dorothea's? Are you available for lunch on Thursday?”

Mona checked her calendar. “That will work. Can you please give me your contact information?” She typed it in as Carole with an
e
answered her questions. “Okay, I will meet with you on Thursday, May twenty-eighth, at noon at Dorothea's.”

“I'll make reservations. Feel free to call me if you come up with more questions.”

After they hung up, Mona sat staring at her computer screen. A great project that would make a difference. Only two questions: Was she capable of handling a project this size?…And the next question left her feeling just a wee bit sucker punched. What about the grands?

T
ime for bed, you two.” Mona tried to sound like they'd been doing this for years.

Jake looked up from his Legos. “I want Daddy to put me to bed.” He returned to what he was doing.

Mona and Ken shared a sad glance. If only they were waiting for Steig to return tonight. “Okay, guys, see the clock on the mantel above the fireplace?”

They looked where she pointed and nodded.

“You have ten minutes, big hand from the two to the four. Then I will start the bath running while you pick up your Legos, Jakey, and Mellie, you put your book back on the shelf with a bookmark in it. They are in the drawer here.” She removed one and laid it out for her. “Got it?”

Jake kept on with his Legos. Mellie nodded.

Mona wished she had asked Steig about bedtime procedures. Those two nights as she watched him do it were not enough. Surely he had a routine. He lived by routines. Until Angela left. That thought made her flinch. So many things she didn't think to ask him. Dreading real confrontation, she was so tempted to just let them stay up until she could see they were tired. She used to allow her kids leeway in the summer. She stuck her crochet hook in the ball of yarn and tucked it into the quilted bag she kept by her chair.
Lord, help us.
Ken continued reading his book as if nothing was going on.

She thought back to the years when Steig and Marit were these ages. Ken was the one to read to them before bed. Okay, so change of plans. She went to the bookshelf in the family room, then called, “Mellie, could you please come help me choose a book for us to read?”

When the little girl smiled up from beside her, Mona asked, “Your daddy read to you kids, right?”

“When he could. Or our babysitter did.”

“Okay, we are going to have story time before getting ready for bed. See any on there you've not heard?” She pulled off
Charlotte's Web
. “How about this one? We loved this story.”

“We have the movie.”

“Did you like it?”

She nodded.

“Good, then let's read it unless you have one you'd rather.”

Mellie shrugged. “We saw it a long time ago.” Together they returned to the family room.

“Look at the clock, Jakey,” Ken said softly.

Jake glanced at the clock and, studiously ignoring his grandfather, continued to search out another Lego and attach it to the structure he was creating.

Mellie picked up her book, bookmark in place, and set it on the shelf. “Grampy said it was time; Jakey, put your Legos in the basket now!” He kept on, as if he couldn't hear her. Mellie stomped over to him and nudged him with her foot, and not gently. “Come on, Jake, you know what to do. Put them away.”

She sounded so much like her mother that Mona flinched. She looked at Ken with raised eyebrows.

He pushed himself out of the chair and knelt by his grandson. “Here, just for tonight, I'll help you so we can start our new book sooner.” He started to put some in the basket.

“No, I need that one for the wheel.” He took one of the pieces back out and set it in the pile beside him.

“Jake, it's time for bed.”

“But I'm not done.”

“You can finish tomorrow. We can work on it together, how about that?”

Jake studied the truck he had half built, testing it by wheeling it along the carpet.

Mona watched the struggle and breathed a sigh of relief when Jakey started picking up pieces and filling the basket.

Ken smiled at him. “Good boy, now why don't you put the one you are working on right on top so you can go back and finish it?”

Jake hesitated, then dug into the basket for another Lego. Ken snatched it out of his hand, tossed it in the basket, and stood up, bringing Jakey with him. The little boy struggled briefly and gave up.

Ken nodded and carried him away from the Legos. “Let's go read our story.”

They all settled on the sofa, Mellie snuggled close against her grampy, and Ken picked up the book from the coffee table. “Ah, I remember reading this before, but it was a long time ago.” He settled Jake in his lap and opened to the first page. “‘Where's Papa going with that ax?' said Fern to her mother as they were setting the table for breakfast.”

Mona allowed herself a smile. Victory, more or less.

At the end of the first chapter, Ken closed the book and laid his cheek on the sleeping boy's head. “I say, skip the bath and put him right to bed.”

“I say you are very wise.”

“Wait.” Mellie looked peeved. “You didn't put a night diaper on him.”

“Perhaps he'll be fine tonight.”

“No, he won't. And he's dirty and his clothes are, too.”

Mona nodded. “You're right, but we don't want to wake him up. Come on, Mellie, let's get you a bath.”

“Can I have bubble bath?”

“You sure may.” Mona held out her hand. “And you get to choose what kind.”

“I never had bubble bath at home. But I like them.” She frowned. “I think I do.”

They walked hand in hand to the bathroom and Mona pulled her bath bottles out of the closet. She was glad now that this was one of her little pamper splurges.

Mellie smelled all three of the bottles, settled on lavender, and Mona dumped in a bunch.

Mellie watched the fragrant foam pile up. “Thank you!”

Mona hugged her close. “You are so welcome. Do you need help washing your hair? You don't need to if you don't want to.”

“Tomorrow?”

“And tomorrow we will all get ready for bed before story time. How does that sound?”

“You and Grampy, too?”

“Yep.”

Mellie giggled as she shed her clothes, then felt the bathwater, the giggles floating like the bubbles. “Perfect!” And climbed in.

“I'm going to go get my jammies on, but I'll leave the door open a bit in case you need me.” Hyacinth met her at the door. She returned to the lavender-scented bathtub. “Mellie, Hyacinth is asking may she come supervise.”

“I never had a bath with a cat before.”

“She doesn't like water much, and she really dislikes bubbles. But she likes to observe, and if you talk with her, she might even answer.” Mona lowered the toilet lid, and Hyacinth jumped up and sat down, watching Mellie as if assigned to her rightful job. “Call me if you need me.”

Mona met Ken in the hallway. “You got him down?”

“I took off his shorts and his shoes; those were the dirtiest. I think he's like his dad, can sleep through anything.”

“I certainly hope so. I can't figure out why I am so tired.” She followed him into the bedroom. “We didn't get our walk in today—well, since the kids arrived.”

“Tomorrow. There's always tomorrow.”

Sometime in the deepest dark of night, a piercing scream woke them. They both bailed out and dashed to the kids' room. The screams were from Jake, thrashing in his bed, and from Mellie: “Jake, shut up! Quit it! Jakey!”

“What's wrong, buddy?” Ken sat on the bed and gathered Jake into his lap. Jake just kept thrashing and screaming.

“He's not awake. He wakes everyone in the house up, but he doesn't wake up,” Mellie said matter-of-factly from the top bunk. “Ever since she left us.”

Mona reached up to pat her. “Does he have them often?”
She never calls Angela Mommy. It's always she.
That thought was worth thinking about when she was more awake.

“Sometimes. Daddy says it's night terrors. He says I don't have to worry, so I don't.” And she rolled over with her back to them, but she shuddered a little sob.

The screaming and thrashing began to subside.

Ken continued to hold him close. “I'll stay in here for a while with him; you can go back to bed.”

“Thanks.” Mona returned to the comfort of her pillow, but she could not get back to sleep.
Lord, how do we help these children the very best?
And then she amended her fervent prayer.
Okay, I'm not so much concerned about how best. Now I'll settle for How Can We Do It at All?

But this time, prayer was not enough. Her brain was racing at freight-train speed, coming up with hideous scenarios and questions.

What if Steig was killed in the line of duty? Or by friendly fire, for that matter. It happened. Her mind dwelled on a casket draped in the American flag and flying home for the last time.

Night terrors? She knew nothing about them. Obviously Steig knew something about them. She would also add that to the list of things to ask Steig on Skype Thursday. But how many other problems and dangers did she simply know nothing about? They lurked out there, scowling ghosts of ignorance about things she had to know.

What if the night terrors everyone was so casually dismissing were actually symptoms of a much deeper problem? They were frightening, for Mona as well as for little Jake. Maybe Jake, being the most vulnerable person in this hideous situation, was crumpling beneath the weight of worry and abandonment. And what if there was nothing they could do for him to keep him from crumpling completely? Or turning to drugs when he got older, as so many do? Or any other self-destructive behavior…?

What if Angela decided to reenter the picture? Steig said she could not reach the children legally, and besides, she preferred her new life with the lowlife she had latched on to. But what if that lowlife walked out on her or if she walked out on him even? Then she might crave the affection children can provide. And if she had the resources to mount a legal fight…after all, she was the mother, and the courts seemed to prefer seeing mothers regain their children.

Mona and Ken weren't getting any younger; the health of either one of them could implode at any moment. Could Ken carry on alone if Mona were hospitalized or bedridden? Could she, if it were Ken who cratered?

“No, Mona! Look what you're doing!” She said it out loud.

Intense worry usually opened wide the barn doors to depression. Her states of severe depression had all begun with runaway worrying, and as it always turned out, the worries and fears had been groundless.

But these fears were not groundless. These what-ifs had a solid basis in reality. Things like this happened all the time; just listen to the news for a day or two.

She needed to nip these worries in the bud. But they would not nip. Already they had planted themselves into her thoughts with roots of iron. Probably they were not new; probably they had been at the back of her mind all the while, growing. Growing. And now suddenly they were exploding.

Activity. She had to get active somehow. But it was the middle of the night. She got up and padded softly, barefoot, to the children's bedroom door to peek in. Ken was stretched out in Jakey's bed with Jakey nestled tight against him. They were both sound asleep. She closed the door.

Hyacinth meowed a question as she walked to the kitchen. How do you tell a cat that you're teetering on the edge of a dangerous bout of depression? She set her vial of pills out to remind her to take it in the morning. Maybe it was time to see the doctor.

She quietly continued down to the basement, to her corner of the basement, turning on the light. The basement never got too hot and never got too cold. A single vent in the ductwork that sent warmth from the furnace up to the rooms was enough to keep the basement fairly comfortable in the winter. In summer it needed no help.

Mona stood beside a punching bag now. It was not the same hard, heavy regulation bag Marit had used, a huge beast that seemed to be made of wood. This punching bag was softer than regulation and had more give to it. It was made for a child or an older woman, not a powerful young man or woman.

When the high school faced a lawsuit if it didn't afford equal opportunity to both girls and boys, the school board said, in effect, “All right. We'll open all the classes to both boys and girls. You watch; the girls will all still take girl courses and the boys will still take boy courses. Nothing will change.”

The first semester the new rules took effect, Steig defied that attitude by signing up for cooking (“Nothing will change, huh? Besides, I'm going to be baching it for years after high school,” he said; “I'm going to want to eat well”). Privately to his dad, he added that taking cooking with eighteen pretty girls, and he the only boy, didn't sour the pot at all.

And also in defiance, Marit took up boxing. Ken seemed somewhat dazed that his own daughter would…would…but Mona was tickled. She even bought Marit a punching bag and gloves so that she could practice in the basement.

Marit, in turn, had purchased this for her mother a few years ago so that Mona could vent frustrations. Would this help ward off worry and depression? Marit hoped so; Mona desperately hoped so.

Now she slipped into the gloves, tightened her fists, and poked the bag. She jabbed it with the other fist. She upped the pace, punching, punching harder. She must be quite a sight, balanced on the balls of her bare feet, in her pajamas.
So what?

The bag moved away from her, trying to evade her punishment. She soon had the rhythm going, though.
Puppa, puppa, puppa, puppa, puppeta, puppeta, puppeta, puppeta…

She broke a sweat now. Her brain was still trying to worry, but it was having a harder and harder time keeping track of all those fears. When all else failed, the punching bag was saving her. In half an hour or less, worn-out, she would go back upstairs and crawl into bed and fall asleep.

But the fears and worries would still be there; they would return. They always did.