Just 18 Summers

  “You’re welcome.”

  Madison shut the door to the bathroom, and Charles stood in the hallway smiling, glad that he’d gone to the extra trouble to get that arranged and signed. He turned and looked at Cory’s door, then checked his watch. Maybe he could help Cory at least for a few minutes before the conference call.

  He tapped lightly on the door and opened it when there was no answer.

  Cory lay asleep on top of his covers, the sheet of paper on his chest, still held by one of his hands. Charles sighed. Why couldn’t he get the timing right with this kid? He walked in and took the spelling paper, laying it gently on the bedside table. He started to move Cory’s legs to get him under his covers, but he was heavy. When had this kid gotten so heavy?

  Cory rolled to his side and groaned, and Charles realized that short of waking him up, he couldn’t get him under the covers. He grabbed a blanket folded at the end of the bed and pulled it to Cory’s shoulders.

  He clicked off the lamp and walked down the hallway. He had to get downstairs to his office for the call. But as he passed Madison and Hannah’s room, he heard them giggling again. The door was cracked open and he could see them on Madison’s bed, talking. He stopped to eavesdrop a little, to share in their joy and excitement. Maybe they were talking about where to hang the picture.

  He put his ear closer to the crack.

  “How long has it been since I liked Ashley Tarleton?” Madison laughed.

  “I don’t know. Like four years?” Hannah answered.

  Charles turned to peer at them.

  “Here,” Hannah said, taking the lid off a Sharpie. “Let me help it.”

  Charles watched through the small crack as Madison handed the picture over and Hannah scribbled something on the girl’s face. He couldn’t tell what, but they both laughed.

  Charles walked down the rest of the hallway, descending the newly carpeted stairs, and went around the corner to his lavishly furnished office. He sat in his chair and turned his computer on, barely recognizing that he had only five minutes until his conference call.

  Was he that bad of a parent? He’d been reduced to a permanent-marker joke. Tears stung his eyes and he blotted them with the back of his hand. He had to get himself together. He was an important man about to take an important call.

  His cell phone dinged with a text message. It was his assistant, Mark.

  Conference call canceled. They will reschedule. Family emergency.

  For a long time, Charles sat in his leather chair, staring into the bleak and underlit office, wondering if he was in a family emergency. Wondering what kind of emergency it would take for him to cancel a phone call like this.

  It was like he had blinked and Madison was a young woman with Hannah not far behind. And Cory, well, he no longer fell for the gimmicks that had worked so well for all those years.

  What was he to do now?

  He trudged upstairs as slowly as he’d come down. He stopped and listened at Madison and Hannah’s door, but it was quiet now and the door was shut. Reaching Cory’s room, he nudged the door open. At some point he had awoken and moved beneath his covers.

  Or perhaps, Charles thought, he was never really asleep in the first place.

  He was not a crying man, but for the second time this evening he was on the verge of tears. There was a lump in his throat, a lump the size of a kite. He silently went to the bathroom, passing Helen, who was propped up in bed reading a book. He changed into the silk pajamas that Helen had already put out and pushed his feet into his slippers. He didn’t bother brushing his teeth or taking his vitamins. He simply came to bed.

  Helen glanced up. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “I missed it, didn’t I?”

  Helen went back to reading her book. “The present? Don’t worry about it. Kids go through phases. It’s hard to keep up with what they’re into.”

  “I’m not talking about the present.” Charles pulled the covers to his neck. “I’m talking about everything. I missed everything.”

  Helen removed her reading glasses and put her book on her lap. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Our kids are . . .”

  “Are what, Charles? They’re fed. They’re clothed. They’ve got more opportunity in front of them than any of our friends’ kids. Look at Madison! Look at the scholarship she received! And it’s not because I ran around our front yard throwing whipped cream in her face. It’s because I made her study. She comes from hardworking parents.” Helen crossed her arms. “I don’t think these kids have any idea how hard we’ve worked for them.”

  Charles glanced at her. “And Hannah? Has that gotten any better?”

  Helen sighed, sinking into the pillow behind her. “Besides being in danger of getting picked up by a metal detector, she just seems to be determined to make me feel bad, all the time. What does she want from me?” She sighed and slid her glasses back on. “Maybe it’s a phase. I mean, Madison never acted like this, but then again, Madison was valedictorian.”

  “We can’t compare our children. Hannah has always been more of a free spirit.”

  “Free spirit or not, things are expected of her in this family.”

  Charles slid down into the bed, now staring at the ceiling. “What if we failed, Helen? What if we’ve done everything wrong?”

  Helen ripped back the covers and threw her glasses down. “Now you’re being dramatic. Our kids have a perfectly good life. What more could they want?” She stood and grabbed her robe off the end of the bed.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Downstairs. I need some space. Some air. I’m not going to be made to feel guilty.”

  “Helen, wait. Maybe we should listen for once. Maybe we should think about how we’re doing some things, make some adjustments.”

  “Like what, Charles? You deciding to come home in the middle of the day to play with the water hose?” She gripped the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white. “Let me tell you something! I grew up wondering where my next meal might come from. Sometimes I didn’t even get a meal. I certainly never got new clothes. Or lived in a house without a draft. They should be thanking us for what they have.”

  “But maybe that’s the point. They have everything . . . but us.”

  Helen stood at the door, glaring at him, her chest heaving. Without another word, she turned and left. He heard her stomp all the way down the stairs.

  Charles didn’t move for a while. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and grabbed his cell phone. Maybe he couldn’t make things right for his family, but tonight he could make things right for someone else’s.

  As he looked up the number, he heard the bedroom door creak open. He braced himself for a hard conversation. He was going to have that car towed back to the Andersons’, no matter what Helen said.

  “Look, Helen, I—Hannah, honey, what’s going on?”

  She stood biting her nail, grasping the doorframe with her other hand. In her pajamas, she looked small again. She’d always been petite, but right now she looked like the little girl he’d known her to be just a few months ago, it seemed.

  She thrust her chin into the air and let her arms fall to her sides, but she looked no more confident than she had before. “I am here to tell you something.”

  “Okay. Do you want to sit down?”

  “No.”

  Charles stood, his limbs shaking with sudden alarm. He was on the other side of the bed from her. It was a large gulf for two people trying to have a conversation, but he sensed he shouldn’t move.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “First of all, I get Madison’s gift, as a peace offering for potentially missing her birthday. Cory, though, gets a hundred-dollar helicopter?”

  “I got that for Cory because we had this kite thing, and I—”

  “I’m just here to tell you that I am not, and never will be, what you want me to be. I don’t want to be that, okay? I’m glad you’re an important man, but I don’t want that. I’m not that per
son.”

  Charles took a small step around the bed. Hannah held out her hands, so he stopped. “Hannah, what person are you talking about? We just want the best for you, whatever that is. We’re not telling you that you have to be this or that.”

  “I might want to be a barista. They’re cool. They’re around people, and I like people.”

  Charles swallowed. “Okay, well, we’d want a slightly higher goal, like perhaps owning a coffee shop or a chain of coffee . . .” His words trailed off into his own regret.

  She folded her arms. “You just can’t help it. You and Mom. Mom’s the worst. The absolute worst.”

  “Hannah, she just wants the best for you.”

  “You want the best for you.”

  Charles frowned. “Everything I do, I do for you. For your future.”

  “What if I don’t have a future?”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Like Beth’s sister. She’s dead, so why am I planning on something I might not have?”

  Charles was stunned. He hadn’t realized Hannah even thought of Jenny. Helen had attended the funeral, but the kids stayed in school and Charles had to work. “You can’t live like that, Hannah. You have to assume you have a future. You have to plan for it.”

  “Well, that’s not me. I’m going to live day by day. I’m going to get up in the morning and just see what the day is about. That’s what I’m going to do.”

  Charles sighed. “Okay. I mean, that’s not how I tackle life, but . . .”

  “Also,” Hannah said, “I’m depressed.”

  “What?”

  “Clinically.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “There’s an app where you type in your medical symptoms, so . . .” She paused only to take a deep breath. “You should do something about that. I probably need medication. We’ll keep it on the down low. I don’t want to embarrass the family. But I have nine out of the ten symptoms.”

  Charles couldn’t think of a thing to say. Hannah wasn’t depressed, was she? And by definition, weren’t all fourteen-year-old girls depressed?

  Hannah turned and left. Charles stood by the bed, a heavy numbness coursing through his body.

  CHAPTER 37

  BETH

  EVEN BEFORE THE SUN ROSE, Beth was up. Not fixing breakfast. Not fretting over details. She only got up to pray. She sat on her back porch, at first in the cool, lingering shadows of the house, then in the warming light of the sun as it cleared the roof and spread over their almost-green grass. She didn’t lament over the fertilizer they didn’t get laid this year or the paint that was peeling from the deck railing.

  From her porch, she had the perfect view of the Buckleys’ backyard. It was meticulously manicured. The grass looked like velvet. The flowers were bright, like they’d been personally blessed by the sun. Luxurious porch furniture, complete with a wide umbrella, had taunted her for years. They even had a small toolshed, where they stored the lawn equipment that they never used because they had a professional do it. She’d always wanted a toolshed.

  But today was about something different.

  Beth took a deep breath, asking the Lord for strength. She hated how things were between Robin and her. But she also hated the idea of Robin being in a marriage she would soon regret. Marvin was charming, all right. That had been evident the first time they’d met him. But charm, she knew, only took a woman so far in marriage. Larry was the man she’d always known he would be, but Marvin . . . it was hard to see where his loyalty was really going to lie, considering his fond affection for all things pizza.

  Robin didn’t even like pizza until she got to high school.

  Between the thoughts that rose and fell every few seconds, she asked God for help. She wasn’t specific because by now she knew that her plans were not what was important. God’s plan needed to prevail.

  But the issue was clear. Insist Marvin wasn’t right for Robin and risk pushing her away forever, or keep her mouth shut and watch her daughter make the worst mistake of her life.

  After an hour, Beth went inside, unsure of the answer to her prayers. Sometimes, she knew, God said no. But what was He saying no to?

  This nervous energy and many other things prompted her to fix one of her world-class buffets, the kind of meal that stopped all the kids, Larry included, in their tracks. It had pancakes, eggs, waffles, crepes, and muffins. And of course, the all-star of the whole thing—bacon.

  Finally Beth finished an hour’s worth of cooking and baking, timing everything so that it all landed on the table at precisely 7:45 a.m., just as Larry was making his way down the stairs. Whether he went to work or not, he always woke at the same time.

  Larry paused on the bottom step. Sniffed the air. Then looked toward the dining area. “Is that breakfast?”

  Beth smiled. “It is.”

  “Is that bacon? The real kind? Not the turkey bacon?”

  She nodded. Larry glanced at his watch.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  Larry looked conflicted. “Shoot. I was going to go look into metal detectors first thing this morning. . . .” He laughed. “What the hay! I’m going for it!” Larry sat down and dug in. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell the kids,” he joked.

  Beth joined him at the table, bringing the syrup. “I was hoping we might have a meal together, you know? Dinner doesn’t seem to be working out very much.” Since the day they’d had Marvin over, they hadn’t all been together for dinner a single time.

  “Sure, yeah,” he said, shoveling eggs onto his plate.

  Chip and Nathan came down. “It is bacon!” Nathan said. “Told you!”

  “What’s the occasion?” Chip asked.

  “Well, I know the car being towed was a big disappointment. Thought you could use some cheering up.”

  Nathan groaned and gave his father a desperate look. “Yeah. Big disappointment.”

  “My money is on Helen,” Beth said, glaring out the window toward the Buckleys’ house.

  “That woman is where fun goes to die,” Nathan said.

  Beth cringed. Nathan had obviously picked up a few things from her over the past several weeks, not the least of which being a biting sarcasm against all things Helen.

  “Look,” Larry said, “let’s not make assumptions. Besides, we’ll find something else.”

  “Not like that,” Chip said.

  “We’ll figure something out.”

  Beth joined them at the table. “Was, um, Robin awake?”

  “Yeah,” Chip said, grabbing more eggs. “Hogging the bathroom as usual.”

  “Easy on the eggs,” Beth said. “Leave some for Robin.”

  Beth had decided to just give her a clean start. Smile like nothing was wrong, and maybe when tempers cooled, they could talk. Of all her children, Chip was always the one who could move on quickly from things and not hold a grudge. Robin was more like Beth herself.

  And she’d prayed this morning, prayed that things would be resolved and relationships would be mended. She’d prayed for God’s favor and blessing on this day, for her and for her little girl who’d suddenly grown up—the girl who couldn’t fall asleep for years unless she was kissed on the forehead by her mother before bed.

  Then Robin was at the bottom of the stairs, gazing at them all.

  “Hey, sweetie,” Larry said. “Look at this breakfast your mom made. Chip, pass the syrup.”

  Robin walked slowly, looking it over, but then kept walking to the door.

  Beth quickly rose from her seat. “You want some breakfast?” She didn’t mean it to be so light and airy, but trying to take the strain out of her voice resulted in her sounding like she was delivering lines from a Disney musical.

  “No time,” Robin said, grabbing her keys from the cubby.

  Beth rushed around the table. “How about some juice?”

  “I gotta go.”

  “Pray with me?” Beth smiled, holding out her hand across the breakfast bar. There hadn’t been a
day of her little girl’s life that she hadn’t stopped to let her mother pray for her when asked.

  Robin reached for the doorknob. “Got wedding stuff.”

  And then she was gone.

  Beth rounded the kitchen bar and hurried to the door, but by the time she got there, all she could do was watch Robin back out of the driveway.

  Soon, Larry was behind her. He smelled like bacon and syrup as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re the superhero this summer. I’m the Kryptonite.”

  He laughed and pecked her on the cheek. “Hey, ours isn’t going great either. Our fun got towed off.”

  She looked at him and tried a smile so he wouldn’t worry so much about her. She hadn’t told a soul she was going to see a therapist, but she had another appointment later this morning—an appointment she would’ve gladly canceled had Robin asked for her help planning the wedding.

  Larry turned her and gave her a hug. She let him hold her. She needed comfort from somewhere or something.

  “Hey! Look at that!” Chip shouted.

  They found Chip pointing out the front window. Nathan rose from his seat just as the clunker of a car was being towed toward their driveway.

  “What is going on?” Larry asked nobody in particular as he let go of Beth and opened the front door. Chip followed him out. Nathan and Beth stepped outside and watched from the front porch. The car was backed into their driveway, a loud alarm sounding as a warning. A burly tow truck driver climbed out, clipboard in hand. Larry went to meet him on the front lawn.

  “Here you are, sir. Got your car for you,” the driver said, handing Larry the clipboard. “Just sign here.”

  “What? How?”

  “You didn’t ask for this?” the driver asked.

  “No, uh . . .”

  The driver took the clipboard back, scanning it quickly with his finger. “Let’s see . . . I got a signature here. It’s been paid for by a Charles Buckley.”

  “Charles Buckley?” Larry glanced at Beth, who glanced over at the Buckley house. All seemed quiet over there, but it usually did.

  “Yep. You know him?” the driver asked.