“The days are labeled.” Before she drives to Amherst, Courtney gives Sam Noah’s medication in a pillbox with dividers. “Make sure you watch him take them.”
The reason is that Noah hates his medication. There are pills to calm him down, but he says they make him sleepy. There are other pills to help him focus, but he says they’re gross. “You have to concentrate all the time.”
Sam holds out a glass of water. “But that’s what they’re for.”
“Yeah, but it’s depressing!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like you’re a TV, but you’re stuck on the homework channel. You get no sports or shows or anything.”
“So, finish your homework and then you can concentrate on something else.”
But no, your brain is stuck until the pills wear off. He says, “It’s like you’re paralyzed.”
She looks at him and all of a sudden she thinks, You’re smart. It’s not that she thought he was stupid before—but her brother has opinions, and ideas. What if he is right? He does get sleepy, and he does look paralyzed, staring at his homework. What if Sam is poisoning him? But the doctor says he needs the pills. Her mom says Noah needs them—so Sam hands them over and she stands there while he swallows—and then for the rest of the day, he won’t talk to her.
He has his own phone now and Jack sends him messages, so the two of them are making plans.
“We’re going camping,” Noah tells Sam on Friday afternoon.
“You can’t do that,” Sam says. “Mom isn’t even here.”
“Why does she have to be here?”
“Because she has to keep an eye on you.”
He looks at her, like I am twelve, what are you talking about, even though he knows what Sam means. He’s not supposed to go anywhere alone with Jack. “He’s free this weekend.”
“Yeah, but you’re not,” says Sam. There was a whole agreement Courtney figured out and Jack said yes. Why is Jack changing it up now? Because I’m home alone with you, thinks Sam.
“I said I could go,” Noah tells her.
“But I say you can’t.” Sam is already calling Courtney.
“No, absolutely not,” Courtney says on the phone. She tells Noah no. Then she says she’s calling Jack. Camping is not happening.
But what if Jack tries something anyway? And what if Noah runs out the door? He’s big, almost as tall as Sam, and strong. She has seen him outskate other kids and block them at the rink. He can rush opponents and send them flying. At the same time, he is just little.
She says, “I never went camping with my dad.”
“He was never here.”
“Yes, he was. We just didn’t go. I never even slept over.”
“He never wanted you to sleep over.”
“Because he respects Mom’s judgment,” Sam shoots back, because how can Noah even start comparing his dad to hers? Both fight and drink and do a million stupid things, but Jack doesn’t respect anyone.
“I’m going,” Noah tells her.
Sam says, “No you’re not.”
“He’s picking me up in the morning.”
“Mom said no. Please, Noah! I’m responsible for you.”
She is afraid Noah will run out, or Jack will get inside the building. She keeps listening to every sound, and so she’s scared to go to bed. Finally, she lies down on the couch, drifting in and out of dreams. Birds singing, boats sailing, buzzer ringing.
She jumps up, because it’s the real buzzer, and it’s morning.
“Who is it?” she asks into the intercom.
“Jack.”
She throws on a shirt and jeans. She waits for the elevator, but then she runs down the three flights of stairs. She is wearing shoes without socks.
“Hey, Sam,” says Jack, all nice and casual standing outside in the entryway. When she closes the inner door behind her, he says, “How are you?”
She hasn’t seen him up close in years. His neck is thick; his arms are massive. His black hair is cropped short. Sam does not say hi. She does not say, I’m fine. She says, “He’s not coming.”
Jack stops smiling. “I want to see my son.”
“You can see him later. Mom says it’s not on the schedule.”
It’s strange the way he looks at her. His eyes travel over her body. Not curious, like Corey, or hungry, like Declan, but like he’s measuring her. Like he could take her. “He told me he would come.”
He reaches for the intercom and she tries to block him, but he reaches around her and starts buzzing and she is scared Noah will wake up and let him in. Jack is buzzing over and over again, but Noah doesn’t answer.
Jack could force past her, but Sam keeps standing there. She is holding her phone and almost daring him. Silently she’s telling him, Go ahead and try to push me or pick me up and throw me. Just go ahead. I’ll call the cops. I’ll scream. She stands there staring Jack down. It seems like a million hours pass, and then suddenly, Jack turns around and leaves.
And then she has to face Noah when he wakes up, and he is the one who yells and screams and calls her names. He throws his medication on the floor and smashes his glass. And she is begging, “Sh. Noah. Please!” because the neighbors will hear. They will complain. And finally, all she can do is grab him by the shoulders, half hugging him, half smothering him. “I’ll take you somewhere. I promise we’ll go hiking. As soon as I can.” She keeps talking and holding him until he starts to cry. Then he is exhausted, and he lies down on the couch and won’t do anything.
All day, she guards Noah. Her heart pounds whenever the phone rings. She jumps that evening when she hears a key turning in the lock—but it’s her mom.
“God, I am so tired.” Courtney sinks down on the couch next to Noah and hugs him whether he likes it or not. She spent three days talking to Grandma D., who might move into assisted living in Holyoke but then again might not. She might sell her house, but she might not. She might make plans, but she might not. Courtney says, “Don’t let me get that way.”
They eat fish sticks for dinner and Courtney says she won’t get old.
“Mom,” Sam whispers at night, across the wardrobe-closet partition. “What if Jack takes Noah for real?”
“He won’t.”
“But what if he did?”
“He’d have to kill me first.”
“Would you do the same for me?”
“Yup. Go to sleep.”
“Mom?”
“What?”
“How do you know what to do?”
“I don’t always know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Yeah, that’s how you can tell you’re an adult,” her mom says. “People start thinking you know what you are doing.”