6:34 p.m.
My back aches. It isn’t until the staircase creaks and Adelynn asks me for dinner that I realize why. I’ve been on this damned floor against this damned door for hours. What a mess I’ve become.
“Momma, did you hear me?” she asks again. Her voice is smaller than her body.
I’m an automated mom. “Yes, honey. We’re having leftover pot roast.”
Nodding, she turns and jogs back up the stairs. She clutches the stuffed bear, Beary, her father had bought for her at the hospital the day she was born. After a few steps, she lets her arm dangle. It looks as broken as I think her insides are.
I could comfort her. I should. Instead, I stretch into a hunch and amble to the kitchen. If Polly were here, she’d tell me to pick myself up and brush it off. She’d say he’d ruined enough, and he shouldn’t take any more of my time. Polly would be right. That’s why I’m not talking to Polly right now.
The refrigerator blasts me with the cold air I’ve been combatting with the fireplace in our living room. I stare into the bare-shelved void. The dish with a three-day-old roast is coated in shiny fat and nearly empty. Right, I sent a portion with the kids for lunch today.
After yesterday’s ordeal, Adelynn should have something better than leftovers, but I’m so tired. I fix Lucky Charms for the kids, hoping they’ll be happy to have sweets. There isn’t enough milk for both bowls, so I splash in a little water in each. That’s all 1% milk is, isn’t it? Watered down 2%. That’s why I refuse to buy it; it’s a rip-off.
We have a few potatoes left; looks like I’ll have a baked potato with the last of our sour cream and a sprinkle of cheese. The grocery store calls my name. Maybe I should go now. Having to decide between twelve different kinds of canned tomatoes sounds like a manageable problem compared to Adelynn, Laura, and him.
“Peter! Adelynn!” I shout, sounding angrier than I mean to. I soften my tone before calling, “Dinner!”
In reply, the steps moan. Peter isn’t wearing his boots. Though I’m relieved, it’s concerning. He put them on after the man (who the police claimed must have been a drifter) broke into our home earlier this year. The moment I heard about Laura, I thought of his face—Justice, my daughter said he told her. My stomach cramps when I think about his walk through Adelynn’s room to me. She still doesn’t understand what happened.
“What’s for dinner?” Peter asks. He swivels his head around the kitchen, and I’m reminded that he needs a haircut. “Not just soggy cereal, right Mom?” He’s right. The thin milk’s gone pink; even the marshmallows are nearly dissolved. That was quick.
“No, baked potatoes too. They’re going to need a bit longer, so I thought this might help.”
Adelynn nods in silence, that bear still in her grasp like a lifeline. “Thanks, Momma,” she says.
“Suck-up!” Peter raises his hand.
“Don’t you touch her, young man. We do not do things like that in this household. What have I told you?” My voice spits the venom seething in my heart.
“I know. ‘Don’t hit women. Don’t hit anyone. It makes you pathetic and weak-willed. Only small people resort to violence.’ I know.” He says it mockingly, but his remembering it gives me hope he won’t turn out like some of his friends, or their fathers, or mine.
“Well, there you go. Now eat your food before it becomes a glop of sugar.” I ignore his response—it may have even been polite.
The four shriveled potatoes will do just fine; they can each have two. I’ll eat the last of the Lucky Charms. Dry Lucky Charms for dinner. Oh, joy. As I carve out the eyes and dark spots from the potatoes, I can’t stop thinking about him, about us, about that goddamned conversation.
Four years ago, he approached me at a barbecue. It started innocently, with a graze of the hand here, a compliment there. Eventually, he grew bolder. First, it was a kiss on the cheek as Gary, Adelynn, Peter, and I left block parties. Then, it moved to a brush of my breast as he reached for another roll during dinner when our spouses sat mere feet away. Almost a year later, he had me pinned against the hospital bathroom sink.
We were tacky. I should’ve known that any man who’d start an affair on that day—with my daughter in the hospital and his devastated—wasn’t worth my time, wasn’t worth shredding a family for. I was stupid.
We almost announced our relationship after Gary left, but he said it would be “too much” for the kids.
The day after Justice, he said the same. “I want to, I really do. I haven’t had sex with Carla in ages, and I don’t want to.” It was a weird thing to add after I shot the man who tried to sexually assault me—hindsight is everything.
Now, he’s broken it off like we’re teenagers, jumping from one boyfriend/girlfriend to another. I understand his reasons. The unthinkable happened: his daughter was just murdered. It’s as if the cosmos have cursed us for our infidelity—first Justice, then Laura. Still, I assumed he’d want support from the woman he loves at a time like this.
“Mom?” Peter says in a way that makes me think it isn’t the first time.
“Yes, honey?”
“Can I go back to my room while we wait?” His voice is weary, a traveler after a long journey. His cereal bowl is empty, milk and all. “Please?”
I nod. Adelynn is gone before he stands.
“Hey, Peter?”
He blows a raspberry of frustration. “Yes?”
“Why aren’t you wearing your boots anymore?” I almost add, “You know, your security blanket since Justice.”
Peter stiffens. “After yesterday, it’s clear to me that preparedness doesn’t matter.” He pauses. “Can I go now? I have homework.”
“Sure, okay honey. I’m here if you—”
As he leaves, I’m left feeling that he’d rehearsed those words all day. Why? Because he sounded mechanical and hollow. Well, that could be your fault, Wendy. You’re a shitty mother.
I pop the overly stabbed potatoes in the warming oven and head into the living room. Lying down seems like a good idea. When I close my eyes, I see Mike’s face. It’s tear-stained and desperate. I smile a little; maybe he will come to his senses once the initial shock of grief wears off. A lot can happen in a day, in a week, in a month, in—I shudder—a year. Yes, we’ll be together again. Carla can lean on him until then.