Twenty-Five

Front Row Action

After exiting the building, I saw Lee out front, flanked by two burly officers, walking toward a waiting police car. She didn’t meet my eye and I no longer cared. She put on a pair of dark glasses, and lowered her head. Someone called her name, and Lee pulled her glasses down the bridge of her nose and glanced over. Our eyes locked, and on impulse, I lifted my fingertips to my lips and blew her a kiss.

She was not amused.

I knew there would be reverberations from today’s events. For starters, there was Amy. I’d have to deal with her when we next met. She was bound to have an intense reaction to what happened at the workshop, as was Maureen. In each case, I’d discuss my patient’s feelings about the presentations, before I referred her to another therapist. As for Peter getting away with cheating on his wife? My going public would only hurt their kids. I knew how it felt to be on the end of a cheating scandal, and I’d think about whether to tell Jess, or instead, confront Peter and insist he tell the truth to his wife.

A couple of Saturdays later, I’d glanced down at Jim. He’d stayed over and was lying next to me on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket watching TV. We’d been talking about moving in together and hinting about an engagement. I asked what would it be like, going from a bachelor pad to rooming with two females. Maybe he’d feel suffocated having our clutter and schedules imposed on him. I was sure he’d miss having time alone.

“I’ve had forty years of that,” he said, pulling me close. “I want to be with you and Rachel.”

I hugged him tightly, thinking how thrilled I was to have him here, but also wanting to be sensitive to Rachel’s feelings. I’d spoken to her before he came over. I’d put a toe in, hinting that Jim and I really cared about one another and he’d probably be staying over sometimes. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, lifted a hand, and uttered only one syllable: “Ew!”

I was figuring out how to prepare her that he’d be sleeping in my room when she said, Stop!” and covered her ears, groaning, “TMI.”

Now Jim was nudging me: “I think it’s time you got out of your comfort zone, Vic.”

I um-hmm’d. A show about undercover bosses was on, and I was riveted.

Jim rolled his eyes. “This program is unwatchable. Hey, Rach, come in.”

Rachel was nowhere to be found.

We looked around, calling out until we found her, in the kitchen, FaceTiming Maya. They were playing chess in a group chat with a couple of kids from the next town. Rachel had played in a tournament and started texting and chatting with kids in that club. I could hear her counseling a curly haired girl who was complaining about how she’d been left out of a big party. Rachel advised, “‘Quality is better than quantity. Who cares what the popular kids do, as long as you have real friends who like you for you?’”

Jim glanced in my direction. My advice had sunk in. My daughter was making new friends, and sounding much happier. Just yesterday she had announced her intention to quit soccer and go back to her old mainstay, softball.

Rachel’s growth filled me with pride. She was finding herself, just as I knew she would. I inhaled deeply, and she looked over at Jim and me.

“Later. Bye,” she clicked off her phone. On the floor next to her, there was a large box. “This is for you, Mom.” She handed the package to me. I could see that she’d wrapped it herself.

“What’s this, honey?”

“Open it. You’ll see.” I pulled off the shiny paper and stared, unsure of what to make of the item in front of me. It was domed and hard, a thick black strap hung from the side.

“It’s for zip-lining, Mom! I’ve got one too. Jim drove me to the store yesterday. He wants to take us this weekend.”

Jim took one look at my face, and started to laugh. He turned to Rachel. “Remember, I said this is provisional. Obviously, we need to ask your mom’s permission.”

“Come on, please? It’ll be fun!”

I nodded, clearly outvoted. Though I knew it would probably be fine. The closest facility had safeguards in place, and a lot of people had children’s parties there. I preferred terra firma, but Rachel and Jim looked so excited that I realized I had to let go, on many different levels.

Two hours later, we were at the climbing area adjacent to the old apple orchard at the outskirts of town. The technician, a guy in cargo pants and Ray-Bans, wearing a name plate that said “Dave B.,” spelled it all out to me: “Hold on clearly and firmly. Tighten the buckle, and keep your helmet on at all times. Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

Dave B. released his hold on the rope, and I flew forward. I could hear Jim and Rachel cheering as I slid across the line, over the old barn. Gliding as never before, I held onto the ropes as my feet swayed and my lungs filled with fresh air. I was making up for lost time, my spirit soaring.