Family Interrupted (7 page)

I didn’t care about being an apprentice, about the low pay. All I cared about was leaving the dark days behind me and escaping my mother’s gaze.

CLAIRE

Ian’s decision to “postpone” college and move out had shaken us up. His mature demeanor when explaining himself revealed a young man we’d not seen before, and that jarred us too. Jack and I told ourselves that our son was simply putting off his college education. Ian suggested he wanted to build a career elsewhere. He planned to accept a job right after graduation in June, only three months from now.

Of course, Jack was crushed, but Ian had an answer for everything. “Does a doctor’s son have to become a doctor? Construction is all I know. I need to try other things.”

He sounded almost reasonable until he turned on me and snapped, “That’s what will make me happy. Okay? I need to be independent, earn my own way.”

Since when?
But I’d nodded and hoped he’d change his mind before high school ended.

As though Ian’s decisions hadn’t upset us enough, I’d finally agreed, once more, to return to Barnes Construction. I agreed, because a few nights ago, I’d lost track of time again. Jack found me in the studio and went ballistic.

“You’re done here, Claire! Done.” He waved his arms to encompass the entire room. “If you can concentrate on this...this
stuff
, you can come to the office. I worry about you being alone all day, moping in the house. You need to get out, and I need your help. Barnes Construction is a
family
business.” His eyes blazed, his nostrils flared. He stepped outside, twirled on his heel, and shouted at the clear night sky, “Why doesn’t anyone understand that? Doesn’t anybody care?”

His wife. His son. That’s who he meant. The ones he loved the most. My man was in pain, and only a harder heart than mine could have refused his request. I couldn’t. So, once more, I tried to brace myself for the onslaught of customers, staff, blueprints, site visits, and decisions. Jack laughed at me but didn’t sound too joyful.

“If we had an ‘onslaught’ of customers, I wouldn’t be worried about our company. You can’t have it both ways.”

My husband is such a people-person—a term I’ve grown to hate—he can’t conceive of how hard I find making myself smile and acting friendly
all day long
. It’s exhausting. And I’ve had no energy since we lost Kayla.

My second
Day One
would begin tomorrow. Jack had tried to be encouraging. He knew I was nervous again and after dinner led me into the family room, turned on the radio, and opened his arms. I’d always loved dancing with him. Fast. Slow. The beat didn’t matter. Tonight we heard the sounds of soul.

“Pretend you’ve been a stay-at-home mom,” he said as Gladys Knight sent us on the
Midnight Train to Georgia.
“And pretend you’re re-entering the job market after fifteen or twenty years. Lots of women face that sooner or later.”

“Pretend? But that’s exactly the way I do feel, and it’s damn scary,” I replied. “How about continuing my two days a week at the office like I did before...before Kayla died, and I’ll work from home as well? I really think that would be better.” I wasn’t finished bargaining yet and flashed him the smile he adored.

I received a big kiss and a chuckle in return.

“I love you so much, Claire, and I need you. The business needs you. You can do the work. We’ll take it slower this time.”

“We certainly will,” I said, “because I have a plan.”

His blue eyes twinkled. “Let’s hear it,” he said immediately.

Gladys was still singing about her man leaving L.A., and I kept dancing with mine.

“Baby steps,” I said. “Little by little, I’ll get it done. I’ll go to the new subdivisions and walk the houses by myself. I want time alone in the office to study the blueprints. And if we’re upgrading our options, I need to call our suppliers and visit their showrooms. But I need to do it at my own pace, or...or...” I tilted my head back. “Or I’ll get overwhelmed, and it just won’t work at all. And I also might take on a helper—your favorite mother-in-law.”

His sigh of relief should have been audible to our neighbors.

“But there’s one thing I cannot promise, Jack.” He leaned back in order to see me clearly.

“I can’t promise not to cry.”

His arms tightened around me, and I felt him kiss the top of my head. “Neither can I. Does that surprise you? And I also can’t stop my stomach from burning. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be popping these pills for the rest of my life.”

“I’m so sorry about...everything.”
I’ll be sorry forever.

“Me too. I miss her so much.”

Choking up, I couldn’t speak so just nodded.

“But Claire?”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for. Being late is not a crime. Please...please, honey, don’t do it anymore.”

Oh, I wished it were as straightforward as that. I deserved Jack’s hatred, not his understanding. Except Jack didn’t know the whole truth, and I could never tell him how I flirted with Colombo, how I basked in his praise and responded to the gleam in his eye with one of my own. Now
my
stomach started to burn.

#

I took a deep breath when we pulled up to Barnes Construction in the morning. I also took a moment to appreciate my former second home. It was a stone and glass building, which now struck me as darn impressive. Ignoring it for almost a year prompted me to view it with new eyes.

“People might think we’re awfully wealthy when they see all this,” I murmured, gesturing at the building, pointing out the professional landscaping. “I guess looks can be deceiving.”

“If you’re suggesting we relocate the company to some small shack...”

“No, no, nothing like that,” I replied quickly. “That would be a public announcement and run off our vendors and potential buyers alike.” Shivering, I patted Jack’s hand. “If anyone can turn the numbers around, you can.”

With my smile firmly in place, I waved at everyone I saw. No more hysterics. No more outbursts. I was determined to stick to my plan. By the end of the first week, the design center had become my new daytime refuge, a comfortable hidey-hole. Maybe I was simply trading my studio at home for my assigned space at the company. Maybe the old nesting instinct had kicked in. Or maybe my basic survival instinct had taken over. I smiled, I made calls, I began putting together some lovely rooms. At least, that’s what Jack told me after he viewed them online, complements of the amazing software program I used.

Despite the positive feedback, however, my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t care about the designs, furniture, or home buyers. My brain was functioning on automatic pilot, and I had no idea how I was pulling off being pleasant and upbeat. But my husband was cracking jokes and whistling as he walked the halls—my reward for all the effort. I owed him that much.

But I still couldn’t control my sadness or tears. They flowed without warning while I added figures, examined fabric, or chatted with an employee. A release of tension, perhaps, or a reminder of the guilt hiding deep within me, in that place where truth resided. If anyone had suggested removing Kayla’s photo from my desktop, however, I would have shot them. The way I figured it, had I still been at home or in the studio during the day instead of at night, I would have cried too.

On the second Monday, my mom joined me on a part-time basis. I heard her intake of breath when she saw her granddaughter’s beautiful face. She said nothing, however, just squeezed my hand.

“We’re some pair,” she said, “but we’ll get through this.”

Whether she meant the workload or Kayla’s death, I didn’t know. But I had no choice about soldiering on. Living was my penance.

JACK

June, nine months after accident

Proud parents crammed the high school auditorium by the time Claire and I arrived to watch Ian graduate. Some mothers dabbed their eyes, but Claire’s tears ran like Houston’s bayous after a storm.

Squeezing her hand, I said, “We raised a winner. A great kid. Good looks, good heart, good brain...he’s got it all. That science award proves it.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m proud of him...it’s just...” Fresh tears began to stream down her cheeks, and my chest tightened. I understood what she didn’t say. Kayla wasn’t here. Kayla would never graduate from high school. My wife’s mind was on her daughter, not her son, and I felt myself begin to teeter on that edge too. Claire thought I was stronger than steel, but I had to swallow hard a couple of times before I could speak.

“For God’s sake, Claire, please focus on Ian today. This graduation is a milestone for him.” I was lecturing myself as much as her.

“I know. I know. But—”

“But he should be going to college instead of to a dead-end job. Is that what’s bothering you?” I knew that was only part of it, but sometimes I had to tap dance in place trying to distract her. “A
college
degree is the one we’d have celebrated with gusto. He’s taking a little detour. That’s all.”

A detour. That’s what I told myself. That’s how I rationalized. First, we lost Kayla, and now we were failing Ian. Claire didn’t seem to understand or care; if she did, she was hiding it well. If Ian wanted to postpone college right now, I could live with it. But this...this...job he’d landed at a refinery? It didn’t sit right with me. I wanted my boy at home. I wanted him in the construction business, our
family
business.

I’d been trying to change his mind ever since he told me about this new job. A refinery! Those people in the career office should be fired. Couldn’t they see Ian was college material? I’d talked myself hoarse and gotten nowhere with my son, so I’d put his two grandfathers on the case. In the end, however, they’d both sighed deeply, offering their own insights.

“His heart’s as heavy as yours and Claire’s,” my dad said. “I guess our boy needs to do what he needs to do. At least for now.”

“But he’ll be back,” added Claire’s father. “He’s a good boy.”

I don’t know when my “good boy” became so stubborn. Ian may have won this battle, but neither of us was winning this tug-of-war.

#

At home after the graduation ceremony, I stood in the backyard, grilling steak and burgers for a host of relatives. Despite the downturn in business, I could have treated everyone to a restaurant celebration, but I was trying to keep Claire busy and happy doing something she liked. Home entertaining used to be on the top of the list, especially with our combined families. Everyone always clamored for her summer salads, especially the five-bean and potato salads, and Claire always came through. Today was no different.

I watched her smile, circulate, and visit with everyone before she went indoors, and I felt myself grin. That was my wife! The real Claire. A glimpse of her laughing face through the window gave me hope. Sooner or later, we’d get back to normal.

I left my brother-in-law, Charlie, in charge of cooking, waltzed into the air-conditioned house, and made a beeline to my wife. “Love you, sweetheart.”

She chuckled. Her eyes brightened. “I know.”

“It’s a great party.” I glanced around. “You’ve done it again. The salads are disappearing. The hors d’oeuvres too...I just wish you’d eat more of them yourself.” She’d used a safety pin in the waistband of her slacks today, and in a sleeveless blouse, her arms looked like sticks. Maybe a gym...

“I’ll attack Judy’s desserts later,” she said, “but my specialties? I can prepare them in my sleep.”

Claire’s sister had been a rock, calling Claire every day. As for her mom...well, Barbara had become invaluable to both Claire and me. “How about another specialty?” I asked.

Her cheeks became rosy. “I thought we had our evenings worked out to perfection.”

I almost blushed myself. Most folks would envy our love life; they’d think it was unbelievable. I’d thought so too—in the beginning, until doubts began to shadow me. Claire continued to be so intense, so frantic about it. I don’t remember her being this gung-ho during our first years together. Our nighttime pursuits, however, weren’t top priority at the moment.

“I wanted to thank you, Claire, not only for making Ian’s party so terrific but for coming back to work. I know it hasn’t been easy, even with your mother to help. But your presence is making me hopeful about our bottom line next quarter. So thank you very much.” And if I were sugarcoating her importance or the swift turnaround, so what?

And dang if tears didn’t well again. She put her finger over my mouth and shook her head. “You’re the brains behind the operation, so don’t thank me. It’s the least I can do for you.”

The least she could...? Like she owed me something? Good Lord, my wife was still blaming herself about Kayla. Trying to expunge her guilt. At this point, I had no answers for her. How many times could I tell her she wasn’t to blame? I supposed there was no easy fix, and I was certainly no shrink, but maybe she needed one.

Scanning the room, I saw Ian chatting with Claire’s folks, Maddy Conroy standing right next to him. Seemed my son had picked up a little sidekick. According to Claire, the child still came around to make art almost every week. The spare key now had a permanent home under the studio’s doormat. But my attention reverted to Ian.

“Look how our son hits the right notes with our folks.”

“Why are you so surprised? He’s their first grandchild, and they adore him.” But now another shadow appeared on my wife’s face. “I’m glad he’s enjoying himself. But...Jack?” Her voice became a whisper.

“Yes?”

“What’s the real reason he’s moving out? I mean, why isn’t he working with us at Barnes Construction?”

She’d touched an already frazzled nerve, but more worrisome were her bizarre questions. “Honey, you were with me when he told us about his new job. You heard me ask him about it since then. Don’t you remember?”

“I think...I really think it’s my fault he’s leaving. I’m a bad mother...such a bad mother.” She began walking toward the bedroom wing, away from our guests, and I grabbed her arm.