Missing Pieces (36 page)

“Other than shooting her, you mean?” I asked, and he smiled.

“Shooting’s good,” he said. My turn to smile. “I have some thoughts on the matter,” he continued. “If you’re interested,” he added, waiting.

“Can we talk about them later?”

“Can you promise not to do anything until I get home?”

“Where are you going?”

“Golf game, remember? I’m teeing off at nine twenty-one.”

“Nine twenty-owe?”

“Tee-off times are scheduled every seven minutes.”

I shook my head in seeming wonder, although the truth was that I really didn’t care. Still, it was easier—and far less dangerous—to talk about golf than about our older daughter.

“I don’t have to go,” he volunteered.

“Why wouldn’t you go?”

“If you’d rather I stayed home …”

“No. What’s the point in that?”

“If you wanted company. If you didn’t want to be alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“If you wanted
my
company,” Larry qualified.

I turned to him, tried to smile. “I’ll be fine. You go. Break a hundred.”

He rose to his feet, swayed unsteadily, his body a reflection of his state of mind. “I should be back by two. Maybe we could go to a movie.”

“Maybe,” I said.

He excused himself to get dressed. I went into the kitchen and made a large pot of coffee. An hour later, I was on my fourth cup, and Larry was on his way to the golf course. I checked on my mother and Michelle, relieved to find them both still sleeping soundly. Maybe Larry was right, I decided, climbing into my bed, crawling between the sheets, and pulling the covers up around my chin. Maybe a few hours’ sleep would be enough to restore my perspective, if not my faith.

But the four cups of coffee had done their work, and there was no way I was going to fall asleep. After about half an hour, during which time I twisted my tired body into every conceivable position, and counted enough sheep to stock herds on both sides of the Atlantic, I finally gave up and headed for the shower, from which I emerged, some twenty minutes later, wetter but none the wiser.

Larry returned home at just after two o’clock—his score a disappointing 104—to find me sitting in basically the same position in which he’d left me. “I know you moved, because you’re wearing different clothes,” he noted with a sad smile. “Did you check the paper?”

“The paper?”

“To see what movies are playing.”

“I can’t go to a movie.”

“Why not?”

“What am I supposed to do with Michelle and my mother?”

“They’ll come with.”

“And Sara?”

“She’s not invited. Come on,” he cajoled. “We’ll take in a movie, then grab some fajitas at Chili’s. You know how much Michelle loves Chili’s.”

“What if Sara gets home while we’re out?”

“Then she’ll wait for us for a change.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“What’s not a good idea?” Michelle asked, coming into the room, plopping down into the opposite sofa, long skinny arms dangling between long skinny legs.

“I thought we’d go to a movie around four o’clock, then have something to eat.”

“Chili’s?” Michelle’s voice literally chirped with anticipation.

“One fajita combo coming up,” Larry said. “Why don’t you check the paper and talk to Grandma and decide what movie you want to see.”

Michelle was instantly on her feet. “Grandma,” she called in the direction of Sara’s room. “We’re going to the movies.”

“I can’t go,” I told Larry.

“Of course you can,” he insisted.

“All right, then, I don’t
want
to go.”

“You
want
to sit here and stew until Sara comes home?”

“I need some time to think.”

“You’ve been thinking for the past twenty-four hours. Has it done any good?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What
is
the point?”

“The point is that going to a movie is not high on my list of priorities right now.”

“Maybe you should reexamine your priorities.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Our daughter deceives us, defies us, and disappears for
the weekend, and you want me to go to the movies instead of being here when she gets home. Those are your priorities?”

“There’ll be plenty of time to confront Sara later. Right now you’re wound so tight …”

“I’m not wound so tight. Please don’t tell me I’m wound so tight. You have no idea what I’m feeling.”

“Tell me.” He sat down beside me. Immediately, I jumped to my feet.

“I’m frustrated,” I said, the words flying from my mouth, like spit. “I’m frustrated and angry and hurt.” I began pacing back and forth between the two living-room sofas, anxiety gnawing at my chest, like a rat on a rope. “I trusted her, damnit! I believed her. I fell for all the lies. She got me—again! What? Am I stupid? All she has to do is smile at me and I’m ready to buy her the store?”

“You’re her mother,” Larry said simply.

“I’m an idiot,” I raged. “And she’s nothing but a goddamn liar.”

“And you think this is the right frame of mind for you to be dealing with her?” Larry asked logically.

“You’d rather not deal with her at all, is that it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you need a breather. You’ve been sitting here stewing in your own juices all day. You need to get out of this house for a few hours, get your mind on something else. You’re not going to accomplish anything with Sara when you’re this angry.”

“And then what?” I demanded. “After the movie and the fajitas. What happens then?”

“We come home. Hopefully Sara will be here. We’ll listen to what she has to say …”

“More lies.”

“Then we’ll decide—calmly—what we’re going to do.”

“Such as?”

There was a minute’s silence. The anxiety curled around my heart like a snake, beginning its slow squeeze.

“I think Sara has to understand the seriousness of what she’s done,” Larry began, “the fact that this kind of behavior can no longer be tolerated.”

I shook my head. Hadn’t we been through all this before? Sara understood exactly what she was doing. It was Larry and I who had yet to come to terms with our level of tolerance.

“I think we should cancel all her privileges for the remainder of the school year,” Larry continued. “That includes her allowance and any extracurricular activities. When she’s not at school, she’s at home, it’s as simple as that.”

“You really think she’s going to go along with that?”

“If she doesn’t, she’ll have to find somewhere else to live.”

The simple statement took my breath away. “What?”

Larry got to his feet, walked to my side, put his hands on my arms, forced my eyes to his. “What other choice is there, ultimately?” he asked.

“You’re suggesting we kick our daughter out of the house?”

“I’m suggesting we give her the choice—either she chooses to live by the rules of this household or she chooses to live elsewhere. It’s as simple as that.”

“Stop saying that,” I shouted, pushing his arms away, resuming my angry pacing. “Nothing is simple where Sara is concerned.”

“Then, at the very least, we have to make it less complicated where
we’re
concerned.” He looked toward the ceiling, then back at me. “Who calls the shots here, Kate?
Who sets the limits? You’re the therapist. You know this is exactly how you’d advise a client.”

“This is our seventeen-year-old daughter we’re talking about. You’re saying we should just throw her out on the street?” I pictured Sara huddled around an open fire on some deserted corner. The flames from the fire reached out for me, searing the lining of my lungs.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You know what she’ll do if we kick her out, don’t you? She’ll just move in with Jo Lynn. That’s what she’ll do. God, it’s so hot in here.” I pulled roughly at the collar of my beige cotton sweater.

“Did you say that Jo Lynn is coming to live with us?” my mother asked, walking sprightly into the room, Michelle at her side.

“Oh God,” I muttered.

“We picked a movie,” Michelle announced. “It starts at three-fifty.”

“I don’t think I can take too much more of this.” My voice emerged as a thin wail, scratching the air like nails on a blackboard.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Something the matter, dear?” my mother asked.

“There’s nothing the matter,” I snapped, the heat sweeping through my insides with the unrestrained fury of a brush fire. “It’s just so fucking hot in here!” In the next instant, I ripped my sweater up over my head, threw it angrily to the floor, then stomped on it, before kicking it halfway across the room. I looked up to find my husband, my mother, and my daughter staring at me as if I were nuts.

“It
is
a little warm in here,” my mother said.

“Mother!” Michelle’s eyes had grown so large they threatened to overtake her face. “You said the F-word.”

“You know what,” Larry said, clearly flustered by my
outburst. “I think we need to clear out of here and give your mother some space.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” I said. “Rats deserting the sinking ship.”

Larry raised his hands into the air, then dropped them lifelessly to his sides. “I thought that’s what you wanted,” he said.

“There are rats?” my mother asked. Wary eyes skirted the tile floor.

“Of course, that’s what you do best, isn’t it?” I said, looking directly at my husband.

“What are you talking about?” Larry asked.

“When the going gets tough, the tough go golfing. Or to the movies. Isn’t that what they say?”

Larry turned toward my mother and Michelle. “Michelle, honey, we still have some time before we have to leave. Why don’t you take your grandmother out for a little walk.”

Michelle’s eyes moved from me to her father and back again, as if she were courtside at a tennis match. “Come on, Grandma,” she said finally, leading my mother toward the front door.

“Are we going to the movies?” my mother asked as the door closed behind them.

“You have something you want to say to me?” Larry said after they were gone.

I retrieved my sweater from the floor, used it to wipe the sweat from between my breasts. “Are you sure you have time? I mean, you don’t want to be late for the movie.”

“You have something to say, say it.”

“It’s just so easy for you, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“To pick up and leave.”

“It’s just a movie, Kate. Not everything has to be such a big deal.”

“No, I recognize that our daughter isn’t as big a deal as breaking a hundred …”

“Okay, let’s stop this right now,” Larry warned.

“I thought you said if I had something to say, I should say it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Too late.”

“It will be if you don’t stop this right now.”

“What—you’re threatening me? If I don’t conform to the rules of the household, you’re going to throw me out too?”

“Kate, this is crazy. Listen to yourself.”

“No, you listen. For the last few months, my life has been steadily falling apart. And where have you been? On the golf course.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Maybe not, but it’s true. I’ve been dealing with my mother, my sister, the kids, these goddamn hot flashes,” I continued, “and meanwhile you’ve been making yourself scarcer and scarcer. Oh, you say all the right things, you make all the right sounds, but you’re never actually here when I need you.”

“I’m here now,” he offered softly.

“Only long enough to shower and change your clothes, then it’s off to the movies, off to Chili’s.”

“What do you want from me, Kate?” he asked. “What do you want me to do? Tell me, because I honestly don’t know anymore. I feel like, no matter what I say or do, it’s gonna be wrong. It’s like I’m always walking around on eggshells. I’m afraid to open my mouth, in case I say the wrong thing; I’m afraid to touch you, in case I touch you in the wrong spot, and you fly off the handle. You say I’m never here. Maybe you’re right. Maybe my way of dealing with all that’s been going on is to just get away from it. Is
there really that much to be gained by confronting everything head-on?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, pressing my sweater against me, feeling the sudden chill from the air-conditioning system creeping along my bare arms. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“You know that I’m not suggesting that we throw Sara out on her ear,” Larry continued softly.

“I know that.”

“I guess I’m just looking for a little peace. God knows, it’s been a long time since she’s given us any joy.”

“She’s not here to give us joy,” I reminded him.

“Not part of her job description, I guess,” Larry agreed sadly. “Come to the movie with us, Kate. Please. It’ll be good for us.”

“I can’t,” I heard myself say as tears dropped down my cheeks. “I just can’t. But you go. Really. It’s all right. You go.”

I left him standing in the middle of the room and went into the washroom, splashed water on my face, then pulled my sweater back over my head. I stared at my reflection in the mirror over the sink, studying the lines beneath my eyes, like the tiny but persistent river lines on a map, I thought, standing there until I heard the front door open and close. When I returned to the living room moments later, Larry was gone, and I was alone. I sat back down on the sofa and waited for Sara to come home.

She walked through the door at exactly three minutes after six o’clock, her battered brown leather knapsack draped carelessly across one shoulder. She was wearing the same tight jeans and bosom-hugging striped jersey she’d been wearing when she left two days earlier, and her hair hung loosely around her face in several shades of careless blond. “Oh, hi,” she said, stopping when she saw me, a
hint of blush flashing across her pale cheeks. “You scared me. I almost didn’t see you sitting there. Why don’t you turn on some lights?”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” I said, my voice surprisingly, eerily, calm.

She glanced slowly from side to side. “Is everything okay? Grandma … ?”

“She’s fine.”

“Good.” She took several steps toward her room.

“Did you bring Michelle’s sweaters back?”