The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (42 page)

“It’s just not a good time right now,” I said, turning around. “There’s a lot going on with the girls, and Jon’s been really busy with work. Did you know that real estate has actually picked up in the last few months? I know it seemed like it never would, but—“

“Becca.” Her voice was soft but there was no denying the firm tone she used. “I’m worried about you.”

And there it was. The I’m-Worried-About-You speech. I turned my back and rolled my eyes.
 

“Don’t roll your eyes.”
 

Damn, she was good.
 

“Come and sit.”

I didn’t move.
 

“Please, Becca.”

I put down the dish rag I’d been wringing in my hands and rejoined her at the table. I had to fight the urge to close my eyes, she looked so worried. It aged her, made her look tired. She had so many other things to be worried about, she shouldn’t be bothered with me.
 

“Connie, please. The last thing you need right now is to worry about me. Honestly, I’m fine.”

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I know what it’s like to be raising two girls, one a teenager and the other so like her mother it would be strange if she wasn’t driving you insane.”

“It is driving me insane.” I put my head in my hands and fought the urge to slump to the table. “Some days, like today, I don’t know how I’m going to make it. It’s chaos in the morning and I have full intentions to do something for me, but by the time I get the girls to school, grab the groceries or whatever else I need to get and then run home, it’s already time to pick up Kayla. Some days I don’t even have time for a shower.” I was talking into the table; I didn’t even know if Connie could hear me but it didn’t matter. I kept going. “The afternoons are filled with shuttling her to dance or piano, and that’s all before I have to pick up Jordan. Don’t even get me started about teenagers. But I think I’d take them over one of Kayla’s playdates any day. Those are the worst because then I have to sit with some strange woman and pretend that I have my life put together just as well as hers, with her homemade cupcakes and piles of scrapbooks laying around for me to look at. And I don’t. And you know what?” I looked up at Connie and said, “I fucking hate those women.”
 

I thought she might blanch at my use of language but instead she surprised me by breaking out into laughter. “Oh, Becca,” she said when she’d calmed down. “Everybody hates those women.”

“Everybody?”
 

“Everybody.”
 

“What about their husbands?”

“I’m pretty sure even their husbands hate them a little bit,” she said and this time it was me that burst into laughter.
 

There was no way that Jon would hate a woman who was so put together and organized and who didn’t complain every night about how difficult the kids were. No way.

“It’s true,” Connie said when I’d calmed down. “And you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Those women are probably closet alcoholics or miserably unhappy, crying themselves to sleep every night. They’re no different from everyone else, they just put up a good front.”

The thought that all mothers felt the same struck me. “Is that what you think then? That all mothers are unhappy?” I asked and then quieter, I added, “Were you?”

Her face morphed, the laughter disappearing as she realized I was serious. “No. Not at all.” She reached across the table for my hand and I let her take it. Connie’s hands were always warm and soft. She squeezed mine, forcing me to look at her. “You have to remember, I was a newlywed and I was madly in love with this great man and his kids. It was different for me.”
 

“But that’s just it,” I said. “We weren’t yours. It must have been harder for you because you didn’t ask for children. You got them as part of a package deal.”

“And it was a deal I wouldn’t change for anything.” Her smile made me believe her. I couldn’t have asked for a better mother. But even though Connie had been great, I still wondered about the woman who’d given birth to me.
 

“Do you think my mother was miserable?”
 

Connie pulled back as if I’d smacked her. The smile was gone from her face. “Why would you ask that?”

I’d stopped asking about my mother years ago, when it became clear my father wouldn’t, or couldn’t, talk about her. But just because I’d stopped asking didn’t mean the questions went away.
 

“Because she was my mother and I need to know that I’m not alone in feeling this way.”
 

“But you’re not unhappy, are you? Just tired and overwhelmed, but not necessarily miserable. Right?” Connie asked the question but I could tell she didn’t want to hear the answer. Something had shifted. It was always the same when I tried to talk about my mother. I guess it must be hard to be compared to a dead woman. I never wanted Connie to think I didn’t love her so I’d always dropped it.
 

“I’m perfectly happy.” I forced a smile to my face.
 

“Becca, you have to know that I chose motherhood when I chose your father. But I also chose myself. You don’t have to give up who you are when you have children.”

“Connie,” I said. “There isn’t time to be anything besides what I already am. And what I’m going to be is late to pick up Kayla if I don’t hurry.” I looked at the clock. I still had over an hour. Connie would know that, too.
 

“Is it that time already?” she said. “I guess you should get going then.” She stood and grabbed her purse. “So we’ll see you tomorrow then? For your birthday?”

“I can’t wait.”
 

Chapter 2

It was quarter after twelve, which meant I was late to pick up Kayla.
 

Again.
 

On the plus side, I wasn't totally lying when I told Connie I was going to be late. And I might have had a chance of being on time if I hadn't stopped at the bookstore to lose myself in the latest self-help titles. My best friend Stephanie said I was addicted to books that gave me hope that I could change my life. She insisted that all I really needed to do was join her in a yoga and meditation class, or something like that, and I would find my center. I still wasn't sure what that meant, and I was afraid to ask, because no doubt it would launch some sort of discussion about how I was killing my body and my mind with caffeine and sugar. It was usually best to avoid those types of topics with Steph.
 

By the time I pulled into the parking lot of Kayla's school, I was a full fifteen minutes late. I put the car in park and ran to the playground in the back. There were still a few kids playing tag or climbing on the jungle gym. Kayla was on the swings, her back to me. Her blond hair flew out behind her as she pumped her legs and went higher and higher into the air. My stomach flipped. She could fall. I knew she wouldn't. But she could. She looked so free. She tipped her head back and looked up to the sky. Pure bliss written all over her face.

I remembered the swings; they used to be my favorite. The wind whipping through my hair, the sensation that the ground was miles below me, but nothing bad could happen to me as long as I kept pumping my legs.
 

When was the last time I’d been on a swing? When was the last time I’d had that feeling?
 

Kayla must have seen me, or maybe she sensed her mother watching her. She hated it when I watched her. Her legs stopped their rhythmical pump, the motion slowed and after a moment, she jumped off. She grabbed her backpack and came to stand in front of me.

“You're late.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. It never failed to amaze me how my children could make me feel so small.
 

“I'm always the last one here,” Kayla said, her lip quivering. And just like that, the freedom and bliss of the swing was gone, a tantrum likely brewing behind those blue eyes.
 

“Kayla, I am sorry. Grandma was over and we lost track of time.” Might as well throw Connie under the bus. “Besides, you aren't the last one here.” I waved my arm at all the kids still playing.
 

“Yeah,” she said, heading for the car, “but their moms are here. You forgot.”

“I didn't for—” I started to explain myself again but she was already too far away. Besides, how could I defend myself when it was the truth? Kayla wasn't stupid. This wasn't the first time.
 

By the time I got to the car, she was already strapped into her booster seat.

“You don’t have dance today. What should we do before we get your sister?” I tried to keep my voice light and fun.
 

“I don’t know,” she said. The tears had already started flowing. “You left me.”

“Kayla.” I turned around so the seatbelt dug painfully into my neck. “I didn't leave you.”
 

“You did,” she cried. “You left me alone, you weren't ever going to come.”
 

“Kayla, I'm here now. See, I didn't forget you.” I tried to touch her arm, to make a connection that might calm her down, but the seatbelt stopped me and I couldn't bridge the gap.
 

It was too late anyway. She’d been saving her fit for when she got in the car, away from the kids who might be watching. Her feet started beating against the car seat; her eyes were closed and her screams hit a remarkably high pitch.
 

Turning around again, I tried to collect my thoughts. Kayla's tantrums were hard to deal with at the best of times, but they were particularly bad when we were in the car. The sound of her wails in such a confined space was enough to make me want to drive off the road. And I couldn't really walk away from her and ignore her, the way Tantrum Tamers, my current favorite book, suggested. I'd tried it once, in the parking lot of Wal-Mart. In my own defense, I didn't go far, just a few cars away I could still see our green four-door from where I hid. But I guess the lady who parked next to me didn't know I was still watching. And I don't know why I didn't notice her calling the police and trying to get the door open. It was impressive, really, how fast the police responded. I must have been totally zoned out thinking about my shopping list or something, because it took me a few minutes before I realized they were surrounding my car, trying to jimmy the lock open.

It took me more than thirty minutes to explain to the officer that I was right there and I hadn’t abandoned my child, although the way Kayla was laughing and smiling at the cops made me consider it for a moment. Jon was called and after a few weeks the whole incident became something that everyone could joke about at dinner parties, but even though I laughed along, it still bothered me. After all, it was me who abandoned her child. Even if it was only for a few minutes.

“Kayla,” I tried again, raising my voice so she might hear me over her wails. “If you stop screaming…”

I knew she’d quiet down enough to hear what I would bargain with. I tried not to bribe her, because every book I’d ever read said it was the worst thing you could do, but desperate times and all that.

“Maybe if you calm down we can go to the mall before we pick up Jordan.” My bargaining had the desired effect. In seconds, Kayla’s screams settled down to whimpers, her breath catching in her throat with sobs she tried hard to muffle.
 

“The…the mall? You mean it?”

It wasn’t the mall with all the stores to browse through, or even the food court with the wide array of fast food choices to help me get fatter, that appealed to Kayla. No, it was the mini amusement park the developers had thoughtfully placed right in the middle of everything. Usually it was my worst nightmare and I would plan my shopping with precision to avoid passing the swirling rides, twinkling lights, and carnival music that would guarantee either a meltdown, or an unscheduled stop on the merry-go-round.
 

“Yes, of course I mean it.”

“I can go on the ponies?”
 

“Yes.”

“And the swings?” She sat up straighter and swiped at her tears.

“Yes.”

“And get cotton candy?”

“Okay.”

“Candy apple?”
 

“No, I think…” Kayla’s eyes scrunched up. “We’ll see.”
 

“And Jordan’s not coming?”
 

Even at the age of five, she realized the mall would be a lot more fun without a sulky teenager around.
 

“Nope,” I said. “It’ll just be us.”

Okay, maybe I wasn’t supposed to reward tantrums, but even I was getting caught up in the excitement. It could be a fun afternoon, and if, as an added bonus, it got her to stop crying, what was the harm?

***

I ended up buying the cotton candy, the ice cream, and the candy apple. There was a big bag of popcorn too, but I ate most of that because after all, popcorn was low calorie. Kayla happily munched down everything else, and maybe it wasn’t the healthiest lunch, but a few treats wouldn’t hurt anyone. Besides, she wasn’t crying. She was actually smiling and we were having fun together. I was a good mom.
 

Two hours of sugar and carnival rides later, I realized if we didn’t get moving we would be late to pick up Jordan. “Kayla,” I called her away from the concession stand where she was watching the pink candy fluff swirl around a barrel. “We have to go, we’re going to be late.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s time to go. We had fun, though, didn’t we?” I tried really hard to keep my voice light, but she wasn’t buying it.
 

“I. Want. More. Cotton. Candy.” Kayla clenched her fists by her sides and stamped her feet against the tile floor.
 

“You’ve had enough, sweetie. We don’t want to be late for Jordan, do we?”
 

“I. Want. Cotton. Candy. Now!” Kayla’s face started to turn red as her volume increased.
 

I glanced around me. People were starting to stare. A passage from Sugar Monsters, a book I’d only skimmed, came to mind. “When your child has been exposed to too much sugar and begins to act in a manner that is unacceptable and unreasonable, remove him or her from the situation immediately until the behavior amends itself. Do not try to negotiate.”