The Wednesday Group (13 page)

“Can we just keep the issues separate for a moment?”

“How? I can't just stick the fact that you broke my heart in one compartment and the fact that I'm pregnant in another. Maybe that's what you can do with all your shit. Maybe that's why you can watch a movie without thinking about what an asshole you are. I go around feeling like someone drilled a hole into my fucking chest, and you can sit in there and laugh at Ironman.”

“Bridge, I do feel bad. I just don't show it the same way.”

“You play the guitar, you walk around the house singing, you go off to work like nothing is different. I feel like there's a war raging inside of me. I can't concentrate. I'm exhausted, and I can't sleep. I'm so fucking angry one minute and sad the next. And you feel bad? Like how exactly do you feel bad?”

“Can we talk about this at home?”

“No. I want to see you actually feel bad about this.”

He combs his hand through his hair. “I'm sorry. I truly am. I promise by the time the baby is here, things will have changed. They'll be better. I'll make it up to you.”

“I'm getting an abortion.”

“What?” He glares at her.

“You think I want you to be the father of my baby?”

“You always said you'd never get an abortion. You didn't care if other people did, but it wasn't for you.”

“Yeah, well, you changed all that.” She stands. “I need another bag of popcorn.”

He follows. She takes her popcorn and walks out of the movie theater.

They get into his truck. The smell of popcorn fills the space and makes her nauseated. She puts the bag on the floor.

“Bridge, you can't do this. It's my baby too.” He starts the engine but doesn't back up.

“Oh, believe me, I can do it.”

“Please. Please don't.”

“Can you drive already?” she asks.

His hands grip the wheel as he glances in the rearview mirror. His jaw is clenched, and she sees he's angry and frightened. For a moment, she feels good. She's gotten what she wanted, for him to feel like shit. Maybe he'll understand a little better how she feels. But then it occurs to her, it's not her he's frightened of losing, it's the baby, and that makes the hole feel like it's going to consume her.

 

Hannah

An untroubled spring breeze caresses Hannah's face. She's in the backyard raking a small plot of land that Adam carved out last weekend. It will be nice for the kids to plant a garden, to watch things grow, to feel as if they've created something. Hannah has an assortment of seeds, and as soon as they come home this afternoon, they'll begin. It's a good family project. Without Adam, of course.

Her phone rings. She stops raking.

“Hi,” Hannah says casually, expecting Bridget, expecting to hear the f-word in the next sentence.

“Is this Mrs. Jenkins?” a professional voice asks.

“Yes, may I ask who's calling?”

“This is Ms. Meriwether from Alicia's elementary school.”

Hannah clenches the wooden rake handle. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, she's fine. But I think it would be wise if you and your husband came in.” Her neutral voice gives nothing away.

“I already know all about what she said to Peter. She told me. Is that what you'd like to speak about?” Hannah wants to make it clear that she's not some delusional mother who thinks she has perfect children.

“I'm afraid I don't know about that incident.”

Shit.
“When would you like us to come in?”

“I was thinking this afternoon.”

“Today? I'm afraid that won't be possible for my husband. He works in Boston. If you'd like, I can come on my own.”

“I've already spoken to Mr. Jenkins, and he's on his way. He said he can be here at two-thirty.”

Her hand slides down a little. “May I ask what it was Alicia did?”

“I think it's best if Alicia tells you that.”

What could be worse than calling a boy gay? “Can you give me an idea?” Hannah asks.

“She defaced school property.”

“Defaced? How?” Her breath feels sharp.

“I'd prefer we talk about the details when you get here. I'll see you in a little over half an hour. Good-bye, Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Thank you for taking the time to speak with us,” Hannah says, then realizes Ms. Meriwether has already hung up.

Hannah changes into a nice pair of slacks, a white blouse, and a long blue cardigan. It's a conservative
I'm a good mom
outfit.

She and Adam arrive at the same time.

“Do you know what this is about?” he asks as he holds open the front door. She notices his freckles are more pronounced. Did he have lunch outside? Meet someone behind a bush?

“The principal was vague,” she says. “Something about defacing property. I don't understand. It's not like Alicia.”

He straightens his tie. They are about to sit in the small waiting area when the secretary tells them to go ahead in.

Ms. Meriwether stands. She is Hannah's height and also has on a white blouse and blue sweater. After handshakes and introductions, she asks her secretary to call in Alicia.

Alicia walks in, shoulders hunched, her face pale, nearly translucent. Hannah's first instinct is to hug her, but she doesn't want to be smothering. Instead she points to the chair between Adam and her. Alicia sits. She has her father's muted, gentle eyes, which at the moment are staring at her shoes.

“Would you like to explain to your parents what happened today?” Ms. Meriwether asks.

Alicia shakes her head. Wisps of hair that have escaped her messy braid frame her face.

“I think it would be better coming from you than me,” Ms. Meriwether says.

Alicia shakes her head again and crosses her arms. Then she looks up at her father. She's begging for mercy, and he is certainly the most likely person in this room to provide that.

“Honey, it's okay,” he tells her. “Whatever it is. We can talk about it. But first we have to know what it is.”

Alicia hops out of her chair and throws herself at him. He takes her on his lap and kisses the top of her head. She's a twig in his arms.

“Perhaps,” he says, looking at the principal, “it would be best if you told us.”

Alicia burrows her head into Adam's chest. Hannah feels a jab of envy and reminds herself this isn't about her, and it's good her daughter can find comfort.

“There were actually two incidents. The first occurred on Wednesday at recess. One of the girls reported that Alicia called her a bad word.”

Alicia covers her ears.

“Don't do that,” Hannah says. “You need to listen.” Her tone comes out much saltier than she wanted.

Adam gently pushes Alicia's hands down. “It's okay,” he says. “Ms. Meriwether, can you tell us what the word was?”

“B-i-t-c-h,” she spells out.

“Alicia, why would you call someone that?” Adam asks as he caresses her back.

She tries to burrow deeper.

“There must have been a reason. Were you angry at the girl?”

A nod.

“What happened?” he asks.

She whispers into her father's ear. Hannah keeps herself in check, not showing her irritation, as a closed-mouth, seemingly patient smile spreads across her lips.

“She says,” he begins, “that this girl called her a rich brat.”

Ms. Meriwether shakes her head. “From our investigation, we did not determine that to be the case. It looks as if Alicia said what she did unprovoked.”

“Well, something must have upset her.” Although Adam speaks slowly, Hannah hears his defensiveness.

“Yes, I believe something is upsetting Alicia. That is generally why children misbehave. I think it's up to us, and perhaps a counselor, to help us determine what that something is.”

“And the other incident?” Hannah asks. Calling someone a bitch is not defacing property.

“It happened today, after lunch.” Her lips pucker. “I would like Alicia to tell you.”

She shakes her head and again puts her hands to her ears.

“Very well.” She takes a deep breath. “After lunch, Alicia used the girls' room.”

Graffiti on the bathroom wall, Hannah thinks. She glances at her daughter, whose eyes are shut.

“She urinated in the stall. On the floor, on purpose.”

Hannah covers her mouth.

“Are you sure?” Adam asks.

“Yes.” Her deep-set eyes watch Alicia.

“It could have been someone who was in there before her,” Adam conjectures.

“She confessed.”

“Perhaps she felt pressured.” He keeps caressing Alicia's hair.

Hannah rubs her temples. Why on earth would Alicia do something like that? God, it would have been so much better if she punched someone. Even calling Peter gay was better. This isn't just bad, it's sick, and Hannah doesn't feel irritated or annoyed. She's wondering how to find the best therapist.

“Alicia,” the principal says, “do you think you can look at your father and tell him what you told me?”

She shakes her head no, her eyes still closed, her ears still covered, although clearly she can hear.

Hannah gets up and moves to her daughter. She kneels and pulls Alicia away from the large hawklike wing of protection Adam has created. “We need to know if you did what the principal is saying you did. If it's true, we're not angry. We want to help.”

Alicia's lips quiver as she gives a slight nod. Hannah wraps her arms around her daughter and feels the sobs before she hears them.

“It's okay, sweetie, we'll get help.”

“Are there any problems at home that might have elicited this?” Ms. Meriwether asks.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Adam tells her.

Hannah's not about to tell the principal the nature of the problems, but she's not going to lie outright like Adam. “There are a few issues.”

“Nothing that would cause Alicia to do something like this,” he says.

This is not the place to have an argument, but Hannah glances up at Adam and rolls her eyes, then turns back to Ms. Meriwether. “I'm not sure what caused this, if it's the tension at home or something else, but either way we will look into it.”

“I have already scheduled Alicia to meet with the school adjustment counselor, but in this case, you might want to think of some further counseling as well.”

“May I ask what consequences you intend to give Alicia?” Hannah asks.

“She already wrote an apology letter to the girl she taunted at recess. I will ask that she does the same to the maintenance people. Then at some point in the next few weeks, I would like her to write a private letter to me explaining what she believes was the cause behind her action.”

“That is generous and fair. Thank you.” Hannah stands and extends a hand.

“And you're sure it was Alicia?” Adam asks.

“Yes, I'm afraid so.”

Alicia, who has hopped down from Adam's lap, waits at the door. She has traded the security of her father's arms for the hope of escape. Adam stays in the chair, as if he needs more time to digest the information.

“Why don't you pick up Sam?” Hannah says to him. “And we'll talk more at home.”

Adam nods and glances around, then slowly gets up. He seems too large for this office.

In the car, Alicia sits in the front seat and stares out the window. Hannah waits a few minutes before talking.

“Can you tell me what you thought of before you did that in the girls' room?”

No response.

“Alicia, you're going to have to say something, and believe me, it's easier to say the truth.”

“I don't know why I did it.” She kicks the dashboard. “I don't know. And I don't want to talk about it. It's not true what you always say, that talking helps.”

“It can help.” Hannah turns onto their street.

“Yeah, really? You and Dad don't talk. You and him are such hypo—liars.”

“Hypocrites,” Hannah says.

“You pretend everything is all the same, but you never talk to each other. Just to me and Sam. You hate each other. I know you're going to get divorced.”

“Alicia, where on earth did you get that idea?”

“I got up one night because I had a bad dream. I went to your room and Dad wasn't there. He was in the guest room.”

Hannah feels herself breathe more easily. She can fix this. “Oh, sweetheart, that doesn't mean anything. He snores, and sometimes I can't sleep.”

“Sometimes? And you want me to tell the truth? You're a liar. Because I've been checking every night, and you and Dad are never together, so I know you're getting divorced. That's what Heather's parents did before they got divorced.”

Hannah pulls into the driveway. “We're not getting divorced, but you're right for feeling that things aren't perfect. We shouldn't hide that from you.”

“I'm never going back to school either. Everyone knows. Eric said I wasn't toilet trained.”

The car is in park. “Do you have any idea why you chose to do that and not something else, like punch a wall?”

She shakes her head. “I felt like it.”

“Were you angry?”

“Not really.”

“Frightened?”

“Not really.”

“Not frightened we were going to get divorced?”

She opens the car door. “I told you already. I don't know.”

“Please don't get out yet. Try to think of how you felt when you did it. Try to remember.”

“I told you a million times, I don't know,” she shouts.

Adam's car pulls in beside hers. The thought of seeing him, of having to talk this through with him, makes her woozy.

Alicia gets out and slams the door.

Hannah stays in the car as she watches the three of them climb the front steps. It could be a Norman Rockwell painting, the tall, hulking dad in the middle holding the hands of his children, leading them home.