Family Interrupted by Linda Barrett Page A

Sketches came first.
    Kayla at fourteen:
pierced earrings, baby fat all gone and cheekbones visible, hair in ponytail and out of the way...still playing soccer...some breast development...
    At fifteen:
Was she still playing soccer? Yes. A French braid would work. I turned the page and continued drawing....
    At sixteen:
eyelids half closed...ah, my girl had big secrets again...and multiple piercings. Spiked hair. A rebel? Oh, please no tats.... Would she still confide in me? My chest hurt.
    At seventeen:
hair longer, more flattering. Her brown eyes dark, mysterious. Maybe a boyfriend?
    One drawing followed another, each one building upon the last. I added details and saw Kayla emerge as the young woman she might have become. I arranged the pictures neatly on the table, one next to the other, each one visible. The big wall clock hummed in the background as the final portrait appeared:
    Kayla at eighteen.
The lopsided grin with the tiny dimple alongside it just like Grandpa Dave’s. Straight nose. Hair a bit darker and shorter, cropped behind the ears... My pencil kept gliding, filling in, a line here, a shading there....
    Finally, my arm dropped to my side, the pencil hitting the floor as I stared at the final portrait. Stared until my eyes ached.
    Ian. It was Ian who looked back at me.
    My son. My beautiful boy. A prickling sensation traveled through my body all the way to my fingertips, and with my heart racing, I picked up the phone.
    #
    Jack arrived home at his usual time. I was anxious about the sketch, anxious about the call to Ian. My nerves were stretched not because I wanted Jack’s approval but because I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Jack would know. He always sensed the inside of a person. Colombo said I had a heart that sees, but he was wrong about that. I noted the outside details most of the time.
    Jack’s broad smile needed no words of explanation when he first saw the drawing. “Exactly right! Ian could step right off that page.”
    “Thanks, but...but I thought I was going to draw Kayla, and out came Ian. A-a bad feeling came over me, which I know sounds dumb, but I called Ian immediately. Just to make sure he was all right.”
    “What did he say?” Jack spoke quietly, holding his body still, his eyes boring into me—through me—as he waited for my reply. He made me more nervous than I already was.
    “Why are you looking at me like that?”
    “Because a call to Ian is rare. How many times have you called him since Kayla died?”
    How many?
“Well, I don’t know....Who keeps count of phone calls?” I quickly backtracked in my memory and came up with half a dozen at most. I went on the attack. “You seem to be the conduit to him. You always beat me to the punch.”
    “Is that what you tell yourself? That it’s my fault?”
    “What are you talking about, Jack? I don’t tell myself anything.”
    Disappointment etched his face. Sorrow. “Maybe that’s worse.” He sighed. “So, you called Ian. And what happened?”
    “I had to leave a message.”
    Jack checked the time. “I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon, but it’ll be a quick conversation. He’s out a lot in the evenings. Wednesdays and Saturdays are booked, but I don’t know about Tuesdays.”
    I’d had no idea. “Overtime? Or a class? No, not a class, not on Saturday. Oh! Is he seeing someone?”
    “Hopefully a hundred someones. He’s too young, not to say confused right now.”
    As though Jack had been psychic, the phone rang, and Ian’s voice came through to me, an anxious voice.
    “Mom? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Dad?”
    “No, no, honey. We’re fine. We’re both fine.”
    I heard a huge breath of air escape from the other end. “That’s good. I got scared.”
    I thought about what Jack had said to me a moment ago. “But why?”
    “Mom? Are you serious? You’ve called me maybe three times this whole year and always for a reason, like don’t be late for Kayla’s memorial service. What