Love and Other Natural Disasters by Holly Shumas Page A

love.
    "Maybe you're not there, or
you just need time to think it over. If you decide you're not ready to meet up
yet, could you at least send me an e-mail so I won't wait for a call that's not
coming?" At the mention of e-mail, shame struck anew. "Well, good
night, Eve. You're in my heart."
    The next morning, I told Jacob
there would be a change in his schedule. That night was normally his night with
Daddy, but instead, it would be mine. Jacob clearly wasn't happy about the
disruption.
    "It's 'Jacob and Daddy Movie
Night,'" he said, pointing to the calendar. He had just finished getting
dressed for school in his jeans and favorite blue long-sleeved T-shirt, the one
that he insisted on wearing despite the paint stains on one arm.
    "But now 'Jacob and Daddy
Movie Night' will be tomorrow. See?" I gestured toward the blank square
next door. "We can just draw an arrow..." I began, reaching for a
marker.
    "No! Tonight!"
    I sat down on his bed and patted
the space next to me. He was having none of it.
    "Tonight!" he said again,
glaring.
    "I know you're disappointed. I
know you really wanted to see your daddy tonight. But you're going to see Aunt
Tamara and Uncle Clayton instead. You always have fun there."
    "No! I want to see
Daddy!"
    "I bet Aunt Tamara and Uncle
Clayton would watch a movie with you. I bet they haven't seen—"
    He started crying, that furious
full-body crying that always makes you embarrassed for parents at the
supermarket, the kind that makes you think, They should give that little boy
less sugar, or Why don't they discipline him? Despite my best
efforts, the past weeks had been hard on Jacob, and it was heartbreaking to see
him turning into that boy.
    "I'm not going! I hate
them!" he said through his tears.
    "Jacob, I know you're upset,
but that's not nice. And it's not true. You love Aunt Tamara and Uncle
Clayton." I moved toward him and kneeled so we could be eye to eye. He
wouldn't look at me.
    "You can't take Daddy
away," he said.
    "You'll see him soon.
Tomorrow." But my voice lacked conviction. I was wavering.
    While I knew a parent should never
give in to a child having a tantrum, I found myself considering it. Every
morning and every night, Jacob looked at that calendar on his wall, as if
something might have changed during his hours away or asleep, as if he might
suddenly find that there were no more "Jacob and Daddy" days. The
truth was, Jonathon and I could talk tomorrow night just as easily. I was being
selfish, desperately wanting a "Jonathon and Eve Talk About Whether He's
Made Enough Progress to Come Home Night." And I wanted it ASAP. I'd
deluded myself into thinking that Jacob would take the rescheduling in stride.
Everyone would have you believe motherhood is the end of selfishness and I
tried—I really did try—and for the most part, I succeeded, but maybe just this
once, could I have this? I didn't want to wait another day to find out what was
going to happen to me, and to this family I loved.
    Jacob seemed to read my
uncertainty, and his crying let up. Like a hunter sensing the vulnerability of
his prey, he said again, loudly, "I will see my daddy tonight!"
    I'd been swaying, but that tone put
me back on solid ground. If I taught Jacob that all he had to do was plant his
feet and outlast me, things would only get worse. "You're not seeing Daddy
tonight. You're seeing him tomorrow night. Now it's time for you to eat
breakfast so you won't be late for school."
    "No-o-o-o," he wailed, jumping
up and down. "No breakfast! No school! Nooooo !"
    "Jacob—"
    "No!"
    "Come in the kitchen—"
    "No Aunt! No Uncle! Daddy!
Daddy! Daddy!" He shouted it over and over in a frenzy, and I couldn't
take it. I put my head down and shut my eyes. I needed this moment to end. I
needed this day to end. I needed this life — this post-Laney life—to end. And
finally, mercifully, he quieted down. I felt his hand on the top of my head.
"Mommy?" he said tremulously.
    Looking up at his face, I didn't
see any trace of