weren’t both at school all day? Evie needed to sort out the bills and call Midwest Mutual again. She had to look for a job or at least start to think about a job. She didn’t expect them to be happy or fine or the same as before, but she did expect her kids to go to school. Was she delusional?
“I don’t care. I’m not going.”
Sam’s tone was calm, not belligerent. He was matter-of-fact. Evie didn’t know what she was going to do. It never occurred to her that after an extra week at home both Sophie and Sam wouldn’t be itching to get out of there, back to building snowmen at recess and turning carnations blue during science. But if Sam had a meltdown in public, that would push him even further into misery.
She looked at Sam , shook her head no, but said, “Okay. But just today.”
* * *
Sophie picked at her fingernails. “Where’s Sam?”
“He’s not going today.” Evie picked up Sophie’s lunch and placed it in her backpack, maneuvering it into the perfect spot so it wouldn’t get squashed. “He can’t go.”
Sophie nodded. She understood in a way Evie did not.
The kids stored their grief on a shelf when they could. Sophie did that to go to school. The shelf was out of Sam’s reach, at least today. That coping mechanism kicked in when needed. Evie read that online, or in a book, in the middle of the night. She didn’t remember. And Sam needed it big-time. He would draw his legs into his shell at bedtime every night—the darkness would bring about the pain. He stared at the ceiling, he cried, he hyperventilated. In the light of day, the prospect of friends and video games and a potential snowball fight overrode any adult tendencies to mourn constantly. But now he was faced with school, not fun, and with teachers and classmates, not just friends. He would not be able to go into the bathroom or his bedroom at will to fall apart and regroup. He would not be able to emerge from a classroom and touch his only parent just to make sure she was still there.
“Stay home today,” Evie said, back in Sam’s room. “I have to take Sophie to school and walk her in. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Nicole’s in the basement if you need anything.” She’d never left the twins alone for more than a few minutes, such as if she ran to Laney’s to check out a new purse or Beth’s to pick up a basket of whatever she’d grown in her garden. But Sam wouldn’t be alone. The benefit of having a boarder. A tenant. A widow.
Evie spotted Rex in the hall and snapped her fingers. The dog padded over and Evie pointed to Sam. The furry lump jumped onto Sam’s bed, and Evie sighed knowing Sam would have some company close by. “We’ll figure this out when I get home,” she said. Or not.
Sam nuzzled his face into Rex’s neck and clicked on the TV he’d negotiated into his bedroom when Richard had moved out. Classic TV reruns had lulled him to sleep for the past three years, and Evie wished it were that simple now. Considering divorce simple, that was a switch. How she would love to hear that noise in the middle of the night and have her trip down the hallway result in just pushing the OFF button. In those days, Sam was able to get up and go about his boyhood business because Richard showed up at the door every Wednesday at six and every other Friday at seven.
Missing someone who had moved across town was different from missing someone who had died.
* * *
Evie pulled back into the garage, turned off the car, but stayed inside. She was alone. It was quiet. Sophie had gone into school as if it were any other day. Now Evie didn’t want to go back into the house and deal with Sam, coax him out of bed, watch him watch TV all day, waiting as he had for the past week for his friends to come home from school. Those six hours seemed like twelve. She didn’t want to yell at Sam or lecture him, but she didn’t want to be complacent, as if his behavior didn’t matter. It mattered that he
“I don’t care. I’m not going.”
Sam’s tone was calm, not belligerent. He was matter-of-fact. Evie didn’t know what she was going to do. It never occurred to her that after an extra week at home both Sophie and Sam wouldn’t be itching to get out of there, back to building snowmen at recess and turning carnations blue during science. But if Sam had a meltdown in public, that would push him even further into misery.
She looked at Sam , shook her head no, but said, “Okay. But just today.”
* * *
Sophie picked at her fingernails. “Where’s Sam?”
“He’s not going today.” Evie picked up Sophie’s lunch and placed it in her backpack, maneuvering it into the perfect spot so it wouldn’t get squashed. “He can’t go.”
Sophie nodded. She understood in a way Evie did not.
The kids stored their grief on a shelf when they could. Sophie did that to go to school. The shelf was out of Sam’s reach, at least today. That coping mechanism kicked in when needed. Evie read that online, or in a book, in the middle of the night. She didn’t remember. And Sam needed it big-time. He would draw his legs into his shell at bedtime every night—the darkness would bring about the pain. He stared at the ceiling, he cried, he hyperventilated. In the light of day, the prospect of friends and video games and a potential snowball fight overrode any adult tendencies to mourn constantly. But now he was faced with school, not fun, and with teachers and classmates, not just friends. He would not be able to go into the bathroom or his bedroom at will to fall apart and regroup. He would not be able to emerge from a classroom and touch his only parent just to make sure she was still there.
“Stay home today,” Evie said, back in Sam’s room. “I have to take Sophie to school and walk her in. I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Nicole’s in the basement if you need anything.” She’d never left the twins alone for more than a few minutes, such as if she ran to Laney’s to check out a new purse or Beth’s to pick up a basket of whatever she’d grown in her garden. But Sam wouldn’t be alone. The benefit of having a boarder. A tenant. A widow.
Evie spotted Rex in the hall and snapped her fingers. The dog padded over and Evie pointed to Sam. The furry lump jumped onto Sam’s bed, and Evie sighed knowing Sam would have some company close by. “We’ll figure this out when I get home,” she said. Or not.
Sam nuzzled his face into Rex’s neck and clicked on the TV he’d negotiated into his bedroom when Richard had moved out. Classic TV reruns had lulled him to sleep for the past three years, and Evie wished it were that simple now. Considering divorce simple, that was a switch. How she would love to hear that noise in the middle of the night and have her trip down the hallway result in just pushing the OFF button. In those days, Sam was able to get up and go about his boyhood business because Richard showed up at the door every Wednesday at six and every other Friday at seven.
Missing someone who had moved across town was different from missing someone who had died.
* * *
Evie pulled back into the garage, turned off the car, but stayed inside. She was alone. It was quiet. Sophie had gone into school as if it were any other day. Now Evie didn’t want to go back into the house and deal with Sam, coax him out of bed, watch him watch TV all day, waiting as he had for the past week for his friends to come home from school. Those six hours seemed like twelve. She didn’t want to yell at Sam or lecture him, but she didn’t want to be complacent, as if his behavior didn’t matter. It mattered that he
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