Rise: How a House Built a Family(68)

“I have sand,” Roman said. “You use the orange shovel.”

I smiled at him in my rearview mirror while the other kids climbed out of the car. They hadn’t gone to movies either, or on dates, or to sleepovers. Our lives were on hold while we worked insanely long and difficult hours. We were giving up so much with the hope of a small step forward. How did life come so easily to so many other people? Other women had husbands who helped, or at least paid child support and felt an obligation to provide for their kids. Other women had friends and big families and safety nets.

My parents were amazing and supportive, but neither of them lived close enough to be part of my everyday life, and besides, they had their own ghosts to overcome and futures to dream about. My mom was trying to find a way to retire early so she could travel and see her family in Wisconsin more often. She had gone through extreme hardship in her life, and no matter how hard she worked, she hit roadblocks and challenges. I wanted more than anything for her to have a break. She had accomplished so much, but was always working for everyone else. It was time for her.

The kids settled into pajamas and disappeared into their rooms. I called my mom and sat out on the back porch to let her tell me that things were going to be just fine. In fact, they were going to be superb. “You have to make mini vacations out of everyday life,” she said. “Remember how poor we were when you were a teenager? There were several years we almost starved to death. If it weren’t for the free lunches at school, I don’t think we would have made it through. But we found ways to have fun.”

They had been horrible times. I was too malnourished to stay awake in class. Boys in my high school showed me pictures of anorexic women and jeered, “Look familiar, Cara?,” laughing and socking one another in the arm. They might not have laughed if they saw me slipping ketchup packages into my purse to eat for my supper. Even when Mom made a big pot of soup from discount-bin pasta and dented-can vegetables, I would try not to eat much so there would be enough for her. She didn’t have the free lunch I got every day. She didn’t even get ketchup packages.

I played a game on weekends and during the summer that I had never told her about. I called it my two-o’clock game. If I could hold out on eating my one meal for the day until two, then I could still get to sleep at night. It was an exercise in extreme self-control, because I woke up weak with a sharp enough pain in my belly that I sometimes wondered if it would just eat a hole right through me. The easiest times were when I had a book to hide in. I didn’t own any books, but we went to the library regularly and I pretended the stories were as good as food until two o’clock came.

“The kids and I have it a lot better than we did then,” I said, eyes tearing. Who was I to complain? I had let myself forget how far we had both come. “We have more than enough to eat. And we have heat. Remember how cold we got? The toilet would freeze. And poor little Snoopy couldn’t ever keep a bowl of water because it froze right there on the kitchen floor!”

Mom laughed. “We slept in a half dozen layers, and you tied a hood around your head at night. Remember that? Just your nose and mouth peeking out. But we still made vacations. We had little Friday-night celebrations watching the PBS fund-drive movies on that old television with lines all through it.”

“Doctor Who!” we said at the same time.

“We went and picked up pecans together,” Mom reminded me.

“I hated that. I was mortified to be crawling around on the college campus picking up buckets of nuts. I was probably pretty mean to you about it.”

“We laughed about it,” she said. “I wasn’t thrilled to be out there either. But we had nuts to eat.”

“And to give for Christmas gifts to Grandma and Grandpa,” I said. “We made the best of it. We laughed a lot, didn’t we.”

“Don’t worry so much about the details. You’re doing so very, very well, and I’m proud of you.”

I went inside and found Jada and Roman playing Wii bowling. The game may have started fun, but it had dissolved into arguments and stomping. “Anyone in here want to go for a walk?” I asked.

“In the dark?” Jada asked, wide-eyed.

“Sure. When I was a kid we walked at night all the time. We’ll make wishes on the stars and say good morning to the night creatures.”

“I’ll walk!” Roman said, running for the stairs.

Hope and Drew stayed in their rooms, cherishing the quiet time alone. But Jada joined us, and so did Hershey. We imagined fairy creatures waking up in the tall grass and lazy opossums and armadillos rustling around in the forest.

“I wish for a giant frog. Big as me!” Roman shouted to the stars.

“Ewww,” Jada said. “Think how big the bugs would have to be to feed him! I wish I could be in the WNBA. Or maybe travel to Africa. Or India.”

“Then I wish for Disney World,” Roman amended.

“I wish I had four kids and a magical house called Inkwell Manor,” I said, taking my turn to shout to the Big Dipper.

“Mommy! You already have that!” Roman said.

“See? I told you wishes on stars always come true.”





–18–

Fall

Hear the Words I Mean

I knew it would be difficult to move Adam out and finalize a divorce, but I never imagined how often he would forget that these things had happened. Every night I double-checked the window and door locks, and every morning Hershey and I looked for anything bumped out of place. We walked our patrol with her shoulder pressed against my thigh, first through the interior and then along the outside perimeter. I wasn’t sure what we were looking for or what we would do if we found it, but with the illogical, unpredictable shadow of insanity ruling our world, going through these motions gave me the much-needed illusion of control.