Long Bright River(38)

It was then that I made a certain decision, in my mind. I got very quiet, and I may even have smiled a little, and I said nothing further, and I walked away. I got into my car and drove north, not looking once in the rearview mirror, and then I called the realtor who sold me my house in Port Richmond, and I told her I intended to list it. Then I called the director of Spring Garden Day School and told her that, sadly, I would have to take Thomas out of school. This was, for Thomas and me both, a heartbreak.

The next day I talked to my colleague whose brother was moving out of the apartment above Mrs. Mahon’s house—I had heard this colleague complaining that he had to help with the move—and I also placed an ad on a childcare website seeking a sitter near Bensalem with a great deal of flexibility.

I never told Simon where I was moving.

If he had anything new to say to me, I thought, he could locate me at the station. And if he wanted to see Thomas again, he could start sending checks.

In this way, I started our life over.



* * *



—

Since then I have made great sacrifices in order to retain my independence, and to protect Thomas. Largely, I think my decision has been correct.

But at the end of each workday, when I look my son in the eye, and see from his gloomy expression that he has spent another day in boredom and solitude while Bethany scrolls endlessly through her phone—I have to admit that I waver in my certainty.

Now, he disappears down the hallway while I begin to make dinner.

When it’s time to eat, I find him in his room and see that he’s coloring something large and bright on the back of a piece of poster board he brought home last year from school.

I watch him work in silence for a while.

—What are you making? I ask him eventually, and he regards his work.

—A picture for Ashley, he says.

—For Ashley?

—For Cousin Ashley, he says. For tomorrow.

I blanch.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It crept up on me.

Thomas, perhaps sensing some hesitation on my part, looks up at me, worried.

—We’re still going, he says. A statement, rather than a question.

His picture, I determine, is of a turkey and a can of something—beans, perhaps, or corn. I am embarrassed to say that most of our daily vegetable intake comes out of cans, these days.

—Of course, I say.

My voice falters, and I wonder if Thomas can sense my uneasiness.

But my son is nodding, satisfied.

—Good, he says. He is happy now. He returns to his work, relaxed for once, delighted to have something to look forward to.

Then he looks up again. I know what he will ask before he says it.

—Will Daddy be there?

The mood in the room changes quickly. And for what feels like the thousandth time this year, I must tell him no.





I find, over the course of the next morning, that I am very nervous. For me, it takes an extraordinary amount of emotional stamina to go to any O’Brien family event, let alone one where I am not expected. Last night, I briefly considered phoning Ashley to let her know Thomas and I were coming, but I think an element of surprise will be useful—especially when it comes to talking to my cousin Bobby, whom I have decided, after at least five unreturned texts, is definitively avoiding me. My goal is to make some quick rounds, to ask everyone I can about Kacey, and to leave without incident.

—What’s wrong, Mama, says Thomas as I tear around the kitchen.

—I can’t find the beaters, I say.

I’ve been having moments lately where I feel that Thomas’s childhood is speeding past too quickly, that it should be better in all ways than mine was. Baking, I will think, frantically; Thomas has never baked anything. And I’ll run to the store.

Today, we’re making brownies, but the thing is that I’ve never made brownies before, and the first batch is already ruined, burned to a crisp. (Dutifully, loyally, Thomas crunches one in his jaws and pronounces it good.)



* * *



—

The second batch is better.

But the brownie fiasco makes us late, and I hustle us to the car and then drive to Olney more quickly than I should.



* * *



—

    Growing up, Kacey and I were very close to our cousin Ashley. Her mother, Lynn, is Gee’s youngest sibling, born almost two decades after Gee, closer in age to our mother than to our grandmother. Lynn and Ashley lived right down the block from us, and Ashley went to the same parish school we did, Holy Redeemer, until Kacey got the two of us kicked out. Ashley had a baby young, at nineteen, which didn’t surprise anyone except her mother, Lynn, who had blinders on when it came to the nonsense her daughter was getting into. But I give Ashley credit: She got her life together after that. She went to night school while her mother watched the baby, then got her nursing degree. In her mid-twenties, she met and married a man named Ron, who works construction, and they had three more babies three years in a row, and then moved to Olney, to a larger house with a very tiny backyard.

I don’t mind Ashley. In some ways I even see in her a version of how Kacey’s life could have gone: They’re the same age, and have the same taste in music and fashion, and the same wicked sense of humor. They were part of the same group growing up. Of all the O’Briens, I probably miss Ashley the most, and have even tried to reach out to her on several occasions. But like me, Ashley is very busy with children and work, and mainly my calls have gone unreturned.