Miracle Creek(66)



Elizabeth didn’t say anything. She got Henry in the car, gave him apple slices, and waited for Kitt to settle TJ in. When Kitt closed TJ’s door, Elizabeth said, “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I wouldn’t what?”

“You wouldn’t lie around and eat bonbons all day if TJ were like Henry. That’s not how parenting works, and you know it. You think every mom with typical kids is going, My kid isn’t special-needs so I have nothing to do; I think I’ll mail-order some bonbons from Paris? Believe me, I’d love to lie around and eat bonbons all day instead of taking care of Henry—what mom wouldn’t?—but there’s always something to worry about, something they need you for. If it’s not health, it’s school or friends or something. It never ends. How do you not know that?”

Kitt rolled her eyes. “It’s just a joke, Elizabeth. A figure of speech. I’m telling you to relax a little with this ‘I can’t rest until my child is absolutely perfect’ bullshit.”

“You have no right telling me to stop. No more than Teresa would have telling you to stop everything for TJ because he can walk.”

“That’s ludicrous.” Kitt turned to get away.

Elizabeth stepped in front of her. “Think about it. If Rosa could wake up tomorrow and be like TJ, it’d be a miracle—that’s what Teresa’s doing all the therapies for. But does that mean she has the right to say you shouldn’t try your hardest to get him beyond where he is now?”

Kitt shook her head. “You’ve got to lighten up. It’s a frigging joke.”

“No, I don’t think it is. I think you’re pissed. You’re jealous that the boys started out the same, and Henry’s improved and TJ hasn’t, and you’re trying to pull me down and make me feel guilty for leaving you behind. Well, guess what? I do feel guilty.” At this admission, Elizabeth felt all the resentment gush out of her body, leaving a warm tingling, like a numb foot waking up. Here, finally, was the chance to say everything: how guilty she felt, how much she missed Kitt, how sorry she was for all her judging and nagging.

She opened her mouth to say all this, to ask for forgiveness, when Kitt slumped against the hood of her car with her hands over her face. She thought Kitt might be crying and started to go to her, when Kitt dropped her hands. No tears. Her face a mix of tired and amused, an I-can’t-believe-I’m-talking-to-this-crazy-person look.

Kitt looked at her, shook her head, and said, “That is such bullshit. I tell you, you’re a piece of work. Un-frigging-believable.”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything, couldn’t.

Kitt sighed, a long, loud breath of exhaustion. “You think I’m telling you to stop because I’m hoping that, what, Henry’ll become autistic again? What kind of crazy bitch do you think I am? I’m not jealous or mad at you,” she said. “I mean, do I wish TJ could talk and be mainstreamed like Henry? Of course I do. I’m human. But I’m happy for you. It’s just…” Kitt breathed again, but this time with pursed lips, like a yoga breath, an intake of nourishment to embolden her for what she was about to say. She looked at Elizabeth. “Look, no joke. I think you worked hard to get Henry where he is. It’s just, you’ve been going for so long, you don’t know how to stop. I think maybe…” Kitt bit her lip.

“Maybe what?”

“I think you worked hard to strip away the autism, and now you’re left with Henry, the boy he was meant to be. And I think maybe you don’t like that boy. He’s a little weird and likes talking about rocks or whatever. He’s not Mr. In-Crowd, never will be. And I think you’re hoping you can change him into the kid you want instead of the kid you have. But no kid’s perfect, and you can’t get him to be perfect through more treatments. They’re dangerous, and he doesn’t need them. It’s like continuing chemo after all the cancer’s gone. Who are you doing them for—you or for him?”

Chemo after the cancer’s gone. The detective last night had said this to explain the abuse complaint. Elizabeth looked at Kitt. “It was you.”

“What? What was me?”

“You called CPS and said I’m a child abuser.”

“What? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kitt said, but Elizabeth could tell—the way Kitt’s whole face and neck turned crimson in an instant, the jerky staccato of her words, the jumpiness of her eyes looking everywhere but Elizabeth’s face—Kitt knew all about it. Betrayal, embarrassment, confusion—everything tangled around Elizabeth’s throat, tight, sending spots flashing in her vision. She couldn’t stand here one more second. She ran to her car. She slammed the door and got the hell out of there, sending dust swirling up like tornado funnels.





YOUNG





SHE COULDN’T FIND HER CAR. It wasn’t in any of the courthouse handicapped spots or on the street in front. Pak didn’t say anything, just shook his head like she was a forgetful child he was too tired to scold.

“How could you forget where it is? You just parked it a few hours ago,” Mary said.

Young bit down and clenched her mouth shut. Questions and accusations were popping around her head like balls on those lottery-number pickers, and now—on a public street, with their daughter—was not the time for those words.

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