The Sweetness of Forgetting (71)

Annie stares at me, as if she’s not sure whether to believe me or not. “Okay,” she says finally. “You’re really going to talk to him?”

“Yes,” I say. “But what’s with blaming everything on me, Annie? That’s got to stop. I know you’re upset. But I’m not your punching bag.”

“I know,” she mutters.

“And the divorce wasn’t my fault,” I say. “Your dad and I just fell out of love. It was pretty equal. Okay?” Actually, it didn’t feel equal at all. It felt like I’d been used as a doormat for a decade, and I’d finally realized it and decided to stand up for myself. And it turned out that the person walking all over me hadn’t particularly liked it when his doormat developed some self-respect. But Annie doesn’t need to know all that. I want her to keep loving her father, even if I don’t anymore.

“That’s not what Dad says,” Annie mutters, looking down. “Dad and Sunshine.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “And what is it that Dad and Sunshine say?”

“Just that you changed,” she says. “And that you weren’t the same person anymore. And that when you changed, you stopped loving Dad.”

Of course her father’s right in a way; I did change. But that still doesn’t mean the divorce is my fault. But I don’t say any of this to Annie. Instead, I just say, “Yeah, well, believing a couple of idiots is pretty idiotic, don’t you think?”

She laughs. “Yeah.”

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll talk to your dad. I’m sorry that he and his girlfriend are hurting you. And I’m sorry you’re upset about Mamie right now. But Annie, none of those things give you the right to say hateful things to me.”

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“I know,” I say. I take a deep breath. I hate being the bad guy, especially when she’s getting it from all sides, but as her mom, I also can’t let that kind of behavior stand. “Kiddo, I’m afraid you’re grounded for the next two days. No phone either.”

“You’re grounding me?” She’s incredulous.

“You know better than to talk to me like that,” I say, “or to take things out on me. The next time you’re upset about something, just come talk to me, Annie. I’ve always been here for you.”

“I know.” She pauses and looks at me in anguish. “Wait, does this mean I can’t call any more Levys?”

“Not for the next two days,” I say. “You can start again Tuesday afternoon.”

Her jaw drops. “You are so mean,” she says.

“So I’ve heard,” I say.

She glares at me. “I hate you!” she tells me.

I sigh. “Yeah, and you’re a real peach too,” I reply. “Go to your room. I’m going to go have a talk with your dad.”



As I pull up to the house I used to live in, the first thing I notice is that the pink salt spray roses in the front garden, the ones that I carefully and lovingly tended for eight years, are gone. All of them. They were here just weeks ago when I was here last.

The second thing I notice is that there’s a woman in the garden wearing a pink bikini top and denim cutoff shorts, despite the fact that it can’t be more than fifty-five degrees out. She’s at least a decade younger than I am, and her long, blonde hair is gathered into a high ponytail that looks like it should be giving her a massive headache. I hope it’s giving her a headache. I can only assume that she’s Sunshine, recent torturer of my daughter. I suddenly want, more than anything in the world, to gun the engine and flatten her against the soil. Thankfully, I am not actually a murderess, so I refrain. But at the very least, I sure would like to pull her perky ponytail until she screams.

I put the car in Park and take the keys out of the ignition. She stands up and looks at me as I step out of the car. “Who are you?” she asks.

Wow, an A plus for manners, I think. “I’m Annie’s mother,” I reply crisply. “You must be, what is it, Raincloud?”

“Sunshine,” she corrects.

“Ah, of course,” I say. “Is Rob in?”

She tosses her ponytail over her right shoulder and then her left. “Yeah,” she says finally. “He’s, like, inside.”

Well, she talks like a twelve-year-old. No wonder she feels as if she has to compete with my daughter; they’re obviously at the same maturity level. I sigh and head for the door.

“Aren’t you even going to say thank you?” she calls after me.

I turn and smile at her. “No. No, I’m not.”

I ring the doorbell, and Rob comes to the door a moment later, wearing only a pair of swim trunks. What is this, naked day? Do they not realize the temperatures are dipping into the low forties tonight? To his credit, he looks somewhat flustered when he realizes it’s me.

“Oh, hey, Hope,” he says. He takes a few steps back and grabs a T-shirt from the basket of laundry that sits beside the laundry room off the front hall. He pulls it on quickly. “I wasn’t expecting you. How’s, uh, your grandmother?”

His concern, feigned or otherwise, surprises me momentarily. “She’s fine,” I say quickly. Then I shake my head. “No, she’s not. I don’t know why I just said that. She’s still in a coma.”