The Things We Cannot Say(105)

“Daddy forgot to get me from French club and they were closing up and they called him but he didn’t answer and Mrs. Bernard got cranky and I couldn’t remember Grandma’s phone number and I didn’t know what to do,” she says, and then her eyes fill with tears again. A fresh tear slips from her eye and her voice is small as she whispers, “Mommy, can you come home now?”

“Oh, honey bear...” I whisper. The buzz from the vodka is fading rapidly. “But he got you eventually, right?”

“No.” She scowls. “Mrs. Bernard drove me to Daddy’s work and left me at reception. And the receptionist had to go find him because he was in a meeting.”

“So where was Eddie in all of this time?” I ask slowly. “Not at school, surely?”

“Oh no,” she says, but before I can breathe a sigh of relief, she adds, “He was with Daddy because he got sent home from school today because he had a meltdown in class and he threw a chair at Mr. Bailey. And Eddie had five accidents in his pants today but don’t worry, I put his dirty clothes into the washing machine already.”

“Why are you doing that instead of Daddy?” I ask, although it’s difficult to speak, because I am so enraged I can barely focus enough to ask the question.

“Daddy’s in his office on Skype back to his office. He had to finish his meeting,” Callie says. She turns the phone camera around, to show me two open cans of soup waiting on the bench. “Don’t worry, Mommy—I’m making Eddie dinner now.”

“No, Callie, no—” I gasp. “No, you don’t know how to use the cooktop, sweetheart—you’ll burn yourself.”

“I’m microwaving it,” she says defensively, and just then I hear the ding of the microwave. Callie is plenty old and mature enough to use the microwave or the stove—if she knew how, but I’ve never shown her, because frankly she’s never had to know. I do almost all of the cooking in our house. It’s never even occurred to me that perhaps I should be sharing those duties—not for my own sake, but for theirs.

“How long did you cook it for, sweetheart?” I ask, my heart pounding in my throat.

“I guessed. I thought ten minutes would be enough,” she says innocently, and I grasp the phone a little harder when I see her standing and walking toward the microwave. It sits high on a shelf so Eddie can’t reach it. To get that boiling hot soup out, she’ll have to reach up over her head.

“Don’t touch that!” I say frantically, and Callie frowns into the camera.

“But why?”

“It’s going to be very hot, honey bear. Just...no.” I draw in a deep breath and try to stay calm. “Darling, just do me one little favor, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy?”

“I want you to go into Daddy’s office, and interrupt his meeting, and—”

“But he said not to—”

“Callie, just listen to me,” I say urgently. “Walk up to Daddy’s office and tell him Mommy is on the phone and it’s an emergency.”

“Okay,” Callie says, then she sighs. “I just don’t want to get in trouble, Mom.”

“If anyone is getting ‘in trouble,’” I say fiercely. “It’s Daddy.”

She’s a child of the millennium, that’s for sure—Callie automatically walks to Wade’s office upstairs with the camera frontward so I can see where she’s going, then she opens the door to his office to show me Wade sitting at his big desktop computer. I recognize the lab technician who’s on the huge monitor, and I also recognize that the scratch pad they are sharing between screens is full of mathematical formulas. I can tell Wade is engrossed, because when Callie walks into the room, he doesn’t even look away from the screen.

“Not now, Eddie—” he says, without turning to see which kid it is.

“Daddy,” Callie says hesitantly. “Mommy wants to talk to you.”

I see Wade’s shoulders lock. He reluctantly farewells his lab rat, and I notice the slight pause before he turns to face the phone. Now that he’s facing me, guilt is written all over his face. Callie flips the camera lens around and passes him the phone. He looks down at the screen, surveys my expression, then sighs and says softly, “Callie, can you give Mommy and me a few minutes?”

“Don’t you dare touch that microwave, Callie Michaels!” I call frantically, and confusion filters over Wade’s face.

“But the soup is ready—” Callie protests, and Wade’s eyes widen.

“Callie, go downstairs, do not touch the microwave. Read a book or something till I finish talking to Mommy,” Wade says, and once the door closes, he raises the camera and stares right into my eyes. “Alice, please don’t overreact.”

“Eddie threw a chair and got sent home from school? You forgot to pick Callie up? Callie is washing Eddie’s soiled pants and trying to feed him while you tinker with formulas with Jon? I am so furious right now I do not even know where to start—”

“Eddie had a bad night, and then he had a bad day. It would have happened even if you were here—there’s nothing I could have done to prevent it.”

“Are you kidding me right now, Wade?” I scoff. “Of course you could have prevented it. If you had any clue about how to relate to him you’d have known this morning he was having a bad day and you could have stayed home with him to ride it out like I would have done.”