Other People's Houses(92)
“No, just in general.” She giggled. “His face makes me laugh. That’s why I love it.”
Ava raised her eyebrows, but her mom was still laughing, so she let it go.
* * *
? ? ?
Richard happened to be looking at the boys when the car pulled up in front of them, and when he saw the relief in their shoulders he suddenly got a memory of seeing his mother approaching the school gate at the end of the day: I’m not forgotten. It’s OK now. A tall man got out of the car and came over to him, holding out his hand. Richard, still feeling about eight years old and strangely close to tears, managed to smile at him.
“I will never be able to thank you enough,” Michael said. “I am so grateful.”
Richard shrugged. “It takes a village, right?” He watched the man bend to hug his son, and then pull the other boy into an embrace, too. “Besides, it’s nice to do something helpful for a change.”
The man stood up and smiled at him as he shepherded the boys into the car. “My name’s Michael Bloom,” he said. “If you ever need anything . . .” He handed Richard his card.
Richard grinned at him. “Thanks,” he said. “Glad I could help.”
The car pulled away, and Richard watched it go. Then he turned and walked away himself, tucking Michael’s card in his pocket, where it would be forgotten and washed away into fluff.
* * *
? ? ?
The smell of his mother’s perfume always made Theo feel small. Throughout his life elements of it would drift across his path and take him right back to this moment and others like it, when the soft skin of Anne’s neck felt more like home than anything ever would again.
He’d been worried his parents would be furious with him, but they seemed just very glad to see him, and even Kate had cried and held on to him as they sat together on the sofa. After a while his father pulled out of the snuggle and looked at him.
“Why did you run away, Theo? Will you talk about it?”
Theo nodded. A policeman had talked to him briefly, outside, after he and Milo had returned. He could tell the man was annoyed with Milo’s dad for going to fetch them without telling the cops, but Michael had just shrugged and said he’d had no other thought but to get to them as quickly as possible. The man had looked at him thoughtfully and for a moment Theo had felt uncertain, but then the cop’s face had cleared and he’d just led the two boys a little way away and squatted down.
“Is everything OK?” he’d asked. “Are you scared at home?” They’d both shaken their heads. “Why did you run away?”
“I wanted to talk to my mom,” Theo had said.
“I didn’t want him to get lost,” Milo had said. “I’m a Scout, it’s my job to help.”
The cop had smiled a little bit at Milo, then looked at Theo. “Tell your mom and dad everything. Tell them what you want, tell them what you feel. They love you very much and they deserve the truth, alright?”
The two boys had nodded, and then the detective had stood up, ruffled Milo’s hair, and walked off. Now Theo remembered his advice.
“I wanted to be with Mom. I love you, Dad, but I want you to be together again, I want it to be like it was before, even if she did something bad. I want you to accept her apology and let her come home so we can all be together.” He looked at his family. “We are supposed to all be together, whatever happens.”
“She can sleep in my room, if you don’t want to share,” added Kate. “It’s fine. I can move my Beanie Babies.” She looked serious. “I have too many anyway.” Then she shook her head. “No, that’s not true, but I can move them.”
Charlie looked at Anne’s face, the near-miss of the day washing away everything that had come before. They’d held hands and burned with fear, and the annealing had broken open a crack of possibility.
He smiled at her as if they’d never met, and she started to cry.
Christmas.
Frances was sitting in the living room, watching her kids decorate the Christmas tree, the old orange cat on her lap. She thought back to that morning in the tree lot: The kids and Michael were arguing about whether or not to get greenery for the front door, and Iris and Sara were trailing around after Wyatt, as he pointed to larger and larger trees. From this distance she couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Sara kept shaking her head and Iris just looked tired and mildly green. The hormone treatments were making her nauseous, and Sara had stepped up to run the holidays. Of course, they’d be coming to Frances’s house, as they did every year, but that was a week or two off yet. Hopefully Iris would feel better by then and able to eat.
Frances stroked the cat’s head. Frances had seen Anne and Charlie unloading their tree the day before. They were still being a little too polite to each other, but at least they were all under the same roof, and the kids were doing better. Anne was sleeping in the guest room, but she was hopeful. They were seeing a therapist, all of them, and maybe it would work. And maybe it wouldn’t. Not her problem.
Milo had taken his six weeks of house arrest and loss of computer privileges in stride, and he and Ava were getting on better since his transgression had led to both of them getting cell phones. The whole family had ended up staying offline for a month anyway, while the video of Frances losing her temper had enjoyed its fifteen minutes of fame. They’d ignored the media and after a week or two of leaving the phone off the hook it had all gone away. Frances knew it would haunt her on and off forever, but who cared? It had stopped the bitches at school calling her Saint Frances, which had always been annoying. As an additional bonus, the painful abyss of boredom occasioned by the lack of Internet had caused Ava to pick up her cello again and rejoin the orchestra. Proving once again that it’s always darkest before the dawn, or that every cloud has a silver lining, or something like that.