The Wrong Family(46)
As the pain abated, Kregger came back, his voice so clear it was like he was down here with her. She laughed at that: Kregger living in someone’s crawl space like a rat! Her laughter was short-lived, though; the rawness in her throat from the pot sent her into a fit of coughing that brought up blood.
It’s your career or me and the boys.
She spat into the dirt, out of breath, and leaned back. Her career or her family—that was the ultimatum her husband had given her. Entirely unfair, since Kregger got to have both. She’d said it, too, and he’d given her that look that said, you are crazy, and I don’t know who I married. You’re obsessed, Juno, can’t you see what this is doing to us? You’re sicker than your clients, you know that? You’re the one who needs help!
She hadn’t understood at the time, hadn’t been able to spot in herself what she could so easily spot in others.
She’d known he’d wanted to leave her for years, in the same way she knew Nigel wanted to leave Winnie. When they began, they were in love, but problematic partners had a way of dissolving love faster than it could regrow. One step forward, two steps back. And then one day there wasn’t enough love left to cover the sins. He’d taken their boys and left. Juno didn’t feel as if she deserved that part. Sure, she’d fucked up her marriage, fucked up her career. She’d gone to prison for it, too, paid her dues. But they hadn’t visited her once, and there had been no one there to greet her on the day she left those prison walls, a little bag of her things clutched to her chest. She’d stumbled into the bright sunlight, her new reality hers alone to face. She’d tried to find them for a while, living in a halfway house. She’d called every single one of their friends, people who’d eaten her food, babysat her children. None of them would talk to her. Kregger was gone and so were her sons.
A few months after getting out of prison, Juno had once taken a bus to her old neighborhood and knocked on a neighbor’s door. The surprise on the woman’s face when she saw Juno standing there, wearing too-big blue jeans and a Reebok sweatshirt from Goodwill, had been so painful, Juno had recoiled, ashamed. Her hair was now a wiry burst of gray that she’d tried to wind into a bun with no luck. From her temples and crown, Juno’s hair burst forward in unruly coils. Did she look as alien to this woman as this woman looked to her?
“Juno, I’m not going to tell you anything.” Her old friend wouldn’t meet her eyes. Juno wasn’t surprised by this; she’d once had a client who’d come to her because she had a panic attack every time she saw a homeless person. “They make me feel guilty and vulnerable,” the client had said.
“Please, Bette, he took my boys...”
Bette’s face had clouded over, and for a split second Juno entertained the thought that her old coffee date, her girls’ night partner, was going to help her. Juno, after all, had been the one to start calling Elizabeth Brown “Bette” when they first met. It had caught on, and then suddenly everyone else was calling her Bette, too. And here was her Bette, with the high, round moon cheeks, looking at Juno like she was spoiled cheese. The thought was indulgent; Juno knew what she’d do in the same situation. Someone you’re ashamed to know shows up on your doorstep demanding information they really didn’t deserve.
Bette’s eyes filled with ice. Juno was familiar with that look, but not from Bette; Bette had always been a little lamb. Now she suddenly seemed like something else. Had Kregger called to tell Bette that Juno was getting out and to keep an eye out for her? Of course he had; Juno knew Kregger just as well as he knew her. She took a little step back, which seemed to embolden the new Bette.
“Those aren’t your boys, they’re Kregger’s. You had your chance with them, Juno, and you blew it. Leave them be, they’ve started over.” And then Bette shut the door in Juno’s face.
Juno had a key to Bette’s house once; a just-in-case key that she held on to in case they ever got locked out, or Juno needed to go inside to water a plant while they were on vacation. The pain Juno felt in that moment was unbearable; they were her boys. She’d raised them. They’d left Alaska after Kregger’s ex-wife, Marnie, overdosed in her apartment in Albuquerque. A neighbor had found the toddlers, both wearing sagging diapers and wandering the corridors of the building. The worst part was, they hadn’t even been crying; that’s what broke Juno’s heart the most. She and Kregger had taken the first flight back to New Mexico with no thoughts of returning to Alaska. They had sons now, and Juno had taken the boys willingly—of course she would raise them, of course she would love them as her own.
The boys had had nothing to do with her mistake; she just hadn’t been thinking about them. That’s how it always was when it came to mistakes; no one was doing any thinking. During Dale’s freshman year of high school, Juno had an affair with his swim coach. She could say all of the regular things about how “it just happened” and how “she wasn’t that type of person,” but...if you did it, sorry, you were that type of person.
His name was Chad Allan, and the first time he’d walked into Juno’s office for therapy it was with his wife, Julianna. They all startled when they recognized each other, and then, somewhat awkwardly, sat down. Juno went by her maiden name professionally, and the Allans had been a referral, so none of them had realized they knew each other until the day of the appointment. They had sons in the same grade; Chad and Julianna’s son Michael was not an athlete and drifted toward the arts, separating the boys into two circles.