What Happens to Goodbye(69)

“Did you have an argument recently?” he said. “Some sort of incident?”
“We always have arguments and incidents,” I replied. “That’s nothing new.”
“I thought you were seeing her the other weekend.”
“I did.” Now my voice was rising, unsteady. “What’s happening ? Did she call you or something?”
“No.” Another throat clearing. “But I did hear from her lawyer today.”
Oh, no, I thought. “Her lawyer? ” I repeated, although I already knew where this was going. “Why?”
“Well,” he said, running his palm over the table again, “apparently, she would like to revisit the custody agreement.”
“Again,” I added. He didn’t say anything. “Why? Because I finally told her the truth?”
“Ah.” He sat back, leveling his gaze at me. “So there was an incident.”
“I told her the divorce was her fault, and, therefore, so was the fact that I’m upset with her about it. That’s not exactly breaking news.”
My dad just looked at me for another moment. Finally he said, “Your mother is prepared to tell the court that we are not upholding our part of the visitation arrangement right now.”
“Meaning what?”

“Well,” he said, “you’ve only seen her twice in the last six months. And you didn’t come for the full summer last year.”
“I was there for three weeks. And I just saw her!” I shook my head, looking out the window. “This is crazy. Just because I won’t go visit her this weekend, or go on a stupid beach trip, she’s ready to drag us all back to court?”
“Mclean.”
“Don’t I have a say in this at all? She can’t force me to see her against my will. Can she?”
He sat back, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t think she wants to force you to do anything. In a perfect world, you’d want to do it all on your own.”
“This world isn’t perfect.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” He sighed. “Look, Mclean, you turn eighteen in eight months. You go off to college even before that. Maybe it’s worth just considering making a few trips—”
“No,” I said flatly. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by my tone, and I checked myself. Fast. “Sorry. Look, we just got here. I’m in school, I have friends. I don’t want to just pick up and start leaving every single weekend.”
“I understand that.” I watched him take in breath, then let it out. “But I also don’t think you want to spend your last senior semester enmeshed in a court battle.”
“Why can’t she just leave me alone?” My voice was breaking now, the tears audible if not visible yet. “Jesus. Hasn’t she gotten enough?”
“She’s your mother,” he said. “She loves you.”
“If she loved me, she’d let me stay here and live my life.” I pushed back my chair, the legs scraping hard against the linoleum. “Why don’t I get to decide what I need? How come it’s always up to Mom? Or you? Or the freaking courts?”
“Hey. Mclean.” He was quiet, just looking at me. My dad was not one for outbursts, and this kind of conversation between us, rife with emotion, was rare if not a first. “You don’t have to make a decision right this second. I’m just asking you to think about it. Okay?”
I knew this was not an unreasonable request. I forced myself to nod. “Okay,” I managed.
He stood, then came over, wrapping his arms around me. I hugged him back, all the while looking over his shoulder to the flat green of the yard beyond. Then when he let go and went down the hallway to his room, I pushed out the door and went there. I wanted to break something, or scream, but none of these was really an option in this neighborhood at four on a Wednesday. Then I looked over to the empty building behind mine.
I walked across my yard, stepping over the low brick wall so I was standing over the doors that led down to the storm cellar. They were shut, but there was no lock. I bent down, pulling up on both handles, which opened with a creak, revealing that narrow set of stairs. A flashlight sat on the top step.
I took another look around me. Just another afternoon, the traffic picking up as rush hour approached. Nearby, a dog was barking. My partying neighbors had the TV on too loud. And somewhere, four hours north, my mom was reaching out for me, extending her grasp further, further, to pull me to her. I’d run and dodged, zigged and zagged, and none of it had worked. I knew this wasn’t a real solution either. But for the moment, all I could think to do was pick up that flashlight, turning it on. Then I pointed the beam at the stairs and followed it down, into the dark.
I probably should have been creeped out, sitting in a cellar beneath an empty house, alone. But after a moment or two to adjust my eyes and my nerves, I realized Dave was on to something. Sitting on the bottom step, the flashlight in my lap, I got the same sense I had that first night, when he’d pulled me down there with him. Like I’d literally ducked below the world, out of harm’s way, at least for a little while.
What a mess, I thought, looking up at the sky, now darkening above me. And all because I’d done the one thing I hadn’t been able to for all this time: speak the truth. If my mother loved me enough to fight for me, even against my will, why couldn’t she accept that I was angry at her?
Up above, I heard a whirring noise, followed by an engine starting, running briefly, and then cutting off again. I pushed myself to my feet, then climbed the stairs to see what was going on. I was just about to poke my head out when Dave stuck his in.