The Year We Turned Forty (24 page)

And then she got pregnant. Unexpectedly. Lazy ovary be damned. And he'd found himself conflicted. He'd finally earned enough that they'd had a nice cushion in the bank and the beginning of a college fund for the girls. He was thrilled by the idea of another baby—maybe it would be the son he'd always wanted. But he was also panicked. Could they afford another child? He knew they could, of course, but it would mean working even harder than he already had been. He didn't want to ask Jessie to get a job. He liked that she was home to pick up the girls after school and take them to their activities. He didn't want a babysitter to do that. Not when they could have their mom.

So he braced himself for what he knew would be coming when he started working Saturdays again and even later hours.
More daggers, more arguments, more resentment. But when Lucas arrived, everything changed in a way he could have never predicted. Yes, Jessie still wanted his attention, but she didn't seem so accusatory. She understood why he was working harder, that they had another mouth to feed. Grant didn't know why she'd had a change of heart. All he knew is that the weight had fallen off his shoulders. His wife actually seemed to like him again. She wanted to know
why
he was tired, rather than just being angry that he was. She initiated sex with him again, instead of huffing in the corner of the bed, thinking he was clueless to it all. Yes, he had known she wasn't happy. He just hadn't had the energy to fix it. But Lucas' birth had changed everything. Now Grant had it all—the son he'd always secretly wanted but didn't think he'd get. A happy wife who curled up on his shoulder each night. Two daughters who still thought he was a hero, who ran into his arms each night when he walked through the door.

He fed the puppy a treat and glanced over at Jessie again, who now stood by herself, her scowl replaced by a smile. Grant recognized it immediately—it was her sad one, where her bottom lip jutted out so slightly you almost wouldn't notice. But Grant always did. The question was, what, or who, had put it there?

“Can you speak up? I can barely hear you,” Claire said to Jessie as she handed sixteen dollars to the parking attendant at LAX, having just returned from New York. Claire thought she'd misheard the amount then remembered it was ten years ago, when things like airport parking were much more affordable.

“I'm freaking out!” Jessie whispered louder.

“Where are you?” Claire asked as a jet flew overhead, making it even harder to hear Jessie.

“In the bathroom stall, at the school auction.”

“What happened?” Claire pictured Jessie crouched down by a toilet, cupping her cell phone with her hand.

“It's you know who. He's threatening me about you know what.
Here!
”

Claire released a drawn-out breath. She was conflicted about Peter wanting to be a part of Lucas' life. As his biological father, he had a right to be involved, and Lucas was lucky he wanted to be. But Claire hated that he was threatening Jessie. Claire thought about Emily's father, wondering if one of the reasons she'd been
brought back was to handle that situation differently. If she should give him another chance and invite him back into Emily's life. He'd been unreliable when Emily was a baby, failing to show up to see her on most of the two Saturdays a month they'd agreed upon, then stopping entirely for months at a time. Claire dishing out ultimatums she never followed through on, him making promises to change he'd never followed through on. And it only got worse when Emily was a toddler and began noticing his absences, when he forgot to pick her up from preschool, and forgot about her second
and third
birthday parties, and basically forgot to be a father. Finally, when he forgot dads' night at her school, five-year-old Emily holding the card she'd made for him with tears streaming down her face, Claire called David. She warned him to never show his face in their lives again, not that it would be a huge difference. She scolded him and said Emily couldn't handle any more letdowns. He barely put up a fight. She imagined him yawning and shrugging on the other end of the line, as if she'd just told him they were out of eggs. After he coolly said good-bye, Claire had crept down the hall to Emily's room and peered in at her. Emily's tangle of butter-colored curls were wrapped around her ivory cheeks, her thumb wedged in her mouth. She'd sobbed silently: Emily was officially fatherless.

After that, David faded away and Claire had assumed that was because he was a deadbeat who really didn't want the responsibility. But when Emily turned nine, he began to send letters. One every three months or so, addressed to Emily in his steady hand. Asking for another chance. Saying he'd changed. Claire had read each one hundreds of times, looking for a sign in them that proved he really was different, that he would show up this time, but there was nothing that guaranteed he wouldn't let her daughter down again. She hid the letters in the back of
her sock drawer, telling herself that he'd only fail Emily again if Claire allowed him back into her life. But now, watching Jessie deny Peter his son so she could protect herself, Claire wondered if she hadn't done the same thing. Denied someone who was ready to make the right choices for his child. “What did Peter say exactly?”

“He threatened to tell Cathy and Grant.”

“So he's going to go public unless you let him see Lucas?”

“Yes. And I don't think he just wants to play in the sandbox with him. I worry he wants more.”

“Where's Grant?” Claire asked.

“Signing the papers for our new puppy.”

“Wait, what? Because I thought I just heard you say
puppy
, and you already have your hands full.”

Claire heard Jessie exhale. “It's a long story, I'll tell you later. But I'm scared, Claire. Really scared. Please make me feel better. Tell me it's going to be okay.”

“It's going to be okay,” Claire echoed assuredly, but wondered if it would be. She remembered the last time Grant left. It was before Mona was diagnosed and she was able to be there for Jessie when she fell apart. But now Claire had her mother to take care of and she worried whether Jessie was strong enough to go through the pain of losing Grant—again. And then there was Gabriela, the two of them never fully reconciling after they'd argued at the hotel yesterday. They'd ridden silently, shoulder to shoulder in the cab to LaGuardia, listening to the driver chattering away on his cell phone in a language neither of them understood, Claire wanting to make a joke about the experience, but fearful that Gabriela would shut her down. The plane ride had been more of the same with nothing beyond polite exchanges. They'd gone their separate
ways after they'd deplaned, Gabriela saying she hoped things worked out with Emily, Claire telling her she was sorry about the baby. But there were a thousand unspoken words floating in the space between them and Claire worried they might never be said.

“I don't want to lose my family, Claire,” Jessie whispered, her voice sounding fragile, as if she would break if any more words came out of her mouth.

“That will not happen—
again
,” Claire said, feeling her protective instincts take over, praying a solution presented itself, like maybe Peter would get hit by a bus. Then she immediately regretted the thought. He was still Lucas' father. And in this version of their life, the worst thing he'd done was freak out when he'd first heard the news. But once he'd seen his son, he'd come around. Even Claire had to acknowledge that. He was trying to do the right thing, even if he was going about it the wrong way.

“How can you be so sure?”

Because I can't even begin to consider the alternative. I can't imagine you without Grant again. You were a shell of yourself for so many years.

“Claire?”

“We're going to figure this out, Jess. I promise.”

“So what should I do now?”

“Get the hell out of there and go home. Let's meet first thing tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jessie said, and then Claire heard muffled voices in the background. “I have to go,” Jessie said, hanging up quickly.

•  •  •

More than anything, Claire wanted to fall into bed the moment she got to her parents' house, but she knew she couldn't. She
would need to resume her caretaker role and give her father a break. She'd spoken to her dad several times during the short window she was in New York, and he'd sounded exhausted as he'd updated her about Mona. She was depressed her hair had started falling out and she still had no appetite. And then there was Emily, Claire's dad assuring her that she had been very helpful, taking over for him several times so he could get some rest, even walking to the grocery store to pick up a list of items Mona needed. But when she'd gotten on the phone with Emily, she seemed even more distant than before, and Claire was only able to pull a word or two out of her. When they hung up, Claire questioned her decision to leave for the millionth time, and resented Gabriela—and herself—for talking her into it. Some girls' trip that had been.

Tomorrow was Emily's first day back to school since the suspension, and they were scheduled to meet with the vice principal about Emily's plan to apologize to her classmate. Emily had been tasked with writing a letter to the girl while Claire was away, but she suspected she hadn't. She worried they'd be up half the night bickering about how to craft the apology note, her shoulders tensing at the mere thought of it. As hard as mothering Emily had been last time, she didn't remember it being this difficult so early. Emily had begun to spiral once she hit high school, not while still in middle school.

“I'm home,” Claire called out as she pushed the front door open. “Hello?” she said again after being met with silence. Not even the TV was on, and it was always on, blaring
Wheel of Fortune
or
Jeopardy!
“Dad? Emily?”

“Grandpa's asleep,” Emily said as she rounded the corner, somehow looking much older than thirteen in just two days, her long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a pink hue to her cheeks.

“Oh?”

“I told him to get some rest, that I'd clean up the kitchen and help Grandma if she needed anything,” Emily said matter-of-factly as she turned on the water and began scrubbing a casserole dish. Claire watched in disbelief, wanting to say,
Who are you and what have you done with my surly daughter?

“Great,” Claire managed, and slid into one of the chairs at the dinner table, as the dog nuzzled her leg, feeling bad for doubting her daughter. Maybe she had written the apology letter after all.

“So are you ready to go back to school tomorrow?” she said, bracing herself for a snooty response.

But Emily only shrugged, her back still to Claire as she rinsed the dish and grabbed a frying pan.

“We'll head over to meet Mr. Randall at eight thirty and show him the letter you wrote,” Claire said, deciding not to directly ask if she'd written the apology note to the girl she'd hurt, hoping to show Emily she trusted her by assuming she had.

“What if she doesn't want to read it?” Emily said, her voice catching, and Claire felt her chest expand to let out the breath she'd been holding.

She rushed over to Emily, turning her around by the shoulders. “Of course she will.”

“Maybe she won't want to forgive me.”

“We all make mistakes. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Dad didn't.”

“What?”

“Dad didn't deserve a second chance. He asked for one and you refused to give him one.”

“What do you mean?” Claire felt her heartbeat quicken. Had Emily's father contacted her directly?

“Is that why I don't have a relationship with my dad? Because
you can't forgive him?” Emily's eyes blazed as they stared into Claire's. Emily hadn't brought up her dad in years. Where was this coming from?

“Em, it's complicated.”

“So uncomplicate it for me,” she said, sounding so much the way she did as an adult that Claire blinked several times to be sure this was the version of Emily who had just turned thirteen the week before and not the twenty-two-year-old one.

Claire took a deep breath, searching for the right words. She'd never said anything bad about Emily's father to her and she wasn't going to start now. But she wasn't sure how honest she should be. Last time, Emily hadn't asked about her dad when she was this age—in fact, he hadn't come up at all for years. Emily didn't mention him until her high school graduation neared, curious if he might attend. The letters that Claire had refused to acknowledge had finally dwindled away. Claire had felt a spasm of guilt when she had shaken her head, no, that she didn't think he'd be there for this milestone.

“He loves you, Em. But he didn't always follow through on what he said. It felt like we were better off without him.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you were younger, he'd say he was going to come see you, but rarely did. I hated to see you disappointed, honey.”

“But he wanted to see me, right?”

“Of course,” Claire said. “But I guess things came up.”

“Or was it that
you
didn't want him to see me?”

“Of course I wanted him to see you. Why would you say that?” Claire felt the heat rise to her cheeks, Emily's accusation hitting on the doubts she still had about her motives back then.

“Because that's what he said.” Emily folded her arms tightly, and Claire wasn't sure if her mind was playing tricks on her,
but Emily looked like her father so much in that moment. She had his dark brown eyes, framed by his equally dark lashes and eyebrows.

“Did he call you? Come see you?”

“No.”

Claire breathed again. “Then where is this coming from?”

“Don't play dumb, Mom. I know, okay?”