isn’t always good.”
I reminded her of a promise I had already made. “Don’t forget, I’ll come home whenever I can, but the moment the timing works out, I’m going to whisk you to wherever we’re filming so you can watch. That’ll be fun, don’t you think?”
“Nik won’t come? You promise?”
“Nik will come at a different time.”
“Daddy doesn’t want you to leave.”
Children pick up on everything. “Daddy’s going to miss me, too,” I said.
“He doesn’t want to do the things you do for us.”
“I think he’s a little afraid he won’t do them well enough, don’t you?”
She considered. Then she shook her head, her long brown hair fanning over the pillow. “He’s probably right.”
“You have to help him, Pet. Let Daddy know if he forgets something, and don’t expect him to be perfect right off the bat, okay?”
I didn’t want to drag this out. The longer I stayed, the more my own ambivalence would infect the room. I love my children, and spending this much time away suddenly seemed impossible. Still, my childhood was one long series of goodbyes, and I know how to make them.
I stood and bent over. “I know you’re ten, but may I kiss you good-night anyway?”
She sat up and hugged me hard as I kissed her cheek and stroked her hair.
“I love you, and I’ll be home for Thanksgiving if not before. We’ll do all our favorites. If you want, you can make the pumpkin pie all by yourself.”
She sniffed, and I kissed her again. Then I left the room without looking back. I learned that in foster care, too.
Nik’s room was across the hall from Pet’s. About three months ago he push-pinned a sign to his door, a skull and crossbones and the words Stay Out On Pain of Death. Kris wanted to remove the sign, but we aren’t raising a serial killer. We’re raising a normal twelve-year-old boy who values a little privacy in a life filled with family demands and social interactions. I compromised and let him have the skull and crossbones but not the threat.
I knocked. Almost a minute passed, but after my second attempt he mumbled something close to “come in.”
“Just saying good-night,” I said after I opened the door. While Pet keeps her room so neat it looks as if she’s planning a photo shoot for Architectural Digest, Nik’s is always strewn with projects and clothing. My son’s childhood has been spent flitting from one great idea to another. He takes up and abandons hobbies at an awesome rate. He collected coins, built entire villages out of Popsicle sticks, created sculptures from clay, raised gerbils and kept a garter snake named Walt, who happily moved back to my garden after a month in captivity.
The one hobby that seems to have ridden the wave is music. My son’s gray walls are covered with rock-star posters, most signed to Nikola Lenhart from friends of Cecilia’s. He has an electronic keyboard on a stand in the corner and a guitar in the opposite corner. So far, unlike Pet, who is making steady progress on the piano, Nik has shown not an ounce of talent. But Cecilia has pointed out how many music industry jobs only require a love of music and an assortment of other abilities. When Donny was here after the accident, he and Nik chatted about the skills needed to manage an artist or an act. Nik looked a little interested, which, these days, means he was totally captivated.
I saw he was sitting at his desk wearing an old T-shirt and pajama bottoms with tattered cuffs, and I joined him, peeking over his shoulder. “Homework all done?”
“Everything but this stupid essay.”
Nik’s a good student and likes his classes. When he momentarily forgets he doesn’t like me anymore, we actually enjoy discussing what he’s learning.
“The one about talking to people whose political ideas are different from yours?”
“Yeah, how lame is that. Like I care.”
I messed up his hair. “You’d better care.”
He swatted my hand away. “Miss Greene wants me to say I should listen with respect and talk about my feelings.”
“But you don’t want to do that?”
“I’d rather tell an idiot to stop spouting garbage and then go talk to somebody who has a brain.”
“That’ll get you an F on the essay and no friends, because eventually you’ll run out of people who agree with you.”
He shrugged, but I’m not worried. Nik will find a way to complete the assignment that works for him. And what twelve-year-old boy wants to politely agree with anybody? Especially his mother?
I changed the subject. “I’m leaving early tomorrow. You know I’ll miss you, right?”
He shrugged again. “Miss Elena says she’ll make tacos.”
“I bet they’ll be amazing.”
“Maybe she won’t try to sneak in vegetables, like you do.”
“That’s me, sneak extraordinaire.”
“You don’t have to call all the time.”
“I’ll remember that. Maybe I’ll just call once a day.”
“Aunt Cecilia told me she couldn’t do this without you, and she hoped I didn’t mind loaning you to her.”
I was touched Cecilia had managed to get Nik aside and tell him that on the one afternoon she was with us. “Do you? Mind, I mean?”
“Why should I?”
“Such an excellent question.” I straightened, and then before he could escape I launched myself at him for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “I love you more than roses in spring and sunsets in summer.”
He pushed me away. “Stop that!”
“Your turn.”
“We haven’t done that since forever.”
“Your turn.”
He groaned. “I love you more than pizza and orange juice, okay? Jeez!”
“That’ll do. Pepperoni pizza?”
“Leave me alone.”
I did, but reluctantly. A firstborn child holds a special place in any mother’s heart. Except apparently my mother’s. And Cecilia’s.
When I got to our room Kris was nowhere in sight, and I hoped he was on his way upstairs to say good-night to our children. I took a shower and washed my hair since there would be no time in the morning.
Sometimes showers are the only time I can think without interruption. Now as I lathered and rinsed it seemed to me that this entire trip had moved forward without me. From the beginning I’d been pushed and pulled between Cecilia and Kris, with very little time to face my own feelings. I had been so busy responding to everyone else that I had pushed down the fear that had built steadily inside me. Finally it was erupting into panic. Logic dictated I should be sure I was doing the right thing before I got on that plane tomorrow, even if backing down at this late date created myriad problems for everyone.
How could I leave my family? How could I expose my marriage to greater stress? Did I really believe I still had the talent to pull this off?
Did I really want to face Cecilia’s past and the role I had played in it?
The water had grown cold when I finally stepped out. No matter how frightened I was, I was on a path now, and I saw no way to turn around. But this was not the way a journey should begin.
As I dressed for bed I forced myself to concentrate on the mundane. My suitcase and camera bag were already downstairs. I had been told to