“It was nice to meet you,” I lied.
“Same here,” she said, saccharinely.
Phil started the engine and cranked the transmission into first gear. “Bye, Margo,” he said, while checking for other vehicles.
As the van rolled away, I heard a burst of laughter. I waved, but no one waved back. In a moment the van rounded the corner. I stood there, almost expecting them to return after circling the block. Everything had happened too quickly. I thought of significant things I should have said to Rob before he left. Words of wisdom. Life-changing advice. My son was gone, and I hadn’t really said good-bye.
I plodded up the front steps and trudged inside. The house felt like a morgue, cold and lifeless. I kicked the rumpled rug back into place so the door would close, picked up several fragments of leaves that had been tracked in on dirty shoes, then followed the trail of debris up the stairs. Rob’s empty bedroom drew me in like a vacuum.
As a teenager, I remembered, Rob had become more and more private. His door was usually clamped shut while he slept, listened to music, or talked with friends on the phone. It was odd to enter without knocking first, as if I were trespassing into forbidden territory.
I felt a tear form in one eye, then trickle down my cheek. The small stream expanded to a river, then gushed into an ocean. Bending forward, I wept without control, the convulsive sobs hurling through my torso, shaking me like a rag doll in the hands of an angry child.
“God, help me,” I cried out.
The room hung heavy with silence. I shook my head. When had God ever stepped in to help me? Everything I’d learned in church was a lie. It was embarrassing to think how gullible I’d been in my youth, and frightening how alone I was now.
Standing in front of Rob’s mirror, I saw a twisted mask with squinting red eyes. Blinking, I staggered into the bathroom, yanked out an arm’s length of toilet paper to blot my face, then glanced into the mirror above the sink. A stranger, someone I didn’t even want to know, stared back. I tried to change my expression to one of dignity, but saw only ugliness and despair.
The banister supported me as I descended the stairs to the kitchen. Charlie waited by the back door and watched with wary eyes from across the room.
“It’s all right, little man.” Not true. Nothing about my life was all right. I dragged open the door and let the dog out into the fenced yard.
The uneaten cinnamon rolls still sat on the counter. I slid them into a plastic bag, careful not to damage the frosting. A sudden torrent of nausea surged through my stomach. In one swift movement, I shoved the rolls into the garbage can under the sink. I pushed down with all my weight, crushing the soft dough. The icing squished against the plastic bag under my palm.
My knees buckling, I sank to the floor. New tears welled up from a lifetime of unresolved sorrows. I leaned against the cupboard door and allowed the floodwaters to flow.
When I was a miserable teenager, my mother had assured me I could trust in God. “All things work together for good for those who love the Lord,” Mom had said many times.
But this sadness was a long, dark tunnel with no light at the end.
I spied Laurie and Erika milling on the corner one block from my house. I waved, then used a hand to cover my yawning mouth. Had I gotten any sleep? Several times during the night my dreams were shattered by strange clomping sounds. Once, I’d thought I heard Rob rummaging through the refrigerator for a snack, and I’d yanked myself into consciousness. Rob was at school, I remembered in a fog of confusion. Had someone broken into the house? No, Charlie would be barking—unless he was going deaf. No, he’d heard a dog trot by the house this morning and raised a horrific racket. The noise was probably the neighbors wheeling out their garbage cans for tomorrow’s pickup. I was safe—as safe as I would ever be.
Charlie pranced ahead, yanking on his leash, and I lengthened my last few strides. My gaze swept ahead to the lake, which glittered through the trees like thousands of little suns. The September morning was splendid, but it brought me no joy.
Laurie looked snazzy in a periwinkle blue jogging suit I’d never seen before. “Have you heard from Rob?” she asked once we’d greeted each other.
“We’ve spoken a few times. He said his room’s tiny, and his roommate listens to rap music all night.” Our conversation the day before had lasted less than three minutes. Rob had hung up with a quick “Gotta run, I’m late.” When the line went dead, I’d stood with the receiver in hand, feeling glum. In an effort to elevate my spirits, I’d reminded myself how independent I was at his age. My parents had seemed like old codgers. Now I realized how wise they were. And how foolish I had been.
Erika, her straw brown hair hanging limply, stood with her hands on her hips. “Did Phil show up to drive him?” she asked with a slice of sarcasm.
“Yeah, and he brought his new honey with him.” My voice cracked, unexpectedly. “Meeting her was quite an experience.”
Erika’s eyes narrowed, generating a web of crow’s-feet on her otherwise smooth face. “I already hate her,” she said playfully.
I tried to laugh, but it sputtered out a dry hack. “If I never see that woman again, it’ll be too soon.” The thought of Darla’s farewell smile still
