windshield was smashed, and glass littered the driver’s seat. For a couple of minutes I just stood there, watching him destroy the car. When he worked his way around to the back windshield, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
He took aim at one of his taillights and whanged it with the hammer. “Talk about what?”
“Your accident. Your brother. How angry you are and where you’re going with it.”
“Pretty broad range of subjects.”
“Cade.”
He looked up at me with the defiant expression of a young man called to the principal’s office. A riot of small scratches from the glass and metal covered his arms.
“This is not what you do with grief,” I said. “Stop it. You’re better than this, Cade. If anybody can take what happened to Elias and make something positive come out of it, it’s you. But look where you’re at right now. You need to—”
“Save your intervention for somebody who cares,” he said. His voice took on a jeering note. “Life isn’t a fucking AA meeting, Jill. Not everybody wants to sit around talking about how powerless they are and how they turned it all over to God. ‘Aggressive fighting for the right is the noblest sport the world affords.’”
“So that’s where you’re going with this, then? You’re not going to try to get over what happened to Elias at all. You’re just going to keep beating and beating against that wall until somebody pays.”
“Somebody owes.” He whacked the back windshield. “I’m the collection agency.”
I knew right then that I was going to leave him. There was no redemption to be had here, no moment of clarity when Cade would realize it was time to pull it together. Months ago, TJ’s birth had shown me that I could be as strong as my mother when I needed to be; what she had endured, I could get through, as well. I couldn’t remember that day we stopped in the almond orchard, and yet here I was again, standing in her place this time, knowing it was time to leave this family behind.
I would leave as soon as TJ recovered from his ear surgery. I owed my son that much, not to delay his medical treatment so I could get away from the dead end of Cade. If I could make it with him this long, I could tolerate him a little longer. And then, with the same sudden surety of knowing I was leaving, I knew my destination: not Randy’s, but Southridge, the place where I’d belonged all this time.
I watched Cade for another minute, standing clear of the shattering glass and plastic. Then I slipped into the house, and as I made my quiet way up the stairs to check on my sleeping son, it struck me that this was exactly how my mother had done it: to walk away from my father because she saw no place for him in her future with me. I wondered if she had once loved him as I had loved Cade. Always, he had seemed so remote from my mother that I’d felt as though I was, and always had been, hers alone. I mused on whether TJ would one day feel that way, too, indifferent to who his father had been or the love that had created him. And as I lifted him from the laundry basket and cuddled him awake, I wondered if that was a victory or a loss.
Eddy was sick as a dog. On the morning Cade drove Leela down to Concord for the craft fair, when I came in with Eddy’s coffee, I could not wake him up. He breathed, and behind his lids his eyes fluttered, but the usual soft shaking and calling his name did nothing to rouse him. His skin bruised so easily that I was afraid to shake him any harder. All of a sudden I felt very nervous.
“Eddy,” I said more loudly, almost a reprimand. I laid my hand on his bristled cheek and patted it firmly. A crust of drool traced a line from his mouth down his chin, like a ventriloquist’s dummy. I left his coffee beside the bed and called for Candy from the landing.
She thumped up the staircase and brushed past me into the bedroom. With a jaded gaze she glared down at him, ruffled the sheets a bit and said, “He’s fine. He’s tired, is all.”
“He won’t wake up.”
“He just needs his rest. Leave him alone. He doesn’t need your damn coffee.”
She started toward the door. “Candy, stop,” I pleaded. “It isn’t normal for him to be like this. Don’t you think we ought to call an ambulance or something?”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a smirk that was unlike her. “We don’t call 911,” she said, imitating Dodge. “And the phone’s out anyway.”
This was true. Eddy had been the one who paid the phone bill, and since he had gotten so ill, no one had bothered with it. Dodge and Candy’s house had no landline, and Dodge and Cade made do with their cell phones. But Candy didn’t have one, and I’d let mine go long before, when money got too tight.
“I can walk over to the Vogels’ and call from there,” I challenged her. “Or we can take him to the firehouse. We can’t just leave him like this. What if he doesn’t wake up?”
“He’ll wake up once he’s had his
She hustled down the stairs. In the silence of the little room I looked at Eddy for a long moment, then flicked at his cheek gently with my fingers. “Wake up, Eddy,” I said. “Hey. Coffee.”
His breath sputtered, but his eyes stayed closed. Neither of the Vogels would challenge Candy, that much I was sure about. They were old-school New Englanders, reticent and respectful of their neighbors’ privacy.
Without a word to Candy, I lifted TJ from the high chair and slipped out of the house, pulling away quickly in Elias’s Jeep. Gravel crackled like popcorn beneath the tires, and I knew she would hear me, but at least I could keep her guessing about where I was going. It was a burst of luck that the Jeep was even there; Cade had been using it to commute to work ever since he wrecked the Saturn, leaving me carless, but he had taken Leela down to Concord in his father’s truck because there were so many crafts to carry. From the backseat came the gentle sounds of TJ playing with the rattles that hung from the bar of his infant car seat. Knowing he was safe with me calmed my nerves, but only very slightly.
The road wound east through the dark summer woods. The farther I drove, the narrower it grew, until my tires seemed barely to straddle the asphalt while skimming the dust on either side. At long last Randy’s house came into view along the side of the road, the stacked stone rising like a fortress above the green hill of the lawn.
Lucia answered the door, flanked by a pair of her younger children. When I explained to her that Eddy was ill, she simply nodded, instructed her nearest teenage daughter to watch the little ones and hitched her purse to her shoulder. I recognized her truck, the green pickup with mud above its tire wells, from when she had dropped off the plate of cookies months before. She stayed close in my rearview mirror the whole way back to Frasier.
Candy stood at the storm door, defiant. Her long, wavy hair expanded across the breadth of her shoulders, thick as a plank. Before Lucia was five steps from her car, Candy shouted across the yard, “You’re not coming in here.”
Lucia said nothing. Over her shoulder was the strap of a blue duffel bag she had retrieved from the backseat of her truck. She trekked steadily across the soft yard to the porch and climbed its four stairs. Then she stopped and looked at Candy.
“Not in here,” Candy repeated. “Turn right around and go back where you came from.”
“One Christian woman to another,” said Lucia, “if you’ll please let me in, Candy.”
“No chance of that.”
The boys had gathered behind her. Matthew craned his neck to peer over the arm she used to block the doorway, while John came closer, nestling his head against the bulk of her hip. Mark watched from the other side of the doorway, wearing his green army helmet with the crack in it. I could hear the faint clatter of the objects on his belt hitting one another.
“I never did you a wrong,” said Lucia.
“Randy did.”
“Well, I’m not Randy. Come on, now. This isn’t about him. This is about your father.”
Candy’s gaze drifted over Lucia’s shoulder. She was watching, I knew, for Dodge. Then she closed the door in Lucia’s face.
