Five Days Left Page 13

  But she couldn’t make her feet move down the aisle. And while she stood, shoes cemented to the linoleum, she concocted a new theory: if she refused to walk the remaining steps, refused to touch the packages, maybe the problem would simply go away.

  She had started down that course that morning, though, before deciding it was too risky. Standing in the bathroom, a maxi pad in her hand, she had convinced herself if she didn’t wear it, if she didn’t concede there was a reason to guard against another accident, then one wouldn’t occur. Preparing for it was tantamount to inviting it to happen. She tossed the pad back into the box, which she then pushed into the deep recesses of the cupboard.

  But minutes later, when she was pulling on her freshly laundered yoga pants, she saw the boy from the grocery store in her mind, the surprised “O” of his mouth as he stared at the stains on her pants, and she stammered and stuttered and tried to explain that there was a reasonable explanation for why she was standing in a public place, covered in pee stains and shrouded in the revolting stench of urine. She marched back into the bathroom, retrieved the box and put on a pad, praying it would do the trick until she made it to the pharmacy for the real thing.

  Stalling for time, Mara glanced left and right, in front and behind, another check to make sure no other shoppers were nearby. An end-cap display offered a stack of Dallas Cowboys beach towels, and although in her twenty-plus years as a Texan she had never cared one lick about football, she decided that now was the time for her to own some local team merchandise. Holding up one towel, then another, she debated the merits of blue background with white helmet versus the opposite, ignoring the snide voice in her head that said for $4.99 per, she needed to just buy both damn designs and go about the business she had come in the store to conduct.

  She heard a man’s voice in the next aisle over and remembered Harry. If she delayed any longer, his southern gentility would demand he come in and find her, make sure she was all right. She put two towels in her basket and faced the aisle, warily eyeing the shelves halfway down. She had chosen a brand last night after doing some Internet research and now she narrowed her eyes and inspected the packages until she spotted the one from the website.

  She shot another furtive look in each direction. All clear. Taking a deep breath, she clamped her mouth closed and walked as fast as she could down the aisle. Without a break in her forward motion and without breathing, she snapped an arm out sideways, snatched two packages from the shelf, crammed them into her basket under the towels and kept up her pace to the end of the aisle. Only when she had rounded the corner into “Household Items/Paper Products” did she open her mouth, letting the trapped air out in a rush before doubling over and sucking in a deep breath, then another, and another.

  When she recovered, she stood upright, gazed at the square shapes pushing out from under the towels and let the edges of her lips rise ever so slightly. Done. She had done it.

  She was about to let herself smile fully when a woman appeared at her elbow from nowhere. Quickly, Mara spun away, swinging the basket to the other side of her body and out of the woman’s sight, pretending to examine the laundry detergent options in front of her while she waited for the woman to make her way past. The woman slowly moved out of the aisle and Mara, smiling broadly now with relief, headed to the front door of the store and the waiting safety of the cab.

  And then she remembered she had to pay.

  Goddamn it. How could she have forgotten that? And now she was walking the plank again, or down the long green hallway to the execution chamber, or along the Trail of Tears or whatever other passage of misery man had traveled before her. She stepped reluctantly toward the register and prepared to reveal the contents of her basket to the twenty-something clerk whose mouth would surely form the same horrified “O” Mara had seen in the grocery store on Monday.

  She eyed the cashier closely, and taking in the blue streak in the girl’s hair, the pierced eyebrow, the ring on every finger, she decided the woman was precisely the right age and personality to hold up the package and say something like, “Ewww, these. My granny has to wear these.”

  Mara decided if she could pull off a cool shrug and say, “Oh, yes, they’re for my mom,” she might be able to make it out of the store with her dignity intact. But she could feel the warmth on her neck and cheeks and she knew her humiliation was showing in bright red. Her palms were sweating and her throat felt thick, and if anyone could pull off a casual, innocent remark to convince a cashier that “these aren’t for me,” it was not Mara Nichols.

  There was a line at the register and she hovered nearby, one eye on the line and the other on the door in case Harry appeared. The cashier prattled on to each shopper, and the litany of Texas cheer Mara had always found endearing before—How are you today, ma’am? Did you find everything you came in for? I sure hope you’ll have a great day! You come back!—now felt like sharp nails against her inflamed skin.

  When the last customer had gone, Mara stepped closer, feeling dizzy now, and with her remaining strength, hoisted the basket up onto the counter. She braced herself with one hand and promised her body it could collapse in the cab if only it would stay upright another few minutes. As the clerk raised her eyes in greeting, Mara reached for one of the gossip magazines on display near the register and snapped it open in front of her face, a barricade between her and the “Ewww, my granny wears these” comment, the anticipation of which was making Mara’s breakfast threaten to make an appearance.

  “How are you today, ma’am?”

  “Fine.” Mara felt her lips move but didn’t hear the word come out. She tried again, but again it came out as nothing more than a small push of air.

  There was silence for a few seconds, and Mara guessed the cashier was waiting for her to look out from behind the magazine and respond more politely. Like a civilized person, she thought, and shame rose in another hot wave from her collarbone to her neck to her cheeks.

  “And did you find everything you came in for? Oh, what on earth?”

  The words clenched Mara’s heart and it stopped for a full few seconds before kick-starting itself and revving into high gear, beating in her throat more than her chest. Holding her breath, she lowered the magazine a fraction and saw the cashier carrying one of the glaring white plastic packages, frowning as she turned it over in her hands. The woman looked at Mara, a puzzled expression on her face, and Mara wondered if a human’s skin could get so hot from humiliation that it broke out in blisters. Panicked, she eyed the door and tried to estimate how long it would take her to make it outside, and whether if she made a run for it, the cashier would chase her down, waving the diapers for everyone in the parking lot, including Harry, to see.

  “Oh, here it is! Pesky bar codes can be so hard to find sometimes.” The girl held the package up to Mara to show the elusive symbol and Mara raised a hand, lowering it quickly, to indicate the girl should lower the package. But the girl stood motionless, smiling to herself for having located the bar code and not, evidently, in any rush to ring up the sale. From the corner of her eye, Mara saw an elderly man making his way from the end of an aisle to the register.

  “I’m in a terrible hurry,” she said, in a voice she didn’t recognize.

  The salesgirl jolted into action, running the scanner over the towels and the two packages. “Oh, yes, ma’am, no problem. That’ll be fifty-two ninety-five. Oh, wait—I think the undergarments had a coupon this week. In the circular? They’re at the front, near the baskets.” She pointed as the old man took a shuffling step closer. “Do you want to look—”

  “I’ll just pay the full price,” Mara said, her eyes on the man now.

  “Or I can, if you want me—”

  “Just ring it up! Please, just ring up the fifty-two ninety-five. I really must go.” Mara thrust her credit card at the woman and buried her face in the gossip rag again before their eyes could meet.

  “Certainly. N
ow, if you’ll look online when you get home, there may be a way to claim the value of the coupon as a rebate. You just go to www—”

  “No!” Mara shot her hand up, smacked the magazine onto the counter and reached for the bags. “Just let me go!”

  The cashier flinched. Wordlessly, she handed over the bags and receipt to Mara, who, too embarrassed by her behavior to speak, tried to fit a thank-you and an apology into a nod of her head.

  “Well, I sure hope you’ll have a great day,” the cashier said mechanically. “Come back soon,” she added without feeling, at the same time Mara was thanking God she’d never have to come back again.

  18.

  Scott

  Scott was in the middle of assigning homework to his fourth-hour students when the classroom intercom buzzed and a fairly frantic-sounding Mrs. Bevel, the school secretary, asked him to come to the office immediately. She had already arranged for the school’s guidance counselor, Miss Styles, to supervise Scott’s classroom until he returned. Scott glanced from the intercom to the clock to the hopeful-looking eighth-graders in front of him, who were, he could tell, wondering if he’d finish assigning the homework first.

  “You got lucky this time,” he said, and turned toward the door. “Maddie,” he called over his shoulder to a girl in the front row, “you’re in charge until Ms. Styles gets here.” He walked into the hall, smiling as he heard a small cheer erupt behind him. He was still smiling when he reached Mrs. Bevel, and even when Janice, the Jackson family’s social worker, rose from a chair in front of Mrs. Bevel’s desk.

  “Hello, Scott,” Janice said, and as usual her voice was as stiff as her body. She looked at her shoes as though she were uncertain what to do next. The niceties of human interaction always seemed to elude her. For a social worker, Scott had remarked to Laurie a few times, Janice didn’t seem all that social. He had always given her the benefit of the doubt, assuming she cared about the children and families on her caseload more than her outward conduct would indicate.

  But the rigid way she carried herself, the vacant way she seemed to look at people, the dullness in her voice, made it seem like she was only going through the motions. Had she been different when she first started? he wondered. Was it only that decades of overwork had drained the feeling out of her? Or had she gone into the job this cold and distant? Maybe she had received the same advice as FosterFranny: don’t get too attached.

  “Janice! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Scott extended a hand and Janice reached hers out, barely touching him before pulling her hand back.

  “I thought Mrs. Bevel called me down to chastise me about leaving my classroom lights on or being late with grading or any number of other things,” he said, turning to Mrs. Bevel and flashing her a grin. “I have a long list of sins, don’t I, Mrs. B?”

  Mrs. Bevel looked nervously from Scott to Janice, then stood, mumbled something about needing to check on a file and disappeared into the hallway that led to the inner offices. “Well,” Scott said to Janice, still grinning, “I seem to have scared her away. I hope you—”

  It was then that he noticed the look on Janice’s face. Her lips were pressed so firmly together they were more white than pink, and her eyes seemed to be boring a hole into the side of Mrs. Bevel’s desk. He couldn’t discern her emotion. Anger? Anxiety? It was something under the umbrella of “very upset,” that much was certain. No wonder Mrs. Bevel had hightailed it down the hallway. Scott wished he could follow.

  “I’m afraid I have some disturbing news,” Janice said. She sat and absently patted the chair beside her. Scott read the gesture as an order and regarded her carefully as he lowered himself beside her. As he waited for her to explain, his mind raced with possibilities about what the news could be. Curtis in trouble at school again? But Miss Keller had his cell number and she had always texted or called before. Something about Bray? But Bray would call himself.

  Unless he couldn’t.

  “Is Bray okay?” he asked, suddenly feeling ill.

  Janice didn’t answer at first and Scott felt his stomach lurch. “Janice, is Bray—?”

  “It’s LaDania. She came by my office this morning. She told me she intends to get Curtis from school this afternoon. And take him home.”

  “What?” He jumped up from his chair as though it were on fire. “But the hearing’s not until Monday!”

  “That’s just a formality, as you’re aware. She says she’s ready for him to come home now. Today. And legally, she has every right to take him now. The guardianship order grants rights to you and Mrs. Coffman, but removes none from her. And of course, technically, the order grants you such rights only until her release, which occurred last week. She agreed Curtis would stay with you for this extra week because I convinced her that the extra time between her release and the formal hearing terminating your guardianship would be a benefit to her. She is no longer convinced she benefits from this agreement. She says she’s lonely living on her own. And she wants her child with her.”

  Scott clutched both sides of his head with his hands and squeezed, but the words he had heard wouldn’t go away. Curtis was leaving today.

  There would be no spaghetti and homemade cookies tonight. There would be no more reading in bed. No final game of HORSE in the driveway. No more tuck-ins. No movie night on Friday.

  No Monster Trucks on Sunday.

  No goodbye.

  He leaned against Mrs. Bevel’s desk and ground his knuckles into his eyes. He put a hand on his gut and willed himself not to throw up.

  After a few minutes, he spoke quietly. “But I still have a few days. We,” he corrected himself. “We still have a few days. We’ve got a whole big thing planned. Extra reading every night, special dinners, a final hoops game. We’ve got movie night on Friday. And Monster Trucks on Sunday. We were counting on—”

  “I know,” Janice said, and Scott was surprised by the softness in her voice. “I know you were counting on having this final week together.” She smiled, but it was a sad smile. “I assumed you’d have something special lined up, and I told her so.”

  The tone of Janice’s voice changed then and Scott could feel her anger as much as hear it. He took his fists out of his eyes and looked at her. She was leaning forward now, and the eyes that met his were bright with emotion. He could see the long, thready muscles in her thin forearms working as she twisted her fingers together in her lap. “I also told her the boy needs to end his time at your house the right way. He needs to be allowed to have a proper goodbye, and so do you and Laurie. And after everything you’ve done, you more than deserve it. I told her all of this,” she said, “very clearly and in ten different ways. It didn’t make one bit of difference.”

  Her emotion startled him. She had been to the house several times over the past year, but she had remained as distant and reserved after the tenth visit as she was after the first. Seemingly against her will, she accepted coffee or lemonade each time, but left it untouched as she sat ramrod straight at the kitchen table and made cramped notes about Curtis’s eating and sleeping habits, his behavior, his schoolwork. She took down pages of data about the boy but it always seemed to Scott and Laurie that it was more about putting words in her notebook than about getting to know the child, or his guardians.

  She asked Curtis questions, too, sometimes, and when he gave silly answers, she didn’t crack a smile or show any hint of amusement, but simply repeated her question until she received an answer worthy of recording. Other times, she sat alone in a corner of the room to “observe,” asking them to go about their business and pretend she wasn’t there.

  Scott and Curtis were able to do just that, and continue whatever wrestling match or checkers game or other activity, but Laurie remained on edge each time, hovering too close to Janice, offering to refill the glass or mug Janice hadn’t yet taken a sip from. “It’s like the Grim Reaper telling you to go about sleeping while he’s sitting at t
he foot of your bed,” Laurie told Scott after the first “observation” session.

  “I told her there’s no justification for separating the two of you one day earlier than you were planning, let alone several,” Janice continued. “It will be hard enough, I told her, for him to leave you. And for you to let him go. I told her I have never seen . . .” She leaned back in her chair, almost collapsing, as though the effort to sustain such feeling had tired her. “Well, I told her it was the wrong thing to do. She is very aware of my position on this. But I’m afraid she is very firm on hers.”

  “So,” Scott said. “That’s it. She just . . . gets to take him. She gets to ignore what we’ve all been counting on. Because she’s lonely. And she changed her mind. That’s . . . incredible. That is just . . .” He paused, trying to find the right word. “It’s just fucking. Incredible.” Janice did a double take at the curse word and he considered apologizing, but the most he could bring himself to do was shrug.

  “Could I fight it?” he asked.

  “You mean in court?”

  He nodded.

  Janice twisted her lips. “You don’t really have a legal basis. I’m not sure the court would even entertain it. I suppose you could speak with a lawyer.”

  Scott thought about whom he could call. Pete’s neighbor was a lawyer; maybe he could help. Sure, he didn’t have legal rights to the boy but he had to try something. It was ridiculous, what LaDania was doing, and unbelievably selfish. Did she have no regard for him and Laurie, and what they had done for her son for the past year—for both of her sons? What they had done for her? Did it not occur to her that they might want these last days with Curtis to say a proper goodbye? Did she think about them at all?

  But then he thought about what FosterFranny had said: focus on what’s best for the child. He lifted his palms waist high in a gesture of helplessness. He didn’t have a choice here. If he fought this, it would be for himself, not Curtis. “Never mind,” he told Janice. “She’s his mother. I won’t stand between him and his mom, no matter how much I disagree with this. I wouldn’t want to end our year together by arguing over him. That wouldn’t be any better for him than what she’s doing.”