Untethered Page 16

Char put a finger to her lips and tried to think of a way to explain it to her friend. The fact was, there was some kind of meter in Allie’s head, the same as there was in Char’s, and had been in Bradley’s. You didn’t enter into a stepfamily and simply carry on about your business as other people did. You measured, you compared. You weighed. You considered and reconsidered, evaluated and reevaluated. You questioned and worried and second-guessed.

  If you were Bradley, you counted time, ever vigilant about not spending so much of it with your new wife that your daughter felt slighted, and not spending so much with your daughter that your wife wondered why you bothered remarrying. You balanced each conversation, not talking so much about the past that your wife felt left out, not talking so little about it that your daughter felt her childhood was being erased.

  If you were Char, you worried you were trying too hard, making your stepdaughter (and her mother) suspect that you were gunning for someone else’s job. So you eased off, and in the next hour, you worried you were playing it way too cool, making the girl think you viewed her as something only to be tolerated—an extra, unattractive appendage that came attached to her father.

  If you were Allie, you questioned everything your father and stepmother did, every day. And if there was a day when you felt sad and you couldn’t put your finger on why, you decided to put your finger on them, and their new marriage, and the fact that before she came along, you had him all to yourself.

  Char didn’t know how to say all of that to Colleen in a way that wouldn’t make Allie seem petty, and Char and Bradley seem paranoid. As good a friend as Colleen was, as much as she knew about the history of Bradley and Lindy, one reality Char had learned was that people who weren’t in stepfamilies couldn’t really understand the dynamics of people who were. Colleen’s “simple solutions” for dealing with some teen angst that Sydney was going through were often things Char wouldn’t dream of trying with Allie.

  So instead, Char told her friend, “You know, now I’m starting to wonder if that’s the issue. Maybe it’s not that my ‘pretending,’ as she called it, isn’t helping her. Maybe she thinks it’s a betrayal to Bradley—”

  “Do you think you might be way overthinking this?” Colleen asked.

  Which was one of the things people who weren’t in stepfamilies always said to people who were.

  Twenty-three

  By afternoon, the sun was strong enough that Char had stripped down to her long-sleeved T-shirt, and she had gotten enough work done that she rewarded herself with a glass of wine. Her cell phone dinged before she could take her first sip. It was a text from Allie.

  can you come get me?

  It was only three forty-five. Tutoring was from three thirty until five thirty. Char was about to ask what was going on when another text came.

  morgan’s not here

  Char: Oh, too bad. Did the staff say why?

  Allie: they won’t tell. “participant confidentiality”

  Char: Ah. Well, I’m sure it’s just a cold or something.

  Allie: morgan and I never miss mondays

  Char: Not so easy for a 10yo to make that call. I’ll leave right now.

  Allie: tks, cc

  In the garage, Char looked to the furthermost bay and the shrouded convertible. She tapped out another text to Allie: First nice day of spring, btw . . .

  Allie: yeah

  Char: And I was thinking . . .

  Allie: convertible?

  Char: And ice cream! And you can drive.

  Allie: !! :)

  Allie squealed at seeing the convertible in the community center parking lot. She tossed her backpack onto the floor in the back, climbed into the driver’s seat, and set her phone in the cup holder. She was about to turn on the ignition when her phone rang. Peering at the screen, she tapped “ignore” with a finger.

  “You can answer it,” Char said, “since you’re not driving yet. But after the call, you should put your phone in your backpack. Remove the temptation to answer calls or texts when you’re driving, you know?”

  Allie reached back and put her phone in the front pocket of her pack. “It’s a telemarketer,” she said. “Some area code I don’t recognize. They’ve called a few times and they never leave a message.”

  “Do you remember that one telemarketer that called all three of us last year?” Char asked. “We kept trying to ignore them, but they called so many times every day that we decided we should just answer and say ‘No, thanks’ and put an end to it?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Allie said. “And when we answered, that really loud ship’s horn blared in our ears and we couldn’t hear for like an hour after.”

  “And they still kept calling,” Char said.

  “They were the worst. I’m kind of afraid to answer this one, in case it’s another obnoxious horn or some siren or whatever.”

  “Got to love the ‘ignore’ button on cell phones,” Char said.

  “Zactly.”

  Allie pulled out of the parking lot. They were quiet for the first few blocks. The new driver spent a lot of time checking and rechecking her mirrors and blind spots, pretending, Char knew, that she was too busy focusing to carry on a conversation.

  “So,” Char said. “No Morgan today.” It was the one subject Allie couldn’t resist.

  But the teen only said, “No Morgan,” and checked her mirrors again.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing, and she’ll be back next week,” Char said.

  “Yeah.”

  They drove a little farther, and Char reached for the radio dial. “Ah! Proclaimers! We love this one!” Allie smiled, but refused to act more excited than that.

  “I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more,” Char sang.

  Allie didn’t join in, and Char stopped. Another theory she had about Allie’s recent recalcitrance was that the teenager was upset with herself for complaining to Char about her mother while she was away. Char had seen similar behavior before, albeit far shorter lived. Allie didn’t like being disloyal to Lindy.

  What are you trying to say? she could imagine Allie thinking now, after Char’s brief solo. That you’re the only one who would walk that far for me? That my mother wouldn’t?

  Allie braked at a stop sign and put on her right turn signal. “If you take a left here,” Char said, “we could go to Doozie’s for our first cone of the season. Might as well find the silver lining to your having a few spare hours this afternoon.”

  Allie twisted her lips and turned right. “I’m trying to eat clean this week. Final soccer tryouts, you know?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “Thanks, though.”

  When Allie turned onto their street, Char told her to leave the car in the driveway so she could get out some gardening tools from the shelves in the third bay.

  “You want to bring your homework out here?” Char asked as they climbed out. “Sit in a lawn chair, get some sun and fresh air while you work? Keep me company?”

  Allie squinted at the sun as though it were painful to be standing in it. “Better not,” she said.

  Char nodded as though she had a clue what that meant.

  • • •

  Char was putting away the rake and searching for pruning shears when the sound—or rather, the pulsing sensation—of loud rap music made her turn. It was Wes’s car, with its windows down, radio up. Kate waved to Char from the front seat as Wes turned to speak with Justin in the back. Seconds later, the front door banged closed and Allie ran down the front walk.

  “Hey, Mrs. Hawthorn!” Kate sang. “Music!” she hissed at Wes, who punched the button and shut it off.

  “Hi, Kate,” Char said as she walked to the passenger side of the car. “Boys.”

  Wes grunted from the front and Justin pointed out his window to the convertible. “That’s the car we should be taking.”

&
nbsp; “Nice try,” Allie said. “It was, like, one of my dad’s prized possessions.”

  “Weren’t you one of the others?” Justin asked.

  “Idiot,” Kate said. “We’re not taking the convertible.”

  “Is it okay if I go?” Allie said to Char as she climbed into the back of Wes’s car. “They wanted to take a drive, since it’s so nice. And I’m done with almost all of my homework. We’ll be back in an hour. Hour and a half, tops.”

  “Just a quick run to Doozie’s, Mrs. Hawthorn,” Kate said. “You want us to bring you back a cone?”

  “They wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Allie told Char, trying unsuccessfully to hide her guilt with a forced laugh. “I hope a kiddie cup of fro-yo won’t ruin my chances of making varsity.”

  “I’m sure it won’t,” Char said.

  Allie leaned out the window. “You sure you don’t want us to bring something back for you? My treat. Vanilla with a caramel swirl?”

  Char could hear the plea in the girl’s voice as she sought to make up for her bad behavior. It would be so satisfying to shrug and say, “Better not,” in the same too-light tone Allie had used each time she had uttered those words over the past several weeks, shutting down Char’s many efforts to make up. To turn back to her gardening without a wave and let the kid stew in her guilt as she rode all the way to Doozie’s and back.

  But satisfying and adult were two different things.

  “Sure,” she told Allie. “A kiddie cup would be great.”

  Twenty-four

  Morgan wasn’t at tutoring the following Monday, either. This time, Allie’s text was frantic. Char skipped the convertible and raced over in her sedan to find the teenager standing at the edge of the parking lot, in tears.

  “I’ll drive today,” Char said. There was probably a value in Allie’s learning to handle herself behind the wheel while upset, but that lesson could wait.

  Allie nodded, and sank low in the passenger seat. “I know she’s not sick. I’m certain of it.”

  “Did you ask the staff?”

  “They still won’t tell. I’ve called the Crews three times and there’s no answer.”

  Char unbuckled and put her hand on the door handle.

  “Where are you going?” Allie asked.

  “To see if they’ll tell me.”

  Allie sat straighter. “Seriously?”

  Char took her hand off the door and reached for her seat belt. She and Bradley hadn’t spoken for Allie since she was in middle school. If the girl had an issue with a grade or a sport, she spoke to the teacher or coach herself. She would “die,” she told them, if they made a call or visit to plead her case for her. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

  “Don’t be,” Allie said. “Go for it.”

  And now Char was the one to ask, “Seriously?”

  “Desperate times, CC.”

  Allie smiled, and it provided all the energy Char needed to jog through the parking lot, up the stairs, and into the center.

  She didn’t get any further than Allie had. “I’m sorry,” the tutoring program coordinator said. “But like I told your daughter, we can’t give any information out about our participants. That goes for both sides,” she added, as though this would cheer Char up. “If Morgan’s family were in here asking about Allie, we wouldn’t tell them anything, either.”

  “Sorry, Al,” Char said when she returned to the car.

  She winced as she buckled her seat belt, waiting for the sigh that showed she had pushed too far with the nickname. There were rules about teenage-adult interactions, and one of them seemed to be that during an argument or period of distance, the mere fact that the teen used the adult’s nickname did not mean the adult was free to use the teen’s. Colleen tended to barge ahead on matters like these, thrusting her stake in closer each time, pushing Sydney into making up on Colleen’s schedule. Char didn’t dare.

  “Well, thanks for trying.” Allie put her elbow on the armrest and dropped her head into her hand. “I’m so worried about her.”

  “I know you are.” Taking a chance, Char put a hand on Allie’s back and rubbed it in slow circles. “And I think that’s pretty wonderful. The way you are with her, the way you worry about her, the way you care about her.”

  “You do?”

  Char laughed. “You know I do.”

  “Yeah,” Allie said.

  She didn’t say, My mom doesn’t think it’s all that wonderful—she thinks it’s a waste of time, and Char didn’t know if she was even thinking it. But she did know that this was one of those times when, if Allie were making a comparison, it would be Char who came out on top. Not that she was competing with Lindy, Char told herself as she pulled out of the lot.

  “There’s a joke in there,” Will had said after he reminded Char about the story of their mother not paying attention when he was in the school play. “Something about Lindy being Allie’s whale and you being”—he snapped his fingers—“what was his name? Ahab?”

  He searched around the room as though the punch line were hiding in a plant in the corner, or on top of the wooden hutch beside the table. But he gave up, shaking his head. “If I were an English major, I’d have it.”

  “If you were an English major,” Char said, “you’d have read the book. And you’d know that Ahab is actually trying to kill the whale.”

  Will lifted a hand off the table and turned it, palm to the ceiling, as he arched his brows.

  “You’re terrible,” she told him.

  She wasn’t trying to defeat Lindy. It wasn’t a competition. But she would be lying if she said it didn’t feel a little bit good, after the months of strain between her and Allie, to think that on this one matter—on any matter—Allie might consider Char to be the winner.

  At the next traffic light, Char turned left instead of right.

  “Where are we going?” Allie asked.

  “To check on Morgan,” Char said.

  “Really?”

  Char smiled at the excitement in Allie’s voice.

  “You’re the best, CC.”

  Char smiled wider. It wasn’t a competition. Of course it wasn’t.

  But it was still nice to win a round.

  • • •

  Dave Crew answered the door. Char was certain she detected a frown when he saw who was there.

  “Sorry to show up unannounced,” Char said. “We called, but no one answered, so . . .” She waited for him to invite them in, or to call Sarah, but he remained in the doorway, the door open only enough for him to stand in the opening. “I’m surprised to see you home this early,” Char said. “I was expecting to see Sarah.”

  “She’s not here,” he said. “So, I’m holding down the fort with Stevie.”

  Char didn’t miss the fact that he mentioned only his son and not his daughter. Neither did Allie, who was bouncing on her toes beside Char, plainly not interested in waiting for a long exchange of pleasantries.

  “What about Morgan?” Allie asked. “Is she okay? They wouldn’t tell me at tutoring. But she’s never been gone for two weeks in a row.” She looked over Dave’s shoulder as though she might see the ten-year-old standing behind him.

  “Oh, she’s perfectly fine,” he said. “I’m sorry you were worried.” He pressed his lips together. “I can’t believe we forgot about tutoring,” he said quietly, and Char didn’t know if he was talking to them or to himself.

  “Can I see her?” Allie asked, looking again over his shoulder.

  Char wondered when the girl would push past him, or run right over him, and storm her way into the house calling Morgan’s name.

  “Oh, no, sorry,” he said. “She’s not here, either. She’s with her mother. They’re visiting relatives, out of town. That’s where they’ve been. Why Morgan hasn’t been at tutoring.”

  “She’s taking all that time of
f school?” Allie asked.

  Dave’s shoulders went rigid and his mouth flattened into a horizontal line. Char touched a hand to Allie’s arm. The Crews were aware of Morgan’s academic difficulties. They didn’t need a fifteen-year-old questioning their decision to take her out of school. “Allie,” she whispered. Allie regarded her, and Char gave a quick head shake. Don’t go there.

  Dave flashed a smile at Allie and said, “Don’t worry. You won’t be stuck having to catch her up on everything when she gets back. Sarah put her into a dance class, and it’s on Monday afternoons. We thought it might be good for her to do something active. So, her days of frustrating you at tutoring are over.”

  He said something after that but Char was no longer listening. Beside her, Allie looked like she had been sucker punched. She was staring at Dave, her mouth open, face white. She teetered away from Char, who reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm, pulling her upright again.

  Allie moved her lips twice before sound came out. “She’s . . . not . . . ?” She covered her mouth with a hand and Char wondered if the girl was about to be sick.

  “Are you going to . . . ?” she asked, pointing Allie to the garden. Dave had dropped a bomb, but he didn’t deserve to have the girl throw up on his front step.

  Allie shook her head and moved her hand from her mouth. “I’m fine. I just . . .” She looked at Dave as though he had spoken in a foreign language and she was trying to translate it into English. “I just . . . don’t . . . under—she . . . what?”

  “It’s quite a shock for me, too,” Char said to Dave. “I talked to Sarah the week after break and she didn’t say anything about this. So I think Allie’s having a hard time—”

  “Yes, I’m sorry,” Dave said. “Obviously, we forgot all about tutoring. About Allie. Our mistake.” Turning to Allie, he said, “I’m really very sorry about that. And I want to thank you, on behalf of myself and Sarah and Morgan, for your time this year. You’ve been a tremendous blessing in Morgan’s life.”

  “Can we come back when she gets home?” Allie asked. “To say good-bye?”