A Mother's Homecoming (17 page)

You have an overactive imagination, and you were already in an irrationally bleak mood.
She was advising herself to shake it off and get her soda when the man staggered again in the crowd. Pam's mind registered what was going to happen a split second before her eyes processed it.

Jake pitched forward with enough force that the little girl toppled from his shoulders and fell with a heartrending cry to the pavement below.

Considering all the people jammed onto the walkway, Pam reached the Stein family pretty quickly. Jake's wife was trying to assess the shrieking girl's injuries while also juggling her shrieking younger sister, who was unharmed but startled. Jake wasn't even attempting to help. Instead he was sitting on the grass nearby, shaking his head and muttering to himself.

When Pam got close enough, she saw that he'd started to cry. She wanted to shake him—his wife had enough to deal with in two crying babies. Mrs. Stein shouldn't have to cope with her sobbing husband, who, unless Pam was wrong, had caused this accident in the first place.

“Oh, God.” Pam was startled by the amount of blood. It hadn't been immediately obvious in the dark, but the wailing girl had turned her head in Pam's direction and one of the overhead lights caught her face. Her cherubic features, lit oddly bluish, were smeared with dark blood. Pam felt faint for a minute but pushed forward.

“Here,” she offered to Mrs. Stein. “Would you like me to hold the little one?”

The girls' mother, clearly trying not to cry herself,
nodded gratefully as she passed over the youngest of the two, freeing her up to examine the thrashing child more carefully. In an attempt to find the silver lining, Pam told herself that, given the rapid motion of the little girl's limbs, obviously she hadn't broken an arm or leg.

Pam patted the girl she held on the back, making shushing noises. She was distantly aware of the crowd parting around her as uniformed guards carrying first-aid kits reached the scene. The injured girl's shrill cries had subsided to a sort of hysterical snuffling, and Pam caught snatches of explanation from the guard. She'd knocked a tooth out on the concrete and apparently all face and head wounds bled terribly. They were advising Mrs. Stein to take her to the E.R. to check for a concussion and possibly for stitches.

During this conversation, Pam glanced over at where Jake sat. He had stopped talking to himself and was guzzling from a water bottle she hadn't seen before, probably retrieved from inside his jacket. The dark liquid he was belting back wasn't water.

You bastard.
Not that it was uncommon for an alcoholic to relapse. She'd only seen Jake at a couple of meetings, so it wasn't as if she knew him well. There was no good reason for her to be taking this so personally.

“Hey!” Nick appeared at her side, blocking her view of the other man. “You okay?”

“'Course.” Not remotely. “Just trying to help out.”

“Mamamamama,” the little bundle in her arms chanted. Pam wasn't sure if it was random phonetic babbling or a specific request. Mrs. Stein had mostly calmed down her other daughter and was helping her to her feet.

The beleaguered mother tried to smile at Pam. “Thank you so much. I've got it from here.”

“You sure?”

She nodded.

After she'd passed the child back and wished Mrs. Stein well, Pam went straight to Jake Stein, without stopping for any kind of explanation to Nick. She ripped the bottle out of his hands with enough force that some of the contents sloshed across her sleeves and torpedoed it into a nearby garbage can.

Then, with tears stinging her eyes, she raced for the ladies' room, hoping she could get there before she made an even bigger scene than the wailing toddlers.

N
ICK TEXTED HIS SISTER
that something had come up and could she please keep an eye on Faith for the rest of the game. Minor medical emerg. in crowd, trying to assist. He just hoped Leigh didn't come to the ladies' room or he was going to be stuck trying to explain why he was pacing outside it, refusing to leave until Pam came back and he could make sure she was all right.

What the hell happened?

They'd been going for a couple of colas, she'd been bumped and the next thing he'd known, she was sprinting down the sidewalk toward the family that had just passed and there were tears and blood and she was throwing some guy's drink.

She'd only been gone a few minutes, but he felt clueless, which was irritating and made the time pass slower. He was reversing direction for another lap when she emerged, red-eyed and sheepish.

“You want to tell me what that was about?” he asked gently. She didn't look like she needed an impatient interrogation.

“That guy who dropped his daughter? He was drinking. And he shouldn't have been,” she said.

“Okay.” He supposed that made sense. It surprised him a bit that she'd become so emotional over it, although he had to admit that the sight of blood on that poor little girl's face had left even him shaken. And he was astute enough to realize that Pam's own personal issues had magnified her response.

She sighed. “I don't mean to ruin your evening, but do you think you could take me home? I wasn't feeling that great when I got here, and now …”

“Yeah, okay.” He could probably make it back before the end of the game, but if it looked like he wouldn't, he'd call his sister. “Guess I'm ready whenever you are.”

She was quiet on the walk through the parking lot, the only sound coming from her the jangling rattle of the charms on that silly mum he'd bought. It had seemed like a cute idea at the time, but now it made him wince. Tonight just didn't seem like the right venue for silly. In the background, the band led the crowd in the “Charge!” cheer and Nick cast about for something to say.

Halfway to her house, he still hadn't come up with much. He told her that he was looking forward to meeting Bryce's parents when they picked up Faith for the dance tomorrow night and that he had narrowed down Faith's Christmas present to three guitars and would love to get Pam's opinion before he made his purchase. All of this was met with semiaudible, monosyllabic responses.

Rolling up to the house in the dark, the two of them alone in the car, brought on a serious case of déjà vu.
How many times had he brought her home after Friday night football games?

Since she didn't seem to be in the right frame of mind for nostalgia, he said simply, “I'm worried about you.”

“You and me both.” She ran a hand through her stylishly choppy hair. “I was standing there with one shrieking kid in my arms, staring at another wailing kid smeared in her own blood, and I thought, ‘I need a drink.'”

Was that why the waterworks afterward? “Lots of people would have that same reaction under those circumstances. But you took that bottle away from the guy and tossed it, you didn't take it from him and start doing shots.”

She made a noncommittal noise and opened her door. He followed her up the sidewalk, wishing he knew what she was thinking. Sometimes he felt like he knew her better than anyone else on the planet; other times she'd shocked him—like when she left.

With that long-ago blow in mind, he looked at her living room with fresh eyes. All of the improvements he'd been applauding her for now looked sinister. He thought about the mood she'd been in all evening, the pensiveness in her expression when she met him at the stadium entrance.

“You're finished, aren't you?” he said. “With the house.”

She nodded, not looking at him. “It isn't perfect, but most homes that go on the market aren't. It's good, though.”

“Are you …” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Are you going to stick around until after it sells?”

She sat on the couch, tucking one leg under her.
“Technically I don't have anywhere I have to be, although Annabel thinks she's ready for a change of scenery and we've talked about being roommates. The longer I stay here, the harder it will be to leave.”

“Then don't leave.” He knew it was a mistake even before he said it—she'd see it as pressuring her, and she was having a lousy night. But he couldn't help it. “Would it be so bad to stay?”

“I'm at a good place with Mimosa right now,” she said. “Best I've ever been. You follow sports. Don't they always tell athletes to go out while they're on top, retire at the zenith of their game? I'd rather leave town now and never see any of these people again than … than do what that man did tonight. I'd be surprised if his wife stays with him after this.”

It was the choice she'd made twelve and a half years ago all over again, he realized. If she convinced herself that it was in their—his, Faith's, her family's—best interest for her to go, she'd probably be out of the town limits before he even got to say goodbye. Then she'd been motivated by her depression and the specter of her dysfunctional relationship with Mae, afraid of how both those things could harm their daughter. Now she was terrified of what would happen if she started drinking again.

He knelt in front of her, taking both her hands in his. “You're sober now, Pam. I believe in you.”

“Which I appreciate,” she said, “but you never saw me at my worst. You don't have any real frame of reference. You've only ever seen me sober, but I'm an alcoholic, Nick.”

“It's part of who you are, but it's not
what
you are. You're more than that, and you're more than your mother.” He got to his feet, frustrated that he wasn't
reaching her. The last time she'd left, he'd never had a chance to talk her out of the decision. He couldn't blow this. “You said yourself, you left because you didn't want to be like her, but that's who you became anyway. Running doesn't solve anything.”

“I'm not running,” she protested tiredly. “I'm moving on because it's time. You knew that was always the plan.”

“Damn it, it's a stupid plan! I love you, and I think you love me. And Faith—”

“Don't.” Pam held up a hand. “Don't use her to try to guilt me into staying.”

He clenched his fist around his car keys. “Are you even going to say goodbye to her before you go?”

“You make it sound like I'm jumping in the car right now. I'm just trying to decide, rationally and unsentimentally, where to go from here. I'm not leaving in the dead of night.”

He raised an eyebrow.
You sure about that?

“Go home,” she ordered. “I'm too tired to fight with you and, frankly, it's my life. I don't have to defend my decisions.”

“Fine. Whatever you decide, have the guts to tell me? I don't want to read it in a note this time.” He went to the door but, before he stepped back out into the night, offered her one last observation to consider. “You know, if you keep pushing away people who love you, you'll wind up
exactly
like Mae. Alone.”

I
T WAS ONE OF
the world's oldest and most annoying paradoxes—being so tired you couldn't sleep. Pam punched her pillow even as she acknowledged defeat. She wouldn't be nodding off anytime soon.

What she really wanted to do was call the hospital
and ask if that little girl had been okay, but the staff wasn't allowed to give out information like that. Still, she grabbed her cell phone and checked the time. Just a little after midnight.

She bit her lip. Martha was constantly handing out her number at meetings, saying that she was a chronic insomniac and could be called on around the clock if someone needed to be talked off the ledge. Pam wasn't exactly out on the ledge—more like standing just inside the window, trying to gauge the distance down—but she sure could use a friendly ear. She sent a text, figuring that would be less intrusive if Martha actually had gone to bed. It's Pam. Rough night. U still up?

Her phone rang a moment later.
Guess that answers that question.
“Martha?”

“Oh, hon, I heard about the football game. I've been thinking about you. Need to talk? We can either chat on the phone or meet at the Pie House on Welbington. They're open twenty-four hours and they have a fantastic coconut cream.”

“I can meet you in fifteen minutes,” Pam said. Less, if she wore flip-flops and didn't brush her hair.

An hour later, both women had polished off sizable pieces of pie and Pam had poured out everything from noticing Jake's glassy eyes and dulled expression to throwing Nick out of her house.

“I've been up front with him,” she defended herself. “He always knew I was leaving.”

“Mmm,” Martha said, sipping her coffee.

“Are you siding with him?”

“Course not. But does he have a point? Are you just too afraid to try?”

“Hell, yes. We've been seeing each other for a few weeks, and he's saying
love
and
stay.
He wants long-term
commitment. How am I supposed to promise happily ever after when I'm still trying to take it one day at a time? And I certainly can't ask a twelve-year-old to take it one day at a time.” She changed the subject. “How well do you know Jake's family?”

“Not well enough that Tami thought to call me after what happened, but enough that she won't mind if I bring a lasagna to the family tomorrow and see how they're doing.”

Pam shook her head. “I just keep seeing his little girl's face in my mind.” Which was probably why she couldn't sleep. “I've heard him talk about his family at meetings. He loves them. He's got more incentive to try than anyone I know! If he can't do it …”

“Apples and oranges, hon. Just because Jake had a weak moment doesn't mean you will. Or that I will. It's all unrelated.”

“I know. Rationally I know you're right. But the statistics are scary.”

Martha reached across the table to pat her hand. “
Life
is scary, hon. Don't mean we stop living.”

T
HE RATHER BURLY
night manager of the Pie House walked both women out to their cars, admonishing them to drive carefully and making one last offer of coffee for the road if either of them felt tired.

On the contrary, Pam was wide-awake, her mind abuzz with everyone's opinions. Even Julia had weighed in with her two cents earlier in the week, saying that she thought Faith was an absolute doll and that nothing would make Julia happier than to see Pam reunited with her ex-husband and daughter.