Claire Knows Best (27 page)

“Don’t worry about it, Greg.” I’m so gracious, I scare myself. “I understand kids. I have four of them.”

“I remember. I was hoping to be their stepdad.”

Oh, be still my beating heart. Need I remind him that he was the one who changed direction midstream?

The laughter dies out and silence yawns between us. I think he’s trying to find a way to gracefully say good-bye now that
he’s done what he called to do. And I’m just about to let him off the hook by making up some lame excuse to go, when I hear
the intake of breath that signals he’s about to speak.

“Mom is moving here with Sadie until I graduate.”

Okay, talk about being blindsided. I so didn’t see that coming. And with the information that his mother is moving, I feel
my last emotional link to Greg slipping away.

T
wo weeks later, my life has suddenly gone from peaceful to crazy.

Mom is back in all her glory. So far things aren’t too bad, although I occasionally have to bite my tongue over a stray
comment or two. She’s taken over the downstairs and seems fairly happy there.

Darcy calls me eight times a day to ask my opinion as to whether or not she will ever go into labor or will this baby just
stay inside of her until she explodes?

Eight times a day I assure her the baby will, in fact, make his or her appearance in due time. And no, I don’t see a tummy
explosion in her future.

Ari is still stomping in and out of the house on Tuesday and Thursday mornings as she goes to and from the Hope House.

I take those times to call Ina, my life coach. And this is what I’ve learned: according to Ina, life shouldn’t be filled with
stress and anger. I have deep, deep resentment against my mother. Apparently, I mask this resentment in comedy and sarcasm.
Not exactly rocket science. I’d already figured all that out from being an avid fan of Dr. Phil.

One thing the good TV doctor and I never got around to working on, though, is something Ina has put her crazy, neurotic finger
on: I’m so afraid my daughter will feel the same way about me as I do about my mother that I’ve closed myself off to complete
vulnerability with her.

I didn’t know that, but I do see it. And I think I might have put my finger on why Ari is sneaking out, too.

She wants my attention.

This is where my life coach and I have come to after today’s telephone session. I’m grateful for the breakthrough and decide
to return the favor. I’m worried about Ina. I heard her light up at least ten times during the hour-and-a-half session. She’s
jittery, and quite frankly, I think she’s on the edge. Physician, heal thyself.

“Hey, Ina. If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you, too.”

She hesitates and puffs smoke. “I’m not sure that’d be very professional. Know what I mean?”

“In a normal situation, I’d agree, but remember I’m your project. It’s not like I’m paying for your help. Come on. Talk to
me.”

Silence looms.

“Okay, it’s all right. But can you at least talk over what’s bothering you with your twin sister?”

“Who?”

“Your sister? The twin that sounds just like you? I talked to her the first day we met.”

“Oh.” She drops into silence once more and I’m about to just let her go until I hear sniffles from her end.

“Ina? Are you okay? Did something happen to your sister?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Okay. So you lied. What was that for?”

“I’m so sorry. I was just having a really bad day when you first called and I sounded so desperate and crazy over the phone,
I was afraid you wouldn’t want me to coach you. I’ve only gotten one other call and it was a pervert who wanted phone sex.”

“Ew.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, Ina, sometimes it helps just talking out a problem.”

“It’s just that I don’t have any family around here. They’re all in California. My boyfriend broke up with me a few weeks
ago and I see him everywhere with his new boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

She heaves a sigh and I hear a fresh sob rush to her throat. “Yeah. He dated me all through our undergrad work and through
the first year of grad school. One night we’re talking about how great it will be to finish our master’s degrees and get on
with our careers and I say, ‘And we can start planning that wedding.’ And he just looks at me like this is something we haven’t
been discussing for the past five years, and says, ‘I’m in love with Brian.’ Brian! Can you believe it?”

Okay, I don’t even know who Brian is. And good grief, her boyfriend was gay? How could she not know after five years?

She answers both questions as though I’ve spoken out loud.

“Brian is a guy who works at my hair salon. It was just so obvious he was gay. But how could I have not known that Joe was
into that lifestyle, too? What’s wrong with me that I didn’t see the signs?”

“Listen, Ina. It’s like any relationship. When one person cheats, we always blame ourselves. What did I do? How could I not
have seen? The truth is cheaters are masters of deception, so unless they’re incredibly stupid or just want to get caught,
it’s unlikely they will be.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am. Only my husband wasn’t gay, and we had four kids together, so when he left me, he also walked out on a family.”

“I guess it could have been worse,” she says glumly. “At least he didn’t marry me and sleep around on me with guys.”

“Definitely could have been worse.”

“My mind tells me I’m better off without him. That I never really even knew him in the first place. But my heart just drops
every time I see him with someone else.”

“I understand.”

“You know what’s even worse?”

“What?”

“Are you a Christian?”

How can she have been coaching me through several sessions and not know this?

“Yes, I’m a Christian. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve been going to church again, and I’ve been thinking about things I’ve just let slide lately. My convictions had
become muddy and I didn’t even have a straight theology like I did when I was growing up. But I know his lifestyle is wrong.
I just… I’m afraid for him. Eternally, know what I mean?”

“I’m sorry, Ina. I do know what you mean.”

“So it’s just everything. Life is hectic. I go to school full time and teacher assist for two freshman psychology classes—which
means I do all the work while the professor just does the actual lecturing. He even asked me to get his coffee the other day.
I was like, ‘Honey, if you want coffee, you can get it yourself. I’m not a maid.’”

“You go, girl.” Yowser. I never realized until this minute that Ina must be African American. I pictured a Swedish or German
girl. I mean… Ina.

“Hey, you remind me of someone.”

“I do?”

“Claire? Is that you?”

I draw a sharp breath. I haven’t shared my name with Ina. And hadn’t planned to until the end of the project, just in case
she happens to read my books. I just thought it might be less awkward to wait. “My name is Claire, yes. Do… do I know
you?”

“Oh, man. Claire, I’m really sorry. I just didn’t put two and two together until just this second.”

“Okay, the suspense is killing me. How do we know each other?”

Hesitation on the other line is making me nervous. My mind plays a slide show of everyone I know who is in grad school. Only
one person comes to mind . . .

“It’s me. Penny.”

“Penny?”

Funny crazy Penny?

Okay, somehow it all fits together. But that doesn’t make me feel any better knowing I’ve been spilling my guts to a twenty-four-year-old.
“How come you said your name was Ina?”

“Same reason you didn’t want your name published. Anonymity.”

“Oh, my goodness.” The whole situation strikes me as funny, and I start to laugh. And laugh. I should have known it was Penny.
Now that I see it all in hindsight, I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I guess I was just so absorbed in my own troubles
that I didn’t really think about “Ina” as a person but more of a faceless “safe place.” Now my safe place is on the other
end of the line chain-smoking Marlboro Lights, stressing over school, and heartbroken over an ended relationship.

Penny and Ina are one and the same. How weird is that?

We have a good laugh about it and resolve to continue our talks, only as friends. Penny has enough issues in her life and
is definitely not qualified to coach me.

In the meantime, the door slams, the advent of Ari’s return from her quality time with Dad.

“I have to go, Penny. I’ll call you Thursday.”

After I hang up with Penny, I start thinking about Ari. Despite the fact that we had some breakthroughs during the winter,
I feel like we’ve regressed lately. I’ve been so preoccupied with getting our living situation ironed out that I’ve pretty
much let motherhood go. Slipped back into some old ways. But all isn’t lost. Tommy really is doing well with his sponsor.
He will be competing at a local competition for the chance to go regional. If that happens, well… I’m not sure what happens
if that happens, but according to Tommy it’s pretty exciting. And, unless I miss my guess, it will be time-consuming.

Shawn is thriving under John’s tutelage and so far I’ve noticed nary a sign of atheistic tendencies, so John must be keeping
his word.

My Jakey is having a hard time with Sadie’s absence. They’re so cute sending daily e-mails to each other. Words are misspelled
and there’s barely any punctuation or capital letters, but Jake seems to understand exactly what Sadie is saying. He’s in
a period where I’ve limited the Nintendo again. I’m going to have to get better about limits there. I start with good intentions,
but always end up letting him spend too much time, then I have to pull him off altogether in order to break the addiction.
After three such cycles in less than a year, I’m thinking it might possibly be time for another plan. What that plan will
be remains to be seen.

Anyway, there are some kinks to work out, just like in any family, but for the most part, I think the boys are doing all right.

But Ari…

Now that I see she needs me, I wonder, what can I do to let down some of my own walls? Put myself out there and risk her rejection?

I leave my office and go upstairs. I give her door a tap, then enter.

“I really wish you’d stop barging in my room.” She’s lying on her bed reading a magazine.

“Well, I won’t. So, can we lose the attitude?”

She rolls her eyes.

Inwardly I cringe. This is not going the way I pictured it.

“Want to come with me to pick up the boys?”

What is it about teenagers and their eyes? She gives me this you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. Just right there, plain as day.
But she says, “No, thanks. I want to read.”

“Are you sure? I thought we’d go out for barbecue at Ellie’s for lunch and then maybe spend the afternoon swimming at Bennett
Springs.”

“What’s Ellie’s?”

“A little barbecue spot I found awhile back. The owner’s granddaughter is John Wells’s daughter.”

Her eyes go big. “Wow. I didn’t know he even had a daughter.”

I guess the kids don’t pick up on as much gossip as I thought they did.

“Yeah. Her grandmother raised her. But he retired from the stage and moved here to mend the relationship.”

Ari swings her legs around and sits up. Apparently smelling a drama, she grins. “What do they have besides barbecue?”

I quickly put on makeup and call down the basement steps, “Mom, we’re going to get the boys. Do you want to come with us?”

She shows up at the bottom of the steps. “You couldn’t walk down the steps and speak to me in a civilized tone?”

“Sorry.”

Mom hates yelling. I’m a yeller, I can’t help it.

“I’m taking the kids to eat lunch and then swimming. Do you want to come along?”

“No. It’s too hot. I’ll have supper ready when you get home.”

“There’s no need for you to go to the trouble, Mom. I’ll pick up McDonald’s or something.”

She scowls, as I knew she would. “These children eat way too much junk food, if you ask me.” Which I didn’t.

Nevertheless, she heaves a sigh. “But I suppose it’s my own fault for failing in my own mothering. I should have made you
help me in the kitchen more.”

How does she do that? Blame me by blaming herself?

“All right, then. I won’t stop at McDonald’s.”

On the way to the theater to pick up Shawn, Ari and I talk small talk for a few minutes, then I cut to the chase. “How’s it
going over at the crisis pregnancy center?”

“It’s all right. The hardest part is trying not to show my contempt for all those idiots who didn’t use birth control. I mean,
what’s the point of sex ed if they’re just going to have sex without protection?”

I don’t reply right off the bat because I’m not sure how much of what she’s saying is actually her own feelings, and how much
is to get a rise out of me.

“And don’t worry, Mother. I’m not having sex.”

Oh, thank you, Lord.

“But if I did, I’d be smart enough to buy condoms.”

My face heats up. In my day, we didn’t talk openly about sex and condoms and stuff like that. I didn’t know what gay was until
I was thirteen years old and my friend Gina gave me the 411. I still didn’t believe it until I was a little older. So to hear
my daughter speak so openly and without the slightest embarrassment or reservation is a little disconcerting. I suppose a
faction of our society would applaud her attitude and ability to open up, but not me.

“I’m glad to hear you’re abstaining, Ari. But…” Oh, man, I don’t want to lecture. I really don’t. Penny/Ina was right.
I’m terrified she’s not going to like me.

“But what, Mother?” Her tone is guarded, like she knows I’m about to lecture and she’s getting out the mental cotton balls
to jam in her ears.

I brace myself and forge ahead. “But don’t you think those girls heard all of the same safe-sex talks you’ve heard?”

“Duh. That’s the point. What about ‘condoms’ didn’t they understand?”

“Okay, first, don’t say ‘duh’ to me again.”