Home Front (7 page)

*   *   *

At 2:20, Jolene pulled up in front of her mother-in-law’s gardening shop, the Green Thumb, and led Lulu inside.

A bell tinkled gaily overhead. The small, narrow shop—once an old-fashioned drugstore, complete with a soda fountain—was a treasure trove for gardeners. Michael’s mother, Mila, had opened the shop ten years ago—just for fun—but in the months since Theo’s death, it had become her sanctuary. Like her son, Mila had a strong work ethic, and lately she spent long hours here.

“
Yia Yia!
” Lulu yelled, yanking free. She charged forward with her usual enthusiasm. “Where are you?”

Mila pushed through the shimmering glass-bead curtain of the back room. “Do I hear my granddaughter?”

“I’m here,
Yia Yia!
” Lulu squealed.

Mila wore her usual work outfit: a thigh-length tee shirt, a green canvas apron (designed to camouflage her weight), and jeans tucked into orange rubber boots. Heavy makeup accentuated the dramatic beauty of her face—arching jet-black eyebrows, sparkling brown eyes, and full lips that smiled easily. She looked as Greek as she sounded, and she spoiled her grandkids as much as she’d spoiled her son. She had also become the mother Jolene always wanted.

As a young mother, Jolene had spent hours hunkered down in the rich black dirt with her mother-in-law beside her. At first she’d thought she was learning about weeds and the importance of a solid root system and levels of sunlight needed for growth; in time, she’d realized that her mother-in-law was teaching her about life and love and family. When it had come time for Jolene and Michael to purchase a home in which to raise their own family, she had never questioned the location. This town had become “home” for Jolene the moment Mila first hugged her and whispered,
“You’re the one for him, but you know that, don’t you?”

“Hello, Lucy Louida,” Mila said, swinging her granddaughter up into her strong arms and setting her on the counter by the cash register.

“Hi,
Yia Yia
,” Lulu said, grinning. “You want to play patty-cake?”

“Not now,
kardia mou.
”

Jolene came up behind her mother-in-law and hugged her tightly. For as long as she lived, the scent of Shalimar perfume would remind her of this woman.

Mila leaned back into the embrace. Her dyed black hair—piled up à la an aging Jersey girl—tickled Jolene’s cheek. Then she clapped her plump hands together. “Now it is time to watch my granddaughter run like the wind. I’m ready to go.” Mila gave some instructions to the older man who was her assistant manager, and in no time they were headed to the middle school, where, finally, the sun had brushed the clouds away.

The track was a hive of activity; all around them, students and teachers and parents were readying the track and football field for the events. The opposing team was huddled at the opposite end of the field. Betsy was with her team beneath the goalposts, dressed in her blue and gold sweats. At their arrival, she looked up, waved, and ran up to them.

Betsy grinned. “Hi,
Yia Yia.
”

Jolene smiled down at her daughter, who for just a second looked proud that they were here to watch her run. She felt a little catch in her throat. This was such a big moment for her daughter; the first school athletic event. Jolene leaned forward and kissed Betsy.

“Oh. My. God.” Betsy gasped and stumbled back, her eyes huge.

“Sorry,” Jolene said, trying not to smile. “No one saw.”

Mila laughed. “The horror. The horror. Your father used to hate it when I kissed him in public also. I did not care about his horror, either. I told him he was lucky to have a mother who loved him.”

“Right,” Betsy said. She glanced over at the team, and bit her lower lip nervously.

Jolene moved forward. “You’re ready for this, Bets.”

Betsy looked up, and in that instant Jolene saw her little girl again, the one who’d loved digging in the sand and capturing caterpillars. “I’m going to lose. Just so you know. I might even fall.”

“You are not going to fall, Betsy. Life is like an apple. You have to take a big bite to get all the flavor.”

“Yeah,” Betsy said, looking miserable. “Whatever
that
means.”

“It means good luck,” Mila said.

“We’ll go up into the stands to watch,” Jolene said.

“Where’s Dad?” Betsy asked.

“He’ll be here,” Jolene said. “The ferry is just landing now. Good luck, baby.”

Jolene slung Lulu onto her hip and carried her over to the stands. There were probably forty people in the bleachers, mostly moms and kids. They climbed up to a seat in the middle and sat down. About five minutes later, Tami showed up, a little out of breath and red-faced.

“Did I miss anything?” she said, sliding to sit next to Jolene.

“Nope.”

At exactly three thirty, a gun went off and the first event started—the boys’ mile run.

Lulu screamed at the sound. She lurched to her feet and ran back and forth in the bleachers, yelling, “Look at me, Mommy!”

“Where is Michael?” Mila asked worriedly. “I reminded him yesterday.”

“I’m sure he’s on his way,” Jolene answered. “He better be.”

Tami shot her an are-you-worried look.

Jolene nodded.

The mile race finished. Then they called the girls’ mile.

Jolene fished her phone out of her purse and dialed Michael’s cell phone. It went straight to voice mail. She tapped her foot nervously.

Come on, Michael … get here on time …

At 4:10, they called Betsy’s event—the hundred-meter dash.
Runners, take your spots …

Jolene’s phone rang. It was Michael. She picked up fast. “If you’re in the parking lot, you need to run. They just called her race.”

“I’m at the jail,” he said. “My client—”

“So you’ll miss it,” she said sharply.

Below, on the track, Betsy approached the starting line. She bent over, placed her palms on the track, fit her feet into the blocks.

“Damn it, Jo—”

The starting gun went off. Jolene said, “I gotta go,” and hung up on him. Getting to her feet, she cheered for Betsy, who was running hard, pumping her arms and legs, giving it her all. Pride washed through Jolene, brought tears to her eyes. “Go, Betsy, go!”

Betsy was the second one across the finish line. Afterward, she bent over, breathing hard, and then she looked up into the stands. She was beaming, her smile triumphant as she looked up at her family.

Slowly, her smile faded. She saw that Michael wasn’t there.

Then she ran off to be with her team.

Jolene sank slowly back onto the bleacher seat. She knew what it was like to need a parent’s attention and be denied, how much that hurt. She had never wanted her children to know that pain. She knew she was overreacting—it was just a track meet, after all—but it was the start. How long would Betsy remember this, be wounded by it? And how easily could Michael have made a different choice?

There was another race—the 220—and Betsy gave it her all, but her sense of triumph was gone; so was her smile. She came in fourth. After that, the races went on and on, and Lulu kept running back and forth in the bleachers, but the three adults just sat there.

“I don’t understand it,” Mila said at last. “I reminded him twice.”

“I saw your twice and doubled it,” Tami said. “The only way he could legitimately have forgotten was if he had a brain tumor. Sorry, Miz Z, I’m just saying…”

“He is like his father in this,” Mila said. “I begged Theo to come to Michael’s school functions, but he was always working. Their jobs are important.”

“So is the family,” Jolene said quietly.

Mila sighed. “Yes. This I told his father, too.”

Lulu twirled in front of Jolene, banging into the seat. Her eyes sparkled in that I’m-either-going-to-scream-or-fall-asleep-any-second kind of way.

When the meet ended at five fifteen, Jolene took Lulu’s small hand in hers and stood. “Well. Let’s go.”

They made their way down the bleacher steps and onto the field, where athletes from both schools milled around.

“There she is,” Lulu said, pointing to Betsy, who stood alone, beneath the football goalpost.

Jolene pulled Betsy into a fierce hug. “I am so proud of you.”

“Second place. Big deal,” Betsy said, pulling back.

Jolene could see the hurt turning into a brittle shell of anger. That seemed to be Betsy’s modus operandi these days—any sharp emotion turned into anger.

“I have never seen such running,
kardia mou.
You were like the wind.”

Betsy didn’t even try to smile. “Thanks,
Yia Yia
.”

“How about if we go out for pizza and ice cream?” Mila suggested, clapping her hands together.

“Sure,” Betsy said glumly.

They walked out together. It was obvious to Jolene—and certainly to Betsy—that everyone was trying to talk at once, hoping to mask Michael’s absence. For the next hour, they pretended, laughing a little too loudly, making jokes that weren’t funny. Jolene lost track of the times someone told Betsy how amazing she had been. The words hit her daughter’s brittle wall, failing to evoke even a small smile. There was an empty seat at the table and all of them felt it keenly.

By the time they left the restaurant and drove home, Jolene was as mad at Michael as she’d ever been.

He could disappoint her—hell, she was an adult, she could take it. But she wouldn’t let him break their daughter’s heart.

Mila was the only one who addressed the white elephant in the car with them. At her house, before she got out of the car, she turned to Betsy and said, “Your father wanted to be here today. I know he did.”

“Big deal,” Betsy said.

Mila seemed to consider a response to that, but, instead of saying anything, she smiled sadly, unhooked her seat belt, and got out of the car.

At home, Jolene parked in the garage and unhooked Lulu’s car seat.

“Where’s Daddy?” Lulu said sleepily.

“He was too busy to come,” Betsy said sharply. “Not that I care.” On that, she slammed the car door shut and ran into the house.

Jolene pulled Lulu into her arms and carried her up the stairs. She readied her youngest for bed, read her a story, and tucked her in. Lulu was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Then she went to Betsy’s room, knocked on the door, and went inside.

Betsy was already in bed, her pimply face pink from scrubbing. Her blue and gold tracksuit was a tangled heap on the floor. The red ribbon she’d won lay on the nightstand.

Jolene got into bed beside her. Betsy eased sideways to make room and then leaned against her.

“What’s his excuse this time?”

What could Jolene say? That Michael’s work ethic and sense of duty sometimes trumped his family? She could hardly fault him for that: it was one of the things they shared. And he’d learned it from his father. The Zarkades men could disappoint their wives and children, but they never let down a client. “Ah, baby … sometimes we have to forgive the people we love. That’s all there is to it. And you know how important his work is. People’s lives depend on him.”

“I don’t care anyway,” Betsy said, but her eyes filled with tears.

Jolene held Betsy close. “Of course you care. You’re mad at him, and you have a right to be. But he loves you, Betsy.”

“Whatever.”

“You pretty much rocked today, you know that, right?”

She felt Betsy relax a little. “I sort of did.”

They lay there for a long time, saying nothing of importance. Finally, Jolene kissed her daughter’s temple, said good night, and went downstairs.

She sat on the cold brick hearth, with the black, empty fireplace behind her, and stared down at her hands. In her mind, she yelled at Michael, railed at him for disappointing their daughter.

This
time, she’d say it all. She’d get his attention and make him understand that there were moments in life that could simply be lost. Too many and a relationship could founder.

It was just past nine o’clock when she heard his car come up the driveway. Moments later, he walked into the kitchen, looking harried. “Hey, Jo. Sorry I’m late, but once I missed the track meet, I figured, why hurry home?”

Jolene got to her feet. “Really. Is that what you thought?”

“I had to—”

“
You
had to do something. How utterly surprising. And in a balancing of needs, yours won out. I’m shocked.”

“Damn it, Jo, it wasn’t intentional. If you’d just listen—”

“You hurt her feelings,” she said, moving toward him. He was a tall man—six feet, but in her shoes, Jolene was only an inch shorter. “Why aren’t we important to you anymore, Michael?”

A change came over him. He took a step backward, eyeing her hard. “Don’t start a conversation you don’t want to have, Jo.”

“What does that mean?”

“You don’t care
why
I did it, and you don’t trust me to have a good reason. An important reason. I’m tired of you defining every second of our life. We live here because it’s what
you
wanted. You make all the rules—where we live, where we vacation, how we spend our weekends. When was the last time you asked what
I
wanted?”

“Don’t you
dare
try to turn this into my fault. We picked this house together, Michael. You and me, back in the days when we did things together. And if I manage our family, it’s because
someone
has to. All you ever seem to care about lately is your work.”

“You’re not even listening to me. I’m trying to say something here.”

“What could you possibly say, Michael? Your daughter needed you today, just this one time. You should have quit whatever you were doing and gotten here. But no, you put us on the back burner again.”

She hadn’t meant to say us; she’d meant to say
her.
Our daughter. This wasn’t about them.