Chasing Rainbows A Novel - By Long, Kathleen Page 0,25
“No thanks to you.”
“She told me you and David said it was fine. I mean, where did you think she was going when you dropped her at the mall?”
“We didn’t drop her at the mall.” Ice dripped from Diane’s words. “Apparently she walked. All part of her little master plan--which you fell for.”
I rubbed a hand across my eyes and wished my glass of water could morph into something stronger--like grain alcohol. “I’m sorry. I never thought she wasn’t telling the truth.”
“You never thought.” Diane’s exasperated exhale registered loud and clear in my brain.
I knew exactly what was coming next.
“Maybe you’d have thought differently if you actually had children, Bernie. You think you know it all, but you don’t know anything. You don’t know what it’s like to be a mother and wonder where in the hell your daughter is when she doesn’t come home.”
I drew in a deep breath, working to keep my anger and hurt at bay. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet I said nothing.
I wanted to tell her I might not know what it was like to have my child miss curfew, but I knew what it was like to hold my daughter as she took her last breath. I wanted to tell her I knew what it was like to bury my child in a casket that looked like a damned Styrofoam cooler.
I wanted to tell her a million things, but I didn’t. I let her rant and rave, but I tuned her out. I didn’t have it in me to listen.
Of all the things Diane could say, this was the worst, and she knew it.
Maybe once she calmed down I’d tell her she’d hurt me. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. Maybe once she calmed down I’d tell her she needed to start balancing out the scales in terms of how much attention she paid to her kids. At this rate, she’d be asking “Ashley who?” by the time the new arrival cut his or her first tooth.
If she thought lying about a boy-girl party and staying out half the night was the worst a thirteen-year-old could do, she’d better think back to our own teen years. Hell, I often wondered how we’d survived at all.
When Diane paused to take a breath, I repeated my apology then pushed the disconnect button. I picked up the slice of pizza I’d been eating, but suddenly the smell only made me queasy.
I turned the volume back up on Hepburn and Tracy, but even they no longer provided a warm, fuzzy escape. Instead, their banter represented everything smart, together, witty and wonderful that I wasn’t--and I didn’t need the reminder.
Diane was right.
I should have known better. Hell, I couldn’t even drive a kid to a party without knowing enough to check with her parents first.
What was wrong with me?
I clicked off the television and went upstairs, slipping Dad’s book out of my underwear drawer. I cracked open my closet and pulled out Dad’s shirt, savoring an instant sense of warmth and security as I pushed my arms through the sleeves.
Then I settled beneath the covers, determined to achieve the one thing I knew I could do.
I could solve the next puzzle.
I worked with a determination I hadn’t felt for a long while. It was almost as if I’d taken Diane’s harsh words as challenge--a challenge to prove I was good at something...this thing.
I methodically decoded the puzzle then studied the cryptogram’s solution and frowned.
Tears stung at the back of my eyelids and I drew in a slow breath. My throat had constricted to the point of choking me.
Once upon a time, I’d had big dreams--dreams of life and love and family and hope. Dreams of becoming something special. Now I had no idea what any of that meant.
When had my dreams become unimportant to me? After all, I hadn’t missed them. It was easier simply to be, easier to let life happen than it was to work for something I might have once wanted.
I stared at Dad’s printing and felt a sense of loss beyond the physical.
When I was growing up, Dad never failed to find me when I’d been scared or upset.
Here he was, finding me now, even though he was gone.
While I might not understand everything he’d thought or the quotes he’d chosen, I understood one thing. He’d loved me enough to reach out. He’d seen in me a light still flickering in the darkness, a potential not yet extinguished.