Hear Me Roar Page 7

  “Hey, Mom. Look! I found a new friend.”

  “Congrats.” I readjusted my grip on the ladder, peering down at her from six feet up.

  “Can I keep him?”

  “If, by keep him, you mean let him live outside, and you see him every now and then? Yes.”

  Lizzy glanced up with a wrinkled nose from where she sat on our creaky porch swing, clutching a book to her chest as if it would protect her. The setting sun filtered through the trees, sinking toward the horizon. An hour of daylight left, and I was determined to cross clean out the gutters off my list.

  Finally.

  Lana sighed. “Fine. I’ll put him back.”

  She trudged into the backyard.

  “Do you need some help?”

  Jim’s voice came from just below the ladder. I glanced down to see him standing with his arms crossed at the edge of his lawn. I could have sworn amusement lingered in his strangely blue eyes.

  “Nope. Got it.”

  My small hand rake wasn’t doing as much as I’d hoped to help me clear my clogged gutter, which had started to back up to the other spout and flood my flower beds. Soon it would be in the basement, and I didn’t want to deal with the landlord. I’d have to dive in with my hands and clear the bunched-up leaves. Even after cleaning three houses and taking 18,000 steps, there wasn’t a bone in my body that would let me leave this one more day. Nothing sat on my list for more than a week, and this was day seven.

  “That’s for the garden, you know,” he said. “The hand rake, I mean.”

  “Right. I know.”

  “Do you—”

  “No! I don’t need any help. It’s a simple clog.”

  “Probably not just clogged up there.” His eyes tapered. “Down the side here, too. You got anything for that?”

  I hated the awkward silence that followed. Did he look annoyed? Or was he about to laugh at me? His mask of non-emotion was almost impossible to read. I kept my focus on the task at hand. The ladder wobbled as I shifted my weight. He reached out to steady it, then hesitated, his head tilted back.

  “Did you need something else?” I asked, my nostrils flaring.

  “No.”

  “Is there a reason you’re just standing there?”

  “To make sure you don’t die.”

  “What a gentleman.”

  “I can leave, if you want.”

  “Do whatever you want.”

  He turned to leave. Words froze in my throat. Perhaps I’d been a bit too strong. Sometimes I couldn’t figure out that line. Regret washed over me. He certainly hadn’t asked for attitude … not to mention the ungainly fact that someone securing the ladder had eased some of my anxiety.

  Just as I navigated the hand rake out of the gutter—with a thick clog of dead leaves, mud, and an old bird nest—a shriek arrested me from the other side of the yard. My head whipped around to see Lana dangling from the old oak tree with one arm. The ground waited eight feet below.

  “Moooom!”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Wait!” I cried. Visions of a trip to the ER flashed through my mind. “Hold on! I’m coming.”

  “I got it,” Jim said, waving a hand. “Stay there.”

  I paused one step down the ladder, shocked.

  “What?”

  He didn’t seem to hear as he sauntered across the lawn. Fear rippled across Lana’s face. Her fingers slipped. My heart almost stopped. But my limbs wouldn’t move. I was frozen to the ladder.

  He said something to her, but I couldn’t make it out. Lana frowned and glanced up at the branch. Jim stood below, hands on his hips.

  “Get her down!” I snapped.

  My body jolted back to itself, and I rushed down. Before I could sprint across the lawn, Jim held up a hand in my direction.

  “You can do it,” he called to Lana, ignoring me completely. “Swing your other arm up.”

  Lana frowned. I paused, my breath held in my chest. What was he doing? She was going to fall! He wasn’t even underneath her to catch her.

  “I-I can’t,” she said.

  “You can.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Probably.”

  “Help her down!” I bellowed. He held up a hand again. Lana pressed her lips together and looked above her at the branch.

  “It’s too high,” she said. “I’m not strong enough.”

  “You’ve been holding on with one hand for at least thirty seconds. You’re strong enough.”

  She gave a pitiful attempt with her other arm, then her fingers slipped another inch. She screamed. My stomach lurched.

  “Jim!”

  Lana didn’t seem to notice me stalking across the grass now, clog still in hand, ready to chuck it at Jim’s head. Before I could get there, Jim took a step forward. This time, I paused.

  “I know you can,” he said. “I’m here to catch you if you fall, but you gotta try.”

  Lana, one arm still flailing, grunted. Then she reached up with her other hand once, twice, then a third time. Her fingertips brushed the bark. She lost another millimeter of traction. Jim readjusted below her.

  “Try again,” he said.

  “I—”

  “You can.”

  Lana stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth and swiped again. She missed. The momentum made her body swing.

  “Calm down,” he said. “When your legs flail, you’re making it harder. You’ve been holding on a long time, which means you can hold on a little more. Good. Keep your legs under control. Now, try again.”

  Lana obeyed his calm commands. On her next attempt, her fingers connected with the tree branch. I sucked in a sharp breath.

  “I got it!” she shrieked.

  “Good. Now shimmy over toward the trunk. What do you see there?”

  One inch at a time, she worked both hands closer to the trunk. He moved with her. Her eyes darted around. “There’s a broken branch.”

  “Right. Put your foot against it to give your hands a break. They’re probably tired.”

  Once she made it back to the trunk, my racing heart calmed, and my shoulders released some of their tension. Jim guided her down until she jumped free and landed on both feet. She had the agility of a monkey when she had some confidence, apparently.

  “I did it!” she cried. “Mom, I’m the best!”

  “You were amazing,” I said, holding my arms out. My body didn’t fully relax until I wrapped her in my arms. She broke free, ran to Jim, and gave him a high five. He ruffled her hair.

  “Good work, kid.”

  “I didn’t think I could,” she said, grinning. “But I did.”

  “I know. Stop it. You can do lots of hard things.”

  “Thanks.” She skipped toward the house. “Gotta wash my hands! See you later.”

  I turned to him as she disappeared inside. My mouth worked for a moment, then paused.

  “I, uh … thanks.”

  He shrugged. We stood there in another awkward silence until he nodded and took off across the grass. I watched him go back into his garage, the pulpy plug of dead leaves still dripping in my hands.

  The strangest neighbor I’d ever known.

  New THHS Check-In Conversation Opened in WonderFriendApp

  Opened by: BITSY

  Bitsy: THHS meeting tomorrow night, 7:00 p.m. Snacks will be served.

  Rachelle: Please tell me it’s kettle corn and not the naked popcorn with nothing on it?

  Bitsy: …

  Rachelle: Damn.

  Mira: You work in a bakery, Rachelle. You could bring something too!

  Lexie: If you do, Rachelle, then may the gods be with you.

  Megan: I really want to see this happen. Will you take something loaded with sugar?

  Bitsy: I don’t care if other people eat junk food if that’s what you want to poison your body with. I just don’t need it in my house for me and my girls to smell and get attached to.

  Lexie: Sure, sure.

  Megan: An éclair sounds pretty good
right now.

  Lexie: That ^ is the tagline of my life.

  Mira: I’ll see you tomorrow, Bits.

  Rachelle: Me too.

  Bitsy: The rest of you?

  Megan: Working, sorry.

  Lexie: I’m in. You know I’m always in. I have no life.

  Bitsy: See you then. Don’t be late. Megan, I’ll email you the minutes, the article, and any pertinent updates.

  Megan: I have no doubt you will.

  Conversation CLOSED by BITSY

  While I prepped a new craft for Lizzy I’d found from a magazine—she would make a new treasure box out of craft popsicle sticks and fake jewels while Lana sculpted superheroes out of homemade playdough—I refrained from yelling at Lana for drawing on the mirror with my old lipstick.

  No, I thought, clenching my fists. This needs to be fun. The way they have fun with their dad. No yelling. No frustration.

  Just quality time.

  The moment of reprieve eased my immediate annoyance, so I calmly asked Lana to clean the makeup off after she put her new pet frog back outside. Again. Then I handed Lizzy a bag of fake jewels that I kept tucked away in my craft container.

  “Put this on the table, please,” I said. “We have an hour to play before you need to go to bed.”

  She grumbled, but I ignored it. I needed their bedtime as much as they did. The doorbell rang just as Lizzy sprinted down the hall, shouting out ideas for decorating her new box.

  My stomach clenched. It better not be Daniel. But who else would it be? Mira would just come in.

  When I opened the door, my mouth dropped. A familiar man wearing a business suit, a subtle purple tie with waves of blue, and a half-smile stood on the porch. Salt-and-pepper hair decorated the top of his head in a haphazard array. If he was here, nothing good could be coming.

  “Hey there, Bitsy.”

  The girls squealed from behind me. “Grandpa!”

  I opened the door wider.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  A pot of tea steamed on the stovetop as I sat across from Dad later that night.

  Hints of glitter lingered on the table top even though I’d cleaned it twice. Some of it still dusted Dad’s shoulders and hair, throwing subtle hints of light whenever he moved. Lizzy had made Grandpa a box as well, while Lana sculpted army men that she shot down with a gun made out of popsicle sticks.

  The gentle chug of the dishwasher filled the background. I sat down across from him. Dad never visited unexpectedly without a reason. He only lived an hour away, but our contact was careful. Not awkward, but not free either. Not since Mom died when I was fifteen.

  There was water under that bridge, too.

  “Those girls,” he said, beaming and shaking his head. “You’re doing an amazing job with them, Bitsy. That Lizzy is so polite, and Lana so spirited. I love them so much.”

  I almost scoffed. So amazing that they prefer their father over me, I think. But I kept that thought to myself.

  Words unsaid lingered in the air between us—they always did. I should come more often, he sometimes said. He wouldn’t. He never did.

  Not until a crisis point.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He leaned forward. He’d loosened his tie, removed his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. His casual exterior belied a tension that I could see in his shoulders. Dad had always been an easygoing man, even for a lawyer. Age was catching up to him, but he still didn’t appear old. In fact, he looked healthier than me.

  Maybe I was too tired.

  “How is Catherine?” I asked.

  “She’s good.” He nodded, letting out a long exhale. “Busy with some new charity organizations and visiting her kids and grandkids. We have a trip to Maui planned this summer that she’s looking forward to.”

  The edge in his voice sharpened. Or was it in mine, too? Conversations about Catherine, his second wife, always unearthed this tension.

  “Sounds nice,” I said.

  “Hawaii always is.”

  My shoulders tightened when I sensed the end of the small talk. “So,” I drawled, “what’s up?”

  He gave a half-smile. “What? I can’t just come visit you?”

  “Sure. But do you ever without scheduling it? No.”

  He steepled his hands together with a sigh. “Fair enough. I never have dropped in unexpectedly.”

  “You have,” I said quietly, “just once.”

  The haunted expression in his eyes made my breath catch. “You’re right,” he said. “On that note, I come yet again bearing some news from Daniel.”

  “What?”

  The last time Dad had dropped in bearing news, I found out that Daniel had filed for divorce and left the state without telling me. Like a coward, he’d had his attorney contact my father—who was my attorney—to let me know.

  “Oh? Because he’s already cheated on me, divorced me, and moved back to take over as the girls’ favorite. What else could there be?”

  Dad blinked, and for a moment, I saw sadness behind his kind, hazel eyes.

  My brow furrowed. That wasn’t good. “The girls?” I whispered.

  “Not full custody.” He reached down, extracting a sheaf of papers from a briefcase at his side. “Joint. He wants a modification from visitation rights to joint custody.”

  The papers fluttered to the table in front of me. I stared at them for what must have been a full minute. Joint custody. He’d been back in their lives for a hot minute. A few weekends of fun didn’t make him a father. He couldn’t just waltz back in and take over. He had no idea what parenthood really entailed. The nights of throwing up. Frustrating arguments, missing shoes, lost homework, the endless parade of activities and school functions that ate up gas money like a monster.

  “Can he do that?” I whispered.

  “Yes and no.” He tilted his head to the side. “There are details that we’ll need to work out, but considering that he is the father, he’s paid full child support, has a history of regular visits despite living out of state, and may have a good relationship with the girls, he has a fighting chance. Not to mention that he’s moved closer. I think any judge would respect that.”

  “But that doesn’t mean he’s ready for this. He left!”

  Dad spread his hands. “I know, Bitsy. I’m on your side. I came to get more details from you because I haven’t seen Daniel with them in a long time. Are they close? Do they have a good relationship?”

  “Of course, he has a good relationship with them!” I cried. “He’s the fun one! He plays with them and buys them toys that no six- or nine-year-old should have. Dad, he doesn’t know the first thing about being a parent. About structure and routine and discipline and—”

  Dad reached over and set a hand on top of mine.

  “I know.”

  The touch calmed me. I sat back, sucking in a sharp breath. “Then what do I do?”

  “Fight this. Together. Just like we did when he filed for divorce. Everything is going to be okay, Bitsy. I promise. You’re not going to lose the girls.”

  Tears welled up in my eyes, but I blinked them back with fury. No reason to lose control yet. No reason to cede more tears to that worthless pile of baggage. I hadn’t lost control of my emotions in years.

  In fact, I hadn’t cried in years, either.

  “He didn’t even say anything to me,” I said.

  Dad nodded, a bit wearily. “He’s always been a bit…”

  “Obtuse? Horrible? Untrustworthy?”

  “Uncertain.”

  Uncertain was a gentle way of saying it. Either Daniel was scared of me—which seemed the most likely—or just plain airheaded.

  “He just returned from a vacation, so he’s going to take the girls this weekend,” I said, glancing at a calendar. That gave me three days to slowly absorb my rage and plan my counterattack. No matter what happened, he wouldn’t deny me the right to confront him about this face-to-face.

  No, I’d have my say.

  He could try to get joint custody. H
e could buy all the houses, cars, swimming pools, and wives he wanted, but he’d never get the girls.

  I’d see to that.

  Friday afternoon after school, Lizzy approached me with an armful of weeds. Clumps of dirt dangled from their roots. She stuffed them into a bucket and slapped the dirt off her hands.

  “I finished weeding, Mom.”

  I rocked back on my heels. ”Good work, sweetheart. Just drop it off by the compost pile, please. I’ll take it from there. Thank you for getting your chores done.”

  “Sure, Mom.”

  Next door, Jim watered his lawn by hand—instead of using the backyard sprinkler system. He waved to Lizzy as she breezed past. His gaze caught mine for half a second before he turned the other direction. A hard knot formed at the base of my neck. I pressed the tips of my fingers into it as hard as I could and exhaled.

  Nothing changed.

  “Lana!” I called.

  A body dropped from the tree in the back corner. Lana dangled upside down, her hair a long curtain around her head. She waved. A bright blue tutu, a fake grenade, and a pair of mud-covered rain boots were her chosen ensemble for the day.

  I propped my hands on my hips. ”Have you finished your chores? You can’t go to your dad’s until you do.”

  She sighed, reached up, uncurled her legs, and dropped to the grass. Thanks to Jim, she had newfound confidence in her climbing skills. Dragging her toes behind her, she trudged across the lawn and into the house. A few moments later, the vacuum began whirring.

  I dusted my hands off just as a crash sounded from next door. With a quick peek over the fence, I caught a glimpse of Jim staring at an old charcoal barbecue. A bag of briquettes lay at his feet, and he held a lighter in his hand. He’d quirked his lips to one side.

  “You start the fire after you put them inside,” I called, then hid my smirk behind the fence.

  He didn’t even look up. Despite myself, I chuckled, then turned to go.

  A squeal from Lizzy stopped me cold.

  Daniel stood at the back fence, his arms thrown open wide. Just seeing him there made my stomach burn anew. He looked attractive in a pair of loose cargo shorts and a normal t-shirt. He’d been working out more, and his shoulders had filled out.