Free Family Interrupted by Linda Barrett Page A

He’s replacing windowsills.”
    Which probably meant termite damage. Roaches. A wave of nausea had me running to the sink. “Please, Ian....”
    “Sorry, Mom. Feel better. I have to go. Talk to you soon.”
    The door closed behind him. Silence filled the kitchen, and my husband popped another antacid. I wanted to crawl into bed and hide under the covers, but Jack looked so sad, so lost, I needed to do something nice for him, something he’d appreciate. Inhaling deeply a few times, I got the nausea under control then said, “Come on. Let’s go to bed. A little hands-on therapy should help.”
    But he didn’t answer. No laugh. No happy face.
    “Jack, did you hear me?”
    “I just lost my son!” he shouted, and I lost my breath. “I don’t care about bedroom antics right now!” His fists hit the table; his face took on a purple hue. “How the hell did this happen? How the hell did we go from a noisy, kid-filled house to a tomb? How did we go from two children to zero? I talked myself hoarse with Ian, don’t know what else I could have said or offered. What else could I have done?”
    I stroked his shoulder. “You did everything right. His leaving home is not about you. It’s about me...and Kayla.”
    “Oh, please. That’s such bull. You weren’t even home at the time.”
    And that was the crux of the matter between us. My husband didn’t give credence to the horrible jokes life could play. It was Sarah Levine, not Claire Barnes, who drove the car that hit Kayla. End of story. He totally ignored my lateness getting home.
    “Do you think Ian might be happier if we moved?” The words formed slowly as the idea came to me. “Maybe he relives the accident every time he turns down our street.”
    Jack rolled back on his heels, his complexion returning to normal, his forehead creased in thought. “What has that got to do with him ‘having to earn his own way?’ But...do you think that’s a possibility?”
    I shrugged. “You can ask him.” But dear God, what if it were true? Or even partly true? What if our home really did haunt Ian? My off-the-cuff distraction for Jack might boomerang on me. I didn’t want to uproot. I didn’t want to leave my memories of Kayla in this house, helping me in the kitchen, running through the halls, bent over her desk doing homework.
    In her bedroom, I could still inhale her fragrance as I placed her stuffed teddy bear on the pillow. Grandma Pearl had crocheted the doll, and Kayla had cuddled with it every night even at the great age of twelve-and-a-half. In my mind’s eye, I could see her applying nail polish to her toes and fingers in the bathroom. Part jock with her soccer team, part woman-in-training. Discovering the differences between girls and boys. Trusting me! Trusting me to share the secrets, a woman’s secrets.
    Jack stood close now, but his shoulders slumped, and his mouth was bracketed with familiar lines of pain. “I think we’re driving ourselves crazy with guessing games. We’ve got to stop it. We’ve got to put it behind us.”
    Like forget we had a daughter?
I thought about my recent visits to the cemetery where I chatted with Kayla. Oh, no. I’d never forget. My head started its salsa dance again, and I rummaged for some aspirin as Jack continued to speak.
    “Folks who know about these things say the first year is the toughest. I think they’re right.”
    “Maybe.” But in my heart, I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine our lives any other way—first year, second year, third year. Would I love Kayla any less as time passed? God forbid. I could put up a good front with other people for awhile. I’d already done that a few times. Heck, I’d been doing it every day at work in between crying jags. But genuine laughter was for others. As for me, I wanted my daughter...I
yearned
for my daughter and always would. I felt tears form but managed to thwart them. I had to try—for Jack’s sake.
    “Hmm... Are you finished lecturing and yelling?”