A Curve in the Road(31)

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“Yes,” I insist. “I heard you talking on the phone. And you cooked something in the microwave and ate chips.”

He faces me more directly. “I swear to God, Mom, I didn’t come home. I was with the guys all day. We had hockey practice at three, and then I went straight to Greg’s house and texted you that I was going to spend the night there. I know you got my text because you replied to it.”

My heart begins to pound. “But I heard you talking. I heard the microwave.”

Then suddenly I remember waking up and going into the kitchen and being surprised that there wasn’t a mess. Zack had cleaned up all his dishes and put everything away. The kitchen was spotless, but I realize I never heard him running water to wash up.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“I don’t know.” I wonder briefly if I should pull over because I’m afraid I might be delusional, but I take a few deep breaths and keep driving. “Did I dream that?”

Zack watches me with concern. “You probably did, like you dreamed about the intruder that night.”

“But that was real,” I say. “I swear it was. Even Winston heard it.”

“Well, whatever you think happened yesterday didn’t, because I never came home.”

Despite my concerns that there might be something wrong with me, I’m relieved that my son never said those awful things. “So you never said you can’t wait to move out?”

“No. I swear on my life, Mom. I didn’t.”

I reach to take hold of his hand and squeeze it. “Oh, I’m so glad. I thought you hated me. I was heartbroken. I hardly slept a wink last night.”

“No, Mom. I love you more than anything, and I want to live at home next year. I told you, I don’t need to go away.”

I start to laugh and cry at the same time, even though I’m afraid I might be going insane with these bizarre dreams that seem like reality.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Zack says. “I’ve noticed you’ve been sleeping a lot lately.”

It’s true. I’ve been falling asleep at the strangest times and have been having trouble staying focused. I’ve been gaining a bit of weight too.

“I will see someone, but it’s probably just stress,” I say to Zack, not wanting to worry him—or myself. “It’s been a rough few months.”

We drive for a while in silence. “But do you really think I should be ready to clean out the closet by now?”

He lets out a heavy sigh. “First of all, I never said that. And you’ll be ready when you’re ready, Mom. There’s no need to rush it.”

My son makes me feel so much better. I’m glad I have him in my life.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Shortly after four, while Zack is helping my mother chop vegetables for dinner, I zip out to take Winston for his appointment with Nathan.

Nathan meets us at the door and shows us in to one of the small private examination rooms. He checks Winston over, asks me all sorts of questions, and finally delivers a clean bill of health. “He’s a trouper. Tip-top condition. A-plus in terms of a recovery.”

“At least one of us gets an A,” I reply with a touch of humor as I bend to hook Winston’s leash onto his collar.

Nathan leans back against the counter and studies me for a moment. “Everything okay?”

I wave a hand dismissively through the air. “Yes. It’s nothing.”

“I’m sure it’s not nothing. You look tired. Are you sleeping okay?”

I realize this man is very good at reading people—or maybe he’s just good at reading me. It’s not surprising. I never quite managed to master the art of the poker face, which is why I’m so worried about messing up everything with Zack. This whole situation feels like a ticking time bomb.

“Actually, sleep’s been a bit of a challenge lately,” I admit. “I’ve had a few strange dreams. But I can’t keep pouring out all my woes to you every time I see you.”

“I don’t mind. What kind of dreams?”

Winston sits down, and I pat him on the head.

“Well, first I dreamed that someone broke into my house through the garage. I was so scared I was literally paralyzed. To be honest, I’m still not sure it didn’t actually happen. I called the cops and everything, and Winston went completely ballistic. He ran all over the house barking—like a very good guard dog—so I thought he heard something too, but maybe he was just sensing my fear. I don’t know. Anyway, the cops came and said there was no one in the house, and no sign of forced entry. I even thought I heard Zack banging on my door to warn me about the intruder, but he said he didn’t do that. So maybe I did dream the whole thing. It just felt so real.”

“Jeez.”

“I know, right? It was scary. And then yesterday, I fell asleep on the sofa and thought Zack came home to fix himself something to eat. I asked him about it today, but he said he never stopped by after school. So that didn’t even happen.” I angle my head slightly. “Did you ever have dreams like that after you lost your wife? Dreams that seemed real? Maybe they’re what they call lucid dreams.”

He considers that for a moment. “Come to think of it, I did have a recurring stress dream. It was always some variation of the same thing—that I’m performing surgery on a dog or a cat and something goes wrong, like the power goes out or my instruments aren’t clean, and I have to do the surgery anyway. The dreams eventually stopped after I moved home and opened up the clinic here.” He appears pensive. “Gosh, I haven’t had a dream like that in two years.”

“Well, that gives me hope.” I pat Winston again, pleased that he’s so polite and patient while we’re talking.

“Still . . . ,” Nathan says, “you should probably see your doctor if something feels off. And remember, you fainted that time. Best not to take chances.”

“You’re right. I’ll make an appointment.”

Nathan gives Winston a light scratch behind the ears. “Otherwise, you’re doing okay?”

I shrug. “Some days are better than others. There are just so many details to take care of, like banking issues or Alan’s magazine subscriptions that need to be canceled. Every day, something comes in the mail that I need to deal with. And I want to clean out the closet and get rid of his stuff, which is starting to collect dust, but part of me can’t bring myself to do it, while the other part of me just wants to burn it all because I’m still so mad at him. That said, I don’t want Zack to see an angry display and suspect something’s wrong, beyond the obvious—that his father is dead.”

I speak the words harshly, and my stomach turns over with disgust that I can sound so cavalier and bitter about my husband’s passing. What sort of woman am I becoming? I don’t want to be bitter.

Tears spring to my eyes. I work hard to blink them back.

“That came out wrong,” I say, looking down at the floor and shaking my head. “You must think I’m a terrible person.”

“No, I don’t think that at all. I think you’re shouldering a lot—more than most people could handle. I’m amazed, actually, that you’re keeping it together as well as you are.”

“Well,” I say with a hint of mockery, “you didn’t see me flip out at my father-in-law after Alan’s funeral. Or pound the steering wheel after I found out the truth from Alan’s mistress. I’m doing everything I can to keep calm for Zack, but I assure you, deep down, where no one can see . . . there’s a lot of running and screaming.”

He chuckles at that. “I know the feeling. I think it’s part of being a parent. Sometimes you just want to go hide under a rock somewhere, but you have to stay strong for your kids, to keep their world upright.”

“Exactly. That’s it, in a nutshell.”

Hearing him say those words feels like an epiphany, but it isn’t. As a mother, I’ve always known it was like that, but I never heard Alan say it. I suppose when it came to our son, I was always the soldier who never left her post, while Alan obviously felt free enough to dash off and take care of himself when he needed to, knowing I’d be there, holding down the family fort. Maybe Nathan’s wife was a dependable soldier too, but she’s gone now, and he’s on his own, taking full command of the troops. Like me.

“I’m discovering very quickly,” I say, “that when you’re a single parent, you can’t afford the luxury of falling apart, because there’s no copilot to take over for you. But maybe that’s a good thing. It makes us strong.” I pause. “But still . . . there are days when I would love to have a record-breaking meltdown. There are a lot of days like that, actually.”

Nathan nods, then reaches out and rubs my upper arm with sympathy.

His touch catches me off guard and stirs an awareness in me—maybe because it’s been more than twenty years since any man other than Alan has touched me with tenderness or intimacy. But this isn’t sexual. That’s not what’s happening here. It’s something else—support and understanding—and I find myself wanting to fall into it.