Dolly All the Time(76)

This is the strongest emotional pain I’ve ever felt. It’s a horrible realization. My dad telling us my mom had decided to stay in Virginia permanently. Niles handing me a wad of twenties and saying goodbye. This feels like a deeper cut, even though it’s one that could be sutured with a few words. Let me come by and explain. Miss you. But the longer this day goes on, the wider this cut grows, and the more words it’s going to take to sew it shut. He knows how this is hurting me and he’s just letting it be. He held me in his arms and talked about the fall and the Mariners and never being apart for a week. He’d change the world for me? How about sending me a text? It’s this bit of anger that breaks through my sadness, a relief, and spurs the text I send at nine p.m.

Me: How’d the board call go?

His response comes after thirty seconds. Not so long that he’s away from his phone, but long enough that he’s holding it and thinking about how to reply. This is how well I know Stewart now.

Stewart: Badly. They don’t trust me and Grant will probably get the job

Me: But things changed

Stewart: Facts are facts. I did hire you. I did bring you to a client dinner. Money changed hands, it’s fraud.

It’s the period at the end of that text that tells me all I need to know. I could make a study of our entire texting relationship over the past two months, and I would not find a message with a period at the end. It is currently killing me how well I know Stewart. But I keep going, just to be sure. I cannot be in this wondering state.

Me: Are you working tonight?

Stewart: Yes, lots to do.

Another period. Me: Ok good night

He doesn’t reply.

My dad has the misfortune of walking into the sleeping porch at that moment.

“You okay, Doll?”

He’s standing there in his Red Sox T-shirt and his gray shorts, the ones I spent two days getting a mustard stain out of. And I remember that Gus doesn’t have any clean shirts to wear to lifeguard camp next week, so I don’t even have a crappy, fitful sleep to look forward to.

“I’m fine,” I say. “Did you need something from me?” It bites, like an accusation.

He narrows his eyes at my tone. I don’t think I even talked to him like this as a teenager. “Just checking on you. You seemed a little off today.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a little off.”

“Doll,” he says, and comes to sit on my bed. Just like I used to do with Christopher and Patsy when they were upset. It’s so strange to have this dynamic with him.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m upset. And tired.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.”

We’re quiet for a bit and the frog song fills the room. I hear no rustling of leaves. Stewart isn’t coming. “This family is stuck,” I say. He looks up at me. “The way you’re so rigid about the business. And the way we treat Christopher. He’ll never get off the porch. Why would he? It’s like our world imploded thirty years ago, and then we just stayed frozen in time. I’ve lived in Boston for twenty years, and I still know where all your socks are.”

He’s quiet for a bit. “Last time I made a big change I lost your mom.”

“You lost money, Dad. She was leaving anyway.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I think I’m in the middle of a pretty huge heartbreak.” My voice cracks when I say it, as if I just made it true. “And you warned me, you were right. But taking time to do different things, just for fun, I haven’t done that in a long time. I want more for Gus and for me.”

“So what does that mean? What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. But I really feel like shit right now. And I don’t want to pretend that I don’t.”



* * *





On Wednesday, a messenger delivers a check for thirty thousand dollars.





Chapter 34





“The river stones were a pain in the ass to find,” Izzy says, letting herself into my kitchen. “But they’re being delivered here this afternoon. Windows and lumber come in the morning.”

It’s Friday morning, six days since I’ve heard Stewart’s voice. I pull a tray of banana muffins out of the oven and place them on a trivet in front of my dad, who leans in and gives them a sniff.

“Good morning,” I say. “And what are you talking about?” Izzy’s been paid in full. Fifty-one thousand dollars in the end, and I have nine thousand in the bank. Won’t keep me warm at night.

“Oh crap,” my dad says, just as Izzy says, “The sleeping porch.”

“They broke up,” he says.

“Jackass,” she says. “Well, it’s paid in full.” She helps herself to a cup of coffee and sits down.

“Dad,” I say. A full sentence and also a question.

“He wanted to surprise you,” he says. “He had those plans, and he knew you’d never spend the money.”

The pressure on my chest is familiar now. He did know me so well.

“Well,” I say, somehow also a full sentence.

“Maybe you could start construction after she leaves,” my dad says to Izzy. “They’re only here another week.”