“Gone.” The word was like the flick of a knife. Zach was leaving. Mia was gone.
She forced a smile. The only way to stop a conversation like this was to pretend she was okay. “Yes. Well. I better go see my mother before she decides to redecorate.” She reached for a lemon bar, which she had no intention of eating, but it was the polite thing to do. The normal thing.
*
The next day, she and Miles and Zach set off for the airport.
It should have been a joyous occasion. Each of them tried to pretend. Miles made inane conversation and stupid jokes all the way to Sea-Tac.
On the airplane, they pretended not to notice the empty seat across from Miles. Before, they’d always sat two and two. Now they filled up a row themselves. The three of them.
At the college, they walked around in the hot California sunshine, remarking on the beauty and elegance of the campus.
Throughout the weekend, grief, always elastic, stretched out and snapped back, surprising them with its force at the oddest times. Seeing a blond girl in a black vest … seeing a girl in a pink sweater do a cartwheel on the grass, hearing Zach’s roommate ask about sisters or brothers …
But they made it through. On Sunday night, they had a last family dinner at Mastro’s Steakhouse in Beverly Hills and then took Zach back to his dorm room. There, Jude saw the decorations on Zach’s roommate’s side—posters and family pictures and a quilt made by the kid’s mom. It occurred to her then, too late, that she should have shopped for Zach, filled this room with everything he would need to succeed at school. The old Jude would have moved him in with boxes and boxes …
“We’ll miss you,” Jude said, trying not to cry.
“Call your mother,” Miles said gruffly. “Keep in touch.”
Zach nodded and hugged his dad. When he drew back and looked at Jude, she saw the uncertainty and shame in his eyes. “I’ll do well, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Jude pulled him into her arms and held him as tightly as she could. Her shame and guilt were almost unbearable. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but the words that had once come so easily were impossible to form now.
He held her for a long time, and then slowly they drew apart.
“Good-bye,” Zach said quietly.
It all came down to that one word. Good-bye. Once you said it out loud, it was real.
“Bye, Zach,” Jude said softly. She and Miles walked out of his dorm room, into the busy hallway. Behind them, his door quietly clicked shut.
Seventeen
That fall, time seemed alternately to fly forward and to crawl. With Zach gone, the house was as quiet as a tomb. Miles worked longer hours than ever. Jude knew he was afraid to come home to her. He hated how far she’d fallen into the gray.
But now it was November, Thanksgiving weekend, and Zach was home. She’d promised Miles, and herself, that she would make a real effort for her son. She wanted that. At least her mind wanted it, and she was determined for once to act like a mother.
And so she had come up here, to the attic above the garage. She stood in front of the red and green boxes that contained their Christmas decorations.
What had she been thinking?
How could she hang three stockings on the mantel? Or hold the Life-Savers-and-white-yarn ornament Mia had made in kindergarten? How?
She turned her back on all of it and headed for the door. By the time she got back into the house, her hands were shaking and she was cold.
She never should have told Miles she’d decorate, but the sadness in Zach’s eyes had filled her with guilt. She’d thought that decorating for Christmas might cheer him up. He’d been so depressed all week. He claimed that school was going well, that he had great grades—and even swore that med school was still his future, but he was so quiet that sometimes she forgot he was even home. He never answered his cell phone, and after a while it had stopped ringing.
She moved into the living room. Sunlight shone through the tall windows, gilding the wooden floors. Zach and Miles sat next to each other on the big, overstuffed sofa, both wielding controllers, while two ninjas kickboxed each other on the big flat-screen TV.
“You find the ornaments?” Miles said, without looking up.
“No.”
Miles sighed; lately he was always sighing. So was she, for that matter.
Their whole relationship seemed to be made of air, filled with nothing. She wanted to make him happy, but she couldn’t find any way to say what he needed to hear.
The doorbell rang, and she was relieved. She hated guests, but anything was better than this retread conversation about who she used to be. “Are we expecting anyone?”