And what the hell am I going to do? I still need to get the kids to school, pick up the food, and set up the smart board and mic. I could ask Molly, but she’s got a big project of her own today and isn’t anywhere near us.
I can really only think of one other person to ask.
“I’ll be back in a minute, guys.” I grab my phone from my bag and hit dial as I step into the house. “I need some help,” I tell Caleb, struggling to get my voice under control. He’s already at work, of course, and has probably been there for hours.
“What’s going on?” There’s something so certain and assured about him, and that makes the desire to cry even worse. Caleb’s like a blanket I want to wrap myself in, except…he isn’t my blanket.
“Jeremy took my car,” I whisper. “I’m going to call Uber so I can get the kids to school, but I was supposed to pick up all the bagels for the meeting. They’re already paid for—” That last word cracks and I swallow once more. “I don’t know what to do. I’m not going to be able to get them in time.”
“What do you mean, he took your car?”
“He’s punishing me for something. He had the keys and the car is in his name, so I don’t think I can even call the police—” My voice breaks again. It’s not sadness so much as it is frustration.
Jeremy can get away with anything he wants, and I have no recourse—ever. Is it always going to be like this? The twins are only six. I’m not sure I can deal with a decade or more spent waiting for him to lash out at me, of being unable to get away from him and his endless rage.
There’s a moment of tense silence. Caleb is, undoubtedly, regretting everything: not firing me, agreeing to this meeting, the fact that my baggage has suddenly become his.
“Where are the bagels,” he asks, the words clipped, “and what do you need done to the room?”
I start giving him a list, and he stops me. “Send it to me as a text. And don’t call Uber. I’m coming to get you.”
TEN MINUTES LATER, he swerves into the driveway, and I usher the kids into the back of his truck.
“You don’t have car seats,” Sophie announces.
Caleb glances at me. “Do they still need car seats?”
“Until our eighth birthday or when we are over sixty pounds,” replies Sophie primly.
“Booster seats,” I tell him. “It’ll be fine. Just try not to wreck.”
“I generally try not to wreck.”
I laugh, despite the situation. “They go to St. Ignatius, over in Elmdale. I’m really sorry about this.”
“It’s fine.” He glances over his shoulder. “But once we’re done at the school, we need to have a little talk. And what were you thinking, planning to pick up all the shit for the staff meeting yourself?”
“I was trying to keep costs down,” I protest.
He sighs. “Lucie, never do that again. I’m cheap, but I’m not that cheap.”
We near the school, but the carpool line at this late hour stretches around the block. “Holy shit,” he says. “Do you go through this every morning?”
“You said shit,” says Sophie. “You said it twice.”
“Now you said shit,” Henry tells her.
“Shit. Now everyone in the car has said it,” I announce. “Guys, hop out and I’ll run you up to the front.”
“You don’t have to do that,” says Caleb. “We’ve got time.”
“It’s okay.” We definitely don’t have time, and the last thing I need is someone seeing the twins in here without booster seats, or me pulling up to the school with a strange man. I’m sure the rumor mill is running at full speed about me and Jeremy as it is.
I climb from the car and walk the twins to the front as fast as I can in heels and a pencil skirt, giving them each a quick hug.
“You said shit, Mommy,” Sophie says with wide eyes. “You never say bad words.”
“I’m full of surprises, sweets,” I reply, brushing my mouth over the top of her head.
They walk away just as my name is called by someone behind me.
“Lucie Boudreau,” says the voice. “Looking good.”
I turn, forcing a weak smile.
Tom DuPlantis is one of the gross dads I attempt to avoid most of the time, a big-time lawyer with an ego to match, somehow under the impression that I’d be interested in him. “Hi, Tom.” I start to step past him and his hand wraps around my elbow.