Calling the Shots. Ellen Hartman
“I imagine I would have said no. I have reservations about the risks of hockey, and frankly, Allie is a great example of the kind of kid who plays, the kind of kid I wanted you to avoid.”
“That’s why I didn’t ask.” He shook his head and his long hair fell straight across his forehead, making him look younger than he was. “You would have talked me out of it or talked me into something else. Hockey is mine. I like hockey. When you live in Twin Falls, you play hockey.”
“But the bullying—”
“It’s not bullying!” He flopped down and rolled up in his blankets again. “Close the door,” he said. “And turn out the light.”
Clare nodded. He couldn’t see her, but she wanted to acknowledge him, to make it seem as if they were having a conversation, not a shouting match.
She pulled the door shut, turned out the hall light and then went into her own room, fumbling until she found the light switch on the left side of the door when she’d been sure it was on the right. The new house was still unfamiliar. She hoped that would change soon.
When Tim was little, picking up stakes and moving to wherever her next freelance contract led had been exciting. She and Tim would scope out the town, making lists of things they wanted to visit, buying maps, researching on the Internet. They’d both enjoyed discovering a new place, meeting people, trying the local activities. They’d played games memorizing local landmarks so they wouldn’t get lost while they learned how to get around.
She hadn’t seen Tim’s change of heart coming until it was too late. Two years ago when he was in fifth grade, she’d accepted a longer-term contract in Baltimore. The city was terrific and they’d taken full advantage of all the attractions. She’d been having such a good time that she hadn’t even really noticed that for the first time, Tim was living somewhere long enough to put down roots. Not just the kind of roots where he knew the pitching rotation for the Orioles, but the kind of roots where he knew his way around his friends’ kitchens and got voted class president in sixth grade.
The economy tanked right when her contract was coming to a close and she’d been lucky to get this gig at a local bank in Twin Falls. Relieved to have the work, she probably hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have to Tim’s protests about having to move again. She’d been so sure his anger was temporary or a general symptom of this personality disorder known as being a teenager.
He wasn’t coming around.
He still missed his friends from Baltimore and at the same time, he was working hard to make sure they also put down roots in Twin Falls. He was digging in.
He’d tried to make her promise they wouldn’t move again until after he graduated from high school, but she couldn’t. She was on a nine-month contract here. The business economy wasn’t anywhere close to stable and, as her recent experience looking for a job had proved, she didn’t have a hope of predicting where her next contract would take them.
What a mess.
The house they were renting was bigger than their norm and her bedroom—what the Realtor had called a master suite—stretched the entire southern wall of the house. There were built-in bookcases on either side of the door. She’d brought two cartons of books up from the garage before she left for the rink, but she didn’t have the energy or the interest to unpack them now. She lifted one box onto the other and slid the stack back against the wall.
Standing at the foot of the bed, she started to undress, putting her blouse in the net bag she used to store her dry cleaning, wiping her shoes with the soft cloth she kept in her closet before sliding them into the shoe bag, choosing a set of blue-and-white striped pajamas. She picked her coat up from the end of the bed and put it on a hanger, but then reached into the pocket and pulled out the card the rink manager had given her. What was his name? Jackson. Bryan had called him Danny. She would have to remember that.
The card read “Community Mediator, Lila Sykes.” Followed by a phone number and the line, “No one should have to do this alone.”
True, Clare thought. She might be alone in this new town, but that didn’t mean she had no one to talk to. Her computer was on the desk near the window. She sat down and called up a video-phone screen for Lindsey, her best friend. The time difference from New York to Seattle meant it was early enough that Lindsey might be out at dinner, but luckily, she was home. Seeing her, so familiar, so dear, almost made Clare start crying.
“Hey!” Lindsey said. “I’ve been dying for a distraction, how did you know?”
“I wish I could say I’m psychic, but the truth is, I need advice.”
“Shoot.”
“Tim got in another fight with that girl I was telling you about. A bad one this time.”
“Is he okay?” Lindsey was Tim’s godmother and his number-one fan.
“Fine. I don’t know how, but he’s fine.”
“For God’s sake, Clare, what is wrong with that girl? Where are her parents?”
“I met her dad tonight. He…well…let’s just say he doesn’t seem to know his daughter very well.”
Lindsey held her fists up to shadow box the screen. “Say the word and I’ll come out there and teach him and his spawn some respect.”
“We’ve had enough punching around here.”
“I could egg his car, at least.”
Clare smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. Lindsey was so much more to her than a friend. They’d met the first day of kindergarten and—except for a three-month stretch in seventh grade when they’d stopped talking while they both tried to attract Gene Fisk, the first boy in their grade to hit six feet—they’d been best friends ever since. Lindsey had idolized Gretchen every bit as much as Clare had and she’d been the only one of all their friends who’d really understood what it felt like when she’d died.
Lindsey’s house had been Clare’s refuge. With four kids in the family and a rotating lineup of pets, the house had been chaotic enough that Clare was forced to be outgoing when she was there. She could finally relax and be herself.
She and Lindsey had gone to Stanford together and now her friend worked as a software test engineer in Seattle. Lindsey’s house was down the street from the one she’d grown up in, where her parents still lived. She was Clare’s emergency contact, the executor of her will and the only person who’d been at every single one of Tim’s birthday parties. After Clare’s mom died and her dad continued to grow more distant, Lindsey’s steadfast friendship had come to mean more to her every year.
Clare’s face felt hot and there were tears in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted to talk to Lindsey about Tim’s attitude.
“How about instead you tell me what to do next?” She pushed her glasses up on her forehead to rub her eyes. “He’s really mad at me about moving him again. I understand what he’s saying, that we don’t live the same way as other people. But that’s always been okay with him. We get to see all these new places and meet people and we’re not tied down. Do you think he actually wants to settle down or could this be a phase or…I don’t know…him pushing back against me and my values?” She was talking too fast.
“Your values?” Lindsey asked. “You move all the time because of your values?”
Clare was confused by Lindsey’s surprise. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. I guess I never realized. I’m sorry,” Lindsey said. “What I mean is I assumed you were eventually going to land somewhere, once you got to the point where you could…” Lindsey shrugged on the computer screen.
“Could what?” Clare asked.
“Relax?” Lindsey suggested.
“What does that even mean?”
“It