Home to Harmony. Dawn Atkins
table, a pretty twenty-something poet on retreat. Beside her were two college students, Mitch and Louis, researching sustainable living for a college project.
“I’ll be a junior,” David answered, his face aflame, “but school’s bullshit.”
“David!” Christine said, embarrassed by the swear word. The Manwells exchanged disapproving glances.
“Creativity can suffer in school, for sure,” Gretchen said.
“That’s what my girlfriend says. She writes poetry. Also political pieces. She’s really good.”
Christine’s heart clutched at his wistful tone and love-sick look. A week hadn’t eased his feelings for Brigitte at all.
“Do you drive?” Gretchen asked him.
“Not yet.” He glared at Christine. Learning to drive had been a sore subject. She’d said no permit without a B average.
“Hell, you can learn while you’re here,” Aurora said.
“He doesn’t have a permit,” Christine said.
“Who cares?”
“I care. It’s illegal.”
“We rarely see a deputy, so who’d write the ticket?” Aurora waved away the issue like a gnat over her plate.
“Aurora…”
“I might as well learn. I’ve got nothing else to do.”
“Now isn’t the time to talk about this,” she said quietly. “It’s never the time with you,” David blurted. He’d been in a bad mood since his call to Brigitte. He looked around, clearly aware of how rude he’d sounded, jerked to his feet, knocking off his knife and loudly scraping his chair before he stomped away.
“Teenagers,” Christine finally said into the awkward silence. Heads nodded. Forks clicked, water glasses clinked.
“Kids are so out of control these days,” Lisa Manwell said. “It’s shameful. My sister’s teens rule the house.”
Christine bit her tongue to keep from suggesting Lisa try a stroll in her sister’s Free Spirits before she criticized her.
“Since Socrates, adults have thought kids ran wild and parents were lax,” Aurora said, winking at Christine. “That’s how you know you’re old, when you start saying, kids today….”
Lisa sniffed at the insult.
“David’s a good kid,” Aurora said.
“Thank you.” Christine was touched by her mother’s kindness. Aurora really was trying to do what they’d agreed—support Christine’s parenting of David.
“He’s at loose ends out here in the country,” she said. “So let him drive, Crystal. Where’s the harm?”
Lord. So much for Aurora’s good intentions. “How about if I get the dessert?” Christine said, happy to escape to the kitchen. Marcus stood and began gathering plates.
Taking a knife from the cupboard to slice the cinnamon carrot bread, she noticed the phone was missing its handset. The cord stretched around the corner into her office alcove.
David sat on the floor there, knees up, back to her, his voice low and fervent. “I’ve got to see you. I’m so alone here. Christine’s such a…she’s so… Exactly. Controlling. I hate her.”
Christine’s cheeks stung, as if she’d been slapped. He didn’t really mean that, but it still hurt. She tried to back away without being seen, but when he saw her, she knew she had to say something about the rule. “You already called today. You need to hang up.”
He covered the phone and gave her a desperate look. “This is all I have. Do you want me to go psycho?” He said into the phone, “Yeah, she’s making me hang up. I’m sorry. ’Bye.” He jerked to his feet, charged around the corner and slammed down the receiver. “Are you happy? You made my life a complete hell.”
Marcus was slicing the bread, so he’d heard.
“I’m simply asking you to keep your word, David.”
“No, you’re not. You hate Brigitte and you want to break us up. You can cut me off from everyone I care about, but you can’t change me. I’ll never be your perfect son with straight As and straight friends, on the student freaking council.”
“That’s not what I want and you know it.”
His eyes flashed with a hatred that scared her. “I don’t have to stay here, you know. I can leave.”
“That wouldn’t solve anything.” This was the first time he’d threatened to run away and it terrified her.
“If I found my father it would.”
“What?” Skip was the last thing David needed at the moment. Angry, flaky and mean, Skip would break David’s heart for sure.
“Just because you won’t look for him, doesn’t mean I can’t.” Skip’s bad credit history meant he never had a listed number, thank God, but still…
“That’s not what you want, David,” she said as kindly as she could manage.
“You don’t know what I want.” He brushed past her, pausing when he noticed Marcus holding the tray of bread, then barreled out the back door.
She wanted to go after him, but she knew better. David needed to cool off before they talked. Talked. Right. It had become a pointless exercise. He stonewalled every question. Christine fought despair.
“I can take over,” she said to Marcus, putting her hands beneath the tray, enjoying the comfort of his warm fingers for an instant. She liked that his face showed neither pity nor embarrassment over the outburst.
Together they served the dessert and when it was over started on the dishes, since cooking means cleanup was a commune rule. She tried to stay cheerful, but David’s anger was wearing her down. She’d begun to become discouraged.
“I’m sorry you heard that fight,” she said, glancing at Marcus. “Living with his father would be a disaster for David.”
“‘The grass always seems greener…’”
“More folk-saying therapy?” She couldn’t quite smile. “You probably think it’s bad that I won’t let him see his father, but if you knew Skip…”
“You don’t need to justify yourself to me, Christine.”
“He would break David’s heart.” She scrubbed fiercely at the plate she was cleaning, then plopped it into the rinsing sink so hard that water splashed Marcus’s face. “Sorry, sorry.” She brushed away the drops from his smooth cheek.
“I’m fine, Christine,” he said, low and reassuring, catching her hand in his.
The touch felt so good, she just stood there letting him hold her hand and look into her eyes, sending calm all the way through her.
She blew out a breath, then went back to the dishes, more gently this time. “Skip calls now and then, drunk or stoned, wanting to connect with David. I used to set up a day and time for him, but he always bailed. Thank God I never told David in advance. The man is an overgrown child, so distractible, with a scary temper—” She wiped a blob of lentils from a plate.
“Lately, I just let the machine take his calls.” A month before, he’d left her his most recent number and address.
She paused for Marcus to comment, but he kept rinsing and stacking, allowing her to fill the silence if she chose.
“Even if Skip did show up, he’d throw out pie-in-the-sky promises, then break them. David is too vulnerable now.”
She stopped washing and turned to him. “Don’t you think waiting until he’s eighteen is better? He’ll have more