Chapter 18
This must be the longest week in the history of the world. Each day drags on, and Timmy’s mood only gets worse. This morning, he was up first, and he wouldn’t even talk to me. The only thing I heard from him when he left for school was the door slamming behind him.
I think Arianna moving is the source of his anger. Whatever it is, I’ve never seen him like this. I’m really nervous that coming clean about Chance and I will push him over the edge, but I won’t back out of it. And I won’t tell Chance about my reservations.
The closer it gets to Saturday the more nervous I am. Friday morning, I spend an hour doing yoga and meditating to relax. One more day. I can make it through one more day.
My phone rings. I check the caller ID. It’s Timmy’s school. I slide the phone open to answer, hoping it’s Chance.
“Mrs. Doherty?”
“Yes.”
“This is Mr. Butler from Sylvan Middle School. I’m calling to let you know that Timothy will be staying after school today to serve detention for smoking in the bathroom. Our policy is such that a parent must come in and sign the student out of detention before they are released. This way it is documented that you are aware of the infringement.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
I hang up shocked. My son was caught smoking? He knows better than to do that. Mike’s father suffers from COPD and is on oxygen twenty-four hours a day. This doesn’t make any sense.
Minutes later, a text comes in from Chance.
Chance: I’m coming over after school. We need to talk.
Great. Those words are never good. Never a sign that something good happened, like he won the lottery or just got offered his dream job. No. It connotes a draining, emotional conversation. Like I need more shit thrown at me today.
*
“I’m still waiting for an explanation.” I snap at my son who hasn’t said a word to me since I picked him up from detention at school. I’m so frustrated with him! Just when I thought we’ve made it to a good place, everything blows up in my face.
The worst part was the call from Mr. Butler. Smug bastard. He sounded way too happy to tell me that my son was in detention.
“Smoking, Timmy? What the hell is wrong with you? You know better than to fill your lungs with that shit. And what were you thinking doing it in school?”
“I wasn’t smoking.”
“Well then, do you want to explain why you had detention for smoking in the boy’s room?”
We’re interrupted by the doorbell. Great. Chance. I don’t know if I can deal with whatever is bothering him at the moment. My hands are beyond full with my son.
“Don’t answer,” Timmy orders.
“It’s probably Mr. Carter.”
“Exactly. He can go fuck himself.”
“Timmy!” What the hell has come over him? “You owe me and Chance an apology,” I say heading for the door.
“Don’t call him that! I can’t believe you’re going to just let him in when I told you not to!” I feel the anger rolling off my son in large, overpowering waves. I’m afraid he’s going to get swept up in the ocean of emotion he’s swimming in and pulled away.
“What is your problem?” I ask as I open the door. There’s no answer. I look over my shoulder to find Timmy’s no longer there. My son retreated to his room, or the bathroom, or somewhere else in the house. Too bad. We aren’t done discussing what happened.
“This isn’t really a good time.”
Chance ignores me and gives me a quick peck on the lips. His eyes though, they never meet mine. They search the room behind me.
“Where is he?”
“Timmy?” I don’t know why I ask. He’s the only one Chance could be referring to.
“I don’t know, I think he snuck into his room when I answered the door.”
“Call him out here. We need to talk. Now.”
My spine stiffens. I don’t like being given orders, let alone about my son. I don’t lace into Chance just yet, because I have a feeling this is about Timmy’s detention and Chance has done a lot for Timmy. Like me, he probably feels betrayed.
Chance’s jaw is clenched, his normally playful eyes are dark and angry.
My blood runs cold.
“Timmy!” Chance calls. “Get out here, or I’m coming in to get you.”
“Fuck you!” My son replies.
“Timmy!” I can’t believe he just said that. I’m embarrassed, and I have no idea what’s prompting his irrational behavior. “Timothy! Get out here now and apologize!”
Timmy joins us in the living room. His eyes are small and narrow. His laser like stare focuses on Chance.
“Tell him to leave!”
“No, Tim. I’m telling your mother.”
“You’re a fucking liar!”
With anger chiseled on his face, Chance advances on my son. My stomach nosedives to the ground and my heart squeals, agonizing over watching this confrontation between the two most important people in my life.
What the hell happened?
I don’t think Chance would lay a finger on my son, but that’s a risk I can’t take. I can’t wait to see how this plays out. I rush to stand between them.
“You better watch that mouth of yours,” he warns.
“Or what?” Now it’s Timmy that’s advancing. His shoulders are squared, as if he’s challenging Chance. I can’t imagine what’s gotten into him or what he’s thinking. “What are you going to do about it? You’re not my father. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“I put my ass on the line for you today. It’s not going to happen again.”
“You gave me detention.”
“For smoking. If I told the truth, you would’ve been expelled and the police would be here right now, searching every inch of your house. I’m not about to let this go. We’re going to deal with this here and now. Understand?”
“Fuck you! I hate you!”
They’re too close for comfort, only feet away from each other. I can feel the anger between them. It’s raw and explosive, and I have no idea what the fuck to do. I turn sideways with one hand on Chance’s chest, hoping this will be enough to keep him from moving forward. Still lost as to what brought this about, I focus my attention on my son.
“You’re grounded. Give me your phone.” I say, wondering why Timmy’s death stare is focused on Chance. “Now!”
Timmy’s jaw is clenched as he pulls his phone from his pocket and starts messing with it.
“I said give it to me now!” I step up and grab the phone out of his hands.
“Look!” Timmy yells. “Look what he did!”
I don’t. The last thing I want is to give Timmy the satisfaction of looking or giving him the impression that I’m taking his side.
“Kim, you need to know the truth.”
“You don’t know anything you worthless piece of shit!” Timmy’s face is red, flushed. The veins in neck bulge and rise to the surface. I’ve never seen him like this.
“I heard you talking to that low life in the bathroom.”
“I didn’t say anything wrong.”
“Come on, Timmy. I know what that money was for.”
Money? I know Timmy was caught smoking, but was he attempting to buy drugs? Is that what this is all about?
“He’s lying, Mom. Don’t listen to him.”
“Drugs?” I ask Chance.
He shakes his head. “No. He was looking to buy a gun.”
A gun?
The blood drains from my head. I’m dizzy. Blackness creeps in around me. It’s advancing from both sides at once. Darkness threatens to swoop me away from this moment, to shut it all down until I can wake and find it’s all a bad dream.
Someone’s banging on my head from the inside out with a giant mallet. Nausea has me clenching my stomach as the sick rises up my throat, into my mouth. I swallow hard and force it back down. My knees are weak. I don’t think I can stand any longer, I’m about to drop, when strong arms wrap around me and lend me strength.
“A gun?” I ask looking into the green eyes I trust. The eyes that taught me to love again. The words are barely audible. Not more than a whisper. I shake my head as tears blur my vision.
Timmy stares at me. Angry. Frightened. Shaking his head.
“Get your hands off my mother.” His growls. His voice is low. Threatening.
“Tim, you need to stop.” Chance snaps. “Let her breathe a minute before she passes out.”
“What were you going to do with a gun?” I ask, unable to believe we’re having this conversation.
“What do people usually do with guns? I was going to use it. On him!” Timmy points at Chance. My heart bleeds and breaks with each passing second.
How did this happen?
Slowly, with the safety and security of Chance’s arms around me, I drop to the floor.
“You want to kill me?” Chance asks, the anger that was there a moment ago is replaced by surprise. “What . . . why?”
Tears stream out of Timmy’s angry eyes. His hands are balled up into tight fists. I can see a war raging inside him.
“I thought you were there for me. I thought I could trust you.” He uses the back of his fists to clear the tears from his face. “But it was never about helping me. You used me to get to my mother.” He stops and gulps in a long, deep breath. “You just wanted to fuck my mother and now everyone knows, and everyone’s laughing at her. Calling her names.”
Timmy’s hands fly up to his head. It looks like he’s in pain. Like he’s trying to stop it all by crushing his head between his hands.
“Tim, I was there for you. I still am. I want to help you. That’s why I covered for you today, but I can’t do that again.” Chance’s tone is much softer than it’s been since he got here.
“Liar!”
“I’m not lying, Tim. Look, you’re a great kid, and this really was all about you in the beginning but somewhere along the way, I fell in love with your mother.”
“You don’t love her! If you loved her, you would’ve told me. She wouldn’t be your dirty little secret.”
And there it is. I fucked up. It’s all on me.
“She’s not. I’d never think of her like that.”
I have to step in. I have to say something. Own up to the mistakes I made in all of this.
“Timmy, honey.” I fight the tears and the jumble of emotions overwhelming me at the moment. “Chance wanted to tell you. From the beginning. It was my decision not to. We were going to tell you tomorrow night.”
“Why? Why wouldn’t you want me to know?” He sounds like he did when he was a little boy and thought something was unfair.
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Upset me? You didn’t want to upset me?” He shakes his head. “You’re no better than him. I hate you both.” Timmy runs off to his room and slams the door behind him.
Chance drops to his knees and joins me on the floor. “I’m sorry, Kim.”
He wraps me up in his warmth and strength, and kisses me on the head.
“He wanted me to see something.” I press the home button on Timmy’s phone twice, and it brings me right into his Instagram account. Right to a picture of me kissing Chance outside his front door.
Next to it the person who posted it wrote, she’s into younger guys, when do I get my turn? Followed by a stream of nasty hashtags. #CartersSlut #MotherFucker #SlutMom #CockSuckingMom #CartersCougar #Milf #Cougarlicious. On and on they go.
I’m numb. I’m shutting down again. Locking up my heart. The way I did after Mike died. It’s how I dealt with the pain. It’s how I survived, because pain this deep, pain this sharp does nothing good. It kills you. Slowly.
Chance smooths my hair and kisses the top of my head, before pulling it to rest against his chest. I take a moment to enjoy the feel of his arms. To feel and hear his heart beat against my face. To breathe him in.
I try to code it all into memory. His voice. His touch. His scent. I don’t want to forget anything. I already forgot too much about my husband. At least these memories are fresh, so I can pull them from my heart when I need strength to make it through the day.
“Let’s give him some time to cool down. Then we can talk through this rationally. The three of us. Together.”
I don’t answer. I just stare at the screen. At the hashtags. At the comments. No wonder Timmy went off the deep end. We betrayed him. I have to do what I should’ve done from the beginning. I have to push Chance away and say goodbye. I need to refocus on my son. Four short years and he’ll be off to college. Then I can have a life.
Maybe.
“Kim, you’re too quiet. I need you to say something.”
Why does he have to push this? Why is he rushing to say goodbye? I don’t answer, hoping he’ll drop it. Hoping we can have a few more minutes of peace and comfort in each other’s arms. I need this from him one last time.
“Kim?”
“Chance, I’m sorry.” My broken voice gives me away.
“No, Kim. Don’t. He’ll get over it.”
“How do you get over a picture of your mother and her twenty something year old boyfriend labeled cock sucking mother on the internet? How?”
Chance shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I’m telling you, he’ll come around and we’ll teach him how to cope—“
“He’s thirteen, about to start high school. This isn’t something he should have to learn to cope with. I’m sorry, but the only thing I can do . . .” I take a few deep breaths, braving myself to face the world alone again.
“We can guide him.”
I shake my head. “No, Chance. The right thing, the only thing, is for us to stop seeing each other.”
I see the hurt of my words on his face and in his eyes. He looks like I just slapped him across the face.
“The right thing? For who? For you? For me? Don’t we count? Don’t we get a say in this?”
“We do. I’m giving you my say.”
Chance gets to his feet, withdrawing, leaving me in a puddle on the floor. Already I feel cold and alone. Even though I’m shutting him out, my heart screams for him to wrap me up in his arms
“You didn’t listen when I said we should tell him. Listen to me now. I love you. For the first time in years I see love and a family in my future. We’re worth the risk. You know we are. And I promise Timmy’s going to come out of this better. Stronger.”
“Did you hear him, Chance?” I squeal. “He wanted to kill you. Just hearing him say that . . . It would ruin his life. Steal his future.”
“Glad you’re not worried about what it would do to me.”
“Of course I am! If Timmy hurt you,” my voice cracks, and I refuse to let the tears flow. I’m too strong for tears. Too tough to cry. I rather choke it all down and fall apart when I’m alone. Like I used to. “If my son hurt the man I love, it would destroy me. So I refuse to put either of you in that position any longer.”
“You’re not doing this for me. Not at all. You’re doing this because Timmy threw a tantrum. Yes, that shit he showed you is hurtful, but you’re not teaching him to deal in the real world. You’re sheltering him, and he doesn’t know how to focus his anger into something positive. I could help with that. That’s what you’re taking away from him. That’s what you’re cheating him out of.”
Is he implying that I’m not a good mother? I’ve been both mother and father to my son for the last two years. When he was younger I spent long nights awake with Timmy, soothing him when he was sick. I cook and clean and cater to him like a fucking king. I chauffeur him all around town so he doesn’t have to miss anything, and this is what I get? Told how I’m failing him?
“You need to leave. Right now.”
“You don’t mean this.”
“Yes!” I snap. “Yes, I fucking do.”
Chance stares at me for a long moment before he makes a move.
“Fine. You made your decision. Just know that this is your choice. You’re ending it. Your sending me on my way.”
“I understand.”
“Kim, if I leave, if I walk out that door, I’m not coming back.”
I nod and watch him walk away from me, devastated. Broken. A shell of what I was when he walked into my life.