Chapter Seventeen Kiersten
Chapter Seventeen
Kiersten
Kiersten laid a tentative hand on Rosamund’s arm. “Well, as it turns out, my front porch is the place to be if you’re having a bad day of epic proportions.”
“It’s my daughter’s birthday. She’s thirteen today.” A wistful tone laced Rosamund’s words. “And she invited four girls to her party. We got everything ready. And none of them showed up. They sent her this text instead.”
She raised her phone, showed them a photo of a text.
Kiersten squinted at the screen. Happy Birthday, Loser. She gasped. The casual cruelty of the words jolted her, like touching the electric fence back home. “Oh, Rosamund. I’m so sorry.”
Rosamund bit down on her lower lip. “Guinevere has always had a hard time fitting in. Probably because I saddled her with a name like Guinevere.”
“This is not your fault,” Piper said gently. “But I’m sorry it’s happening.”
Rosamund gave her a wistful smile. “She’s a wonderful blend of sophisticated and childlike.
Super smart. Reads all the time, but she can be a little .
. . socially inept. She’s not on the spectrum.
Nothing with a diagnosis . . . just different.
You know, quirky. We had some issues with bullying last year.
I thought that was behind us . . . but it turns out, it’s not.
It’s started up again. This time a boy is involved, and he’s meaner than the girls. ”
Kiersten squeezed her hand. “We were just talking about how great it would be to drop out.”
It sounded so radical when she said it out loud. But maybe there was safety in numbers. She wouldn’t have the courage to do this alone, but if her neighbors joined in . . . well, then maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all?
Rosamund frowned. “What do you mean by ‘dropping out’?”
“We quit everything. School. Sports. Activities. We drop out of the rat race,” Piper explained.
“We go back in time,” Kiersten added. “It would be like when we were young. Our kids would play outside. Roam the neighborhood unsupervised and play with firecrackers.”
“And no more iPads or phones or devices,” Piper added. “No more screen time.”
Rosamund’s mouth dropped open. “But what would you actually do? Homeschool?”
“We’d drink Tab and smoke Virginia Slims and go to Tupperware parties,” Kiersten said. “Isn’t that what moms used to do?”
Rosamund fixed her gaze on Kiersten. “I’m serious.”
“We hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Piper admitted. “We hadn’t gotten beyond dropping out.”
Rosamund was silent for a moment. Then she looked Kiersten in the eye. “I don’t think it’s entirely crazy.”
Kiersten felt a spark of terror, like she’d somehow become responsible for leading a group of climbers to the top of Mount Everest, blindfolded. And naked.
“You don’t?” Kiersten asked cautiously.
“What we’re doing right now isn’t working.” Rosamund’s voice had a hard edge. “I talked to the school last year. They said they’d fix it, but they didn’t. Maybe they can’t. I don’t know. I’m ready to try something new.”
“My daughter is being bullied too,” Piper said slowly. “I mean, not bullied exactly. More like . . . sexually harassed, at the vast age of thirteen.”
She told them about her daughter’s iPad and her meeting with the principal and Bruce Orlov.
“And the school is doing nothing?” Rosamund asked, outrage etched across her face.
“Like with your situation, I don’t know if they can’t or they won’t, but I don’t think—”
“He’s here!” Kiersten shouted, springing to her feet as a highway patrol car pulled into the driveway.
Two officers in tan uniforms emerged from the car, one male, the other female. The female officer opened the rear door of the patrol vehicle.
Johnny sprang from the back seat and dashed into Kiersten’s arms. She pulled him into a hug so tight she was afraid she might crush him. He clung to her for a moment, then squirmed to pull free.
“Mom. It was So Cool. I got to ride in a Police Car.”
She swallowed, working hard to keep her voice steady. “I know, honey. That’s really awesome. Are you okay?”
He nodded vigorously. “I’m fine. When I couldn’t find you, I told this nice cash register lady who looked like Grandma that I got forgotted, and then she called the police, and you called the police, and they came, and then they brought me home.
And I got to use the scanner gun and help Verna check things out. ”
She needed to send a massive bouquet of flowers to Verna. “That’s great. But are you okay?”
“I was kinda scared at first when I couldn’t find you,” he admitted. “But then Verna let me help with the scanner gun, and then I wasn’t scared anymore. But she wouldn’t let me use it on cigarettes and beer. Just candy and pop and chips.”
“Okay.” She resisted the urge to pull him into her arms and hug him again, allowing herself instead to plant a kiss on top of his head. “You can go have some pizza while I talk to the officers. What do you say to the police?”
He turned to the officers standing behind his mom. “Thank you for bringing me home when my mom forgotted me.”
Her face burned with shame. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget this moment and she would never forgive herself for what she’d done.
“We had a nice long talk with your son on the drive here,” the male patrolman said.
Kiersten’s heart dropped. Oh my God. What had Johnny told them?
That she yelled in the morning when they were trying to get to school on time?
That they’d once driven all the way to the airport for a family vacation before they realized Luke wasn’t wearing any shoes?
That on rare occasions when she was very tired, and the day had been very long, she gave them Lucky Charms and scrambled eggs for dinner?
Were they going to call social services? Would they take her boys away?
“I understand you have four boys in travel sports,” the male patrolman said.
She swallowed. “I do.”
The female officer gave her a wry smile. “We’re parents, too, and we understand. Try not to be too hard on yourself. And next time, maybe do a head count when you get in the car.”
Relief made her heart stop, and she exhaled softly. “I will, Officer. Thank you.”
But there wouldn’t be a next time, Kiersten thought as the patrol car drove out of the cul-de-sac on Beaverbrook Lane.
She was done running on a hamster wheel and calling it a life.