Chapter 10
ANGEL
“Crap.”
Thanks to the aggressive sweep of the duster across the coffee table, I just sent one of the ceramic coasters flying. Dropping the duster on the table, I bend down to pick up the coaster, hoping I didn’t break it.
I wouldn’t care about a coaster, normally. But these were from Haley. She made them in art club last year as her Christmas gift to me, and each of the four coasters has a slightly lopsided but carefully painted tree.
At first look, the coaster looks undamaged. But when I turn it over, one of the corners is chipped. “Darn it,” I mutter while scowling at it. As I stand, I glare at the offending duster. “Stupid duster.”
But it wasn’t the duster’s fault. It was mine.
If I’d been using it like a normal person, this would never have happened. But no, I decided to whip the duster around like I was trying to create a small hurricane. And now one of Haley’s Christmas coasters is ruined.
Sorrow wells up, swift and all-encompassing. Pressure builds behind my eyes.
Logically, I know I shouldn’t be this upset about a little chip. And the coaster’s not ruined. When it’s turned back over, the damage won’t even be noticeable.
But it’s one more disappointment to add to the others.
One more disappointment after a day that started out so well.
With a heavy sigh, I flop onto the couch and lean my head back to look up at the ceiling. My attention is drawn to a discolored patch just above my head, and then a tiny, wandering crack just to the right of it.
I sigh again. Great. Two more things to add to the never-ending list of things to fix.
Most days, I try not to let the condition of the house bother me.
Most days, I categorize the assorted dings and scratches and creaky floorboards as things that add character.
I figure as long as the important things—the furnace, the hot water heater, the roof—are in working order, we’re in pretty good shape.
Would I like to have a brand-new house with fresh paint and gleaming floors? Sure. But it’s not something I spend time thinking about.
Although, now that I’m thinking about houses, I’m not sure I would want a brand new one.
A new house, like the one the Ryans moved into last year, doesn’t have history.
It doesn’t hold memories. A new house wouldn’t have the doorframe marked with Haley’s yearly measurements.
A new house wouldn’t have the little cubby in Haley’s bedroom closet, where she still likes to go and read on stormy days.
As my vision blurs, and the ceiling transforms into a wash of dingy white, I let myself consider why I’m really upset.
And why I’ve been cleaning like a dervish for the last two hours, scrubbing the bathrooms until my hands are red and raw, and vacuuming the carpets so thoroughly it’s a miracle there’s anything left of them.
It’s not because of the coaster.
It’s not the meandering crack in the ceiling or the weird stain beside it.
It’s not being alone in the house while Haley’s gone for a sleepover.
It’s not even because of anything specific that happened. Nothing I can put my finger on and say, That’s it. That’s what I’m mad about. That’s why I’m sad.
But I am sad. And cranky. And even sitting on the couch for this long makes me feel all itchy, like I need to be doing something.
Too restless to stay still, I jump up again.
I set the coaster back on the coffee table and pick up the duster, then return it to the hall closet before I can damage something else with it.
I glance at the shelf of cleaning products inside, debating if I should attempt to clean the dusty chandelier in the dining room.
But after a few moments’ consideration, I decide against it. Given what just happened to the coaster, who knows what could happen to the antique chandelier. And I’d rather not end up with a pile of shattered glass on the dining room table at close to ten o’clock at night.
So I close the door with another sigh and walk back into the living room. The empty couch and the blank screen of the TV taunt me; a bitter reminder of how I thought my night would turn out.
When Haley asked about having a sleepover with Tess tonight, I was excited about it.
Not that I wanted to shove my kid off on someone else, but the timing seemed perfect.
Haley could continue her day of fun with Tess—“We can make Christmas bracelets while we watch Elf and drink hot chocolate,” Haley explained after her hasty conference with Tess during the wait for Santa—and I would get some alone time with Ronan.
We might even get a chance to do some of the things I’ve fantasized about but haven’t dared with Haley home.
But in the time it took for me to wait for Santa with Haley, something changed.
Ronan didn’t want to come over to watch a movie anymore.
His smiles didn’t come as easily, although, to his credit, he always had one ready for Haley.
When he looked at me, his eyes weren’t soft with affection. Instead, his gaze was distant.
Sometimes, when I’d ask him a question, he’d hesitate before answering, like his mind was somewhere else.
He stopped finding opportunities to touch me, like he had before. Although I want to think I was imagining things, it felt like he was intentionally trying to keep distance between us.
When he brought Haley and I home, and Haley went racing into the house ahead of me, I thought Ronan might have tried to give me a quick kiss goodnight. But he didn’t. He just smiled, told me to sleep well, and that we’d talk soon.
Not, I’ll text you later. Not, I’ll call tomorrow. There was no mention of seeing each other again. It was just, Sleep well. Talk soon.
I walk over to the window and stare out. It’s darker than I’ve gotten used to, since the outside lights aren’t on. With Haley gone for her sleepover, there didn’t seem to be any point. And honestly, I wasn’t in the mood for it.
There could be a reasonable explanation for Ronan’s behavior.
I’ve reminded myself of that probably a dozen times this evening.
He said he wasn’t feeling well, after all.
And considering the week he’s had—shifts at Stowe, his work for GMG, clearing his driveway and mine after our most recent snowstorm the other day, and finally capping it off with a ski lesson and the Winter Wonderland Walk, it’s not a surprise that he’d be feeling under the weather.
It’s just… I have this pit in my stomach. It feels like something bad is coming, and I’m powerless to do anything but wait for it.
I want to think nothing’s changed between Ronan and me.
But then, why didn’t he touch me? Why didn’t he say he’d call? Why, when I asked if I could do anything to help, did he get this weird look on his face before he said no?
With yet another sigh—like a little steam engine, my mom used to tease, back when I was a moody teenager and used to walk around the house, sighing—I shut the curtains and turn away from the window.
Scanning the room, I try to come up with something to do.
But none of the things I’d normally do when Haley’s at a friend’s house hold any appeal.
I don’t want to watch TV. I’ve already cleaned the house more than enough. It’s too late to bake anything, and I’m not really in the mood for it, anyway.
For a second, I think about getting out my art supplies. I’ve been toying with the idea of making something for Ronan, since he was so tickled by the artwork I showed him. I thought it would be nice to give him something handmade. Something that means more than anything I’d get in a store.
But now… I don’t know what’s going on with him. And I’m not feeling creative at all.
As I look around the room, another thing my mom used to say comes to mind.
“There’s nothing gained by assuming the worst.” She said it a lot when I was pregnant and panicking about all the terrible things that might happen after Haley was born.
“What’s gained by assuming the worst? So you spend all this time thinking about bad things that haven’t even happened yet?
That accomplishes nothing. Focus on the here and now, honey. That’s what’s important.”
She was right. And I know the same thing stands true now. The only problem is; it’s really hard to keep perspective when I just have this awful feeling…
Maybe it would be easier to stay positive if I didn’t have the spectre of Justin hanging over me. He hasn’t texted me in a week, but every time my phone buzzes, I’m convinced it’s another message from him.
My lawyer says it’s fine, and that I shouldn’t worry. He says that if Justin pushes for custody, no judge would actually grant it to him. So far, Justin’s only been asking to talk, so maybe that’s where it’ll end.
Still, I told Garrett not to let Haley go anywhere on her own. Not that I think he would—he’s probably more overprotective than me—but better safe than sorry.
It didn’t help seeing Justin’s mom, Sharon, today. At least, I’m pretty sure it was her. I only met her a couple times back in college, so it’s not like my memory of her is good. But I could have sworn I saw her shopping at one of the vendor booths at the Wonderland Walk.
She didn’t notice me, thank goodness. Although I’m not sure she would have recognized me if she had. At first, I was surprised, since I remember Justin saying his parents lived south of here, in Bennington. But, of course, it’s possible she moved. People do that.
Anyway, it’s not like it’s her fault that Justin’s an irresponsible jerk.
Although, if I had a son and he deserted his own kid, I’d wonder if I did something wrong. I’d wonder if somehow I failed to teach him something important.
With thoughts of Justin and Sharon spinning in my head, I hurry to the coffee table and snatch up my phone. Then I send a quick text to Haley, who has my extra pay-by-the-minute cell phone that she’s only allowed to use for special occasions.
Hey, sweetie. How’s your sleepover going? Are you having fun?