Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Back at Maeve’s house, Brodie couldn’t sit still, hemmed in by the floral wallpaper in the living room, the bright primary colors of the family kitchen, the color-changing bubble bath in the bathroom.
Out the window, he could see the orchard and the mountains behind, the epic landscape making the rooms feel like cages.
Even the view was loaded now with expectation and decision.
There was no escape. At the ranch there would be questions from his mom.
At the polo club, Logan would corner him, having almost definitely spoken to Noah.
In the diner, Ren would tip her head knowingly.
Anywhere he went in this town there would be questions from someone.
He sat at Maeve’s kitchen table, fingers pushed into his hair.
You gotta sit with it.
No, he didn’t.
He stood up. He was too hot. His legs were restless. He couldn’t breathe.
“You okay, Dad?” Zoey asked.
“Fine!”
Dad.
They were making Slime at the kitchen table.
Zoey had a zip-lock bag full of glue and some magic liquid, glitter and food coloring that she’d had to pull up a chair to reach at the back of a cupboard.
Brodie had been sitting next to her, he’d poured glasses of OJ, opened a packet of Oreos; it was easy, mundane, everyday stuff.
Now that he was standing up, however, he surveyed the scene wondering if he should be doing more. Should he be guiding Zoey with more life lessons? Should they be studying? Watching educational documentaries? Should he be somehow imparting fatherly wisdom? What did he know that he could tell her?
He thought of earlier, when he’d asked Maeve if she was ashamed of him. Why wouldn’t she be ashamed? He’d never had to justify his existence to a woman before and when it came down to it, what did he have to offer?
What if he ruined Zoey’s life?
His mom rang, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, to see if he wanted to drop by for dinner. Relieved for the reprieve, Brodie took the phone call in the hallway.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m with Zoey.”
“Bring her with you.”
He didn’t want to see his dad, face more denigration.
“No, it’s okay, thanks.”
His mom didn’t push it. “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it.”
He was about to hang up when he found himself saying, “Mom?”
“Yes.”
Brodie paused, tracing his finger over one of the lines in the hallway wallpaper. “How did you know how to be a parent?”
“I didn’t,” she replied without hesitation.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you did. You always knew what to do with us.” He thought of her keeping all six kids in check.
She laughed. “No, Brodie, no one knows what to do. You just go with what feels right.”
That was no help at all. He turned and leaned against the wall, stared at the struts of the staircase. “What if it’s wrong?”
There was a pause. He could imagine his mom thinking for a moment what to say, maybe sitting down at the big kitchen table, a cup of coffee in her hand.
“Brodie,” she said, “children aren’t yours to own.
They are in your life for a certain amount of time and it’s your job to be there for them.
” He could hear the smile in her voice when she carried on.
“They are their own people. Usually interesting, clever, sweet, funny people who you may actually find yourself enjoying spending time with. All you have to do, Brodie, is be there, shepherd them. That’s enough. ”
Brodie listened, nodding.
“It’s just practice,” she added. “Like everything.”
He thought of the hours with the band in the rehearsal room where he was terrible at sitting still. “Okay,” he said, trying to sound casual.
He imagined her eyes narrowing. “You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, totally fine.” He waved a hand in dismissal.
They said goodbye. Brodie slipped the phone in his pocket feeling no better.
He went back into the kitchen. There was Slime everywhere.
Like an explosion of goo. One of the food-coloring bottles had tipped over and bright red liquid dripped onto the floor where Zoey was on her hands and knees trying to catch it with a dishcloth, the scarlet dye bleeding into the fabric.
When she saw him, she looked up guiltily.
“What the heck’s happened here!” Brodie’s voice came out loud with horror.
His eyes widened, his hands raised. Where Zoey had tried hastily to wipe it up, the spilled Slime had taken the top layer of varnish off the table.
He felt the infusion of adrenaline and panic, what would Maeve say?
He’d left Zoey alone for five minutes and this happened.
He watched the cascade of food coloring sloshing onto the floor.
He stood open-mouthed for a second, then said more despairingly, “What have you done!”
“Please don’t be mad!” Zoey looked like she was about to cry, big eyes blinking back tears as she tried to contain the food dye chaos.
He could feel his heart beating in his head.
He felt the urge to shout, to rant and rave, to throw his hands up, but then he looked at those huge watery eyes and he heard himself in his head and said, “It’s okay, Zoey.
It’s fine.” He grabbed the roll of paper towel and lay a mountain of it under the dripping coloring, then tried his best to swipe up the varnish-stripping glop. “We can clear it up.”
Zoey nodded, bottom lip trembling.
“Hey.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to shout. I’m sorry.”
Practice was not making perfect. Brodie felt worse than ever.