Chapter 10 #2
William gives me a baffled look, as if I just said something incomprehensible. “Why wouldn’t I be? He was my best friend back in Princeton.”
“Right, I know.” I haven’t been in touch with many of my Princeton friends, I acknowledge somewhat uncomfortably.
I haven’t so much as texted Kerry since New Year’s, and as for the others…
they’ve pretty much all fallen by the wayside.
I’m glad William has hung onto his friends, even if I haven’t managed to do the same with mine.
“Anyway,” he resumes, “I’m taking my GED next week,” he says, another surprise because the last time we spoke, he was going to take it at the end of the summer.
“Next week? But William, why so early? You have plenty of time.” I have no idea how he fits it all in or why he’s making all these plans without discussing any part of them with us.
If he’d asked, I would have told him to take a little more time, not burn the candle at both ends.
But teenagers have a way of deciding their lives without reference to their parents, who clearly don’t know anything, anyway.
“I just want to get it done,” he says with a shrug. “Put it behind me.”
“I guess that makes sense,” I say slowly. “Where are you taking it?”
“Buckholt. Bethany said she’d drive me.”
“William, I can drive you.” I can’t help but feel like I’m being cut out of my kids’ lives, just a little, and it hurts.
“You’re busy,” he replies, then gentles what feels like an accusation with a smile. “It’s okay.” His smile widens. “What I really need to do is get my driver’s license. So, if you want to help, how about you take me driving tonight, for practice?”
“Done.” I am heartened that he asked, even if I suspect it might be because Bethany refused. Plus, she probably hasn’t had her license long enough to supervise. Still, I’ll take it.
I turn to the fridge to figure out what to make for dinner; we’re on the last of our meat chickens, and Bethany isn’t the only one who needs to stock up on groceries, despite my trip on Sunday. It’s amazing how fast the food goes around here.
Just then, my dad comes into the kitchen, an expectant yet hesitant look on his face that makes me tense. What now?
“I won’t be here for dinner,” he announces.
William does a double-take while my jaw drops. My dad is always here for dinner.
“Oh?” I ask as casually as I can. “Where are you going?”
“Jolene’s having me over to her place.”
“Who’s Jolene?” William asks while I simply stare.
On Sunday, they were just friends. Now they’re having a dinner date? “Do you need a ride?” I ask. “Where does she live?”
“She lives halfway between here and Buckholt, and she’s picking me up.” My dad waves a hand. “You don’t need to do anything. I just wanted you to know.” Then, humming under his breath, he saunters back to his bedroom.
William glances at me, grinning. “Wow. Grandpa’s got a date.”
“It’s not a date,” I reply automatically.
My son’s eyebrows lift. “Are you sure about that?”
No, I am not. And I know I have no right to feel anything but pleased on my dad’s behalf, but… it’s hard, having to accept all these changes. Bethany moving out. William moving on. My dad… doing whatever.
And meanwhile, this little one is getting ready to enter this chaotic world.
I place one hand on my bump in reassurance, but right now, the thought of welcoming a baby when my older kids are flying from the nest only makes me feel tired.
As I turn back to the fridge, I wish takeout was an option, but where we live, it simply isn’t.
“You tired, Mom?” William asks as he rises from the table. “I can make something for dinner.”
I smile at my son, who really has grown up a lot if he’s offering that. I don’t think he’s made dinner for the family pretty much ever.
And, while my usual MO would be to protest and say that, of course, I can do it, I decide to take him up on it. “Well, actually, if you wouldn’t mind…”
He looks a little surprised—I think he was expecting me to refuse, too—but then he laughs and shrugs. “Sure. As long as you don’t mind spaghetti and sauce?”
“Sounds perfect.” I go into the living room to put my feet up—and look for jobs I can apply for; I haven’t forgotten about that pressing need, no matter what Josh thinks about my measly eight-seventy-five an hour.
I’ve just sat down on the sofa, pulling my laptop toward me, when the doorbell rings.
“That’ll be Jolene,” my dad sings out.
Josh, who is getting ready for a tutoring call, gives me a look.
“They’re going out to dinner,” I inform him, and rise from the sofa to greet the woman who seems intent on stealing my dad’s heart. That’s how it feels, anyway.
“You must be Jolene,” I say as my dad opens the door. The woman standing there isn’t wearing purple satin and fishnets the way she was for the tea dance; in fact, she looks very normal, dressed in jeans and a fleece, her curly hair tucked behind her ears.
“And you must be Abby,” she says with a warm smile. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.”
Wait, finally? How long has this been going on? My smile slips a notch as we shake hands, and Josh comes over to offer his own introduction.
“So, are you from this area, Jolene?” I ask, and she exchanges a quick, amused glance with my dad; clearly, I’m acting like a parent with a teenager rather than a daughter with a septuagenarian dad.
“I’m from Charleston originally,” she says, which my dad had already told me, “but I moved out here when my husband retired. He died three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
She glances again at my dad. “It happens, but thank you. I’m sorry for the loss of your mom.”
I know it makes sense for her to know about that, but I still stiffen just a little. “Thank you.”
A jangle of the keys to indicate our conversation is over, and Jolene glances at my dad once more. “Shall we get going?”
“Absolutely,” my dad says.
Josh and I watch, both of us bemused, as my dad and Jolene head off into the evening together.
“When will you be home?” I blurt as they are heading down the walk.
Josh hisses, “Abby.”
All right, maybe that’s a step too far, but… my dad has Parkinson’s. Don’t I have a right to be concerned?
In any case, either they don’t hear us, or they choose not to reply. Slowly, Josh closes the door.
“Well,” he says.
I nod glumly. “Well.”
He peers at me, concerned. “Are you okay?”
“I guess.” I feel too jumbled up inside to explain to him that this isn’t just about my dad, but everyone and everything. How time passes, and kids grow up. And yet somehow I’m still having a baby.
It feels like some kind of paradox, but there we are.
“Hey,” William calls from the kitchen. “Where’s the tomato sauce? I can’t find it anywhere.”
“In the pantry, second shelf,” I call back. At least some things never change.