Chapter Eleven Lillian #2
“Rosalynn finished her homework early, so they’re watching a couple of movies.” I was tempted to tear into the bag of Skittles now, but lunch waited. Money had been tight for too long when I was growing up for me to waste food.
“What else? Because something’s got you irritated.” He waited until I sat before taking his place at the picnic table.
“There’s a price to pay for my mother’s help, and that fee is always listening to her advice.” I scooped our cups through the ice in the chest, then filled them with sweet tea.
“That’s nothing new,” he said dryly before tearing into a fried chicken leg.
“It’s just more irritating lately. She says Rosalynn needs a service dog.”
“Huh . . .” His forehead furrowed.
“Yep, a service dog. I can see her point, but I don’t need anything more on my plate.
” My heart squeezed, and I looked down to keep my eyes from tearing up.
A robin foraged along the ground for a worm.
“If a service dog would help her, I realize I should consider it. But for some reason, I’m resistant, which makes me feel guilty for not being able to loosen control . . .”
I paused, sneaking a glance at him through my lashes. My need to oversee details had only increased since Rosalynn’s accident, a frequent point of contention in our arguments.
“Cut yourself some slack,” he said in a surprising break from our past interactions.
“I hear service animals require a lot of training. I don’t know that a thirteen-year-old could keep their skills up to speed without a boatload of support from everyone else in the house.
” He added four deviled eggs to his plate.
His favorites. I’d stayed up late making them for him in hope of easing the day. Like he’d done with the Skittles.
“That’s what I was thinking. And would the organizations that train these dogs even place one with someone as young as Rosalynn?
How do I figure out what group is legit and which ones will scam us?
Even though this proposed legislation mentions service dog access, how do we know that would even stay in the final bill?
We would have this highly trained animal that we couldn’t take out in public spaces. ”
“We can talk to the physical therapist—”
“That’s easy for you to say since I’ll be the one cleaning up after the animal since you’re moving out.”
He quirked an eyebrow at me before he went back to twisting open the jar of peaches. “This isn’t something we need to solve today.”
Was he making a dig at me for being a control freak? He’d done so in the past. “I guess you’re right,” I said even though my frustration grew. “I’m getting ahead of myself.”
Grady rested a tanned hand over mine on the splintery table. “I know we disagree on a lot of things when it comes to Rosalynn’s care. But I do see how hard you work to give our daughter everything she needs.”
I decided to overlook the part of his words that noted the disagreements, since those would be a tough third passenger riding along with us.
“From what I’ve heard, Grady, there aren’t even many service dogs available.
” It took everything in me not to flip my hand over and link fingers with him as I would have done in the past. Besides, I already knew that kind of gesture was just a stopgap until our next big argument.
“I wouldn’t want to take one from someone who needs it more. We are here for our daughter.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I thought the idea would be to give Rosalynn more independence. Especially as she gets older and wants to go places alone with her friends. Or out on a date. What about when she goes to college?”
My insides chilled.
I pulled my hand from under his and busied myself with dishing up a spoonful of peaches for each of us, instinctively knowing what size helping he would prefer.
I tried not to consider how much of my life I’d invested in thinking about this man’s preferences and needs, only to have mine brushed aside.
Skittles notwithstanding. “Perhaps that would be the time to investigate.”
Although the prospect of her leaving home scared me all the way to my toes.
“I thought the whole purpose of this trip was to open options and opportunity for our daughter. Or are you just arguing because I’m the one who is bringing it up?”
I ground my teeth. “So much for talking to her physical therapist. Apparently, it’s already a done deal in your mind since you’re the one who gives in to her every request.”
Like how he’d bought her the latest albums from both Kylie Minogue and New Kids on the Block, even though he and I had agreed we would take her shopping together as a family treat after her exams. If Rosalynn got wind of the dog notion, of course she would want one before we could wade through the logistics.
Grady’s jaw went tight. “That’s a bit out of line, don’t you think? Besides, technically, the suggestion came from your mother.”
“Okay, fair enough,” I conceded, snagging a fork from the basket and spearing a peach quarter.
“Let’s take this discussion down a notch.
The last thing I want is to fly off the handle.
This trip is supposed to be about the two of us finding a middle ground for parenting Rosalynn . . . before we . . .”
“Tell her we’re divorced?” he said gently, before leaning forward, elbows on the table. “Or we could just live in the same house until she’s eighteen.”
His casual suggestion froze me mid-bite. I set my spoon down carefully and chewed the mouthful of syrupy-sweet peaches. Tree branches rustled overhead, stirred by the spring breeze sweeping away the remnants of winter. If only we could have had such a cleansing wind to revitalize our lives.
Grady’s throat moved in a slow swallow, his brown eyes darkening. Intense. Aware. “Lillian . . .”
His voice, more of a question, hung between us and I struggled for the right words, difficult to do when I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
A buzzing sounded in my ear an instant before . . .
The Frisbee landed in the middle of our table, snapping the thread between us. A flicker of frustration chased through Grady’s eyes before he scooped up the plastic disc and stood to fling it back to the teens.
Exhaling—hard—I snatched up my Skittles.
Forget about the sweetness of the peaches, because I needed a much stronger sugar hit before we waded into all the ways marriage had shattered my illusions.
All the times Grady had made me regret the day I’d put his ring on my finger.
He hadn’t been a violent drunk, but he had been so very cold, those walls growing thicker with each alcohol-drenched year.
“Grady, we should pack up and get back on the road,” I said, shoving to my feet and dusting myself off. If I was going to be labeled controlling, I might as well enjoy the perks of steering my own destiny. “My turn to drive.”