Page 45 of Ardently Yours

Everybody Hurts

Arden

October 1, 1998

Ipace from mybedroom door to the window and back again, one hand rubbing the tension from the back of my neck, the other holding the cellphone I use to call Charlotte. “I never had any intention of raising my boys the way my parents did me. I’ve tried talking to him about his behavior. I’ve taken things away. Time-outs. I grounded him. It doesn’t make a dent. He’s too old and too intelligent to throw these tantrums like he’s a toddler.”

I sit on the edge of my bed, then decide to hell with it and let myself fall back against the blue velvet coverlet to stare at the tray ceiling above me. “If I knew what I was doing wrong, I’d fix it, but being more strict only backfires. I’d wonder if he wereplaying me, but if so, he’d be happy when he got his way, and he isn’t.”

I close my eyes on a slow blink then let it all out. “You already know about the battles we get into over his clothing. Two days ago he gagged andspithis food back onto his plate because his pasta was cooked too soft. This morning, he got angry at Gabriel for playing with a toy fire engine, threw a screaming fit, then ran up to his bedroom, laid on the floor beside his bed, and cried for twohours, Charlotte. He’s supposed to have outgrown these meltdowns. I tried to comfort him, but he was thrashing around over a toy. I ended up having to hold his hands down to keep him from hurting himself. I told him if he didn’t stop, then I was cancelling our trip to the planetarium. We all have to deal with things we don’t enjoy. If the noise from the truck bothered him, he could have just left the room, not thrown a tantrum.”

“You’re sure he wasn’t sick?”

I shake my head. “He’s always been like this. You hear about babies with colic, but Henry has to have set some kind of record his first six months. It’s his temperament.”

“He didn’t calm down when you held him or threatened to take away the planetarium visit?”

I scoff. “Not even a little. So we stayed home. In retaliation, he destroyed my late grandfather’s pocket watch.”

“Oh, no. How?”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I keep it on the mantel in my bedroom. When I walked into the room tonight, he was holding the mangled watch in his hand. I asked him why he broke it. The little smart-ass looked me right in the eye and said, 'It wasn't me.' Then he pointed at the fireplace and said, ‘I think the hearth broke it.’”

“Why did he say he was in your room?”

“He was leaving me a note explaining why I was unfair to take the trip away.”

“You’re sure he was the one who broke the watch?” Charlotte asks.

“He was on scene with the evidence in his hand. I took his toy and game privileges, sent him to his room, and told him to find me when he’s ready to tell the truth and apologize. He doubled down.”

“If he swears he didn’t do it, shouldn’t you give him the benefit of the doubt? Maybe he found it like that? Isn’t that circumstantial?”

“Yes. It’s also common sense.”

“Well, maybe you should give someone you love the benefit of the doubt and not be a freakinglawyerwith your own family.”

What the hell?I take a deep breath and attempt to keep my tone calm and rational, when, clearly, Charlotte is not. “I can’t ignore a blatant lie and property destruction. If he were an adult and did this to someone who called the police, given the value of the item, he’d be charged with a felony. That doesn’t even take into consideration that it was vindictive. It’s my job to teach him right from wrong. Why would you be upset that I gave him consequences?”

“Because I know what it’s like to tell the truth and be labeled a liar. It leaves a cut that never heals. From everything you’ve ever said, Henry is painfully literal and honest about everything. You told me he puts himself in time-out when he feels guilty. So if there’s even the tiniest chance you’re wrong, don’t betray him, Arden. He needs to know he can trust you.”

I lay there. Speechless. Torn. I have to teach him accountability. The evidence is damning. But if I’m wrong . . .

“Arden? Can I be honest with you?”

“Always,” I say.

“I think you should take Henry to see a psychologist. Maybe a neuropsychiatrist?”

Silence descends between us, hot and sticky, as the breaths saw in and out of my lungs.

She takes a slow, audible breath. “I think a professional could help you understand him, so you know how to help him. There’s something going on there. I know you haven’t spent much time around kids other than Gabriel and Henry, but I grew up surrounded by cousins, and now I have my nieces and nephews. I’ve seen kids who are spoiled, and the things you’ve told me over the years about Henry don’t sound like a discipline issue to me.”

“What do you think is his issue?” In my head, the sentence was meant to sound calm and curious. What comes out sounds like worry wrapped in befuddlement.

“I couldn’t say, because I’m not a doctor,” she says patiently.

“But you have a guess.” The words are practically a growl.

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