Page 120 of Courage, Dear Heart

The annoyed look in her eyes tells me she must have been talking to me for a while. That and the way I responded. What, instead of,yes, Mom.

“I asked, what do you think? I made it all clean and new for you.”

It’s clear by her tone that she’s expecting praise and for me to be happy. “It’s very . . .”

“Beige,” Jamie says.

My mother gasps, then drops to her knees in front of Jamie. “You’re talking.”

Jamie looks at me, eyes wide. I can hear his silent scream for help.

I finally step inside the room and pull my mother to her feet. “Yes, Mom. He’s talking a little.” I guide her outside the room and halfway down the hall. “Remember what the therapist said. Don’t make a big deal about it.”

She opens her mouth to protest.

I put a hand up and stop her. “Mom, a lot happened the last few days. Please listen to me on this. Do not call attention to it, do not create drama?—”

“I do not create drama,” she hisses.

“Mom, Jamie has been through a very traumatic experience. We both have. Please give us space and time to decompress. It’s all I’m asking. Please.” I hold my palms together in front of me.

Something in my voice or words may have finally reached her. Or maybe it’s my father carrying our suitcase up the stairs because she doesn’t fight me on it. She’s not happy, that’s clear from her expression, but she lets it go. For now, at least.

She nods once. “Dinner will be ready at six. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t.”

She passes my father without saying a word to him.

I try to take the suitcase from him. “Thanks, Dad, I can take it from here.”

My father peers down from the top of the stairs, watching until my mother is gone. Sets the suitcase on the floor and opens his arms, and I step into them. He hugs meand I revert to the little girl I once was, crying in my father’s arms after my mother scolded me for one thing or another.

“I missed you, Dad.”

He rubs my back. “I missed you, too.”

We stay like that for another minute before I pull back, wiping at the corners of my eyes. “I’ll never understand why you stay.” I’ve often wondered why he never left her. She’s not an easy person to love.

He shrugs. “That’s how she shows love.”

I want to roll my eyes, but I don’t. My father has been saying this my entire life. My mother’s constant worry and controlling attitude is how she shows love. I cup his face. “I wish she were a little more like you.”

He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “And I would not change a single thing about you.”

No one has ever said anything like this to me. And it’s in this moment that I understand why my father has always been the quiet and steady presence in my life. I think of all the times he stepped in between my mother and me and diverted, defused, distracted, all done in his calm and quiet way. All these years, he’s been the silent barrier that kept my mother from completely overrunning me.

SEVENTY

Elliott

I’mnervous as I walk into the conference room. I’m greeted with angry and anxious faces. Except for Mandy. She’s sitting in one of the chairs around the long conference table, swinging from side to side and grinning. Nikki is sitting next to her and biting her nails, eyes wide as she takes in the chaos. Their father, Uncle Patrick, looks confused as he tries to listen to Grandma’s attorneys. Three of them, all dressed in sharp, expensive suits, their Von Baer leather briefcases—which I know cost thousands of dollars—lying on the glass-top table.

Josh stands against the wall with his hands in his pockets, trying to look bored and unfazed, but the tick in his jaw betrays him. Standing next to him is his father, Uncle Michael, his lips pressed into a tight line.

A cacophony of whispers and voices makes it impossible to understand what anyone is saying. Except for my father.

He’s the loudest. “What is this charade? This is my office, my firm, and I won’t tolerate this disrespect.”His finger wags in the direction of the female attorney. Mrs. Bradshaw, one of grandma’s oldest friends and the head partner in her firm. Grandma brought in the big guns.

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