Things We Didn't Say_ A Novel - Kristina Riggle [3]
“Yeah, sure,” Michael says, roused from his work trance where he was mentally rehearsing his day. “Angel, I’ll take you, too, as long as I’m driving.” With a nod but no words, Dylan trots up the stairs, probably to fetch his saxophone.
Angel hops up from her chair. “Thanks, Daddy.”
In the bustle of bags and coats, I retreat to the corner of the kitchen. It’s too small for all of us in here.
Michael sweeps by me and tries to land a kiss on my cheek. He misses, and is propelled out the door by the momentum of his kids coming up behind him. Dylan says nothing on his way by.
Angel says, “Bye, Casey. I hope you enjoy this nice quiet house today, all by yourself.”
She’s turned away from me as she says that, so I can’t see her face.
How much did she read?
“Casey? Can I go watch cartoons now?”
“Sure, J. Go ahead.”
I pick up her bowl and Dylan’s Pop-Tart plate. Jewel wraps her arms around my waist, her nose buried in my belly. By the time I put the dishes back down to return the hug, she has fled to the living room to turn on SpongeBob SquarePants.
In the emptiness of the kitchen throbs the jagged emptiness in my chest, steadily growing in recent months, which I’ve tried to ignore but no longer can. It’s where hope briefly flickered, in the days when Michael still kissed me before he left, without fail, busy morning be damned.
I take a two-minute shower because all the hot water is gone, and when I go back downstairs, Jewel’s face is in a book called A Kid’s Guide to Positive Thinking. She has pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose to read, stretched out flat on the couch, the book propped on her chest. The TV still blares, but she won’t turn it off, even while reading. Being the youngest in a house this full, she’s been steeped in noise since the womb.
“Hey, Jewel?”
No response.
“Jewel!”
“Yeah?” she says into the pages of her book.
“Ally’s mom is going to pick you up from Girl Scouts today.”
“Why?”
“Something came up I have to do,” I tell her, my voice catching a little, so I cough.
With no second car, I usually walk up to meet Jewel at the school cafeteria, where Girl Scouts meets. But if the weather’s bad, or I’m sick, I impose on one of the other parents. And they do let me know that I impose.
I top off my coffee, and at the kitchen phone, I dial up Ally’s mom, who agrees to bring Jewel home but advertises her annoyance with heavy sighs and a long pause to check her daily planner. Once while waiting to pick up Jewel I overhard her explaining to another mom: “She’s not the stepmother. The father’s girlfriend,” with so much stress on girl you’d think I was fourteen years old instead of twenty-six. That’s not so much younger than Michael, really. If we were forty and fifty, no one would even blink.
I could look older if I dressed more like the other mothers, but I’m comfortable in my baggy thrift-store Levi’s with my hair in a ponytail.
Not that it will much matter after today.
I check the schedule, and Dylan and Angel both have practices today: sax for him, school play for her, and they both have rides. Michael should be home on time, unless there’s breaking news, but in any case, Angel and Dylan will be home when Jewel gets dropped off from Girl Scouts.
So. They’re all taken care of.
I put Jewel on the bus with a wave. She doesn’t go for a hug this time, and I turn away quickly so she can’t see the wetness in my lashes. I wait until I’m back inside the house to wipe it away.
I sit down at my desk and hesitate in front of the blank paper. From here, I can see the houses across the street: tall and narrow turn-of-the-century homes nestled together like children sharing a bed. Most are in muted colors, the occasional fanciful pastel. One, across and to my left, is electric green.
I used to so much