Blind Acorn Page 3

  We used to spend evenings in companionable silence. There was a time when I was proud of us for that. But I was beginning to feel that there was more silence than companionship between us now. Sometimes life’s noises interrupted; sometimes I thought the silence was simply boredom. Either way, I missed the easy silences.

  Nine

  It was eleven-thirty on a late April night, and I vacillated between being livid and being worried to death. Lucy was only fifteen and had left with her new friend, Thorn, hours earlier. She’d been told to be home by ten and usually complied with those rules, but not tonight. I had not liked Thorn to begin with, and this was not adding to her appeal.

  Lucy came home from school and went immediately to her room. That was nothing unusual. Like most self-respecting teens, she knew everything she needed to know and had no need for supervision. She was a remarkable young woman in many ways —and voiced her wish to be emancipated from her parents on many occasions. Poor thing, we were not ready to let her go, it seemed.

  I, in particular, held a different opinion about her ability to navigate life on her own and was unready to relinquish my parental responsibility. Not yet, to Lucy’s dismay. And I worried about her. Her grades were always average, and she was never a joiner. I knew that she didn’t enjoy school and belonged to no clubs or organized groups. Except the band. Lucy did like all kinds of music and had been in the school band since day one. But that seemed to be her sole interest these days.

  Hours earlier, a loud vehicle had pulled up at the curb before the house and sat running as Lucy tried to slip out of the house. I witnessed the attempted escape and stepped in front of the door, blocking her exit. Hand on her hip, Lucy glared and demanded, “Look. I’m going out for a while. I’m not a prisoner here. Or am I?”

  Calmly, I replied, “No, you’re not a prisoner. So, stop acting like one. Talk to me. Where are you going? And who is driving that monstrosity out there?” I tried not to sound too challenging, but it was difficult.

  “My friend is driving and we’re just going out to see who’s around tonight.” She shifted her weight to her other foot, ready to break for the door.

  “Uh huh, okay. But I’ll feel a lot better if I at least know who you’re with. Which friend? Anyone I know?”

  “No,” but Lucy didn’t say anything more.

  “Then I’d like to meet him or her.” Turning her by the shoulders toward the windows at the front of the house, I said, “Wave them in, Lucy. I want to know who you’re with.” It wasn’t a request.

  “This is unbelievable!” Lucy muttered, but she did as she was instructed. Moments later, the car was silenced and we both waited. Finally, a shadow appeared at the door, but no knock or doorbell sounded. I walked over and opened it.

  “Please come in.” I tried to be pleasant, I really did, but the figure at the door looked so sullen, bordering on angry. She was attired entirely in black, with heavy black eye makeup. Skin pasty white, as if she never saw the light of day. No smile. No extended hand. Defiance in her eyes. She just stood on the outside of the door and waited. Well, I can wait, too, I thought.

  At last, heavy black work boots stepped through the opening, but just barely. The door behind her rested on her back rather than clicking closed. I could see tattoos sneaking out her sleeves and up her neck. There were pieces of metal in her nose and eyebrows; interestingly, there were none in her ears.

  I drew a breath and extended my hand. “I’m Trinity Barrett, Lucy’s mom. I don’t think we’ve met yet.” My questioning eyes skipped back and forth between the two of them.

  Unable to tolerate the silence any longer, and knowing that her mother was unlikely to yield, Lucy finally said, “This is my friend, Thorn.” And Thorn briefly accepted my hand.

  Mother of— seriously? Way to make a statement! I thought. But I spoke softly and tried to sound friendly. “It’s nice to meet you … Thorn. You two have fun and, Lucy, I expect you back by ten, right? School night.”

  They left, and I began to worry. That is one seriously unhappy kid, I thought to myself. And I was an unhappy mom at the thought of my daughter spending time with that unhappiness. Whatever had happened to my smiling daughter? She’d been full of light and sweetness, what, like two weeks ago. Okay, maybe it was more like two years ago. Where had she gone? She was so touchy lately that I would have to be careful about how I talked to her about this even when I could. All I knew was that I would definitely find a way to have that conversation, but not tonight. When she came home and was unharmed, I would be too furious to trust myself to do that. This thought was followed immediately by a noisy muffler in the driveway. I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter, waiting for the source of my anger to brush past me on the way up to her room.

  “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” I said quietly.

  “I’m sure we will,” she answered from the stairway with a smirk.

  I bit my tongue and stayed in the kitchen long after I heard her bedroom door close behind her. I wondered if it was too late for the treadmill.

  In the morning, we all went about our usual routines. Again, I was the last one out the door and I envied the house its quiet when we’d all gone. I hoped that it would enjoy its day, expecting that it would witness fireworks when Lucy and I got together later.

  By the time I got home from work, everyone else was already there. Mitch was in the kitchen trying to decide what to grill for dinner and the kids were in their respective rooms. I changed quickly and joined Mitch to help out in the kitchen. As I spread cubes of potato on a roasting tray, Lucy swept past me, looking for something with increasing panic.

  “Have you seen my geometry book?” She asked pleadingly, as if I’d produce it if she begged.

  “No, I haven’t. But I’m glad you’re here because I want to talk I to you about last night.” Mitch was outside tending to the grill and Dylan was still in his room, so I thought this would be a good time for a brief conversation clarifying my expectations with her.

  “Not now, Mom! Can’t you see that I’m frantic? I need that book. Tomorrow’s test is, like, the biggest part of my grade for the year and I need to do really well or—I just need that book!”

  “I can see that. Maybe,” I said, “you can understand how frantic I was last night. We need to reestablish some ground rules.”

  “Fine, Mom. Whatever. Now will you help me find that book or not?”

  “Lucy, sit down.” She completely ignored me. “Sit down!” I was increasingly emphatic, and she finally heard me and thumped into a chair with a loud sigh. “I know,” I continued, “that you have something else on your mind right now and I’m sorry that it isn’t convenient for you, but you need to hear me. There is no excuse for your disregard of the rules last night. No matter what happened, you could have called. You should have let me know. And if you just weren’t paying attention to the time, well that’s just as bad.”

  She inspected her nails as I spoke and continued to do so in silence when I’d finished.

  “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” Yikes! I sound like my mother! I thought.

  She finally looked up at me. With surprising calm, she said, “I was a little late getting home. Not the end of the world. I think we’ll all manage to survive the tragedy. Now can I go find my geometry book?”

  “No. Not yet.” I was not getting through to her. “Lucy, you were more than a little late. And you left here in that car that sounded like it might not make it out of the driveway with that surly young woman I’d never met before. I had every reason to worry and you would know that if you thought about someone else for a change!”

  She nodded her head. “And there it is. Your real problem is Thorn. You don’t like her and therefore, in your opinion, I shouldn’t either. Well, guess what? I do like her. She’s my friend and she listens to me. She’s a lot more fun to be with than you are! And you wonder why I’d rather be w
ith her than get back to you on time?” She laughed at the thought.

  “I didn’t say I don’t like her. I don’t even know her.” Although I said those words, I didn’t like her and hoped she wouldn’t be around long enough for me to get to know her.

  Lucy laughed again. “You didn’t have to say it, Mom! It was perfectly clear! So, I guess you think it’s reasonable to punish me for my choice of friends, now.”

  “Lucy, I didn’t say anything about punishment. I’m trying to treat you like an adult, as difficult as you make that. I’d just like you to acknowledge that what you did was thoughtless, and I’d like to know that it won’t happen again. It has nothing to do with Thorn. It’s between you and me.”

  “Right. Sure. Okay. I was thoughtless, it won’t happen again. Now can I go find my geometry book?”

  The door snapped shut behind Mitch as he came in from the patio. “Geometry book? I saw a geometry book in the sunroom last night,” he offered. She high fived him as she rushed toward the sunroom.

  “Your timing,” I said to Mitch with acid in my voice, “is impeccable.” How could you not see the dynamic between us when you walked in? Are you really so oblivious? I thought, but didn’t say.

  “I don’t know what you’re upset about, but why do I feel like I did something wrong?” he sounded more surprised than annoyed, but I didn’t try to explain. With a sigh, he went back out to the grill.

  I picked up my knife and went back to the potatoes, wondering exactly why I was so angry with him. My discontent with my life was isolating. Was I blaming Mitch for it? Did I like it this way?

  Ten

  It began to seem like a reasonable idea. Gina and I had been friends since kindergarten. What could go wrong?

  Well, in retrospect, maybe we should have thought it through a little better. Maybe.

  Gina and I both grew up in large families. We both knew the value of personal space before it became a thing. That apartment for rent reminded me of the neighborhood in which we lived as kids, which made it seem less like an adventure and more like something old and familiar.

  After we had lunch the day I told her about it, Gina emailed me with an offer. She said that, if I was interested, she’d consider sharing the rental with me. Her offer further piqued my interest, since it would make it doable, at least financially. And, despite my denials about the possibility, I had to admit that I really would love my own space. I thought of it as a workshop in which I’d work on myself.

  Before we even got together again, I had convinced myself that I could easily pay my share. I had a small inheritance from some years back. Mitch and I agreed that I’d put it away and we’d plan a nice trip for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. That date was still a few years away and I had never touched the money. I thought that if I was in a better mental, spiritual, emotional place by the time it came around, that would be a good thing. We’d have a little less to spend, but wouldn’t it be worth it?

  So, we talked about it and convinced each other that it was a good idea. We’d always been good at that, Gina and I. When one of us needed something to be a good idea, the other knew how to make it so. Whether it was true or not. And when we both needed it to be a good idea, well there was no stopping us.

  I called the number from the sign and learned that the apartment was still available, and we could see it as soon as we wanted. The rent was reasonable and included utilities. So, we went there that afternoon on the way home from work. Gina had not even seen the neighborhood yet. That probably didn’t matter much; we weren’t doing this for the community experience. We were looking for private space without the world’s intrusions. If that sounds selfish and antisocial, I suppose I couldn’t really make an argument otherwise.

  The rental agent met us there and showed us the apartment. It was on the second floor and we reached it via a worn and dim stairway, with a single bare lightbulb at the top of the stairs. Inside, there were two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a large living room. A tiny bathroom was almost hidden off the kitchen. The agent didn’t show the slightest interest in us beyond our money. I’d expected some inquiries about what we were doing, but there were none. We appeared to be willing and able to pay the rent, and credit checks confirmed that, so the place was ours.

  We would rent the apartment and share the cost. We’d furnish as each saw fit, knowing that neither of us was prone to excess. And we’d each have a private space in a bedroom. The rest was common area, available to both of us. We agreed to a schedule of days we’d each use it. We somehow avoided discussing how we’d each use it, except that we agreed not to be there together. The entire plan came together much more easily than I’d expected, further validating the idea in my mind.

  Eleven

  It was thrilling to stand in the empty apartment and listen to myself breathe. There were no other sounds. Sun streamed in through a south-facing window and dust motes floated lazily in it. That’s all there was in the room —me and the dust. And it felt good, exciting.

  I sat on the floor in the living room, leaning against the wall I imagined would back the sofa. The room was painted a very neutral shade of gray. A handful of shapes on the walls suggested that the faded color had originally been a couple of shades deeper. Maybe a red sofa. Something bright, colorful. With big pillows and a cozy throw, inviting me to curl up with a good book and a cup of tea. You’re imagining a movie set, I laughed to myself.

  The wood floors were old and scarred. What stories they could tell! I thought. I loved the idea of adding my own story to their memory, even though I didn’t really plan anything exciting here. I just wanted peace and quiet and air. Space and time to breathe. That’s all. Well, I also hoped to find some answers.

  I rose and wandered slowly from room to room. The bedrooms were small, papered in identical ribbon-striped wallpaper. Gina and I had agreed that we’d each take one. Private space kept only to ourselves. No trespassing. Did I ever have space like that? Unshared, all mine? I couldn’t remember a time. I wondered why it mattered so much, but I found that I was excited at the prospect of having it now.

  I couldn’t imagine what I’d actually put in my own room. I didn’t plan to sleep here, so bedroom furniture didn’t seem appropriate. But what else do you put in a bedroom? Maybe I’d think of it as a den, instead of a bedroom. A desk! I could put a desk in here, I thought to myself. Maybe I’d keep fresh flowers in a pretty antique vase on my new desk, also an antique. Brass knobs on the drawers. Maybe a hinged top. I’d need to look for a chair as soon as I found that desk.

  The kitchen had a linoleum floor and countertops, worn through in some places. The pattern was an assemblage of tile designs in shades of brown and yellow. Not especially attractive, but serviceable. Old appliances sat in nooks in the counters. They didn’t match, the refrigerator that yellow gold color popular in another lifetime and the stove a grayish white. As long as they worked, it didn’t matter, though. I lit each of the burners on the stove and found that one, in fact, did not work. But three would be enough. I doubted that Gina planned to cook any more than I did.

  I looked through the kitchen cabinets and found that some partially used containers of cleaning products had been left behind by the previous tenant. A rubber glove from which the thumb had been removed. A rusty wrench. A frying pan that looked like it might be older than I was. Nothing more.

  I began to wonder about furniture that had been relegated to our basement. Maybe I could manage to get a few pieces out of there without being noticed. There was that tiny dinette set that used to sit at one end of the porch before we enclosed it and redecorated. That might fit in here. We also had an ever-growing collection of mismatched lamps and plant stands. Not much else that I thought I could carry out, though. I’d need to make the rounds of the furniture consignment stores when I had time.

  Grime streaked the windows, and there was the dust, suggesting that a good cleaning was the first step to maki
ng this place comfortable. I opened the refrigerator and wrinkled my nose, although it didn’t really smell all that bad. Mostly that empty refrigerator smell. Baking soda would take care of it. The counters could use a good scrubbing, too. The bathroom needed rubber gloves and bleach. It was all doable, but on another day.

  Now that I had the space, I found that I wasn’t at all sure what to do with it. Other than clean it. And furnish it. But what were the questions that needed answers? And why did I think I’d find any of them here? What on earth did I think I was doing? More than anything else, I was feeling guilty. And the guilt made me feel defensive and self-protective. Suddenly, it wasn’t going at all as I’d planned. What had I planned? I realized that I hadn’t planned anything at all beyond the acquisition. What next? But I couldn’t think any more about it now. I hadn’t much time and still had to drop the second key at Gina’s office.

  Twelve

  “Yes,” I said as patiently as possible, “yes, I understand how these things can happen. I just wanted to let you know about it, that’s all. For the people who won’t get milk today, it’ll be a big deal. Thanks again.” And I hung up. It didn’t matter, in the end. We still didn’t have enough milk, no matter that they promised to make up for it in tomorrow’s delivery. Many of our diners brought the milk home with them after lunch. I suspect it was used on cereal or in coffee, making for one less thing for them to have to buy. They counted on it.

  Well, I thought, if that’s the worst thing that happens today, it isn’t so bad. But I didn’t like thinking that there was an acceptable level of bad. I’m enough of a perfectionist to want everything fixed. It will never happen, and I remind myself often that maybe that isn’t so awful.