Read Online Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM) by Marie Sexton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marie Sexton
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fell between us. I almost laughed at how similar it was to something her son would do. “I’m glad you talked me into coming.”
“I’m glad too.”
She turned the bacon, continuing to avoid my eyes. “You were right last night, you know. I’ve been a terrible mother.” That wasn’t exactly what I’d said, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t think she wanted me to. “I can still remember the day I lost him.” She took the bacon out of the pan, laid it in even rows on paper towels. “He was twelve. I’d quit traveling with them by then.”
“Why?”
She put new slices of raw bacon into the skillet. “I hated coming to Europe. I always ended up feeling stupid. New York was the only place where Nicholas had friends—well, business acquaintances, really—who were as crude as I was, so when he offered to let me leave, I moved there. But whenever the two of them came back from Europe, they’d stop in for a few days, and we’d pretend to be a family.”
Cole still stopped in New York on his way home from Europe, more often than not, although he rarely stayed in the city. “I see.”
“I’d been out partying the night before. I’m not proud of that, but it’s what I did back then. A lot. They’d just come home from Rome, and Cole was absolutely ecstatic about it. He couldn’t stop talking about the Coliseum and the Forum. He had this book with overlays that showed how it was back then compared to now, and he was trying to show it to me. But I was fighting with Nicky. You know how you do that, when they’re little? You’re fighting right over their heads, but you’re trying not to let them know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, Cole kept trying to get my attention, saying, ‘Mom, look at this,’ and then….” She shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly how it came about, because I was so focused on his father. But suddenly Cole said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand.’ And I turned to him, and I said, ‘Darling, it’s not that I don’t understand. It’s that I just don’t care.’” She shook her head and reached up to wipe her eyes. I hadn’t realized she was crying. There had been nothing in her voice to give it away. “And I’ll never forget the expression on his face. It was like I’d slapped him. He just crumpled. He didn’t cry—I’m sure he thought he was too old for that—but he ran off. And still, I thought, he’ll get over it. But they left again that night, and later, I found that book buried in the trash. He’d ripped the pages out of it, and all I could think of was him being so hurt.”
“Why didn’t you call him? Why didn’t you tell him you were sorry?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I told myself he was only being a kid, that he’d get over it.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I didn’t see him again for almost eight months, and by then, he could barely look at me. He refused to hug me. He—” This time her voice did break. She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.
I stayed where I was, watching her, imagining the man I knew as the boy he’d once been. A boy whose excitement had been crushed, who had secretly slipped his treasure into the garbage can because it had become a symbol of his inadequacy. “The bacon’s burning.”
She shoved the skillet off of the burner and turned the knob to the off position. I didn’t feel like eating. I suspected she didn’t either.
The thing was, I understood how it could have happened. I could remember times I’d snapped at Jon when he was small. Times I’d asked him to please, for the love of God, just stop talking for five minutes straight. I’d once told him that I’d rather listen to yowling cats than hear him sing. I hadn’t meant it. Like so many parents, I’d only wanted a moment of silence, but I realized six weeks later that he’d quit singing altogether. The difference was, I’d been there to realize my mistake, even if it took longer than it should have. I was able to
“I’m glad too.”
She turned the bacon, continuing to avoid my eyes. “You were right last night, you know. I’ve been a terrible mother.” That wasn’t exactly what I’d said, but I didn’t argue. I didn’t think she wanted me to. “I can still remember the day I lost him.” She took the bacon out of the pan, laid it in even rows on paper towels. “He was twelve. I’d quit traveling with them by then.”
“Why?”
She put new slices of raw bacon into the skillet. “I hated coming to Europe. I always ended up feeling stupid. New York was the only place where Nicholas had friends—well, business acquaintances, really—who were as crude as I was, so when he offered to let me leave, I moved there. But whenever the two of them came back from Europe, they’d stop in for a few days, and we’d pretend to be a family.”
Cole still stopped in New York on his way home from Europe, more often than not, although he rarely stayed in the city. “I see.”
“I’d been out partying the night before. I’m not proud of that, but it’s what I did back then. A lot. They’d just come home from Rome, and Cole was absolutely ecstatic about it. He couldn’t stop talking about the Coliseum and the Forum. He had this book with overlays that showed how it was back then compared to now, and he was trying to show it to me. But I was fighting with Nicky. You know how you do that, when they’re little? You’re fighting right over their heads, but you’re trying not to let them know?”
“Yes, I know.”
“Well, Cole kept trying to get my attention, saying, ‘Mom, look at this,’ and then….” She shook her head. “I don’t remember exactly how it came about, because I was so focused on his father. But suddenly Cole said, ‘Mom, you don’t understand.’ And I turned to him, and I said, ‘Darling, it’s not that I don’t understand. It’s that I just don’t care.’” She shook her head and reached up to wipe her eyes. I hadn’t realized she was crying. There had been nothing in her voice to give it away. “And I’ll never forget the expression on his face. It was like I’d slapped him. He just crumpled. He didn’t cry—I’m sure he thought he was too old for that—but he ran off. And still, I thought, he’ll get over it. But they left again that night, and later, I found that book buried in the trash. He’d ripped the pages out of it, and all I could think of was him being so hurt.”
“Why didn’t you call him? Why didn’t you tell him you were sorry?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I told myself he was only being a kid, that he’d get over it.”
“But he didn’t.”
“I didn’t see him again for almost eight months, and by then, he could barely look at me. He refused to hug me. He—” This time her voice did break. She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.
I stayed where I was, watching her, imagining the man I knew as the boy he’d once been. A boy whose excitement had been crushed, who had secretly slipped his treasure into the garbage can because it had become a symbol of his inadequacy. “The bacon’s burning.”
She shoved the skillet off of the burner and turned the knob to the off position. I didn’t feel like eating. I suspected she didn’t either.
The thing was, I understood how it could have happened. I could remember times I’d snapped at Jon when he was small. Times I’d asked him to please, for the love of God, just stop talking for five minutes straight. I’d once told him that I’d rather listen to yowling cats than hear him sing. I hadn’t meant it. Like so many parents, I’d only wanted a moment of silence, but I realized six weeks later that he’d quit singing altogether. The difference was, I’d been there to realize my mistake, even if it took longer than it should have. I was able to
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