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seventeen f

Charlotte

T om and Elaine were even more restrictive about my phone contact with the children in Charlotte than they were in Bridgeport.

“The kids need to get adjusted to their new home. Write them letters but please don’t call so much,” Elaine said.

“You’re pushing them away from me. That’s not what we agreed to,” I replied.

“No, Ava. You’re distracting them from school and their new friends. I’ll make sure they answer all your letters. Come down for Christmas. We’ll find a hotel room for you so you can celebrate the holiday with them,” Elaine said.

“Put Tom on.”

I heard shuffling and muffled conversation before Tom picked up the phone.

“You make them upset and confused, Ava. They cry after you call. Me ’n Elaine just want them to be happy. They’re not happy with you.”

“You’re a liar, Tom Harrison.”

“Prove it. Take me to court.”

“But—”

The drone of a dial tone told me I’d lost the battle.

w

Jack offered to accompany me to Charlotte, but I felt if I could spend time alone with Tommy and Lee, I could win back their affection. I called once I got settled at the Holiday Inn.

“I thought the boys could spend Christmas Eve with me at the hotel. Then Christmas Day we could be together as an extended family,” I said.

“That won’t work,” Tom said.

I practically screamed into the phone. “I drove six hundred miles to be with them! I took a week off from work! What happened to our agreement?”

“We’re spendin’ the day with Elaine’s parents. You’ll see ’em the day after Christmas.” Tom kept his voice level.

“Thanks a pant load.” I hated the sarcasm in my voice. “And what about after that?”

“We’re takin’ a family trip to Savannah,” Tom said.

“I’m family!” I screamed.

“Not this family.”

This time I slammed down the phone.

Once my tears dried, I showered, applied fresh makeup, and went downstairs to the hotel bar. After two shots of tequila, I felt my shoulders relax. I even smiled at the bartender.

“Yer a purty li’l thing once ya smile,” the bartender said.

“Thanks. I’ll smile a whole lot more after one more shot,” I replied.

“A gal who knows what she wants. I like that. Name’s Glen. What’s yers?”

“Ava.”

“Visitin’ family for the holiday?” Glen asked.

“You might say that. Now, how about that shot of tequila?”

“On me.” Glen kept the bottle close by.

Glen continued to flirt, and I continued to drink. From experience, I knew better than to go home with a customer, a lesson he had yet to learn. Before it got out of hand, I paid my check, left a substantial tip, and took the elevator back to my room.

I woke Christmas Eve morning with a nasty hangover. I swallowed two Tylenol, ordered French toast and a Bloody Mary from room service, and steeled myself for what I expected to be the saddest holiday of my life.

For the next thirty hours I drank, slept, watched TV, and cried. I sobered up Christmas evening, knowing I’d need a clear head when I saw Tommy and Lee the next day.

I couldn’t believe how much the two of them had grown in just a few months. Tommy was becoming a young man, and Lee was no longer my little baby. They opened their presents in my room, then we went downstairs for lunch. I’d planned to take them to a nice restaurant for dinner, but Tommy informed me they were expected home by five o’clock.

Tom and Elaine’s Charlotte home was set on a wooded lot in an upper-middle-class suburb. Holiday decorations sparkled outside the houses. Kids rode new bikes along the quiet streets. The boys jumped out as soon as I pulled to the curb.

“Bye,” Tommy said. “Thanks for the gifts.”

“Bye, Mommy,” Lee said.

“Wait. Where’s my kiss?”

Tommy forced himself to kiss me. Lee’s kiss was more sincere, but even he pulled away from me.

Tom and Elaine stood on the front step. My children ran up the sidewalk into their embrace. Elaine waved. Tom’s glare warned me not to come closer. As I drove away, I wondered if the neighbors knew the lies spun behind Tom’s brick walls.

My tears bent the late-afternoon sunshine, creating trails of gold that nearly blinded me. At the end of Tom’s street, I pulled to the curb and sat in my car for what seemed like hours. Curious vehicles slowed to stare; a few concerned faces connected with me before moving on.

It was at that moment I admitted total defeat. I’d never see the sprouting of their first whiskers, never watch them play baseball, never meet their girlfriends. I’d fade from their memories, from their plush suburban world.

I stopped at the bar at the Holiday Inn, hoping to see Glen’s friendly face. Instead, an older woman behind the bar slapped a drink in front of me and went back to her conversation with another customer.