Page 57 of Shame the Devil

This helplessness. It was killing him. “She shouldn’t have left,” he told her. “Or not like that. She should’ve gotten a divorce, so she could’ve taken you. I don’t know why she didn’t, but it wasn’t you. I know that for sure. She loved you.”

“Then why did she only send postcards?” she asked. “Why didn’t she come back and visit, even? I keep thinking … if we knew where she was, I could ask to live with her. They’d have to let me do that. She’s my mom.”

“You want me to see if I can find her? See if we could get her permission for you to leave? Or to be an … emancipated minor, or whatever you call it?” He didn’t want to think about it, much less to do it. He had no desire to see his mom. Or he was afraid of what he’d say when he did.

He didn’t want to hate anybody. He didn’t want to hurt anybody. He didn’t want to be his dad.

“Do you think you can?” Annbelle asked.

“I can try,” he said. “I can hire somebody to look, anyway.”

“OK,” she said.

“Go back to bed,” he said. “It’s too cold. I’ll call Alison. And, Bug?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Another promise he might not be able to keep.

Another phone call. Alison, this time. She said, “Harlan? Why are you calling so late? Oh, geez, I forgot your birthday. Sorry. Mattie’s been sick, and …” Sounding distracted, as usual. Two kids. Job. Husband. And not enough closeness. They were scattered to the four winds, his siblings. There wasn’t any glue to hold them together.

“No worries,” he said.

“Your season’s over, I guess,” she said. “So are you someplace warm?”

“Nope,” he said. “And, yeah, it’s over.”

“I did know that,” she said. “With the Super Bowl today, and you not being in it, because you dropped that pass.”

Well, that was sensitive. Did people really think you didn’t care? That the money was enough to insulate you? All he said, though, was, “Yep. But that isn’t why I’m calling. Listen, Annabelle’s having a pretty rough time at home with Dad. We’re trying to figure out something better for her. He doesn’t want her to come live with me. I thought maybe you could work something out.”

“What?” He could imagine her, sitting on the edge of her bed the same way he was doing, her mind full of those to-do lists Jennifer had talked about. “What kind of something?”

He sighed. “That she could come live with you. Just until the end of summer. Until she’s eighteen, in September. After that, I’ll take her.”

“Are you kidding?” She laughed, short and sharp. “Yeah, let’s just add that. Harlan, to tell the truth, I barelyknowher anymore. It’s been six years since I left. Do you know what that was like, having to come home every day after school to take care of her? All summer vacation? Never to get to have my own life? I’m sorry it’s hard, but I know exactly what it’s like for her, because I already did it. Except thatshegets to play sports and have friends and be anywhere but home. And you want me to do this again? Seriously?”

“She’s great,” he said. “A great kid. And I could help out.”

“How?”

“Whatever you need. Housekeeper. Babysitter. Also, Annabelle cooks, and I’ll bet she cleans, too. She might be more help than trouble.” He didn’t suggest money. He didn’t know his brother-in-law that well, but from what he knew … He didn’t suggest money.

She said, “Hang on.” Some crosstalk happening, and then, after thirty seconds or so, Alison back on the line, saying, “Steve says, hell, no.”

“To which thing?” He tried to joke, even though he’d never felt less like joking. “Annabelle, or the extra help?”

“Annabelle,” she said. “I’m sorry, Harlan, but … I can’t. Even if Dad would let her, I just can’t. I don’t have room. We only have three bedrooms and one and a half baths as it is, and I’ve got so much on me right now.” The background noise faded, he heard a door shut, and she said more quietly, “It’s a little hard at the moment. Steve and me. I just … I can’t. For seven months? He’d leave.”

He paused a minute. He wanted to say,If he’d leave because you had to help your sister for a few months, he’s not worth keeping,but he couldn’t. It was her marriage. It was her life. Instead, he said, “What can I do?”

“For me? Nothing. I’m all right. I’m fine.”

“He drinking?” he asked. Steve had gotten drunk at their wedding. Not that he was the first groom in history to do that, but still.

A hesitation, then, “Not really. It’s just that—I have to focus on my own stuff now. There’s nobody else to do it. And anyway, it’s not that long until she’s eighteen. We all made it. Annabelle doesn’t even have to wait until she graduates, thanks to you. Which makes me wonder—when did you get so concerned? Tell her the secret is, you get out and don’t look back. Like you did.”