Learning to Hula. Lisa Childs
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know he’s not. Robbie hates camping, probably because of his asthma. The outdoors, campfire thing was never for him, and our family vacations were all spent in nice hotels.
“He must have new friends,” I say, “because he hasn’t spent much time with the ones he used to have.”
Like Claire, does he think he doesn’t need them? But I actually like Robbie’s friends. They’re sweet and shy like him, like he used to be.
“I’ll ask Jason,” Emma says. Jason is her stepson who’s in the same grade as Robbie, even though he’s a year older. Before she leaves the kitchen, she presses a card into my hand. “His cell phone number is on here. Call him.”
I open my fingers around the ivory paper. Deputy Westmoreland’s name and badge number are on the card, along with the number for the police department that I’ve already called. Someone has also written in his cell number. From the bold scrawl, I figure he wrote it down himself.
When did Emma get this? At the funeral? Had the deputy thought then that Robbie would be “at risk” just because his father had died? Now I’m mad at Westmoreland again. Or still. I can’t remember which, but he really has no business getting in my business.
If I call him, I would tell him that and…that my son is missing. Emma’s right. He should be the officer with whom I file the “official” report. He knows the situation, unlike the dispatcher, who’d been kind but not particularly concerned. “He’s a teenage boy,” he’d said. “He’s probably hanging out with friends. But we can take a report….”
I’d held off then, wanting to let the guys finish their search first, but I can’t wait any longer. Turning away from the window, I cross to where Emma’s cordless phone sits on the counter. It’s still warm from all the calls I made earlier. I’ve punched in two numbers when a clamor erupts upstairs. Raised voices. Jason’s. Then Emma’s. Emma hardly ever raises her voice. Then there are footsteps on the stairs.
“You aren’t supposed to come into my room!” Jason’s shouting.
Unlike me, Emma is sometimes considered a trespasser in her own house because of the house rules. She’s not allowed to enter Troy’s kids’ rooms. He respects their privacy, sometimes more than I think he respects Emma. Rob and I hadn’t parented like that. We’d been equal partners, which is probably why it’s so hard going it alone.
“What’s going on?” I ask, as she charges back into the kitchen.
Her face is red, and she’s dragging someone—Jason?—behind her. All I see is an arm. Then the rest of the slight body follows.
“Robbie!”
Relief floods me. Until this moment I didn’t think I was worried, not really worried, but my knees are a little weak now. If I’d lost him, too…
I reach for him to throw my arms around him, but he steps back. His reaction isn’t the same as Claire’s rejection of my comfort, though, because there’s something in his dark eyes, a fear of me magnified by his thick lenses, that’s never been there before.
Maybe it’s good that he fears me a little. He should after this stunt he’s pulled. My hands are shaking as I close them over his shoulders, forcing him to look at me.
“What—” I bite my tongue. Damn our no-swearing rule “—were you thinking?”
“I want to live here,” he says, “with Aunt Emma.”
Pain grips my heart, squashing it as viciously as I had the Kitty Cupcakes yesterday.
Emma flashes me a look, one full of sympathy. As a mother she knows how much it hurts to have your child want to run away from you.
“That’s too bad,” I say, steeling my voice to cover the hurt. “We all want things we can’t have.”
I can’t have Rob back.
That’s what Robbie’s and Claire’s attitudes are all about. They blame me. Last night I let them. Tonight is another story—my patience has worn out.
That’s why I can’t homeschool. Rob’s wrath and socialization aside, I don’t have enough patience, not where my children are concerned.
Seeing that he’ll get nowhere with me, Robbie turns back to Emma. “Please, Aunt Em, I can’t live with her anymore. She doesn’t really want me there.”
And that’s why the fear is there. He’s scared that I really don’t want him.
“Don’t make me go back,” he begs.
Poor Emma, always stuck in the middle. I can see her soft heart in her eyes as she stares back at Robbie. “I’m sorry, honey….”
“She has too many kids already,” I remind them both.
At least one too many. Jason has come downstairs now, standing in the doorway behind Emma and Robbie. His hair is dyed black and his eyebrow, nose and lip are pierced. He’s only sixteen, but his father gave his permission for the self-mutilation.
With a little relief, I realize that the deputy probably did not give his card to Emma for me or Robbie. Robbie is not the at-risk teen.
Not yet.
But I have a horrible feeling that if I can’t reach him, he soon will be.
“Great,” Claire says, as she flops onto the living room couch next to Robbie. “It’s your fault we gotta listen to a lecture now.”
She shifts against the deep suede cushions and manages to elbow him in the ribs, a move both daring, because she does it in front of me, and subtle, because she can swear it was an accident. She’s good.
But then so am I. I paid attention growing up. I know what nonsense my sisters pulled on my parents. And I’m not going to let my children pull it on me. Rob and I had made that pact, along with others. Like we wouldn’t let them play us off against each other. No going to Dad with a request that Mom had already refused. We had vowed to keep a united front. That’s hard to do alone.
“Okay,” I say. “We need to talk.”
“You mean you need to talk,” Robbie says. “All we get to do is listen.”
“That would be nice,” I reply, “but apparently you don’t do that very well.”
His face flushes bright red.
Claire elbows him again. “Dork.”
“Enough,” I say. And I mean it.
“That’s another reason I want to live with Aunt Emma,” Robbie says. “Because she doesn’t.” He scowls at Claire.
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