Chasing Sunsets Part 5

There was a chuckle from the other end. Sarcasm dripped all over it. "I believe you do," he said.

"No. I don't."

"Is this the way it's gonna be?"

I was quiet before asking, "What are you talking about?"

"Are we going to act like this? Like children talking about our children?"

My body went rigid. "Don't you dare, Charlie. Don't you dare talk to me about acting like a child. Don't you . . ." The knot I'd grown accustomed to swelled in my throat. I kept my teeth clenched, both out of anger and to keep the boys from hearing me scream. "Don't you dare say I'm not acting like a parent when you . . . you know you lied in that courtroom, so don't you start with me." My last words twisted around the knot.

"Kimberly, stop it. It's just like the judge said. You're jealous. You want me. You can't have me. And someone else does."

"From what I understand, a whole lot of someone elses." I heard him snicker and I closed my eyes. "What. Do. You. Want."

"I want to pick up the boys tomorrow night rather than Monday morning."

"Why?"

"Because I work on Mondays, Kimberly. Not all of us get the summer off."

I could hear my heart hammering in my chest. "No."

"Give me one good reason why not."

"Because Sunday is mine. And, by the way, what do you plan to do with your sons while you are at work? Because, Charlie, if you tell me that one of your little bimbos is watching my children-"

"Stop it, Kim. Stop it now."

I knew that tone in Charlie's voice. I'd crossed a line. I hated myself for it, but I couldn't seem to stop the venom when Charlie was around. Still, for the sake of my sons . . . "What are you planning to do?" I asked again, this time keeping my voice calm.

"I'm taking them to work with me. I was working the business by Chase's age, and Cody is not that far behind him. I think it will be fun for them both. I've already talked to Mom and Dad about it, and they think it's a great idea." He took a moment, I knew, to let it all sink in. Hard as I tried, I could find no fault with anything he said. "Now before you try to drag my mother and father into a battle . . ."

The knot had grown so large I could scarcely speak at all. "I'm not," I whispered.

"Good. Now, back to my picking them up on Sunday evening."

"No," I repeated. "I want my last night with my sons."

Charlie shot an expletive into the phone. "They're not dying, Kimberly. I'm bringing them back in five weeks."

"Don't you talk to me like that, Charlie Tucker. Don't use words like that with me."

"Do you ever hear yourself, Kim? Don't do this. Do that. My way or no way."

I felt myself reeling. I stepped back, leaned against the mattress of the bed. "Is that it?" I asked. "Is that why you left? Because you think I have to have my way all the time?"

"For crying out loud. I'm not in the mood for this. I just want to pick up the boys, spend some time talking with them about what we'll be doing before work starts on Monday morning, have a little summer celebration like we used to. That was it. But if it's gonna be like this . . ."

Like we used to . . . before. Before the separation. Before the divorce. We'd made such a big deal about summer break. The boys picked the restaurant we'd eat at. Around a booth's table we'd talk about vacation plans, what we'd do for fun on weekends, game nights, and the challenges and laughter that came with it. Like we used to.

My heart was throbbing. "No," I said. "It's not going to be like this. What time do you want to pick them up on Sunday evening?"

"You're sure?" Charlie's voice sounded like that of a young boy. Like, oh-golly-gee Mrs. Cleaver.

No. I want one last night with my sons . . . I want my marriage back . . . I want to know why my husband found me so unlovable that he walked out on a good life and two fine boys . . . I want . . . "Yes. I'm sure."

"All right. I'll pick them up at . . . what time is best for you?"

Best for me . . . "Seven?"

"Seven it is. Tell the boys I love them."

"I will."

I started to hang up without saying good-bye when I heard "And Kim?"

I returned the phone to my ear. "Yeah."

"Thanks."

"Sure."

By 6:45 on Sunday evening, the boys were packed, their stuffed backpacks tossed by the front door, and they sat oh so casually watching some nonsense television in the family room.

I walked from the kitchen-where there was really nothing left to clean-and the door leading to where my sons sat. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame, taking in the sight of them, breathing in their scent. "Did you pack your toothbrushes?" I asked.

Chase looked up at me. "Mom, we have toothbrushes at Dad's."

"Oh. Right."

I walked back into the kitchen, made a cup of hot tea in the microwave, then returned to stand and stare again. Chase looked up at me, gave a crooked smile and winked.

So much like his father . . .

I smiled back. "Don't forget to call me, okay?"

"Okay, Mom."

My son. My nearly grown son, sitting straight back in an overstuffed chair, ankle resting on knee. The flip-flop hung from his foot, and every so often he jiggled it to bring it back to rights. They both wore dress shorts and polo s.h.i.+rts and their hair was haloed by the suns.h.i.+ne pouring through the window. So handsome. And in five weeks, they'd be older. Wiser, perhaps.

And I would have missed the transition.

A commercial interrupted the boys' show. Cody looked at me. "Are you really going to Cedar Key while we're gone?"

I nodded. "Looks that way."

"Man, I wish I could go. Don't you, Chase?"

Chase gave his brother a look that read "Proceed with Caution." He leaned forward and said, "Well, we're going to Dad's, Code. We'll learn the business and spend some time with Grandma and Grandpa."

"Do you think Dad will pay us?" Cody asked his brother.

Chase and I both laughed. The question was so typical of Cody.

"Maybe," Chase said.

I heard a car pulling into the driveway. My head felt light, my body heavy. The dread I'd been waiting for finally fell on me. I hated these moments. This was more than a weekend visit where I could tell myself that at least I had time to shop, take naps, or go to the movies, which I rarely did. But at least I could tell myself I could if I wanted to.

This was five long weeks. Thirty-five days.

And all I could think as I watched my sons stand and walk toward me-toward the front door-was that I was not the one who left and yet I was the one who had to let her sons leave for an extended period of time.

Cody shot past me, but Chase stopped long enough to kiss my cheek. "We'll miss you."

The knot returned. I could only nod.

I heard the front door open, Cody exclaim, "Hey, Dad!"

"Hey, buddy!"

From my position I could watch or not, my choice. I chose not. But I could picture them hugging. Then I heard Chase say, "Hey."

"Hey, bud . . ." A pause. Then, "Got your backpacks ready, I see. Wanna put them in the car for me?" A scrambling at the door, followed by, "Wait up, boys. Tell your mother good-bye." Backpacks dropped to the floor.

I turned then, my cup of now cold tea still in my hand. Both boys walked to me, hugged me one at a time. We said "I love you," and then they were out the door, lugging their summer necessities on their backs.

Charlie remained in the doorway. I looked at him, forcing my eyes not to leave his. He jiggled his keys, nodded once, then turned and walked out, leaving the door open behind him.

I waited until I heard car doors shut, the engine hum to life, and tires crunch over a fine layer of sand scattered atop the brick driveway. I pressed my back against the hard edge of the door frame. I slid down-inch by inch, hurt by hurt. By the time I came to rest on the floor, I had reasoned that as difficult as this separation was for me, it would be even more so for my sons.

And for them, I cried.

6.

An hour later I was lying on top of my bed, wrapped in a cotton robe, my right hand clutched around a mug of warm milk while my left loosely held the television remote. For a half hour I flipped channels, never staying past the first two minutes of whatever show was on. A commercial was an automatic "flip."

I had just taken a sip of milk when my cell phone rang. I jumped, thinking it might be one of the boys.

It was Heather.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, as though my sons had both tragically died.

"It's only been an hour, Heather." My voice held a lilt so as not to just break down and cry some more. Still, this was Heather. My best friend. I could be honest with her. "I hate divorce, Heather. Hate it. Look what it's done to my children. Five weeks away from their mother."

"Awful."

"It'd be one thing if Charlie lived across the country. But, he doesn't. He lives across town. You'd think the judge would understand that being separated from a parent-especially a loving mother-for weeks on end is an emotional wound that's just not necessary." I fingered the wide sash of my robe. "I feel like I've lost an arm without them here. Knowing they're just down the hall . . . or the block. Or in the kitchen making a late-night snack."

"I'm sorry, Kim."

I shrugged. "It's not your fault." It's Charlie's . . .

"I talked to Dad today," she said as an obvious change of subject. "He says you're heading for Cedar Key tomorrow."

"No," I answered. "Not tomorrow. Tuesday."

"Oh, good! Then let's spend the day playing tomorrow."

"I can't. I have to get this house in order. I need to wash clothes. I don't want to come home to piles of laundry."

"How long are you staying?"

"I don't know. Days? A week maybe."

From the other end of the line I heard the clinking of ice against gla.s.s, the sound of my sister taking a sip of her drink. Her first of the night? Her third?

"What about Max?" she said then. "Want to leave him here?"

"No, I'll take him with me. Max loves the water; he'll have a good time there."

"And he'll be company for you."

Thank you, Heather . . . thank you for reminding me I am alone.

"Yeah."

"Ami's got an opening coming up in two weeks. I thought you and I could fly up to Atlanta for that. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good. Do you want to go ahead and book the tickets or shall I?"

"I will. Or, if you're up for the adventure, we can just drive." She giggled. "I'll let you know what I decided."

Another clinking of ice against gla.s.s. I wanted the call to end; I hated talking with Heather during this time of the day. "Heather, I'm tired. I'm going to get a good night's sleep so I can get it all done in the morning."

"All right. After I finish my c.o.ke I'm going to wash dishes. Sounds like a fun night, doesn't it?"

Her c.o.ke . . . "Nothing like it." A thought came to me and I said, "Heather, do you want to go get those manis and pedis tomorrow?"

"Meet me at the day spa at 1:00."

"I'll be there."