Jennifer tried to say something, but she was drawing a blank. Finally, she came up with, “I like him.”
Dyma sighed. “And you think I’m impulsive. I guess I underestimated Harlan’s wow factor. Why didn’t you just tell me what you were doing, then? That you were going to see him? If it wasn’t that you were, you know, in love?”
“I just didn’t want you to think …” Jennifer had to stop. “Well, obviously, I didn’t want to share the truth.”
“Why not?” Dyma asked. “What would have been so bad about it? So you were going to Portland, and you figured you’d hook up with a really hot guy, because he was great the first time. So what? Nobody died. Whoops. I guess they did. But seriously, so what? You were both responsible and all that, right?”
Wait until I tell you I’m pregnant, Jennifer didn’t say as she mixed garlic into softened butter. She knew exactly why she hadn’t done that yet. Probably the main reason. How did you tell your daughter that you didn’t know who the father was? She was waiting until she did know, and then she’d tell Dyma. Call her a coward, but she was waiting.
Eighteen years of being boring and invisible, down the tubes. One reckless night, and here she was again.
The front door opened, and she said, “Whoops. Got to go. See you tomorrow. Love you.”
Harlan and Annabelle came in arguing. Or rather, Annabelle came in mad and near tears, and Harlan came in looking frustrated, beleaguered, and at a loss.
She was familiar with the feeling.
Annabelle said, as she stripped off her jacket, “I can’t just leave forever, Harlan! What about my team? The playoffs are in May. You’d never leave your team in the middle of the season.”
Harlan glanced at Jennifer, and she saw the words like they were written on his forehead. Help me. She said, “Wash your hands, would you, Annabelle, and then come sit up here at the bar and slice this bread for me. You can spread garlic butter on the slices, too. Here.” She grabbed a cutting board and plunked the bread down along with the bowl of garlic butter and a bread knife. “Want a beer, Harlan?”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “I do.” He looked weary, which she’d bet happened just about never, but he washed his hands, too, then got himself up on a stool next to Annabelle.
She’d found out a long time ago that there wasn’t much teenage angst you couldn’t make better in a kitchen. Time to see if it worked here. She got him a beer and the opener, turned on the oven, put the teakettle on to boil, wished for a beer herself, and said, “So tell me.”
Annabelle said, “I get that Harlan wants to help. I do. But I’ve got letters of interest from all these schools, and it’s my junior year. It’s my chance.”
“You had a junior season of volleyball already,” Harlan said. “And you can have a senior season of both sports, too. Besides, I told you, you’ve already got a ride to college. From me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to do it on … on your back,” Annabelle said. “I want to make it myself, and I can. Plus, there are my classes. You can’t just switch schools in April. It’s not third grade. I’m taking two AP classes, and the exams are in May. How’m I going to handle those? Do I just wash out this whole year of work?”
Harlan said, “I … we’ll figure it out,” and Annabelle said, “No, we won’t, because you can’t do that.” Sounding agitated. Sounding nearly frantic.
“That’s a tough one,” Jennifer said, thinking, Let’s lower the temperature here. “You wanted to do your senior year in Portland, though, right?”
“Yes,” Annabelle said. “But I wasn’t thinking now. And I get it that it’d suck to be here. If they let Dad out tomorrow, on bail …” She stopped and said slowly, “It’s going to be so creepy to be here.”
Harlan put his arm around her and squeezed, and she said, “But I can’t … how do I leave? It’s too hard. Every time I try to think what to do … it’s too … it’s too hard.”
She was crying a little, finally, and Harlan’s arm tightened. Jennifer passed over a box of Kleenex, glad she’d thought to buy it, and Annabelle cried for just a minute against Harlan’s chest, then blew her nose and said, “I know this isn’t what’s important. Not with Mom …” Her chin trembled. “But I keep thinking about it, and I don’t know what to do.”
Jennifer said, “You know what? I think school is going to turn out to be the easy part of this. Of course you can’t enroll in a new school for two months of your junior year.”
“She can’t?” Harlan asked.
“No,” Jennifer said. “She’s right. It’s not third grade. Her coursework will be more specific than that. But I’m guessing that you can go see the counselor tomorrow and work out a plan where she finishes remotely. She can take the books and get the homework, and take the tests, too. You can take the AP tests anywhere,” she told Dyma. “They’re standardized, and you’re almost there anyway. It would probably be a good idea to have an adult tutoring you, though. Proctoring your exams, all that.”
Harlan said, “Uh … college was a long time ago. Chemistry? Probably not.”
“Too bad you don’t have any money to hire somebody,” she said sweetly. “Like … a teacher?”
He grinned. “Well, yeah. I could do that. What do you think, Bug? Finish remotely, with a tutor? And then senior year in Portland?”
“Can I do that?” she asked. “Do you think they’d let me?”
“I’m sure they would,” Jennifer said, making it firm. “Stuff happens, and schools want kids to succeed. Plus, of course, they only get funding for you if you’re enrolled, and you’d still be enrolled.”
“OK,” Harlan said. “There you go.”
“What about softball, though?” Annabelle asked.
“You know,” Jennifer said, “I think you might have to let softball go for this season. It’s too much to ask Harlan to live here with you, and it’s too much to ask you to live here. Don’t you think? He wants to keep you safe, but how safe are either of you going to feel here?”
Harlan said, “I can keep her safe. And don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
He wasn’t drinking his beer, was just spinning the bottle around and around, and she wondered how it would feel to question your motives every time you took a drink, to question your stability every time you lost your temper. How much it would make you want to keep your distance, so your emotions never rose into the danger zone.
“I know,” she said. “But there’s such a thing as feeling …” She groped for the word. “Safe inside. Secure, I guess. And you know … maybe there’s another sport you can do in Portland. I looked up athletic scholarships once for Dyma. Not that she cared, but it was back in the days when I thought I could influence her. Long gone. How about rowing?”
Annabelle looked blank, and Harlan said, “Not a lot of rowing in Bismarck.”
“Rowing’s a big one for girls’ scholarships, though,” Jennifer said. “And Portland has a river, right? I’ll bet there’s a team. It’s not like lacrosse or soccer, where you’d have to play for years to be good. You’re just rowing a boat.”