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“Not in that class.”
“Well, ask someone. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind.” I sigh and bite my lower lip. “If I was there I’d go and do it for you, sweetie.” I watch Tizzy darting around the yard worried about her baby, and sympathize. “I wish I was there to take care of you while you’re sick, too. Make some hot tea in the microwave. I put a box of chamomile in your grocery supplies. And don’t worry about economics. I’ll call your teacher right now.”
“Oh, good gawd,” Mother drawls as she returns from flushing her cigarette down the toilet in the adjoining bathroom. “How old is the boy?”
“Is that Grandmother?” Troy asks.
“Yes. You want to talk to her?”
“Sure.”
“Here she is. Goodbye, Troy. Take care of yourself. Love you.” I hold out the phone to Mother. “Don’t talk long. I need to call his teacher.”
“Oh, please.” She takes the phone, presses it to her ear and says, “Hi, darling.”
I shift my attention to Polly. “It’s hard being away from him at times like this. It’s always hard, but him being sick makes it worse. I feel so helpless.”
“I’m sure it won’t be easy for me, either, when my kids go away. But they have to grow up sometime.”
I push out of the rocker and the blanket falls from my shoulders to the floor. “How can we just expect them to take care of everything on their own overnight? They’re used to having us in charge one day, and the next they’re supposed to handle their lives like an adult?”
Mother says goodbye to Troy, then hands me the phone. I glance at the professor’s name on the paper in my hand and begin punching in his number.
“Damn it, Dana, you’re making a mistake.” She pulls another cigarette from her purse. “Do you want Troy to become a man, or a wimp?”
I turn my back to her and put the phone to my ear.
“After he graduates and starts working at the agency, are you going to gripe out Carl if he doesn’t give Troy a raise every year?” The phone starts ringing. When I continue to ignore Mother, she says to Polly, “Come on. Let’s see if there’s coffee in the kitchen.” They leave the room.
Twenty minutes later, Mother returns to the bedroom alone.
“Where’s Polly?”
“She had an appointment.” Mother sits at the edge of my bed. “So…what did he say?”
I open my closet door. “Troy’s right—the man’s a butt-hole.”
“Rules are rules. Troy needs to learn that.”
“Sometimes rules need to be changed. And people have to stand up and speak out against injustice to make that happen.”
“So, let Troy be the one to stand up.”
I pull out my suitcase and put it on the bed beside her.
“He is the one who should buck the system, not you, darling. What are you doing with that suitcase?”
“Packing. If he needs me, I’m there.”
“You’re flying to Colorado?”
“Driving. I just got off the phone with the airline. The next flight out is late tonight, and I’d have to go standby. I don’t want to risk it.”
I unzip the suitcase, open it.
Mother reaches over and closes it again. “You’re being ridiculous. What on earth do you think you can do for him?”
“I’ll talk to his teacher in person. He’ll see I’m serious about this if I meet him face-to-face. I’ll go to Troy’s other classes tomorrow and take notes for him, and I’ll nurse him through his flu. He can stay with me at the hotel until he feels better. I’ll feed him chicken-noodle soup.”
“He has a cold, for God’s sake. He didn’t even sound all that congested. You’re just looking for an excuse to go see him.”
I return to the closet and start pulling out clothes.
“Does Troy know you’re coming?”
“I want to surprise him.”
Her laugh is sharp. “Oh, he’ll be surprised all right. Get ready for a fight.”
“He’ll be relieved.”
“What about the dinner party for Carl’s new account?”
Why, oh why, did I tell my mother about that? “What about it? It’s a week from Friday.”
“He needs you here while he’s preparing that presentation, Dana. Carl shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not you’ll have everything ready for the dinner party. He needs your moral support.”
“What do you want me to do? Pull out some pom-poms and do a cheer every night?” Not that Carl wouldn’t like that, but it’s not happening.
“Cook him well-balanced meals. Give him back rubs. It’s a very big deal for him, you know that. For you, too. It’s your financial future we’re talking about.”
“Carl will be so busy he won’t even miss me, I promise you. And I’ll be home in plenty of time.”
Mother watches me pack. When I finish, I close the suitcase and dial Carl’s number.
“Troy will balk if you just show up,” he says.
“He’ll be happy.”
“I was an eighteen-year-old boy once. I know what I’m talking about, Dana. Trust me—he won’t be happy.”
“I know our son. We have a closer relationship than you had with your mother. He actually likes me.”
Carl sighs. “That’s a long drive alone. Can’t you wait and fly out in the morning?”
“I don’t want to wait. Besides, the ticket costs a fortune last minute.”
Giving up, Carl tells me to be careful. Mother mumbles something, but I don’t hear what she says.
Outside the window, the baby squirrel runs up the tree trunk, followed by Tizzy. They pause on a bough and she holds out her tiny paws to offer him something. I smile. It’s probably an acorn for his growling stomach.
CHAPTER 7
The sun has gone down by the time I pull into the visitor’s parking lot a block away from Troy’s dorm. I’m road-weary, but too excited to care. It’s been seven and a half weeks since I last saw my son. I can’t wait to see his face when he opens the door and finds me outside of it.
As soon as I know how he’s doing, I’ll call around and find a hotel suite with two bedrooms and a kitchenette. Considering how lousy Troy feels, I’m sure he’ll jump at the chance to get away from his roommate for a while, out of that cramped dorm room with those tiny matching twin beds. Once he has settled in at the hotel, I’ll run to the store and buy a few groceries. Seven-Up, hot tea, chicken-noodle soup. A little tender-loving care from his mother and Troy will feel better in no time.
Tomorrow, while he sleeps in, I’ll attend his classes and take notes, then schedule a meeting with his economics teacher. If anyone can set things straight with the man, I can. This isn’t the first time I have had to confront a teacher on behalf of one of my kids.
I park the Lexus, grab my purse and jacket, and climb out, pausing to stretch my aching back. As I start down the sidewalk, I slip the jacket on. The temperature has dropped since I last stopped for gasoline and to throw away trash from a fast-food lunch on the go. Dense clouds hang low in an inky-black sky. On the radio earlier, an area weatherman said to expect snowfall tonight in most parts of the state. I shiver and hasten my pace, wishing I had brought a heavier coat.
It’s a quiet Wednesday evening. Students stroll across campus, alone or in small groups. Others are on bicycles, a few on Rollerblades. I take deep breaths of brisk air and try to recall what it felt like to be young and away at school. Polly’s questions about my dreams before I married and became a mother drift through my mind.
What did I want?
To meet someone and fall in love. To have children. But what else? What possessed me to study philosophy, of all things? Pressure to declare a major at the end of my sophomore year? All the courses I had taken up to that point transferred, so I didn’t lose any hours by becoming a philosophy major. Was that the appeal?
Memories of my own uncertainty filter back to me. I felt overwhelmed, adrift and desperate. Desperate to make a choice. Afraid I would make the wrong one and end up stuck in a career I hated for the rest of my life.
Funny how I’ve come full circle; I feel the same now. Uncertain. Overwhelmed and adrift. Desperate and afraid. But I don’t want to think about all those feelings at the moment. They aren’t important as I open the door to Troy’s dorm. Carl and I must have walked this route more than a dozen times while helping Troy move in, carting box after box up to his room.
When I reach the wall of elevators, I push the up button and wait. Soon, a ding sounds and the doors slide apart. Three laughing guys reeking of cigarette smoke step off, and I step on, followed by a boy and a girl who can’t keep their hands off each other. I push Three.
“Five, please,” the young man says, and I push that number, too. “Thanks,” he mutters, then I’m forgotten. The doors close, trapping me with the musty, leftover scents of a multitude of students who have stood here before. Smoke and spilled drinks. Sweat and unwashed clothing. Pepperoni and popcorn and who knows what else. They’re all there. Signs of young life on the run.
To avoid the giggling couple in the corner, I fix my gaze on the numbers above the doors. None too soon, the doors part onto the third floor, and I’m off and walking the narrow stretch of hallway that leads to Troy’s room, my heartbeat keeping time with my step. Young men and women cut glances my way as we pass one another. Some mumble greetings, but no one looks me in the eye.
The boom and screech of rock and roll hits me long before I reach Troy’s door. I assure myself the music isn’t coming from his room. Troy is sick. His roommate wouldn’t be so inconsiderate. But after a few more steps, I realize the music is from Troy’s room. Voices and laughter, too. In his effort to make new friends, is my son reluctant to stand up for himself? Am I going to have to play the bad guy for the sake of his health? If so, I’m willing.
At his door, I make a fist and pound three times.
“It’s open,” Troy yells.
Turning the knob, I push in.
He sits on the bed playing a video game, a beer can propped on one thigh, his back to the door. A girl with henna-red hair sits on the bed, too, facing him, her legs crossed beneath her, an open magazine in her lap and a beer between her knees. She wears pajama pants and a T-shirt, no bra. The girl glances up and straight at me. Her eyes widen, but before she can say anything, Troy crushes his can and blurts, “What took you so long, dickhead? We’re out of brews.” He tosses the can onto the clothes-strewn floor and turns, his face falling when he sees me. “Mom…”
He and the girl both scramble to their feet as, behind me, a male voice calls, “Logan, you bastard, you owe me. I almost got caught sneaking these in here.”
I look over my shoulder as a skinny, freckle-faced young man bursts into the room pulling a twelve-pack of Old Milwaukee from beneath his coat. When he spots me, he stops short, moving the pack of beer behind his back.
I return my attention to Troy. “I thought you were sick. Too sick to study, isn’t that what you said?”
“I am…sort of. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Obviously.” I look at the girl. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
“She’s—”
“Kate,” the girl says. Standing, she wades her way toward me through a sea of discarded clothing, wadded-up napkins and notebook paper, magazines, shoes and crumpled cans.
I shake the hand she extends, then turn to the boy at the door.
“I’m Bennie,” he says. With a sheepish expression, he transfers the twelve-pack from his right hand to his left so he can shake with me, too.
“I’m Dana Logan. Troy’s mother.” I glance back around in time to see Kate exchange a wide-eyed glance with Troy that clearly says, Shit! What are you going to do?
Aloud, she says, “We should, um, let the two of you talk.” Kate starts around me. “Come on, Bennie.”
“I’ll call you,” Troy says to her.
“Later, man,” Bennie mutters.
They close the door.
Color rises to Troy’s face, familiar red splotches of embarrassment and irritation. He clears his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Why? So you could hide the evidence and pretend to be sick?”
“What are you trying to do? Catch me at something?”
“I wanted to surprise you. I see that’s exactly what I did.” My throat aches with disappointment as I motion to his crumpled beer can and the littered floor. “I believed you, Troy. I came to fix things with your economics professor and to help you get over your cold.”
“You were supposed to call him, not show up at his door.”
“I did call him. He was adamant about you taking the test, so I thought it might help if I spoke to him in person. And you said you needed someone to go to class and take notes for you since you’re so sick.” I cross the room and pick up Kate’s beer. “I didn’t realize this stuff cured the flu.”
“You drove all this way to take notes for me?” His voice rises an octave.
Someone pounds on the door and shouts, “When’s the party?”
Troy walks to the door, cracks it, pokes his head out. He talks quietly before shutting it again and moving around me to stand beside the bed.
“I came to take care of you,” I say.
He tugs at his hair and groans. “I’m not ten years old. Couldn’t you have gone over the teacher’s head and called the dean or something? And mailed some antibiotics? I don’t need you to wipe my nose anymore. Stop trying to run my life like you always have.”
His words slash like a knife and the last of my self-esteem bleeds out of me. My certainty that I’ve always been good at one important thing. The most important thing. Being a mother. I have prided myself on always giving him and Taylor what they need, but have I? The expression on his face seems to indicate otherwise.
I stare at Troy and realize I don’t know him. Not completely, as I did when he was a little boy. But he’s not that little boy anymore. An entire segment of his life exists that is separate from the one we share. That segment is off-limits to me, and he wants it to remain off-limits.
Reluctant understanding dawns when I consider my relationship with my own mother. It’s normal for Troy to pull away from me. He needs to, in order to become an adult. I can’t remain the center of his universe.
Still, it hurts to think he hasn’t missed me at all. Am I the only one struggling to let go of our prior relationship and move on to a new one? Is it easy for him? I should be happy he and Taylor are growing up. Isn’t that the whole point of raising a child? But I’d like to think that I’m more to them than a bank account, a complaint department and a repairman; someone to call only when they want money, have a problem or need something fixed.
“Why did you call me?” My voice breaks. “What did you expect me to do?”
“Not make me look like a freakin’ geek in front of everybody. You always have to butt in.” He turns his back to me.
