Coda Books 06 - Fear, Hope, and Bread Pudding (MM)

that book buried in the trash. He’d ripped the pages out of it, and all I could think of was him being so hurt.”
    “Why didn’t you call him? Why didn’t you tell him you were sorry?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know. I told myself he was only being a kid, that he’d get over it.”
    “But he didn’t.”
    “I didn’t see him again for almost eight months, and by then, he could barely look at me. He refused to hug me. He—” This time her voice did break. She covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook.
    I stayed where I was, watching her, imagining the man I knew as the boy he’d once been. A boy whose excitement had been crushed, who had secretly slipped his treasure into the garbage can because it had become a symbol of his inadequacy. “The bacon’s burning.”
    She shoved the skillet off of the burner and turned the knob to the off position. I didn’t feel like eating. I suspected she didn’t either.
    The thing was, I understood how it could have happened. I could remember times I’d snapped at Jon when he was small. Times I’d asked him to please, for the love of God, just stop talking for five minutes straight. I’d once told him that I’d rather listen to yowling cats than hear him sing. I hadn’t meant it. Like so many parents, I’d only wanted a moment of silence, but I realized six weeks later that he’d quit singing altogether. The difference was, I’d been there to realize my mistake, even if it took longer than it should have. I was able to apologize and make things right. Did that make me a better parent? Or just a luckier one?
    But even that wasn’t the worst of my sins.
    “When Jon was nearly two years old, he went through this stage where he refused to stay in his crib. He was big enough to climb out, and he’d come to our room and get in bed with us. He’d toss and turn and kick me in the back. I was having a tough time at my job in those days, and I complained to Carol about having to get up and go to work each morning when I couldn’t sleep at night. So one week, Carol decided to teach Jon to stay in his room. For three nights, she sat in the rocking chair in his bedroom, trying to keep him in his crib, but rubbing his back to keep him from crying so he wouldn’t wake up the rest of us. She barely slept. And at some point that same week, our air conditioner quit working, even though I’d paid to have it fixed the month before.” Now it was my turn to look away from her. I concentrated instead on my hands, clenched in my lap. “It was Saturday, and Carol was exhausted. She put Jon down for his nap, and I told her to go nap too. That I’d watch our six-year-old, Elizabeth. But I had to call the AC company too, and they were telling me how it was a busy time for them—lots of air conditioners go out in Phoenix in August—and how they couldn’t come for several days. And I was so mad, you know? It felt so justified at the time, and I yelled at them and demanded that they come out sooner.”
    “And did they?”
    “I don’t even remember.” She didn’t answer, maybe sensing how dark my mood had become. “It wasn’t until I hung up the phone that I realized Elizabeth wasn’t in the living room where I’d left her. And I couldn’t hear her.” There were tears running down my cheeks, and I slowly wiped them away. “I can still remember that horrible terror.” I reached up to touch my chest. “Right here. I could feel it. I knew something was wrong, even though I tried to tell myself she was fine.”
    “Was she?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
    I shook my head. “No. I found her floating in the pool.”
    “Oh, George!”
    “She was facedown, and she wasn’t moving.” I choked and wiped futilely at my eyes again. I finally looked up to find her watching me, her eyes, exactly like Cole’s, so wide with horror and sympathy. Her slender fingers, also like his, touching her lips. “She was my baby. I mean, Jon was younger, and you have to understand, I loved them both. But Elizabeth? She was….” My voice trailed away as I tried to put it into words.
    “Your daughter,” she said quietly.
    “Yes.”
    “George—”
    She was going to say what people always said, that it wasn’t my fault, but I didn’t want to hear it. Just like she didn’t need me to lie about her having been a good mother, I didn’t need her to lie about who had allowed Elizabeth to drown. “The thing is, two days later, I was holding Jon. He was sound