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Chapter Eleven
I drive past the post office, past the grocery store, the realty office, and the veterinarian. I don’t think about turning around. I don’t think through what I’m about to do. I only think about one thing: fixing the problem.
Now, as I recount the story to Greg, he looks worried, but he says nothing. He only shakes his head. “Tell me again,” he says. He wants me to slow down.
Once again, I explain what happened. The same as the first two times.
The girls giggle. “Mommy went to school in her house slippers,” Blair snickers.
At this age, they find humor in the situation. Although I can tell Naomi is on the brink of being mortified. She’s not ready to hurt my feelings quite yet, but that will come in time. Today, I’m thankful she’s in no rush.
Naomi climbs onto a barstool so that she’s at our level. She may not want to hurt my feelings, but she has no qualms about testing the water. “And she drove us to the police station.”
I look from my daughter to Greg and back. She had to know how her father would respond. “I called Lucy, but she didn’t pick up.”
Greg folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. His body language, the little nuances in the way he communicates when he’s displeased, are on full display. It has Naomi’s full attention. She’s curious to see how much power she has. She wants to know how far she can push things. “So you just took them with you?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“You could have waited. I was on my way home. You could have called.”
“It didn’t even cross my mind. Honestly—I was just so—”
“Girls—” Greg says, cutting me off. “It’s iPad time.”
He watches as they spill out into the family room. Naomi is reluctant to go and tries to hang back. He walks over to her and forces her out.
“Thirty minutes and then it’s bath time,” I call after them. Then I turn to Greg, testing my own boundaries. “I thought we were doing no tech during the school week.”
“You’ve freaked them out enough. I don’t think this is a conversation they need to hear.”
“It seems like you’re blaming me.”
“I’m not…but we should be careful about what we say in front of them.”
“He went to their school, Greg!”
He runs his fingers through his hair, grabs a fistful and then releases it. He turns to face me head-on. This is a complication he doesn’t need right now. His eyes say it so his mouth doesn’t have to. “And what did the police say?”
“Nothing, really. They took down my story. But I could see it on their faces—they thought I was crazy.”
“You are walking around in pajamas and house shoes in the middle of the day.”
“I explained that I’m under the weather. And I didn’t sleep last night on account of the fact that he killed our dog.”
“We don’t have any proof of that.”
“I’m not crazy, Greg.”
“I know you’re not.”
“It felt like they were humoring me. I don’t think they took anything I said seriously.”
“Well, you did take donuts to a police station.”
“I thought they might be poisoned!”
He says nothing for several beats. “That’s probably why they looked at you like that. What did you think would happen, Amy? This isn’t CSI.”
