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“I guess I had that coming.”
“Let’s just move on. Now figure out a way to protect our son from that barracuda in there with him.”
“I’ll do what I can. She needs to go back to San Diego so he can recover.”
“I’ll ask her to shop with me.”
“Good idea!”
Joanne was having a difficult time leaving Oliver. He’d fallen asleep as soon as he flicked the TV on, a combination of tiredness lingering from the injury, and trying to avoid a fight with Joanne, who was chomping at the bit. Sitting on his bed next to him, she was leaning against the headboard with her arms crossed across her chest, jaw set, fuming.
Charlie tiptoed into the bedroom. “Joanne, would you like to grocery shop with me? I’m not sure I’d know exactly what to get him. There isn’t much in his fridge.”
She looked over at his sleeping form, not really wanting to leave him alone with Clare, who might try to poison Oliver against her. “Should I be here when he wakes up?”
“The doctor told us he’d probably spend most of the time sleeping for the next few days.”
“Why am I even here, then?”
“To watch over him? Make sure he’s safe?” Charlie suggested, wanting to admonish her for being selfish.
“He doesn’t seem to want that from me.”
“It’s not for him to want or not want. He probably wants to be with his teammates, reveling in his fame. Not in bed with his brains rattled.”
She slid out of bed. “I can go. I used to know what he liked to eat. Now I’m not so sure. He ate fruit salad at the big breakfast.”
“Ha! Probably trying to get the carbs in for the game.”
He stood aside to let her pass. Taking a good look at her, Charlie wondered if this was the same boy-crazy, naive schoolgirl that Clare worried might get pregnant while they were in high school, the same attentive, geeky choir nerd that had attracted their strapping, beautiful son. Trying to look as unattractive as possible, she’d practically shaved her head. If she’d balanced it with a pierced nose or a few tattoos, he might have understood.
Their Uber arrived and he held the door for her. “Why the short hair?”
She frowned, looking up at him before pulling her legs into the car.
“It’s just easier to take care of,” she said, moving over so he could get in. “I end up wearing a wig for most of the roles I play anyway.”
He nodded. “That makes sense. Does Oliver like it?”
“He hasn’t said.”
“You used todoll upmore.”
“Mr. Saint, that is exactly the kind of sexist remark that drives me nuts. So in order to keep my boyfriend happy, I have to paint my face and have long locks, like the Bible says. Is that right? But he can take a dangerous job halfway across the country without taking my feelings into consideration.”
“In all fairness, Joanne, you dated him in high school. You knew what his goals were then.”
“I thought he’d grow out of it,” she said honestly. “I thought as his parents, you and Mrs. Saint would be able to talk some sense into him. But you wanted it for him, too. I’ve seen Mrs. Saint talk about him! It’s like the reverse of Munchhausen by proxy. She’s getting all the accolades of her son’s success. You do it, too.”
“Don’t you brag about him among your friends?”
“No. I’m frankly embarrassed. I know his instructors allowed him to skate through college, passing him even though he practically flunked every subject, just so he could play ball.”
Knowing that wasn’t true, that Oliver had aced his classes in spite of a grueling football practice schedule, Charlie tried to find the right words before he replied, “It sounds like you’re having regrets about your relationship with him.”
“I was hoping he’d change,” she cried, the Uber driver glancing over his shoulder.
“Oh, my dear, no one changes. You need to know that. Oliver isn’t going to change for you.”
