Page 29 of Too Old for This
“Yes. Same as I did for Olive’s birthday.”
“You really don’t have to go to so much trouble. A card would be fine.”
“I understand they may not care if I send a package,” I say, “and they may not want what I send. But years from now, when they’re adults, Olive and Noah will remember theirgrandmother cared enough to send them a box of presents on their birthday.”
Silence.
“Yes,” Stephanie eventually says. “Of course.”
I am exhausted when the call ends. Sometimes it feels like Stephanie forgets that she is not really my daughter. I am not loyal to her. I am loyal to my son.
Archie and I went through more than anyone else knows: from the bullying up in Spokane to moving down here and changing our names. Mine became Lottie Jones, and he went from Richard Lansdale to Archibald Jones. I chose that name because of the nicknames—Richie and Archie were so much alike. He caught on quick. Within a week, I didn’t have to remind him at all.
Less than a year after moving to Baycliff, we went out one night to his favorite family-style restaurant. In between the maze on the place mat and the fish sticks, he mentioned an upcoming party for one of his classmates.
“You didn’t tell me about this party,” I said. “Which friend?”
He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a quarter, a plastic thing that appeared to be part of a toy, a piece of gum, and a folded, crumpled envelope. He slid that last one across the table.
I made a note of the date and time. A gift for Lucas would have to be budgeted.
“He’s the one with the blond hair?” I asked. “It looks like straw?”
“Yeah, like Simon had.”
Simon. I hadn’t thought about him for a while.
He had been Archie’s best friend in Spokane, and the first one to turn against him. I don’t think it was Simon’s fault. Like Archie, he was only seven years old. But Simon’s parents never really liked me.
No, that’s not true. Simon’s father liked me just fine. His mother didn’t appreciate that, or the fact that I was single. I felt a little sorry for her. Imagine going through life constantly afraid of losing your husband. It made her look uglier than she was.
The real problem came when her son turned against mine.
“Lucas is much nicer than Simon,” I said. “Isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
Archie picked up a fish stick and dipped it in tartar sauce. “I think something was wrong with Simon. Like, some kind of disorder.”
He said that word—disorder—haltingly, as if he had just learned it.
“You think Simon had a mental disorder?”
“Yeah. He liked you a lot, but then he started calling you those bad names.”
“A lot of people did.”
“Yeah. They were like that guy on TV.”
“On TV?”
Archie rolled his little eyes. “That show you watched every Tuesday night.”
It was a newsmagazine that focused on crime, and it was on long after Archie wassupposedto be in bed. One of the recent episodes was about a man who started hearing voices and seeing things that weren’t there. He became convinced hiswife and kids were plotting against him. That didn’t end well for anyone.
“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I bet that’s what happened to Simon.”
