Page 46 of Caught in a Storm
Chapter 28
Robyn Frazier considers herself a social media voyeur. Caleb called her that once, and she liked it, despite it sounding creepy. The idea is that while she has social media accounts, she never actually posts anything. Instead, she uses them to keep up with her friends and relatives, liking photos of their dogs and children and birthday cakes. She’s glad the people in her life post these things because it gives her something to look at while she waits for hair appointments or sits in traffic jams, but she has absolutely no interest in putting herself out there online in any way. Who cares what her salad looks like?
Consequently, the algorithms keep Robyn at a distance, showing her only the tips of icebergs—the surfaces of rabbit holes. Which is why Robyn only knows the basics about the Margot Hammer Incident. Some of her friends have texted her about it.
Is this really Billy?
That’s Caleb’s dad, right?
Seeing the shots of Billy all moon-faced next to the drummer made her laugh at first. She imagined him making a fool of himself trying to talk to her. But then she remembered how annoyed she used to be at his Margot Hammer crush. It wasn’t like Robyn hadn’t had her own music crushes. She’d been quietly in love with Jack White, for example, and Justin Timberlake still does things to her insides. The thing that irked her was that Billy really liked Margot Hammer—as a person and an artist. If he’d wanted to grind up against the Spice Girls like some horny idiot, that would’ve been one thing. Expected, even. But seeing him with his big earphones on air drumming to her music had been a sore spot. Plus…well, Margot Hammer wasn’t even that pretty.
That’s a tremendously bitchy thing to think, Robyn knows. Sure, Margot Hammer was a rock star, which came with some built-in appeal. The whole mousy, regular-girl-turned-rocker thing was annoying, though, and frankly, played out. The fact that she’d been married to Lawson Daniels of all people was and remains a complete mystery. Whatever, though…celebrities are weird.
She’s standing at her kitchen sink now, eating a low-fat English muffin, waiting for Billy and his piano to arrive. The window overlooks the driveway and the front door to the little guest apartment over their garage. Things are starting to turn green again, flowers blooming. Springtime in Baltimore. A male cardinal sits on the backboard of Caleb’s basketball hoop, shouting into the sky, looking for a girlfriend.
“Honestly, though, I just think this whole thing is weird. The entire concept of this. Weird.” Aaron is at the kitchen table reading The Wall Street Journal on his tablet.
“Your position has been noted,” says Robyn. “You’re just pissed because I made you move your Peloton.”
“A little, yeah, but that’s not all,” he says. “I get that this is what Caleb wants. I do. But Caleb’s eighteen. If we did everything eighteen-year-olds want, the world would spin out of control.”
She finishes as much as she’s going to eat of her muffin and drops the rest into the garbage disposal. “Mm-hm,” she says.
“You know I like Billy,” Aaron says. “Everybody likes Billy. It’s just…”
Her husband is searching for a word other than weird, which he’s dramatically overused these past two weeks. A female cardinal lands on the rim of the hoop outside and chirps up at the male. Oh, good for you two, she thinks as both birds dart away.
Robyn is willing to concede, in her own head at least, that her ex-boyfriend and the father of her child moving into the room above their garage might seem odd, in theory. But…it’s Billy. It’s fine. Caleb asked for this, and when he did, she could tell by the look on his face that he really wanted her to say yes, so that’s what she did.
Robyn doesn’t say any of this, because marriage is exhausting enough without having to replay the same conversations on a loop.
“Speaking of eighteen-year-olds,” Aaron says, “I take it we haven’t heard from Stanford.”
“Cay said no email yet.”
Aaron sets his iPad on the table. “You hear Justin and Shin-Soo got into Yale and Penn?”
She did; their mothers told her, and Robyn wishes there were boxes you could tick on college applications next to the words “Good Kid,” because Caleb is such a good kid. She wants him to get into Stanford for all the obvious reasons. She also wants him to get in because she knows that he wants to get in. She’s caught him looking at the school’s website a hundred times, the way she imagines other moms catch their sons sneaking onto the Victoria’s Secret homepage. Parenthood was easier when he was little. She could just tell him what to do and what to want. Now she’s expected to stand by and watch as he wanders toward something she knows he’ll regret.
“Is he up yet?” Aaron asks.
“Yes,” she says. “He said he’ll help you and Billy move Billy’s stuff in.”
Aaron laughs and shakes his head. “Who’s that you got moving in above the garage, Aaron?” he says, changing his voice to sound like someone else. “Oh, that guy? Just the wife’s baby daddy. No big deal.”
“We’re too old to say baby daddy.”
“We are, aren’t we?” says Aaron. “When did that happen? It’s a good expression.” He stands now and does some halfhearted arm stretches, preparing himself for a rare bit of manual labor. “Well, at least we don’t have to move that goddamn piano. That thing would kill us all.”
Robyn enjoys the ridiculous image of it: Billy, Aaron, and her beanpole of a son hoisting a piano. Just then, the wood floor beneath her feet shakes, and a moving truck rumbles up the driveway. Calvert Piano Movers, Inc.
Aaron calls up the stairs. “Cay! It’s go time, buddy! Rock and roll!”
Outside, three giant men hop out of the truck. A few seconds later, Billy’s old Mercedes pulls up beside them towing a U-Haul trailer. Robyn goes to the fridge for the Gatorades she bought for everyone.
“Um, Rob?” says Aaron.
She chose orange Gatorade because it’s Caleb’s favorite. Maybe she’ll order some pizza later. “Hmm?” she asks.
