Decoration Day

By Alan Balkema

Dan and Cheryl are an unlikely couple. While she claws her way up the corporate ladder, he is a house husband to their two children, Kyle, aged five, and Sarah aged nine. With Kyle now in all-day kindergarten, Dan feels compelled to use the increase in free time to return to his dream of writing a best seller. This desire is conflicted by guilt that his writing has contributed so little to the family's financial health.

After ten years of marriage and tenure with her Fortune 500 company, Cheryl feels stuck. She senses that her rise through the ranks has stalled and itches to move on to a new company in a new locale. Dan loves their current neighborhood and house and wants to stay put, arguing that the kids will be devastated to leave their nearby best friends.

Sarah wins the lead role in a school play, a fundraiser for the PTA. The male lead is a new student at their school. During rehearsals for the play, Dan becomes acquainted with Merrie, the mother of the male lead.

Encountering Dan while dropping her son off at school, Merrie asks if there are any good coffee shops in the area, and he jumps at the chance to introduce her to his favorite neighborhood spot. He finds her increasingly attractive as she tells her story: new to Chicago, no friends, missing her close-knit family in Nebraska, her son having trouble adjusting to the diversity of his classmates. She also shares that she feels neglected by her husband and suggests they relocate to his nearby house and make love. He is shocked at her boldness but also troubled that she has picked up on his estrangement from Cheryl.

The attraction to this new temptress only adds to his struggle to reconnect to his increasingly unhappy wife.

Dan's mother organizes a visit by a busload of relatives to see Sarah perform in the play, which further erodes Dan's confidence. And the trip proves to be too much of a strain on Bea, Dan's 106 year-old great-grandmother. Within weeks of the visit, Bea begins a steady decline towards death, news of which makes him come to dread even more his next birthday, on May 31, traditional Decoration Day. Bea shares this birth day with Dan and his father, which makes the celebration an annual obligation Dan wishes in the best of times he didn't have to endure, and the stress of Bea's decline only adds to Dan's estrangement.

Can this couple survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan Balkema
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393135593

Alan Balkema

Alan spent the first three years of his retirement in Dublin with his Irish wife. He highly recommends the location for aspiring writers, as there’s something in the air. He developed a writing routine and enjoyed success in his writing career. A monologue Let Me Share was performed at the Claremorris Fringe Festival, winning best actress and best director awards for the people involved. He’s also had stories published in Flash Fiction World (online and print!) and Brilliant Flash Fiction (ditto). In his career he wrote and edited research reports. Storytelling is much more fun. A native of Romney, Indiana, he now resides in Bloomington, continuing work on his next book, Memorial Day, another family saga set in the flat (northern) part of the state.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Dan Zimmer took a chance on Lake Shore Drive after the Volunteers in Literacy annual luncheon. It was only one-thirty on a Monday, but, thanks to a give-away of green beer at a new Irish pub on the Chicago River, March 19, 2006, would be remembered for brawls that clogged the streets, shutting down the Loop all night. He’d avoided the area to his destination.

He took Stony Island Avenue and merged into traffic on the highway, adjusted his pace through the stop lights in Grant Park so he didn’t catch a red one, and quickly reached freeway speed when the expressway resumed. He saw that he'd be home in plenty of time to pick up the kids from school.

The Volunteer of the Year trophy rode shotgun in his aging Lumina van. Regret filled him on remembering his acceptance speech. He’d composed a good script, short, self-deprecating, thanking all the people who enabled him to win the honor for the second time in four years, and rehearsed it while standing in front of the bathroom mirror, but at the lectern he fumbled for words immediately, stage fright in control. Thanks for this unexpected honor, escaped from his constricted throat, and he turned and fled the stage, the knowledge that no one believed him – his name had been in the program and on the invitations to the annual meeting – compelling his flight.

Approaching the Lasalle exit, he sensed trouble when a Corvette sped past. Dan braked to create space for the trailing police car. The Vette swerved and skidded as it took that exit. The car hit the low concrete barrier, flipped, and skidded on its top in the lane ahead. Dan crossed himself, fearful that he'd be entangled in the wreckage. That fear dissipated as he safely cleared the Vette, but he pulled to a stop in the emergency lane.

The police car came to a halt, its flashing lights adding to the drama. The patrolman approached the inverted vehicle, weapon drawn. Then he holstered it and raced to the aid of the driver, and other Samaritans assisted him, all pounding the windows to break them. Dan watched all this in his rear-view mirror. It’d be a good story to tell the kids, assuming that idiot Vette driver wasn’t paralyzed or dead.

A little voice told him to get home! Situation under control! But the story-teller in him shrugged off this advice; was there more here he could use? No. The rush of excitement was swallowed by resignation as the minutes ticked by. More police arrived. One patrolman took Dan's name and license number and instructed him to wait to give his statement.

In that wait he composed the message of contrition he owed the people he’d meant to thank and beat himself up for letting his stage fright take control. Again. After 37 years of walking this planet, why hadn’t he found a way to control that?

He wondered if his intention to thank his wife had undermined him, for he'd noticed during rehearsals that he faltered there, and why not? Cheryl Adams showed no support of his volunteer activities. She deserved no thanks, except, of course, for being the breadwinner for the family.

His introduction to VIL came after the birth of Sarah. Cheryl demanded space from their first-born, so he would take the baby to the nearby branch of the Chicago Public Library for a couple of hours every afternoon. She would nap and gurgle, and he would people-watch and add to the outline of his novel. A nodding acquaintance developed with one of the patrons, an age-peer, Dan guessed, though this man clearly had challenges. Some days he reeked of body odor and looked unkept, his full beard and long hair stringy, tangled. Dan’s liberal outlook made him want to like this fellow traveler on the road to find out, and he seemed drawn to Dan, who placed the attraction to his own beard and long hair.

Sarah grew restless one day, her binkie unpleasant in a way it had never been before. She started to cry, and nothing Dan tried quieted her. While he packed up his laptop to go home, the stranger approached and engaged her by making funny faces. She quieted and reached for the man.

Little Susie likes Fuzzy, he said in a Donald-Duck-like voice that won a squeal of approval from Sarah.

Dan pointed to her pink cap, embroidered with her name in white. It’s Sarah. 

I know that. But his expression showed that he didn’t, and he walked away with hunched shoulders. It just punched Dan in the gut that a gentle soul, for he sensed Fuzzy was one, could be excluded from written words. His heart went out to this man, and he hoped Fuzzy would return so that he could apologize for having discovered his illiteracy.

Dan shouldered his computer bag and strapped Sarah’s carrier to his chest, the man’s expression at having his secret revealed haunting him all the while. On the way out, he asked Ginger, the librarian, if she knew anything about Fuzzy.

He’s here often. Did he bother you or your baby?

No. Not at all. I think he’s illiterate, though. Kind of strange that he’d hang out in a library.

Why? We’re heated in the winter and cool in the summer. Homeless people often shelter here.

Dan rubbed Sarah’s tiny feet through her booties while his mind sought some fix for Fuzzy’s plight. There should be some program, some agency that he could turn to. To shelter in the library and be unable to read? How sad.

As if reading his mind, Ginger handed him a brochure. Volunteers in Literacy. Check it out. We have lots of people unable to read, or wanting to improve their reading skills, and we don’t have the resources to service the demand.

Dan thought about it as he walked home. He had no extra time, what with an infant and contentious wife to tend to. The brochure laid out the expectations for volunteers: a two-hour training session and a commitment to devote regular hours, one a day, five days a week was the suggested ideal. Dan laughed at that one. Maybe when he retired in forty years.

But Fuzzy’s wounded expression wouldn’t go away, and Dan thought he had an opening to at least initiate this volunteer opportunity. Although Cheryl tried to limit the time she spent alone with their daughter to Dan’s grocery store runs, she could surely handle Sarah long enough for him to complete the training. Those two hours might go so well that she’d abide the daily commitment through the rest of her maternity leave. Then childcare, the real issue, would emerge. They had no extra money. Her paycheck barely covered their expenses. No. Best to not start something he couldn’t finish.

A few days later, Fuzzy was back at the library. While Sarah slept, Dan pried, and Fuzzy shared that letters moved on the page while he stared at them. Although he didn’t, Dan said he got it and tried to talk Fuzzy into literacy, because he was eloquent, with a good vocabulary and a knowledge of the alphabet. He also had a mastery for mimicry, which Dan used to good advantage. Before the afternoon was over they’d stumbled upon a starting point and work-around of his dyslexia.

Although the experience lifted Dan’s spirits, the joy proved fleeting. After a few more days of practice, Fuzzy stopped coming to the library. The pressure of coping with the ever-increasing obligations of the household intruded into everything. Dan’s writing suffered most of all.

The Romney Village neighborhood came through for him. Kaitlyn, who lived across the alley, had a baby daughter a few months older than Sarah. Dan offered an exchange of minding Erin in return for minding Sarah for a few hours every day. Kaitlyn jumped at the chance. This arrangement allowed him to become a Volunteer in Literacy.

It was the perfect gig: hour-long, one-on-one sessions with people motivated to learn. Some came once, most came several times a week for a month or two. Launching new readers into the library fulfilled him in a way that money never could. 

A glance at his Blackberry revealed that the opportunity to be a good citizen had a cost. If he wasn’t interviewed soon he’d be late picking up the kids from school. He thought Sarah, a fourth-grader, would handle the situation okay, but what about Kyle in kindergarten? He’d shown on numerous occasions that he couldn’t handle any disruption to the routine. Dan hated to put the kids in jeopardy just to repeat the obvious to a policemen: excessive speed caused the wreck. When Dan saw another stopped car pull away, he started the van, entered the slow-moving traffic, and took the next exit.

He realized right away that he’d made a mistake. Too many drivers had abandoned Lake Shore Drive and jammed the streets. He inched forward for blocks, his agitation growing. When he finally cleared the jam, he drove straight to the Romney Academy and pulled to a stop behind other cars waiting to pick up children. He studied the trophy, at least two feet high with a cast-bronze open book on top. Why spend precious resources on that? When he’d won the honor for the first time, he received a plaque. He remembered thinking then that a certificate on fancy paper would’ve sufficed.

A rap on the driver’s side window startled him.

Not walking today?

He opened the door and, while he stood, tried to capture this woman’s name from the swirl in his brain. Her son was in Sarah’s class, his first year at the Academy. Dan returned her smile.

No. Had to go downtown, and then got stuck in a jam on the way home.

They laughed at Chicago’s traffic; what else could they do? And her name came to him – Merrie, two rs, an e and ie, not Mary, a litany he’d heard her go through with other parents.

Wow. Big trophy. Are you awarding it to someone?

I won it. I’m Volunteer of the Year at the Volunteers in Literacy.

Now that group knows how to honor people! I guess when it’s in your name.

She laughed, a hearty one. She was pretty, with brown eyes and brown hair in a pony tail that stretched to mid-back.

The bell rang, the assistant principal opened the school’s front door, and children streamed out. As was his custom, Connor charged up to Merrie, and they hugged, climbed into her cherry-red X-3, and drove away before Sarah or Kyle cleared the doors. She appeared first, amidst a gaggle of laughing girls. They were still enjoying each other’s company when Kyle finally emerged with his best friend, Juan. Dan rounded up his kids and headed home, intent to check on the slow-roasting pork and beans that’d been cooking since he left for the south side.

Kyle said as he climbed into the van, Is that mine?

Dan stopped just short of giving it away. What could he offer Sarah when she asked for her trophy? He was sorry again that he’d been awarded it; the damn thing was more trouble than it was worth. He buckled Kyle into his booster seat and answered his barrage of whys behind the award.

Dan started the story of the wrecked car while he buckled his seatbelt. The tale diverted Kyle through the six-block drive home. After pushing the remote control to open the garage door, he saw Cheryl’s car in its spot. She was home early from work, an occurrence that was becoming the norm. Dan envisioned the upcoming conversation about her lack of assignments at work, a touchy subject, often leading to arguments. He thought, well, maybe there’s a use for the trophy after all. He unbuckled Kyle, started them towards the house, and grabbed the trophy in one hand.

As Dan guessed, Cheryl had left the back door unlocked, so the kids rushed in to spoil the surprise. He fell further behind while throwing the deadbolt on the door. Wearing sweats, Cheryl sat at the kitchen table, an arm around each child. Dan took it as a bad sign that she’d been home long enough to change her clothes. He placed the trophy in front of her.

She read the inscription. You got this today?

Yeah, at the annual meeting. You know, elect the leadership for another year, listen to reports. I  knew I’d be recognized, but the trophy was a surprise.

I wish you would’ve invited me.

He drew back in surprise. You do?

Weren’t you proud to get it?

Yeah, sure.

I would’ve gone just to see your expression.

Dan heard that an apology was expected but didn’t know what for. She used to throw his volunteer work in his face when he’d ask whether some new gadget or frock was really necessary. Her rising salary over the years made this less of an issue, and volunteering had settled into the routine and, therefore, unremarkable. Like writing, it was his thing, and he liked it that way.

Did you remember to thank those responsible for your success?

I meant to, but that turned into embarrassment. I lost my voice, you know, usual stuff.

She patted his arm. Poor Dan.

Mommy! Sarah exclaimed. We got the script for the school play today!

Let me see it.

While Sarah rummaged in her backpack, Dan lifted the lid of the slow cooker and savored the aroma, all the while hoping that the script could become the smooth transition to dinner. To speed this along he turned up the cooker’s temperature and got peaches out of the fruit bin.

Sarah handed the script to her mother and sat in the closest chair. Kyle got the box of Legos out of the toy cubby, sat at the table, and started sticking blocks together.

Cheryl put down the script and said, I’d say the princess has the best part. You should audition for that. Try your best to win, and then feel good when you do.

Sarah shrugged. Fourth graders do it every year, so it’s our turn. But Erin will want to be princess.

That doesn’t mean you can’t try for the part, too. It’s a competition. The judges decide who gets the roles.

Dan said, She doesn’t have to try for anything.

Cheryl looked over her shoulder. Well, of course, Dan. She drew out his name, and he sensed the onset of another argument. I’d think, though, that with all the good-will you’ve built up at all those PTA meetings and bake sales, Sarah’d have an inside track to any role she wants.

Dan shook his head. Amanda writes a new play every year. This is her baby, her passion. She’ll be casting on merit.

Cheryl cocked her head. Are you saying that Sarah lacks merit?

Dan felt like he’d been stabbed in the heart.

Can I be in the play? Kyle shouted. Dan read fear on Kyle’s face.

Cheryl turned and rubbed his head. I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t see a role for you.

Dan consciously pulled a smile and approached Sarah. When he spoke, his voice was as calm as he could make it. Of course you have merit. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her back. That was a mean thing to say, Cheryl.

She studied the kid’s faces and looked at Dan. I apologize. I was being mean. She smiled at him, her good one, and he kissed the top of her head to let everybody know he accepted the apology.

She pulled back. What are you chopping?

Peaches. That’s dessert. You smell the pork and beans. Right, Kyle?

I like them!

You, too, right, Sarah? He caressed the top of her head. She shrugged her shoulders. Feeling like he still needed to atone, he lingered at her side.

Cheryl said, What’s wrong with a little play-acting? Like with your Legos. What are you building?

A castle.

Wouldn’t it be fun to live in one? With towers and dungeons and knights and horses. You’d ring the bell, and servants would bring everything you want!

Castles are cold and drafty, Dan said.

Not the one you’re building, right Kyle?

Right!

Where would you put your castle?

Kyle eyed his mother. Here.

No, if you could build it anywhere, anywhere in the whole world, where would you put it?

Here!

Dan heard panic in his son’s voice. She’d been fantasizing to the kids about moving for months, disregarding his cautions that she was making them anxious. I’d put it here, too, Kyle.

She turned to Sarah. You want to try for a part, right? Sarah tilted her head left and right, representing, to Dan, maybe yes, maybe no. You get to wear makeup. Sarah’s eyes lit up.

Feeling that an ace had been pulled out of a sleeve, Dan said, Really, Cheryl? Makeup?

She stayed focused on their daughter. It’s make-believe, and makeup is part of the magic! When I was your age, I played a princess on stage. Oh, Sarah, it was so much fun!

She might not get that part, Cheryl.

No, but you might, or the queen. Or one of the maids in waiting.

Sarah looked up at her dad. Honestly, honey. You don’t have to be in the play.

Cheryl said, Don’t try to infect her with your stage fright.

Dan took a step backwards. Acutely aware that his children watched, he considered several comebacks. Don’t push so hard, Cheryl.

Daddy? Kyle asked. When’s the play?

Grateful for the  question, Dan chirped, Two weeks. Well, twelve days.

This answer seemed to satisfy, and he returned to his Legos. Dan cast a warning glance at Cheryl, who returned the challenge. Castles aren’t cold and drafty in Phoenix.

He felt a scowl cross his face. Trading cold winters for unbearable heat all summer is a bad bargain. He judged from her look that she’d seen the scowl. Her jaw jutted forward, the signal that she was ready to fight, and he returned to the cutting board.

Her Blackberry rang. She eyed the display. It’s Channing. I’ve got to take this.

As she headed for the living room, Dan eyed the kids and sensed they needed reassuring. Everything’s fine, guys.

While he finished preparing the peaches, Dan recalled that Cheryl’s face carried that same combative look the first time he’d laid eyes on her. A member of the maintenance crew of a large apartment complex near Indiana University, he met her in the manager’s office. She was a new tenant, enraged at the condition of her apartment upon arrival. Charged with making the situation right, he attempted to soften her anger with tips for getting to campus while they crossed the complex on foot. He noted a softening of her attractive features as the stroll progressed; she was blonde, blue-eyed, about five inches shorter than Dan’s six feet, wearing a moving-in outfit of shorts and a t-shirt that showed a lithe body. Upon entering her apartment, he conceded that the crew had been negligent and spackled the many holes left by the previous tenant. Since she lingered, he asked questions and learned that she was enrolled in the accelerated MBA program at IU.

To his surprise, she offered to treat him to lunch at his favorite restaurant. That went well, so he volunteered a tour of Bloomington and then helped move furniture to different spots and carried boxes from her car to the apartment, all part of making it right. She got his sense of humor, and he liked her laugh. As it neared quitting time, she asked him to help make her bed. Quickly, they were making love on the crisp new sheets. It happened so fast, so comfortably, it still took his breath away to think of it.

She said she loved him four days after that. He thought this hasty and put the blame on afterglow. After they’d decoupled and plumped pillows, she said it again and added that she’d never felt this way before. Her eyes searched his. This time he cautioned that she might be rushing her feelings. He advised sleeping on it for several days. Wary of the rash declaration, he watched for signs of second thoughts.

His practice of turning off lights she’d left burning sparked their first fight, two weeks into the relationship. She yelled at him to quit it; he replied that her carbon footprint was too big. They argued with increasing volume about whether energy conservation or her preference for lighted rooms should prevail. He finally asked for a hug, and, although she was slow to open her arms, they soon were making love. When they were spent, he revisited the subject, laying out his environmental passion and asking her to open her mind to it.

And she had changed. Lights seldom burned unnecessarily after that. Conversations about their future as a couple started in earnest. When negotiations reached an impasse, they would ask the other to open their minds. It usually worked, but, now, the subject he’d closed off was moving from this house he loved so much.

Daddy, Sarah asked. When do we eat?

An hour. Do you need a snack?

No. I’m going upstairs. Okay?

He said it was, eyed Kyle, who stuck another block onto the castle, and returned to memories of the early days. Their first accord placed him in a support role to Cheryl’s career. Her MBA, she expected, would initiate many offers from Fortune 500 firms, meaning they would travel the country, if not the world, at the behest of her employer, much as she’d done as her father climbed the ladder at General Motors. Dan, an Indiana farm boy with limited travel experience, thought that sounded exciting, and, as he’d revealed his desire to write novels, both agreed that a semi-nomadic lifestyle would be conducive to creativity. She did land her dream job, and they moved to Chicago. Here they’d stayed.

Another point scored by Dan Zimmer - she fretted that being at the bottom of every alphabetical list would hinder her career. He sensed her relief when he encouraged her to keep Adams.

You’re what! Cheryl shouted from the living room. Dan braced for a storm. This is a new low, Channing. She entered the kitchen, her Blackberry held to her ear. You wouldn’t ask this of a junior staffer, and I’m a director! She paced the space between the door and the table. I’m still on a red-eye. I won’t be sharp, I can promise you that! She caught his eye. Her face showed exasperation, then fury. If I’m not expected to contribute, why am I going?! She dropped her gaze, rubbed her forehead, and issued a string of yeses.

She ended the call and pounded her fist against her thigh. He just sent me to a conference starting tomorrow in Houston! He booked a first class ticket. That’s supposed to make me feel better.

Couldn’t you tell him you’re not going?

She shook her head. It’s called ‘A Second Look at Climate Change’. Since I ran the First Look, I have to be there.

Strange that this is the first you’ve heard of it.

She started to pace again. I can’t believe I haven’t been involved in this conference.

Maybe you missed the original invitation?

She rolled her eyes. Involved as in leading planning sessions for several months. No, Dan. I’ve been specifically excluded.  She dropped into a chair. Channing’s covering his ass by sending me!

Easy, Cheryl. He watched Kyle’s eyes travel between parents. Dan consciously put optimism in his voice. There must be another explanation. Although he’d never spent a day in the corporate ranks, during her rise through them she’d sought his counsel when confronted with issues. It often turned out that his advice was appropriate, and he’d come to believe that he had an innate gift for parsing the intentions of management. Her reversal of fortunes over the last year scared the pants off him.

What do you make of this conference?

Dan leaned against the counter. Allied Industries led the way in acknowledging climate change and lessening its carbon footprint. The other big companies are pushing back.

She looked close to tears. All that work, down the drain.

Maybe you can pull off a miracle.

She shook her head. Only in the movies, Dan. She started pacing again. You might be right, though, about it coming from left field. I’ve got to believe that Channing got blind-sided, too.

He feels bad, so he’ll be more protective of you. You’re his right-hand woman.

She cast him a skeptical look. I’m halfway down the gangplank that he stuck in front of me.

He smiled and stuck that optimism back in his voice. Sometimes little changes make big differences. You know, a transfer to a new division.

No, Dan. Thirty years and a gold watch doesn’t happen anymore.

We’ve set good roots here, Cheryl.

Are you saying that you won’t support me?

I support you every day!

He’d used enough emotion and volume to compel Kyle to wail and drop to the floor, hands over his eyes. The parents nearly collided heads in their rush to comfort him. As Kyle reached for mommy, Dan sat back in a chair, and Cheryl swayed, holding Kyle against her body. Shh. It’s okay, Kyle. Daddy didn’t mean to shout.

While the shushing and swaying continued, Dan wondered why he possessed endless patience with the kids yet couldn’t keep from erupting at Cheryl. I’m sorry I yelled.

Cheryl tried to hand the still-squalling child to Dan, but Kyle squirmed away, so she carried him out of the kitchen. Dan stirred the peaches, tasted the spoon, and turned off the burner. The crying continued in the living room, so he went upstairs and looked through the open bedroom door at Sarah. Amid a jumble of the script, dolls, and stuffed animals on her bed, she read The Half-Blood Prince. She looked up as he entered the bedroom.

Are you mad at mommy?

No. Just a little misunderstanding, like you have with Kyle sometimes. He sat on the bed. Haven’t you read that book?

Yeah, but Erin said something, and I’m trying to find out if she’s right.

How’s that going?

She shrugged her shoulders. I like this story, daddy.

Yeah, me, too. She’s a good writer.

Like you?

Well, she’s sold a whole lotta, lotta more books than I have. To take his mind off that he asked which Harry Potter book was her favorite. She guessed it was the Sorcerer’s Stone. He agreed, remembering that he’d been consumed with envy when he read it, well aware of her struggles to find a publisher in England and the success the English edition achieved. This envy only grew with each addition to the series.

He heard Cheryl climb the stairs and enter Kyle’s bedroom. The crying had ceased. He ran his hand through Sarah’s blonde hair and down the side of her face. Don’t feel pressured about the play. All right? She said she wouldn’t. He left her room and glanced into Kyle’s.

Cheryl put her index finger over her mouth as she walked towards him. She felt great pride at turning away from her anger and calming the distress of her youngest. Where had she found the patience? As they descended the stairs, she felt the verge of another argument, about work, about the kids, more probably, about moving. It seemed to be all they did anymore. She knew she carried much of the blame, bringing conflict home from work. Could she comfort Dan, as she had Kyle?

She realized another apology was due. She turned to face him in the kitchen. I have been mean, and I’m sorry. That crack about your stage fright was unnecessary. She expected a smile from him. When she didn’t get it, she added, You know, most people enjoy the spotlight, including our daughter. 

She’s too young to be getting pushed like you’re doing.  

You do see that you’re pushing her to stay in the background? Yes you are, Dan. That’s not our daughter. She likes to be out front, and, yea. Yea for her. That’s a good trait to carry into adulthood.

Dan dropped his head. I just want her and Kyle to enjoy being kids for as long as possible.

I do, too. Encouraging them to spread their wings is not kicking them out of childhood. He sighed. She asked if he’d like something to drink.

Yes. I’d like a gin and tonic.

She wondered if the hard stuff would tame his emotions as she mixed the drink. She poured a glass of wine, sat across from him, and lifted her glass. To quiet conversation. He clinked her glass. Both sipped. Remember how we talked about exotic places to live? You were up for anywhere. What happened?

Sarah and Kyle. We have a good life here, Cheryl, and a great support system. Juan and his parents right next door. Erin and her parents across the alley. I wish I’d had a good friend that near when I grew up. Our kids will be broken-hearted to leave, and you well know how hard it’ll be to replace the network we have.

They’re still young enough to make new friends. So are we, Dan. Now, I know that you feel like you’ve put your life on hold...

No, I don’t.

Well, your writing career hasn’t panned out like either of us wanted. You’ll agree with that? He avoided her eyes and sipped his drink. She waited, but his gaze stayed on his glass. His body language wasn’t promising, either. He seemed coiled, ready to strike, but she wanted to make her point. She settled back in her chair. They’ve made it clear that I’m no longer valued. If I’m not proactive, they’ll fire me. Think what that’ll do to your precious budget. She instantly regretted introducing that subject, as it usually led to shouting. I’m sorry, Dan. That was mean, too. She studied his face. He still looked like he did when they met, no lines, no gray in his hair or beard, and she knew her face carried every one of her 33 years. You wanted to live in Paris, Rome, Sydney. We thought that’d be a wonderful experience for our kids. Remember? He signed heavily and raised his eyes. They were close to tears. 

You said it was hard. You hated to leave your friends and worried about finding new ones.

Yes, but I worked through that. It shaped me into an over-achieving adult. It could do the same for Sarah and Kyle. I’d like to give them that chance.

Kyle’s worried sick. Don’t tell me you don’t see that. And Sarah’s coming into her own at school, big circle of friends. Why yank her out of that?

First off, kids are resilient. And, big as Chicago is, the top ranks go to the same clubs, mingle at the same parties. If I’m toxic, the news has spread.

Oh, come on. Toxic? A smile played over his face, which hardened when she didn’t return it. Cheryl, please, limit your search to companies in Chicago.

Why limit my potential like that?

He dropped his gaze. Money can’t be the only criteria. His eyes returned, fierce this time. Would you work in a hell-hole if it paid a million dollars?

Think what we could buy! She waited a moment, laughed, and said, Come on, Dan. That was funny.

He shook his head. You do see that me and the kids will weigh in, that our voices will count.

She rewarded his soft tone with a smile. It will be a negotiation, everybody at the table. And yes, there are thousands of corporations in Chicago. I’m sorry I snapped at you. But, come on, Dan. This could be a time of great excitement and joy for the family. Rule out an offer in Paris? Are you kidding me?

He drained his drink and sighed. I should check on dinner.

She sipped her wine and thought back to the first time Dan cooked for her. He served maafe, a West African chicken and peanut stew. As she’d survived on boxed salads and coffee laced with cream and sugar through her undergraduate years, she marveled at his culinary skills and spun more fantasies about this potential mate. He exuded health, and she found the beard and long hair fitting for his artistic ambition. She’d already learned that his parents and grandparents were still together and that he was an adventurous and energetic lover.

Sarah entered the kitchen. She lingered nearby, so Cheryl drew her close and kissed her cheek.

Did you find what you were looking for? Dan asked.

No. I think Erin made up that Hermione and Harry kiss.

Dan rubbed his chin, eyes down. I think you’re right.

The conversation delved into the lore of Harry Potter. Cheryl hadn’t read the series and found these discussions vexing. The emphasis on hocus pocus didn’t prepare children to deal with the challenges that lay ahead, and she’d long ago tired of being called a muggle.

Then Kyle entered the kitchen and joined in the conversation. He hadn’t read the books but had repeatedly seen the movies. As the conversation fell deeper into minutiae, she felt more isolated from her family. The feeling took hold that they wouldn’t miss her while she endured a stupid conference she knew nothing about. On the edge of tears, she stood, went into the living room, stretched, and tried to clear her mind. But her laptop was in reach. She booked a limo to take her to the airport and searched in vain for pages related to the conference. That Dan and the kids continued to babble about the Hogwarts School didn’t help her mood. She went upstairs to pack.

Her go-to outfits wouldn’t work for this trip; she wanted to blend into the background. And what did the agenda look like? Work sessions around tables? Long-winded speeches? Would Houston be hot and humid in mid-March? Normally, packing for a trip brought excitement, but she felt all her options were wrong. Still, she had to go and became more stressed as she put more apparel in the suitcase, which soon had to be switched for a bigger one.

Dan climbed the stairs. He entered their bedroom and hesitated at her closed closet door. He felt exposed, about to be discovered, but rapped on and opened the door.  Dinner on the table in half an hour. Will you be done packing by then?

Without even a glance, she said, I’ll grab a bite at the airport.

He took in and released a deep breath. Cheryl, I’m sorry I’ve been resistant. He heard hurt feelings in his voice. I wish you’d hear my concerns about moving. She pulled another dress off the pole, held it in front of her, and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

I hear them all, Dan. She stuck the dress back on the pole.

He turned her words over in his head, hearing another dig. He sensed her agitation, but he longed to part on good terms. Want to make love before you go?

She shook her head.

Chapter 2

Lying in bed that night, Dan chased the feeling that he’d drifted too far away from Cheryl. Every lap he scrambled up the scree of equivocation, of not giving his best effort. One of his first grade teacher’s criticisms of young Dan was that he didn’t commit to tasks, and this assessment had dogged him through school.

His thoughts drifted to his first love. Although he considered himself experienced when he met Lisa, she’d taught him how to appreciate female anatomy. They dated for a semester and then moved into a little house for their final year, helping each other earn their respective degrees, his BA in English and her BS in biology. He liked her and knew she loved him. Yet, when they talked about the future, he held back. His life plan consisted of writing acclaimed novels. Besides that? Well, he did want to raise children; that implied marriage, but the career as a successful writer had to come first.

He encouraged her to apply for a scholarship on the other side of the country; hell, he wrote the damn thing. The highlight of his fledgling career, she won the scholarship. While he helped her pack, his regrets grew, and in the emptiness after her departure he realized that he did love her. He regretted not voicing that still, but would that relationship have worked out any better?

He missed Cheryl then, her presence and warmth in the bed. And it ate at him that if he failed to commit to this task, he’d set a family precedent. Among his siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents, he’d be the first divorcee.

At 2:30, he got out of bed and went to his writing nook off the kitchen. Once situated at the computer, he experienced more torment, his thoughts flitting around like a fly searching for a hole in a pane of glass. He knew what he wanted to write: his story. Those feelings of isolation, his touchstone growing up, cloaked him like a straight-jacket. So why couldn’t he put them on paper?

The third of five children, he’d absorbed in the crib that there was no place for him. Howard, Jr., would take over the family farm, and everybody knew it. He and Kathy tormented their little brother, and the patriarch, everyone called him Hub, a nickname bestowed for his dominance on the line of scrimmage in that football-mad part of Indiana, did nothing to stop it. Hence, from an early age Dan searched for ways to help Betty, his mother, in the house. Eric and Amelia, the last two children, were born three years apart, as were Howie and Kathy. The accident of birth also isolated Dan, who was five years younger than Kathy and eight years older than Eric.

When Eric came along, Hub relented on Dan’s status as momma’s boy, and the taunts eased. Betty often expressed gratitude for Dan’s assistance and turned over more child-minding responsibility when Amelia was born. But Dan felt estranged from his mom, too. She urged him to be a man, fight back, put the bullies in their place; he thought it more prudent to avoid them.

Although Howie had not inherited Hub’s talents for blocking and tackling nor his dedication to lifting weights, he had been on the team. Kathy starred at volleyball and track, as well as participating in the baton squad and performing in school plays. Teachers and coaches expected Dan to follow in these footprints, but he’d learned that trouble always followed the spotlight. He earned good grades, but the list of memberships and accomplishments next to his name