...Steve quickly dialed his son, Peter’s, mobile phone, then, as the light turned green, he fumbled with the blue tooth ear piece, getting it in place just as Peter answered.
“I’m on my way, Pete.”
“Okay, Dad.”
“How’s…everything?”
He and his son spoke elliptically about the subject of his wife’s mood and behaviour. It was a code they both understood without need for elaboration.
“Well…not too bad. A little tense.”
Shit, she was slipping into one of her manic phases. Earlier in the week, his son had said she was stable, had been taking a new medication. It looked like she’d stopped – again. This was a cycle that happened over and over: she’d take medication, it would settle her, she’d conclude nothing was wrong with her so why take medication, stop, and go through another one of her withdrawn, then moody, then agitated, then manic cycles. It was like the sudden squalls that could come out of nowhere on an otherwise clear day on the Caribbean. Peter’s tone and cryptic words confirmed it was happening now.
“I’ll be there soon, son. Is Caithness nearby?” He knew she would be. In her low ebb, their mother just went silent and sullen. But, in her hyper, frenzied phase, Peter never let Caithness out of his sight. Their mother had never been violent – at least, Peter said she never had – but she became verbally abusive, flying off the handle at the slightest thing, raging at the kids. It upset Caithness terribly and if it got too bad, Peter took her and left, to a movie or a coffee shop, sometimes calling Steve to pick them up. Inevitably, Laura would call Peter, weeping and remorseful and plead with him to come home with Caithness. God almighty, what a fucked-up situation the kids have to endure, he agonized.
“Hi Daddy, are you coming to get us?”
Caithness sounded fine so there must not have been any major upset – yet.
“I sure am Katie-Kate. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Guess what we’re doing this weekend?”
“What, Daddy?” He could hear the anticipation.
“We’re spending the weekend on the boat.”
“Yaaaay!”
“Tonight, we’re going to get pizza and watch a DVD on board.”
“The Princess Bride?”
“Uh, sure, honey.” For the twentieth time. “Then, tomorrow, we’ll do some work on the boat.”
“Booo!”
Steve chuckled. He’d put the boat in the water at the beginning of May and had had her out for a few trial runs, but she needed her standing rigging adjusted, and all the on-board systems checked out, and some general clean up. The truth was, he and his son did most of the work – Peter was handy and loved sailing – with Caithness doing a little cleaning.
“Then, on Sunday, we’ll take her out for a sail.”
“Yaaaaay! Can I take the helm?”
He’d kept promising her, every season, that when she got a little bigger, he let her take the wheel.
Maybe it was time.
“We’ll see, honey.”
“Ohhh, you always say that, Daddy.”
“I know, but I think you might be big enough. Let’s check to make sure you can see over the wheel, okay?”
“Okay. Get here soon, Daddy.”
“Okay, ‘bye honey.”
“’Bye Daddy.”
Caithness clicked to end the call and handed the phone back to Peter and turned to see her mother staring at her, hands on her hips.
“You’re going to spend the whole damn weekend with him. Do you have to talk to him on the phone too? On my time?”
Peter maneuvered himself between Caithness and their mother. He looked at her and said nothing.
“What’s that look for, Peter? You’re always taking your father’s side.”
“I don’t take anyone’s side, Mom. Caithness, run upstairs and get your knapsack.”
Caithness darted up the stairs.
“Jesus, I’m completely on my own,” Laura whined, turned and stomped into the kitchen.
Peter filled his cheeks with air and exhaled in exasperation. Thank god, Dad’s on the way.
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