Untethered by Julie Lawson Timmer

Author:Julie Lawson Timmer
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-05-03T14:10:13+00:00

Twenty-one

Oh, everything’s fine,” Sarah said when Char saw her at tutoring the Monday after break and asked how things were going. “Our break was fine. We’re all fine.”

“That’s so nice to hear,” Char said. “I was worried after we spoke the last time.”

“No need, it’s all fine,” Sarah said, in a tone designed to end the discussion.

“Good,” Char said quietly.

Char regarded Sarah as she watched Stevie, who was lying on the floor on his stomach, pushing a toy car through a figure eight he had made with a crumpled piece of paper and a gum wrapper. Char waited for the other woman to snap an order for the boy to get off the dirty floor and come over so she could dust off his pants, clean his hands with wipes.

But Sarah turned to Char without a word to her son. “I mean, the weather wasn’t great, but there’s nothing to be done about that, right?”

Char struggled for a response while Sarah turned to watch her son again. He had kicked off his boots now, and was tapping one socked foot into the large puddle his boots had made. Char looked from the boy to his mother expectantly, but again, Sarah didn’t react.

It was then that Char noticed the globs of liquid rouge on Sarah’s cheek. It looked like she had put it on with her eyes closed—the blotches of pink were too low, and she hadn’t taken the time to blend it properly. She wore no eyeliner or earrings—two things Char had never seen her without. Her lips, like her cheeks, were dotted with clumps of color that she hadn’t made the effort to even out. Her hair appeared not to have been brushed, or washed, in days.

“Sarah,” Char whispered, putting a hand on the other woman’s arm. “Is everything okay? You don’t seem like yourself.”

“Everything’s fine,” Sarah said, looking down at her hands as Stevie, who had rolled over onto his back, let out a loud burp. Raising his head warily to see if his mother had noticed, he locked eyes with Char, who stifled a smile at his “Uh-oh” expression. But Sarah only wrinkled her nose at him before turning back to her hands.

“Should I call you later?” Char asked. “So we can talk without”—she gestured to the child on the floor—“little ears?”

“No need,” Sarah said, “but thank you. I’m totally . . .”

Fine? Char wanted to ask. But she smiled instead, though Sarah didn’t notice, having apparently lost interest in the conversation, and in Char. Stevie stretched his arms overhead and spread his legs, making a snow angel on the dirty linoleum floor. Grime angel, Char thought, and waited for his mother to shriek for him to stop.

Sarah said nothing.

The boy’s socks, which had been in the puddle before he started his angels, picked up dirt from the floor as they traveled up in their arc, creating a curved line of gray-black as he opened and shut his legs again and again. After his third angel, he

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