Thirteen. Vindicated

THIRTEEN

Vindicated

Joe

"It's the only time Chad and I can get away with his kids for a family trip before the end of the year, J. We'll take them extra at Christmas, I promise. I'll make it super sweet for Anders. We'll hit up the Upper Peninsula and take him out on the slopes."

There are so many wrong things in that sentence, I take a full minute before I respond, squeezing the phone in my hand and pulling it away from my ear. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Anders and Lucy curled up together on the love seat, absorbed in some show on their tablet. I cover the phone speaker and tell Anders, "I'm gonna step out for a minute, bud. Just on the deck."

He nods his understanding, immediately returning to the screen held in his lap, and I move through my bedroom to the sliding door and slip through, closing it behind me.

"J?" I hear Kiley's annoyed voice call out. "Did I lose you?"

"I'm here."

"Oh, there you are. Okay. So where did I lose you? Did you hear the part about missing Thanksgiving? Not so much missing, really. Just postponing. I can take the kids Christmas through New Year's. Chad and I will grab them and we'll head to the UP. I found an opening at a resort up there…"

"Kiley."

"What?" Her voice is terse, but I know from experience the issue is not me. She's feeling guilty and she's taking it out on me while trying to overmanage another offer so that it's not so much "I'm not taking them" as "I've found something better!"

She does this every time. Steamrolls that shit into the ground.

I recognize I've played my part in creating this monster. For most of our relationship, I was the one leaving. She was left trying to navigate all the pieces on her own. I fully accept responsibility.

"You're asking me to walk back in the house and tell those two kids that the Florida beach vacation with their mom they've been counting down on the calendar—and I mean crossing off the days since May—is canceled, and instead, you're going to come here and take them skiing, something they've never done and I'm not sure Lucy can handle, over Christmas and New Year's, which, by the way, are my holidays this year and my family already has plans for them."

My ex is silent a beat and then she huffs into the phone speaker. "Jesus, J, dramatic much? It's no wonder where Luce gets it." I shut my eyes and clench my jaw to keep from snapping at her. It wouldn't do any good. To Kiley, Lucy isn't autistic. She heard the diagnosis the same as me. She sat in that tiny, cold office and spoke with the neuropsychologist the same as me. But somehow, she heard "abnormally difficult and prone to dramatics" instead of "autism spectrum disorder."

I take a deep breath and force my tone to be calm and steady. "Kiley. I really think you should at least talk to Anders. I can give him the phone and you can break the news to him. Talk up the ski trip. Whatever you need to do, but he needs to hear his mom's voice. He misses you and hearing it's gonna be another month longer before he sees you is gonna hurt."

"You know I can't, J. He'll cry and then I'll cry and I can't cry right now. I'm in the car, about to walk into a showing. You're better at smoothing things over."

"Then call him later, after your showing."

"Please, J," she whispers, and I can feel myself caving.

I huff out a breath. "Fine, but you should call him soon. Really soon, Kiley. FaceTime so you can talk to Luce as well. She's not really into the phone, but she needs to see your face, too. Especially if you're gonna try to take her to a resort."

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm wondering if taking Lucy is a mistake. She's probably too young for a ski hill…"

"What the fuck, Kiley?"

"I'll talk to Chad," she says in a rush. "I'll see if I can convince him, but you know how he gets, and besides, it would be good for Anders to get some time without his little sister dragging—"

"I'm going to cut you off before you say something really awful about our child and I can't unhear that shit. I'll talk to the kids. You go to your showing and then plan to call them as soon as you can manage. Bye, Kiley."

I disconnect the call before she can say anything else and stand on my deck staring out into the woods, trying to calm myself down. I fight the urge to call and tell her I'll keep Lucy and Anders through all the holidays and to forget the entire ordeal. Experience tells me she hasn't made any plans yet. She's just throwing shit at the proverbial wall and seeing if anything will stick—if I will fight her. And experience tells her I won't. I want her to have the life she's always needed, and I don't want my kids hurt in the process. It's not their fault I fucked things up with their mom.

But I have full custody. Not because I won it, but because she gave it to me. She gets to see them a few times a year. We try to switch off holidays to make it fair, but mostly, I just wanted them to grow up knowing their mom. The problem is, knowing her, in the distant way they've been afforded, is not enough. And I'm not enough to cover both roles in the not-distant way. Anders is eight. He's still craving the scraps Kiley dangles, but for how long before he gives up? How long will I have to watch this play out, a knife twisting in my gut, over and over?

I get why she walked away from me. I can't fathom how she could do it to them.

Eventually the cold afternoon seeps into my T-shirt and bare feet and I walk back into the house, mentally preparing myself for the task of telling my kids the bad news. I'm met with the sound of three voices chatting it up in my living room and feel a wave of calm wash over me. Maren's here .

I step into the room and see three heads smushed together on my love seat. Maren's sandwiched between my kids. It's not surprising Anders is practically in her lap. The kid worships the ground she walks on. Between her taking him under her wing on her borrowed fishing boat and the fact that she lets him play with Rogers whenever he wants, she's his dream come true.

But I'm a little taken aback to see Lucy pressed into her other side. Lucy's expression isn't exactly adoring. She doesn't show that face to anyone but her big brother, and, on the very rare occasion, me, but she's content. She's touching Maren, voluntarily, and watching her closely. As I get closer, I can see Lucy has tucked her hand in Maren's.

"She likes to have her arm tickled," Anders says in a low voice. "Sometimes when she gets upset, I tickle her arm and she calms down. I think it smoothes her."

"Soothes," Maren murmurs, tentatively dragging her fingers back and forth over Lucy's small, pale forearm.

"Soothes," Anders corrects himself.

I clear my throat to get their attention and definitely not because I'm feeling suddenly choked with any sort of unfamiliar emotion.

I round the furniture, settling on the squashy leather ottoman opposite them. "Hey. Sorry I was gone so long."

"Dad! Maren's here!"

Maren and I both laugh. "Yeah, bud. Figured that one out. You two have fishing plans I forgot about?"

"Nah," Maren says. She's wearing a worn-looking long-sleeved shirt with the words GOOD NATURED emblazoned across the chest. It's covered in diagrams of various native plants. "The fish will get to live another day. I'm tired of breathing in varnish fumes and decided to take a walk. No surprise, Rogers dragged me this way." At that, I realize Rogers is lying at their feet on my rug. "Clearly," she continues, grinning, "he approved of getting away from the varnish fumes, too."

"I was just about to suggest grabbing some dinner. Want to join us?"

"Oh, that's okay. I didn't mean to impose."

"No imposition," I tell her and mean it. Anders tugs her arm and nods, energetically.

"Please come! We'll get pizza! Dad and I can share a large one and you and Luce can share a medium."

"Or we can decide on what to get as a family," I say without thinking. My eyes dart to Maren's expression, but if she hears my slip, she doesn't react.

"I love pizza," Maren agrees easily. "I need to drop off Rogers, though. What time do you want to head out?"

"We can be ready whenever. But why don't you leave Rogers here? He seems pretty comfortable on the rug. In fact"—I switch gears on the fly—"why don't we do takeout? If you wouldn't mind staying with Anders for a bit, I'll order us all dinner and Lucy and I can go pick it up."

Maren seems nonplussed by my change but agrees immediately.

"Sure. I, um, actually brought something that I was hoping Lucy, and Anders, too, of course, could help me with?" From the floor, she lifts an old plastic tackle box, holding it awkwardly in front of herself.

"Tackle?"

Pink highlights Maren's cheeks and she smiles self-consciously as she takes in the dual stares of my children. "Kind of. It's actually something I used to do with Fost when I was a kid. I was always losing all his best lures in the weeds, so he decided I needed to learn how to make them. I've seen Lucy's incredible artwork," she says, smiling down at my daughter before turning to my son, "and figured maybe Anders would want to try to catch a musky on a homemade lure…"

"You want to teach my kids how to make lures?"

Maren starts to shake her head, "Unless… it's a dumb idea? I know paint is messy, but…"

I cut her off and my voice comes out weirdly strangled. "Not dumb. Right, Lucy? Would you like to build with Maren?"

Lucy is already reaching both hands to the box. "Yes, please."

Maren squats down to place the box on the floor and shows Lucy how to unclasp the hinged top. "There aren't any hooks on these yet," she explains. "So they're safe to play with. I thought maybe we could start with some wooden musky lures. They're already carved, but you guys can paint them as realistic or flashy as you want. I have some newspaper to keep your table safe and bought some new paints. You don't even want to know what twenty-year-old craft paint smells like…"

Lucy picks up two different carvings and holds them up in front of her eyes. I can practically see her little brain designing the perfect detailing. I can't believe I've never thought of this before. "Can I talk to you real quick in the kitchen?" I ask Maren, and she stands up without hesitation, moving to follow me.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask first about the lures, I just saw Lucy's artwork on the fridge and thought maybe she would want to try—"

"It's perfect. I'm not upset. Well, a little annoyed I never thought of it myself, but that's beside the point. I just got off the phone with Kiley," I start, once we're safely tucked away. I lean against the countertop and cross my hands over my chest. "She was supposed to take the kids over Thanksgiving. I was going to fly with them down to Florida and she was going to fly with them back."

Maren mimics my stance, standing across from me, her left hip against the island, her arms in front of her. "That's… wow. Commitment. I take it from the past tense that something fell apart?"

I don't know why I want to tell her, I just know I do. It's been years of this, and I don't have anyone to talk to. I don't want to talk to my parents because they already have strong feelings where Kiley is concerned, and I inevitably end up feeling like I have to defend her bullshit to them. Most of my friends are married and live in other states. Liam knows everything, of course, but he tends to overreact. I don't need anyone charging in to fix things, I just need someone to listen.

Maren is here. Maren knew my ex. Maren takes Anders out fishing, and Maren was tickling Lucy's arm.

So I tell Maren and when I'm done, she scowls and lets out a slow hiss under her breath. The effect on my anxiety is an instant balm.

She speaks quietly, just loud enough that only I can hear. "Would Anders even want to spend Christmas away from home and Lucy?"

I groan, scrubbing at my face. "I don't know. I don't think so, but it's his mom. He's in this weird place between giving up on her entirely and clinging to any piece she tosses his way. If he does want to go, I don't think I could stand in his way. This might very well be the last year he would."

Maren takes that in, her expression thoughtful, and then uncertain. "I wasn't going to say anything, because I am very aware this is not at all my place… but Anders has been talking to me a little about things with his mom. Nothing, well… gah." She stops. Reconsiders. Opens her mouth, then pauses again, her expression pained. "Jesus, Joe, I am so out of my depth here. Liam would be better at this."

Doubtful. "Maybe, but I'm talking to you ."

"To your detriment, I'm sure." She doesn't wait for me to respond. "Okay, whatever. Here goes. Anders asked me about you and Kiley, when you were younger. Which I'm sure I wasn't super helpful on that front, but I told him the truth. You and Kiley were super in love. Somehow, from that, he pulled out an ‘until they had kids.' And I…" She trails off, seeing my face. I'm sure I look as stricken on the outside as I feel on the inside. "Shit," she said. "I told you I'm out of my depth."

"No, I need to hear this. Please."

Maren sighs and walks the two steps toward me. She reaches the counter, turns, and presses closer to me, side by side, her hip against mine, and she gentles her voice even further.

"I told him I didn't know a lot about love, but it was my experience that kids made love multiply, not divide. He told me sometimes he gets mad at Lucy. I told him that was okay, because I get mad at my brothers all the time but still love them. He liked that. It's not a crisis to be annoyed by your siblings, it's a rite of passage. Anyone can see that kid adores his sister. And for good reason! She's adorable. You have good kids, Joe. The best, even. You're doing a good job."

"Why do I feel like there is a ‘but' in there?"

Maren nudges me with her hip. "But," she emphasizes, "and this comes with the caveats that I have only been around six weeks and am not a parent and also puked on my boyfriend to get him to stop proposing to me—but Kiley might not be doing the best job by Anders."

I absorb this, careful to keep my tone neutral. "This is not news, but why do you think that?"

"Because Anders said he gets mad at his mom sometimes, too, but his tone was different, you know? There was an edge to it. And when I mentioned maybe he could call his mom, he shut it down. Completely. Which, actually, made me really think because for goodness' sake, she is the parent. She is his mom . If she wants to show him that he means something to her—that she misses him— she should reach out. Now, after what you just told me, I'm wondering if she grasps that."

I sigh and she gives me silence. That comfortable, companionable silence I've grown accustomed to with her. I churn over her words in my mind, hot anger for my kid mixing with remorse for the way he's been holding on to these feelings.

"I fucked up," I confess. "I've been letting her walk all over me out of guilt for leaving her alone so much when I was in the military."

"Okay, but you were in the military , Joe. Fighting for your country. Not on tour with your rock band."

Her words do little to pierce the walls of self-loathing surrounding me. "She felt disappointed and abandoned for years, and I didn't even notice. She was building a life separate from me, and I completely missed the signs. I just assumed she was happy to keep our home while I was away; I was a selfish asshole, off playing the hero."

"All of this sounds like a good reason to question a marriage, Joe. I get it. Maybe you stopped working as a couple. Though, I think you're being pretty hard on yourself, taking all of the blame… but that's neither here nor there. I'm not hearing anything about why she's distanced herself from her own kids."

"She's making me pay for it," I tell Maren.

"Well, that's the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard."

A bark of laughter erupts past my lips, breaking the tension in the room, and Maren's face softens into a smile even as her cheeks turn bright pink.

"Sorry, but it's true. She needs to grow up, and this is coming from someone who just quit her secure career to refurbish a bait shop in the middle of nowhere."

I snort at this, laughter still clinging around the edges.

"You aren't dragging your kids through it, though," I say. "You have every right to mess with your career however you want."

She waves me off before tucking her hand under her folded arms again. "Maybe so. Rogers has gotten accustomed to cabin living, so I'm not completely messing things up. My point is, she can be mad about how things went down between you two, and she can be disappointed with the decade she spent supporting you. Still feels shitty to me, since, again, you were in the military and she had a thriving career and stable home, but whatever. I guess I'm biased." It feels like Maren is defending me? And I feel something loosen in the middle of my chest; something shaking my walls—but she's still talking.

"Since then, though, she's moved on. Right? Career, Florida, new husband, stepkids?"

"Right."

"So, yeah. Time to stop making you pay for it, I'm thinking. Time to grow up and decide if she wants a part in Anders's and Lucy's lives, on their terms and yours."

"So reading between the lines, you're telling me to man up?"

"What? How did you get—No. That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying she needs to man up. Or not man up," she backtracks, her brow creasing. "I hate that phrase. It reeks of misogyny. But you know what I mean."

"I do and I agree. She needs to grow up. But I need to stop letting her walk all over me and stand up for my kids."

"Oh." Maren slumps next to me, feigning a pout. "Well, yeah. I guess you do need to man up, then."

"Thanks, Mare. This was helpful."

"Really?"

"Don't be so surprised. You're good at this. I can see why Anders confided in you."

"I'm not so sure about either of you Cole men confiding in me, honestly. I think you both need a therapist." I concede with a tilt of my head. "But I'm glad it helped in the meantime."

"It did. I'm no longer ready to tear my hair out. I'm going to tell Anders the bad news after pizza. Like ripping off a Band-Aid, I'm thinking."

"I'll make sure to get the paints set up while you're out, then. For after dinner."

"We might have a battle there. I don't know if I'll be able to pull Lucy away from her plotting."

"She can stay, too, if that's okay. And if you have crayons and paper, I can try to convince them to sketch first and paint after dinner," Mare says with an easy grin. This close, given so casually, it nearly knocks the breath from my chest. It's the kind of smile that steals beauty competitions. The kind of smile that's won over my kids.

The kind of smile that could even win over my dead heart if it was on the table.

Too bad it's not.

"I'd better order the pizzas, then. Seems like we have a busy night ahead of us."