get started. After dinner we’ll—”
“I’ve got baseball practice at six-thirty. Can’t I do my homework when I get home?”
“Practice? But—”
“Just a little TV and then I’ll get dressed and start on my science.”
She was too busy regrouping around the unexpected practice to negotiate. Had she really forgotten? Or missed an e-mailed schedule change? She’d been so busy cleaning and baking today, she hadn’t even gone on-line.
Moving to the pantry she perused its contents, looking for something she could make for Jason and Craig that would be portable enough for Sam to eat in the car.
The kitchen door opened and slammed shut. Jason sauntered in and dropped his backpack in the middle of the floor.
“Do
not
leave that there,” Judy said as she did every day. He grunted and kicked it approximately two inches to the left and she came around the counter to stand in front of him, knowing better than to try to hug or kiss him. At fourteen and a half, he towered over her. His shoulders were almost as broad as his father’s. The child they had once dubbed “the mouth” now communicated via shrugs, grimaces, and monosyllables. She no longer had any idea what he thought or felt.
“How was school?”
“OK.” He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a carton of milk, and lifted it toward his lips.
“Don’t
even
think about it.”
With a shrug, he pulled a glass out of the cupboard, filled it to the brim, and drained it in one long gulp. Abandoning it without a backward glance, he grabbed a handful of Oreos from the cookie jar and headed back toward the door. “Going to Joey’s,” he mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate.
“But what about homework?”
“Already finished it.”
She checked the clock. If she made some kind of casserole, she could pop it in the oven before she left to drop Sam at practice and get back in time to put it on the table. She reached for a can of tuna. “Be back by seven for dinner.”
“I have wrestling practice at six forty-five.”
“
You
have practice tonight, too?”
“Uh-huh.”
He was gone before she could question him further. Turning back to the pantry she reconsidered her options. She’d do a drive-through for the boys and let Craig fend for himself. Her own appetite had disappeared months ago.
“Where’s my belt?” Sammy shrieked from the top of the stairs. “And my other red sock?”
Judy sighed. When you were a lone woman in a house full of males you were pretty much the only person who actually knew where things were. Or cared.
“Try the laundry room,” she shouted over the ringing of the phone. He clomped off as she brought the receiver to her ear.
“Judy?” Craig’s voice was hurried and distracted. This was nothing new.
She looked up at the clock on the wall. “Where are you?”
“On my way to the Witherspoon dinner.”
“But both the boys have practices tonight. I wanted to go to the hospital to see my father after dinner.”
“Judy,” he spoke as if to a child. “This has been on the calendar for weeks.”
“No way,” she protested as she walked over to the family calendar. She was the most obsessively organized person she knew. She scheduled their lives like a commander scheduled his troops; her calendar was her battle map.
She glanced at today’s square just to prove her point. And clamped her mouth shut.
“You know, writing things on the calendar is only helpful if you remember to look at it on the appropriate day,” Craig pointed out.
Very funny
. She looked at that damned calendar constantly. She didn’t make a move without consulting that calendar.
She changed the phone to her other ear. Except lately she’d become reluctant to look at all those packed squares and what they represented. She’d been reluctant to consider a lot of things lately.
Craig had his little chuckle at her expense and then said good-bye. Judy put away the mandelbrot and told herself she should be happy she didn’t have to cook