Chapter 6 - Lisbon Sunlight and Midnight Storms
“I did not bluff, Caleb,” I said, my voice steady, cutting cleanly through his hysteria. “And I did not abandon your children. They are safe, warm, and well-cared for at your mother-in-law’s house.”
“At Patrice’s house?!” Caleb shouted. Behind him, I could hear the distinct announcements of Tokyo’s Narita Airport in Japanese, accompanied by the muffled, shrill sobs of Tori in the background. “Patrice is an absolute tyrant, Mom! She already billed our joint card eighteen hundred dollars for some private nanny! She told Tori that if we call her before 8:00 a.m. Chicago time again, she will block both our numbers!”
“Then I suggest you stop calling her before eight,” I replied evenly.
“Mom, you have to turn around and fly home!” Caleb pleaded, his tone shifting rapidly from fury to desperate bargaining. “Listen to me. Tori’s whole week is ruined. We booked a five-star ryokan in Kyoto for tomorrow night. We have reservations at a Michelin-star sushi bar! We can't enjoy any of this knowing Patrice is holding our kids hostage!”
“Holding them hostage?” I echoed, feeling my temper flare for the first time. “Patrice opened her home to four children who were dumped on my porch without notice at 6:30 in the morning! She took them in so they wouldn't end up sitting on a curb! You should be on your knees thanking her, not calling her a tyrant!”
“You were supposed to watch them!” Caleb barked, losing his temper again. “You’re retired! You don't have a job! All you do is garden and read books! Why couldn't you just reschedule your stupid vacation?!”
The words hit me like a splash of ice water. *Stupid vacation.* *All you do is garden.*
Beside me, Linda’s eyes flashed with fury. She made a gesture with her hand, urging me to let him have it.
“Caleb,” I said, and my voice was so quiet, so cold, that he stopped yelling on the other end. “Listen to me very carefully.”
“What?” he muttered.
“I spent thirty-two years working as an administrative director for the public school system. I paid off my mortgage. I nursed your father through two years of chemotherapy until the day he drew his last breath. I have earned every single minute of my retirement. My time belongs to me. It does not belong to you, and it certainly does not belong to your wife.”
“Mom, come on, that’s not what I—”
“Do not call me again during this trip unless there is a true medical emergency with the children,” I continued relentlessly. “Patrice has my hotel contact info. If you call me to complain about money, about your vacation, or about your convenience, I will block your number until I land back in Chicago on the twenty-second.”
“Mom, you can’t do this—Tori wants to talk to you, she’s—”
“Goodbye, Caleb.”
I pressed the red end-call button.
My hands were shaking slightly, but my chest felt lighter than it had in twenty years. Linda threw her arm around my shoulders and gave me a fierce squeeze.
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“That,” Linda declared, “was the finest piece of parenting you have ever done in your life.”
We grabbed our bags from the carousel, walked through the sliding glass doors into the bright Portuguese sunshine, and hailed a taxi toward our hotel.
