“Is Dad coming for the cat?” Haley asks, not looking up from the iPad.
I close my door and turn my face to the vent and let it blast cold air across my cheeks. I close my eyes, then open them, turning to Izzy. “You should have asked me about the cat.”
“You would have said no,” she answers quietly. There are no tears now, just stubbornness on her face and in her body language.
Her response surprises me. I expected her to argue or make excuses, but I didn’t expect flat-out defiance. I can’t decide if the idea pleases me or upsets me. I like the idea that she’s brave enough to defy me. It’s proof of her strength. It tells me she can get through this terrible tragedy that’s befallen our family. It tells me Izzy will be okay. But the idea that she’d bring the cat with her, knowing it would be against my wishes, pisses me off, too.
“We’re not going to Bryce Canyon.” I take off my sunglasses to wipe a smudge on the right lens with the hem of my T-shirt.
Izzy wraps her arms protectively around her cat.
“So we’re going home?” Haley asks from the back.
Clearly her vote.
I slip on my sunglasses, check my mirrors, put the car into drive, and pull out onto the highway. Headed north.
“What? So first her and now her cat?” Haley’s loud, her tone aggressive. “I thought this was supposed to be about me.”
I think for a moment before I respond. “It’s about all of us. Go ahead and book the hotel room in Grand Junction. And see where there’s a Walmart or a Target or something. Mr. Cat is going to need some food.”
“I brought cat food,” Izzy pipes up.
It’s not until she says it that I remember the can of food falling out of her sweatshirt pocket back at the house. How could I be so dumb as to have not connected the dots?
Because once again, who would have suspected their daughter would smuggle a cat into the car for a cross-country road trip?
“He needs a litter box,” I say.
“Unbelievable,” Haley complains from the backseat. “We’re really not taking the cat home?”
From beside me, Izzy, sounding quite pleased with herself, says, “Mr. Cat’s been wanting to see Maine.”
Laney laughs on the other end of my phone.
“It’s not funny,” I tell her, but I’m laughing too. What’s the old saying? It’s better to laugh than to cry. I’ve already cried enough for this lifetime.
A man comes out of the elevator and eyes me as he goes in the opposite direction, rolling a suitcase behind him. I’m sitting on the floor in the hallway, leaning against our hotel room door. When Haley got in the shower, I left Izzy and Mr. Cat (smuggled into the Marriott) watching TV and slipped out to call Laney. First I told her about going back for Izzy, then about the little bit of talking the three of us did, then about the cat.
“Actually it is funny.” Laney giggles. “And I had no idea there was such a thing as a travel litter box.”
“Me either. The wonders of Walmart.” I sip a bottle of vitaminwater, wishing I had a glass of wine. “Found it in the pet aisle.”
“And you still haven’t heard from Ben?”
I sober. “Nope. He was really upset with me, Laney. About me doing this. He thinks Haley needs to be in counseling.”
“She probably does,” Laney agrees, “but a mother has to go with her gut instinct. Your instincts have always been good, Jules. There will be plenty of time for counseling later.”
We’re both quiet for a second.
“You’re doing the right thing. In bringing Izzy, too. Brilliant, Jules. I don’t know that I would have had the guts to do it.”
“It didn’t feel gutsy,” I confess, fiddling with the lid to the bottle. “It felt impulsive and now it feels irresponsible.”
“Izzy needs to be with you as much as Haley does. She deserves your attention too.”
I lean forward, drawing up my knees, hugging myself with my free arm. “But does she really need to be exposed to . . .” I search for the right words. “Laney, this is serious. Cutting herself? I never knew such a thing existed when I was Izzy’s age.”
“She’ll be okay. She’s a smart, strong girl. She’s like her mother.”
I give a little laugh that sounds more like a stifled sob. “I don’t feel strong. I sure don’t feel smart. How did I miss this going on in my own home?”
“Quit beating yourself up. You are strong,” Laney tells me. “Otherwise, you couldn’t have gotten out of your bed and into your car. You couldn’t have gotten Haley in that car.”
“But threatening to have her committed?” I close my eyes for a second. “Tell me that’s not going to be an interesting conversation later. When this is all over and we come out the other side.”
“But at least you’ll be able to have that conversation later,” she tells me. “You’ll still have your daughter to be able to have that conversation.”
I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“I am.” I hear her take a sip from her glass. She’s having wine. “You think Haley’s resolved herself to doing this, now that you’ve made it clear it’s what you guys are doing?” she asks me.
“I think so.” I recall incidents from the day. “She’s making it plain she’s not happy with the situation, but I’m not worried she’s climbing out the window anymore.”
“Hotel windows don’t open. You don’t have a balcony, do you?”
I chuckle. “Fourth floor. No balcony.” My phone beeps and I check the screen. I’m tempted not to even answer the other call when I see Ben’s name. But I know that’s not going to solve anything. “I gotta go. Ben’s calling,” I tell Laney.
“Call me back if you need to.”
“I’ll be okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“Sooner if you need me,” she says.
I answer Ben’s call.
“She took the cat?” he says when I say hello.
No “Hello.” No “How are things going?”
I lean the back of my head against the door, resolving to buy a bottle of wine tomorrow, somewhere, so I can have a glass tomorrow night. I decided after looking at the map on Caitlin’s iPad at dinner that we are going to try to make it to Lincoln, Nebraska, tomorrow. It’s probably going to take us twelve hours, with stops for my teeny-tiny bladder, but with the cat in the car, I’ve given up the idea of taking the scenic route. At this point, I just want to get to Maine with all three of us in one piece.
“Yup. She brought the cat,” I say into the phone. “By the time we heard him, it was too late to turn around. Why didn’t you call me sooner, Ben? I called you hours ago.”
“So this is my fault?” He’s angry.
And I’m tired. Too tired to fight with him. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” I sigh and brush back the hair that’s fallen over my face. I actually looked at hair dye when we stopped to get the disposable cat litter box and a carrier for Mr. Cat. I didn’t buy the hair dye, but I thought about it.
“You can’t drive across the country with a cat in the car,” Ben says.
I get to my feet. I’ve left the girls alone long enough. I need to get back in the room. I need to go to bed because suddenly, I’m so tired, I can barely hold my head up. “Sure I can,” I say. “He was fine in the car. He rode on Izzy’s lap all the way to Grand Junction. He was pretty tickled when we got the litter box, though.” It’s my attempt at a little humor. Ben doesn’t laugh.
“What are you doing, Julia?”
“What am I doing? What do you mean? I told you what I’m doing. I’m trying to help Haley. I’m trying . . .” I search for the right words, words that will make my husband of almost twenty years understand how broken I’ve become. How close I came to doing something worse than what Haley has been doing. “I actually think I made a little progress today. We talked about Caitlin and about how much we miss her.”
When Ben doesn’t say anything, I go on. “You know, we haven’t talk
ed about her. Ben, why haven’t we talked about Caitlin and . . . and how much we loved her and how much we miss her and . . .” I don’t finish my sentence.
He’s quiet for so long on the other end of the phone that I wonder if he hung up. But he hasn’t. I can hear him breathing.
His voice cracks when he speaks and tears well in my eyes when I hear the pain in his voice.
“What’s the point in talking about her, Jules? She’s dead. Nothing we can do or say can change that.”
I take a shuddering breath. “The point is, we’re not dead. The point is, we have to find a way to live without her, Ben. We have to find a way to help Izzy and Haley live without her. We have to find a way to help Haley forgive herself.”
He’s quiet again, and then he says, “Call me tomorrow night?”
I guess that means our heart-to-heart conversation is over. “It might be late.”
“I’ll wait up. Be careful.”
I hesitate. “I love you,” I say.
The phone clicks on the other end. I don’t think he heard me. I consider calling him back, to say it, to make him hear me.
Instead, I let myself back into the room.
Chapter 28
Haley
51 days, The Witching Time
Hamlet is the one who first came up with the idea of the Witching Time, in a soliloquy. I remember the words from English class:
Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn and hell itself breathes out
Contagion to this world
Thank you, Billy Shakespeare. Mary Shelley is the one who changed it to the Witching Hour in Frankenstein. Most people don’t know that.
It’s supposed to be midnight.
For me, it’s eleven o’clock. Probably around 11:03.
At 11:03 p.m. on February 17th, hell breathed its contagion on me and my whole family. I was chewing Caitlin out about her irresponsible behavior. The party. The guys. I was trying to decide what I was going to do with her, take her home or drive around for a while until she sobered up. That’s what I was thinking when I missed the stop sign.
I stare at the digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed in our hotel room. The numerals are red. It’s 11:01 now. In about two minutes, Caitlin will have been dead fifty-two days. Fifty-two days since my heart was knocked out of my chest by a Ford pickup truck and splattered on the pavement.
I rub my forearm on the spot that’s crusty. I got some Band-Aids at Walmart tonight when we got the crap for the cat. I got big Band-Aids. I’m hoping that covering them up will make me want to do it less. I kind of want to cut myself now, but I don’t have anything to do it with. And I know I shouldn’t do it. And I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be crazy. Of course, does anyone?
I glance at the other bed. There’s a little bit of light coming through the curtains from the security lamps in the parking lot. Mom and Izzy are sound asleep. I can see Mom lying on her back with her blond hair all around her head on her pillow. Kind of like a halo. She’s so pretty.
Izzy’s curled up in a ball beside her, with Mr. Cat sleeping in her arms. Her red hair is all tangled and in her face. Mom said Mr. Cat had to stay in his carrier and that he couldn’t sleep in the bed. I guess Mr. Cat wasn’t going for it.
Izzy looks so young when she sleeps. Like when she was a toddler and she used to fall asleep on the couch with her head on my lap while I was watching TV. Mom would say she should go to sleep in her crib, that I was spoiling her, letting her fall asleep and then carrying her to bed. But I never minded. I liked the idea that I was so trustworthy, in Izzy’s eyes, that she could relax and fall asleep on me. I know Izzy doesn’t remember, but when she was little, I was the one who gave her snacks and played on the floor with her with her toys. I was her favorite sister. Caitlin was never mean to her or anything. I would never have allowed that. But Caitlin was never all that interested in her. She was always too into herself.
I glance in the direction of the window.
I texted Todd earlier. He said he was on his way. I gave him the address of the hotel. I asked him when he’d be here, but he didn’t answer.
I check the iPad again. Nothing.
I’m thinking I should leave the hotel room now. Wait for Todd outside. Mom and Izzy are sound asleep. I don’t think they’ll hear me and if they do, I’ll lie and say I’m just going down the hall to get a Coke.
Mom’s going to be so upset when she wakes up and realizes I’m gone. I feel bad. But . . . this whole idea of driving to Maine with her and Izzy and that stupid cat? I’m just not into it. I don’t want to talk about Caitlin. I don’t want to talk about the accident. I get where Mom’s coming from, but I don’t want to feel better. I deserve to feel this shitty. I deserve it forever.
And they’ll be better off without me, won’t they? I mean, this is all my fault. Mom wouldn’t have spent the last two months of her life crying in her bed if it weren’t for me. And Izzy wouldn’t be doing weird stuff like talking to herself, hiding under her bed, and smuggling cats across state lines in a Toyota.
I slip out of bed and look quickly at the other bed. Neither of them has moved. I think about changing into my jeans. Right now I’m wearing one of Caitlin’s old T-shirts I like to sleep in and a pair of Izzy’s sleep pants with Little Mermaids all over them. I didn’t bring anything to sleep in. Mom didn’t either. Izzy brought like six pairs of sleep pants. I have no idea why. So we all went to bed wearing Izzy’s sleep pants. I got Little Mermaid, Mom got SpongeBob, and Izzy, Looney Tunes. I told her that was because she is a Looney Tune. She didn’t laugh.
I decide to just put the jeans I wore today into my backpack and wear the sleep pants. It was stupid of me not to have packed more stuff. Talk about cutting off my nose to spite my face. I didn’t bring stuff to take to Maine to annoy Mom. Now I’ll be driving to Alaska with nothing to wear but two T-shirts, jeans, one set of underwear, and Little Mermaid sleep pants. Serves me right.
Standing by my bed, I feel around to find my black Converse low-tops. I slip one on, then the other, keeping an eye on Mom and Izzy. I grab Izzy’s sweatshirt off the chair; I didn’t even bring a hoodie. As I snag my backpack off the floor, I look back at the iPad lying on my bed. I should leave it here for Izzy, but without a phone, how will I get on the Internet or text anyone or anything? I guess Todd has his phone, but he’s always doing dumb things with it like dropping it in a toilet or leaving it on the roof of his car and driving away. I don’t like the idea of relying on his ability to hang on to his phone. I pick up the iPad and close the pink cover over the screen carefully.
I think about leaving Mom a note. There’s a notepad and pen next to the TV. I saw it earlier. But what would I say? I’m sorry? For what?
For everything.
I skip the note. Lame.
At the door, before I sneak out, I look back at the bed. Mom and Izzy haven’t moved, but I catch a glimmer of light. Izzy’s eyes. She’s awake. And she’s watching me.
My heart is suddenly banging in my chest. I don’t know what to do. Do I just get back in bed? Pretend I was in the bathroom?
With my backpack and the iPad and wearing her sweatshirt? Izzy’s a pretty bright girl. Smarter than me. She knows what’s going down here.
But why doesn’t she say anything? All she’d have to do is reach over and shake Mom. After that, even I can’t guess what would happen. Would Mom call the cops and have me committed like she’s threatened? Would we go back to Walmart and get some of those zip ties the cops use for disposable handcuffs? I wouldn’t put it past Mom to handcuff me to the car, to the bed, to her.
I watch Izzy watching me and I realize she’s not going to say a word. She’s just going to let me go. I’m glad, obviously, because this will be better for everyone, long-term. But as I open the hotel room door and step out into the hall a profound sense of desolation comes over me and I walk to the elevator remembering what it was like to hold baby Izzy in my arms.
Chapter 2
9
Julia
52 days
I drift in the airy place between being asleep and awake. I know I’m not asleep anymore because I feel the warmth of Izzy’s hand on my stomach and I hear the rush of air from the air vent near the window. I don’t open my eyes because then I’ll have to come fully awake and deal with . . . with everything going on in this room and beyond it.
My thoughts drift.
It’s almost Haley’s birthday. I haven’t gotten her a gift. I haven’t even thought about it and she hasn’t mentioned it. No one in our house has. I guess we’ve been kind of busy. She’ll be eighteen on May 11.
I remember being almost eighteen. Thinking I was an adult. Being frustrated that no one, especially my parents, would treat me that way. Of course, looking back, I certainly wasn’t behaving very maturely.
I think about the day I jumped out of my stepfather’s car. I could have been seriously hurt. And then I was gone three days. Eventually I realized I had to go home. I had to finish my senior year of high school. I needed food and a place to sleep and do my homework. I’d already been accepted to Cal State in Bakersfield. If I wanted to go the following fall and have my parents at least help pay for my education, I had to make nice with my mom. That meant making nice with my stepdad. Apologizing. Saying whatever I had to say, do whatever I had to do to get back in their good graces.
When I walked back into the house after being gone those three days, I remember Mom being in the kitchen. She had been playing golf. She was still wearing a white visor. She looked up when I came in the door. She didn’t run to hug me. She didn’t even look all that glad to see me. Or relieved I was okay. I remember how heartbroken I was. She hadn’t called a single one of my friends asking if anyone had seen me. I had told myself that she hadn’t called anyone because she didn’t want to be embarrassed by the idea that her seventeen-year-old had run away from her nice house on the nice lot on the golf course. That she knew I was okay and she knew I’d turn up.
Julia's Daughters Page 18
