Deliver Her: A Novel

by Patricia Perry Donovan

So Alex could begin again.

  Meg might have forgiven the house party, but the discovery of the pills had clinched it. The Birches it was. The question was no longer when, but how. Jacob might prove problematic; he was dismissive of his daughter’s behavior and more concerned with recapturing his own youth.

  And then there was Alex. Meg already had a pretty good idea how her daughter would react to the idea. She winced, recalling the recent wintry day when she had somehow convinced Alex to stop for coffee following a dentist appointment. Instead of going for the seven-dollar latte Alex expected, Meg had driven out to the Playland promenade on Long Island Sound, where a handful of vendors stayed open year-round. Shivering, the pair sipped their drinks on a promenade bench for a few minutes in silence, until Meg turned to her sullen daughter.

  “I’m sorry things have been so hard for you, honey.”

  “It’s OK. I’m good.” Alex had stared straight ahead at the Sound, where a yellowish foam had formed at the water’s edge, great clumps of it breaking off and scuttling across the beach like wayward trash. She blew on her coffee. “I’m freezing, Mom. Can we go?”

  “In a sec. Al, what would you think about going away from here?” Meg asked.

  “You mean, like, a vacation?”

  “Not exactly. I was thinking about a new school. It worries me that you’re struggling. Maybe a change would be good.”

  “I’m not going to St. Martin’s. Not with those geeky uniforms.”

  Did that mean Alex might consider a change? “I wasn’t talking about a school around here. I was thinking more . . . New England.”

  Alex looked at her mother for the first time since they sat down. “You mean, go away to school?”

  “A lot of kids do it.”

  “Live there? Are you kidding?”

  “I know it would be an adjustment at first, but—”

  “An adjustment? You think it would just be an adjustment for me to leave?” Setting her coffee on the bench between them, Alex stood and leaned over the promenade rail.

  Meg joined her, putting an arm around her daughter. “Listen. What would be the harm in looking? You and I could take a ride, make an overnight of it—”

  Wriggling away, Alex turned and glared at Meg. “You really have no frigging idea how hard it would be for me to leave, do you, Mom?” The cold had stamped her cheeks an angry red and drained her taut lips of color. “You must be clueless if you think I could ever, ever leave . . .”

  In the next second, Alex bolted, racing toward the parking lot.

  “Alex. Wait!” Meg ran after her and found her crying by the car. Despite repeated urgings, she refused to get in the van, standing outside with her arms wrapped around herself and shivering, pulling her phone out occasionally to text. Meg watched her and waited, alternately rolling down the window to plead with her and texting Jacob to contact his daughter, hoping she’d respond to his reason. She had half a tank of gas; she would sit with the car running for a couple of hours if need be, she decided.

  It started to flurry; soft white flakes dropped onto the warm windshield and melted away like tears. Meg tried one more time. “Honey, please. You’ll freeze out there.” Alex continued to ignore her. Minutes later, a young man pulled up in an SUV, and Alex climbed into his car without a backward glance.

  Meg considered following them, but worried that it might cause the young man to drive recklessly. They didn’t need another tragedy. She sat in the empty parking lot a little longer, berating herself for believing that by cornering Alex in this deserted public place, she might sell her on the benefits of a fresh start.

  She drove home alone that night, fearful and discouraged. Alex eventually had come home—late, but safe.

  Please let that happen again tonight, Meg thought, back upstairs in the living room, sprawled on the couch to wait for her. From this vantage point, she spotted something underneath the love seat opposite—probably a beer bottle, she thought, as she got off the couch to investigate. Kneeling, she found the sugar bowl from her silver tea set. That’s what had been off when she first came in; the little handed-down collection usually sat on the dining room table. She felt around for the creamer, then the teapot, its scrolled front freshly dented, insides rank with whiskey. She arranged the three pieces on the coffee table and knelt in front of them—relics from her childhood, entrusted to Meg and her sister after their mother moved to assisted living.

  “What am I going to do, Mom?” she murmured. Her reflection in her mother’s teapot was watery, like an old photo. Meg was surprised to see she was crying.

  ALEX

  The cemetery was pitch-black, but Alex knew her way along the graveled path. “Three more rows,” she hissed to Shana, who followed with a beach towel from her car.

  “Why are you whispering?” asked Shana.

  “I don’t know. We just should.”

  At the appointed headstone, Shana spread the towel on the damp ground, flopped on it, and lit a cigarette. “I can’t believe how fast your house cleared out. Never knew you could run that fast, Al.”

  “I know, right? My heart is still pounding.” Alex unscrewed a bottle and held it out.

  Shana eyed the offering. “Maybe a sip. I gotta drive.” She took a swig. “Still, the party rocked while it lasted, right?”

  “Right.” Alex licked her lips over the way the night had unrolled. One minute, Mrs. Miller was telling Alex the kids were sick and she wasn’t needed; the next, Shana was group texting the world. Things had gotten out of control quickly—like everything else in her life right now. She couldn’t summon the energy to shut it down, fake smiling at all the strangers streaming into her parents’ house. Thank God, that stupid sophomore had yelled “Po-pos!” The bogus cop sighting had cleared out the house in minutes. “Who was that girl, anyway?”

  “Larke, I think. Evan brought her.”

  “Figures.” The tall, skinny senior with the piercing blue gaze and hipstery scruff of chin hair had a history of going for the young ones. Fresh meat, Alex and Shana liked to say. Whenever Evan came by Alex’s house, he set off her mother’s warning bells.

  “What are you doing with that guy?” Meg would ask.

  Alex never had an answer, other than that Evan was just there. Although she’d never give her the satisfaction of knowing, her mother was right: Alex didn’t know what she was doing anymore. Sometimes it was exhausting just to be herself, or the self everybody thought she was.

  She sighed and took another sip as she and Shana gossiped about the night’s hookups—none of which had involved them, thankfully. “That short guy with the glasses was kind of hot in a nerdy way,” Shana said. “Cass would have made a move on him.”

  “If Cass had been around, she would’ve dragged us to some geeky coffeehouse comedy night or something.”

  “True.” Sitting cross-legged in front of the stone, Shana reached out and traced the words etched into its polished surface: Dance Like No One Is Watching. “Do you think she is, Al?”

  “Do I think she’s what?” Alex was still adjusting to Shana’s habit of bursting out with random questions. It got on Alex’s nerves sometimes; she wasn’t a mind reader.

  “You know . . . watching. From, like, up there.” Shana pointed toward the sky.

  Alex gulped the night air. “I don’t know. I guess.” Of course Cass was watching—her BFF literally lived in Alex’s dreams. But she wasn’t about to share that with Shana. They weren’t that tight; they were friends, kind of by default. Ever since the accident, Shana had been stuck to her like glue. It got awkward sometimes.

  The two sat in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth.

  “I wish I’d been there.” Shana’s head dropped.

  This time, Alex knew what she meant. They’d talked about it so much already: Shana had been injured so badly, she couldn’t go to Cass’s funeral, even though she had begged to. Afterward, Alex visited her at CareMore, the rehab facility, and described the daisies they had tossed onto Cass’s ca
sket and the graveside guitar player strumming “When You Dance,” Cass’s favorite song.

  “She would have loved that,” Shana had sniffed. It was true. Cass took pride in being the anti-cool. No Facebook for her (“Farcebook,” she called it) and no smartphone—just a crappy flip phone her mother made her carry. It was all Alex and Shana could do to get her to text.

  Cass had been the self-appointed expert on all things mystical—her birthright, she claimed. She told them jillions of times how her Greek-mythology-obsessed mother had named her Cassandra for the Trojan princess given the gift of prophecy by Apollo. When Cassandra spurned Apollo’s advances, the god had cursed her so no one would ever believe her prophecies.

  This did not stop their Cass from making grand predictions herself. It had been her idea to have the palm reader at Alex’s Sweet Sixteen—only to freak out about it that night. The woman was giving off toxic energy, Cass had said. Not for the first time, Alex wondered now if things might have been different if they hadn’t stopped at the palm reader’s station.

  Shana stood and popped a mint into her mouth. “Let’s go, girl.”

  Alex took another long sip. “Hang on. I’m not done.”

  “Al, if I don’t get the car home by eleven, I can’t use it for school. Which means I can’t give you a ride. Comprendez?”

  School. A commitment Alex made on a day-by-day basis. It just took so much to walk through those doors every morning. She recrossed her legs. “I think I’ll hang a while.”

  “You crazy? You can’t stay here by yourself.” Shana glanced around anxiously. “What if there’s, like, pervs or something?”

  “The pervs could get both of us while we’re sitting here. Don’t worry. I’ll just call Evan in a bit.”

  “Evan, huh? Are you guys, like—?”

  “OMG. No. He’s just a friend.”

  “Riiiight.” Shana shone a pocket flashlight in Alex’s face.

  “I mean it,” Alex laughed, shading her eyes. “Why didn’t you use that thing before?”

  “Forgot I had it. Ciao bella.” The bright light bounced as Shana walked away, then blinded Alex again when she spun back around. “You’re coming tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yes. I told you.”

  “Cool. I promised you would.” Shana walked away in the charcoal night, leaving Alex alone with Cass. She leaned her cheek against the granite headstone. The idea of staying there by herself did creep her out a little, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Shana. Anything was preferable to going home to the deep freeze, to the freaking war zone her parents had created with their bizarre setup: half the house her mom’s territory, the other half her dad’s, Jack zinging from one parent to the other like a pinball in a vintage arcade game.

  The only place in the house where Alex didn’t feel like an intruder, where she felt safe and protected, was her own bedroom.

  Outside of that, she’d rather come here. She owed that to her friend. And even though the cemetery visits made Alex gut-wrenchingly sad, Cass’s presence was comforting, too. Her friend’s spirit was so potent, Alex swore its energy swirled around her as she sat there, bubbling up like a spring. Like a promise.

  Alex knew it was selfish. She had no right to come here, to draw even one second of peace from this place. To take anything more from Cass than she already had.

  She came anyway. She could only hope Cass was OK with it.

  She dug into her bag for a stick of Rainbow Bubble, rolled it into her mouth and snuggled closer to the tombstone. Now she just had to figure out tonight, find a way to stay out until both her parents were asleep. She’d be tired in the morning, but what was the purpose of school, anyway? Wasn’t like she needed to get stellar grades or anything. Her father had made that point very clear the night of her Sweet Sixteen.

  Great time to be a hard-ass, Dad.

  MEG

  An angry squeal of tires followed by Angel’s barking jarred Meg awake around one thirty. She met Alex at the door, her cheeks tight from her tears.

  “Where have you been?” Meg demanded.

  “Nowhere.” Alex’s heavily rimmed green eyes seemed glassy, her breath sticky sweet. Alcohol or Rainbow Bubble? Meg wasn’t sure.

  “Do you mind telling me what happened here tonight?”

  “Just some friends. No big deal.” Alex pushed by her, heading for the kitchen. Following, Meg noticed the daisy tucked into Alex’s ash-blond braid, tinged pink like the ends of her hair. An unfamiliar black romper hugged her daughter’s athletic figure, toned from years of soccer. Meg’s throat caught at the sight of the violet satin scarf cinching her daughter’s waist. Alex was never without the memento, winding it around her head, roping it to a purse, draping her throat. Shaking off the stab of grief, Meg made herself focus on the matter at hand.

  “No big deal? Honey, do you know what happens if someone gets hurt here when we’re not home? We could lose everything. There’d be no house, no college . . .”

  “I don’t care about college. Anyway, we weren’t doing anything.”

  “Right. Just trashing our home and helping yourself to our things.” She thought of the pills in her pocket. “And God knows what else.” Meg blocked Alex’s path to the refrigerator. “Who was here tonight? Shana, I’ll bet.” The two were thick as thieves lately. It tore at Meg to see them together without Cass. Still, it didn’t give them the right to do this.

  Alex licked her lips. “Nobody.”

  “Nobody? Should I start calling parents, then?”

  “Mom, no!”

  “Fine. I’ll just wait for the pictures.”

  Alex blinked a few times. “So you’re stalking me online now?”

  “Forget it, Alex. Go to bed.”

  “Stop yelling at me. Why are you so mad?”

  “Because this is our house, that’s why. And because you’re my daughter, and I’m worried about you. I don’t even know what you’re doing anymore.”

  Meg produced the baggie of pills and laid it on the counter.

  “Wow, Mom. You going all Nurse Jackie now?” Alex cracked a wobbly grin.

  “I’m serious. Whose are these?”

  “I don’t know. They’re not mine. I swear.”

  “Tell me the truth, Al.”

  “OMG. You’re a nurse. You’d totally know if I was taking something.”

  Meg pocketed the pills. “This isn’t over, Al. We’ll talk about the consequences tomorrow.” She turned to head to bed.

  “Consequences,” Alex mimicked, opening cabinets and extracting a bowl and a box of cereal.

  Take Jacob’s advice: discuss it tomorrow, a little voice told her. But Alex’s dismissal infuriated her. Before she could stop herself, Meg found herself yelling again. It was like an out-of-body experience. “Put those things back now. Do you know what time it is? You need some sleep if you’re going to study for midterms tomorrow.”

  “You’re not my guidance counselor.”

  “It’s your junior year. The most important one for college.” There couldn’t be a more inappropriate time to debate Alex’s academic future. But having planted the flag, Meg soldiered on.

  “Really? I’m pretty sure if you can write your name, you get into county college.” Foregoing the bowl, Alex stuffed a handful of cereal from the box into her mouth.

  “You’re smarter than county, Alex.”

  “Right. Ask Dad about that.” Alex started toward the stairs with the cereal.

  “Where are you going with that? You think this is a hotel?” She grabbed the box.

  “I’m allowed to eat.” Alex pulled back. The sheer ridiculousness of the scene registered in Meg’s mind: Why doesn’t that crazy woman just go to bed? Already anticipating the regret she’d feel in a few hours, Meg yanked once more, sending the box flying, carpeting the kitchen floor with cereal. With a yelp, Angel swooped in for the kill.

  “Happy, Mom?” Alex smirked before leaving the kitchen.

  How can I be happy when you’re self-destructing right in fr
ont of me? Hot tears formed again as Meg grabbed a dustpan to sweep up the mess, ashamed of her adolescent behavior.

  Upstairs, the clock glowed its fluorescent admonition: 2:00 a.m. In four hours, she’d have to get up for work, while Alex got to sleep in. Meg tossed and turned at the unfairness of it for a good half hour. She considered going downstairs to apologize. Maybe if they both cooled off enough to talk, and Alex promised to study during the day, they could get their nails done after work tomorrow. Like before.

  But just as Meg’s feet hit the floor, the aroma of burnt popcorn from downstairs enraged her anew. Giving up on sleep, she slid her laptop from under the bed, typing again the keywords so familiar they auto-populated her search window: teen, grief, alcohol, drugs, parenting. She had her plan, but maybe tonight Google could offer up some advice to help her through tomorrow.

  The first page yielded the usual resources, their violet links a reminder of the vast virtual terrain she’d already explored. Who knew there were so many wilderness camps? (“Brat camps,” according to parenting blogs.) Meg knew it would take more than cold showers, trust falls and solitary hikes to get through to Alex.

  Frustrated, she was about to give up her search for the night when an ad at the top of the page caught her eye:

  “Alternatives for Parents of Troubled Teens: Begin Again Transport gives you peace of mind as we transport your child to their residential program.”

  CARL

  The bride sang first. Tonight’s was a reedy blonde laughing and stumbling through the lyrics unrolling on the screen. Carl was happy to wait. That’s how it went with the hen parties that swooped in to Trinity to toast the bride-to-be. They were one-shots, easy to spot. She wore the tiara, the rest of them pink sashes like beauty contestants. Their tabletops were crowded with pricy pastel drinks.

  Carl called her song, too: “It’s Raining Men,” by the Weather Girls. With these groups, he could virtually guarantee he’d hear that song and one other—“I Will Survive,” the Gloria Gaynor anthem, always sung by a wronged bridesmaid spitting on the mike.