Some Kind of Normal

by Juliana Stone

  I climbed the stairs, walked past my room toward my parents’ bedroom, my stomach tumbling and diving as the utter silence in the house weighed on me.

  “Mom?” I paused outside their door and then gave a small knock, this time speaking louder. “Mom. We need to leave for church.”

  There was nothing but more silence and the sound of rattling eaves as the wind blew outside.

  You know that moment in a movie? The one where the heroine should leave but doesn’t? The one where she heads into the house instead of runs for the hills? You know how freaky those moments are? How stupid she is?

  Yeah. Well, I was having one of my own moments, because I had a really bad feeling about what was on the other side of her door. Like, really bad. But this wasn’t a horror movie, and it was my mom, so I didn’t have a choice.

  Palms cold and clammy, I wiped them down the front of my skirt and carefully turned the knob. My parents’ bedroom door swung open, the hinges a little dry and creaky, so the sound echoed into the nothing that surrounded me.

  Clothes were strewn around the room in a way I’d never seen, and my first thought was that someone had broken in and tossed her stuff all over the place. The window was open, large curtains billowing in clouds of gray from the early morning breeze. They twisted and arced, almost like fingers that pointed toward her bed.

  Outside, the birds were still singing, the sun was still shining, and from what I could see, the sky was still as blue as a robin’s egg. And yet as I took another step inside my parents’ room, I knew that nothing about this morning was the same as it was less than five seconds ago.

  Nothing.

  My mother was in bed, turned toward the window, her long hair a tangle of chocolate spilling down her back.

  “Mom?”

  Nothing.

  I don’t remember moving to the bed. Or seeing her there, seemingly asleep and exhaling loudly as if it hurt to do so. The only thing I would remember later is the spill of pills on the floor, the half-empty bottle, and the realization that something was very, very wrong.

  I might have screamed—in fact, I’m sure I did—but she only moaned, a soft sort of sound that bounced around my head, louder than rolling thunder.

  Pills.

  Oh my God, pills!

  The summer when I was fourteen, my dad and I volunteered to work with street kids in the city. At the time I thought it was a way for me to earn some community hours and to hang with my dad. It was kind of depressing and a whole lot of eye-opening.

  I learned that pills can kill, but more important, because of a twenty-one-year-old woman who’d taken too many, I’d learned what to do if something bad happened. And this was bad. This was really bad.

  I slapped my mom. Hard.

  Cell phone. Where is my cell phone?

  Her eyes flew open, thank God, and I dragged her out of bed, yelling at her.

  How many did you take?

  When did you take them?

  How many?

  I pleaded with her as I hauled her into the bathroom, and God help me but I cursed her when I shoved her into the tub and ran the shower on the coldest setting possible. I held her when she clawed at her nightgown and spit out the water that ran down on her face. I made sure she didn’t fall over when she managed to get to her feet, and I held her long hair away from her when she started to whimper.

  “Don’t tell your father. Don’t tell your father. Don’t tell your father.” She repeated it over and over and over, until her voice gave out.

  She sputtered. She cried. Great big gulping cries that made my heart pound even harder than it already was. Never had I seen my mother like this. Never. I was scared and upset and so mad that I wanted to scream in her face. I wanted to hurt her for doing this to me.

  The water was still spilling over her, but she didn’t seem to notice as she regarded me, eyes huge and glassy. We were both wet and shivering from fear and adrenaline and a whole bunch of stuff I couldn’t name.

  “Why?” I whispered. “I don’t understand…”

  But I did, didn’t I?

  She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get any words out, she doubled over and moaned.

  And then she vomited all over my shoes.

  • • •

  “Where’s Isaac?”

  The words were raspy, slow. I glanced up from my chair beside Mom’s bed and tried to push back the anger inside me, but it was hard. The anger was heavy and hot and so damn eager to come out. I thought that maybe I should let it. Just this once. Maybe then it wouldn’t feel as if a hundred-pound weight was pressed into my chest.

  “Why?” was all I could get out.

  Why. One lonely word, but a word that was bigger than it sounded, because it was packed full of things that would lead to dark places.

  “Isaac?” she asked again, this time struggling to sit. She was still pale, still bedraggled from the shower, still pathetic and small and…

  “Mrs. Ballantine took him to church.” I tried not to sniffle, but that didn’t work out all that well, so I took a moment to get myself together. See? This was me dealing with stress.

  When I thought I could speak without sounding like a bumbling idiot, I continued. “I told her that you weren’t feeling well and she said that she would let Dad know. She also said something about taking Isaac to a picnic in the park afterward, and since they’re not back yet…”

  “Oh,” Mom said weakly. “That’s good.” A tear slid down her cheek, and I watched it navigate a zigzag path until she wiped her palm across her face.

  I wasn’t sure where to go from here. What to do or say.

  “I didn’t mean to,” she said softly.

  My eyes darted back to hers, and I struggled to keep my pain from showing. It wasn’t too hard, considering I’d become the queen of masks these last few months. “How many did you take?”

  Her bottom lip trembled. “A few…”

  “A few.”

  “Everly.” There was warning in her voice, like she was trying to tell me not to go there. Her. The woman who’d just had a shower in her nightgown.

  “A few,” I repeated. My voice rose as the enormity of what had just happened washed over me. The last hour and a half shot across my brain. Pills. Mom. Pills. Mom’s hair all over the place. Pills. Vomit.

  My body trembled. I was so cold. So far from where I’d been when I first woke up. I shot to my feet, teeth chattering even though it was warm and stuffy in her bedroom.

  “A few?” I raged. “A few is like two or three. A few is less than four but maybe more than two. A few is…a few doesn’t knock you out. A few…” I shrugged and tried not to cry, but it was no use, and tears stung the corner of my eyes. “Anything more is not an accident.”

  “Everly, I’m so sorry, sweetie, but you have to believe me. It was an accident. I would never…I never…”

  I glanced at the bottle on her bedside table. It was half full.

  “You’re lying,” I spat. “You’re lying to me. I’m not Isaac. I’m not some little kid who will just believe whatever you tell me. Not anymore.” I grabbed the bottle off her table and held it up high. “Since when do you take sleeping pills? Since when do you…since when do you take a few too many?” But I could barely finish my sentence, because my throat was closed up tight, so full of emotion and hurt and fear that I was nearly choking on it.

  What is happening to my family?

  “Don’t tell anyone,” she said, her voice breaking. “Please, no one can know.”

  Something was so wrong about the way this conversation was going. I was the kid here. Me. Seventeen years old. Since when did my mom beg me not to tell on her? When did that happen?

  “Everly, please…”

  “Why?” That knot in my throat loosened up, and suddenly the tidal wave inside rolled over and over until
there was no stopping it. “Why are we hiding? Why are we pretending that everything is freaking A-OK in this house?” I took a step back. “Jesus, it’s exhausting!”

  My mom looked shocked, and I guess she should be. I’d never spoken to her like this before, but then again, I’d never scraped her up off the floor either.

  “Everly.” Her voice was stronger now. “I’ve already told you that it was an accident. I…I had trouble sleeping last night—”

  “Trouble sleeping? Since when? Since Dad started sleeping in his office?”

  Again, my mom looked shocked, which was ridiculous. What kind of bubble was she living in? Didn’t she think I’d notice the blankets and pillow in his office?

  “Your father and I are having a rough patch, but we’re working things out.”

  Her face was blank. She’d found the mask she’d discarded last night, and she was firmly back in her camp of denial.

  I thought of that conversation I’d heard a year ago. The conversation I’d been trying to unhear ever since. And I thought about all of his trips to the city, all the times he was away.

  I looked at the sad and lonely woman before me and I just lost it.

  “Taking too many pills isn’t working things out. Dad going to the city all the time and doing whatever it is that he’s doing there isn’t working things out. Lying to me, lying to Isaac, to your friends, and to God? That’s not working things out. But the most pathetic thing of all is that lying to yourself sucks way worse than everything else. How can you think he’s working things out? He’s screwing around on you, Mom! He’s in love with someone else!”

  Her eyes were as wide as saucers, with papery thin smudges of blue beneath them. “Why would you… How can you…”

  “Does it really matter?” I spat, tossing the capsule bottle onto the bed where it landed with a thud and then rolled onto the floor, spilling the remnants of the pills. I watched them roll away, under the bed, like little insects scurrying for cover.

  I’m not sure how many seconds or minutes ticked by, but when I glanced up, my mother’s face kind of crumpled in on itself. She blew out a long breath, smoothed her hair back, and spoke so quietly, at first I wasn’t sure I’d heard her.

  “I know about…about your father.”

  My jaw dropped. Like literally dropped open. She knew? I hadn’t seen that one coming, and her admission became this heavy, meaty thing that punched me in the gut so hard I could barely breathe.

  She knew. All this time I’d held this secret close because of her and Isaac…and she’d known all along.

  “But it’s so much more complicated than you know. There are things…there are things between him and me, and we just need some more time.”

  “You need more time,” I said numbly. “Wow.”

  She was crying again, but there were no tears inside me. No need to comfort. There was nothing but that heavy, meaty thing, and it was cold and sharp and black.

  Hands clasped over my mouth, I stared at my mother, hating myself for knowing. Hating her for knowing.

  But most of all, I hated my father for letting us find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Trevor

  By Wednesday afternoon I was pretty much fed up with our government, our laws, and our damn constitution. Pushing my laptop away, I leaned back in my chair and groaned. I had a nagging headache, hadn’t slept well, and for some reason, Everly was ignoring me.

  All kinds of questions crowded my brain, and that only made my head ache more. Had I moved too fast? Was the kiss that rocked the world too much?

  She was a church girl, and not that I knew much about the church she went to, but maybe there were rules. Maybe she’d broken them. Maybe our kiss should never have happened. Maybe it was too early for that kind of stuff. Or maybe she’d figured out that I had a lot more problems than just learning the stupid constitution.

  I was the freak on the floor after all. My eyes squeezed shut, and I knew my cheeks were as red as the apples in Mrs. Craddock’s orchard. Man, when I was in bed trying to let go and sleep, that was the image burned into my retinas. Freak. On. The. Floor. So not cool.

  I hadn’t seen Everly since Friday because I’d had to help my dad out at his shop over the weekend. The only conversation we’d had was a text she’d sent Monday morning.

  Stuff came up not sure when I can meet you. Will let you know.

  That was it. After our amazing Friday night, that was all I got and nothing more.

  I’d sent her at least ten text messages Sunday alone but had given up when I got the Monday morning wake-up call. Man, I couldn’t figure her out. I know she’d felt it, whatever it was between us.

  I’d held her hand all night, kept her tucked in my arms as the fire died down and the cooler air from the forest crept closer. She and Monroe got along just fine, and her friend Hailey was a cool chick too. Nate, Link, and I felt like kings.

  And now nothing.

  What. The. Hell.

  I was at the library, same place Dad dropped me every day in the hope that she’d show up, but right now, I was so ready to bail. I’d only been here an hour and had four more to go. Dad wasn’t done work until five. I guess I could have called Mom for a ride home, but I wasn’t ready to be there yet either because I could never just relax. She still hovered. Still smoothed my hair back, rubbed where the incision in my skull had been. Still asked 101 questions.

  How do you feel today?

  Studies coming along?

  Are you sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard? (That one she asked a lot, and I was starting to get the feeling that she wouldn’t be unhappy if I failed the stupid test. That meant I’d be stuck in Twin Oaks at least for a few more months.)

  I poked at the edge of my laptop with my finger, sinking deeper into my chair as I eyed the tattoo across my knuckles. Courage. Huh. The word taunted me. Some nights, it was all I thought about. Courage to do what it was that I wanted to do, which was play guitar. Write some new songs. Do this stupid test and pass it. Move the hell on.

  Then there was the other side to this whole mess. Courage to fail trying, though that was something I didn’t like to think about. Right now, failure wasn’t an option, but it was easier to say than to do.

  A text came in.

  Mom: Making your favorite. Invite Everly.

  Me: Okay.

  Mom: Okay to fajitas or okay to Everly?

  I stared at her message for a good five minutes, aware that a few younger kids who were here for some sort of daycare program had left and I was alone. Well, except for Mrs. Henney, that is. I felt her eyes on me, and I knew it was only a matter of time before she came over and tried to chat me up. She was a nice lady but entirely too in your face. She didn’t know the concept of personal space and liked to invade mine whenever she got the chance.

  I mentioned it to my dad once, and he laughed. Told me that back in the day, she’d been one hell of a looker (I didn’t see it but wasn’t about to call my dad out on that one). Dad said that her first husband had been a rocker with long hair and tattoos. I wasn’t exactly sure what my dad was getting at, but I had a feeling if I thought about it too long, the ick factor would gross me out.

  Another text came in.

  Mom: bad texting etiquette.

  Me: what?

  Mom: answer me about Everly.

  I glanced outside once more, aware that Mrs. Henney was moving in for the kill. She always cleared her throat when she was about to pounce. I could stay here and play up to her teenage dreams, or I could…

  Me: I’ll let you know.

  I scooped up my laptop and threw it in my bag, hiking it over my shoulders before sending Mrs. Henney a quick wave and escaping into the hot Louisiana sun.

  It was a week until Fourth of July, and here in Louisiana, that meant hot. The kind of hot that leaves T-shirts soaked in minutes. By t
he time I reached Everly’s home, my hair stuck to my neck, and I was dying for some water and seriously considering tossing my shirt.

  Except her mom answered the door, and I didn’t think it was appropriate, her being a pastor’s wife and all.

  “Trevor, I…” She seemed surprised and moved so that she could see around me. “Where’s Everly?”

  Wait. What?

  Okay, this wasn’t what I’d expected, but I played along because it was obvious that Everly had been lying to her mother and I didn’t want to be the one to get her into trouble.

  I pulled out all the stops, and according to my grandmother, I had a lot ’em. She’d told me once that I could charm the panties off a nun if I wanted to. (Her words, not mine, because the words nun and panties should never be in the same sentence.)

  I smiled and gave a half shrug as I rolled back on my feet. “Oh, man. I guess I got mixed up and came here instead of the library. She’s going to think I’m a tool.”

  Mrs. Jenkins looked relieved. “Oh, yes, she left for the library about an hour ago. You must be late.”

  “Sorry, I’ll head over there now.”

  Mrs. Jenkins held up her hand. “How has she seemed these last few days?”

  Huh. She’d been lying to her parents for three days?

  “Okay,” I answered, taking a step back. I didn’t want to have a long conversation, because I wasn’t exactly sure what else Everly had lied about.

  “Just okay?” Mrs. Jenkins bit her bottom lip and her eyes got all big and shiny. That was a sign—of what I didn’t know—but it couldn’t be anything good. It was time to leave.

  “Normal, you know…yeah, she’s okay,” I replied. “I should get to the library.”

  “Do you want a bottle of water? I could get one from the kitchen…” She seemed to be searching for words, like her mind was already somewhere else.

  “Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you later. Sorry to bother you.”

  I walked up the street, pausing long enough to take off my shirt, and after stuffing it into my bag, I took a moment to call Link. He’d been hanging with Hailey down at the pool after his shift at the bakery was over. But no luck. No Everly.