“Trina?”
Aunt Kellie nods. “She left a message.”
“She called here at the house?”
“Yes. She left a message for your dad. But, of course, I heard it when I played back the messages after I got back from getting groceries this morning.”
“Right...” I nod, still trying to grasp this. “Trina called and left a message. But I don’t get it. Why are you so upset?”
“You need to hear this message.” Aunt Kellie goes over to our answering machine. She pushes a button, skips a couple of old messages, and then I hear a female voice.
“Hello, Hugh. This is Trina Billings. I recently got back from my honeymoon, and I, uh, I heard the terrible news about Karen. I’m just so sorry. I can’t even say how sorry I am. Sorry and sad. But I’m also quite confused, Hugh. You see, my sister saved everything that was in the newspaper in regard to Karen’s murder. And I read it last night, but it just doesn’t add up” She clears her throat. “Now, I realize you were on a business trip, but you probably were aware that Karen came to my bachelorette party that night—the night it happened. And she didn’t stay late either. She wanted to go home to be with Cleo since you were away from home. But the newspapers say Karen was murdered in the city. And the city, as you know, is two hours away from Riverside. I just don’t understand why she would’ve gone there late at night”
There’s a long pause, and I wonder if that’s it. But I can tell by Aunt Kellie’s face, there is more.
“And certainly, I don’t want to trouble you about this, Hugh, but it’s just been nagging me all night long and I can’t figure it out. It’s so odd. And I understand that you probably have a lot on your mind, but if you have time, I’d like to hear what really happened and why she was in the city that night. Again, I am so sorry for your loss. Karen was one of the sweetest and finest people I know. I just don’t understand. So please give me a call” And then Trina rattles off a phone number.
“See?” Aunt Kellie turns to me with a perplexed expression. “I just can’t make heads or tails of it. Can you?”
I do not know what to say. I almost wish the message had been from T. J. now. I wish he’d called and talked about selling me drugs. Really, that would be preferable to this.
“Why would your mother drive all the way from Riverside to go into the city that night?” Aunt Kellie looks truly bewildered. “It really doesn’t make sense. I can understand why Trina called. It’s just so very odd.”
Okay, I’m trying to think fast now. Something... anything... to shift this blame away from me. “Well,” I begin slowly, “it was Trina’s wedding the next day. Maybe Mom went to the city to get her a present.”
“But the wedding present is still here. It’s in a cupboard in the laundry room, all wrapped, with a card and everything. In fact, I’ve been meaning to figure out how to get it to Trina and her husband.”
“Oh...” I nod, still trying to think of something. “Maybe Mom wanted to buy a new dress.”
“A new dress?” Aunt Kellie looks skeptical.
“Well, that night—you know, before she went to the party—she was kind of going through her closet, searching for something to wear, and she wasn’t too happy with the choices. Maybe she decided she needed something more fashionable to wear to the wedding.”
“I don’t know...” Aunt Kellie is unconvinced.
“That might be it,” I continue. “Especially after she saw her old college friends at the party. She might’ve realized that she really did need something prettier for the wedding.”
“Even so, wouldn’t she have asked you to go with her? Trina said she left early to come home and be with you. Besides that, what kind of stores would be open that late at night? And you know how your mother hated going into the city in the daytime, let alone at night. Trina is right. It just doesn’t add up.”
Now I frown at my aunt. “So what do you think? Why would my mom go to the city like that?”
She slowly shakes her head. “If it was anyone else... I mean, anyone besides Karen who’d gone into the city late at night and got caught in foul play, well, I might be suspicious.”
“Suspicious?”
“You know. If it was someone else. Not your dear, sweet mother. I might suspect another person’s character. I might suspect that person might be having some kind of clandestine meeting. An illicit affair or blackmail or a drug deal.” She grimaces. “But that’s the result of reading too many mysteries. Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that your mother would never ever have been involved in anything shady like that.”
“No, of course not.”
“Anyway, I just thought you should know about the message.”
“Yeah...” I rub my head now, which is actually hurting quite a bit.
“Oh, dear, I forgot all about your headache.” She frowns. “You really don’t look well, Cleo. Maybe you should go lie down.”
“I think I’ll do that.” I turn to go.
“One more thing.”
I wait, once again bracing myself for additional bad news. Like maybe she really did discover my drug stash after all. But maybe I don’t care anymore. Maybe the whole world is about to come crashing down on my aching head anyway.
“I’m just not sure what to tell your dad.”
I turn to peer at her. “Tell him what?”
“What Trina said.” She cocks her head to one side, looking at me like she’s questioning my intelligence. “Her message on the answering machine.”
“Oh... yeah.”
“It’s just that I hate to worry him with this. I mean, while he’s on his business trip. He probably needs to stay focused, don’t you think? Do you suppose it can wait until he gets home?”
I shrug. “I don’t see why not.”
“Yes. That’s what I thought.”
I feel a tiny morsel of relief as I go to my room. At least she’s not calling Dad with this news right now. That buys me a bit of time to figure things out. Also, she seems completely oblivious to my dirty little secret. Still, I have a strong sense that it’s all just a matter of time before this fragile house of lies comes crashing down on me.
If only it could bury me alive.
. . . [CHAPTER 16] . . . . . . . . . . . .
Despite my resolve to quit these pills, I need them more than ever now. And I don’t think twice about meeting T. J. at the park on Saturday morning for a new supply. Although I resent the way he acts like he’s my new best friend, I try not to let on. I try to act pleasant, hoping he’ll take pity on me and reduce his price. But when he suggests “other ways” that I can get a discount, I feel like punching him. And when he tries to lure me to his derelict car to “party” with his loser buddies, I feel like I could hurl all over his ugly leather jacket.
“You can turn your nose up at me now,” he yells as I hurry away. I’m clutching my baggie like it’s full of diamonds. “But just you wait—you’ll come begging, Cleo. You’ll get down on your knees for me.” He lets out a wicked laugh that sends a cold shock wave running through me.
I start to jog now, telling myself over and over, This is the last time... the last time.
I can’t keep living like this. Not that this is living. It isn’t. I would rather be dead. Except that now I’m not sure where I’d go when I die. I used to believe I’d end up in heaven, where I’m sure my mother must be right now. But now I feel certain that I am destined for hell. And that scares me. Apparently it doesn’t scare me enough. Because another week passes, a week that is frighteningly similar to the previous week. But even more freaky is that I barely even notice. It’s like I’ve tumbled into this rut—or perhaps it’s the gutter or a deep, deep ditch—and I can’t climb out. And I can’t believe that no one seems to notice my fall. Or maybe they do, but I’m just so spaced out I can’t tell. So turn the days of my life.
Dad’s still on a trip. Aunt Kellie is baking casseroles. Daniel’s talking about college. And I am buying illegal drugs from a thug in the park down the st
reet. For all I know, T. J. could be connected to the “druggie” who murdered my mother. Or wait... maybe that’s me.
My life has been shattered into dozens of jagged little pieces of guilt, shame, deceit, regret, pain, sadness, lies, loss, hypocrisy, selfishness, addiction, denial, fear, and despair. All the good parts seem to be missing, and I doubt I can find them. Even if I could, I don’t think I can ever put myself back together again. And sometimes, like late at night when I can’t sleep, it is very tempting to just swallow all those pills and escape permanently. Except for that big question that hangs over my head like the blade of a guillotine: Where will I end up?
So I take pills that buzz me into an energetic frenzy, which allows me to dance and dance until my heart is racing and my hands are shaking and I feel like I will throw up or pass out... or just die.
I was relieved when Daniel told me he’d be gone this weekend. His dad is taking him to visit the college campus where he’ll be going next fall. Daniel invited me to come along, but I couldn’t walk that tightrope—balancing my need for my pills with being a “normal” girlfriend around him and his dad. I told Daniel it’s because my own dad is coming home this weekend. But the truth is, I am not looking forward to seeing my dad now. Although I’ve concocted a reasonable excuse for why my mom was in the city the night she was killed, I don’t know if I can make him believe me.
“Do you want to go with me to the airport to get your dad?” Aunt Kellie asks on Saturday afternoon.
“I don’t think so,” I say as I get a glass of water. I’m wearing my tights and leotard. “I need to practice.”
She nods like this is a good excuse. “I’ve got dinner in the oven, but if you’d like to set the table...”
Out of habit, I frown like this is a great imposition. But then I remember my resolve to help out more. “Sure, I can do that.”
She looks relieved. And as soon as she’s gone, I set the table, whirling about the dining room like a dancing busboy, getting everything just so. I even put out the cloth napkins—although Aunt Kellie prefers paper—and fold them exactly like my mother used to do. Then I head back to the basement and dance and dance until I’m too tired to think and it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack.
The next thing I know, my aunt calls down saying it’s time for dinner and my dad is home. I drag myself back up the stairs. It’s weird because while part of me feels like I’m still buzzing, another part is so heavy I can barely move my feet.
“Are you okay?” my aunt asks me with a furrowed brow.
I just nod. “I’ll change clothes,” I mumble as I head for my room. But once the door is closed to my room, I go for my stash of pills. But this time I don’t know which one to take. It’s like I’m so numb, I can’t even figure out what I need. More energy? Less pain? To sleep? I’m tempted to take a handful, but my dad just got home. I haven’t seen him for two weeks. I can do better than this.
I take two pain pills and struggle to peel off my sweaty dance clothes. Then I struggle even more to get dressed, just sitting there with one leg in my jeans and the other one still bare.
Finally Aunt Kellie knocks on my door, saying it’s time for dinner.
I blink at my strange-looking image in the mirror, pull on my jeans, and tell her I’m coming. Then, feeling hazy, like this is a dream, I make my way to the dining room and sit in my regular place. At least I think it’s my regular place. My head is kind of spinning now.
“Are you all right?” my dad asks with worried eyes.
“I don’t... know.”
My aunt comes over and puts her hand on my forehead. “You don’t look well, Cleo.”
“I... I’m tired,” I mumble. “Too much... dancing.”
“She’s been dancing a lot lately, practicing for the recital,” my aunt tells my dad. “Probably overdoing it.”
“You look like you’ve lost weight.”
I just nod at Dad, but the motion makes me feel woozy, and I think I’m about to fall out of my chair or vomit. “I... I... don’t feel too good.”
“Come on.” Aunt Kellie helps me to my feet. “Let’s get you back to your room. I’ll bring your dinner in there.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat something,” she insists.
Soon I’m sitting up in bed and there’s some food on a tray in front of me. I poke something brownish with my finger, then lean my head back and sigh.
“Something is wrong with you.” My aunt bends over and peers into my eyes.
“I’m just tired.” Her eyes are narrowed, studying me like I’m a bug under a magnifying glass. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were using drugs, Cleo. Your pupils are dilated and—”
“That’s ridiculous.” I attempt a laugh, but it sounds more like a cough.
“You’re not taking drugs, are you?”
“Of course not.” Now I close my eyes. “I’m just tired. And sad. My mom died, remember?”
“Yes. My sister died, too.” I hear her leave, but when I look up, I see she left my door open. I want to get up and close it, shut her out, but my legs feel like they’re encased in thick mud. And I am so tired... dizzy... fuzzy... blurry.
Later that evening, after it’s dark outside, my dad comes into my room. He removes the tray of barely touched food and just looks at me. His eyes are red and puffy, like he’s been crying. “I shouldn’t have gone on that business trip. It was too soon to leave you alone like that, Cleo. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me?”
I blink and stare at him. Does he really think this is his fault? Seriously, his fault? If only he knew.
“My work has taken me away from my family for too long,” he continues. “And now it’s taking my family away from me. Too much to pay for too little return... bad investment... risky business.”
“Huh?” I’m trying to understand what he’s saying, but it doesn’t quite make sense.
“My work took me away from your mom—” His voice breaks. “If I’d been home, she’d probably still be alive.”
I nod, taking this in. “Yeah... maybe so.” But I know it’s not true. And I cannot admit the part I played.
“And then I left you alone, and Kellie says you need me to be here.”
The guilt is burying me, suffocating me. I want to tell Dad I’m sorry, that it’s all my fault, confess everything, but it’s like I’m frozen, stuck. I can’t speak, can’t think, can barely even breathe.
Dad takes my hand in his. “I need you to get through this, Cleo. And I want to help you. I’m going to cancel my next consulting trip and just—”
“No,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to cancel your trip. Not for me.”
“But look at you.” He wipes his wet cheeks with his hands. “You are falling apart. Aunt Kellie is really worried about your health, sweetheart. So am I.”
“I just need some rest. I’m tired; that’s all.”
He nods. “Okay. You get some sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow. Aunt Kellie wants us to go to church with her in the morning, and I think it’s about time we went back. Your mother would want us to go to church. I was foolish to stop. Foolish and selfish. I’m sorry, Cleo. I’ll do better.”
I don’t respond... just close my eyes... wishing this to be over.
“And then, after church tomorrow, we’ll go to the cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” I open my eyes. “Why?”
He sniffs, then wipes his nose with a tissue. “It’s Mother’s Day tomorrow. We’ll take your mom some roses. Pink roses. Her favorite.”
“Oh...” It feels like a bag of stones is on my chest, pushing the air from my lungs.
“You rest, honey. We’ll do better. Tomorrow’s a new day.”
“Yeah... tomorrow... Mother’s Day...”
My dad leaves the room, shutting the door.
I sit up and struggle to breathe. My heart is racing again, yet all I’ve been doing is lying here. I take not one but two sleeping pills, hoping to slow things down.
But as I lie here, I wonder if these drugs are killing me. And why should I even care?
. . . [CHAPTER 17] . . . . . . . . . . . .
This morning I get up and tell myself that I’ll quit these pills today—once and for all, I want to end this madness. But the thought of attending church as well as visiting my mother’s grave—on Mother’s Day—undoes me. My good intentions are tossed aside, and I succumb to the lure of the contents of a Ziploc baggie. As I take both a pain pill and an amphetamine, I feel weak and pathetic and hopeless.
As a result, I feel numb and dazed and barely present during the church service. The music and the words go right over my head, floating around with the dust particles that sparkle in the sunlight. It all just whooshes away. All except for one part of the sermon that somehow sticks.
“God has the heart of a mother. Like a mother, God’s love is unconditional. Like a mother, God’s forgiveness is complete.”
Although those words must be meant to comfort, they cut me to the core. They burn and sting and taunt. I find it impossible to believe that they are true. And it takes all my self-control not to scream and run out of here. Instead, I dig my fingernails into my palms until I’m sure they must be bleeding.
“Are you okay?” Aunt Kellie looks down at me, and I realize that she and everyone else are standing. My dad is in the aisle talking to Dr. Richards, our dentist. Maybe he’s making an appointment for a checkup. Uncle Don has already made his exit.
“Cleo?” My aunt peers curiously at me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just not feeling too good.” I slowly stand, trying to look normal.
She puts her face close to mine. “You don’t look too good.”
“Thanks,” I say with sarcasm.
She links her arm into mine and escorts me down the aisle and toward the door. Once we are out in the parking lot, she gets a somber look. “I’m very concerned about you.”
I just shrug, blinking into the sunlight. Then I turn away from her, focusing on a search for my sunglasses in this cavernous bag. I find them and slip them on, hoping this will help to keep her from studying the condition of my pupils again.
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