by M Sawyer
Paul nodded. “The only vacation your mother and I ever took. That was our honeymoon. Not long after we got back, you came along.”
The tips of Nolin’s ears burned. She hadn’t missed the shadow of accusation, though she was sure her father hadn’t meant it. “Maybe Mom would like a vacation,” she suggested. “I’ve never been on one. Maybe something new would be good for her.”
Paul snorted. “She barely leaves the house, Nolin. What makes you think she’d be up to a vacation?”
Nolin shrugged. She found her own mug in the cupboard, a pink polka-dotted one. She added a chamomile tea bag. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s bored being inside all the time. Wouldn’t you be?”
Paul bobbed his head from side to side, adding honey to his tea. “Where would you want to go, Nolin?”
Nolin’s mind cast around. She’d only left the town on school field trips. She’d never left the state. She thought of the places she’d read about or learned about in school, vacations she’d heard her classmates bragging about. “Alaska?” she proposed.
“Really, why there?”
“I think Mom would like it. And I’d like it. It’s totally different from here.”
Paul sat at the bar and sipped his tea. His brow wrinkled.
“Maybe. If she starts to get better.”
Tiny butterflies danced in Nolin’s chest. She joined her father at the bar. A hopeful smile tickled the corners of her mouth.
They sipped in silence. The overhead light cast eerie shadows over Paul’s face, darkening the wells of his eye sockets and cheekbones. He reminded her of skeletons from old Halloween books she’d read.
“Dad?” she ventured.
“Hmm?”
“Was Mom ever happy?”
Paul tipped his head down. The shadows in his eyes grew darker and longer.
“Happier than she is now.”
“When did she start getting sick?”
“Hard to say. When I met her, she’d barely graduated high school and her best friend had just died. She was in a pretty rough spot, but I don’t think she was sick.”
“Her friend died?”
He nodded. “She and your mom were hiking or something up in the mountains. I guess Alexa fell down the side of the mountain and into a river. Your mom tried to find her. She stayed there for most of the night, searching. Eventually, she had to go all the way back to town alone for help. She was all kinds of torn up. She still had a job and went to school, though. She wasn’t like she is now.”
Nolin bit the inside of her cheek. She watched the curling steam from her mug as if expecting to decipher some meaningful shape in the vapor.
Her father chuckled. What could possibly be funny? Nolin thought. He looked out the window, the corners of his eyes crinkling into long-forgotten laugh lines.
“She worked at a burger place when I met her. I was in town for school. I spent a fortune on burgers that semester. I’d always get the cheapest meal and leave her a big fat tip and my phone number on the receipt.” He chuckled. Then the smile faded.
“We dated a year before I proposed. She was doing better. She started art school. She even got some freelance drawing work. Your mom used to be a fun lady. You’ve never known her like she was.” His voice cracked on was. “I thought she’d be happy if we got married.”
Nolin noticed his simple gold wedding band, scratched and bent. She knew he never took it off, even when he showered or mowed the lawn. His lips bunched together. Nolin had the feeling he was talking to himself more than her.
“Then you came along.” It sounded like an accusation, as if she were a pothole in their road to wedded bliss. Nolin felt her cheeks flush.
“Mom said I was an accident,” she said quietly.
Her father cocked his head to the side, his eyes crinkled in a soft smile. “Well, you weren’t planned, but I wouldn’t call you an accident. The usual...well, birth control didn’t agree with her. All the hormones drove her crazy. Then one day that little pink line appeared, and we knew you were on the way. She had a rough pregnancy. Sick every day, lots of complications, bed rest. She had to quit school and work, and she stopped drawing.
“You came almost two months early. You cried and cried and cried; you never stopped crying. You stayed in the hospital for a couple weeks. The doctors didn’t think you were going to make it at first; you were so tiny and frail. Your mom hardly left the hospital. Once we got you home, the crying started. Day and night. Taking care of a new baby is tough for anybody, but she really struggled. Then that one night, she just went over the edge.”
He paused, looking out at the swaying trees, the wind blowing through the branches. The rustling leaves whispered, like the trees had spirits.
“Something happened that night,” he continued. “It was the weirdest thing. You never cried after that. It’s like you were a completely different child. You slept through the night, you weren’t sick anymore, and you never cried.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I just found your mom in your room in the middle of the night, and she was just...not right. She hasn’t been right since.”
Her suspicions prodded her. She knew that acting on them would only unleash a monster. Still, she couldn’t resist.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“Is it my fault Mom’s sick?”
He paused and then gulped down the rest of his tea. Nolin waited, her insides twisting around themselves like a pit of snakes. Her father mopped his chin with the bottom of his tee shirt. A gush of wind rattled the windows. The tree in the front yard reached across the window with a branch like a witch’s hand. Nolin thought of her mother’s body, thin and gnarled.
Her father cleared his throat. “I don’t know.”
He didn’t look at her when he answered.
Chapter 9
NOLIN WOKE TO pounding on the ceiling over her head. Faint sunshine filtered through the sheer curtains, bathing the living room in gray light. She sat up from where she’d fallen asleep on the carpet in front of the window. Her father snored in his armchair.
“Uh-oh.” Nolin scrambled to her feet, dashed up the stairs to her mother’s room, and threw open the door. Melissa faced the open window, sprinting in place. The back of her tee shirt was blotched with sweat, and her dirty hair clung to her neck. The stagnant air reeked of sweat. The bedsheets lay in a knotted pile on the floor. The naked mattress was littered with jewelry: a string of pearls, dozens of earrings, a jeweled bracelet. Tangled around a gold chain was a clay bead necklace Nolin had made in school for Mother’s Day in the third grade; a string of blue and purple pea-sized spheres she’d spent hours shaping and smoothing, ensuring each was the exact-same size and shape.
Melissa coughed, a deep hack in her chest. Her face was pale and shiny.
“Is Paul mad at me?” she puffed. Her wild eyes were bloodshot. She stared out the window, dirty hair swinging around her face.
“He fell asleep downstairs.” Nolin grabbed Melissa’s clammy wrist and pulled her onto the bed. Melissa almost tripped, but caught herself on the mattress. She breathed.
“I was afraid he was upset when he wasn’t here when I woke up. He hardly ever sleeps in the bed anymore. I couldn’t sit still. I just had to do something. Work the energy out.” Nolin didn’t ask how long she’d been running. She’d never looked so old. Nolin knew her mother was only thirty-one, but her pale lips drooped at the corners, shadows rimmed her eyes, and a deep crease separated her eyebrows. Even now, with her skin red and blotchy and her white tee shirt stained with sour sweat, Nolin thought she was beautiful.
Melissa collapsed onto the mattress. “Paul bought me most of these.” She picked up the gold chain by her index finger. The clay bead necklace dropped and slid off the end of the bed. “He loves me. Look at all these.” She seemed to speak to herself, not Nolin.
“Why don’t you wear some of them today?” Nolin said. “We could go for a walk, and maybe Dad will get home early enough to ta
ke you to dinner tonight.” A twinge of guilt twisted her stomach. It was a lie. He’d probably stay late to make up for the time he’d missed earlier in the week when he picked her up from school. Melissa would never go anyway. Still, she had to try to get her out somehow.
“A walk?” Melissa echoed.
“Yeah, we could go to the park, or we could get sandwiches or something and have a picnic...”
“No, no picnics.”
“Right, well, it’s supposed to be sunny today. You’ll like it.”
Melissa dropped the pearls across her forehead.
Nolin pressed on. “I’ll go make breakfast, then you can take a shower. We’ll go for a walk.” Melissa didn’t respond. “I’ll be right back.”
Nolin went down to the kitchen, listening for any movement in the bedroom. Downstairs, her father hadn’t moved. She put on a pot of water to boil and picked two mugs out of the cupboard. Seven-thirty, the clock read.
“Dad?” Nolin patted her father’s shoulder. He stirred, opened his eyes and jerked, startled to see someone so close.
“Come on, Nolin. You’re going to give me a heart attack. What time is it?” He looked at his watch and leapt from the chair, tripping over his shoes as he lunged toward the stairs.
“I started breakfast.” Nolin called after him. “It’ll be ready when you’re done showering.”
“No time!” he called from upstairs. Water gushed in the pipes. Nolin stirred oatmeal and raisins into the boiling water. While the oatmeal cooked, she made a sandwich, slipped it in a plastic bag, and set it on the table with an apple and her father’s car keys. This was getting to be a routine.
***
Melissa scooped the scattered jewelry into a mound on the mattress, mentally cataloging each piece. The anniversary bracelet, the wedding pearls, the engagement ring.
Her eyes caught the simple necklace on the floor, a string of purple and blue beads. She leaned down to picked it up with her finger, then slid it over her head. The cool beads felt soothing on her sweaty neck. She examined her reflection in the vanity table mirror. The necklace draped across her collarbones, which were still graceful and feminine despite their alarming sharpness. The cool colors coaxed the last tinge of blush from her cheeks. She remembered her eyes were faintly blue. Unlike overpowering pearls and diamonds, this simple gift suited her, even made her feel pretty.
Any mother would be ecstatic to have a child like Nolin. She helped around the house without being asked. She was a pretty little thing, or would be if she would comb her hair and wear something decent. She was brilliant, probably a child genius if given the proper attention.
What kind of a mother feels ill at the sight of her own daughter? To feel disgust rather than love was despicable, inhuman. True, Nolin was different, but special. Why should her differences matter?
Melissa’s stomach lurched. Her esophagus clenched. She doubled over, dry heaving. She hadn’t eaten in days. There was nothing left to purge. The rough spasms clawed her lungs. She wished she could eat. And sleep. Couldn’t she have one night free from nightmares? Just one day without having to look over her shoulder for shadows?
Maybe it was all in her head. She’d told herself that so many times. She knew it wasn’t true.
At least, it wasn’t all in her head.
A shower might help her feel better, like Nolin said. She hobbled into the bathroom, slipped her hand inside the shower curtain, and twisted the knob for hot water.
She slid off her filthy tee shirt and pajama pants. Blue veins pulsed under the thin, pale skin of her limbs and torso, crisscrossing like cracks in white marble. Her hip bones and ribs reached from under her skin, perhaps trying to escape. She looked down at her deflated breasts. Her body disgusted her.
The body: a sack of bones, veins, frail organs, a bloody mess held together by a weak sheath of skin that could be broken so easily by a kitchen knife, a cat’s claw, a piece of paper. What good was such a fragile barrier? Just to hide the true appearance of the body underneath? Skin was a lie.
She slipped into the shower beneath the burning spray, gritting her teeth as the scalding water pelted her back. Smothering white steam wrapped around her as she scrubbed her arms, legs, torso, and back with a rough sponge until she felt raw, like she had no skin left. She wanted to see the body underneath the lie, see what she really was.
She dropped the sponge to scratch at her shoulders, digging with her nails to peel the skin from her back. The water ran red around her feet. She twisted her arms around to claw into her lower back, the front of her thighs, her hollow stomach. The steam and pain nearly blinded her. The hissing water drowned out all other sound.
Then she saw it.
A dark eye, staring at her through the crack in the shower curtain. She knew that eye, and it knew her.
Melissa screamed and ripped at the shower curtain. Then, she slipped.
***
Nolin balanced two bowls of oatmeal on her forearms and held a glass of milk in her hands, walking slowly so the milk didn’t slosh. It was shiny and white as Elmer’s glue.
A scream sliced through her concentration.
Ice shot through her veins. That scream, raspy and shrill at the same time, raised bumps on her arms and tingled like spiders under her skin.
Then, a thud.
The bowls and glass dropped, splashing on the carpet of the dining room. Nolin sprinted up the stairs two at a time. When she got to the top, she threw open the bedroom door.
Thick, white steam poured into the room from the bathroom. Something smelled wrong, coppery like pennies.
The wet steam settled on Nolin’s skin. She ran into the bathroom. Through the shrill hiss of the shower, she heard whimpering behind the shower curtain.
“Mom...”
Nolin reached in and winced as the blistering water burned her arm. Gritting her teeth, she twisted the squeaky knob to shut off the shower. The water trickled to a stop. The only sounds left were the dripping shower head, Melissa’s shallow whimpering, and Nolin’s sharp breaths. Her heart pounded a bass line in her ears. Melissa cried softly, mumbling something Nolin couldn’t hear.
Nolin pushed the curtain aside.
Melissa huddled at the end of the tub with her back to Nolin, naked and red as a stewed tomato, one hand over her forehead. The other arm wrapped around her knees. Angry red scratches crisscrossed her shoulders, white blisters bloomed on her back and arms, and blood ran down the side of her face and seeped between her fingers.
“Mom?” Nolin’s voice quavered. Melissa’s shoulders shook as she cried. Blood trickled from the gouges on her back.
Nolin squashed her racing thoughts and forced herself to focus. She ripped open the bottom drawer of the vanity and pulled out a clean, folded hand towel. Gently, she reached for Melissa’s hand that covered her head.
Melissa shuddered. She pressed her face into the tiled wall, shrinking away from her daughter. Was she was afraid of Nolin? The idea that her mother feared her made Nolin sick. She would never, ever hurt her mother.
Nolin gently pulled Melissa’s hand from her bleeding head and pressed the towel to the wound. Her skin was burning hot. “Hold... hold this,” Nolin choked. Melissa pressed her hand over the towel.
“I...I’m going to get help. It’ll be okay.” Nolin yanked a bigger towel off the rack and carefully draped it over Melissa’s torn back. Melissa flinched like Nolin had cracked a whip at her, then she reached a bony claw to pull the towel tighter around herself.
Chapter 10
THIS IS WORSE than waiting outside the principal’s office.
The paramedics hadn’t let Nolin ride in the back with her mother; instead, she was allowed in the cab with the driver. He assured her that her mother would be fine, they’d take good care of her, that the hospital had a playroom. His high, scratchy voice buzzed like a mosquito in her ears. She wanted to swat it away.
Now she heard the grown-ups talking inside the hospital room while she waited outside. She tried not to lis
ten, instead focusing on the endless tapping of feet echoing around the hall. Words like “hallucination” and “self-harm” still fell on her like lashes from a whip. She might have only been ten, but she’d been Melissa’s daughter long enough to know what those words meant.
The door opened. Her father stepped out. He looked exhausted.
“Is Mom okay?”
Her father put his hand on his mouth and sat next to her. His suit looked strange in a hospital full of doctors and nurses in their colored scrubs.
He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, shaking his head.
“Seventy percent of her body is covered in first- and second-degree burns,” he said. “Lots of minor lacerations. She has a concussion from when she slipped and hit her head, but the doctors say she’ll be fine.” His jaw stiffened and he avoided her gaze. “We don’t think she meant to hurt herself,” he finally said. “They think she had a psychotic episode.” He glanced up at Nolin, looking horrified that he’d just uttered those words to a ten-year-old. Nolin stared straight ahead, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“Like a hallucination?”
“Yes, like a hallucination. We think she thought she saw something on her skin, and she tried to scratch it off. Do you understand?”
“I know what a hallucination is.”
“Of course you do.” He nodded, his eyes unfocused and glassy. “She should heal physically. We’re more worried about what this means for her mental condition.” He cupped his hands over his mouth and nose, like he was praying with his face in his hands. “They’re going to keep her in this part of the hospital until her head injury gets better. Then they’re going to move her to the psychiatric ward.”
His eyes darted sideways at Nolin. Maybe he hoped she didn’t know what that meant. She knew. She’d read “The Yellow Wallpaper,” One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Bell Jar. She was terrified for Melissa.
“Are they going to shock her?” Nolin asked.
