by Beth Vrabel
I rolled my eyes, then busied myself inspecting a bite of chicken before tasting it.
“She’ll crack all the toughest cases and bring justice, one nut at a time,” Dad said, completely gasping for breath between laughs.
“Ha, ha.” I took another bite.
“Uh-oh,” Mom said mildly. “Looks like it’s already setting in. She’s eating like a squirrel.”
“I despise all of you right now.”
They laughed so hard I was sure James was going to throw up. He didn’t, but Tooter did, right under the kitchen table. I might have been betrayed by my own kind, then turned on by my so-called family, but I still had Tooter.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, I woke up before Mom did. I don’t know why my stupid heart thumped so much at that. It’s not like I hadn’t woken up before her for months. But she had been so here the past few days. I guess not having the radio playing in the kitchen when I woke up sort of felt like crawling up the sliding board. Just wrong.
I cracked open the door to her bedroom. The shades were all pulled shut. Tooter was curled up, snoring, at the base of her bed. Mom was a lump in the middle. I eased the door shut.
James leaned in the doorway of his bedroom across the hall, his arms crossed and bangs hanging over his forehead. He didn’t say anything as I walked by, just sort of breathed angrily out of his nose. I heard his footsteps behind me as I made my way into the living room. I sunk into the couch next to Dad.
“Depression isn’t easy,” Dad said. In front of him lay about thirty loads of laundry. All of it wrinkled from being in the dryer or basket too long. He concentrated on smoothing out the curves of a T-shirt as he folded it, but even my so-so eyes could see the bumps pop right back. “For every two steps forward, there’s one step back.”
James grunted.
“Do you have something to share?” Dad asked. He was using this weird voice, this strained, trying-to-be-calm voice. It wouldn’t take much to turn it to a yell. Both James and I knew that. James pressed his mouth shut.
“It’s just—” I took a breath and started again. “She was better yesterday. She was just like Mom Mom.” I twisted a loose piece of tape on my football finger. The bite didn’t hurt but sort of throbbed a little.
Dad didn’t say anything. He just kept folding the laundry.
“Is it my fault? I mean, getting bit by the squirrel, did that sort of make it worse?” I studied the loose piece of tape, twisting it tighter and tighter.
“No,” Dad snapped. “It had nothing to do with you. If anything, it was a nice diversion. Your mom? She’s sick. It started when we were back in Seattle and moving here just made it more obvious. Like any sicknesses, it takes time to heal.” He patted a huge pile of towels down so they wouldn’t tip. “All we can do is make things as easy as possible for her so she can get strong again.”
“Whatever.”
Both Dad and I swiveled toward James. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest on the recliner.
“Again,” Dad clipped off the word. “Do you have something to say, son?”
“Yes, Dad,” James answered in the same tone. “How can you tell Alice it’s not her fault in one breath and then say we have to help Mom in the next. Which one is it?” James slammed his feet onto the ground and popped up. I couldn’t see his expression, just that his face was a blazing red STOP sign. “Maybe if you’d take a couple mornings off and ‘made things easy’ a couple weeks ago, Mom would already be better. Maybe she’d be the one getting Alice around town. Maybe Tooter wouldn’t be off peeing on kids. Maybe I’d . . .”
Dad watched James, his hands still holding a wrinkly T-shirt. After almost a full minute, he softly asked, “Maybe you would what?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t feel so . . . so . . .”
Dad slowly stood. He took a half step toward James, dropping the T-shirt. “So what?”
“So completely ANGRY!” And then James did something I’ve never seen before. My big brother cried like a baby. All the times I had seen him curl into himself. All the times I had seen his face shutter closed. That was nothing. This was an avalanche. A volcano. A total meltdown. My brother’s fury melted into sorrow, and it poured out over my dad.
And my dad. Maybe James was right and Dad had spent the past few weeks hiding from Mom’s depression, leaving us to muddle through. Or maybe he thought doing well at work was helping us. I guess it could be both. But right now, my dad was here. He was taking all that James was feeling—even now, as James pushed away Dad’s embrace and kicked over the carefully stacked pile of towels. Even as Mom’s door stayed shut and James went back to crying.
Finally James stopped screaming. Stopped crying even. He just sat on the floor, surrounded by clothes even more wrinkled than they had been, Dad sitting beside him and me on the couch.
“Feel better?” Dad asked.
James sort of laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good.” Dad grinned. “I’ve been wanting to have a freak out like you just did since we moved here. I’m glad you saved me the trouble.” He grabbed a T-shirt from the ground and used the hem of it to wipe James’s wet face. Then Dad rammed his hands through his hair. “You’re right, you know. I should’ve been here more. And I don’t know what will help Mom. The medicine seems to be helping, but it’s going to be a while till she’s entirely well.”
Dad flashed a smile my way. “But it’s not our fault she’s sick. She’s always had bouts of sadness. She’s just always kicked them sooner than this. She’ll find her way.”
Dad threw the T-shirt in his hands at James’s face. “And you’ll clean up this mess. Put it away when you’re done.”
“Where are you going?” James groaned, but he already was gathering armloads of clothes and shoving them into the laundry basket.
“I’m taking Alice to the library. She has an essay to write.”
I shook my head. “I’m not doing it. It’s pointless. There is no way I’m going to win.”
“You’re doing it.”
“Why is everyone suddenly so interested in the stupid contest? Don’t we have more important things to worry about?”
“Like what?” James asked, now pretending the laundry basket was a basketball net and our clothes the ball. He did a little fist bump in the air when his shot landed in the basket.
“Like Elizabeth McAllister suing us?”
Dad’s smile twisted a little on his face. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Definitely not out of the woods there.” He balled up a pair of boxers and threw it in the basket. “But sitting around at home working ourselves up about it isn’t going to make it go away.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “We leave in five, Alice. Get your stuff.”
I walked into the library and breathed in the cloud of lavender. I braced myself for Mrs. Dexter. I was sure she was going to yell at me again about pretending Tooter was a guide dog. But instead, she just said quietly, “Good morning, Alice.”
Funny, I used to smell the Mill mixed in with the lavender, but now all I smelled was the flower. Strange how you get used to things.
I guess I was excited to see Kerica, because I was sort of skipping toward the hand chairs. It had only been a week since I had seen her, but it felt a lot longer. I couldn’t wait to tell her about the squirrel bite. I was sure it would make her laugh. And I’ll admit it: I was sort of smiling to myself. It was a pretty funny story. I mean, how many people can say they were bit by a squirrel? I was pretty sure I was the only one in Sinkville. I sort of snorted out loud as I thought about adding that to my Sinkville Success Stories.
Right after my profile of Mr. Hamlin spending his days whittling on the deck over the waters that sent his son to college and before the piece on how Mayor Hank brought the civil rights movement to the Williams Diner, I’d sandwich how two albinos truly came together at Dr. Ross’s animal rescue.
“Something funny?” I didn’t need to look to know who was behind the snide voice. Sandi was sitting at the long desk
beside the hand chairs, surrounded by sheets of typewritten papers and an open laptop. Her arms were crossed as she glared at me.
“Nothing I’d like to share with you.” I crossed my arms and my cane sort of flew upward.
“Need the cane now that your so-called guide dog is out of commission?”
I’m pretty sure puffs of smoke came out my nose at that; I was so furious. But being really angry shuts down my ability to think. I swear, it makes my tongue swell so that anything witty I might want to say doesn’t bubble out of my mouth until the next day. Usually while I’m lying in bed trying to go to sleep and replaying the conversation. But I couldn’t let her have the last word, so I said the only thing I could, lame as it was: “I don’t want to talk with you.”
“Suit yourself.” Sandi leaned back over her papers and picked up a pencil. I had to move past her to get to the hand chairs, so I could see that she had scrawled swirls and circles all over the notes that I’m sure her mom’s secretary had typed up for her. The Word document on the laptop was blank. Sandi’s legs drummed up and down under the table. I smiled a little to myself. Looks like her essay wasn’t going well.
I dumped my backpack in one of the hand chairs and moved toward the shelves of books looking for Kerica. I was halfway through the children’s section and still hadn’t spotted her when Mrs. Morris came out of her office. “Alice!” she boomed. I could hear the smile in her voice. “I am so glad to see you. How are you? How is Tooter?”
She moved closer and wrapped me in her wide arms.
“I’m fine. Tooter’s fine, too. My dad dropped me off today.” I looked over her shoulder. “I can’t find Kerica, though. Did she come with you today?”
For a second, Mrs. Morris’s smile faltered. “Yeah, she’s here, but she’s researching something over in the adult nonfiction section. I’m sure she’ll be back in no time. Sarah Hamlin was in earlier and told us all about Tooter being in quarantine and . . .”
Mrs. Morris glanced down at my wrapped up finger. Dad had taken off the football bandaging and replaced it with some gauze and tape. It was still puffy, but I could move it easier today.
“She told you about the squirrel, too, didn’t she?” I said.
Mrs. Morris hid her smile behind her hand. “It’s okay,” I grinned. “I know it’s a little funny.”
“Are you here to work on your essay?” Mrs. Morris asked.
“Yeah, I was wondering if I could use one of the computers here to write it?”
“Absolutely, although they’re in high demand right now.” I could see what she meant. Each of the half-dozen computer desks was full but one. Each occupant was a kid with notes and books on local history spread out around them. The only sound was a steady drumming of typing, peppered with the occasional sigh or the sudden tapping of fingers against the wooden top.
Unfortunately, the one open desk was right next to a table where Sandi was seated.
I’m not the fastest typist in the world, but I guess I’m better than most people. It’s kind of ironic, I suppose. Mom used to make me type everything for school, starting when I was in third grade. I used to be so slow, having to put my face super close to the keyboard, then checking the screen to make sure the right letters showed up, then going back to the keyboard. It took forever. I hated Mom for it. But after a while, I got faster, especially once she made me do these online typing programs. Now I can type faster than I can write.
I was lost in the Williams Diner story, writing about how all the mill workers come together for milkshakes after their shifts, when I heard a snooty sigh over my shoulder. “You’ve been typing for, like, fifteen minutes. How in the world are you on page six already?”
Sandi was glaring at the corner of the computer screen, where I guess it said which page I was on. I couldn’t make out that area well. I didn’t want to answer her, but when I looked over my shoulder, I felt a pang of sympathy. Her bangs were sticking straight up from where she had pulled her hands through her hair. There was an ink splotch on her bottom lip where she must’ve been chewing on her pen. Her eyes were red from being rubbed.
“It’s the font.” I changed it back to the usual 12 from my 36. “What is it now?”
“One page,” Sandi sighed.
“Well, I am working with one less finger.” I grimaced in her direction, but she wasn’t looking. Sandi trudged back to her seat and slumped down.
I ignored her and went back to writing. Now I was onto how the diner was the scene for a civil rights demonstration that ended with town support and the hiring of an awesome chef. Every once in a while, I’d hear a deep sigh from Sandi or the crumpling of paper.
I was almost done with this first section of my essay when Kerica returned.
“Kerica!” I jumped up in my seat, sending my notebook flying. She paused, as if she stood super still I wouldn’t see her, then picked up the notebook and put it back on my desk. She was holding a huge book open and her eyes darted faster than mine.
“Are you looking for someone?” I asked.
“Mom. Have you seen her?” Kerica shifted the book so it was sort of behind her. I caught a glimpse of it, though. It looked like some sort of medical book.
“What are you reading?” I asked. Kerica went up on her tiptoes to look over my head.
“Just a book,” she muttered. “I was looking for anatomy books so I could paint hands better and came across this veterinary book.”
I pointed to the Post-it Notes sticking out of the sides. “Looks like you found some interesting things. Now that you’ve read all the dog stories, are you on to serious nonfiction?” I laughed, but Kerica’s return smile was a little crooked.
“Have you seen my mom?” she repeated.
“Uh, a few minutes ago.” I put my hand on her shoulder to lower her down, forcing her to look at me. “Are you all right?”
Kerica’s eyes locked with mine and filled with tears. She nodded, even as her chin wobbled.
“You don’t seem okay.” I pulled out the chair beside me. “Want to talk?”
Kerica shook her head, sending the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Not yet.” She bit her lip and then shocked me by putting her arms around me and squeezing. It was a quick-as-a-bug-bite hug and somehow stung just as much, especially since she all but sprinted to the back of the library toward her mom’s office afterward.
“Freak-a-zoid,” Sandi muttered as she balled up another page of notes and tossed it toward the trashcan.
James walked me home a few hours later, the two of us trudging along in silence.
“What’s new with Sarah?” I drew out her name into the singsong tone I knew he hated. I was trying to break up the quiet, not really to make him mad. But James glared at me like I had cut him with glass.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not entirely sure why I was apologizing.
James stomped a little harder than necessary and picked up the pace so he was ahead of me a few steps.
“I’m sorry!” I said louder, remembering how James had burst apart earlier that morning. It was wrong to pick on him when he was just a bunch of shoved-together pieces.
Surprising me even more than when he had glared at me, James stopped and turned, facing me full on. For the second time that day, someone told me everything was okay when their eyes were filled with tears.
“No, it’s not okay,” I replied. “Is it Mom?”
James sighed. “No, not really. I mean, it sort of always is, isn’t it?” He shoved his hands into his pockets, but I could tell they were curled into fists. “It’s pretty freaking pathetic, you know, that the only person I have to talk to is my baby sister.”
I wrapped my fingers around his elbow. “I’m not going to take that personally.”
James coughed out a little laugh. “It’s Sarah. She’s going to college in the fall.”
“I know. Mr. Hamlin told me.”
James sidestepped out of my grip. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know. I’ve spent all summer hanging out with her. Now s
chool’s going to start in a couple weeks and I’ll know absolutely no one. It was a waste of time.”
I didn’t say anything, just tried to keep pace with James’s oversized steps as much as I could.
“I mean, I know,” he continued. “I know it wasn’t a waste getting to know her. I know. But I just . . . I just—”
“Feel lonely,” I finished for him. “Kerica and Sandi go to the Bartel School for Girls. I’m not going to know anyone in a few weeks, either.”
“Yeah, but it’s easier for you.” James nudged me with his shoulder. “You just put yourself out there. Everyone in this stupid town knows you.”
My face flushed. “I can’t help it that I stand out.”
“That’s not what I meant,” James unclenched his fists and rammed his fingers through his too-long hair. “I mean, you. They know you. You just start talking to anyone. It’s harder for me. I mean, in Seattle we already knew everyone. I can’t figure out how to start talking to people.”
I nudged him back with my shoulder. By now we were right in front of the house but walking slower. I think we both wondered what we’d see once we got inside.
“It’s a trick,” I told him. James tilted his head toward me. “Talking to people, it’s not easy for me. I have a trick. I pretend to be Mom when she was on assignment.”
James stared at the front door of our Sinkville house for a second. “She was never scared of anything then.”
Chapter Fourteen
The phone was ringing as we walked in the door. James rushed to answer it before the answering machine picked up. “Uh, I need to find her.”
I trailed James down the hallway as he cracked open Mom’s bedroom door. We both jerked our heads in surprise. The blinds were open and the windows cracked. Sunlight poured into the room I had always sort of thought of as a cave. “I’m sorry, Dr. Ross,” James said. “I’m not sure where my mom is. . . . Yes. . . . I’ll make sure she calls. Okay, bye.”
