Arcadia's Gift (Arcadia Trilogy) (26 page)

“What is it?” I asked.

My parents exchanged a look before my mother’s gaze became engrossed with her shoes.

“You both know that your mother hasn’t been herself lately,” Dad said, rubbing Mom’s arm supportively. “I know you’ve been worried about her.” He heaved a sigh before continuing. “We’ve talked it over and your mother has agreed to get help.”

“I thought she already was seeing a therapist,” Aaron said.

“She is, but we think she needs more help than an outpatient program can offer her.”

Mom didn’t seem to notice that they were discussing her as if she weren’t in the room.

“What are you saying?” I asked. “That she needs in-patient treatment?”

“I-I’m going to check myself into a rehab facility today,” Mom answered. My gasp had more to do with how difficult it was for her to admit that than any real surprise on my part.

“We’ve found a place in Minnesota that can offer her support for her substance abuse problems as well as grief counseling. I’m driving her up there today.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with his elbows in his knees.

“For as long as it takes,” Mom whispered, gazing beyond us out the window.

“I’ll be moving back home temporarily while your mother’s gone to keep an eye on you both. I know you kids have had a lot to deal with on your own for these last weeks, but it’s time that we pull together as a family and get through this.”

I struggled to block out the swirl of emotions in the room so I could assess my own thoughts. Part of me was glad that my mom was getting help. I knew it was the right thing. But another part of me boiled with frustration that Aaron and I were expected to find our way back to normal life on our own, while she was allowed to completely flake out. We didn’t have the luxury of self-pity; we had school. And what about the crap I’d been living through these last weeks? My parents had no idea about the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on. Okay, so I hadn’t exactly told them about it, but they hadn’t thought to ask either.

I looked down at my brother sitting next to me, and the wind went out of my sails. Soft gray smudges spread under his eyes, dimming his inner light. I opened myself to him and felt the sadness and worry lingering in him as if it had taken up permanent residence.
I’m as bad as they are,
I thought.
So wrapped up in my own problems, I haven’t been there for Aaron.
I rested my palm on his shoulder and silently vowed to be a better sister.

“I’m glad that you’re getting help, Mom,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about us. Cady and I have each other’s backs.”

Dad nodded as if that settled everything. “Well, Julia, let’s get your bags in the car and head out. It’s over three hours to Rochester.”

Mom stood and crossed to hug us, but I shirked away and went back up to my bedroom. I sat on the bed trying to understand why I was so angry with her, why I couldn’t let myself feel sorry for her.
Guess sympathy doesn’t automatically come with empathy.

I lay back on my bed and covered my eyes with my forearm. The sounds of my parents gathering Mom’s luggage from the bedroom down the hall echoed through the plaster walls. Just as I thought they had gone back down the stairs, a soft knock rapped on my door.

“Can I come in?” Mom asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission.

“Can I say no?” I sat up, my head dizzy from the movement. Man, I was exhausted. Not sleepy, just spent. I tried to block out her feelings, but I couldn’t do it anymore. Her guilt and pain and sorrow seeped around my shields, demanding my attention. The emotions weakened me further, so I dropped the blocks, letting them flood over my mind in defeat.

“Cady, I know you are worried about me —”

“I’m not worried, I’m pissed off. Big difference.”

Mom sat down on the bed next to me and tried to put her arm around my shoulders, but I shot to my feet, putting distance between us. I couldn’t let her touch me. I had enough of an emotional storm brewing on my own; I didn’t want direct contact with her to drag me into her pity-party, invalidating my own feelings.

“Arcadia—”

“Will you please stop that? Stop using that mother-voice on me. It’s not going to work, alright?” I paced back and forth in front of my closet.

“I am your mother,” she said, her voice rising with indignation.

I paused mid-stride and faced her. “Really? Some mother you’ve been lately. Tell me, while you were wallowing away in your bedroom like some Victorian-era heroine, did you even think about the two kids that you left to fend for themselves?”

I hated myself even as I was doing it, but something snapped within me, and I let it all out. “Who do you think paid the bills this month? Dad did. Who has been making excuses for you when your office calls, or the clients that you have abandoned? Aaron, that’s who. Who has been making sure there is food in the house? Me.”

The volume of my voice was steadily rising into a shout. “We’re all running around here taking care of things so you don’t have to. So you can feel sorry for yourself. But what about us? We lost someone too. You do not have a monopoly on loving her!”

Mom’s skin faded to a grayish white and her hands visibly shook. I had gone too far. I’d kicked her when she was down. What kind of shitty daughter does that?

Dad appeared at the door. The tight press of his lips let me know he’d heard at least part of my tirade. “You ready to head out, Julia?”

Mom stood, smoothing her clothes, not meeting either of our eyes. She nodded.

“Mom,” I said, reaching for her as she brushed past me. She yanked her arm from my grasp, leveled her lightly blood shot eyes on me and said, “Goodbye, Arcadia.”

The odd formality in her tone rooted me to the spot, keeping me from following them out the door, down the steps and to the car.

I crossed the hall to the guest bedroom and watched from the window. In the driveway, Aaron hugged Mom tightly and Dad tucked her into the passenger seat of his truck as if she were fragile cargo. Aaron waved until the truck turned out of sight.

I slumped down to the floor, drawing my knees to my chest, too upset to even cry. I never had temper problems before, but for the second time since the accident, I found myself feeling guilty and embarrassed by a sudden outburst. It wasn’t like me at all.

A long sigh from the doorway made me look up.

“So now what?” Aaron asked.

“Huh?”

He entered the room and sat down on the carpet near me. “Well, one of my sisters is gone, and I can’t do anything about it. My mother has a drug problem and is headed to rehab, and I can’t do anything about it. My other sister,” he cut his eyes to me, “has turned into some sort of psychic healer, and I probably can’t do anything about that either, but well, I’m here and so are you, so I guess that means we’re in this together. So again, what do we do now?”

“Now,” I shrugged. “It’s time to figure out what in the hell happened last night.”

Aaron’s head nodded in agreement. “Okay. Where do we start?”

I grinned. “I think it’s time for you to meet the neighbor.”

If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes at least an apartment building filled with an eclectic bunch of neighbors to publish a book. I give my appreciation and thanks to the following people who played a part in
Arcadia’s Gift
.

First and foremost, I’d like to thank my writing group Mercy Loomis, R. Scott Steele and Joe “Zombie Joe” Alfano. They saw the most horrendous versions of this story and still chose to support me. Thank you for your input and peer pressure. Sometimes, not wanting to show up empty-handed on Tuesday night was all that kept me going. A special thanks to you, ZJ, for helping me out of my title crisis and for your phenomenal baking. Seriously, your cupcakes are like ambrosia.

Thank you to my editor, Vicki Keire. Your comments, suggestions and support were valuable to me. I look forward to working with you again in the future.

Even with a fabulous editor, it is essential to gather input from others. Thank you to all of those who beta read for me: Victoria Grundle, Elyse Rector, Mercy Loomis, Jennifer Lowe, Tammy Treleven and Ashlyn Rae —who helped me with getting the teen perspective right.

Thank you to Phatpuppy Art for my gorgeous cover. Every time I look at it I feel like Cady is alive and not just a fictional character born of my imagination.

On a personal level, I need to thank my longsuffering husband, Steve Riggles. You never complain about the time I spend in front of my laptop or running around with my bookish friends. I couldn’t wish for a more supportive man in my life.

Speaking of bookish friends...thank you to Victoria Grundle, Lindsey Hebel, Jamie Annear-Feyrer, Laura Kate Leibelt and Mercy Loomis for our book club. That one night each month has kept me sane through this whole process. I love you all like sisters!

Lastly, I want to thank Eleah, Eliesha and Michael Dickenson for educating me on what it means to be a twin and how powerful the connection between twins can be. I don’t think those of us who are not a twin can fully understand the relationship. I hope this story in some small way honors that special bond.

Okay, enough of the love fest. I have another book to write.

~Jesi Lea Ryan

Music is powerful inspiration for writers. The following are the songs that provided fuel for my imagination during the writing of
Arcadia’s Gift
. They are also the music most likely to be on Cady’s iPod. (In no particular order.)

Teenage Love - Lee MacDougall

Hurricane Drunk - Florence + the Machine

If I Die Young - The Band Perry

Handlebars - Flobots

Run - Snow Patrol

Mad World - Gary Jules

I Lay My Head - Fallulah

Return - Ok Go

Bizarre Love Triangle - New Order

Calling You - Blue October

End of the Dream - Evanescence

Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park

How - Regina Spektor

Trumpet Vine - A Stick and A Stone

Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

Sleep - The Dandy Warhols

Jesi Lea Ryan grew up in the Mississippi River town of Dubuque, IA. She holds bachelor degrees in creative writing and literature and a masters degree in business. She considers herself a well-rounded nerd who can spend hours on the internet researching things like British history, anthropology of ancient people, geography of random parts of the world, bad tattoos and the paranormal. She currently lives in Madison, WI with her husband and sassy kitty. This is her second novel.