Glass Girl (A Young Adult Novel) (18 page)

“Thanks again, Henry. It was…”

He chuckled. “Yeah, it was.”

The house got smaller and smaller in the distance. I watched through the back window until even the porch light disappeared. Then I turned to Dad. “Did you tell them?”

“Yes.”

Betrayal blazed a quick path from my heart to my head. “Why, Dad? Why would you do that? I haven’t told Henry!”

“Then tell him, Meg! They won’t, but you should.” He took one hand off the wheel and scrubbed it down his face in frustration. “If he means as much to you as I think he does, he should know this part of you.”

He looked at me and nodded, trying to get me to agree. “Right?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Anyway,” he said, his voice softer. “I needed to talk about it. They’re parents, too, for God’s sake. They understood. They wanted to help me.” He was disappointed that I hadn’t understood why he needed to talk to the Whitmires. We had always understood one another.

I stared out the passenger window, unable to look at him. I knew he was hurting. I was being unfair. But they were mine. The Whitmires were mine.

“I’ll tell him,” I said.

“When?”

“Soon.”

FROM: Meg Kavanagh

TO: Mom

Do you remember when Wyatt attacked Jackson Dyer? I was ten and I was walking from the bus stop to our house. Jackson had hidden in a bush and he was pelting me with tiny rocks. I was so humiliated and I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to make him hate me. I didn’t know what to do, so I just pretended I didn’t feel the rocks and I kept walking. And then I heard a THUNK and a GASP and the rocks stopped. I didn’t dare look back, but I did worry that something horrible had eaten Jackson.

When I got to our house, I peeked back to the bush where he’d been and I saw Wyatt. He was holding Jackson on the ground with one knee on his chest, while he pounded him with his fist. Wyatt had been watching from the porch and he’d seen the whole thing. He ran around Jackson’s house, came up on him from behind, and tackled him in the grass.

I knew, from the time I could think my own thoughts, that Wyatt was going to look out for me. He was going to make sure I grew up without being messed with.

I miss him, too, Mom.

I know you’re doing the best you can and I want you to know that I can be patient and I will be here waiting no matter how long it takes. I just want you to come back to us. We should be together.

I know that I can do okay if no one talks to me about it. That’s why I haven’t told anyone here about Wyatt. That’s not wrong. It’s called survival. You’re back where everyone knows. You can’t think straight there.

Aunt Catherine calls to let us know how you’re doing. But I really just want to hear from you. I don’t suppose you feel the same.

Meg

I
stood at the door of my closet with dripping wet hair surveying my clothes for a long time. Dad and I had made plans to eat lunch at the hotel and I needed to look presentable for his co-workers. I finally chose a short black skirt, a gray tunic that tied around my waist, and black boots. I dried my hair and joined Dad in the living room, trying to quell my nerves.

Thanksgiving was hard without Wyatt. It was even harder without Mom.

My cell phone rang with Aunt Catherine’s ring tone—a cheesy version of Harvard’s fight song—and Dad and I glanced at each other as I answered.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Meggie.” Usually Aunt Catherine could be counted on for happy, joy, cheerful stuff. She sounded sad, though.

“Everything okay?” I said.

“No…yes…,” she said. “We’re waiting for your mom to join us for dinner. I haven’t laid eyes on her in a few days. We’ve just talked by phone a couple of times.”

“And you’re worried.”

“I guess that’s my new normal.” In the background, I heard Audrey and Ana Kate asking her questions. She mumbled something to them and then closed a door. Her voice lowered to a whisper and she talked fast, probably to fit in dark details before the girls returned. “As far as I know, she’s okay. But she’s been sleeping a lot. I go check on her and it doesn’t look like she’s moved around much. Or eaten much. These are the signs, you know, of something.”

“I know,” I said. “Are you sure she’s coming today? We’ve been trying to call, too, but she doesn’t answer.”

“Well, she promised the girls and she doesn’t like to disappoint them.”

“Yeah, well, she’s made me a few promises, too.” I shouldn’t have said it out loud.

“I know.”

I felt so guilty that Catherine had been forced into the role of caretaker. That’s not what we meant to happen. She had two small children of her own, a job, and a husband with the brutal work schedule of a neurosurgeon. I guess we assumed Mom would get into a routine, meet with her therapist, paint, and attend board meetings at the museum. We were wrong.

“Aunt Catherine, we can come. We’ll fly out today so you don’t have to deal with this.” I glanced at Dad, who’d hung his head as he listened. His shallow breathing barely moved his shoulders up and down.

“No, Meg,” Catherine said. “She’s made it clear in no uncertain terms that she can’t be in the same room as your dad right now, although, for the life of me, I cannot understand that. He’s always put her first in everything. Even in grief.” Catherine mumbled something, then said, “Like your dad wasn’t grieving, too. I mean, come on.”

“I know,” I said.

“She’s not in any shape to see you either. Let’s give it a couple more weeks. Maybe things will improve by Christmas and you can stay here while you’re out of school. The girls would love to see you.”

I didn’t want to think about Christmas. I was angry, but I missed my mom. I loved being here with Henry, but I felt sick. Dad looked a little green, too.

“We’ll come for Christmas, Aunt Catherine,” I said. “Tell the girls to get ready to be tickled.”

“Okay, Meg. Listen, I know you have to be tougher than you want to be. This is an untenable situation and I want you to be prepared for what you might be facing.”

“What do you mean?” I said, willing her not to say things are going to get worse or that things may never be better than they are right now. I covered the microphone on my phone and whispered to Dad, “Maybe you should handle this.” He shook his head and said, “Catherine called me earlier to tell me the same things.”

Catherine said something calmly to her girls and then spoke urgently to me. “Meg, I worry sometimes that your mom is behaving more and more like Leslie. If she continues to refuse help, we’re going to have to do something drastic. You understand that, don’t you? Some people would say we should’ve done drastic months ago. But your dad feels, and I agree, that Adele is capable of improvement if she’ll just comply.”

The mention of their sister’s name made my heart pound. Could my mom ever feel so hopeless as to sit down and stop breathing?

Aunt Catherine probably sensed that she’d gone too far. It happened with us a lot. She’s only twelve years older than me. She backtracked.

“Meg…she’s not like Leslie. Not really. She’s just grieving the loss of a child and that’s nothing to belittle or pigeonhole or compare. David has talked to his colleagues and they all agree that this isn’t unprecedented.”

“It’s not fair, is it, for any of us?” I whispered. “You have a life, too.”

“There’s nothing fair about loss and grief. We all loved Wyatt.”

“Yes,” I said. “When she gets there today, please tell her that I love her and that Dad, well, he’s just really lonely for her.” Dad raised his head and watched me. I wanted to say things that would affect my mom if she knew. And he’d spilled my secrets so I’d spill his. “Tell her that he’s reading her books that were by the bed and he’s sleeping with a picture of her on her pillow.”

Dad rubbed his chin and stared at the table. He didn’t seem surprised that I knew, or angry that I’d told. Just thoughtful.

“That Jack,” Catherine said. “He’s always been so crazy about her.”

“We’ll be there for Christmas,” I said. “We’ll take it from there. She’s had long enough.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Okay, Meg. Email me your itinerary and we’ll be there to get you. It’ll be good to see your sweet face.”

We hung up and I felt the crushing pain that still threatened my very existence sometimes. I walked back to my room and lay down on the floor, breathing deeply until my heart stopped pounding and my body stopped aching for what I couldn’t have.

I lay perfectly still and pretended I was on an escalator, moving slowly downward, taking me somewhere I really loved to be. It never reached the place, which for me was on a horse with Henry sometimes, and sometimes it was on the beach with Wyatt, but the anticipation was supposed to clear your head and leave you with an expectation of happiness.

When I felt calm enough, I found Dad and we drove to the hotel, where people paid a fortune to eat Thanksgiving lunch with strangers. A steady stream of employees came by to talk to Dad while we ate. I think it kept his mind off his broken heart for a little while. At some point, a screen dropped down along the back wall showing a college football game.

Men dragged their chairs over to form theater seating around the television. It appeared we were here for the duration, because Dad busied himself helping arrange things, then dropped into a seat to watch the game. I kind of thought this might happen, so I’d brought a book.

I headed out to the lobby and found a soft chair with an ottoman right next to the huge fireplace. Henry called from Boulder just as I got comfortable. I steadied my voice and answered. “Henry Whitmire.”

“Meg Kavanagh. Happy Thanksgiving, beautiful.”

“You, too.”

“I know you’re missing your mom.” His voice was like medicine.

“I am,” I said. “Where are you?”

“We’re at Amelia’s apartment. She and Mom and Leah are squeezed into an eight-by-four-foot kitchen trying to cook the whole Thanksgiving meal without killing each other.”

I laughed quietly. “What’d you do last night?”

“Amelia took me to the bonfire on campus last night and that was pretty cool. We’ll go to the game tonight.”

“Did you meet pretty college girls last night?”

He chuckled. “Meg, you are seriously cute when you’re jealous. There’s nobody prettier than you.”

“You checked, though, didn’t you, just to make sure?”

“Nope. Didn’t need to. I miss you, Pittsburgh.”

“Be safe, okay, Henry?”

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

In the hotel lobby, families stopped by the fire to talk and hug goodbye. Little kids ran around, playing chase, and tormenting their parents. The whole scene looked and sounded like a Hallmark movie.

I closed my eyes and listened to them talk, pretending it was our family. The woman who snuggled under her husband’s shoulder with her feet up on the coffee table was my mom. The husband who stared at her like he didn’t see anyone else was my dad. We’d gone back in time. For a while, we could believe that this was the way it would always be.

I must have nodded off because when Dad shook my shoulder, I jerked awake. His eyes were crazed. “Get up, Meg. We’re going to Pittsburgh. Your mom needs us.”

“What?” I made my limbs work and followed him to the car, grabbing our coats off the coat tree by the door. “What happened?”

“She didn’t show up for dinner at Catherine’s and she’s not at our house. I have to find her.” He walked fast and tapped around on his phone. “I got a flight out of Casper, but we have to leave now. No packing. We’ll pick up what we need there.”

FROM: Meg Kavanagh

TO: Mom

Where are you? Seriously! Dad and I are catching a flight to Pittsburgh. We connect through St. Louis and we’ll land at 8:15 tonight. Maybe you could pick us up.

I doubt if you’ll read this, so it’s okay if I say I’m really pissed at you right now. You’re making things impossible for the people that love you. Catherine and David should NOT have to pick up our mess. It’s embarrassing.

I hope you’re okay. I don’t know if Dad can handle it if you aren’t.

Meg

T
he long flight to Pittsburgh gave me a chance to do a lot of mental preparation. I wore my headphones, but never turned on my iPod. The plane was dark. Dad leaned his seat back and pretended to sleep, probably so I wouldn’t ask him questions he couldn’t answer.

We’d planned to get a cab to Aunt Catherine’s house, where we’d borrow a car and decide what to do next. The cab stand shared an exit with the passenger pick-up lane, and that’s where we found Uncle David, leaning casually against his car, waiting for us. He waved when he saw us and walked over with his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. Being a neurosurgeon meant that he could intimidate the heck out of people when he opened his mouth, but he was surprisingly laid-back.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be my niece, Meg, would you?” He grinned crookedly. “Because you look a lot like her, except she’s scrawnier. And her knees and elbows are usually bleeding.” He pulled me in for a hug.

“Three months, Uncle David,” I said. “I looked pretty much like this when we left.”

He shook Dad’s hand and then hugged him, too. The emotion that passed over Dad’s face was painful for me to watch. I focused on the flight tower in the distance while they talked quietly about Mom. After a minute, David held his car key fob up and dropped it into Dad’s open hand. “You can go with your dad or stay with us, Meg. Your choice.”

“I’ll go with Dad.”

David nodded once. “I’ll see you soon.” He hugged us, then stepped into line at the cab stand. We hurried to David’s Mercedes and broke the sound barrier exiting the airport.

“Where do we go first?” I said.

“I’m dropping you off at the house in case she comes home,” Dad said. “I’ll drive through the night to New Jersey. I want to check the beach house.”

My parents had bought a small house in Cape May, New Jersey when Wyatt and I were little. We spent time there every summer and it had always been Mom’s favorite place to relax. She would set up her easel on the deck and paint for hours.