Julia's Daughters (14 page)

Chapter 22

Izzy

 

Holy H. Mom just threw She Who Shall Not Be Named's iPhone out the window. It's new from Christmas. It has to be worth three or four hundred bucks.

I'm afraid to say anything. I just sit in the seat, my back pushed against the seat, staring straight ahead. I know my eyes have to be bugging out. I don't know who the one in the backseat was texting, but I guess Mom wants to make sure she doesn't do it again.

She's cussing in the backseat, but I barely hear her. She's like static on the radio to me.

I've been wanting a cell phone, but Mom keeps saying I'm not old enough. She says when I'm old enough to go places unsupervised, I can have one. Thirteen seems to be the magic number right now, but I don't think she'll make me wait that long. For now, I have an old iPod touch that I can text my friends with. I'm glad I don't have a phone because I bet She Who Shall Not Be Named would try to get me to give it to her.

I shove my pillow down on the floor between my leg and the door. There's so many things going on right this second that I can barely wrap my head around them. Mom just destroyed an iPhone. I'm pretty sure we're kidnapping the witch in the backseat and Mom . . . my mother came back for me. She told me I couldn't come with her and then she changed her mind.

I can't believe Mom came back for me.

I can't believe she came back. I'm so happy I want to cry, but I'm not going to cry because then Mom would be worried about me and I don't want her to be worried about me. She's got enough to be anxious about with the crazy one sitting behind us who isn't shouting cuss words anymore, but I think she's saying them under her breath. She hit the back of Mom's seat and then she kicked it, but Mom acted like she didn't notice so I pretended not to notice either.

I look down at the can of cat food near my left foot. I think about trying to slide it under my seat with my heel, but since Mom didn't notice it, I decide to leave it there for now. No sense drawing attention to it. Not this close to home.

I take a deep breath. I hope I brought everything I need.

When I ran into the house, I packed as fast as I could. I already had the clothes I'd packed from yesterday that I didn't unpack in case Mom changed her mind. I didn't really think she'd change her mind though. If I had thought she was going to, I'd have packed more stuff last night.

I didn't know what to grab. She said I only had five minutes and there was no way I was going to take any longer than that. But it was so hard to know what I should take. I've never been on a road trip across the country with my mom and my rotten sister. I don't even know which way we're going so I didn't know what kind of clothes to bring. Obviously if we were heading south and then east, I'd need clothes for warmer weather. North and then east and I needed stuff for cooler weather. I think I brought some for both, but I'm so excited, I'm not sure what I've got in the bags.

I'm so excited to be with Mom. It would be better if She Who Shall Not Be Named wasn't with us, but not what Liz Lemon would call a deal breaker. (Me and Caitlin and the one who sent her to her maker used to binge-watch
30 Rock
whenever Mom and Dad were out and would leave the big girls in charge of me.) Even with She Who Shall Not Be Named here, I'm still excited to be in the car. And shotgun! I love riding shotgun because you can see everything so much better. I don't get to ride in the front that much. Mom's paranoid about the airbag, but I love it up here. Riding shotgun, I feel like I'm a part of what's going on. I can hear and see everything; I'm not just watching, I'm part of the world. The backseat makes me feel like a loser.

I glance up in the rearview mirror. I don't know why. I don't care what
she's
doing. It would have been okay with me if Mom had thrown her out of the car with the iPhone, but I look anyway.

She's kind of turned sideways, her knees drawn up on the seat. She's got her eyes closed with her cheek pressed against the leather seat. She's got something clenched in her hand, but I can't see what it is. And she's got her wireless earbuds in which is proof that she belongs in a psych ward because her phone is gone. She can't be listening to music.

I look at Mom. She reaches up into the console that holds her sunglasses in the roof and gets her Ray-Bans. As she puts them on she looks at me for just a second before she looks at the road again because she's getting onto the Woodbury Beltway that goes around the city. We live on the west side of Vegas, near Red Canyon, in Summerlin.

I watch Mom as she turns the steering wheel on the car and I want to pinch myself or something to convince myself this is really happening. I still can't believe I'm in the car with her. That she came back for me. I only had one hesitation when she told me to get my things and get in the car and that was about Caitlin.

As I was throwing stuff into any bag I could find in my room, I wondered if Caitlin would still be there when I got back. I knew she wasn't enough of a reason to stay because she's dead and all, but it did make me sad to think it was possible that we couldn't talk anymore.

When I heard Mom call my name again from outside, I grabbed all the bags I'd filled on the bed and I ran for the door. Mr. Cat was meowing, but I didn't even care. In the doorway I stopped and I looked back at the posters of the rain forest and Egyptian mummy on my wall. I told Caitlin good-bye and I told her I loved her. Just in case she can't come to Maine with us.

Chapter 23

Julia

 

I'm shaking. I grip the steering wheel tightly and focus straight ahead as I get on the beltway that goes around the city. I'm angry and upset and strangely . . . exhilarated.

I can't believe I just threw a four hundred dollar iPhone out the window. What was I thinking?

I know exactly what I was thinking, or at least what I was reacting to. Haley can't talk to Todd if she doesn't have her phone. She can't run off with him if he has no way to contact her. So the phone went out the window.

My image of the mother lion comes to mind again.

But where was my common sense when I did it?

Do lionesses have common sense or is it all primal?

I could have just called and cancelled Haley's phone service. I could have put
my
number on hers and had a new phone instead of the old one I have that won't always connect to the Internet and sometimes drops calls.

Haley and Caitlin always got a new phone when it was released and Ben and I got the hand-me-downs. Ben and I once had a discussion about whether or not they needed the latest and greatest. I was opposed to new cell phones every year. He said he busted his ass working seven days a week so he
could
buy his teenage daughters the latest cell phones on the market. I lost the argument. Mostly because his money pays the bills. We have been using my money to save for college and to do fun things like go skiing or buy the new sixty-five-inch TV Ben had to have for Christmas.

I wonder what happened to Caitlin's phone. It's a thought that comes out of nowhere and seems so . . . alien. It's doubly weird because she's been dead almost two months and this is the first time it's occurred to me to wonder where it is. How have I not thought about it before?

In the last twenty-four hours or so I've been thinking about all sorts of things that I can't figure out why I hadn't thought about before. I feel as if I'm walking out of a dense fog after being lost for two months. I'm by no means completely free, but the murkiness is lifting and my vision is a little clearer.

I remember that someone gave us everything from the car before it was hauled away to wherever totaled cars from fatal accidents go. I wonder if Ben cancelled Caitlin's cell phone contract. Was there a disconnect fee or do you draw a bye in the case of death? It seems morbid to be thinking such a thing, but in a way it feels good. Like it's drawing me into some sort of normalcy.

But whom am I kidding? What's going on in this car is anything but normal.

I just threw a perfectly good iPhone out the window.

I basically kidnapped my teenager.

There are probably laws against holding seventeen-year-olds against their will in a Toyota RAV4. Without a cell phone to her name.

And not only did I take one daughter against her will, but I took my ten-year-old out of school without notifying anyone. You don't just take a kid out of school for two weeks without filling out the proper forms, making arrangements for homework and makeup tests and quizzes. Not nowadays you don't. I'm not even sure I'm allowed to take Izzy out of school for this long.

I know Ben thinks I've got a screw loose. Maybe he's right.

I head north, around the city. I don't even know where I'm going. I mean, I
know
where I'm going. I'm going to Maine. I'm going to Laney's house and I'm going to have a glass of wine with her on her front porch. But I don't know exactly what highways I'm taking. Yesterday I google-mapped from here to Portland, just to get an idea of which way I should go. You have to go north or south to get around the Grand Canyon from Vegas. I decided to go north for no reason other than that I like driving through Utah and I haven't in years. When we make our first stop, I'll put something into the GPS. Maybe not Laney's address, but a general direction at least, so we don't end up in Canada.

I glance at Izzy, beside me. She's looking a little wild-eyed. The cell-phone-out-the-window thing must have scared her. I don't think I've ever done anything crazy like that in front of her. It's been years since I did anything crazy at all. The impulsiveness of my teenage years ended when I married Ben and we had a family.

I glance at Izzy again. It was probably a mistake to go back for her. She shouldn't be in this car with us. Not with Haley in the state she is. My eldest daughter's so angry with me that
nothing
she could do would shock me right now. I shouldn't be subjecting Izzy to this. If I had any sense at all, I'd get off the beltway and call Ben to come get her. It would be the smart thing to do.

But then I look at Izzy again and she turns to me and beams the way she did when she was a little girl and I don't have the heart to call Ben and tell him to come get her. I just don't.

So I reach out and grab her hand and squeeze it. “You sure you want to do this?” I ask her quietly. Not because I don't want Haley to hear us, but because I need Izzy to understand the gravity of this voyage. I know she has to know Haley's a mess, but I'm not sure she understands just how big a mess her sister is. “We can meet your dad somewhere. You can go home with him,” I tell her, putting my hand back on the steering wheel. I'm still feeling a little shaky.

Izzy shakes her head violently. “I don't want to go back, Mom. I want to stay with you. I don't want to go home with Dad.”

She makes no mention of wanting to be with her sister in her time of need, but that's probably expecting too much.

I glance in the rearview mirror. Haley is curled up in practically a fetal position on the backseat. Her eyes are closed. She's put her earbuds in her ears even though there's no music to listen to now. She's blocking me out. Blocking the world out. Her hand is moving. I glance at the highway and then at her again in the mirror and I realize she's rolling that ball around in her hand.

“Haley and I need to talk about some serious stuff, Izzy,” I try to explain. “Stuff a ten-year-old girl shouldn't have to hear.”

She's quiet for a second, then, “Is it worse stuff than
my sister is dead because my other sister crashed her?
” she asks.

I feel my lower jaw quiver. I concentrate on the road in front of me. Even though I'm going the speed limit, I feel like we're moving in slow motion. It seems like everyone, the world, is flying by us, but we're standing still. “Probably not any worse than that,” I hear myself say.

Izzy laces her fingers together, drops her hands to her lap, and looks out through the windshield. “I didn't think so.”

I can't help but smile and for a moment I enjoy the warmth of the sunshine coming in through the windows. I wonder when my Isobel became such a wise, old soul. Maybe she was always this way and I never noticed before. “It could get ugly,” I say.

Izzy cuts her eyes at me. “Uglier than the last two months?”

I press my lips together and concentrate on the road. “Probably not.”

We drive for a couple of minutes in silence. Then Izzy asks, “So what did she do? She tried to off herself, didn't she?”

When I don't answer, Izzy goes on. “You might as well tell me what she did. I'm going to find out. We're going to be in this car at least five days. It's not going to be quick between you having to stop to pee every two hours and driving the speed limit all the way.”

I almost laugh. My bladder isn't what it once was. I do have to stop a lot.

“So did she try to
end it all?
” Izzy's tone is not very sympathetic.

“I can hear you talking about me,” Haley shouts from the backseat.

I glance in the rearview mirror at Haley. Right now, I'd prefer her mouthiness, even her swearing, to this silence. Her silence scares me. “We're going to be spending a lot of time together, girls. We need to be civil to each other.”

“I can be civil.” Izzy folds her hands together again. “Totally. So what did she do? She try to OD on Nana's pills? Or did she try to snuff herself by slitting her wrists? She uses a lot of gauze and stuff from the first aid kit in the bathroom. I've been seeing the wrappers for weeks.”

I look at Izzy, then at the road again. I want to ask her why she didn't tell me if she was suspicious that her sister was doing something unsafe, but I don't because I wouldn't want her to think that what Haley's done is in any way her fault or her responsibility.

“Do you mind if I tell her?” I ask Haley, looking in the rearview mirror again.

“It's pretty obvious what I think doesn't matter.” Haley's words drip with resentment.

I exhale, debating what to say. I wasn't planning on having this conversation today, although I have been thinking about things we need to talk about.

Last night, when I was lying in bed beside Haley, it occurred to me that we haven't talked about Caitlin's death. Not at all. We've all been floating around our house in such stupefying shock, but we haven't
said
anything to each other. Not even that we miss her.

That's one of the first things Haley needs to do, I think. She needs to acknowledge the loss. Maybe what we all need to do, me included. We need to concede, out loud, and to each other the profound loss we feel. Along those same lines, I was thinking that we need to talk about the end result. About Caitlin being gone and Haley still being here.

But I wasn't counting on Izzy being with us. And I was thinking maybe Haley and I could somehow work our way up to some of the difficult conversations we need to have. But I hadn't thought about having to talk to my ten-year-old about a complicated thing like self-mutilation. I'm not even sure where to begin.

So I just say it. “Haley's been hurting herself.”

Izzy's brow crinkles. “What do you mean?”

I take a breath. “Have you ever heard of cutting?”

Izzy stares at me for a second and then recognition crosses her face. “Like cutting yourself up with a knife and making yourself bleed?” She turns around and looks at Haley and I realize this may be the first time she's looked at her sister since Caitlin died. “You gotta be S-ing me.”

I look at her, putting on my “Mommy disapproves of your language” face.

“What?” Izzy asks, turning back around. “I didn't say the
word.
” She rides along for a minute in silence and then asks, “Is that why she was using all the gauze?”

I nod.

Again, Izzy frowns. “Why would she do that? Doesn't it hurt?”

“I can still freakin' hear you,” Haley shouts.

I don't know what gets into me. The same thing that made me throw the phone out the car window, I suppose. I signal and pull off the beltway onto an exit in a sudden movement.

Izzy's wide-eyed again.

I don't say a word until I've pulled into a mini-mart, parked the car, and shut off the engine. Then I turn around in my seat. My heart is pounding. A part of me wants to fold up into a fetal position like Haley in the front seat of my car and cry. But I don't. Instead, I speak slowly and calmly, but with a tone that makes it clear I mean what I say. “You will not speak that way to me. Do you understand me, Haley Grace? I'm your mother. You don't have to like me. You don't even have to love me, but you'll show me the respect I deserve. Do I make myself clear?”

Haley doesn't look at me, but she nods. It's a barely adequate movement to signify assent, but it's enough.

I turn back around, putting my hands on the steering wheel. I'm breathing hard. How the hell am I going to do this? I'm barely in one piece. How am I going to help my daughter pick up her pieces?

Everyone is quiet in the car. The sounds outside—the traffic, a man and his son walking past us in the parking lot—seem far away.

The first thing I need to do if I'm going to help Haley is pee, I decide. I was in such a hurry to get out this morning that I didn't think to run to the bathroom before we left. Now I really have to go.

I pull my key out of the ignition. “Can you grab my wallet out of my bag?” I ask Haley. I had thrown my handbag in my duffel bag this morning.

She makes a sound that expresses that she's clearly put out by my request, but I hear her seat belt unbuckle. I almost exhale audibly with relief. I have no clue what I would have done if she'd refused me.

I look at Izzy, who's now acting as if all of this is everyday stuff. I have no idea where I'm finding the strength to do this. I'm waiting for the bottom to fall out any second. Mine.

“Pit stop.” I sound almost cheery when I speak again. “Go to the bathroom and then we'll get some snacks.”

“Can I have an Icee?” Izzy asks.

I think for a second. I usually try to get her to get a bottle of juice or something a little healthier than a big bucket of frozen sugar, but I nod. Secretly, I like frozen drinks out of mini-mart machines, too, especially the Coke ones. “You can, and I think I'll have one. And while we're here, we might as well gas up. Next stop, Utah.” I open my door, which unlocks Izzy's, but not Haley's, because the child safety locks are still deployed.

“I knew it!” Izzy says excitedly. “I was hoping this was the way we were going.” She opens the car door and wrestles with her pillow and backpack to get out. Once she's out of the car, she pulls off her sweatshirt and throws it on the seat. She stands there like she's considering something, then asks, “Can you pop the back?”

I release the hatch, close my door, and take a breath before I open the back door. I have no idea what I'm going to do if Haley runs. I can't see myself chasing her across the parking lot, but I can't see myself just letting her go, at this point, either.