The Rules for Disappearing (8 page)

S—

stepped in once or twice and stood up for me but it seemed to make N—

things worse. There’s some crazy thing between them and I pray 56

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to God he didn’t used to date her. I couldn’t look at him the same.

I avoided the courtyard (and Ethan) at lunch. He’s getting too close for comfort. He hasn’t mentioned Lewisville again, or the Fouke Monster, but he’s asking about other stuff and trying to trip me up.

The bus rambles on and finally pulls over on the street in front of the row of cottages. There are very few people left once we get to my stop.

I can tell the second the door opens that Mom’s bad off. The

smell of alcohol assaults me as soon as I step inside. I don’t see her until I walk around the side of the couch. She’s on the floor, curled into a fetal position, snoring loudly. I check the clock on the oven in the kitchen. Teeny will be here in about ten minutes.

“Mom, get up.” I shake her shoulder and she moans. I roll her on her back and her breath almost knocks me over.

“Mom, let’s get you up.”

She makes a halfhearted attempt to move. I pull her into a sitting position.

“Mom, Teeny’s gonna be here any minute. Let’s get you to your

room.”

This seems to have some effect. Once she’s on her feet, I walk her down the small hall to the bathroom.

A shower won’t hurt. Actually, I’m not sure she’s bathed since we’ve been here. Her hair is greasy and limp. I lean her against the wall in the bathroom and turn on the water.

I start undressing her, trying not to think about how pathetic this is. Mom’s super skinny and it’s shocking. Once she’s naked, I

—S

lead her to the tub. I’ll be scarred for life after this.

—N

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When the water hits her, she opens her eyes and starts sputtering and coughing. Mom sways into the wall and then back into the curtain. I end up sitting her down and let the water run all over her.

Mom finally becomes somewhat coherent and helps wash her

hair and body. My mind is reeling. I’ve never seen her this bad.

Once I get her into her room and she’s dressed, I lay her down on the bed and cover her up.

I pick up the clothes on the floor and something falls out. It’s a small piece of paper. Looking back at Mom to make sure she’s completely out, I grab it, unfolding it slowly. It’s a phone number.

I sprint to the phone in the kitchen, not thinking about what I’m doing, and I dial the number.

A man answers on the second ring. “Mrs. Jones?”

Uh-oh. Do I hang up? “No, this is Meg.”

It takes a few seconds for him to speak but he finally says, “Meg, this is Agent Thomas. Is everything all right?”

Great, it’s one of the suits.

I don’t answer back. He asks again, “Do you need something?

Is something wrong?”

The last thing I need is for a suit to show up. I’m not sure who I thought was going to be on the other line or what I was going to get out of this conversation but I say, “I found your number in my mom’s pocket.” I let that hang there.

“Yes. How is your mother?”

I think about her thin body and empty eyes. “She’s fine.”

“Has something happened?” he asks.

S—

“No, I just didn’t recognize this number. We don’t need any-

N—

thing.” I hang up before he can ask me anything else. Why would 58

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Mom keep one of the suit’s numbers on her? Maybe both my parents keep the suits’ numbers on them—I don’t know.

I hear Teeny come in the house.

She spots me and then looks around the room. “Where’s Mom?”

“She’s taking a nap.”

Teeny’s not stupid. She watches me for a few seconds and then

walks into the kitchen. I get her a granola bar and then fix a peanut butter sandwich to take with us to Pearl’s. Even though we don’t have to be there for another twenty minutes, Teeny and I take off.

“How was school today?” I ask.

Teeny shuffles her feet while we walk, kicking little rocks in every direction. “Fine.”

“Did you hang out with anyone today? Have you made any

friends?” I haven’t been this blunt in my questioning before, but I’m really getting worried about her.

Teeny just shakes her head.

“Are the girls nice to you?” I turn to Teeny and something

catches my attention in the corner of my eye. I whip my head around, but there’s nothing there. Teeny hasn’t looked up from the ground once and seems oblivious to my spastic movements.

We take another few steps before she answers, “One girl is nice.”

Okay, something to work with. “What’s her name?” I’m trying

to concentrate on what she’s saying but I can’t shake the feeling that something’s going on behind us. My head’s swiveling back and forth every few steps. Dad’s warnings about walking around alone float through my head.

Teeny answers, “Grace” and I almost forget what we were talk-

—S

ing about.

—N

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“So, do you eat lunch with Grace or talk to her in the halls? If she’s nice, you should be nice back. She could be a new friend for you.” I decide to cross over to the opposite side of the street. I still can’t tell if anyone is back there, but something just feels wrong. I grab Teeny’s hand and pull her across the street.

She doesn’t even look up to see if a car is coming. “I’m tired of making new friends.”

Amen, sister.

We walk the next block in silence. I’m still Miss Spastic, now checking in front of us, behind us and the other side of the street.

“Do you think Mom’s going to die?” It’s the first time she’s

looked at me since we left the house. We both stop walking.

“No.” I try to sound reassuring, but I can’t. Because I’m not sure I didn’t just lie to Teeny.

I grab her hand and we start moving again. For the first time, Teeny realizes we’ve changed sides. She looks around. “Why are we over here?”

I shrug. “No reason.”

We walk the last block to Pearl’s. Teeny heads in but I wait on the sidewalk another minute, scanning the street. Not many people are out walking right now and just a few cars go by. It looks normal.

No one even glances my way. So why does it feel like someone is watching us?

The nervous feeling I had walking to work stayed with me all night and lingers this morning. I had the nightmare again, too. I crack my S—

eyes as the early morning rays filters in our room and cringe when N—

I glance at my watch—too early to get up on a Saturday morning.

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A really bad nightmare leaves me feeling a bit hungover without all the fun of a night out. Teeny’s still sleeping and I don’t hear many other sounds coming from the house. As much as I hate reliving the images, I’m able to hold onto a few details and race to jot them down before they float away.

I’m stuck in the same room but this time, it’s a

little different. Books are stacked up around me—

huge mounds of them. The pages are full of all

the names we’ve used, written over and over, but

they’re all crossed out with deep red x’s. And every

time I open a book it multiplies into three more

books. The red x’s start running until red ink drips

off the pages and covers my hands, arms, and legs.

I push all the books away until I get to the bottom

of the pile and find Mom’s dead body.

I stare at what I’ve written. It’s horrible how real the nightmare felt. Were the books my journal? Am I screwing up by writing all this down?

The first time I dreamed about that room, it scared the shit

out of me. But in that first placement, everything scared the shit out of me. I missed my friends—Elle, with her crazy, outrageous plans. Never scared of anything. And Laura. The voice of reason.

The calm that kept us all grounded.

And then I would remember none of that was real.

That last night at home, before my life was full of fake names

—S

and suits and fear, I discovered my friends weren’t the people I

—N

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thought they were. Some things about that night are so clear, like the smell of Elle’s perfume floating into the hall outside her bedroom, followed by the conversation that cut me like a knife. But other parts of that night are hazy . . . and confusing. The party I crashed. How did I get there? The shots I did by the pool. God, it makes me nauseous thinking about it.

I push away the past and tug at the foggy edges of my night-

mare, but it’s painful, just like everything else, so I let it go.

I stretch around the bed. I’m not sure if it’s a good thing that I’m off work or not. There are a lot of hours to fill between now and Monday morning and I might just be going a little crazy.

After a nice, long, hot shower, I head to the kitchen and find most of my family awake. Mom’s leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. She looks terrible.

“Are you okay?”

She stands up straighter. “Yes. Of course.” She smooths her hair down and rubs her hands across her face quickly. “What do you

have planned for today?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. Why?”

She shrugs back. Dad comes in and he and Mom don’t make eye

contact with each other. I watch them do this silent dance around the kitchen without actually acknowledging each other.

Mom skulks away and Dad motions for me to sit with him at the

table. I plop down next to him and we stare at each other for a few awkward moments.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks then sips his coffee.

S—

“If
it
is why we got in this mess than yes.”

N—

He sets his mug down and brown liquid sloshes over the side. “I 62

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heard you last night. You’re having nightmares again. It may help to talk about them.”

I jump up from the table. “No, I’m fine.” I can barely stand to write the dreams down in the journal, so there’s no way I’m talking about them with Dad.

“Come on, Teeny. Let’s go.” I pull her off the couch and out of the house. No way are we hanging around here all day.

With no real destination in mind, we walk at an easy pace. The weather is mild, definitely not as cold as earlier in the week and it’s really nice to be outside. I’m so relieved that the being-followed feeling is missing this morning. A big group of people are hanging out by the river but it doesn’t look like any sort of organized activity, just everyone taking advantage of the weather to get outdoors.

There’s a group of kids running around, chasing the ducks that are brave enough to come on land, while their parents scold them from blankets on the ground. Some middle school–aged kids are

playing soccer off to one side, and an older crowd is tossing around a Frisbee.

We walk along the cobblestone street and then down the nar-

row road to the water. There are lots of people milling around, and it’s got kind of a street fair feel to it. I buy us both a hot chocolate and a meat pie from a street vendor and we plop down on a grassy area to people watch. The meat pies are what this little town is known for although this is the first time we’ve tried them. Steam rises from the flaky pastry when I unwrap the paper around mine.

It’s delicious and, of course, the seasoning is on fire. There is never a lack of spices in the food people cook here even in the cafeteria at

—S

school. You have two options—hot and really hot.

—N

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The group playing Frisbee seem to be doing it football style.

It’s pretty rough, with lots of tackling and shoving. Ethan’s in the bunch and quickly moving our way.

So much for avoiding him.

He goes up for a high catch and falls to the ground hard, but

the Frisbee is still in his hand. A few guys run to him, yelling and cheering—high fives all around.

I can tell the moment he spots us. He breaks away from the

group and jogs to where we’re sitting.

He falls to the ground next to Teeny who scoots as close to me as she can without actually getting in my lap. He’s sweating and his hair is sticking to his head. He’s got little pieces of grass stuck to his face. He looks adorable.

“Who’s this?” He nods toward Teeny.

“My sister, Mary,” I answer.

“So, what’s up?” He throws the Frisbee back to his friends and waves them off.

I shrug. “Not much. Just checking out what’s going on.”

“Cool. The weather’s great today. Y’all want to hang out with

us? We’re headin’ to Gus’s in a little while. Best jambalaya in town.”

That slow southern drawl is intoxicating. I could sit and listen to him all day.

“What’s jambalaya?” Teeny asks.

I don’t know what it is either but if we’re from Arkansas we

probably should have some sort of clue. I nudge Teeny. “You know what that is.” And then I give her the look.

S—

A dark red–headed girl sits down on the other side of Ethan.

N—

I recognize her from school, the only one who didn’t laugh when I 64

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freaked out the first day in homeroom when the intercom came on.

She looks at Ethan and says, “Hey. Everyone’s about ready.”

Then turns to me. “I’m Catherine. We haven’t met yet.”