“I came back,” I whisper to her. “For a little while, anyway.”
* * *
There’s a big bouquet of flowers sitting on the kitchen table. Daisies and tulips, roses and tiger lilies.
“Those came yesterday,” Grandma Kay says. “They’re for you. From the Whitlocks. There’s a card.”
I don’t want to open the card. He must know that I stole the pills from him. I feel ashamed that I’ve done something so horrible when he’s always been so nice to me.
“I was afraid they might wilt before you got home,” Grandma Kay says. “But they’ve held up. It was kind of the Whitlocks to do something like that.”
“I suppose,” I say, opening the card.
Dear Toby, it reads. Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. You’re in our thoughts and hearts. The Whitlocks.
Does he know about the pills? Would he say if he did? Maybe he’ll never notice them missing. Or, if he does, it might be a few years away and he’ll never make the connection. I’ll keep this a secret. I’ll wrap it up and tuck it deep inside with all my other secrets.
I go to my room. I need to lie down, to be by myself. It feels like I haven’t had a moment of privacy, even though the last time I was alone wasn’t that long ago.
At the cabin.
But even then, I wasn’t alone. Because I had all my pills. And my stuffed parrot. And the photo of my parents. I suddenly realize I don’t have that photo. What happened to it? Where did it go?
Not that it matters anymore. It’s just a photo.
I stare up at my Raggedy Ann light shade, trying to figure out a plan, how long I’ll wait before I do it, how long I think I can last. The idea is a box of chocolates in my mind, filled with creamy centres. Pink and white and beige. I can’t decide on one, but just knowing that they’re there, that the options are waiting for me, is enough. All I need to do is decide when I’m going to take a bite.
In the distance, I hear the train whistle.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, there’s a knock on my door and it takes me a while to place myself, to remember that I’m back home, in my bed, in my room.
“Toby?” Grandma Kay calls. “Can you come out to the living room for a minute? Your grandpa and me want to talk with you.”
“Okay,” I say, not looking forward to this. They’re going to ask me where I got the pills. I just know it. And what will I say?
I found them. In a garbage can.
And why were you looking through a garbage can, Toby?
Because I dropped something or saw some money. And I saw the bottle of pills and took it.
So you swallowed a bunch of pills from the garbage?
Well, doesn’t that sound like a good way to kill yourself?
School. I’ll say I got the pills from school. Some kid. I’ll refuse to name him. A drug dealer. He has connections. If anything ever got out . . .
They’re both in the living room when I get there. Grandpa Frank doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if he’ll ever look at me again. I take a seat on the couch.
“We need to do something we haven’t done very well around here,” Grandma Kay says. “And that’s talk. A lot of words are said, but that’s not talking. We’re going to have to do a better job of talking about our emotions and how we’re feeling. Frank, you start.”
He looks at her. “Why me? I don’t have much to say.”
“Yes, you do,” Grandma Kay says. “You’re just not thinking about it the right way. Start by telling Toby how you feel. About her.”
“He doesn’t have to do that,” I say. This is so awkward. Why do I have to listen to Grandpa Frank tell me how stupid I am? I already know that.
“Yes, he does,” Grandma Kay says. “Your grandfather has to learn how to use his words, just like the rest of us.”
Grandpa Frank sighs and takes off his baseball hat. I’m surprised by how thin his hair is getting. He seems old and young at the same time. He clears his throat and I brace myself. Let’s just get this over with, I think.
“I guess you could say I never had a family of my own,” he says, his eyes looking down. “I took care of Kay and your mother when she was little. But when you came along, it was the first time I ever knew a child from the time they were a baby. And even though I wasn’t your grandfather by blood, it never seemed that way. Not to me. You made me feel like I was someone else. More than just a farmer banging on his bucket. We need other people around to remind us of all the different pieces our life makes up. That we’re not only one thing and one thing only.”
His voice begins to crack. “I just want you to know that I care very much about you, even though I don’t say it. I’m sorry that you felt doing what you did was the only option, but it’s not. If something happened to you, a very big piece of me would go away. And I’d like to keep all the pieces of my life with me for as long as I can.”
He gets up from his chair and places his hat back on his head. “I hope that’s enough talking for today, Kay.”
“It’s more than enough,” Grandma Kay says quietly.
“Then I best get back to work.”
He leaves us, and I sit there, his words rolling around and around in my head.
Chapter 35
I think we need the china for tonight,” Grandma Kay says.
“Why?” I ask. “It’s just the three of us.”
“Exactly,” she says.
She asks me to give her a hand taking it out from the china cabinet.
“Help me wash it, will you? There’s a layer of dust on everything. And a couple of dead bugs. Not cockroaches. Just mummified fruit flies.”
We carefully remove the china from the cabinet, the dinner plates and salad plates, the oval platter, the gravy boat, the teacups and saucers that seem so ridiculously delicate. All the pieces have the same design—turquoise fern leaves with pink hollyhocks, the edges lined with gold. On the back, there’s a stamp that reads Paragon and By Appointment to Her Majesty the Queen. Did Queen Elizabeth really appoint these? And what does that mean, exactly? I try to imagine Grandma Kay drinking from one of these teacups, her thick fingers curled around the handle, but it’s impossible.
“I know I’m more of a paper plate kind of gal,” she says, as though reading my mind. “I got everything from my first marriage. You do things like that when you get married. First time around, anyway. I had a hope chest where I stored things. China. Linens. Tea towels. Everything I’d need for my new life. As though I’d get married and the next morning, everything would be different. All problems solved.”
“What was he like?” I ask. I’ve never asked about her first husband before, but it seems like the right time.
“Jack? Oh, he was good-looking,” Grandma Kay sighs. “He had a thick head of brown hair and eyes that would make the North Pole melt. I was head over heels. But he was trouble. A ladies’ man, you might say. He tore through my heart like a tornado and left me to pick up all the pieces.”
“Why did he leave you and my mom?”
“Some men don’t do well with responsibility. I suppose that comes as no surprise to you. They put on an act and make you think they’ve got it all together, but that’s an illusion in order for them to get what they want. And once they get it . . .”
She runs her palm along the surface of the plate.
“People will break your heart in all kinds of ways. But you have to learn how to go on, Toby. You grab hold of whatever pieces are left and hold on for dear life. Hold on so you don’t drown.”
“Did you ever hear from him?” I ask. “After he left? I mean, for good?”
She shakes her head. “He walked away one day, saying he was going to sell some horses out west. And he never came back. I never heard anything from him again.”
“Did you think he died?”
“Yes. For a while. That would’ve been easier, I think. Better than waiting. When you’re waiting, someone else has the upper hand. I waited for h
im to come back. I waited for him to call. To write. Anything. But there was silence. And that meant I was never free of him.”
She sets the plate down on the table. “Between you and me, I’m still not free. That’s the damndest part of it all. It’s the ones who don’t want anything to do with you that keep you trapped. Oh well. Life goes on. Best get through it the only way you know how.”
“I’m trapped too,” I want to say. But instead, I say, “I think this pattern is beautiful,” and hold up a plate.
“My mother helped me pick it out. We ordered it through Eaton’s. A waste of money when you think about how often I’ve used it. But maybe there’s a second chance, Toby. Maybe it’s all how you look at things. You can make something special out of every day. There’s no reason we can’t bring out the china on any old day for the three of us.”
I suppose she’s right, but hearing her say that makes me feel weird. And I know she’s only saying it to make me feel better. There’s nothing special about my days.
We wash and dry the china and Grandma Kay lays her white lace tablecloth across the table. I think about the leaves at the cabin.
“It smells like mothballs,” she says.
“It looks like melting snow,” I say.
“You have a peculiar way of looking at things, Toby Goodman,” she says. “Don’t ever change that.”
* * *
After the table is set, Grandma Kay tells me it’s our time to talk.
“Have a seat at the table,” she says. “Do you want a cup of tea or anything?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say, my nerves already jumping. I can’t take these conversations. I can’t handle people saying they care about me or that they’re afraid to lose me. And I know they’re only saying it because Dr. Singh has told them to. I know they don’t really mean it, not deep down.
“Toby, we never talk much about your mom,” Grandma Kay says. “And that’s wrong. It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about Heather. I loved her. I still love her. Desperately. But sometimes, talking about people who aren’t around makes it worse. And I never knew what to say about her. Wait.” She holds up her hand. “That’s not what I meant. What I mean to say, in my complicated way, is that I never knew how to start talking about her. With you. I didn’t know how you felt. I didn’t know if you wanted to talk about her, or if you just wanted to keep her up here.” She taps her finger against the side of her head. “But my mistake was not asking you.”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I understand.”
“Maybe you do, but that doesn’t make what I did right.” She inhales deeply and then exhales, her breath spreading across my face. “Your mom’s death hurt me so much, Toby. It was like my body was made of glass, and when she died everything inside me shattered. Every time I moved, every time I breathed, I felt something sharp. When someone does what your mom did, it makes you wonder about all the things you could’ve done. If there was one word, or one sentence, that could’ve stopped her. Made her change her mind. I have those thoughts a lot, even now.”
She stops to brush the tears away from her eyes.
“I’m sorry about what happened with you when you were little. How you were the one who had to call for help. It’s not something that any child should have to go through. You should grow up feeling safe and protected and loved. You shouldn’t come home and find your mom . . . like that. No child should have to experience that.”
She reaches across and grabs my hand. I can feel my bones crunch.
“But you can’t go down the same path, Toby. If you ever did that, if you ever left me, I don’t know what I’d do. I couldn’t go through it again. It would kill me too. You have to understand that. It would kill me.”
She drops her head down and starts to sob. I know I should reach out to her, comfort her, tell her it’s okay. But my arms stay frozen at my sides. Instead, I only watch and hope that she stops crying soon. I want her to stop so we can go back to pretending that everything is all right.
Chapter 36
Trisha calls later that afternoon. I’ve been thinking about what she said at the hospital, about how she wanted to be the one to rescue me. And it’s been bothering me. Why does she always feel the need to rescue me? Is that all I am to her? A cat in a tree? I’m getting tired of always feeling this way. Especially when she has the only thing I’ve ever wanted: a normal life. Her normal family with her normal house and her normal friends. I can only imagine what she said to Angela and Claire about my suicide attempt. They must know. The entire school must know.
She tried to kill herself, just like her mother.
You know what they say about the fruit not falling far from the tree.
And she did it at your cabin? That’s so selfish.
What a loser.
How will I ever step foot inside that school again? Not that it really matters. I’ll be gone soon enough.
“I’m going to the mall tonight to have my right ear pierced a second time,” Trisha says. “Do you want to come? Remember last time how I passed out? I might need someone to catch me.”
I tell her about the dinner. The turkey. The good china.
“Wow, your grandparents are really going all out for you,” she says. “Might be a good time to ask for a car.”
I remind her I can’t drive. “Not that they’d let me go anywhere. I have a feeling they’ll be breathing down my neck for the next while.”
“You can’t really blame them.”
I feel a flash of anger. “What do you mean by that?”
“I just mean . . . well, never mind. Anyway, if you can’t go to the mall, that’s fine. We can go another time. If you change your mind, let me know. Or if you want to join us later.”
“Who’s us?”
“Angela and Claire. They’re coming too.”
“Why would you invite me if you’re already going with them?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you’d like to get out. What does it matter?”
My face gets hot. “It matters because they don’t like me.”
“Let’s not go down this road again,” she sighs. “I’ve told you a million times—”
“I don’t care if you’ve told me once or a million times. I know the truth. I’m not your charity case, Trisha.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I start to shake. I tell myself to calm down, but I can’t. My heart starts thumping like rabbits’ feet. “Your poor, suicidal friend. The girl who tried to kill herself and failed. I can already hear them talking behind my back.”
“Oh my God, Toby. What is wrong with you?! Angela and Claire would never—”
“They would and you know it, Trisha. I see the way they look at me. How you look at me.”
“And how the fuck do I look at you?”
“Like I’m a loser.”
“Okay, I don’t know what’s going on here, but I’m going to hang up. You’re completely pissing me off. Are you on some kind of medication?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I say. “Then you could tell your friends all about it.”
“I’m hanging up, Toby. You’re being a real asshole.”
“Sorry if being honest makes me an asshole.”
“Being honest doesn’t make you an asshole. Being an asshole makes you an asshole. Goodbye, Toby.”
The line goes dead. I stand there, staring at the telephone in my hand. I’ve never spoken to Trisha like that before. I don’t know what came over me. But I’m glad I’ve done it. I needed to break off ties with her. It’s easier this way. For both of us. I need to be alone. I can’t figure things out with all these other people around. I can’t focus on my plans.
But my hand won’t stop shaking as I put the receiver back.
* * *
I don’t have much of an appetite for dinner, thanks to my fight with Trisha, but given all the work that Grandma Kay has done, I can’t not eat. Everything is laid out so nicely on the table. She’s even brought out
her cloth napkins instead of the usual paper towels.
“You opening a restaurant or something?” Grandpa Frank asks when he comes into the kitchen.
“Yes,” Grandma Kay says. “It’s part of my plan to become a millionaire so I don’t have to deal with those damn cows anymore.”
“You don’t deal with them much now,” he says. “Last I saw.”
“Oh, I deal with them enough,” she says. “Our entire lives are built around those animals. You can’t blame me for wanting something a bit fancy every now and then.”
“What do you need something fancy for?” Grandpa Frank asks, pulling off his boots. “Besides, I took you out for dinner on our anniversary.”
“You’re right,” Grandma Kay says. “How could I forget about that romantic night over a quarter-chicken dinner at Swiss Chalet?”
She tells him to hurry and wash up. “The food is getting cold.”
By the time we sit down, my appetite is back. I realize how long it’s been since I’ve had roast turkey, let alone a home-cooked meal. The gravy is thick with specs of pepper. There are soft white dinner rolls in a wicker basket. A bowl of red Jell-O with tangerine pieces suspended throughout. There’s corn and mashed potatoes and dressing and a small jar of gherkin pickles. I can’t help but think of Mike.
“What army were you planning to feed?” Grandpa Frank asks as he piles a small mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate.
“Whatever doesn’t get eaten will find its way into the lunches for the help,” Grandma Kay says. “And frozen dinners.”
“For the next year?” Grandpa Frank asks, but he says it with a smile. He’s enjoying this dinner too, and I’m so relieved he’s not angry with me. I’m still thinking about what he said earlier, but I don’t know what to think. His words just keep rolling around inside my head, like marbles.
I wasn’t expecting this, but the food actually tastes better eating off of Grandma Kay’s china. It’s hard to explain. Maybe it’s just that everything seems so fancy; even the Jell-O looks like it could be a giant jewel. I pour gravy on top of my mashed potato mountain. It runs down the sides like brown lava. It makes me realize how much food I’ve eaten in my lifetime, but how I don’t really taste it. I think this is true for other parts of my life.
Break in Case of Emergency Page 15