Define Normal

by Julie Anne Peters

  She hesitated. “Hang on.”

  This was my chance. I could hang up now and forget it. But what if the nurse told Mom I was on the phone and when she answered I wasn’t there? It might make her sad. Might cause a relapse. Even worse, what if she was so drugged up she didn’t remember she had a daughter?

  “Antonia?”

  Her voice washed out my worries. “Mom?”

  “Antonia, sweetheart. How are you? I’m so happy to hear your voice. How are you? What are you doing? Where are you?”

  I chuckled. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m here, at the Abey—the foster home.” It might be against the rules to reveal their identity. Oh, so what? “The Abeytas’,” I said. “Tillie and Luis.”

  “Where are Michael and Chuckie? Are they there with you?”

  She remembered them. I breathed a sigh of relief. “No, they all went to Six Flags.”

  “You didn’t go?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. You know, in private.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She sighed, long and loud.

  “How are you, Mom?” I asked.

  “Much, much better,” she answered.

  “Really?”

  “Really. I think I’ll be coming home soon.”

  “When?”

  “I don’t know exactly. The doctor said he’d like me to stay at least another week. Just to be sure …” She paused. “I think it’s a good idea. To be sure.”

  “Me too,” I said. Oh, please be sure in a week, I prayed.

  We talked for a long time. She asked about me and school and the boys. What the foster home was like. I told her it was okay, but not as good as home. That the Abeytas were nice, but not as nice as her. I think that made her happy.

  “Boy,” Mom said, “the food here sure stinks. First thing I’m going to do when I get sprung is order a bucket of KFC, extra spicy, extra crispy. After I hug you guys to death.”

  I giggled and said, “If we don’t hug you to death first.”

  Chapter 27

  By my calculation the fifteen hours were up. Had been since last week. More than anything in the world I wanted to see Jazz on Monday. To tell her the news. I raced to the auditorium straight from fourth period, hoping, praying she’d be there. That she’d lost track. That she’d show up to play, at least. When I rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of pink hair, I let out a silent cheer.

  Jazz lounged against the door, picking at her nail polish. “Come on,” I said, grabbing the door handles. “I have so much to tell you.”

  She widened her eyes at me. “Did you get a tattoo or something? You’re, like, glowing.”

  I sneered at her.

  She pushed the door shut against my tug. “We don’t have to meet here anymore,” she said. “I get to play a real piano again. My own.” She grinned.

  My heart plunged. Until she added, “So let’s go back to the conference room, where it’s more private.”

  I grabbed her wrist and ran. As soon as the door closed behind us, I blurted, “I talked to my mom this weekend. She says she’ll be getting out of the hospital soon.”

  Jazz gasped. “That is so great. Then you can all go home.” She smothered me in a hug.

  “Yeah.”

  She released me and met my eyes. “What? You don’t want to go?”

  “Of course I do,” I said. “It’s what I want most in the world. But—”

  “You’re still scared?”

  How’d she know? “A little. A lot. What if it’s like before?”

  “It won’t be. Your mom’s better. Isn’t she?”

  “Lots,” I said. “And she doesn’t want to leave until she’s totally well.”

  “Then she will be.” Jazz squeezed my arms. “You’ll have your family back. That’s what’s important. You’ll all be together again.”

  Taking my chair, I scoffed and said, “If I can drag Michael away from the Abeytas.” I told her how he didn’t even want to talk about Mom. How he’d totally forgotten her.

  “He doesn’t understand about family,” Jazz said. “How you only really have one true family and you have to love them no matter what. Unconditionally.”

  An ironic statement coming from her.

  She added, “Your brothers seen a lot of bad things go down. Maybe he could use some counseling.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “I mean, it seems to have helped you.” She cocked her head.

  I blinked. “What do you mean?”

  Jazz’s face paled ghost-white against her black lipstick. Without warning, she leapt up onto the table and assumed her lotus. “Hey, I heard you were going to join math club again.”

  “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I …” Her eyes darted around. “I’m not sure. Someone told me.”

  Nobody knew except Mrs. Bartoli. And I didn’t think she’d confided in Jazz. “What’s going on, Jazz? How do you know stuff about me I’ve never told you? Are you spying on me?”

  “No! Of course not.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I …” Her arms dropped. She seemed to be struck speechless. Which was unusual for Jazz Luther. She slid off the table and stood before me. “I can’t do this anymore. It’s so bogus.” She reached out and grasped the doorknob. “We’d better find DiLeo,” she said. “There’s something you need to know.”

  Oh, God, I thought. Here it comes.

  “I didn’t want to deceive you,” Jazz said, hopping up onto Dr. DiLeo’s desk. “Honest. I was going to tell you—”

  What was she talking about?

  Dr. DiLeo motioned me to sit. “The whole setup was my idea,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d agree to counseling if I told you the truth, Antonia.”

  What was he talking about? My mind was reeling. “The truth being?” I asked. I shifted in the steel chair to face both of them. Jazz swung her legs over the edge of his desk while Dr. DiLeo moved around behind her, wedging a shoulder against the filing cabinet.

  He held my eyes. “That your family situation was deteriorating and people were concerned about you.”

  “Who? What people?”

  “Mrs. Bartoli, for one. Your neighbor Mrs. Marsh. They both felt you were in trouble. That someone needed to intervene.”

  My face flared. I hated the thought of people talking about me behind my back.

  Dr. DiLeo said, “I paired you up with Jazz because I thought you could help each other.”

  “What?” Jazz whirled on him.

  “Now, don’t get mad,” he said, holding up his hands. “I know you’ve been having some family problems of your own, Jazz. Your mother called me a couple of months ago—”

  “My mother!”

  “And after you quit the piano, she threatened me with … well, we won’t go there.” He focused on me. “So you really were acting as a peer counselor, Antonia.” He ignored the fire shooting out of Jazz’s eyes. Smiling, he added, “That wasn’t a lie.”

  I don’t know which of us was angrier. Me, I’d bet, even though Jazz was the first to storm out. My departure left a trail of smoke in its wake.

  “Jerk,” she muttered, slamming a fist into the nearest locker. “He thinks I need counseling?”

  I could barely look at her. “You tricked me,” I said.

  “It wasn’t like that—”

  “You knew everything about me before we even started.”

  “No,” she snapped. “No. All he told me was that you were having family problems. I guess he thought I’d understand.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “You knew about my mom. What was going on.”

  “No!” she yelled. In a calmer voice, she added, “I didn’t. Not until you told me. Look, Tone. Antonia! God! I’m really sorry I wasn’t honest with you right off. I wanted to tell you, I really did. Especially after you came to my house and everything. But DiLeo made me promise.” She torched his office with her eyes.

  “And the fifteen hours? That was just—”

  “A story I made up,” she said. “So you’d buy into this
crap.”

  Which I had. My vision blurred. I whirled around and walked away. I heard Jazz charge off in the opposite direction. I didn’t know about her, but I felt so hurt and humiliated I just wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

  Chapter 28

  Since I didn’t have peer counseling to look forward to anymore, I had a lot of time to look back. The assignment was over, that was for sure. Forget my responsibility. Forget my commitment. Forget Jazz Luther. For the next week, though, every time I passed our conference room on my way to history, a claw reached out and pierced my heart.

  It wasn’t Jazz’s fault, I concluded. Okay, yeah, she knew she was counseling me in secret. Sort of an undercover counselor. And it’s true that if Dr. DiLeo had been straight with me, I never would’ve agreed to peer counseling. To any counseling. There was nothing wrong with me. At least, I didn’t think so.

  Except, I did think Jazz helped me. She was someone I could talk to. In confidence. Someone I trusted. That’s what hurt most. She was someone I trusted, but she couldn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth.

  When I dragged out of school on Friday, Karen was waiting to pick me up. “I have a surprise,” she said, smiling.

  I tensed. I’d come to dread surprises.

  “You’re going home tomorrow.”

  My jaw dropped. “Really?” My whole body went numb. Paralyzed. Can you be paralyzed with joy and fear at the same time?

  “She’s doing really well, Antonia. You won’t even recognize her. What do you say we plan a welcome-home party?”

  I bit my lip to stop from crying. All I could do was nod my head.

  During dinner, after the Abeytas heard the news that we were leaving, Tillie said, “We could bake a cake for your welcome-home party. And I have some construction paper around here somewhere. Everyone could make a card.” She sounded happy, but her eyes looked sad. Especially when they locked on Michael.

  Michael hunched over, swirling gravy around in his mashed potatoes.

  Chuckie said, “I can write my name.”

  I jumped up. “Come on, let’s do it.” I hadn’t meant to hurt Tillie’s and Luis’s feelings, but I think I did. Tillie got up real fast and moved toward the stove. I added quickly, “We really appreciate everything you’ve done for us. You’ll probably be glad to have some peace and quiet around here for a change.”

  Tillie turned away. Luis smiled somberly. “You’re such good kids,” he said. “We sure enjoyed having you.”

  Michael toppled his chair over backward and charged out of the kitchen. Luis and Tillie exchanged looks. Luis sighed and got up to follow Michael.

  Tillie gazed longingly out the kitchen door after Michael. No one ever looked at me that way. I hated my brother. I wished he could stay here forever.

  Karen was coming at noon on Saturday to pick us up. That morning Tillie helped me bake a cake. Mom’s favorite—German chocolate. When Karen pulled up, I expected Mom to be in the car, but she wasn’t.

  “She’s waiting for you at the house,” Karen explained. “She wanted to get her hair done, clean up a bit, have some time alone at home first.”

  My expression betrayed my panic. After the last time Mom was left alone…

  “It’s okay, Antonia,” Karen said in a lowered voice. “She’s all right.”

  I still couldn’t stop shaking inside.

  Saying good-bye to the Abeytas was harder than I thought it’d be. Especially for you-know-who. He was stuck to Luis like Velcro. It took both Karen and Tillie to pry him loose.

  Twenty minutes later we pulled up to the curb at our house. Karen unstrapped Chuckie and helped him out. Michael just sat there, glowering.

  “Well, get out,” I said. “Mom’s waiting.”

  “No,” he replied. “I don’t want to.”

  “Grow up,” I snapped at him. “This is where we live. Not at the Luthers’. Not at the Abeytas’. Here. At the Dillons’, 3824 Eaton Street. This is our house, Michael. This is our life. Get used to it.”

  Michael widened his eyes at me. I guess it sank in because he opened the door and slid out.

  “Hello!” Mom called cheerfully from the doorway. She rushed out to meet us.

  “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” Chuckie ran to her.

  She wrapped both arms around him and hugged him fiercely. Blinking back tears, she said, “Michael?” She motioned him into the embrace.

  He just stood there. I kicked him in the butt, hard.

  Mom pulled Michael in. He planted himself like a tree at her feet.

  She looked good. Better than she had in a long time. Her hair was cut short and tucked neatly behind her ears. She wore a clean white cotton blouse, which looked freshly ironed, and her black jeans.

  Our eyes met and she smiled. She reached across the boys and flicked a tear off my cheek. I didn’t even know it was there.

  Her eyes strayed to the plate in my hands. “We made you a cake.” I offered it to her. “It’s your favorite. German chocolate.”

  She released the boys, took the cake, inhaled deeply, and cocked her head at Michael. “You know how you’re always asking, “Why can’t we eat dessert first?’ Well, why can’t we? Let’s go.”

  We all headed toward the door. Karen pulled me aside and said, “You call me if she gets bad again, Antonia. Promise.”

  “I will. I’ll make sure she takes her medication.”

  “No,” Karen said. “That’s not your responsibility. She needs to make sure she takes her medication and keeps her doctor’s appointments. Your neighbor said she’d be glad to drive her, so there’s no excuse. It’s your mom’s job to keep herself well. Also, I’m trying to get her into a support group for women with depression like the one I’m in. But you call me if anything happens before then.” She slipped her card into my hand.

  It felt good, safe, to know help was a phone call away. “I’ll stop in next week to see how you’re all doing.” She bustled to her car.

  “Um, Karen?” I caught up with her at the curb. “Could you maybe see if there’s a counselor or something Michael could go to? He’s … he needs help. Someone to talk to, besides me. All I ever do is get mad at him. I guess I don’t understand what he’s going through.”

  Over my head, she frowned at Michael’s back. “Yes, I will. I’m glad you said something. I’ve been so preoccupied with other cases … I should’ve noticed. There are all kinds of resources available. Don’t you worry, Antonia. I’ll be in touch. You just enjoy being back home with your own family.”

  She squeezed my shoulder. Instinctively my hand reached up, clamped over hers, and squeezed back.

  Chapter 29

  Lying face up on my bed, my old lumpy bed—not Yolanda’s bed, not Jazz’s bed, but my bed—I smiled at the ceiling. The cracked, yellowed ceiling. My ceiling. My walls. My certificates of achievement all thumbtacked in a row. Not a bunch of sweaty strangers staring down at me. This was my room. First thing I did was toss off my shoes. Good. I was home. It felt right.

  Wait. Something was different. There was a letter propped against the mirror on my dresser. I got up to check it out. The envelope was addressed to me, but I didn’t recognize the writing.

  Slipping a thumbnail under the flap, I tore it open and removed the contents. It was a card with my name written on the front: Ms. Antonia Dillon.

  Imprinted on the inside, in fancy letters, was an invitation:

  You are invited to attend

  the piano recital of

  jasmine Elizabeth Luther,

  Sunday, May 28, at 2:00 P.M.

  Bethel Hall

  Wow, I thought. She’s really going to do it. May 28. That was tomorrow.

  Involuntarily my fingers traced across the letters in her name. Did I want to go to her recital?

  No.

  Yes.

  Even though it stung every time I thought about it, our peer counseling sessions had forged a bond between Jazz and me. At least, I felt they had. We’d been avoiding each other, which was no different from
before, but I missed Jazz. Since I was the one who’d made it possible for her to practice, to at least have a chance at fulfilling her dream, I really wanted to hear her play.

  I sprinted downstairs. “Mom,” I said, catching her in the act of hanging up the phone.

  “Antonia”—she whirled on me—”you won’t believe it. Paul Unger’s putting me back on.”

  “At the salon?

  “Yes. It’s only part-time to start, but that’s okay. I think I need to take it slow.”

  “That’s great, Mom.”

  She looked so happy. Her face changed suddenly and she said, “It might take a while, but I promise to pay back all your money, Antonia. Every penny.” Then she added, “And I’m going to get the rest of our money back, too.”

  That made me happy “Mom,” I started again. “There’s this recital I’d like to go to tomorrow.”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “Do you need a ride?”

  The thought of making her drive made me tense. “No. I mean, I can take the bus. What I really wanted to ask is if you’d come with me.”

  She froze. Her eyes glued to my face. She raked fingers through her hair. “I suppose there’ll be a lot of people there.”

  “Probably.” Oh, man, what was I doing? “If you don’t think you can handle it—”

  “No.” She cut me off. “Why don’t the four of us go? Our whole family.”

  Our whole family? Had she finally accepted the truth, the reality? I threw my arms around her and squeezed. When she squeezed back, a wall between us crumbled.

  A kid in an oversized suit led us to a pew in the back of Bethel Hall. Most of the seats up front were already filled, with a smattering of people in the other pews. My first prayer was that Chuckie could contain himself for two hours. My second prayer was that Mom would make it through.

  There were eight pianists on the recital program. All Gregoire’s students, I figured out, when he got up to introduce himself and play the opening piece. Jazz played last.

  The other students were good. Not as good as Jazz. No way. One student was an old lady who had started playing piano at the age of seventy-two. She wasn’t bad, for seventy-two. The other students were younger, more advanced. At least to my untrained ear.