“I don’t mind.” The top of my head prickled. “Really, it’s okay. I like being there for her.”
“I know,” Laura said. “But I don’t want you to feel that you have to be there twenty-four hours a day.”
“I’m her companion, though,” I said. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”
“I don’t know that it’s the best thing . . . for either of you right now. My great-grandmother had very interesting things to say about special friendships among young women. She felt the attention of a proper young lady should be focused on the home in general, rather than on one particular person.”
“I’m not focused on her,” I said. “I mean—I’m just trying to be there for her.”
“Yes,” she said offhandedly. “You certainly are.”
“I’m going to run up and brush my teeth,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Laura said. “Was I not clear? I’d rather Agatha’s rest not be interrupted.”
It took me a moment to realize that this meant I couldn’t even go into my own bedroom.
“Perhaps you can spend a little time in the garden,” she suggested. “Get some fresh air, and then you and I can have a nice lunch before Mr. Albright brings the weekly papers.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to make something?”
“Oh no,” she said, heading for the stairway. “You enjoy your free time while it lasts.”
I nodded and headed for the garden, where I wandered for a miserably hot half hour. I had my phone, but not the key to the graveyard, so I couldn’t reach the signal.
Back inside the house, I popped my head into Laura’s morning room, and she glanced up. “Yes?”
“Is it okay if I go shower?”
She took off her pearly-pink reading glasses and held them in the air. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Earlier, you said you didn’t want Agatha interrupted.”
“That won’t be a problem,” she said, waving me off. She put her reading glasses on in a gesture that dismissed me handily.
I hurried up the stairs and into the nursery, expecting to see Agatha asleep in her bed.
But she wasn’t there.
The bed was empty, the mattress stripped of its bedding.
I looked around in a panic. Where was she? Where did she go?
I was on my way out to the hallway to search for her when I happened to notice the door to Agatha’s old room. It was closed, as usual, but there was something different: a new lock. Someone had added a shining metal dead bolt to it. The kind you needed a key for, only there was no key in sight.
Just like the one on Lily’s door.
“Don’t be alarmed,” Laura said, gliding up toward me like a wraith. “That isn’t to keep us out—it’s to keep Agatha in.”
From her pocket, she pulled a small key, and turned it in the lock.
“Weren’t you going to take a shower?” she asked. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Then she opened the door only as much as she needed to slide through. I craned my neck to see past her, and two images burned into my brain: First, that the bedroom had been cleaned. Second, that Agatha lay unconscious in the bed, looking small and utterly defenseless.
* * *
AFTER MY SHOWER, I set the table, and Laura brought out two bowls of soup. I didn’t have much of an appetite, but the food smelled good, and I could feel her eyes on me. The thought of a discussion about whether I was eating enough—and why not, and what else might be wrong—was too much. So I swallowed bite after bite, trying to look as if I was enjoying it enough to make Laura happy.
But soon, if everything went according to plan, I wouldn’t have to worry about making Laura happy.
“I hope you’re not worried about Agatha,” she said.
I almost didn’t hear her, but at the last second I realized she’d been talking to me. “Oh, I guess I might be,” I said. “A little.”
She gave me a strange, unhappy smile. “I’d like to remind you,” she said, “that I’m her mother. And I realize that you’ve built an identity for yourself around the idea of being her companion, but—”
She stopped suddenly. Perhaps the stunned look on my face clued her in to how terrible she sounded.
“Actually,” I said. “That’s kind of something I wanted to talk to you about.”
She waited, spoon midway between her bowl and mouth.
“I’ve decided to go.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “If you’re not hungry—”
“No,” I said. “I mean go away from here. Go somewhere else. Which probably means the state institution, but . . .”
She stared at me blankly for a moment. “Margot, I’m surprised. I thought you liked it here.”
“I do,” I said. “But . . . I think it’s best if I leave.”
“Best for you?” she asked. “Certainly it isn’t the best thing for our family. It’s a bit selfish, if you think about how it might affect us, don’t you think?”
Yes, because everything revolves around the Sutton family. “I’m sorry,” I said. “This is how I feel.”
Besides . . . hadn’t she just said I was too attached to Agatha? Did she mean she depended on me, somehow? I had a hard time believing that.
I seemed to be having a hard time believing a lot of what Laura said lately, didn’t I?
She sighed. “Well, then. What’s your plan?”
I felt a little shaky. “I was actually wondering if I should just leave today. When Mr. Albright comes.”
That legitimately shocked her. She blinked and pressed a hand to her chest. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “There’s not nearly enough time to get things situated today.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “He can just drop me off. I think they have to take me.”
She watched me carefully. I expected some kind of argument. Maybe more pointed accusations of selfishness.
But then she shrugged. “Okay,” she said. “If that’s how you feel . . .”
“Thank you,” I said.
She leaned forward. “How are you feeling? You look a bit flushed.”
“I feel fine,” I said.
“Hmm,” she said dubiously. “You don’t look fine.”
“I am,” I said. “I promise you.”
Laura watched me steadily. “Go up to your room and get in bed. You’re not yourself, Margot.”
What? “I don’t need to get in bed. It’s lunchtime, and I feel fine.”
“You’re unwell,” Laura said. “This tantrum confirms it.”
“I’m not sick,” I said.
And then I thought, Uh-oh.
The only thought in my head in the next moment was: GO.
Go, go, go. If it meant running ten miles down a country highway and hitching a ride with the first tractor-trailer that rumbled by, fine.
I got up and headed for the front door. I had to get outside.
Suddenly I felt freezing and hot at the same time. The air in the house was suffocating. The ceiling seemed to rotate above me. I raced for the front door, pushing on the handles, but they were stuck in place.
I turned the lock, but still the door wouldn’t open. I started to panic. I needed to be alone, like an injured animal.
“Margot,” Laura said, in a singsong voice. She had followed me from the hall and stood several feet away. “As I suspected, you’re very unwell. To bed with you.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to bed. I wanted out of the house. My head seemed to be wearing a massive, tight helmet. My whole skull hurt.
She stepped closer. “You shouldn’t be here.”
And then I remembered the voice that had answered me, that first day: You’re right.
I’d known since my first day here that this was a bad idea.
This w
as a bad place. What was the word Laura had used? Defiled.
There seemed to be strong hands pushing relentlessly in on my temples. The pain was almost unbearable.
And still Laura kept approaching. “Let me help you,” she said softly.
No. I tried the door once more. Why was it locked?
“You’re being silly, Margot,” she said, in a hard voice with a painted-on coating of fake patience. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I felt a sudden, oily pressure inside my neck, just behind my ears, and a sick sour bubbling filled my stomach.
“Leave me alone,” I warbled pathetically. My shoulders sagged. My sweaty hand slipped off the doorknob.
“Margot,” Laura said. “Turn around this minute.”
So I did.
And then I threw up all over her.
CHAPTER
27
I HUNCHED OVER the toilet in the bathroom, having spent the past hour regurgitating everything I’d ever eaten in my life. My throat and nostrils burned, and dark, merciless pain throbbed behind my eyeballs. My stomach felt like a knotted rope, and all the muscles in my body were tender and tired.
A fresh convulsion struck, and I bent over and retched.
“Are you feeling any—” Laura came into the room and stopped short when she saw me. “Oh. I guess not.”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy dying.
She smoothed my hair down, then stood back until I was finished.
Laura was a highly useful person to have around if you were sick. After my explosive vomiting display in the foyer, which may have ruined a priceless antique Persian rug as well as Laura’s blouse and skirt, we settled into a wordless truce.
She’d helped me up to my room—a painfully slow process that involved her carrying a trash can and me retching every time I tilted my head a millimeter to the right or left. Once there, she helped me change into a pair of pajamas, which meant she saw me naked, but I didn’t care. My old high school’s marching band could have watched me change, and I wouldn’t have cared. Caring took energy. All my energy was being forcibly expelled from my body.
Then she’d rolled up my sleeves, put a soft headband in my hair to keep it away from my gross mouth, and set up the bathroom with everything a person needs to comfortably die of barfing: A thick towel for me to kneel on in front of the toilet. A box of tissues. And, in a gesture that struck me as almost a joke, a cup of water—as if I was ever going to ingest anything again.
At some point she’d managed to clean herself up, too, and now there was no indication that she’d ever been in any state other than her usual hard-won perfection.
Now she leaned over and wiped my forehead and the back of my neck with a cold, wet washcloth, which felt like a light shining down from heaven.
“Would you like to get in bed?” she asked.
Would you like to train for a marathon? Would you like to multiply two eight-digit numbers in your head?
I tried to shrug, but it threw off my equilibrium and made me heave again.
“No,” I croaked.
I could feel her watching me. Then she left.
My misery was so great that it overshadowed the emotional storm I’d been caught in downstairs. There comes a point where your body just takes over and your brain shuts down. Any attempt to think made me feel weak and desperately tired.
Still, left alone in the bathroom, I felt a wash of sadness. I’d been abandoned.
Then the door opened again, and Laura came in carrying a pillow and a stack of blankets.
“Here you go,” she said gently, arranging a makeshift bed on the floor. “Maybe you can get comfortable.”
With her help, I scooched onto the bed and then verrrrrry slowly lay down. The softness of the pillow and the coolness of the fabric made me want to weep.
Laura sat down on the tile next to me, and using only her fingertips, she softly combed through my sweaty hair while I tried feverishly to form words of apology for my earlier rudeness.
“Shhh, poor Margot,” she whispered. “Poor, sick Margot.”
It felt heavenly.
“By the way,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry, but when I was washing your clothes, I accidentally put your phone through the wash cycle. It’s ruined, but we’ll get you a new one.”
I reared back slightly at this very unwelcome news, but even that made me feel ten times worse. So I went back to meek acceptance. There would be time for protest later.
* * *
I DREAMED THE room was filled with thousands of tiny creatures. They covered the floor and walls and dropped from the ceiling. They crawled up my legs and over my arms and through my hair. I tried to see what they were, but they were too small and moved too fast. All I knew was that they were everywhere, that they wanted to block out the light and air and smother me in darkness—and I was powerless to stop them.
I was too weak to scream out loud.
But in my dream, I screamed for hours. For days.
It didn’t help.
* * *
I WOKE IN bed. My head was luminously pain-free. My body was weak, but the fact that my insides weren’t actively trying to escape through my throat was like angelic wings lovingly caressing me.
I felt weightless, amazing. It was a new world, one where nothing could touch or hurt me ever again.
It was nighttime—I could see stars through the small window, and fingers of wispy white clouds.
I sat up. My head bobbled and my muscles might as well have been full of air. My vision was bleary and every bit of light was vaguely outlined by a shimmering halo.
But I still felt great. Wow, I feel great, I thought. I feel so great.
My feet touched the floor, and I noted the smooth coolness of the floorboards. I propelled myself to a standing position and almost tumbled forward. I paused, trying to gauge how much effort it really took to change positions. And then I slowly made my way out into the nursery.
I stopped by the bathroom to pee and found a bottle of energy drink waiting for me by the sink, the cap loosened for my weak fingers. I took a few tentative sips and let the salty wetness soak my tongue. Then I set it down—no point tempting fate, although I felt so much better that I couldn’t even imagine throwing up—and went back out to the main room.
Every movement seemed to have a little wispy tail that I couldn’t control. If I moved my hand, it kept moving for a moment after I tried to stop it. If I turned my head, my shoulders wanted to turn, too.
I looked around, at Agatha’s empty bed, at the way the moonlight fell on the toy box and the shelves with their furry stuffed animals, at the idyllic pattern on the wallpaper. I felt almost as if the room had me under some kind of spell, and I’d been transported a hundred years into the past.
Why did I feel so weird?
I felt like I’d been drugged.
It came to me matter-of-factly, and then once the thought was in my head, I couldn’t shake it out. Why would Laura drug me?
Why had she possibly drugged Lily? To make her sick. I shook my head—I mean, To make her healthy again.
Like Agatha, right?
I tried to picture myself living here a hundred years ago, impossibly rich and surrounded by luxury. The servants’ hall would have been packed with maids and butlers eager to fulfill my every whim, and my closet would have held a rainbow of fine gowns and priceless jewelry.
I wandered to my closet. Fancy, I thought. I’m fancy.
But none of my clothes were remotely fancy enough. Sweaters. Jeans. Bah.
Then I caught sight of Agatha’s shoebox. The one with the Polaroid picture of a pair of blue stilettos.
Fancy.
I pulled the box over to the bed and sat down next to it, misjudging the height of the mattress and free-falling the last couple of inches.
“Whoops,” I whispered, and a
giggle bubbled out of me.
I tried to be careful as I lifted the lid off the shoebox . . .
And then I deflated.
There were no shoes in this box.
Stupid box. All it held was a . . . I reached down and grabbed the small black rectangle.
A phone?
A new-looking smartphone. It had a charging cable wrapped around it, and slid between the cable and the phone’s screen was a handwritten note.
I unfolded it.
Please call me if you need anything, I programmed a bunch of numbers into the phone already (mine, B’s, Sofie’s). I am SO WORRIED about you. I’ll try to visit over spring break or summer. Get well SOON PLEASE! I miss you so much!
XOXO Kiley
Well, this was weird. Was this one of the friends who had supposedly abandoned Agatha? If this note was real, then that wasn’t true at all.
But . . . why would Kiley have sent Agatha a phone? Surely she would have had her own. And why would Agatha have hidden it for so long, then brought it to me? That made me remember the tiny bag of items I’d found for her in Lily’s room. The key, the weird vial . . .
I stared at the wall. There was an answer here somewhere. But my brain wasn’t capable of staying on one subject long enough to parse out this riddle. Images and thoughts and memories slid together like the mixed-up colors of a preschooler’s painting.
Quickly, I tucked the phone into the back pocket of my pajama pants and shoved the shoebox under the bed. The second I did so, I went from feeling relaxed and dreamy to feeling scared. I shouldn’t have a phone. Laura wouldn’t like it. Not one little bit.
If she wanted you to have a phone, she wouldn’t have destroyed your old one.
Right . . . Laura was mad at me. Laura hated me.
Remembering that wrecked my sunny, contented mindset.
I looked around at the small, enclosed walls of my bedroom, and then wandered out to the nursery. I felt so alone without Agatha here. And I was worried about her.
The Companion Page 25