“And what do you think it’s like to be me? What do you think it’s like to not know where I’m going to be next week? If I’ll be in another state home?” I step closer and my voice shakes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to come home and find you passed out? Do you know what the first thought is that goes through my head? Do you, Mom? It’s I wonder if she’s dead.” I shake my head and sniff. “Do you know how it feels to have to look for vital signs on your own mother? What it’s like to check for breathing while I hold my own breath?”
“I’m not dying, you little idiot. There is nothing wrong with me. Did I ask you one time to check on me?”
I shake my head, vaguely aware of my dripping nose. “I need you to try. Can’t you just try to get better? You’ve come this far. Don’t go back. Please don’t go back.”
“I can’t do this right now. I’m outta here.”
“No!” I block the doorway with my body.
My vision becomes a blur as she tucks her head and plows into me. I fall backward, my head slamming into the floor.
And I lie there, choking on a sob, as my mother jumps over me and bounds out the door, cursing my name, my existence, and things I can’t even decipher as she escapes into the yard.
The Cougar peels out, tires screeching, rocks thrown against the trailer, and it disappears down the road.
My body and mind numb, I finally pull myself up and wait for my head to quit spinning. I lean into the doorframe and lay a hand over my racing heart.
And that’s when I see it. My mom’s phone.
I hop to the night stand, my whole body protesting. I scroll through the numbers until I find her boyfriend’s name. The phone rings twice.
“John? This is Katie Parker.” I drag air into my lungs. “I need to talk to you about my mom.”
Chapter thirty
“KATIE, YOU CAN’T CALL THE police on her.”
I hold the phone to my ear and listen to John defend my mother. Like I’m the one who’s got it all wrong.
“It’s a relapse. It . . . happens.”
“No! It doesn’t just happen. Not when my life is on the line too. And others — John, she’s on the road right now. She could hardly stand up on her own. Do you really think she’s in any shape to drive? What if she kills someone?”
“I know you’re upset — ”
“Upset? Are you even listening to me?”
“You don’t understand.”
“Don’t feed me that line. She’s already tried. Look, your girlfriend’s back on drugs. I thought you’d want to help. I thought you might know where she goes when she runs off.”
He pauses. “It’s not here. I wish it was, but it’s not.”
“Then where?”
“I don’t know. Some friends maybe?”
“Who?” My hand clenches around the phone. “Think. Where would she go? Who would she be with? Look John, I know you don’t want her in trouble, but there’s a lot at stake here.” You know, like my life. “I’m just trying to help her.”
“Katie, I need you to trust me on this just once. Please, I’m begging you — don’t turn her in. I’m getting in my truck right now. I’m going to drive around town until I find her. Then I’m bringing her back to my place to dry her out.”
And what about me? I want to ask.
“You have to call me when you find her.” I give him my own cell phone number.
“Only if I can have your word you won’t call the cops. I know what I’m doing here. I’ve been there. And I really think she can pull it out. She’s just relapsed. But she wants to be clean. She does.”
I grind my teeth together. “Fine. But if she wraps herself around a phone pole or takes out some kids in a playground, I’m telling the world and anyone else who will listen that you stopped me from turning her in.”
“Do you really want to go back to a group home? There’s a lot of red tape involved in child services. It could be months before you’re cleared to go back with your foster family. Are you prepared to risk that?”
I close my eyes and fight back a wave of panic. “No.”
I hear his truck start in the background. “I’ll be in touch.”
BY THE TIME NIGHT FALLS, I’M no longer sad or scared.
I’m furious.
I’ve sat here all day long. Waiting. Waiting for my mom to return. Waiting for John. Waiting for the police to knock on the door and ask me to pick her up from jail. Or identify her body.
But Mom’s not here, and no one’s called.
I reach for my phone, ignore my five missed calls from the Scotts and three texts from Maxine, and call Tate. “If the offer’s still open to go with you guys to the cliff, I’d like to go.”
Thirty minutes later, he’s at my door. His crooked smile looks forced, and his eyes are serious. “Rough day?”
I consider crumbling into him, but hold myself back. Once the tears start, they won’t stop. I don’t want to scare him with a total snot-dripping, puffy-eyed, wailing meltdown.
“I’ve had better. The talk shows were all reruns, so the day was kind of a drag.”
He steps closer to me beneath the porch light and brushes his thumb under my eye. “I have two sisters. I know the look of carefully applied makeup to hide some major bawling. Did you get into it with your mom?”
I think of my sore butt, and my own mother stomping over me to get out of the house. “Something like that. Let’s just go, huh?”
He chews on his lip as he looks me over. “She hurt you?”
I shake my head. “No.” The pressure builds behind my eyes. Please, let’s go.
“Where is she?”
I shake my head, my vision blurry. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “I need to get out of here for a while, though, okay?”
“Katie, I don’t think it’s safe here for you.”
I swat at a mosquito aiming for my arm. “I have guard cats.” I look down at three curled up together asleep.
He doesn’t smile. “My dad knows people. He could help. He could — ”
“Our conversation doesn’t go farther than the Sunset Salon parking lot, remember?” I stare at Tate. Hard. “You know nothing, and you say nothing. Please.”
After a quiet drive, we meet the others at the downtown gas station. A few pile in with us, and another group follows in a Jeep.
Ashley and Tate discuss some people from school, and two other people I’ve never met carry on their own conversation.
I stare out the window and count the stars.
God, you know how many stars hang in the sky. But do you know that I’m here — miserable? Do you even remember me? Did you drop me in Middleton and then move on to someone else? Are my problems too small for you? Because they seem gigantic to me. Overwhelming.
“Ready?”
Tate’s hand on my arm pulls me back to reality, and I see we’re here. Wherever here is. I grab my flashlight and open the door. I lower myself down from the seat and reach for my crutches.
“Nuh-uh.” Tate shakes his head. “Just stay put for a second.”
I frown but obey. I really don’t feel like getting out anyway. The night breeze blows on my face, and suddenly I’m aware of how incredibly tired I am. I don’t know that I’ve had more than four hours of sleep on any night I’ve been here. I’ve got more bags than Chelsea now — except mine don’t say Coach. They say I need about eight hours with a good fluffy pillow.
Tate opens the back hatch and passes off lawn chairs to his friends. Then he comes around to my side. And holds out both arms.
His smile is reluctant. “Okay, you’re gonna hate this, I can already tell, but . . . um . . . I forgot to mention one little thing.” His left cheek dimples.
I lift an eyebrow.
“You can’t take your crutches up the hill. You’ll never make it.”
“Then why did you bring me out — oomph!” And before I can say “hand violation,” Tate scoops me up into his arms. “Put me down!” I hiss. “I am not going to be carried
like a baby.”
“Yeah, I told you you wouldn’t like it. See, I know you. Now, your job is going to be to hold the flashlight so I don’t trip over something like a big rock because I will drop you and leave you for the coyotes. Or if I step on a snake because of your poor lighting skills, I will be forced to offer you up for a sacrifice. You think I’m a good guy, but no . . . I will totally make you take the venom before I do.”
“Very funny,” I say through gritted teeth. I jerk my head around, trying to gauge the reactions of his friends. They walk on, oblivious to us. “Ashley is going to think you’re nuts.”
“One, Ashley already knows I’m nuts. And two, it was her idea to invite you, and she, along with everyone else, would’ve known you couldn’t maneuver the hill on your ankle, so just shut up” — he pulls me in closer with a grunt — “and enjoy the stinkin’ nature.”
As we ascend the hill, I wrap my arms around him and hold on tight. Eventually I lean my head back and stare out into the night.
“Um, Parker. The light.” And I re-aim the flashlight on our path.
We finally climb to the top, and Tate sets me down, his breathing heavy.
I smirk down at him as he doubles over, hands on his knees, sucking wind.
“I don’t feel sorry for you.”
“When . . .” he gasps, “do you get off those crutches?”
If my mom had made the doctor appointments, it could’ve been today. “Hopefully next week.”
“Then that’s when we should’ve scheduled this outing.” He wipes his sweaty forehead and grabs two lawn chairs from his friend Jake. “Sit. It’s going to be a while.”
I shine the light on my watch. “How long?”
“The shower isn’t supposed to start until midnight. We have a few hours. Did you leave your mom a note?”
“I don’t think she’ll mind.”
Tate snaps his finger. “Jake, the backpack, if you please.” His wrestler-sized friend heaves it to him, and Tate reaches in and pulls out a Coke for everyone. “And for you — ” He digs further and presents me with a Diet Dr Pepper. “Don’t tell Ash. It’s the only one I could find.” He rests his hand on the back of my chair. “I thought you could use it more.”
After Tate passes out two different kinds of cookies, everyone settles in and stares toward the sky. Voices are hushed as someone points out the Big Dipper, then later a shooting star. Much later, I stand up and hop toward the cliff’s edge. I look out into the dark nothing below me, shining my flashlight on emptiness. Hollowness. I so relate.
“Girls who’ve had stressful days probably shouldn’t stand that close to the edge.”
I glance over my left shoulder and see Tate. The others are lost in a discussion about the loss of Pluto as a planet.
“I won’t jump.” Like I want to be buried in this cast?
“It’s a big sky, isn’t it?” His voice reverberates near my ear. His breath fans my neck.
I turn all the way around, inches from Tate’s face. His eyes hold mine captive. I step closer. We’re both right there, and I inch toward his mouth.
“Katie?” His hands on my shoulders stop me. It takes seconds to register it — rejection. I just got totally shut down.
I move back, my eyes wide. Hurt. My mouth opens, ready to blurt out some excuse. Anything.
Tate shakes his head and cups my face. “I’m not the person who can heal this for you. Right now you don’t know what you want. You have a guy back home. You have a mom that’s making you crazy. And what am I?”
I shake my head, mute.
“I’m your friend. And I’m a safety net at the moment. But I don’t think I’m what you want — or what you need.”
Dear God, it would be so cool if I didn’t hurl on his shoes right now.
“Tate, I’m — ”
“It’s okay.” His hands fall away from my face and land at his sides. “Um . . . I know this is going to sound weird — ”
Oh, weirder than me throwing myself at you?
The wind blows past us, and Tate tucks a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. “Would you mind if I prayed for you — right now?”
I look up and blink back some tears. Hot tears of shame and humiliation. “Okay.” I must be like a leper to him. What if he thinks I’m some sort of skank ho? Should I tell him I’m not? Should I say, “Hey, Tate, I am not the type of girl who tries to make out with the first boy she sees whenever she’s on the verge of seeing a meteor. No . . . I usually reserve that for a lunar eclipse.”
“Dear heavenly Father . . . God, I thank you for Katie, for her friendship. It’s come to mean a lot to me in a short amount of time. Lord, I know she’s scared. And even though I don’t know everything that’s going on, you know every detail. And you hold her life and safety in your hands.”
I close my eyes and think of Peter again, how he must’ve peed his pants — or his tunic — when he stepped out onto the lake, and especially when he started to sink. Tonight was definitely a sinking moment. Dear God, things are just getting worse. I’m at the point of going under. Now when are you going to pull me back up? Is it too late?
“Amen.” Tate pulls me to him in a hug, which I don’t return. Nope, I’m totally hands off. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs my arms and wraps them around him. “Things are going to be okay, Katie.”
“There’s a meteor!” Ashley calls out and points upward.
I step away from Tate, unable to meet his gaze, and look toward the sky. He helps me walk back to the others, and I stand there amidst their cheers and carefree smiles. And the first meteor zooms across the sky, a dusty tail streaming behind it.
Jake holds a lantern to his watch. “It was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”
“Nah. It’s right on time.” Tate catches my eye and a corner of his mouth lifts. “God’s always on time.”
Chapter thirty - one
MY MOTHER’S BOYFRIEND BRINGS HER home Tuesday during a commercial break of General Hospital.
I open the door, and he helps Mom inside. She looks like a drowned rat. One who has tuberculosis or the plague or something. Her hair hangs in stringy pieces in every direction. Her face is as white as the crisp sheets at the Scotts’ house. And she has mascara smeared down her cheeks like some lame attempt at goth.
When John returns from depositing Mom on her bed, I give him my fiercest glare. “Thanks for calling me and keeping me updated.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been busy. She didn’t show up at my house until early this morning.” He sits down on the faded couch, his fingers dancing a nervous beat on his knees. “Your mom’s going to want to sleep for a while.”
“What’s she on this time, John?”
“Katie . . . she just made a mistake. It’s over. The last thing she’s going to need is you holding it over her head.”
I narrow my eyes. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“How you think she’s the victim here. You of all people should know better.”
“I care for your mom a lot.”
“I’m not really sure that’s doing her much good.” I release a ragged breath. “Where has she been? Who’s her dealer?”
He runs his hand over his stubbled face. “I don’t know that there is one. She just got her hands on some prescription meds, but it’s over. It’s not going to happen again.”
Dude, I’m sixteen, and you’re more naïve than I am.
“I’m tired.” He stands up and pulls his keys out of his pocket. “I haven’t slept since the night before last.”
I haven’t slept since I got here.
“I can have her car brought out later.”
“Whatever.” And I walk to my room, leaving him standing there to let himself out.
I pick up my phone and scroll through the missed calls. None of them say Charlie. I left a message for him yesterday. Why hasn’t he called me? We had a serious conversation to finish. And I could use a friendly voice right now. My fingers itch to punch
in his number. No, be strong. Don’t chase him. Let him come to you. Surely he wants more in a girl than a Gucci stuffed between her ears.
Dragging out a notebook, I sit on my bed and give Ms. Dillon’s bonus point assignment some thought — my future. Where I’ll be ten years from now. I pull out my pen and write.
Ten years from now I will be chasing my mother across Texas and any other southern state she can manage to run to. I will be answering calls from creditors, still making excuses to the neighbors, and holding off the landlord who wants his rent. I didn’t have time for my senior prom, as I spent that night combing the ditches for signs of her car. And I didn’t make it to my high school graduation because I couldn’t remember what town I was in; we had moved so much. And of course, I didn’t attend college because I didn’t have time. I was too busy babysitting — my mother. And I still failed to get her roots touched up.
I throw my pen across the room just as there is a knock at the door. Probably John. Maybe he remembered another guilt trip to lay on me.
I peek out the kitchen curtains and groan as I see Janice Holloway from child services. No! This cannot be happening. I don’t have the energy left to deal with this. But what am I supposed to say, “Sorry, come back, my mom’s sleeping off a big pill binge”?
As quietly as possible, I walk back to Mom’s room. “Get up. Please get up. Child services is here again.” I shake her by the shoulder. “You have to get rid of them.”
My mother blinks. “Not today. Don’t feel good.”
“Yeah, well I’m not gonna feel good if I get sent to a group home again. Mom, get up. Seriously. Tell them you’re sick, but at least let them see your face.”
“Tell them I’m at work.” Her voice is weak, and I know she’s useless right now.
“I can’t say that. They know you don’t work at the salon anymore.”
“Tell them — ” And the rest of her sentence becomes a groggy puzzle as she rolls over and goes back to sleep. I’m so glad everyone but me is able to catch up on their rest.
Janice Holloway pounds at the door, but I can’t make myself answer it. Let her think we’re not at home.
The Big Picture Page 22