Big Fat Disaster

by Beth Fehlbaum

  Mom gives me her skeptical face, and I look at my hands. Damn these icing stains.

  “Mrs. Denton?”

  Mom drags her eyes back to Dr. Matt, and he continues. “Colby’s agreed that she will contact me if she feels like hurting herself. In the meantime, you can help by seeing that she’s not left alone. Spend time together doing activities that don’t involve food.”

  Mom waves her hand dismissively. “Well, that’s going to be impossible because of where we work.”

  He turns to me. “Where do you work?”

  “At my aunt’s bakery.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s just like an alcoholic working in a bar. I’d like to see that situation changed.”

  Mom blurts, “But we owe Leah for taking us in when we had nowhere else to go. Colby’s father left us, and the F.B.I. seized our—”

  “She told me about it.” Dr. Matt reaches around for his appointment calendar and pulls it into his lap. “Same time next week?”

  Mom murmurs, “Well, I certainly didn’t expect to be spoken to like this when I brought my child here for help. I—I’m not sure that this is a good idea.”

  Dr. Matt’s voice is rough. “The key words in what you just said are ‘my’ and ‘child,’ Mrs. Denton. Regardless of how you feel about your husband and his actions, Colby is not responsible for what he did. She may look like your husband, but she is not her father. She is a unique, smart, capable, tough young woman, and she deserves to be loved and appreciated for who she is, regardless of her size. I suggest that you get counseling, too, and learn what is missing inside of you that your focus is so exclusively on your daughter’s weight that you don’t, for example, understand what an act of evil that boy making that video was.”

  Mom opens her mouth, closes it, and leans forward with her head in her hands. Finally, she speaks. “But…Colby’s so…big! Are you saying I’m wrong to be concerned about her health?” She lifts her head, locks her gaze on Dr. Matt, and they have a bit of a staring contest.

  Finally, Dr. Matt says matter-of-factly, “If you’re bringing your daughter to me expecting me to force her to lose weight, you’re going to be disappointed. It’s not about the weight, Mrs. Denton. It’s about health and positive self-care. Weight loss may occur as a result of altering the other behaviors, but it’s not the ultimate goal. At this point, Colby sees herself the way you do: as just The Fat Girl. And she’s so, so much more than that.”

  Mom’s voice is thick. “Well…will you work with me?”

  He shakes his head. “No. I am Colby’s therapist, and it is my responsibility to be her advocate. I need you to hear that loud and clear. However, I am happy to recommend someone to work with you.” He pulls a business card from a drawer and hands it to Mom. “Leslie Trevino is my associate. Just call the number and leave a message, and she’ll call you back. Now, Mrs. Denton, can you promise me that you will do your best to keep Colby safe this week, or do I need to set up intake at a mental health facility?”

  Mom squeaks, “You want to have Colby committed?”

  “If you’re going to continue berating her and carelessly throwing out comments as if they don’t inflict more damage on your already very vulnerable child, then, yes, I will be forced to have Colby committed until I feel that she’s stable enough to put up with you on her own. She’s promised me that she won’t hurt herself, but if you don’t modify your behavior, I don’t think her promise to me will hold up in the face of it.”

  Mom throws herself back in the chair, gives a little snort, and shakes her head. “You’re testing me. This must be some kind of joke. I’m a good mother; I—”

  “Mrs. Denton, I have over twenty years of experience in working with traumatized people. You’re right to be concerned about the binge eating disorder. It will eventually kill your daughter if we can’t get it under control. But suicide is the immediate threat to Colby’s well-being. Between your husband’s bone-headed actions and your callousness—the likes of which I’ve rarely seen—Colby has to find better ways of coping, or she’s going to be dead. You may not like the way Colby looks, but I hope that somewhere inside of yourself, you love her.”

  “Well, of course I do! That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”

  “Then prove it to me, Mrs. Denton. And more than that, prove it to Colby.”

  “You…think that I don’t love my child!” Mom laughs, but it’s not a happy laugh. Her face practically melts off her skull, and she bolts from the chair. She jerks open the office door so hard that it bounces back off the wall. Seconds later, the outer office door slams against the wall, too.

  I set the pillows aside and wriggle forward on the love seat. Dr. Matt offers a hand and pulls me up to stand.

  He looks down at me. “You got this, Colby? You’ll call me, right? You promised.” He hands me a business card with his phone number circled on it. “If you need to talk, leave a message and I’ll call you right back. Okay?”

  I nod, and we shake on it. “Yeah.”

  “If I don’t hear from you before, then we’ll talk next week. Agreed?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mom’s terse voice from the waiting room: “Colby!”

  I can do it. I can hold on for a week. I won’t try again for at least a week.

  The second we get into the car, Mom blares, “What on earth did you tell that man, Colby Diane? He definitely got the wrong impression of you, and he’s totally wrong about me!” She digs in her purse for her keys, but her hands are shaking too much.

  I drag her purse into my lap and pull the keys out for her. My face burns and I murmur, “I’m sorry, Mom, I—”

  She snatches the keys from me, throws herself back against her seat, and covers her face with her hands. Her voice cracking, she cries, “I can’t take any more, Colby!”

  I lean against the window and watch as my mom has a meltdown in the therapist’s parking lot. A man pulls in next to us. His eyes grow huge at the sight of my mother wailing and pounding the steering wheel.

  Mom catches him watching her and immediately stops throwing a fit, tucks her head. After a moment, she asks, “Is he gone?”

  I watch him move to the sidewalk. He glances back at us one more time, and I shoot him a dirty look. “Y-yeah, Mom, he’s gone. Why do you care what a total stranger thinks, anyway?”

  Mom ignores the question. She tilts the rearview mirror, takes a look, and grabs her purse from my lap. She pulls out her makeup bag and starts repairing the damage.

  I watch her a moment. “Why does it matter so much that your makeup’s all runny? We’re just going home, right?”

  She pauses in reapplying foundation and snaps, “Appearances matter, Colby. You’re born alone and you die alone, but you can use what you’ve got in between. It’s like I told that doctor, but he was too busy yelling at me to listen: Beauty pageants are what got me out of that girls’ home.”

  I point at my face. “You think that I’m beauty pageant material, Mom? I don’t even wear makeup!”

  She softens her voice and puts her hand on mine. “You have an interesting face, but nobody notices it because the rest of you is so…overwhelming. At this point, wearing makeup would just be a waste of time for you.”

  “Didn’t you hear a word Dr. Matt said, Mom?” I choke out. “You say these awful things to me like I don’t have feelings, but I do!…You’re going to call that lady, right? His associate?”

  Mom’s eyes flash. “The only problem I have is a daughter who gets back at me by eating everything in sight and having a bad attitude. I would think that you’d try harder to make me happy. After everything I’ve been through with your dad leaving, do you really think I should have to put up with this…this…shit, too?”

  “God, Mom! You’re so mean! I don’t even know you anymore!”

  “You’re just saying that to hurt my feelings. And—you act like a person you just met an hour ago knows you better than I do. All you need to do is go on a diet. Push away from the table. Have s
ome self-control. I borrowed three hundred dollars from Leah to get help for you, and as of this moment, we have two hundred left. Figure out how to stop pigging out by the end of the third session. Just do it.” She uncaps her mascara and reapplies it. “Why don’t you get to know that girl we bought the clothes from? Find out how she lost weight.”

  I stare out my window. “I know how she did it, Mom! She throws up what she eats!”

  Mom doesn’t say anything, and I turn back to her. “Did you hear me? She throws up. You don’t want me to throw up, do you?”

  She shrugs and drops her mouth open as she applies mascara to her lower lashes. “I knew lots of girls who did that. Seemed to work for them.”

  I stare at my mother in disbelief. She caps the mascara and tosses it into her makeup bag. The guy who saw Mom having a meltdown must have said something to Dr. Matt, because he steps out onto the porch and gives us a worried stare.

  Mom sees him watching and reaches over, pats me on the shoulder. “Look at him coming out here to check on us. He doesn’t know when to quit. You know, we could just take a hundred dollars and go clothes shopping, and I could send the other hundred to Rachel.”

  I talk fast. “Look, I promised Dr. Matt that I’ll come back next week, Mom! I promised him that I won’t—” I stop short when I realize that I almost told her the truth about why Ryan is dead.

  She cuts me off. “What? You won’t pig out?” She laughs ruefully. “Oh, you’re not going to pig out. I guarantee that you won’t do that anymore.”

  White. Hot. Rage. “You can’t stop me! I’ll eat what I want when I want, and you can’t do a thing about it! If you were mean to Dad like you are to me, I’m not surprised he cheated on you!”

  Mom looks like I slapped her. “How can you talk to me like that? I am your mother!”

  “Yeah, but you don’t want other people to know that you are. I heard you! You’re ashamed of me!”

  “Heard me…Were you eavesdropping again?”

  I answer her with a cold stare, and Mom looks like she’s going to cry. She starts the car and backs out of our parking space so fast that she nearly clips the truck behind us.

  I kick the underside of the dashboard and scream so loud that my throat feels like it’s ripping open. “Why don’t you love me like you love Rachel and Drew? Why?”

  Mom ignores my question and instead cruises along the highway while sermonizing about children honoring their parents, but I tune her out and listen to my “Fuck You” playlist in my head.

  I’m starting my mental playlist for the second time when we pull in to Leah’s driveway. Just then, Leah and Drew step off her porch, each carrying dried-out flowers from Ryan’s memorial service. They add them to the other wilted arrangements spread along the pavestone retaining wall that edges Leah’s yard.

  Mom and I get out of the car and join them there. Drew plucks a still-vibrant daisy from the pile of shriveled flowers. She pokes a finger into the soil and inserts the daisy’s stem.

  My throat raw from screaming, I croak, “Why are you doing that?” Drew pats the dirt around the base of the cut daisy and cuts me a sideways look. “So it can come back to life again, silly.”

  Leah’s voice is hollow. “That’s not how it works, honey. Dead is dead. And…there’s no resurrection. That’s just a story that people tell themselves to feel better.” She turns from us and moves away. Charley and Zeeke run ahead of her to the house. She slowly ascends the steps and sits in the rocker on the porch, staring blankly toward the road. Her eyebrows furrow, and I follow her gaze to the police cruiser winding down the driveway toward us.

  Chief Taylor pulls in behind our cars. It almost looks like he’s blocking us in so that no one can leave.

  Drew paws through the funeral flowers for more candidates to “bring back to life.” Mom bends down and touches her shoulder. “Come on, Drew Ann.”

  “In a second.” She straightens the bent bloom again and again, but it stubbornly refuses to face the sun.

  Mom glances back at Chief Taylor exiting his car. She says sharply, “No. Now.” She pulls Drew to a standing position, then hooks her other hand through my arm. “Let’s go, girls.” She drags us along the dirt path toward the trailer. “We’ll leave them alone to talk.” Her voice is louder than it needs to be for just us to hear; it’s kind of obvious that she’s talking to Leah and the police chief.

  “Actually, Mrs. Denton, I’m here to speak to all of you. I have some new information pertaining to the circumstances of Ryan’s death.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chief Taylor’s face is grim. He nods toward Leah’s house and waits while Mom, her arms still looped through ours, ascends the porch steps with us.

  His voice is soft but firm. “I think it’s best if we go inside.”

  Leah leaps to her feet and for a second I think she might punch Chief Taylor in the face. “Why should I care what you think? Your son beat Ryan to a pulp, and you got rid of the evidence. I have no respect for you or your opinion. What? You think you’re going to prove to me that Ryan killed himself? I’ll never believe that, no matter what you say, so get off my property right now.”

  Chief Taylor removes his hat and holds it in his hands. “Ms. Ellis—Leah—we can talk about what happened last May another time. I may have made some bad decisions regarding my son, and I can understand why you feel that way about me. But”—he shakes his head, glances at me—“I truly think it would be best if we all go inside and have a talk.” He leans forward and opens Leah’s front door, then steps back and waits for us to enter ahead of him.

  “All right, but I’m telling you now, if you’re going to try to sell me that line of bull—” Leah chokes up. She doesn’t finish her sentence; just shakes her head and leads the way into her house.

  Chief Taylor waits until we’re settled, pulls his notepad from his back pocket, and sets his sights on me. “This afternoon, one of your classmates, a”—he consults his notes—“Becca Schuler—and her mother, Kate, informed me that they were witnesses to the accident that took Ryan’s life. They said—”

  Leah cuts him off. “Accident? Did you say, ‘Accident’? So you admit that it wasn’t suicide?”

  He holds up a hand. “Now, I’m getting to that, just—”

  “I knew it! I knew my baby wouldn’t leave me on purpose!” Leah’s voice cracks. She covers her mouth with her hand and her shoulders shake with sobs.

  He watches her a moment, sighs heavily, and frowns at me.

  Mom says defensively, “Wh-why are you looking at Colby like that?”

  “Young lady,” Chief Taylor says to me, “would you like one last chance to be the one to tell the truth about what happened on the road that day?”

  “She told the truth!” Mom gives me a little shove. “Didn’t you? You saw Ryan in the street and you saw the semi coming and you—you—tried to save him.”

  I fix my eyes on the framed print on the wall above Leah’s head. It reads Hope Will Find You. I can feel Leah’s eyes locked on me like lasers, and I don’t dare lower my gaze to meet hers.

  Mom shrieks, “Colby! Tell them that you weren’t the one trying to die that day!”

  Chief Taylor’s voice is every bit as flat as Mom’s is hysterical. “Mrs. Denton, we need to hear Colby’s version of the events.” He pulls a ladder-back chair from Leah’s dining room table and turns it toward me. He sits heavily, and his leather gun belt squeaks a little. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees and says softly, “Listen to me, sweetheart. Becca told me that you’re bound and determined to keep the circumstances of Ryan’s death a secret, and that she gave you twenty-four hours to come clean…which you have apparently opted not to do.” He shrugs. “Would have been nice if they’d spoken up sooner; I’m just glad that they came forward now.”

  I lock my arms at my sides and slowly draw them across my chest. I cradle my cast and curve my shoulders in.

  Chief Taylor says gruffly, “Look at your aunt, Colby. Don’t you think you owe h
er the truth?”

  I won’t do it and he leans forward, cups my chin in his hand, and forces my face toward Leah. I close my eyes, and he gives my face a little shake.

  His voice is rough. “I said, look at her!”

  Mom’s voice is sharp. “Colby!”

  I open my eyes, and in Leah’s cold stare, I see Ryan’s bloody face. I grit my teeth and try to swallow, but the lump in my throat makes it nearly impossible. I shake my head.

  Chief Taylor releases my chin, straightens, and pulls a piece of paper out of his shirt pocket. He unfolds it. “This is Mrs. Schuler’s witness statement, signed and dated today.”

  He clears his throat, then reads matter-of-factly. “My daughter and I were cleaning our family’s rental property on the day Ryan Ellis died. We were finishing up and about to leave, when we witnessed Colby Denton step in front of a car, as if she was trying to get hit. The driver swerved to miss her, but circled back around and appeared to be yelling at her. We watched as Colby went back up the street toward Sugar’s bakery.

  “About thirty minutes later, we saw her walk determinedly—” He pauses. “That’s the word they used, Colby: determinedly.”

  He bumps up his eyebrows like he’s waiting for me to talk. When I don’t, he continues reading. “We saw her walk determinedly into the street and hold her arms out as if she was trying to keep her balance. She stood just at the cusp of the hill, and within moments, an eighteen-wheeler appeared. As if out of nowhere, Ryan Ellis came running from the side of the house. He barreled into Colby, knocking her clear of the semi. It happened in the blink of an eye. Next thing we knew, Ryan was lying in the road. We saw his mother when she discovered his body. There was a little blonde girl standing in the road, screaming. I took her by the hand and we found Colby just off the shoulder of the road, near a bar ditch. I placed my purse under Colby’s head and stayed with her until help arrived.”