I do. After Laney’s husband died, after she got through the funeral and all, she took to her bed too. But she was only there weeks, not months like me. Maybe it was because she had little kids that she found her way out sooner. That’s what she attributes it to. I attribute it to her strong character, her perfectness. Laney is the woman I’ll always wish I could be, but know I never will be. Things are so simple for her, they’re black and white. Her actions, her thoughts, her emotions have none of the messiness of mine.
I put Laney on speaker and set my phone on the sink. I rewrap the towel, lean closer to the mirror, and wipe at the steamy glass. My green eyes are still pretty, but I can’t say that I’m pretty any longer. Is that why Ben isn’t interested in having sex with me anymore?
I don’t think sex has even crossed his mind since the funeral. It certainly hasn’t crossed mine. I don’t want to have sex with my husband or anyone else. My child is dead. I want to cover myself in ashes, hack off my hair with a kitchen knife, and throw myself on the ground in the cemetery where what’s left of her rests in a little marble alcove in a wall of urns.
But before that. Why didn’t he want to touch me? What happened between us? Ben and I always had a great sex life, even after having three children. And it had been a mutual thing, unlike with a lot of women my age; I enjoyed our relationship in bed as much as he did. Only three or four years ago, we were the envy of our friends/acquaintances. Those who weren’t getting divorced were moving into separate bedrooms because the men snored. My now ex-sister-in-law had called us The Love Birds. People used to tease us because we held hands and kissed each other hello and good-bye with something more than a peck on the cheek. Where did that couple go? Thinking back, there was no specific event that threw cold water on our physical relationship. It just kind of . . . faded away.
And I’ve missed it. I’ve kept myself busy with my life with my girls and I’ve made excuses for Ben and for myself, but when I think about it, I have to admit that I’ve missed that intimacy. The emotional and the physical. Ben was once my best friend; he rivaled Laney. And now he’s the guy who sleeps in a recliner in my living room and asks me to pick up a pack of boxer briefs for him at Target.
I exhale and focus on my image in the mirror. I can hear the exhaust fan rattling overhead; it needs to be repaired like a lot of things around the house. “I’ve got serious roots,” I tell Laney, pulling at my wet hair. I wear my natural blond hair that’s not so natural anymore in a long bob. When it’s cut at the salon, it falls just above my shoulders. I haven’t had it cut or colored in two months and it looks it.
“So go get it colored. Get a cut. Get a mani and a pedi while you’re there.”
“Maybe I should.” I lean closer to look at the red spot on my chin. Maybe I should make an appointment at the salon. I always enjoy getting my hair cut, my nails done. It’s a guilty pleasure.
I meet my gaze in the mirror, horrified by that thought. What kind of mother am I? What kind of monster? What kind of mother monster? A monster of all mothers. My child is dead and I’m thinking about how nice it would be to go to the salon and get my toenails painted.
Caitlin loved getting her nails done. She used to get crazy colors: blue, green, purple. I remember the last time we went, just a week before she died. She got her toenails painted purple. At the memorial service, when she lay in that closed white coffin, before she was cremated, her toenails must have still been painted purple.
I close my eyes against the pain that’s so overwhelming that I’m afraid it will crash over me and take me under, take me out. A tidal wave of black sorrow.
“Jules? You still there?” Laney’s voice pushes against the void, drawing me back toward her.
“Yeah,” I say. I close my eyes and open them again. “Can’t get my hair done. I have to do something with my daughter.”
“Which one?”
“Which one do you think? Haley.”
“What’s she done now?”
“Let’s see.” I turn around and lean against the sink, picking up the phone again. “You want to hear about her getting expelled from school or the drug house where I picked her up in the middle of the night last night? How about the bruise on her face from where some guy hit her?”
Laney makes a sound of disbelief.
“She called me scared to death of some maniac trying to break into the bathroom where she was hiding. It was the middle of the night. I thought she was in bed, Laney,” I go on. “When she called, she woke me up. I couldn’t figure out why she was calling me from her bed.”
“Shit. Expelled too?”
“Sure thing. Not suspended, like last month. Expelled. Smoking cigarettes on campus, with marijuana and pills she stole from Linda in her bag.”
“She stole weed from her grandmother?”
I sort of laugh, but only to keep from starting to cry. “I don’t know where she got the weed. Probably one of her uncles.” I’m being facetious now. Ben’s brothers would never give my daughters weed. I don’t think . . . “I’m more worried about the Percocet, Laney,” I say, thinking out loud. “It was a lot of Percocet.”
“She’s taking it?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. I honestly don’t think I’ve seen her high, or zonked out or whatever, but how much time have I spent with her in the last two months? I’ve been too busy drowning in my tears in my bed. “I’d be a fool to think she isn’t taking them. Wouldn’t I?”
“Well, does she act like she’s on drugs? Like she’s sedated? That’s what Percocet would do.”
When I don’t respond, she exhales. “Right,” she says, and I know she’s remembering what this was like. “I know. You all look like you’re sedated. You all feel like it. So, this all happened yesterday?”
“She was expelled Thursday. I rescued her from the bathroom on Drug Street last night.”
“Wait a minute.”
I can almost see her doing a double take.
“She got expelled Thursday and you haven’t asked her about the Percocet yet?” Laney asks, her tone incredulous. “What the hell, Jules?”
Laney would never let two days pass without getting to the bottom of drug possession by one of her kids. Of course one of her kids would never have drugs in a Ziploc in her Lucky Brand backpack to begin with. They’re all perfect boys; good grades, good behavior, adoration of their mother. And they’re boys. An entirely different species. And one of her kids didn’t kill one of her other kids. She can’t possibly know what this is like for Haley.
“Why haven’t you talked to her about it?” She didn’t give me a chance to answer before she went on. “And what was she doing at a drug house in the middle of the night? I’m not even sure I know what a drug house is.”
“Just what you would think. I saw, firsthand, what I realize now was a crack pipe.” I hold the phone with one hand and rub my temple with the other. The towel is slipping again. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through, Laney. She and Caitlin, they were best friends, they—” I feel the tears coming. “I can’t imagine,” I repeat. I can, of course. I understand the devastating, debilitating loss, but there’s no way I can know what it feels like to be Haley. Not really. My daughter died, but Haley was the one responsible for her sister’s death.
“You can’t just let it ride, Jules. I know she’s been through a lot, but you can’t let this go.”
“I know,” I say.
“She’s your daughter and you’re responsible for her, for her choices, for her life,” she says passionately.
“I know. I know.” I sniffle. “But I don’t know what to do,” I whisper. Suddenly I’m shaking, not with cold, but with fear. “I can’t lose her, too,” I murmur as much to myself as to Laney as I realize the threat might be real.
“So get her out of there. Change of scenery. Get her away from the people and places that are negatively influencing her.”
“No.” I reach for a tissue from the box on the sink. Empty. I lean over and pull a length of toilet pape
r from the roll. “No,” I repeat firmly. “Absolutely not. I’m not sending her to boarding school. That’s what Ben wants to do. She’s not a boarding school kind of girl. I send her to school in another state and she’ll end up a runaway or worse, Laney. I know she will,” I whisper desperately.
“So send her to me. I’ll put her in school here.”
I smile sadly. Not only does Laney always have a plan, but she’s willing to throw herself off a cliff to see it executed.
“I can’t push her off on you. It wouldn’t be fair to you or your boys.” I dab at my nose with the toilet paper. Ben’s bought the wrong kind again. It’s like wiping my nose with a piece of newspaper. I would never complain though. I haven’t been inside a grocery store in, well, at least forty-nine days. “She’s my daughter,” I say. “I’ll figure it out.”
“I know you will because if you don’t, if you don’t do something sooner rather than later, Jules, she’s going to end up in jail or in drug rehab.”
Or worse. I think it, but I don’t say it. I can’t bear to say it. I think about the pills, about Haley’s dangerous behavior since Caitlin’s death. It’s about Caitlin; I know that. While I may have been in a fog for the last two months, my visibility hasn’t been that reduced. I’d have to be blind and an idiot not to see it. Before Caitlin died, Haley was certainly no angel. But it had been typical rebellious teenager stuff: being late for curfew, not turning in homework, saying she was one place when she was actually at another. But nothing serious. Nothing like stealing drugs and sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to a crack house.
“I know I have to do something,” I say into the phone when I find my voice again. “I just don’t know what.”
“So Ben says send her to boarding school. Is that his only idea?” Laney asks.
She’s being pushy. Really pushy. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t called her. I can’t do this right now with her. I don’t have it in me to defend my family or myself.
“What’s Ben saying?” Laney asks when I don’t answer.
She’s like a dog with the proverbial bone. I know her too well. I know she’s not going to let go of it.
“Julia?” Ben calls from the bedroom. “You in there?”
“Can I call you back?” I ask Laney, thankful for the reprieve. I don’t want to talk to Ben, either, but I’d rather talk to him right now than to Laney. “In the bathroom,” I call. Then into the phone: “Ben’s looking for me. I should go.”
“You two need to sit down and talk about Haley,” Laney tells me. “You’re her parents. You owe it to her. You owe it to Caitlin,” she says fervently.
I dab at my eyes with the toilet paper. I hear Ben’s hand on the bathroom doorknob. “Call you later,” I say, trying to grip the phone and my towel.
Ben opens the door without knocking, which irritates me. I’ve always liked my privacy in the bathroom. If the door is shut, in my book, that means you’re not welcome, unless invited. It’s not that way with Ben’s family, though. They think nothing of brushing their teeth while a spouse sits on the john. I don’t want to see Ben clip his nose hairs or have him watch me remove my tampon. Some things should remain private, shouldn’t they? Isn’t that a way to keep up the romance in a marriage?
Of course, obviously we’re not doing so hot with that. That writing was on the wall even before Caitlin died.
“There you are,” he says. He’s dressed in jeans and a red polo with his family’s lawn care company logo on it. The shirt looks too small; it’s pulling across his belly.
“I was talking to Laney.” My towel begins to slip and for some reason I feel a sense of panic. I don’t want him to see me naked.
Why don’t I want him to see me naked? He’s been seeing me naked since I was twenty years old. I set the phone on the edge of the sink and cover my exposed left breast. I don’t know if he doesn’t see it or he just doesn’t care. Even a year or so ago, Ben’s face lit up at the sight of a bare breast, even one he knew well. The look on his face, or the lack of response in this case, makes me so sad and I don’t know why. This isn’t solely his fault, the state of our marriage. I know that.
“I . . . we need to talk,” I say, fussing with the towel.
“You’re telling me.” Ben’s not usually a cynical guy, but his words are dripping with sarcasm.
He turns around and grabs my white terry robe off a hook on the back of the door. He opens it for me. I hesitate, then turn my back to him and let the towel slide to the floor. I’m relieved to feel the robe around me. I tie it tightly before I face him.
“About Haley,” I say, not sure what he means.
He exhales. “Izzy told me.”
“Izzy told you what?” I walk out of the bathroom. I feel exposed. I need to get dressed. “What does Izzy know?”
“Izzy said you went out in the middle of the night and brought Haley home. Where the hell was she?” he asks, raising his voice.
I walk to my dresser. He stands near the bathroom door, watching me. I pull on panties and slip out of my robe, my back to him. I grab a sports bra and pull it over my head. I don’t turn to face him until I’m wearing yoga pants and a T-shirt from some camp one of the girls attended.
He’s just standing there, looking at me. Even heavier than he’s ever been, he’s still a good-looking man: short, dark hair, a day-old beard that’s sexy on him rather than making him look unkempt. He’s a big guy. Six foot two, stocky, though he’s never been heavy, until now. I always had a thing for big guys.
“Where was she?” Ben asks, clearly ticked off. I can’t tell if the anger is directed at me or Haley. Probably both of us.
“She was at someone’s house. On Third.”
“In that neighborhood? At three o’clock in the morning? I thought she was grounded. Why the hell was she even out of the house?”
“My guess is that she went out her window again.” She’d done the same thing a couple of weeks ago and strolled back in the back door around noon the following day.
“And exactly why did she sneak out the window, then call you to come get her? Why didn’t you wake me up?”
I want to say I didn’t wake you up because it’s pretty obvious you’re more interested in what fertilizer you’re spreading on lawns this week than your family, but I don’t. I walk over to the bed and sit down. “She went to this house where there was sort of a party and I think things got out of hand.” I look up at him. “I’m just glad she had the sense to call me. That’s good that she still feels like she can call us if she gets into trouble, right?”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re going to have to get into this later. I have to meet with a client. Are you coming to dinner tonight? Mom’s birthday. She’s expecting us all there.”
I close my eyes.
“I already told her the girls were coming. She needs a count. She’s making beef bourguignonne.”
I don’t want to go, of course, but I know I should. It’s time for us to start acting like a family again. Haley and Izzy need that. I know they do. I just don’t know if I can do it.
My eyes are still closed. “She’s cooking for her own birthday? Why aren’t we just going out?” Having to sit with his family and have dinner in a restaurant is torture enough. Being in that house, with them, just seems . . . impossible.
“You know Mom. She doesn’t like to eat out. She likes to eat at home. It’s her birthday, Julia.” His tone is now hostile. “If she wants to cook for us for her birthday, we can let her cook. It won’t kill you to come.”
We’re both silent for a moment and the silence almost hurts more than his stinging tone.
“It might be good for you,” he says more gently. “You know, to get out and do something normal?”
Tears immediately spring in my eyes. “What’s normal now, Ben?”
“You know what I mean.” The anger is gone from his voice now. Now I hear his pain. “We have to find a way to move on. I know things can’t be the s
ame. Be the way they were before. But we have to think about Haley and Izzy. About what they need.”
He’s right. I know he’s right. “Fine. I’ll come,” I say, opening my eyes. Right now I can’t imagine going to Linda’s for dinner, listening to Ben and his brothers laugh and talk and carry on the way they do. Theirs has always been a loud family, something I’ve never been quite comfortable with. I can’t imagine going, I can’t imagine putting a fork of Linda’s beef bourguignonne into my mouth. I can’t imagine making small talk with my sisters-in-law or Jeremy’s new girlfriend. “I’ll be there,” I say.
He walks to the bedroom door. “Six o’clock. I’ll just meet you and the girls there. I’ve got work to do.”
I look up. “I thought we were going to talk about Haley.”
“I told you I have to meet a client.” He stands there for a minute. “You want me to go talk to her? To get to the bottom of this?”
You know what’s at the bottom of this, I want to holler. Your dead daughter is at the bottom of this! But I don’t raise my voice. I don’t say those things. Instead, I just say, “Go meet your client. I’ll try to talk to Haley, but you and I need to sit down and discuss this, Ben. We need to have some kind of plan. And you need to talk to your mother. Obviously Haley shouldn’t have stolen Percocet from her, but where is she keeping it in her house that it’s so accessible?”
He holds up a hand. “I’m not doing this with you right now,” he says. His voice isn’t hostile anymore, or angry. He just sounds so sad.
I stare at the floor. “We’ll see you at six.”
Chapter 10
Izzy
3 years, 8 months
“Izzy! Give Nana a hug.” My grandmother is loud and kind of fakey-sounding. She opens her arms, her gin and tonic in one hand.
I just stand there in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen of the house where my dad grew up, causing a backup. She Who Shall Not Be Named and Mom are behind me. We came in Mom’s car because Dad was already here. Dad’s always here. I got to ride shotgun though, and She Who Shall Not Be Named had to ride in the back. She’s lucky Mom didn’t make her run behind the car.
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