We turn off the light at ten thirty. All three of us are beat. Izzy falls asleep in five minutes, curled up beside me with Mr. Cat in her arms. But I can’t sleep, even though I’m exhausted. I lie awake, listening to the sound of the air conditioner blowing; we all like to sleep in a chilly room.
I’m hurt that Ben didn’t call. Or at least respond about coming to Maine, in his text. And I’m angry. But I don’t know what to do with any of it.
I roll onto my side to face the other bed. My eyes adjust to the darkness and I see Haley, lying in the middle of the bed, her hands above her head. She isn’t asleep, either.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask, keeping my voice low so I don’t wake Izzy.
I see Haley shrug. “I don’t know.”
I watch her for a moment: my beautiful, smart, messed-up kid, and my heart aches for her. For her pain that I can’t take away. “I was thinking about your dad,” I tell her.
On impulse, I get up and cross the two feet between our beds. I slide under the sheet with her before she can protest. “He really hurt my feelings today.”
She scoots over a little. Not too far, just far enough so we won’t accidentally touch, I imagine. “He’s not coming to Maine,” she says, her voice flat. She sounds disappointed.
“I don’t know. I think he needs to.” I turn my head to look at her. “Don’t you?”
She lowers her arms and I see she’s holding the rubber ball. She’s been wearing the same long-sleeve black T-shirt since we left; I can’t see the bandages on her arm. But I know they’re there and I know what’s under them.
“Dad’s Dad,” Haley says quietly. “You can’t expect anything more of him than he’s ever been.”
I roll onto my side, sliding my hands under my head. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” She continues to stare at the ceiling, moving the fingers of one hand, rolling the ball. “Just that . . . you’re not going to change him. We’re not going to change him. It’s not that I think he doesn’t love us, but . . .” She’s quiet for a second. Thinking. “A person can only give what they have. You know?”
I don’t know what she’s talking about. Not exactly. But I do get that in her own way, she’s trying to make me feel better, while not laying blame on her father.
I roll onto my back again and lie there beside Haley for a couple of minutes, saying nothing. I can feel her slight movement, rolling the ball in her fingers. I hear Izzy’s steady breathing. Mr. Cat is purring. It’s a soothing sound and I finally start to feel sleepy. “Tell me about the ball,” I say.
“What do you mean?” She sounds defensive. “It’s just a stupid ball.”
“A stupid pink ball? I remember it, Haley,” I say gently. “I remember Caitlin bouncing it the week she died. At the pizza place. It was Caitlin’s ball.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Did Caitlin give you the ball? Is that why you’re carrying it around? Because if it’s—”
“She didn’t give it to me,” she interrupts in a whisper. “I stole it out of her backpack. I did it because she was driving me crazy bouncing it and she really liked it. Then—” Her voice becomes filled with emotion.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the floodgates that threaten.
“She asked me if I’d seen it, but I—” She is silent for a moment. “I didn’t get the chance to give it back.”
I try to think of something to say to make her feel better, something like “I’m sure Caitlin didn’t mind” or “I think she would have wanted you to have it,” but I don’t. I get the feeling that anything I say will seem as if I’m trying to negate her feelings. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last two months, it’s that you can’t help how you feel. So I’m quiet with her for a while, then I say, “Do you think Izzy is okay?”
“What do you mean?” Her voice is normal again.
“I’m beginning to worry. She seems to be dealing with Caitlin’s death okay, but two months is a long time to go without talking to you.” I raise my hand and rest my arm across my forehead. “I wonder if it was a mistake not to take her to counseling after Caitlin died.”
“She’ll talk to me when she’s ready.”
I hesitate, not sure if I should say what I’m thinking, but I plunge ahead. “Have you told her how sorry you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“I—” I seriously consider backtracking. But I’m this far into it now and Haley’s a smart cookie. There’s no way she doesn’t know where this is going. “Have you told her you’re sorry about what happened?”
“How could I not be sorry? I think about it every day, every hour, every minute. I think about all the ways I could have changed what happened. If I’d just driven home a different way. If I’d stopped for a Gatorade. If I’d—”
Her voice catches in her throat and I reach across the bed and find her hand with mine. She’s squeezing the ball, so I just close my hand over her fist. “It’s just a thought,” I say.
And then we drift off to sleep.
Chapter 34
Izzy
Day 4 of the best adventure of my life
When I wake up, Mom’s not in bed with me. I figure she’s in the bathroom, but when I push Mr. Cat off me and roll over, I see her in bed with She Who Shall Not Be Named. When I see her over there instead of here, I’m a little bit jealous. It’s been really fun sleeping together, having her here in bed with me so I can just roll over and touch her, if I want. I guess it’s only fair that the other one should have a turn too. But hasn’t she had a lot more turns than me already? Since she’s almost eighteen?
Most people think that the youngest kid in the family is the spoiled one. People talk about how parents give the youngest one whatever they want, how they fawn over them and stuff. Not been my experience. Maybe I was the favorite when I was little. I don’t remember when I was a baby. But once She Who Shall Not Be Named went to high school? Everything changed. That’s when I became invisible to Mom.
Three years, eight months ago.
I know. I was six; I was in the first grade. How could I remember that? I have a really good memory. Especially about this.
I remember it clearly. The oldest one went to high school and all of a sudden Mom was crazy busy with stuff going on in She Who Shall Not Be Named’s life: parents’ council, homecoming float chairman, dance chaperone, you name it. And Caitlin was really getting into cheer by then, so Mom was busy on weekends with her, hauling her all over the state to competitions, doing her hair, helping make cheer outfits with other moms.
It’s not like suddenly everyone was mean to me, but when my sisters hit high school and became super important, I just kind of faded into the background. Dad started disappearing around the same time. I mean, he was still here, but . . . he didn’t seem as interested in me as he’d once been. I guess if I’m really fair, if I’m objective (I spelled it wrong on the last quiz. No k before the t), Dad didn’t just start forgetting about me. He started to forget about all of us. I guess he just got tired of us.
Mr. Cat climbs back on top of me and starts to purr. What is it with him wanting to sit on my chest all the time? When I grow boobs, which should be any day now, where does he think he’s going to sit?
I scratch his head and glance at Mom and She Who Shall Not Be Named. Something’s going on with them. Or something went on. The night before last. In the drugstore, of all places. She Who Shall Not Be Named went in and didn’t come out. Then Mom went in. Then they both came out looking like they’d been crying. I asked Mom yesterday what happened, but she just shook her head and told me that if I wanted to listen to the radio for a little while, I could. Mostly we haven’t been able to listen to it since we left home because we’re supposed to be working through things. Or at least the one cutting herself with sharp objects for fun is.
I hear movement from the other bed and I look over to see Mom opening her eyes. She smiles when she sees me and it makes me feel so good, the w
ay she looks at me, that it almost makes up for her sleeping with the crazy girl instead of me.
“Morning.” Her voice is soft and floaty.
She looks pretty this morning. And not sad. I’ve noticed the last couple of mornings that when she wakes up, she doesn’t look as sad as she does later in the day. It’s like, as the hours pass, the more dead Caitlin is. Which kind of makes sense because when I first wake up in the morning, I sometimes forget that she’s pushing up daisies.
“Sleep okay?” Mom asks me, still only half awake.
I nod.
“Good.” She stretches and then pushes her hair back and turns her head to look at me. “Why don’t you hop in the shower before Haley gets up?”
I groan really dramatically. I don’t like it that Mom thinks I need to be told to take a shower. I’m old enough to know if I need a shower. My hair’s hardly even dirty. And when I wash it, it gets all frizzy. And the only thing worse than red hair is frizzy red hair.
“Go on,” she says.
And because I can’t just flat out say no the way Haley does, I get up to head for the bathroom.
“Put him in his kennel,” she tells me, meaning Mr. Cat.
“He’s fine. He’s too old to run away.”
A few minutes later, I’m in the shower, scrubbing my pits with a little bar of soap I got from a basket on the sink, when the bathroom door opens. The glass is pretty fogged up, but I can see that it’s She Who Shall Not Be Named. She’s wearing her stupid black T-shirt and my Little Mermaid pants.
I almost yell, Do you mind? but I catch myself. I’m not talking to her. Not ever again. She wasted my sister. In Caitlin’s memory, it’s the least I can do.
I turn around so if she can see through the steamed-up glass of the shower stall, she’ll see my bare butt and get the hint.
I hear the toilet lid go up. I can’t believe she’s got the nerve to pee while I’m taking a shower.
“Mom says to move along. She wants to get on the road.”
I hear her peeing, which is totally gross.
“You hear me, pipsqueak?” She flushes.
But she doesn’t leave the bathroom and finally I can’t stand it and I turn around. The warm water hits my back. What? I want to holler at her. What do you want? But I just look at her through the steamy glass, one hand covering my nipples and the other my lady parts. I know she used to change my diaper and stuff, but I have a right to privacy, now that I’m almost a teenager. Don’t I?
“Izzy.” She’s still standing there, her hands at her sides. She’s staring at the floor. “Izzy, I just wanted to tell you . . .” She stops.
I look at her through the steam that makes her seem all blurry. She sounds like she’s going to cry and a lump comes up in my throat.
“Never mind,” she says. “It doesn’t matter.”
And then she leaves.
Then Mom comes in. And pees.
“Is this a train station?” I holler from inside the shower.
“The phrase is, Is this Grand Central?” She flushes. “I’m going to run downstairs and get coffee and talk to someone at the front desk.” I hear her messing around at the sink. Then water comes on. “I don’t think they gave me my discount.” Her words are garbled. She’s brushing her teeth. “Move along. I put the cat litter box in a bag in the trash. We’ll open a new one in the car. Bring Mr. Cat down when you come. I’m not going to come back up. I want to get on the road.” She shuts off the water.
I don’t say anything.
“You hear me, Izzy?”
“I hear you. I left my clothes on the end of the bed. Can you bring them in here?”
“Sure.”
I hear her leave and then come back. “Out of the shower, Izzy. For a girl who doesn’t like to shower, you sure like the shower.”
She closes the door and finally I’m alone. Next time I take a shower, I’m definitely locking the door.
I get out and wrap my hair up in one towel and I wrap the other one around my body. I take a washcloth and wipe at the steamy mirror. I look different with my hair up in the towel. Older. And a little bit like Caitlin. It makes me smile.
“See you downstairs,” I hear Mom call from the other side of the door. Then I hear the door to the hall close. Great, now I’m stuck here with She Who Shall Not Be Named, who will probably talk to me like she thinks I’m going to talk back.
I dry off and put on my clothes, which is kind of hard to do because the room is so steamy that I can’t get completely dry. But there’s no way I’m dressing out in the room with her.
I dry my hair a little bit with the hair dryer attached to the wall and then I brush my teeth, grab my nightclothes, and go into the room. She Who Shall Not Be Named is sitting on her bed, watching the news. She’s dressed; her backpack is sitting next to her on the bed. I turn my back to her and stick my stuff in my bag. I get the little kennel we bought for Mr. Cat and I put it on the bed and then I get him and put him in it. He hates getting in it and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to go in a cage either.
“It’s cold in Maine still,” She Who Shall Not Be Named says. “It went down to thirty-five last night. We’re going to freeze our butts off.”
I close the door on the kennel kind of hard and it startles Mr. Cat and he jumps inside. Without saying anything, I grab the kennel and my bag and go to the door. There’s no way I’m staying here alone with her if I don’t have to. The hotel room door closes behind me before I hear her holler, “I guess that means you’re ready to go.”
I hear the elevator ding which means it’s going to open and I run for it. I don’t want to ride in the elevator with She Who Shall Not Be Named. By the time I get there, people have stepped off and the door is starting to close, but I make it just in time. As I turn to face the doors, they close and I smile.
Guess she can catch the next one.
I see Mom standing at the front desk in the lobby, but I keep walking. No cats allowed in the hotel. I don’t want to get caught and have Mom get in trouble. There’s no way they’re giving her the discount if they know Mr. Cat stayed last night.
It’s not until I get to the car in the parking lot that I realize what a dunce I am. I don’t have the key to the car. I put my bag and then the kennel down on the pavement. I see a piece of paper stuck under the wiper on the windshield so I walk around to get it. An advertisement for two pizzas for ten dollars.
A car goes by me in the parking lot and I check out the people inside; there’s a mom and a dad and a little boy and an old grandpa. I never had a grandpa. Dad’s and Mom’s dads are dead. Mom didn’t know the first one. Her stepdad died before I was born, which I guess isn’t a big deal since apparently no one liked him, not even my grandmother.
I walk around to the back of the car again. Still no Mom, but I see She Who Shall Not Be Named coming out the front door. I wonder if she has the key.
Another car goes by. Just a man in a suit. No kids. No grandpa.
I glance down at Mr. Cat’s kennel.
I’m so shocked that the paper drifts out of my hand.
The door to the kennel is open and Mr. Cat is gone.
I feel like I can’t breathe and my eyes fill up with tears.
I look around and I don’t see him. Then I see something dart out from under a car and cut across the space between this row and the next row of cars. It’s something furry. A tabby cat!
Before I can think, I turn toward the hotel and scream, “Haley!”
Chapter 35
Haley
53 days, 10 hours
I hear Izzy scream and my head snaps in the direction of her voice. She’s standing at the car hollering for me and I get this weird chill that scares the shit out of me. I drop my backpack on the sidewalk and run toward her, darting in front of a car. The car toots its horn; I ignore it and keep running.
“Izzy!” I don’t know what’s wrong. She’s standing there so she can’t be hurt. “Izzy?” Is it Mom? It can’t be Mom. I just saw her in the lobb
y.
“Haley! Help me! Mr. Cat got away!” Izzy shrieks, shaking her hand.
I cut between two rows of cars in the hotel parking lot. I’m still running toward her. It seems like it’s taking forever to get to her. “Do you see him?”
“He got out.” She’s blubbering now. I can hardly understand her. “He got out of his kennel! I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know how the door opened! I put him on the ground and—”
I reach out to her and put out both of my hands to rest them on her shoulders. I look right into her eyes. “Did you see which way he went?” I ask her, calmly, even though my heart is pounding and I’m breathless from running. I was afraid she was hurt. It’s just the cat. You can replace a cat. You can’t replace a sister.
“I—I don’t know. That way!” She points in the direction of the highway that has three lanes running in each direction.
I look, but I don’t see him. I just see cars and the busy traffic beyond the parking lot, out on the highway. “You’re sure he went that way?”
She rubs at her runny nose with the back of her hand. “I think he went under that white van.” She points. “But I don’t know! I don’t know. He disappeared.”
I turn to the van she’s pointing to. It’s in the next row, closer to the street. “Okay. You go that way.” I point. “I’ll go this way.”
She takes off.
“Don’t run! You might scare him!”
She slows down, but she’s still trotting.
I move quickly, cutting between the rows, a couple of cars down from the van she pointed out. I keep dropping down to the pavement and looking under the cars. There are cars moving everywhere in the parking lot. People are checking out of their rooms, heading to their destinations. I wonder what will get Mr. Cat first, a car in the parking lot or one on the highway.
I can’t believe Izzy didn’t latch the kennel.
I drop to my knees and look in every direction. No cat. No damned cat. I get up and dart between two more cars.
How could she have not latched the door on the kennel? She loves that cat. Oh, God, she’ll be devastated if he gets killed in this parking lot. I’m still not running, but I move faster. “Do you see him?” I holler to her. “I don’t see him!”
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