“Katie, look,” I say. “It’s my phone!” It’s on the sidewalk behind me, still flipped open, about six feet away.
“I have a feeling it isn’t there anymore,” I add, and when I look to see if Katie laughs at my dumb joke I see that she has her hands covering her face and her shoulders are shaking. This sets me off once more, and we sit again and cry with our arms around each other.
“I can’t believe you weren’t hurt, Jess. I can’t believe how close it was.”
“I know,” I say. “I know.” But I really am having a hard time comprehending it.
“I think I’m not going to do the boat.”
“You have to do the boat.”
“I want to stay here with you.”
“I’m making you do the boat.”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s take more pills,” I say. “We can calm down. Go to sleep.”
“What about Mom?” Katie asks.
“What about her? Do you think she wants pills too?”
“No, no. Shouldn’t she be back now?” I realize that it has gotten dark outside, and Mom isn’t normally the explore-a-strange-city-in-the-nighttime type.
“Call her from your cell.”
I go into the kitchen to get the pills and water, and have a momentary freak-out when I can’t find them in the cupboard above my range hood before remembering that I left them in my bathroom. In the other room, it sounds like Katie got ahold of Mom.
“Yes,” she says. “Yes. Are you okay? He is? Really?” A pause. “No. Yes, I’ve been crying, Mom. No, it wasn’t the news, we’re just kind of emotional. Okay. I love you too. We may be in bed already. See you in a little bit.”
I go back to the living room and hand my sister two of our little magic sleepy pills. She’s shutting down the computer.
“She’s okay?” I ask.
“She’s walking with Patrick. He went and found her.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, but Katie shakes her head.
“That was a gentlemanly thing to do,” she says, and I roll my eyes.
“Maybe,” I say. “He does things like that, sometimes.”
“Do you love him?”
“I don’t know? I did. I think I still do?”
“I know you do,” Katie says. “I think Mom loves him too.” We look at each other and laugh, then we both sniffle and I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and we take turns drinking down our pills with the water that I’ve brought in a big plastic cup.
We go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. I floss and wash my face while Katie pees, then we trade places. I take one of the other pills too, the ones Miss Nakamura left for my back, and Katie says no at first when I offer her one, but she changes her mind and takes it.
We’re side by side in bed when Mom comes home. I can tell that she’s trying to be careful about making noise when she closes the door, but she doesn’t need to be.
“We’re in the bedroom, Mom,” Katie calls to her.
“I’ll be there in just a minute.”
When she comes, she sits on my side of the bed. Mom touches my face, then she puts her hand to Katie’s cheek too.
“My girls.”
“Mom,” Katie whispers.
I can’t say anything. If I try, I know I’ll lose it. My mother, my nervous, insecure, petty mother, has become a mountain of strength. Maybe she’s been like this all along. Has Katie known this? Am I so stupid? All my life I’ve seen her as nothing other than frightened and nagging, and I suddenly hate myself for it.
“Sleep, girls. Sleep. Sleep well.”
Mom leaves, and we listen to her as she gets ready for bed. Water runs; bags are zipped open and shut. Then a new sound, like furniture moving, and Mom calls:
“Jessica honey, can you tell me how this couch opens up?”
I swallow and hope my voice will come. “It’s not a pullout, Mom.”
There’s a silence. “It’s okay,” she finally says. “I can sleep on your chair.”
“Mom?” I say. “Will you come back here with us?” My chin is shaking as I say it.
“There’s room,” Katie adds.
Mom doesn’t answer, but she comes back to the side of my bed. Katie moves over and I work my sore body to the middle of the mattress, so our mother can slide in under the covers beside me. She takes my hand.
“I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Sleep,” she whispers.
25
I’m alone in my bed when I wake up to daylight. My back is a little better, I think, but my stomach feels so upset when I sit up that I think for a moment that I’m going to throw up in my own lap. The queasiness passes, though, and I get myself to my feet and make my way out to the living room where I find Katie sitting at my desk. My phone is up to her ear, and she’s writing something on a legal pad.
“I’m at sixty-six,” Katie says.
“What?”
“Sixty-six messages so far.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. And someone has called pretty much every time I put the phone down. The ringer is off, but watch.” Katie presses a button on the phone and holds it in front of herself, and it’s only about ten seconds before the display lights up and flashes.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Unnamed caller.”
“Don’t answer, then.”
“I haven’t answered any of them.”
I lean forward and look at Katie’s pad, but I’m having a hard time making out what she’s written there. “Has anyone important called?”
“Not sure,” she says. “Is CNN important?”
“Not to me,” I say. “Anyone else?”
“Do you want to just look at the list?”
“Not really. Not yet. Did Dad call?”
Katie laughs. “Twice, actually. From Idaho. And he sounded genuinely concerned. He’ll be calling back sometime.”
“Sometime, right. Where’s Mom?”
“Kitchen.”
I go to my kitchen and see that Mom is sitting at the table with a newspaper and a cup of coffee, the scent of which sets off both a deep craving and a flip in my stomach. Mom looks up at me and smiles.
“You went out and got a newspaper?” I ask.
“Patrick brought it down before he left for work.”
“I think Patrick is trying to impress you,” I say, and I ease myself down in the chair across from her.
“If he’s trying,” Mom says, “it’s working.” She gives me a half smile, then her look turns more serious. “You are lucky to have a friend like him.”
Now I’m wondering just what they talked about on their walk last night.
“Mom,” I say, “our friendship is a little, complicated?”
“Don’t think I don’t understand.” She folds the paper. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better, but I have a stomachache.”
“It’s those pills.” She’s reassembling the paper, section by section, in proper order. “Do you want me to run out and get you something for it?”
“I’d like some ginger ale, I think.”
“I’ll go get some if you just tell me where.”
“I feel like I need to get out of here. Will you walk to the store with me?”
“I will, but are you ready to take a walk like that?”
“It’s just up on the corner. Some air would help.”
“Get yourself dressed, then.”
Mom follows me to the living room, and I make my way into my bedroom to hunt for a pair of jeans and maybe a sweater. I pull up the blinds in my room to try to get an idea of what the weather is like, but looking out at the clear sky and my street down beneath it feels like looking at the surface of some newly discovered planet.
“Katie,” I hear Mom say, “your sister and I are running over to the store to get something for her stomach.” Katie starts to say something, but Mom keeps going. “Will you stay here in case anyone calls?”
“I—”
“Thank
you.”
Miraculously, I find some clean jeans, and I opt for a fleece pullover over the same tank top I slept in last night. I slip sandals onto my feet, since I’m not sure if I could bend down enough to tie any laces and I’m too stubborn to ask anyone else for help. It’s only the MacGyver store, anyway; that’s close enough for sandals.
“Okay, Mom,” I say.
“We’ll be back soon, Katie.” Katie gives me a “what the hell?” look that Mom doesn’t see.
Descending the flights of stairs is not too painful, and once we’re on the sidewalk I’m so surprised and pleased by the warm morning that I pull off my fleece and knot the sleeves around my waist as we start up the hill. Just breathing this outside air has made my stomach feel better already.
“Why didn’t you want Katie to come?” I ask.
“I just wanted a chance to talk. You and me talk.”
“About?” Mom shrugs, and I lead us over to the other side of the street to stay in the sun. “What about your walk with Patrick last night? I’m assuming you want to talk about Patrick.”
“I want to talk about you.”
My street seems a little too clean, and the day seems a little too bright, but I’m drinking in the air and the warmth like they’re some kind of wine.
“What about me?”
“You are my daughter,” Mom says. “My strong, intelligent, beautiful—”
“I think you’re talking about Katie,” I say.
Mom lets out a long sigh. “Jessica, your whole life, ever since you were a little girl, you have been incapable of seeing yourself outside of someone else’s shadow. Usually your sister’s.” She takes my hand as we walk on for a few steps. “I feel like that’s my fault. I feel like it’s because of something I did wrong.”
“Mom—”
“No, no. Jessica, I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. I’m not being…I’m just not. I’m telling you this as a woman who wishes she had done a better job raising her two girls. I wish I could have helped you feel more confident. That’s my fault. I’m telling you this like I would tell one of my own friends. I’m sorry I didn’t help you more that way.”
“Mom, stop it.” I think I’m going to start to cry.
“No. Listen to me. When we were driving here I…I know this is going to sound corny, or silly, but I knew you were okay. I knew it. I mean, we had no idea what was going on, just that, this thing had happened, and you were involved. We couldn’t find out anything more than what Patrick had told us, and that wasn’t much. But I knew you were okay. I just could feel it. I wasn’t worried. No, I mean, I was so worried. But I wasn’t worried that you were gone. I was worried about you feeling alone and scared. I was worried that you needed something to eat. I was worried that you needed someone to take care of you.”
I am crying now, and the only thing I can think is that I wish I had my sunglasses to hide it.
“As it turns out, you have someone who does a very good job of taking care of you. I shouldn’t have worried about that so much. But I didn’t worry you were gone. I knew you weren’t, because you are the strong daughter. You are the smart daughter.”
“But Katie is the smart one,” I manage to say in a wet croak. “Katie is the one who’s going to get a Ph.D.”
“So what, Jessica? So what? Fine. Is that really how you measure it? If that is what you think you really want, and I don’t think it is, go back to school. Go back and finish your master’s and get your Ph.D. You would accomplish it easily. Pick a school and your father will pay for it, as he is obligated and more than willing to do. He would be proud, I’m sure. He might actually give a damn about it. But do you know what it would mean to me?”
“What?”
“Absolutely nothing. I’d still worry about you. I might address you as ‘Dr.’ when I called you, though. Maybe.”
This makes me laugh, and I wipe my nose with the back of my thumb.
“But aside from that? Nothing. I’ll love you and worry about you just the same. And I’ll still feel the same way. You are my strong and smart daughter.” Mom squeezes my hand.
“Is this why you didn’t want Katie to come with us?”
“I’m not telling you anything that Katie doesn’t know herself. But you wouldn’t have listened to me if she was here.”
Something is taped up in the window of Joe’s apartment as we come up to the crest of the hill, and as we get closer I see that it’s a “FOR RENT” sign. Someone has added the word “IMMEDIATELY” with a Magic Marker above the phone number.
“Joe is gone,” I say.
“You knew the person who lived here?” Mom asks, and I nod. “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. He may have gotten evicted.” Mom just shakes her head.
We turn the corner and go back into the shade, and Mom rubs her fingertips on the small of my back. “Do you know the real reason your sister is going to get a Ph.D.?” she asks.
“Because she’s brilliant?”
“She is brilliant. But that’s not why. It’s because she’s scared.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your sister is an academic for the same reason your father was. She’s too afraid to try anything else.”
“Do you really think that’s true?”
“I thought it was true enough to divorce him for it. But your sister, it isn’t ingrained in her yet. There’s hope. This boat trip could be a very good thing for her. Maybe she’ll meet a boy. Maybe she’ll do something crazy. Maybe she’ll act a little bit like her big sister.”
“Mom, I can’t believe I’m hearing you talk like this.”
“Maybe she’ll move to some island in the Pacific for a while. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“She was talking about not going—”
“Yes. This is the part of her where she’s very unlike your father. She wants to take care of you.”
“We’ve always taken care of each other.”
“I know. Can I tell you something?” We’re in front of the MacGyver store now, and I stop and nod. “I was always a little jealous of how close the two of you were when you were kids. Those summers you drank so much of your father’s so-so liquor and watched movies.”
“You knew about that?”
“Jessica, come on. I’m your mother. Did I yell at you when I found you two passed out on that musty couch? It happened more than once. Of course I didn’t yell at you. I tucked you in.”
I feel a flush coming up in my skin, and I love my mother in a way I’ve never felt before.
“I was jealous, Jessica. At that time, me, by myself with two teenaged daughters, how much did I wish I had a friend I could be drunk and giggly with? Do you think I didn’t listen to you girls laughing and laughing down there? I almost came down to join you. More than once.”
“You should have,” I say.
“No, I shouldn’t have. Not at all. That time was for you and your sister. But I wasn’t bitter about it, Jessica. Ever. It made me happy that you had each other. It makes me very happy now.”
“Oh, Mom.”
“I’ve wanted to tell you these things for a long time.”
“Thank you. But Katie—”
“We need to make sure she goes on her trip.”
“We will,” I say.
Inside the store, Nabil is working, as he always is, and today he’s watching a bass fishing tournament underneath the omnipresent gaze of Richard Dean Anderson. Nabil doesn’t look up when we come in, just murmurs, “Hello.” The indifference makes me smile; being ignored tells me that—mostly—everything is okay in the world.
Katie has finished going through the messages when Mom and I get back home, and I can tell by the look on her face that she’s dying to know what Mom and I talked about. The funny thing is, I’ll tell her. Later. For now, though, I just sit down next to her at my desk.
“What was up with that?” Katie whispers as she looks over her shoulder to watch Mom go back to the kitchen.
“She was just
making sure I was okay.”
“Are you okay?”
“Do you think I am?”
“We’re probably on the same level of okay-ness,” she says. “You and I. Do you want to see who called?”
“I don’t think I can deal yet. Did anyone sound really urgent?”
“They all sounded urgent, Jess. You were nearly blown up.”
“Figures,” I say. A conversation with a “survivor” is only inches away from an actual brush with death.
Katie holds up the suddenly illuminated phone.
“MG Communications? Do you want to take it?”
“Yes. Wait. No. I can talk to them later.”
“Okay.” She puts the phone back on the desk. “What did you talk about? Really.”
I’m trying to keep my voice low. “She wants you to go on the boat trip.”
“She’s been all enthusiastic about it. Even before this thing with you.”
“I want you to go too.”
“Why should I go?”
“Honestly? I want you to be safe.”
Katie glances back to the kitchen. “She told you to say that, didn’t she?” Just as she speaks, the display on my phone lights up again. “Unnamed caller,” she says.
“Leave it. And no, she didn’t tell me to say anything. But I might be turning into her? I’m the one who wants you to go to be safe. She wants you to go to be happy.”
“Weird.”
“Is it?”
Katie just stares at the unlit phone.
“What day is your flight?”
“I moved it again while you guys were out. To Friday. That’s the latest I can go, or I miss the boat. Literally.”
“Mom and I will take you there.”
“I don’t know, Jess, I could stay here with you—”
“And do what? Take care of me?”
“Yes.”
“Katie, look at me. I’m fine.” I hold out my arms. “Look. Me, one piece. I’ll probably start work again on Monday.”
Jessica Z Page 24