Extra chairs have been pulled up to the table, and five people are seated around it. Five people I know and have loved and trusted until just this very second.
Gigi, Arch, Sabine, Layton, and Shorie.
Each one of them looks at me, face grim, back straight, hands folded.
And now suddenly, the kiss with Ben feels even more horrifying and wrong and shameful than it did a few minutes ago. Because, of course, he knew. He’s a part of this. There are two empty chairs at the table.
I turn and run out of the room.
13
SHORIE
Mom runs out of the kitchen, and pity rises in my throat. She looked so shocked when she saw us. So vulnerable, standing there in her underwear, covering herself with those wadded-up pajamas. I will be okay if I never see my mother look that caught off guard again.
We all sit in silence—Gigi, Arch, Sabine, Layton, and me. Gigi and Arch look like they always do—tan enough to be healthy and dressed like they’re on their way to a cocktail party at the country club. Sabine, with her wavy blonde hair falling out of its messy bun, wears loose-fitting ripped jeans and a yoga top with a crisscross network of straps that reveals her thin, muscled shoulders. Naturally Gigi’s already given her a sniff of dismissal, but she thinks people should wear pearls and gloves to scrub a toilet, and I’m sure Sabine doesn’t give a rip. In fact, she doesn’t seem worried at all. Like always, she seems slightly separate from whatever’s going on, like she’s floating in her own bubble of serenity.
I am not so serene. Confronting Mom is nerve-racking enough, but now I can’t stop thinking about Dad’s missing journal. Where could it be? Why would it even be missing in the first place? I tell myself not to freak out. There’s got to be an explanation. Maybe Mom took it back to his office at Jax, in case she needed to use it there.
Soon enough, Mom’s back in the kitchen, Ben by her side. She’s put the flamingo pajama pants and T-shirt back on and retwisted her scrunchie. But she still looks terrible. Her face is yellowish, and she’s got these puffy purple bags under her eyes. And she looks scared, the way she looked right after Dad died. I don’t like seeing her that way, so I focus on the plaque on the far wall, the one I painted for her birthday a couple of years back.
Put a dent in the universe.
It’s some inspirational bullshit Steve Jobs said once. Or that Pinterest said that he said. Let’s face it, Cookie Monster could’ve said it, for all I know. But the phrase looked cool painted in silver lettering against a starry blue sky. I focus on the silvery swoop of the letter d on the plaque and tell myself to breathe. That we’re going to be done with this soon and Mom will be taken care of and I can find Dad’s March journal.
“What are you doing here?” Mom says. I flick a glance at her but don’t answer. The adults told me to leave the talking to them until they got through the main part.
Ben puts a hand on Mom’s back. “Erin. Let’s sit down. We want to talk to you.”
She pushes away his hand and sits. She looks like she wants to kill us. Then, “Thanks so much for coming,” she announces to the room, like it’s a party or corporate event or something. “Say what you’ve come to say, and then I’m going upstairs to bed. It’s been a long couple of days.”
“We came here to talk to you, Erin,” Arch booms. “And you’re going to do us the courtesy of listening.”
We all stare at him. He’s a quiet man, kind of disconnected, actually. Not exactly what you’d call warm. But, I don’t know. Maybe the situation is just so mega-uncomfortable that he thinks he should get aggressive. That makes me extra nervous, the sound of Arch being loud. The thought of a fight breaking out.
Gigi cuts in. “We know what happened in Auburn last night. We’ve talked to Layton and Shorie, and we know everything.”
Mom looks at me, a question on her face.
“You were drunk,” Gigi says. “And you made a scene at a fraternity house. Shorie was terrified. Here’s her mother, taking a car that doesn’t belong to her, drunkenly barging into a party. Making a fool of herself. Passing out on the ground outside, in her pajamas.”
Mom looks really hard at me. “That’s what I did?” I don’t answer, and our eyes meet. Hers immediately turn red and fill with tears. Then mine do too.
Ben speaks. “We’re worried about your well-being, Erin. We just want to suggest pushing the ‘Pause’ button.”
Mom gives him about the nastiest look I’ve ever seen her give anyone. My heart starts to race uncontrollably.
“At a top-notch rehabilitation facility,” Gigi cuts in. “For people who need help pulling themselves together. Arch heard about it from a friend of his.”
Everybody lets that one pass because we’re all used to my grandmother’s little digs at my mother. The unfortunate truth is my grandmother can be a colossal bitch at times. I just wish she’d throttle it back right now.
“Hidden Sands is a great place to rest,” Sabine says gently. “To regroup.”
“They call it restoration,” Ben says. “For people who are overworked or stressed or have mental health issues. And yes, addictions too.”
“Restoration.” Mom’s voice drips with sarcasm. “How interesting.”
I pipe up. “It’s on an island. There’s a beach. And yoga.”
Mom gazes at Sabine. “I’m impressed with how quickly you were able to find this place. Seeing as how all this just happened last night.”
Sabine folds her hands. No one says anything.
Mom looks around the table. “So how long have you all been talking behind my back? How long have you been plotting to send me away?”
The way she says it, I have the feeling she knows.
“You need help, Erin,” Layton says.
“We’ve been worried about you for a while now,” Sabine says.
Mom zeroes in on me. “I’m sorry, Shor. I’m so sorry for humiliating you like that. I don’t know what happened. But you know me, I barely even drink. You know that.”
I clear my throat. “You didn’t tell me you weren’t driving back home after moving me in. That you and Ben were going to check into a hotel instead.”
The room gets really quiet. Sabine looks down. Gigi emanates grandmotherly disapproval.
“I wanted to hang around, just in case Shorie needed me.” Mom turns to me. “Then later that night, you called—or your roommate called, I don’t remember exactly. I just know whoever it was said you needed to see me.”
“Well, then you should’ve called an Uber,” Gigi says. “Even I know how to call an Uber.” She glances around, like she expects congratulations on living in the present-day world.
“How did you get the keys to Ben’s truck?” I ask.
“He’s always had one of those magnet things under the bed of his truck. That must’ve been how I did it.” Her expression is so vulnerable again. So sad. The contrast with her earlier anger is so pathetic, I almost can’t stand to look at her.
“Erin, it’s okay,” Sabine says. “We really sympathize with what you’re going through. We all miss Perry so much. But you . . . well, it’s different for you. I think maybe we haven’t taken into account how deeply his death affected you. I’ve heard sometimes these things—blackouts and breakdowns—can happen when someone has undergone a trauma like this.”
“So why didn’t anyone call 911?” Mom asks. “Or take me to the hospital?”
Ben interjects. “Well, no one wanted to . . .”
“We thought you were drunk,” I say.
“But I wasn’t. I could’ve been roofied,” Mom says.
“What?” I say. But it seems like I’m the only one who thinks this sounds crazy. Everybody else is just sitting there like it’s no big deal. “Who would want to roofie you?” I demand.
“I don’t know. No one specific. It happens. But if I’d gone to the hospital and had my blood tested, we’d know. Now it’s probably too late.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben says. “Taking you to the hospital didn’t occur
to me. I thought maybe you’d been drinking back at the hotel, in your room. I didn’t want what happened to get out, to embarrass you publicly . . .”
There’s a beat of uncomfortable silence.
“Very exclusive place, Hidden Sands,” Arch interjects, like we haven’t just been talking about someone dosing my mom’s drink when she wasn’t looking. “Only the best food, amenities. Spa services. Golf, if you want it. Tennis. Therapy, which is optional, of course.”
I love Arch, but oh my God, is he clueless.
“Nobody to bother you for a whole month,” he continues. “All the time in the world for you to rest and relax and get back to normal. So you can decide how you want to proceed.”
“How I want to proceed?” Mom echoes, a quizzical look on her face.
“He means if you still want to sell Jax,” Sabine says.
“Me selling Jax has nothing to do with whatever happened last night,” Mom says.
“We think it might,” Ben says.
“How?” She places her palms on the table. “Look, I’m very sorry for involving Shorie—”
Gigi interrupts. “What’s a child supposed to do in a situation like that—you getting drunk and following her? Embarrassing her in front of all her new friends at school. What kind of mother are you? What kind of example—”
“Felicia,” Arch says, and lifts his hand. Miraculously Gigi shuts her mouth.
“Erin,” Layton says. “Whether we sell the company next month or in two years, the issue is still the same. A CEO’s responsibility is to make their team feel safe and at the same time make potential buyers comfortable and confident. I think you’ll agree, this behavior falls short of that.”
I clear my throat. “You have to admit, Mom, you haven’t been . . . yourself since Dad . . .”
“I know,” Mom says slowly. “I realize I’ve been a little erratic. But I swear, it was one glass of wine. But somebody could’ve put something in my glass.” She looks around the table, her eyes pleading. “Please understand how hard this has been. I’m trying—” She looks like she’s about to burst into tears.
Layton puts a hand on Mom’s arm. “Are you currently in contact with any buyers, privately? To do my job properly, we can’t have any secrets. We all deserve to know.”
Mom shakes her head, but now there are tears slipping down her cheeks. She wipes them away and presses the back of her hand to her nose. Sabine passes her a box of tissues.
“You can tell us the truth, Erin,” she says.
“The truth is the most important thing,” Arch says.
“You don’t have to pretend to be strong,” Ben says.
“You have to be strong,” Gigi interjects. “You’re a mother. You’re all Shorie has, and you . . . you act like an unstable—”
“Stop,” I blurt out. “All of you. Can you all just shut up for a second and tell her about Hidden Sands? That’s why we’re here. Not to make her feel like shit!”
Gigi collects herself and swipes at the berry-colored lipstick gathered in the corners of her lips. Ben pushes the brochure toward Mom.
“It’s in the Caribbean,” he says. “A small island called Ile Saint Sigo, just off the coast of Saint Lucia, privately owned by Erdman International. They own boutique hotels all across the world. Hidden Sands is one of the most exclusive, private spa retreats there is. They’ll look after you.”
“Innovative. Individualistic. Intuitive,” Mom reads. “What’s L’Élu?”
“It’s this trek they take everybody on,” Ben says. “Kind of a short-term vision quest challenge the guests have to complete. After you’ve been there for three weeks or so—resting, relaxing, whatever—the final step is the L’Élu. You get a certificate that proves you’ve satisfied Hidden Sands’ requirements, and then you’re released.”
“Released.” Mom nods. “So that’s how it is?”
He and Mom gaze at each other over the brochure, and we all wait. It’s like we’re being locked out while a series of secret communications passes between them. I wonder if it bothers Sabine as much as it bothers me.
Mom flips open the brochure and peruses the shots of the wide white beach, turquoise water, and lush, leafy jungle. The modern spa, its serene lobby featuring an indoor stream running through the center of it. The luxurious monochromatic bedrooms with glass-and-steel walls, and teak-paneled yoga studios. Rich-person rehab, where movie stars and pop singers go to dry out.
“You really don’t have a choice, my dear,” Arch says. “Whatever it is that you took—”
Mom looks around the table. “I would think one of you—somebody—would care about that instead of plotting against me, behind my back. For months. I mean, for God’s sake, maybe I need to go to the doctor. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m sick. Maybe someone did this to me—”
“Enough with that roofie nonsense!”
We all swivel to face Gigi. Her face is slack and pale, and I’ve never seen such hatred shooting out of someone’s eyes. “You almost ruin your daughter’s chance at a college education, and all you can do is think of ways you’re not to blame. It’s not only about last night, Erin. It’s about the way you’ve been ever since he died. You work all the time. You don’t come to dinner when I invite you. You wouldn’t even answer your phone. You’ve shut us all out for months—”
“I am doing the best I can!” Mom shouts back at her.
The air seems to crackle. Everyone’s still, and Mom’s eyes are huge and full of hurt. I’m trembling.
I stand up, almost toppling my chair. Everybody stares at me. “That’s enough, Gigi. Not another word. From any of you.”
The room is quiet, all except for the gurgling of the dishwasher.
“Not another word.” I jut out my chin. “She just needs some rest. To get away from Jax, from all the pressure, from everything for a little while so she can reset. That’s it. That’s all.”
No one answers me. I guess they can tell I’ve had enough. Mom is still staring at me.
“I’ll go to this place . . . to Hidden Sands, if Shorie promises to stay in school,” she says quietly.
“I promise,” I say.
“Who’s going to take Foxy Cat?” Mom says. She sounds resigned.
Layton pipes up. “She’ll be fine at my house if you’re okay with that. I’ve been thinking about getting a cat, so this’ll be good practice.”
Sabine slides a printed-out boarding pass toward Mom. “All the arrangements have been made. Go upstairs. Shower and change, then get some rest. Your flight leaves at seven tomorrow morning.”
“Impressive work, you guys. If only I could get this kind of performance when I need something done at Jax,” Mom says coolly. She brushes her fingertips over the ticket. Her lips are pursed in that super annoying way she has when she’s mad. In a heartbeat, she’s turned into my mother again. Gigi’s pushed back from the table. Arch is shaking Ben’s hand. Sabine and Layton are up too.
“We’ll look after Shorie,” Arch says to Mom in his gruff grandpa voice, and gives her a hug. “Don’t you worry. She’ll be just fine, you can count on that.”
Layton touches my back. “Shorie, Ben said he’d drive you back to Auburn.”
Mom is drifting toward the living room, Ben tracking her every move. Layton glances at Ben and snaps shut her briefcase. A little too forcefully, in my opinion.
“Call me if you need anything, okay?” Layton says to me. She crosses the room to Ben, touches his arm, and leans to whisper something in his ear.
The dishwasher hums in the background. Gigi and I loaded it together while we waited for Mom. She told me about the time she took Dad to a birthday party and the kid’s parents had hired a clown. She said the party was a disaster; most of the children were frightened and cowering behind their mothers’ skirts. Apparently Dad marched right up to the clown and kicked him, right in the shin, bringing him to his knees. The clown had cussed out the birthday boy’s parents, then screeched off in his crappy car, never to be h
eard from again.
My dad, Perry Gaines, everybody’s hero, even at age six. I miss him so much.
Ben approaches me. “Ready to go?”
“Can we drop by Jax first? I left something in Dad’s office.”
“Sure.” He throws a look over his shoulder, and at first, I think he’s checking on Mom, but then I realize Layton’s still standing by the door. I wonder if I missed his signals, and it’s really Layton he’s interested in.
“We should go,” I say in a cold tone. Our eyes meet, and I’m pretty sure he gets my message. Whatever you’re up to, I’m watching.
“Hey, babe?” he calls to Sabine. “We’re heading out.”
Sabine blows me a kiss. “Good luck at school, Shorie.” The light slanting in from the breakfast room window haloes her, making her hair spun gold, her face like a Madonna in a painting. I wonder what she thinks about everything that happened last night. I wonder if she has questions about her husband. I wonder if she knows how he feels, or felt, about Mom. I wonder if she sees the way he is with Layton.
“Thanks,” I say to her, then flash a smile at Ben. “Let’s go.”
14
PERRY’S JOURNAL
Sunday, March 3
TO DO:
REI: tent, 2 sleeping bags, air mattress
e—(funny? hope so, probably not)
Schedule lunch with Dad—$$
Shorie Jax budget
Shorie letter
I know after the excitement and intensity of your Jax assignments, college work may feel boring. But core classes, while not difficult or time consuming, are still important. They provide a structure that’ll be good practice for you to navigate. Constraints are good things, Shor. They actually give freedom. And just think, you can use the extra time to socialize! Ha, ha.
Take a cue from your mom. She works social events like a boss—master of the three-minute small-talk personality assessment. She’s never misjudged an opponent . . . or failed to target an ally, not that I’ve seen. You two are different, but you can learn so much from her, Shor, if you’ll just give her a chance . . .
Until the Day I Die Page 6