Julia's Daughters (13 page)

Ben goes back to reading his paper and for a second I'm so angry that I want to rip the paper away from him and scream at him that it's time for him to damned well wake up and pay some attention to me, to our daughters who are still living, and to our family.

Instead, I walk away, grab my mug, and fill it with coffee.

Izzy comes into the kitchen dressed in her school uniform that couldn't have gotten that wrinkled if she'd balled it up and slept on it. I consider suggesting she throw her skirt and top in the dryer and set it on dewrinkle, but I bite my tongue. I don't want our parting words to be of criticism.

“Hey, Dad,” she says.

“Hey, Izz.” He doesn't look up.

She meets my gaze, but she doesn't say
good morning
.

“I'm sorry,” I say softly, going to her. I wrap my arm around her in sort of a side hug. Tears burn the backs of my eyelids, but I don't let myself cry.

Her lip quivers. She doesn't hug me back, but she doesn't pull away, either.

I hear Haley come out of the bathroom. “Leaving in ten minutes,” I shout. I want to get this show on the road. Nothing good can come from lingering. I look down at my youngest. “How about some juice? Waffles? I can pop them in the toaster oven for you.” I think about offering to make her pancakes, but she and Ben need to leave in fifteen minutes or she'll be late for school.

“Just juice.” Izzy pulls away from me.

I get the OJ while she gets a glass.

I'm sipping my coffee when Haley walks into the kitchen, which totally surprises me because I was afraid I was going to have to physically drag her out of the house and into my car. The look on her face tells me she still doesn't want to go, but she looks resigned to going. I exhale with relief. “You pack a bag?”

She's standing near the breakfast table, looking out the window, bouncing that ball that I hate. She's wearing black jeans, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, and black Converse sneakers. Her backpack is on her back. She doesn't answer me.

“Haley—”

“I've got stuff in here.” She sort of shrugs her shoulder, indicating the bag on her back. She couldn't possibly have more than a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and some panties in there.

I bite my tongue. “We should go,” I say quietly, to no one in particular.

Izzy hasn't drunk any of her juice. She's just standing there.

“Walk us out,” I tell Izzy. “Bring my bag?” I point to the green duffel on the floor. I bought it on one of our trips to Maine years ago. It came from the big LL Bean store in Freeport. We bought tents the same day. Ben had this idea we could all go camping. It would become our new family
togetherness
activity. We went twice. I wonder what happened to the tents. In the attic probably.

Ben is still reading his paper and slurping his coffee. I brush my hand against his arm. “Ben, we're going.”

He looks up and meets my gaze. I think he's going to say,
I'll go too. We'll go together
. Instead, he glances in Izzy's direction. “You ready to go?”

Surprisingly, Haley leads the way, bouncing the ball as she walks. I realize now that she's wearing wireless headphones. Listening to music on her iPhone. Here, but not engaged. But she's not fighting me, at least. She must have concluded, at some point in the last twelve hours, that I wasn't kidding about committing her.

And I don't think I was.

We all walk out into the bright morning sun. It's already getting warm out, the way it does in the desert, even this early in the year. Looking out across the bare yards, the yucca and palm trees and how ugly it seems, I wonder why I ever agreed to move here. I wonder how I ended up spending the last twenty years of my life in a place I hate. Suddenly I yearn for the green grasses and sparkling ponds of Maine.

In the driveway, I go to Ben and put out my arms. He hugs me, but it's awkward. His hands don't go in the right place and neither do mine. I lift up on my toes to kiss him and he leans down, but he turns his head so my mouth only brushes the corner of his. “We'll be fine,” I whisper. “Call you tonight.”

He lets me go without reassuring me
everything really will be all right, Julia. Haley will be okay. We'll get through this. Our family will get through it.

Haley makes her way slowly to the car. She doesn't tell Ben or Izzy good-bye. I have no idea why she's pissed at Ben. She gets in the backseat, not the front.

I turn to Izzy. She throws herself against me and I hug her tightly. “I won't be gone long.” I kiss the top of her head. “I'll be back before you know it.” I kiss her temple, then her head again, breathing in the scent of her. “It's going to be okay, Izzy. We're going to be okay.” My last words catch in my throat and my legs feel weak for a moment. So weak that I'm afraid I might drop to my knees taking her with me. Sheer willpower keeps me upright. I have to be strong. I have to do this.

“Please don't leave me, Mom,” Izzy begs. “Please. Please let me go with you. Please, Mom,” she wails.

“Izz,” Ben says quietly from behind us.

“I'll call you tonight.” I extricate myself from the tangle of her arms. “Ben.”

He takes her by the arm.

“Mom,” Izzy sobs, and then she turns to her father.

Thank God he puts his arms around her.

I grab my bag that Izzy has dropped on the cement driveway. I throw it in the backseat beside Haley, who appears to have not witnessed her little sister's breakdown. I get into the driver side and start the car. Tears are running down my cheeks, but I'm okay. I'm
okay.

I back out the drive and pull away without looking at Ben and Izzy. She'll be okay. Izzy's upset, but she'll be okay, I tell myself as I near the end of our street. Two weeks. I'll be gone two weeks. I'll be back in no time.

I stop at the stop sign and look into my rearview mirror.

Izzy has let go of her dad and walked to the end of our driveway. She's just standing there in her wrinkled uniform, her hair a mess, her arms at her sides, her hair bright red in the sunlight. I can tell she's still crying. Sobbing.

I hesitate and then lift my foot off the brake and hit the gas.

Chapter 20

Haley

 

“So, what?” I say, my tone hostile. I pull one earbud out of my ear. “Now we're
not
going?”

I stare at Mom as she starts to make a U-turn in the middle of the intersection at the end of our street. Only she does it so fast that I have to grab the back of the front seat to keep from flying around in the back. A bald guy walking his dog turns to look at us. My ball falls out of my hand and rolls under Mom's seat. I sat behind her on purpose just so I wouldn't have to look at her. I'm so angry. I can't believe she's doing this. I can't believe she's making me do it.

But maybe she's changed her mind. Maybe she finally realized how freakin' crazy a road trip with her crazy daughter would be.

I lean down to find my ball and she hits the gas, throwing me back in the seat. I try to wedge myself in with one hand while I search for the ball with the other. But it takes a minute for her to make the turn and I'm still getting thrown around. It hadn't occurred to me I'd need my seat belt before we left the neighborhood. “Mom! What the hell?” I open and close my hand, searching frantically on the floor. I can't lose the ball. I can't lose it.

We fly by neighbors' houses. Mom's driving over the speed limit, which she never does. I wonder if she's having a breakdown. A breakdown because Izzy's having a meltdown. For a minute there I really thought Mom was going to drive to Maine with me in the backseat. I'll have to remember to thank Izzy for saving my life.

If she ever speaks to me again.

I'm half on the seat, half on the floor, and the other earbud falls out of my ear. I finally feel the little ball under my fingertips. I almost have it when Mom slams on the brakes. My face hits the back of the seat. “Mom!” I holler.

I look around the seat and up to see her glare at me in the rearview mirror. “Stay in the car.”

“What?” I snatch up the ball and scramble up onto the seat to see Izzy through the windshield, still standing there in our driveway. “So we're still going?”

She doesn't answer me.

Dad is a couple of feet behind Izzy. He says something to Mom, but I don't catch what it is.

Mom is out of the car, leaning on the open door. “We're leaving in five minutes, Izzy. Get your stuff.”

Izzy turns and runs faster than I've ever seen the little runt run on those chubby legs of hers. What the hell? Now Izzy's coming, too? That's even worse than riding three thousand miles with Mom. The way Izzy looks at me, it makes me just want to disappear. Or have never existed at all.

This
cannot
be happening. Maybe I should have let her commit me to the nut floor.

Dad says something else to Mom and Mom closes the door hard and walks around the front of the car and up the driveway toward him. I slide to the middle of the backseat to watch them. Mom's back is to me. I can't read Dad's lips because Mom's between him and me now.

I look at the car door, trying to think fast. I'm mad and I'm scared and I'm mad. I can't ride to Maine in this car with her. I certainly can't do it with Izzy. The way she looks at me I feel like I should be wearing a scarlet
M
for Murderer. Caitlin was reading
The Scarlet Letter
in her Lit class. We were talking about it the morning before she died. We both liked the book even though none of our friends did. Remembering that makes me tear up and now I feel worse. Even more scared.

I cannot do this road-trip thing with them.

If I get out, if I run, I can cut through the Stevensons' backyard. Two blocks and I can be out on the main street. There's no way Mom would follow me on foot. She couldn't catch me if she tried. And by the time she gets in the car and gets out of the neighborhood, I'll be long gone. There are plenty of places to hide: fast-food places, a mini-mart.

If I call Todd, he'll come get me. We could head for Alaska. Today. I've already got a bag packed. But actually, there's not much in it. I wish I'd thought of this before. If I'm going to Alaska, I want to take more of my things. Too bad. So sad.

But I've got money and I've got Caitlin's ATM card. There's no way Mom or Dad thought to close her bank account yet. I'm sure she wouldn't mind if I used the money she was saving for Bonnaroo, to go to Alaska. Well, she'd probably
mind
because I'm going with Todd and she hated Todd. She used to tell me he was a loser and that I could do better. That I deserved better. She probably wouldn't say that now, after what I did to her.

I pull my cell out of my sports bra and text Todd.

I watch Mom and Dad through the windshield. He's pissed. I can tell by the way he's standing. Her, too. She's all stiff. But no one is yelling. My family is so civilized. No one ever yells. Except Nana and only when she's really drunk and no one will pay attention to her.

My phone dings.

Poker is his older brother. Another loser. He lives with his
baby mama,
but he's dating this other girl he knows from work. He washes dishes at a diner near the pawnshop all the tourists go to.

He texts right back.

He spells
thought
wrong. It's not a typo. He's the worst speller I've ever texted.

I hold my phone in my hand. I didn't tell Todd my mother was trying to kidnap me and take me to Maine when we were texting yesterday. I don't know why. Do I have some secret desire to ride in the car with my mom for the next week and listen to her cry? Or worse, talk to me in that quiet voice of hers that makes me feel like I'm crazier than I am?

Can you pick me up or not?
I text back, hitting the keyboard hard with my thumb.

Now,
I tell him. After I send it, I add,
Alaska, here we come.

I stare at my phone, waiting for him to answer. If he won't come for me, I guess I'll just run. I don't know what else to do.

My phone dings.

I glance up at Mom and Dad; they're too busy fighting to think about me. I look at the door. I push the ball down deep in my jeans pocket and slide my hand across the seat to get my backpack. I look at them again and put my hand on the door.

Just as I'm about to open the door, Mom turns around and starts for the car. “Izzy!” she hollers. “Let's go, sweetie.” She's saying
sweetie,
but her voice is high-pitched.

Shit.

Chapter 21

Julia

 

I stop halfway to the car, turn around, and hold my hand up to him the way he does to me sometimes. The gesture has always annoyed me. It's as if when we get into a disagreement, he suddenly wants to treat me like he's my father. “I can't do this right now, Ben.”

I turn back to the car and see that Haley's slid over in the backseat. She's leaning against the door. I keep my eye on her as I walk quickly toward her. She looks like she's about to bolt. I point at her and our gazes lock. She looks down.
Caught. Busted
. The little witch was going to get out of the car.

“I'll call you tonight, Ben,” I say, afraid to take my eyes off my captive in the backseat of my Toyota. “Izzy!” I holler again. There's a tightness in my chest, a sense of panic. I feel like I can't breathe. Like if I don't get out of here now . . . I don't know what will happen.

When I reach the driver side, I yank open my door and lean in. “Going somewhere?” I ask my daughter, sounding pretty un-motherlike.

She throws herself back on the seat, her cell phone clutched in her hand.

“I told you. I'll call nine-one-one,” I threaten.

“You wouldn't do it.” Haley says it so softly that I'm not absolutely sure I heard her say it. “You don't have the balls.”

“Try me,” I say just as quietly.

She raises her phone and begins to text. I stand up and look toward the house. It's been at least five minutes. It's probably been ten. Where's Izzy? I'm tempted to go into the house for her, but I'm afraid Haley will run and I doubt Ben would know to go after her.

He's still standing in the driveway, right where I left him. He still has a chance to say he'll come with us. Now that I'm taking Izzy with me, I think he just might do it. Izzy's always been his favorite.
Please, Ben. Come with us. Run away with us. Run away for us.

I look at him, then back at Haley when her phone dings again. “Who are you texting?” I ask her, then glance at the house again.

She doesn't answer.

I look at Ben again.
Please,
I pray. Not to God. I'm not sure I even believe in God anymore. So not to Him, but to . . . the powers of the universe maybe.
Please come with us. Or please, Izzy. Get your ass in the car.

Haley is texting like crazy.

“Who are you texting?” I repeat. She's in the middle of the backseat, clutching her phone like it's a lifeline, which for teens, I suppose it is.

Her phone dings again.

I don't know what gets into me. I reach into the back of my car and snatch the iPhone right out of her hand.

“Give me that,” Haley screeches. When she can't reach it, she moves toward the door.

I slam my door shut and hit the lock button as my seventeen-year-old daughter hurls herself against the car door. I hit the child lock button on my door's console.

Haley tries to open the door several times. “Let me out! Let me out!” The door handle makes a sound every time she releases it. She's shrieking at me like a caged animal. “Give me my phone!”

I clutch it in my hand and look down at it. A text pops up.

At the same moment, the handle of the front passenger door rattles. Then there's a knock on the window. “Mom?”

I look up.

It's Izzy. She's standing at the passenger side door, loaded down with bags. She's got so many, I don't know how she made it down the driveway on her own. And she's got one of the pillows from her bed.

Whenever we took a road trip when our girls were younger, they all used to bring their own pillows. We haven't gone on a road trip together in years. We just got too busy once Haley hit high school.

“Mom?” Izzy's panicking now too. Her voice is muffled, but I can hear it in her high-pitched tone.

What am I doing to my children? What am I doing in this car, about to set off across the country? We're so damaged. All of us. This is insanity.

But I can't stop myself now. It's as if I'm moving forward and nothing can alter my path.

“I'm ready,” Izzy hollers, banging on the door with her knee. “Let me in.”

I start the car, but I'm hesitant to unlock the doors. Then I realize that as long as the child locks are engaged, Haley can't get out the back door. I lower the passenger-side front window a little and duck down so that I can see Izzy's flushed face. I'm still holding Haley's phone. I look down at the phone in my hand. The message is from Todd. Her ex. Todd is the one who doesn't know the difference between
there
and
their.
He's coming for her. He was coming here to take her away from me.

I don't know what I'm going to do with her phone, but I can't give it back to her. She really was going to run.

I lean over again and look at Izzy through the open crack in the window. “Listen carefully. Walk to the back of the car. I'm going to unlock the doors. When you hear it click, open the hatch, put your bags in, and close it. Close it fast.”

“What the hell, Mom?” Haley hollers. “You think I'm going to climb over the freakin' seat?”

I ignore her. Because I think she just might. I would have, when I was her age, had I been in the position she's in right now. I once got out of the car when my stepfather stopped at a red light. I didn't go home for three days, staying with different friends so he wouldn't catch up to me.

Izzy walks to the back of the car.

“Julia? What are you doing?” Ben calls.

I turn to look through the backseat to the hatch. When I see Izzy standing there, I unlock the doors.

Haley's slumped against the back door. Her arms are crossed over her chest. Her eyes are filled with tears. She won't look at me.

“It's going to be all right, Haley,” I say quietly.

She doesn't respond.

Izzy drops things into the back: two zip duffel bags, a laundry bag, a shopping bag, a canvas bag. I can't imagine what she's bringing. I can't imagine how she got it all together in ten minutes. She slams the hatch and runs around to the passenger side.

“I'm ready! I'm ready!” Izzy opens the front door and throws her purple school backpack onto the floor. She's still hugging her pillow to her chest and she's got her favorite cup in her hand. A Tervis cup with her name on it; Caitlin gave it to her for Christmas.

As Izzy drops into the passenger seat and slams the door, a can of cat food falls out of her sweatshirt pocket and rolls onto the floor. I have no idea why she's got cat food in her sweatshirt, but I'm glad she thought to bring the sweatshirt. She's still wearing her school uniform.

Izzy glances into the backseat. “What's going on with her?” she asks, pushing back in her seat and fastening her seat belt.

I glance in the rearview mirror. I still have Haley's iPhone in my hand. “Put your seat belt on,” I tell Haley.

She doesn't answer, but she does as I say.

I put my own seat belt on and look up at the house one last time. Ben's still standing there and he still looks pissed, but he looks sad, too.

But I can't be responsible for everyone's sadness.

I shift the car into gear and make a U-turn.

As I wait to pull out onto the main street, outside of our neighborhood, Haley's phone dings in my hand.

“Give me my phone.” Haley's voice is low and threatening.

I look down at the screen.

Todd again.

There's a break in traffic. I go.

“At least let me text him back,” Haley snaps from the backseat.

I put down the window and hurl her cell phone out. It makes a satisfying sound as it hits the pavement and I imagine someone running over it as I put up my window.

“Radio on or off?” I ask no one in particular.