Julia's Daughters (16 page)

“Don't you remember, we saw people in the canyon riding horses and you wanted to know why we were walking. You wanted to ride and I took you to see the horses,” Haley tells Izzy. “Mom had packed apple slices and we asked the guide and he let you feed them to his horse.”

Izzy balances the iPad on her lap. “I thought it would be neat to see. The elevation is a lot higher than Zion National Park. Interstate Fifteen goes right past Zion. I just thought we could take the long way and go through Bryce Canyon instead.”

“I didn't say I didn't want to go that way, Izzy.” Haley leans forward, one hand on my seat and one on Izzy's. “I was just saying you've been there. You just don't remember.”

“I think it would be cool to see it,” Izzy says quietly. “You can see the natural bridge from the road. There's like a place to park your car so you can take pictures and stuff, but we don't have to do that. We could just drive by. I think the road hooks back up with the interstate.” She's on Google Maps now, checking the route.

I take a sip of my Icee that's melted. It's not nearly as good as it was. “I don't know. I was hoping to make Grand Junction today. See how far we'd be going out of our way. I was just going to stay on Fifteen and then we'll be on Seventy at some point.”

“We're going to
Grand Junction?
” Haley says from the backseat. “As in
Colorado?
”

I shrug. “It's a decent-size town. Five-hour drive from here, probably. I figured we'd be able to find a hotel there easily.”

Haley slumps against the backseat. “I didn't think we were going that far today.”

“Bryce Canyon is kind of out of the way,” Izzy says. “Let me see how far.”

Haley rattles the bag of nuts. “Can I see the iPad when you're done?”

Something about her tone of voice seems off and I glance in the mirror.

Her gaze meets mine. “
What?
I was going to see what hotels are in Grand Junction. Maybe find a place to eat nearby.”

“Tell me how far off Fifteen Bryce Canyon is,” I tell Izzy. I glance in the mirror at Haley again. She has her fingertips pressed to her forearm. I've seen her do it a couple of times since we left the house. It seems to be some sort of comfort thing. I hope she's not wanting to cut herself. “Then let Haley use the iPad for a couple of minutes.”

Chapter 26

Haley

 

Izzy fiddles with the iPad for at least half an hour before she passes it to me. She's such a little twit wit. And she only gives it to me then because I ask for it three times and Mom tells her to give it to me when we get back in the car after we make a pit stop in St. George's. Mom had to pee. I told her she needed to be careful with those big gulp Icees. She kind of laughed. She used to laugh at stuff I said all the time. I can be pretty funny. At least Caitlin thought I was.

Back in the car, Mom's talking to Izzy about some project for Izzy's social studies class. Izzy wants to make an Egyptian stone tablet and Mom suggests getting wallboard from the hardware store. It's an old trick; Caitlin and I both did it. I sit back against the seat, trying to look all casual so Mom doesn't suspect why I really want the iPad. I'm relieved to find that Caitlin has iMes-sage. I text Todd.

Colorado
, I add, just because I pretty much already know his geography skills suck.

He doesn't answer right away so while I'm waiting, I check out hotels in Grand Junction. Mom seems to have relaxed a little, now that she thinks I'm all in for her joyride and that a few days in a RAV4 will heal me.

“Ummm, there's the usuals,” I say. “Days Inn, La Quinta. You get Marriott points, right, Mom?”

I see her in the rearview mirror; she nods. “See what's available for around a hundred dollars. Two double beds.”

“I'm not sleeping with her,” Izzy declares. She says
her
like I have the plague.

Mom sighs. “Don't make me wish I'd left you home. You can sleep with me.”

I text Todd again.

“Looks like there's a couple of Marriott properties: Springfield Inn, Courtyard,” I name. To myself I'm saying,
Come on, Todd, come on
.

“Can you make a reservation online?” Mom asks.

“Yup. Let me see what's available.”

A message pops up. Luckily, I thought to mute the iPad.

Just over the Utah border. Map it,
I text quickly.
On your way?

I know he's at least an hour behind us. Farther than that, probably, but that's okay. That'll give me time to get out of the hotel room. I can just wait until Mom and Izzy are asleep and slip out and I'm free. By the time Mom realizes I'm gone, Todd and I will be headed for Canada. I figure we'll take the Alcan Highway until we hit the end of it in Alaska and then we'll just decide which direction to go, once Todd knows where his brother is. I just hope Todd remembered his passport. Mine's in my backpack with the cash I scraped together from my room and Caitlin's. Her ATM card is in there too.

“Hmmm,” I say, switching screens. “A couple of places near the airport, but it looks like the prices are better if we stay a little farther out.” I look up at Mom because I know she's watching, trying to judge just how nutty I am. If I'm going to get away with this, if I'm going to get away from her, I have to make her think I'm okay. But not
too
okay or she'll suspect something. That's why I've been careful not to be too nice to Izzy. Because I've always picked on her. It's what big sisters do.

“Marriott Courtyards are nice.” Mom sips from a bottle of water. We all got waters when we stopped. “See if any of them have a continental breakfast.”

“I like the places where they let you make your own waffles,” Izzy puts in. “You spin the waffle iron.” She demonstrates.

Come on, Todd. Answer me,
I think. While I'm checking out the breakfast information for a Marriott Courtyard in Grand Junction, Nowhere, he finally texts back.

I close my eyes for a second, wondering how he could misspell Colorado when he's got autocorrect on his freaking phone.

Only 6 or 7 hrs from Vegas
, I respond.
See you tonight. Don't text me back. Will send you address where I am soon as I can.

I wait and when he doesn't answer me, I text
OKAY???

I wait.

I exhale with relief, rub my forearm, and delete the messages. I go back to the Marriott pages to find us a hotel room. As I'm going through the screens, I hear something that sounds like a cat. I glance up, thinking maybe Mom or Izzy have turned on the radio. I know. Like there's a cat station.

Neither has moved.

I check prices at the Courtyard and then go into the “Reserve a Room” page. “You have an online account, Mom?”

“My e-mail,” she says.

I hear the cat sound again. Definitely a meow. I wonder if it's some kind of pop-up on the iPad. I showed Caitlin how to keep those things off her computer, but maybe she didn't know to block them on her iPad. Just as I'm checking to make sure nothing else is open, Mom says, “What was that?”

Chapter 27

Julia

 

“What was that sound?” I ask.

“Sound?” Izzy freezes, her hand stuffed in her Doritos bag.

I should tell her to put the chips away. Of course, if I were a better mother, we would have gotten some sort of lunch when we stopped to use the bathroom. I have no idea where we can get food between here and Grand Junction. I wonder if we go to Bryce Canyon if the museum has some sort of snack bar or something. I should have packed a cooler; I used to be that mom.

“Are you watching a video on the iPad, Haley?” I ask, glancing at her in the rearview.

I thought it would be okay for her to use it to research hotels for tonight. I want her to feel like she's still a part of this family, like we need her. But I'm not letting her watch movies in the backseat. That would defeat the purpose of locking her up in the car with me for five days so we can talk.

“No, Mom, I'm not watching cat videos.”

So she heard it too.

I hear it again. It's definitely a cat. And suddenly I realize
I know that sound
. “Isobel Mae,” I say sharply. There are no cars to be seen in either direction and I pull over.

A meow comes from the back of my car. Mr. Cat's plaintive meow.

“Mom tells you to pack a bag and you think that means bring the
cat?
” Haley is half-laughing, half-mocking. “You brought your cat with you in the car to drive to
Maine?
”

Izzy's still holding the chip bag. Now she's staring at me and looking exceedingly guilty. She has crumbs at the corners of her mouth. “I didn't want to leave him.”

Haley unbuckles and leans over the backseat as soon as the car comes to a stop on the shoulder.

“Leave him alone,” Izzy hollers, scrambling to unbuckle her seat belt.

“Where is he?” Haley gets up on her knees and begins to pull through the bags in the back. “Christ, you put him in a duffel bag?”

Last time we stopped, Haley threw my bag over the seat. I guess it's a miracle Mr. Cat wasn't hurt. I can't believe he's been quiet all this time.

The cat starts meowing again. I hear a bag being unzipped.

“You put him in a bag?
Izzy,
he could have suffocated.”

Izzy starts to cry. “He couldn't suffocate. I put a tissue box on each end of the bag and there's mesh so he could breathe.”

I stare at my youngest daughter. I can't believe she brought the cat. A cat!

Mr. Cat hollers and flies over the seat to land next to Haley. He's pretty agile for his age.

“And you're worried about
my
mental status?” Haley scoffs.

I watch, still not quite believing this has happened, as the cat hops from the back seat to the console between the two front seats and then sits down and looks at Izzy.

“Oh, kitty, kitty, Mr. Cat. Are you okay?” Izzy croons. “You were supposed to stay quiet. You promised me if I brought you, you'd be quiet.” She strokes his back.

Mr. Cat, a tabby, isn't big. Never was, but in his old age, he seems to be shrinking. He weighs less than five pounds. Luckily, he looks no worse for wear for his ride in the duffel bag. He starts to purr.

I give my daughter my best stern-mother look. “We can't drive across the country with a cat, Izzy.”

“Why not?” As she pets him, she leaves Doritos dust on his ratty fur. “He'll be good. Won't you?” she asks the cat. She peers up at me. “Please, Mom? You won't even know he's in the car.”

“Except for the meowing.” Haley from the backseat. “And what happens when he has to pee and poop? That's going to smell great in here.”

I exhale and plant both hands on the steering wheel, closing my eyes for a second. We're two and a half hours from the house. We've got roughly forty hours of driving to go. This is a hell of a way to start out.

Maybe Ben's right. Maybe I can't do this.

But how could I have anticipated this problem? Who would check to be sure their ten-year-old hadn't packed a cat. I mean
really
.
A cat?

Izzy reaches for Mr. Cat, knocks the bag off her lap, and spills Doritos onto the floor of my new car. Well, it's not exactly new now, but it seems like it. It's like I've lost the last two months of my life.

I grab my phone and glance up in the rearview mirror. A car flies by us. We're far enough off the road that I think we're safe, though. “Stay in the car.
Both
of you,” I add sharply. “I'm going to call your father.”

“Mom, please,” Izzy begs. “Can't he go with us? I promise I'll take care of him. I promise he won't be a problem. You won't even know he's with us.”

“What are you going to do?” Haley asks. “We should probably go home, shouldn't we?”

“We're not going home. Stay in the car.” I get out, taking care the cat doesn't try to escape. I have to hold back not to slam the door. I'm not even that angry with Izzy, just with the situation. I see how it makes sense to her, bringing the cat. He means the world to her and her world is a mess. That old cat is her security blanket.

That doesn't mean I'm taking him to Maine with me.

I walk around the car and stand out of earshot. Everything is dry and stark and brown around me. As far as I can see on both sides of the highway is barren desert. I should probably keep my eye out for snakes. I stare at the baked ground and I call Ben. He doesn't pick up.

Of course he doesn't.

I leave a message. “Could you call me back? Right away?” I hesitate. I don't want him to worry that we've been in an accident or I've let Haley get away from me. “We're fine,” I add. “It's just that . . . Izzy brought Mr. Cat. I didn't know he was in the car. Call me.”

I disconnect. I feel like I should call someone else, but who? Not Laney. She's in class, besides being in Maine. I stand there thinking for a minute and I realize I don't have anyone to call. How pathetic is that?

I haven't had a good friend in Vegas since my dear friend Maureen died of leukemia four years ago. I just never connected with anyone else the way I connected with her. And honestly, I haven't made the effort with anyone. I've been so busy with the girls and working part-time and volunteering and . . . just life.

I guess I could call someone in Ben's family, but if I admit I need someone to come get a cat, I'll never hear the end of it. And I don't know if Ben told them I was driving to Maine with the girls. I'm not getting into it with Linda or Ben's brothers.

I can't believe I don't have anyone else to call.

Before Caitlin died, I had lots of acquaintances who weren't quite friends but their phone numbers are in my cell. People I spent time with because of the activities our children were involved with. A lot of people came to the memorial service and dropped off food at the house. I still have unidentifiable casseroles in the freezer. People called. They stopped by, but only right in the beginning. I can't remember the last time that one of those people called to see how we were. Maybe that's my fault. I didn't call anyone back. I didn't even answer the door.

I stand there, phone in my hand, staring at the car. I can see that Haley is talking, but I can't hear what she's saying. Izzy is clearly ignoring her. I don't know what I'm going to do about Izzy. I should have thought this through better. I shouldn't have brought her with me, with or without the cat.

But even in a do-over, if I'm honest with myself, I know I wouldn't leave her home with Ben. I realize now that she needs to be with me, even as broken as I am. Izzy needs her mother. And so does Haley.

I fight a lump that rises in my throat and comes out in a little sob. I turn away from the car and face the desert. “Oh, Caitlin,” I murmur.

I turn back to look at the car again. Haley's given up trying to talk to Izzy. She's looking at the iPad. Izzy has Mr. Cat on her lap. She's petting him and he's rubbing against her.

I call Ben again. He still doesn't answer. I don't leave a message this time.

It's hot out here. Not hot like it will be in a month or two, but hot enough. Eighty degrees, probably. I should get back in the car. My skin is so pale and pasty that I'll burn just standing here.

But instead of getting back in the car, I pace.

What do I do now? Obviously, I can't take a cat cross-country. He has to go back. Do I just start driving toward Vegas and hope Ben calls me back and I can get him to meet me somewhere? How many hours will that put us behind?

It's not the miles I care about. It's that I don't want to lose the little bit that I've accomplished today with Haley. Just the fact that she's actually talking to me. A little. If we head back to Vegas, will that change the momentum? Will she get it in her head that we can just go home and forget this whole thing?

I don't want to turn around. I feel like I can't. Maybe that's silly. Maybe this is about Ben, and me wanting to prove something to him. Which is
certainly
ridiculous. But it's the principle of the thing.

I'm not turning around.

So, what? I sit here? Wait for Ben to drive all the way here? That doesn't make any sense, either. Maybe we could go on to Bryce Canyon. I think I recall a lodge being there. Maybe Ben could join us. Maybe a night together, the four of us, and he'll decide to go with us to Maine.

I sigh, feeling like I want to curl up in a ball and cry again. Ben's not going to come spend the night with us. He's not going to change his mind and get on board, figuratively or otherwise. I walk slowly to the car. Get in.

“Is Dad coming for the cat?” Haley asks, not looking up from the iPad.

I close my door and turn my face to the vent and let it blast cold air across my cheeks. I close my eyes, then open them, turning to Izzy. “You should have asked me about the cat.”

“You would have said no,” she answers quietly. There are no tears now, just stubbornness on her face and in her body language.

Her response surprises me. I expected her to argue or make excuses, but I didn't expect flat-out defiance. I can't decide if the idea pleases me or upsets me. I like the idea that she's brave enough to defy me. It's proof of her strength. It tells me she can get through this terrible tragedy that's befallen our family. It tells me Izzy will be okay. But the idea that she'd bring the cat with her, knowing it would be against my wishes, pisses me off, too.

“We're not going to Bryce Canyon.” I take off my sunglasses to wipe a smudge on the right lens with the hem of my T-shirt.

Izzy wraps her arms protectively around her cat.

“So we're going home?” Haley asks from the back.

Clearly her vote.

I slip on my sunglasses, check my mirrors, put the car into drive, and pull out onto the highway. Headed north.

“What? So first her and now her cat?” Haley's loud, her tone aggressive. “I thought this was supposed to be about me.”

I think for a moment before I respond. “It's about all of us. Go ahead and book the hotel room in Grand Junction. And see where there's a Walmart or a Target or something. Mr. Cat is going to need some food.”

“I brought cat food,” Izzy pipes up.

It's not until she says it that I remember the can of food falling out of her sweatshirt pocket back at the house. How could I be so dumb as to have not connected the dots?

Because once again, who would have suspected their daughter would smuggle a cat into the car for a cross-country road trip?

“He needs a litter box,” I say.

“Unbelievable,” Haley complains from the backseat. “We're really not taking the cat home?”

From beside me, Izzy, sounding quite pleased with herself, says, “Mr. Cat's been wanting to see Maine.”

 

Laney laughs on the other end of my phone.

“It's not funny,” I tell her, but I'm laughing too. What's the old saying? It's better to laugh than to cry. I've already cried enough for this lifetime.

A man comes out of the elevator and eyes me as he goes in the opposite direction, rolling a suitcase behind him. I'm sitting on the floor in the hallway, leaning against our hotel room door. When Haley got in the shower, I left Izzy and Mr. Cat (smuggled into the Marriott) watching TV and slipped out to call Laney. First I told her about going back for Izzy, then about the little bit of talking the three of us did,
then
about the cat.

“Actually it
is
funny.” Laney giggles. “And I had no idea there was such a thing as a travel litter box.”

“Me either. The wonders of Walmart.” I sip a bottle of vitaminwater, wishing I had a glass of wine. “Found it in the pet aisle.”

“And you still haven't heard from Ben?”

I sober. “Nope. He was really upset with me, Laney. About me doing this. He thinks Haley needs to be in counseling.”

“She probably does,” Laney agrees, “but a mother has to go with her gut instinct. Your instincts have always been good, Jules. There will be plenty of time for counseling later.”

We're both quiet for a second.

“You're doing the right thing. In bringing Izzy, too. Brilliant, Jules. I don't know that I would have had the guts to do it.”

“It didn't feel gutsy,” I confess, fiddling with the lid to the bottle. “It felt impulsive and now it feels irresponsible.”

“Izzy needs to be with you as much as Haley does. She deserves your attention too.”

I lean forward, drawing up my knees, hugging myself with my free arm. “But does she really need to be exposed to . . .” I search for the right words. “Laney, this is serious.
Cutting
herself? I never knew such a thing existed when I was Izzy's age.”