Julia's Daughters (7 page)

Chapter 11

Julia

 

I stare at the powder room door. I've been in here at least ten minutes. I'm surprised no one has come looking for me.

Not really.

Who would come looking for me? Izzy? Possibly. Certainly not Haley. She hates me. Not my husband. Ben's thoughts are a thousand miles away from me right now; he's in the bosom of his family.

I groan to myself. How is it that after all these years, I still haven't outgrown, outsmarted, out-
somethinged
these petty jealousies?

I have no right to be covetous. I know that.

I knew what I was getting myself into when I married Ben almost twenty years ago. I was an adult woman, making adult choices. I knew what his family was like. How they could be overwhelming and all encompassing. And it's not like we didn't talk about it. Ben warned me when we started discussing the possibility of marriage, our senior year at Cal. He flat out told me that he was a mama's boy. He told me his brothers were his best friends.

But I wasn't really listening. Looking back, I see that now. Ben was so much fun and I was so in love. I was too busy thinking about a house with a finely manicured lawn, thanks to Maxton and Sons, and a baby in my arms. I didn't read between the lines. The truth is, I was young and dumb. And I didn't want to listen to my mother. I didn't want her to be right. About me or Ben. About anything.

But she was right. She'd been wrong about a lot of things, but this one thing, she'd been right about. What Ben had been trying to tell me was that I would never be the most important woman in his life. That I would never be his best friend.

That was exactly what my mother told me. Damn her.

So I have no right to ask to change the rules now. Not after all of these years. Not after having three children. Certainly not after burying one.

And then here I am again, back to Caitlin. It's like that silly movie Caitlin loved,
Groundhog Day
with Bill Murray. He keeps living the same day, over and over again.

I lean back on the toilet. The lid's down; it's actually not an uncomfortable seat. And it smells good in here. Linda always has Yankee candles burning all over her house. The one burning on the sink smells like vanilla. It's nice. I used to burn candles in our house too. Before we draped the mirrors with black crepe and piled ashes on the furniture.

I came into the bathroom to pee . . . going on fourteen minutes ago, I see from my cell sitting on the edge of the sink. But then I realized I needed a minute. A minute to what, I'm not sure. Not necessarily to cry. Although this is probably the longest I've gone without crying in forty-nine days.

I think I just needed to catch my breath.

Tonight's been hard. Harder even than I thought it would be. So hard that more than once I seriously considered getting up and walking out.

But I didn't leave. I just hid in the bathroom. That's progress, isn't it?

I close my eyes.

I should cut myself a break. This is my first real foray into some sort of normal outing. A birthday dinner at my mother-in-law's. A protected environment where someone who doesn't know won't ask how Caitlin is doing in her cheering competitions. Which is what happened to me last time I tried to go to the market. I ended up leaving my half-filled cart near the dairy case. Frozen fries and all.

So, tonight. Relatively safe, but still hard. It hasn't been easy to listen to the conversations at the table. Even without anyone expecting me to say anything. It hasn't been easy to sit there watching other people's lives go on.

I gave up pretty quickly trying to follow any of the multiple conversations running at the same time at the big dining room table. Ben's family's always been like this; they're loud and they'll talk over you if you don't fight to get in a few words. Tonight I didn't even mind because I didn't have anything to say. I don't care what kind of grass seed Jeremy thinks they should try to combat the summer drought issue. I don't care how outraged Tabitha is about the price of permanent makeup. I'm not even sure I know what permanent makeup is, although, checking out Tabitha across the table, I wondered if that's what's wrong with her face. And here I thought it was an overdose of Botox.

I doubt anyone at the table noticed I wasn't talking. That I was just sitting there sipping my wine, pushing my food around my plate.

Haley was doing the same thing: making no attempt to join in, moving her food around with her fork so it sort of looked like she was eating. But she wasn't eating.

That thought suddenly worries me. When was the last time I saw her eat anything? Is that why she looks so pale? She has to be eating, doesn't she? I haven't been present for a family meal since Caitlin died. There haven't
been
any family meals since Caitlin died.

I need to talk to Haley. I can't put it off any longer. I know that. I fully intended to do it this afternoon. I was just trying to come up with a plan of attack. Instead, I took a nap.

I lower my head to my hand. I need to pull myself together. I just—

A knock on the bathroom door startles me. I instinctively come up off the lid.

“Julia! It's Linda.”

“Just a minute,” I call, reaching back to flush so she won't know I'm just hiding in here.

The door opens and in she comes. Of course she does.

I want to take a step back and get her out of my personal space, but there's not really anywhere for me to go. I can't believe I forgot to lock the door.

“You okay?” Linda asks, closing the door behind her.

Now she's
really
in my space, which I find profoundly intrusive. Far more intrusive than I would have a few months ago. A few months ago, I might have thought
oh, this is just Linda being Linda
.
She gets in people's space all the time.
But now she's not just intruding into my personal space, she's intruding on my grief. The deepest part of me.

“Um.” I sidestep to get to the sink and I turn on the faucet. “I'm okay.”

“I want to talk to you about Haley.”

I glance at myself in the mirror. I look like a hag. A hag with gray roots.

“Ben told me about her getting expelled. About the drugs.”

I pump soap into my hand; it smells like a shower gel Caitlin used to use. I savor the scent for a moment, then glance at Linda in the reflection in the mirror. “Did Ben tell you where she said she got the Percocet?”

“That she stole them from me? He did. Which means she's a drug addict
and
a thief?”

I take my time rinsing the soap off my hands. I rarely argue with Linda. I certainly never confront her. I've always told myself I don't disagree with her openly in order to keep the peace in Ben's family. But
my
family is shattered and honestly, tonight, I just don't give a crap about Linda's. “Why do you have that much Percocet lying around? It's a controlled substance.”

She folds her arms over her chest. She's a petite woman. Pretty, but the drinking and the pills are beginning to show on her face. She looks pinched and there are bags under her eyes. Not bags as big as mine, but she's definitely looking rough.

“I have a prescription, if it's any of your business,” she says, getting snotty with me the way she does when anyone challenges her. “My back. Remember, I had that car accident. But that's neither here nor there. You're not going to redirect this conversation, Julia. I'm very concerned about Haley. We all are.”

I turn around and park my skinny butt on the edge of the sink. I can smell Linda's perfume. It's an Estée Lauder scent. I pull the white hand towel with an embroidered sailboat on it off the rack and dry my hands. “Ben says you think we should send her away to boarding school.”

She still has her arms crossed. Between the candle and her perfume, I can barely smell the gin on her breath. Just barely. But she doesn't seem drunk. Of course, she never does. If I had as many gin and tonics as I saw her down tonight, I'd be unconscious under the dining room table.

“I think it would be good for her.” Linda's dark eyes bore into me. Ben's eyes. “I'm willing to pay for it. There are some good schools in Oregon. Schools that would—”

I cut her off. “It's not about the money, Linda. I'm not sending my daughter away.” I sound stronger than I feel. “How do you think I could send her away after what happened—” My voice cracks. I can't say
to Caitlin.

“Just for a semester.” Linda softens her tone. “Two. It would give her some time to think, somewhere where she'll be safe. We can send her somewhere where she'll be closely monitored day and night. No drugs. No negative influences. Just academics and structure. And having her out of the house will give you and Ben some time,” she goes on. “To work on your marriage.”

“My marriage?”

“Well, let's be honest, it could use it right now, couldn't it?”

I lift my gaze. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Julia, this is me you're talking to. I'm Ben's mother. You think I don't know how unhappy he's been? You think I didn't know your marriage was a mess before we lost Caitlin?”

I glance at the door, considering just walking out, but she's pretty much blocking my way. I'd have to knock her down to escape. Possibly knock her out.

Linda sighs, trying to sound sympathetic, but I know her better than that. Doesn't she
know
I know her better than that after all these years?

“You know, Peter had an affair. Did Ben tell you that?” It's rhetorical. She goes on. “We were about the same age you and Ben are now. It's the age couples are when there are affairs.”

“No one had an affair, Linda.” I stare at her, what she's saying slowly sinking in. I feel my forehead crease. “Wait a minute. Are you telling me Ben's been cheating on me?”

“I don't know anything about that. My point is that we got through it. We went to counseling, we promised to be better to each other.” She shrugs. “We both agreed that one little sexual indiscretion wasn't worth ending our marriage, our business partnership, our life together. We put it aside and we went on. Which is what you and Ben have to do. You have to get past Caitlin's death.”

I'm still stuck on the part where Linda insinuated that Ben was having an affair. Granted, things haven't been good with us lately, but I just can't imagine him cheating on me. But now I'm starting to imagine. Is that what was going on in the months before Caitlin died? Was that why he was working such long hours? I meet Linda's gaze. “This—conversation—is—over—Linda.” I emphasize each word, imagining myself returning to Montgomery's funeral home to pick out a coffin for my husband. After I kill him.

She just stands there, arms crossed over her chest. “You know, when Ben came to me to tell me he'd asked you to marry him, I begged him to reconsider.”

Tears suddenly well in my eyes. I
didn't
know that. Ben never told. And suddenly I feel a tenderness for my husband that I haven't felt in a very long time. Which seems completely crazy because a second ago I was thinking he'd cheated on me.

“I told him that while I thought you were a nice enough girl, I didn't think you two were well suited for each other. I warned him that with the kind of people you come from—”

“Linda,” I interrupt.

She keeps talking right over me. “You'd never understand what it meant to be a part of a real family. You'd never—”

“Linda,” I repeat, holding up my hand. “Linda, this is neither the time nor
the place
to have this discussion. In fact, I can't imagine when would be a good time for you to tell me this. Ben and I have been married nineteen years.” I reach around her to grab the doorknob. “I'm not going anywhere. We're not getting a divorce.”

As I turn the door handle, she lays her hand on mine. “You have to do something about Haley.”

“I know.” I yank open the bathroom door.

“Before it's too late,” she calls after me as I push past her.

“Girls?” I call, my tone bordering on shrill. “You ready to go?”

Chapter 12

Izzy

 

I'm lying in my bed listening to She Who Shall Not Be Named bounce that stupid ball against the wall in her room while I consider what outfit I would want to wear for my own funeral. It was a big question when Caitlin went for the big sleep. Dad wanted her to wear this blue dress she'd had since eighth grade graduation. It looked like something a girl my age would wear to have tea with the queen of England. It didn't have ruffles, but it could have. I'm sure it was something Nana bought her that Mom made her wear. I don't even know why Caitlin still had it. So Dad wanted the little girl dress. Mom wanted to send Caitlin's favorite jeans and T-shirt to the funeral home.

I didn't get a vote. Neither did the one who killed her.

Mom and Dad didn't exactly argue about which outfit the people at the funeral home should put on Caitlin. They don't argue much; at least I don't see it. But that day, I could hear them talking in her bedroom after they went into her closet. Each one just kept repeating what they wanted and why. Mom cried a lot, of course. I don't know why they cared. No one got to see what she was wearing. There was no viewing. I didn't get to see her dead even though I begged Mom to let me. (She said it wasn't
healthy,
whatever that meant.) I think Caitlin's head was pretty messed up from where she hit the road when she went through the windshield. The funeral home incinerated her. That's what they do when you're cremated. I looked it up. They cook you at fourteen hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It takes two to three hours. There's a YouTube video showing how they do it. I watch it sometimes when I can't sleep.

I wonder if Caitlin ever thought about what she wanted to be cooked in, if she died. I doubt it. She wasn't weird like me. She didn't think about things like that. She was what people call happy-go-lucky. Who wouldn't be if they were tall and blond and pretty and smart? We never talked about dying, although I once had a goldfish that went belly-up in its fishbowl and she helped me bury it near the blue rhododendron in the backyard. She read a poem by Robert Frost. I remember it because one of the sentences was “Nothing gold can stay.” The same poem is quoted in this book I like called
The Outsiders
. But as far as the possibility of people dying, we never talked about it in the Maxton house. Not Caitlin and me. Not Mom and Dad and me. I never even knew a dead person until Caitlin bought it in that intersection.

Mr. Cat, who's been sitting on the end of the bed, climbs up on me and lies down on my chest. I pet him and he purrs. “You missed birthday dinner at Nana's,” I tell him. “Uncle Bruce got drunk. Uncle Jeremy's new girlfriend gave Nana a really ugly wreath for her front door and everyone ignored Mom like she wasn't there. I guess because she hasn't been coming for family dinners and they're mad at her. We had chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”

Mr. Cat doesn't say anything. He just keeps purring. I'm not saying I'm expecting him to say anything. I know cats don't talk. But there's still a little tiny bit of a question in the back of my head because dead sisters aren't supposed to talk either.

I close my eyes for a minute, wondering if maybe Caitlin is there in the dark with me. I can't feel her. I think about calling her name, just in case, but I don't really need her right now, so I don't. I'm a little worried that maybe she can only come talk to me a certain number of times before she can't come anymore. Like a genie in a lamp granting wishes. Before her soul goes away, or whatever. I don't want to take the chance of wasting time with her. So I don't call her.

“Oh,” I tell Mr. Cat. “And I think Mom and Nana got into an argument in the powder room.” I kiss his head and his ear tickles my lips. “I have no idea why they were both in the bathroom with the door closed. I was just—”

There's a soft tap at my door and me and Mr. Cat look that way. We both stare at the door. My first thought is that it's Caitlin, but that doesn't make any sense because I think she just comes through doors and walls and stuff.

I hear it again. It's definitely a live person, not a dead one.

The door opens a little bit. “Izzy? You still awake?”

It's my mom and I'm so happy. She never comes in my room anymore. “I'm awake,” I whisper loudly, sitting up and pushing Mr. Cat off me.

She comes in and closes the door. It's dark in my room, but I can still see her because there's a big security light outside my window and even with the blinds closed, a little bit of light leaks around. She's wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Her pajamas. She just stands there over my bed for a second looking down at me. I can't see her face. Then she surprises me by sitting down and then sliding into bed with me, putting her head on my pillow.

“I was wondering how you were doing,” she says softly. She rolls onto her side to face me and puts one arm around me.

Mom's arm feels so good around me that I feel like I might cry.

Mr. Cat tries to climb on top of me again, but I push him down. He meows, but he doesn't get off the bed. “I'm okay.” I whisper too, but not because Mom's whispering. I whisper because I'm afraid if I talk out loud, she'll disappear the same way Caitlin disappears.

Mom brushes some hair out of my face and then keeps touching my hair. Kind of like petting me. But I don't mind. In fact, I like it. I close my eyes and breathe deep. She must have taken a shower this morning because I smell her shampoo. She hasn't been showering much, so I notice it right away. But past that fruity smell is something I can't describe. It's just . . . my mom's smell. A smell that makes me feel warm and not so afraid.

“Really, Izzy?” she asks me, kissing my temple. “You're okay? You'd tell me if you weren't?”

I don't know exactly what she's asking. How I'm coping with Caitlin pushing up daisies, I guess. But maybe she's asking about school. Or my friends. I don't really care; it only matters that
she
cares. I nod because I don't want to break the magic spell and for Mom to poof away, into thin air.

“How was dinner tonight? Was it okay?” She's still petting me and I close my eyes.

I nod again. “Was it okay for you?” I whisper.

When she doesn't answer right away, I say, “You didn't look like it was okay.” I'm quiet for a second and then I say, “What did Nana say to you in the bathroom? I heard you arguing.”

“We weren't exactly arguing.”

I don't say anything.

“Did anyone else hear us?” Mom asks.

I shake my head. “Just me, I think. I wasn't sneaking around being nosy or anything. I went into the kitchen to get more pom juice and I heard you.” The powder room is in the hall between the kitchen and the family room.

It takes her a long time to say anything. Mr. Cat stretches out beside me on the edge of the bed. It seems like he's purring really loud.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that,” Mom finally says.

“I didn't hear what you guys were saying,” I tell her quickly. “I just . . . I could hear your voices. Like Nana was telling you something you should be doing. Nana does that a lot,” I add. “She thinks I should cut my hair short. I told her I'd look like a dork, but every time I see her, she pulls my hair back kind of tight and says it looks good on my round face. She thinks I'm fat and I have a fat face.”

“You don't have a fat face,” Mom whispers. “You have a beautiful face, Isobel of mine.” She kisses me again.

I feel the tears coming back and I swallow. I think about telling her how glad I am she came into my bedroom. I think about telling her how much I've missed her since Caitlin flatlined. It's almost like Mom's been dead too. But I don't want her to feel bad. She already feels bad; you can just look at her face and see it. Sometimes I think she looks so bad that she might die too. I don't know if that's a real thing, but I've heard of it. Dying of a broken heart. And I know Mom's heart is broken. Caitlin was her favorite. She was the prettiest. She was the smartest. She wasn't weird.

Haley and I used to tease Caitlin about how she was Mom and Dad's favorite. The princess in pink, Haley called her. It was kind of fun because Caitlin and Haley were best friends, but when we started ragging on Caitlin, it was like Haley and me were a team. I never minded that Caitlin was Mom and Dad's favorite and I don't think Haley did either, because in a way, it took the pressure off us. I never worried about not being pretty because Caitlin was pretty for all of us. And it was okay for me to be weird because I wasn't the princess in pink. In a way, it was freeing. I don't think Haley would have felt like she could wear all that black eye pencil or be in the drama club if it had been her responsibility to be the family princess.

“And as for what your grandmother and I were talking about,” Mom goes on. “We were discussing . . .”

“
Her,
” I say, exhaling the word with contempt.
Contempt
. Another vocab word at school.

“Haley,” she says.

“Because she got kicked out of school?” I ask. “And because she's crazy?”

“Your sister's not crazy.”

“She's batshit crazy,” I say before I can stop myself. I look at her, afraid I'm going to get in trouble for saying
shit.
I'm not supposed to say
shit.
Usually I just say “S.”

But Mom doesn't say anything about my bad word. She doesn't say anything for a minute and when she does speak, she sounds like she's talking to herself more than to me. “Haley's not crazy. She's just . . . really hurting.”

I think for a minute. “Well, we could send her to school in Switzerland,” I suggest hopefully. I saw a documentary about the Alps. This guy called Hannibal tried to cross the mountains with a bunch of elephants. It didn't work out too well. “She might like it there and we could go visit and go skiing in the Alps.”

Mom sort of laughs, which makes me smile and wish I could think of something else funny to say to make her laugh again. I love how she laughs. She sounds like Caitlin. Or I guess, technically, Caitlin sounded like her.

“I'm not sending her to Switzerland. I'm not sending your sister anywhere, Izzy. She belongs with us. Now, more than ever,” she adds, so softly that I have to listen hard to hear her.

Luckily, I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Mom doesn't say anything, either, and after a while, I start to feel sleepy. Mom's so warm and she smells so good and Mr. Cat keeps purring.

A part of me doesn't want to fall asleep and have the time with her over, but finally I let myself go, thinking that if I happen to croak in my sleep tonight, this is the perfect memory I'll die with.