Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

Mom seems fine over the next two days. There’s no school because Thanksgiving is on Thursday, so we actually get to spend time together. We cook a stockpile of meals to go in the freezer so we’ll have food after she leaves. She paints my nails. I braid her hair and she takes it out because her scalp is sensitive. We play a board game as a family when Dad comes home from work. Beau’s pouting is replaced by smiles and laughter for once.

Things feel almost normal again. They’re better than I remember them being in a long time. It feels like I’m living life as the old Dot, back in Stockbridge, before our life collapsed.

My parents go on a date the afternoon of Thanksgiving. They’re overdue; I can’t remember the last time they went out alone. It must have been before Mom became addicted to painkillers. Since we’re having dinner at the Silvermans’ this evening, they decided to go to the movies. Dad told me and Beau to be ready to leave by the time they get back.

When I get out of the shower, I hang some outfit ideas on my clothing rack and rub apple-scented lotion into my damp skin. I’m about to sit at my vanity to put on makeup, but my phone vibrates on my bed. I pick it up, and the name displayed on the screen makes my eyes widen.

Aunt Lucille. Beau must have finally gotten ahold of her.

I answer the call. “Hello?”

“Thank goodness,” she says, through several breathy gasps. “I’m so glad you answered, Bardot.”

I’m ready to tell her my concerns about Mom, but my stomach does a flip at her anxious tone. “Everything okay, Aunty?”

“Well, I sure hope so. It’s taken me days to find my phone, and your mama didn’t even text me to let me know if she made it there safely.”

A surge of relief makes its way through me. “So, you know she’s here . ”

“Of course I know.” Her voice lowers. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with it, Bardot. Especially after the argument we had right before she walked out my door. And then my phone disappeared .”

My relief vanishes like smoke evaporating into air. “You got in a fight? You didn’t want her to come here?” I shut my eyes, not wanting to believe what I’m about to ask next. “Did Mom hide your phone, Aunty? So we wouldn’t find out you told her no?”

There’s a pause of silence. “Is your dad around? I should probably be telling this to him.”

“Oh. I’ll, uh, pass the message along.”

Aunt Lucille sighs. “I can’t tell you for sure if she hid my phone, honey. But one thing I do know is that she’s not ready. Too late now, but keep a close eye on her. If she starts getting irritable, lying, acting moody, restless, or off, then you know something’s up. Also, watch out for signs of your mama vomiting or sweating more than usual.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, memories of Mom displaying more than a few of those symptoms flying across my vision. “Okay. Bye.” I hang up the phone.

It’s one thing to worry about Mom’s progress, or have Beau doubt her and insist she’s not well enough to take a break from rehabilitation. It’s another to have Aunt Lucille flat-out confirm our worries and suspicions. After all, she’s the one who’s been around Mom twenty-four-seven, tending to her and helping her with the recovery program.

It hurts to hear. And though I know I’d be foolish to deny her words as truth, I can’t bear to accept them. Not with the play only a week away.

Mom will be fine until then. And she’ll go right back after.

Picking up my phone again, I delete the phone call I just had with my aunt from my call history.

Just in case.

“Opal, do you have my house keys?” Dad asks Mom. He pats his pockets as we get out of the car, parked in front of Zayne’s house. The air is crisp and cool, blowing maple leaves and the scent of pumpkin, coffee, and home-cooked dinner up and around us. The sun is starting to go down, and I grin back at the toothy, rotting jack-o-lantern on Zayne’s front porch.

“Honey, your keys are in my purse, remember?” Mom says. She chuckles at my father and links her arm through mine. “I haven’t had someone cook me Thanksgiving dinner since I was a child. This is going to be so nice.”

“I hope they have cranberry sauce,” Beau says, a note of hope in his voice. Despite his concerns about Mom, I can tell it’s hard for him not to be excited about this evening. I’m trying my best to maintain a positive attitude after talking to Aunt Lucille, because a few months ago the idea of having a family Thanksgiving with Mom home would have seemed unfathomable. Yet, here she is, arm in mine as Beau and Dad follow behind us to the Silverman’s front door.

“I’m sure there will be cranberry sauce,” I tell Beau. “The Silvermans have a restaurant, after all.”

Dad stops walking at our side. He squints at me. “You brought the cider, right Dot?”

“I got it,” says Beau.

Mom reaches over and pats Dad’s shoulder. “Relax, Paul. You’re all wound up.”

His joints seem to loosen under her touch. “Sorry. Just hungry.”

I knock on the front door, the pinecone wreath hanging on it shuddering. Anticipation flutters in my stomach as I hear footsteps approach.

When Zayne opens the door, our eyes lock, and the flutters in my stomach seem to triple. A grin spreads across his lips. “Hi.”

“Hey,” I say. My own smile is unavoidable. Our gazes are locked on one another for a long second before he takes in my family standing on the porch with me. If he’s nervous to meet them, he’s hidden it well behind his friendly smile.

“Please, come in,” he tells my parents, moving aside so they can cross the threshold. Mom hangs her coat and bag in the entryway, and Zayne shakes her hand and Dad’s. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Zayne. Thanks for coming.”

“Absolutely,” Mom says. “I’ve been so excited to meet you.”

Dad nods and adds, “I can smell the food, man. My mouth is watering already.”

Zayne laughs. “Thanks. I guess that’s what happens when you have a mom and a grandma who cook for a living.”

“Here you go.” Beau hands Zayne the bottle of cider we brought as a thank you.

He takes it with a surprised smile. “Oh. Thanks.”

Mimi rounds the corner from the kitchen into the entryway then, and when she sees us, her entire face lights up. “Oh, you’re all here! It’s lovely to meet you!” She hurries toward us and tucks a lock of her thick, dark hair behind her ear before hugging my parents, one in each of her arms. They introduce themselves and Mimi glances at Beau. “You must be Dot’s brother.”

“Yeah, nice to meet you.” Beau kicks his shoelaces. Zayne’s hand finds mine, and he tugs, beckoning me to follow him.

Mom is already deep in a conversation with Mimi, and after several lingering moments, Dad and Beau walk to the living room to join Lenny, where a football game is playing.

I follow Zayne to the kitchen. On the island is a line of metal serving trays with closed lids. There are even more resting on the clean, marble countertops. Steam escapes from beneath the lids, and the smell of it is enough to make my stomach rumble.

Zayne lifts one of the lids on the island, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Come taste this.” He dips a spoon into the tray, filled to the brim with stuffing. “It’s my favorite dish they make.”

He holds the full spoon out to me, so I take it. When the bite is in my mouth, my eyes almost roll back in my head. “Wow,” I murmur. “That’s fantastic.”

He nods. “It really is.” He sets the spoon down, the metal clanking against the counter just as Lenny rounds the corner to the kitchen.

“Hi.” I lift my hand in a wave.

His eyes widen. “I hope that spoon isn’t going back into the food, because if you’re sick, the whole dish will be infected.”

My lips twitch with the effort to hold back a smile. “I’m not sick,” I tell him. “I promise.”

Zayne shakes his head at his brother and picks up the spoon again, walking to the sink to wash it. Mimi enters the kitchen with my parents and Beau, and Mom sniffs the air. “My word. Everything smells amazing.”

A warm blush appears on Mimi’s plump cheeks. “Thank you so much.”

“Zayne fed Bardot-Who-Goes-By-Dot a bite,” Lenny blurts. “But he’s washing the spoon now.”

A gap of silence follows Lenny’s statement, and thankfully, a voice coming from the front door breaks it. “I’m here!”

We all turn our heads as Gwen shuffles into view, her arms full of floral-patterned, reusable grocery bags packed full.

“Here Mom, let us help.” Zayne takes several bags from her, passing one to Lenny, and they unload the groceries. My parents reintroduce themselves now that Gwen is here, and Mimi takes a bundle of parsley from her to wash, chop, and add to the salad waiting in a covered bowl.

When Gwen’s hands are finally free, she runs them over her smooth head and sighs in relief. Her eyes catch mine, and she crosses the room to pull me into a hug. “Good to see you again, sweetie,” she says against the top of my head. For some reason, the warmth in her voice makes my throat burn. She has such a motherly quality to her, and with my own mom being absent so long, I was starting to forget how it felt.

Gwen pulls away, and we all move to the connected dining room to find seats while Mimi sets serving platters on the long wood table. Photos of Zayne and Lenny decorate the walls; some of them old and others more recent. I stifle a laugh as I remember the cowboy photo of them on the stairway.

I sit beside Zayne, and Mom takes the chair on my other side. I glance at her as she folds her linen napkin across her lap, frowning when I notice a bead of sweat at her temple again. I don’t recall her ever sweating so much, especially in autumn. It’s not like it’s toasty in here, either. Aunt Lucille’s warning flashes through my mind. I elbow her gently. “You all right?” I do my best to hide my concern with a polite tone.

Her gaze jumps to mine. “I’m fine, baby.” She swallows, hard, and picks up the glass of ice water in front of her but doesn’t take a drink.

“Dot, are you excited for the Wuthering Heights play?” Gwen asks across the table. “I can’t believe it’s a week away.”

“Me either.” I try to sound excited, but a prick of unease crops up in my mind. “And the dance is Saturday.”

“Wow.” Mimi smiles broadly as she finally takes a seat, now that the last platter is on the table. “So much is happening. Zayne, what color handkerchief are you wearing?”

Zayne blinks a few times, then raises his eyebrows at me. “Dot?”

My shoulders sag. “Red.”

Mom clears her throat. “Dot’s dress is just divine. Picked it out myself.”

Yes. Yes you did, Mom.

Instead of commenting, I pick up my fork and stuff a bite of salad in my mouth. It’s probably the best salad I’ve ever tasted. There are cranberries, walnuts, and apples in it. My stomach grumbles, and I take another bite. We all spend a good half hour eating in quiet satisfaction.

“Zayne, you should bring Dot here before the dance so I can take photos of you!” Mimi says, breaking the silence. “I want to see her dress!”

Zayne catches my gaze and raises his eyebrows in question, but before I can answer, Dad pipes up for what seems like the first time since we sat down. “Y’all better not be out too late.” It’s meant to be a joke, but because I know him so well, I can tell he’s serious.

My cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Dad.”

But Mom pats his knee with a chuckle. “Oh, Paul. Stop it!” She scoots her chair back and stands up. “Which way is the restroom?”

Gwen points behind us. “It’s the third door down the hall. Would you like me to show you?” She moves to stand, but Mom kindly waves her off.

“No, no. Don’t worry. I’ll find it.” She places her napkin on her empty chair before heading down the hall.

“This salad is really good,” says Beau. “What kind of dressing is this?”

Mimi beams. “It’s a light poppyseed vinaigrette. Made it from scratch.”

Dad’s lips form a silent “wow.”

The subject shifts to Mimi’s cooking, and my dad listens to her and Gwen explain how they started their restaurant. I try to pay attention, but my mind wanders to the play and the dance as Mimi tells us about how she’s in physical therapy for a bad case of tendonitis. “I can’t chop anything without a flare-up these days.” She casts her gaze downward. “It’s awful.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Gwen makes a face like she ate something sour. “What—is somebody upstairs?”

Mimi swallows her bite of food. “Probably just that alley cat jumping on the roof again.”

“Oh, right. That thing’s always causing a ruckus.” Gwen blinks away her confusion and resumes the conversation. “Lenny, please eat your turkey.”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“It wasn’t a request.”

“I know. I never would have requested turkey.”

She sighs.

But my attention isn’t on them. My mind is swirling like a black hole, and it must be obvious, because Zayne reaches over and takes my hand under the table. When I look at him, he mouths, “You good?”

“My mom has been gone for a long time,” I say under my breath. I know I don’t need to say anything else because the implication is already etched into the tone of my voice.

Ten more minutes pass before Mom returns to the table. I can’t help but notice her face has been wiped clean of sweat. An easy smile is in place on her mouth.

“What took you so long?” Beau sets his fork down and stares hard at Mom.

“That’s rude, son.” Dad frowns at him and shakes his head.

My face heats. Oh, yeah. That’s just great. Get in an argument at my boyfriend’s house. Real classy.

“No, it’s fine,” Mom says. “I’m just a bit tired tonight. I think it’s time we headed home soon.”

My brows dart together. What is she talking about? She spent half of dinner in the bathroom and seemed perfectly well-rested before we got here.

“Oh.” Gwen blinks in confusion. “Okay.”

The conversation is strained as everyone finishes eating. Nobody speaks as Mimi brings cake to the table. I hope Zayne’s family somehow mistakes the awkward silence as us just stuffing our faces too full to speak, but I know it’s unlikely. I avert my gaze from everyone at the table, staring only at the remnants of food left on my plate.

When we’ve all tasted the cake, Mom stands from her seat, indicating it’s time to leave.

Mimi hops up. “Please, let me send you home with some leftovers!” She opens her kitchen cupboard and picks up the same takeout containers that I’ve seen at her restaurant.

Zayne stands too and helps his mom fill the boxes with food for us. I can’t help but smile when I see him scoop several slices of cake into a box.

Beau and Dad carry the boxes, and the Silvermans walk us to the door.

“Thank you so much for having us,” Mom says. “Dinner was delicious.”

How would you know? I almost say. You barely ate.

Mom retrieves the keys from her purse as Dad opens the door, but they slip from her hand and clank against the wood floor. She bends to pick them up, and a plastic bottle falls from the pocket of her cardigan, hitting the floor with a thud.

“Oh, sorry.” Her hand flies toward it, fingers curling it into her grasp.

Beau squints. “What is that?”

But she doesn’t answer, doesn’t meet any of our gazes as her fingers wrap around the bottle.

“Are those pills?” Beau demands, his voice increasing in volume. He lunges for the bottle, and we all stare, stunned into place, as he pries it from her hand.

“No, Beau! Stop it!” Mom shouts.

But as soon as he captures it, he reads in a booming voice, “Celia Silverman. Hydrocodone.” He drops his hand, still holding the pill bottle to his side.

Silence.

Deafening, unbearable silence, so heavy it could squash every person in this room.

And then Mom runs out the door.

“Stop!” Without a backward glance, I barrel through the front door after her. Behind me, Dad is on my heels and Beau remains shocked in place. Mom gets in the car with more haste than I knew she was capable of. I know I should probably hang back and explain to Zayne and his family, but the shame I feel in this moment is too intense.

I just want to disappear.

She relapsed. She actually relapsed, and Zayne and his family just witnessed it.

When I reach the car, I see Mom sitting in the passenger seat with her head down and her hand covering her eyes.

I wipe an angry tear from the corner of my eye and yank the driver’s side car door open. “Unbelievable,” I yell. “This— you —are unbelievable!” Dad touches my shoulder, but I ignore him.

Mom doesn’t react. She doesn’t budge from her position in her seat. She just keeps her eyes covered. If it weren’t for the trembling of her shoulders, I would think she didn’t even hear me.

“I defended you,” I continue. “I told Beau to shut up every time he so much as implied you weren’t ready to be here. I believed you when you said you were okay. And this is what you do?” I gesture to the crisp evening air around us. “You steal pills from Zayne’s house? You relapse on Thanksgiving ?”

Mom lowers her hands from her face. When she turns in my direction, the look in her eyes makes me clamp my jaw shut. In her gaze, I see the weight of her sorrow, regret, and pain. It’s heavier than anything I myself have experienced. Still, I stare back at her.

Beau finally makes it to the car. I risk a glance up at the Silvermans’ house, expecting to find the four of them still standing in the doorway, but the front door is closed.

A wave of tears threatens to invade my vision. I didn’t say goodbye to Zayne or apologize to his family. Worse yet, they probably don’t want to hear a word I have to say. I bet Zayne will text me tonight to let me know he can’t take me to the dance tomorrow after all, because what Mom did tonight was unforgivable.

Dad touches my back. “Let’s go home.”

I move out of the way so he can take his place behind the wheel and get in the back seat next to Beau. My gaze darts to my brother and a look of mutual understanding passes between us. Mom needs to go back.

My throat burns again, but I don’t cry. I can’t let myself fall apart until we figure this out.

“How many did you take, Mom?” I don’t know why this is the question that escapes my lips. The fact that she stole the bottle to begin with is bad enough.

“It doesn’t matter how many pills she took, Bardot,” Dad says. He puts the car in drive and we coast out of Zayne’s neighborhood. He glances at my mother before turning back to the road. “This arrangement with Lucille isn’t working, Opal. You need to go to a real facility.”

In his tone, there is no wiggle room, no bargaining, no room for negotiation. He means it.

Part of me expects Mom to try to plead with him, but instead she just nods. “I know that, Paul.”

My lips part. “But Mom…” Going to a real facility means we won’t be able to have our weekly phone calls anymore. It means she won’t be home for Christmas either, like we planned.

But I also know it might be her only real chance to get better for good. I can feel Beau’s eyes on my face so I swallow down my emotion.

Mom’s shoulders twitch, and then begin to tremble again. She doesn’t turn around to face us. With her head still hung and her hands covering her eyes, she releases a strong sob.

I can’t hold back my own tears any longer.

And the thing is, I don’t even want to.