Page 13 of When People Leave

Morgan

A little over a week after Carla’s death, Morgan was the first of her sisters to arrive back at her mother’s house.

She put Albert in the backyard, where a squirrel taunted him from a low branch of a Sequoia.

Albert looked as if he contemplated chasing it but then found a spot in the sun and collapsed like a mom after shopping with her teenage daughter.

Morgan went back inside and released Brigitta from her carrier. The cat walked around smelling the legs of the dining room table, looking under the couch, and then jumping on top of the media console and prancing around as if she owned it.

Morgan was making a grocery list when a loud knock rattled the front door.

Brigitta leaped to the ground and ran down the hall.

Morgan jumped as if she’d been watching a movie where a slasher had just popped up on the screen.

She tried to remind herself that it wouldn’t always be bad news when she heard someone knock.

She opened the door to find Charlie looking a little rattled. “Sorry, I forgot my key,” Charlie said, dragging her suitcase behind her.

It was a marvel how whenever the Weiss sisters went anywhere together; they’d always show up in the order of their birth.

Abby would be the last one to arrive, no matter where or when they were meeting.

Once, Morgan and Charlie visited Abby for the weekend, and Abby got home twenty minutes after the babysitter had let them in.

Charlie pulled her arms out of the straps of her backpack and let it fall onto the couch. She pulled out a piece of paper.

“What’s that?” Morgan asked.

“A list. I’ve been writing notes about where we should begin our search in the house.”

“Abby isn’t here yet,” Morgan said, scanning the paper over Charlie’s shoulder.

“If we wait for her, we won’t start until her kids are old enough to help us,” Charlie cracked.

Morgan took Charlie’s list out of her hands and dropped it purposely on top of Charlie’s backpack. Morgan stuck her hand in the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.

“This is my list,” Morgan said, handing it to Charlie. “That’s where we’ll start.”

“Why should you get to decide what we do?” Charlie asked.

“Because it was my idea to do all this…and I’m the oldest.”

“You’re barely a year and a half older than me and way more screwed up.”

“Just because you hide it better doesn’t mean you’re less screwed up,” Morgan said.

Abby opened the front door with her key.

“I have a master’s degree in psychology and a successful therapy practice,” Charlie said.

“And I’m just an addict, right?”

“Nope…well, yep,” Charlie said.

“I’ve been sober for four years,” Morgan said.

“Which is great, but you stopped maturing back when you started using, so you’re like, thirteen now.”

“Stop!” Abby yelled. “This is not the time; we need each other right now, so hug it out.”

Neither Morgan nor Charlie moved.

“Do it! Love each other right now,” Abby said forcefully.

“Fine, Pollyanna,” Morgan said and opened her arms to Charlie. Charlie moved grudgingly into Morgan’s arms, but instead of hugging, they patted each other on the back like two teenage boys.

“There’s the love,” Abby said, pulling her suitcase inside. “Now I need peace. My referee days are over for anyone who can cut their own food.” She headed down the hall. “I’m putting my stuff in my old room.”

“I’ve got dibs on my old room,” Charlie said, following after Abby.

Morgan’s old room had become Carla’s office, so it no longer had a bed, and Morgan knew none of them wanted to sleep in their mother’s bedroom.

“No worries—I love sleeping on couches,” Morgan called after them. “That’s what addicts do.”

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie came back into the living room. Charlie and Morgan knew this was where their mother had been found, but the thought hung in the air like a ghost.

“What if Mom had a terminal disease and wanted to make sure we didn’t have to take care of her,” Charlie said, picking up her list from the couch. “I think we should go through the calendar on her desk and see if she had a lot of doctor’s appointments.”

“I told you, I’m leading this,” Morgan said.

“Fine, what’s on your list?”

“Number one, ransack the house like burglars and see what we find.”

“That’s how you lead?” Charlie asked.

Morgan gave her a sly smile; she enjoyed annoying Charlie. “Abby, we’re waiting for you,” Morgan called out. “What’re you doing?”

“Resting,” Abby called out from her room.

“We aren’t on vacation,” Morgan yelled back. “Can you please come in here?”

Abby, barefoot and with a blanket wrapped around her, trudged in and plopped down on the couch.

“I don’t get why we have to start immediately,” Abby said. “We just got here; can’t we relax a little?”

Morgan had a twinkle in her eyes. “You should’ve relaxed at home.”

“Hilarious,” Abby said, then dropped her blanket onto the couch. “Well, you got me in here, so what’s the plan?”

“Why don’t we try breaking into Mom’s computer,” Morgan said, heading into Carla’s office. Charlie and Abby followed her.

The office had bookshelves lining the walls, filled chiefly with historical fiction and memoirs of famous people.

On the desk was a silver frame with two pictures side by side.

The first was a picture of Morgan, Charlie, and Abby when they were eight, six, and four, and the second was a selfie of the four of them taken a few years ago at a restaurant on Carla’s fifty-fifth birthday.

Morgan sat down at her mother’s desk as Charlie flipped through Carla’s calendar, which had a picture of a different national park on each page.

“Mom wasn’t sick. Not a single doctor’s appointment for the last six months,” Charlie said, closing the calendar.

“We need to figure out her computer password,” Morgan said. She sat quietly a moment thinking, then typed something in. Nothing happened. She tried again two more times, but still no luck.

“Try our birthdays,” Charlie asked.

“I just did,” Morgan said.

“Try her birthday,” Abby said.

“Mom wouldn’t be dumb enough to use her own birthday,” Morgan said, then tried it anyway, but still nothing.

“Okay, so much for the second thing on your list, Morgan,” Charlie said.

“Why don’t we each take a room and tear it apart?” Abby asked.

“That makes sense,” Charlie said.

“Hey, you thought it was stupid when I said that before,” Morgan said, and Charlie shrugged.

“Which one of us is going to take Mom’s room?” Abby asked.

They were silent. Then Charlie said, “None of us want to, but as adults, we can figure this out.”

After three rounds of rock paper scissors, Morgan got the job.

“Why do I always lose?” Morgan said. “You guys must be cheating.”

“How can you cheat at rock paper scissors?” Abby said.

Morgan struggled to find an answer, then conceded and went towards Carla’s room. Charlie went into the family room and Abby tackled the junk drawer in the kitchen.

As Morgan passed the back door, she let Albert in. He followed as she moved down the hall at the pace of honey pouring into a cup of tea. She stood in front of the closed door to Carla’s room.

Morgan gasped and couldn’t breathe as she remembered being little, scared and unable to sleep until she was curled up on the bed next to her mom. I can’t hyperventilate, she thought, abruptly turning and heading to the garage.

A little while later, she came back in carrying a shoebox that she placed under the kitchen table. The doorbell rang, and a delivery man held out a plastic bag to Morgan, and she thanked him.

“Who was at the door?” Charlie asked as she and Abby came into the room.

“Our lunch.” Morgan took the food and put it on the kitchen table.

“We didn’t order anything,” Abby said.

“I know what you guys like,” Morgan said.

Abby grabbed flatware and napkins, and they sat down at the kitchen table. Morgan pulled out three salads. She handed the beet salad to Abby and the cobb salad to Charlie and kept the chopped salad for herself.

“I don’t like beets,” Abby said, pushing her salad away from her.

“Yes, you do. You don’t like avocados,” Morgan said, grabbing plates from the cabinet.

“No, I don’t like avocados,” Charlie said. “They’re too squishy. I’m the one who loves beets.” Abby handed Charlie the beet salad and took the cobb for herself.

“Just say thank you,” Morgan said.

“Thank you,” Charlie and Abby said in unison.

They all dug into their food.

“So, did either of you find anything useful?” Abby asked, as she wiped avocado from her lips. “I found that Mom had a thing for Scotch Tape.”

“I found my tambourine that Mom yelled at me for losing,” Charlie said.

“You wouldn’t stop shaking that stupid thing,” Morgan said. “I hid it.”

Charlie picked up a beet and looked like she was about to throw it at Morgan. Morgan stared her down, and Charlie put the beet in her mouth.

Morgan reached down, picked up the shoebox, and placed it in the middle of the table. “I found a box of photographs.”

Charlie and Abby dipped their hands into the box, and each pulled out a handful of pictures.

Charlie held one up. “Here’s one from Abby’s second birthday,” she said. “Only five kids came, and Morgan and I were two of them.”

“I’m sure I had more friends than that,” Abby said.

“You were young. You hadn’t figured out the social thing yet,” Charlie said. “You’ve improved a little.”

Abby laughed, then held up a picture. “Here’s one from that time Mom took us to Disneyland.”

“She saved up for that day for over a year,” Morgan said.

“It was so much fun,” Charlie said.

“Until you had to go on Space Mountain and then threw up your chicken nuggets,” Morgan said. “They shut the entire ride down for over an hour.”

“And gave the people sitting behind you free passes,” Abby said.

“At least I was brave enough to go on it,” Charlie said, clucking at them like a chicken.

“There are so many pictures of you two and hardly any of me,” Abby said, looking through the box. “Did the camera break when I was born?”