The Chance You Won't Return (14 page)

Dad got the names of a couple of therapists and shook Dr. Cowan’s hand enthusiastically.

On the way home, Mom talked about how glad she was to have completed her solo flight across the Atlantic. “The northern winds were the problem,” she said, gazing out the window and rubbing the car lock with her index finger. “The wings were getting iced over. I didn’t take the same course that Lindbergh did, you know — I started from Newfoundland. I ended up landing in a field in Northern Ireland. A farmer asked me if I’d come far, and I said, ‘From America.’” She laughed and looked around as if she expected us to be in on the joke.

We didn’t respond. It was like Mom was talking about her sex life and we didn’t know what polite answer we were supposed to have. I was sitting with her in the backseat. Presumably, if she had the idea to jump out in the middle of the street, I’d have to go after her. I didn’t think Amelia Earhart ever had to bail out of a plane — until the very end, maybe, and Mom hadn’t mentioned the disappearance so far.

“That’s the high school on the right,” Dad told Mom. I could see the parking lot full of cars. Farther back, kids in gym uniforms were running around the soccer field.

I slouched deep in my seat. “Oh, geez, Dad, let’s just drive right by it. I’m skipping today, remember?”

He chuckled. “I called the school, Alex.”

We were past the school now, so I sat up a little. “What did you tell them?”

Dad coughed. Katy and I both stared at him. “Well, I just mentioned that your mom still wasn’t feeling well, so you were coming with me to the hospital.”

“You didn’t tell them the truth, did you?”

“Of course not.”

I settled back into my seat. “Good. So we’re not telling anyone for a while, right? Unless Mom, like, burns the house down or something.”

Katy turned around in her seat and looked at me, eyebrows knit together. “Did Amelia Earhart burn her house down?”

“Probably not,” I said, kind of smiling. “I haven’t gotten that far in my reading.”

Mom sat up a little straighter. “Of all the ridiculous ideas. Of course I’ve never burned a house down.”

“Yeah, Amelia,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Thanks for letting us know.”

“We’re going to keep things as quiet as possible,” Dad assured us. The wheel shifted under his hands, straightening onto our street. “It’s our business and no one else’s.”

I supposed Dad had called Forrester Family Dental to let them know that Mom wouldn’t be coming into work for a while, but I didn’t think he told them about Mom’s stories of crossing the Atlantic. But they had to assume something was wrong. The only other time she’d missed work was when she lost the baby. We hadn’t talked much about that, either.

At least no one would have to know at school, not the details anyway. I could put on my annoyed face and pretend my parents were still looking at report cards and bothering me about the SATs. It would be my secret.

Once we were home, Mom went right to the kitchen drawer where she had left her maps. From the look on Dad’s face, I could tell he was wishing he’d hidden them somewhere. She spread them out on the kitchen table, sighing with satisfaction as the paper crinkled open.

“Now, Gip,” she said, “what do you think about the transpacific route? I’ve made notes here.”

“How about we look at that later?” Dad said.

Mom snorted a laugh. “Well, I’m surprised at you. Usually you’re the one who’s pushing more and more things onto my schedule. Now I’m trying to plan something and you want to wait until later. Think I’m too tired from that trip across the Atlantic?”

Dad and I glanced at each other. “Doesn’t sound like that would have been an easy trip,” he said cautiously.

“No, it wasn’t, but I’m perfectly fine to discuss the next route. After we go on that lecture tour you’ve been talking about.” She rested her hands on the table. “You know I get tired talking to so many people.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere,” Dad said. He walked over to Mom and rubbed her back.

Mom shook off his hand. “No, no, I’ve got too much to do. And you’ll be on me tomorrow, I’m sure. No rest for the weary.” She picked up a pencil and started making notes beside Hawaii.

“Amelia, are you hungry?” I asked, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

She didn’t look up from her map. “I’m fine, thank you.”

I got out a box of Cocoa Puffs, which Teddy had convinced Dad to buy, and a carton of milk. “Dad, you want anything?”

“Thanks, Alex, no.” Dad circled the counter to stand beside me as I poured. “You know, Dr. Cowan said we’re not supposed to encourage her —”

“Katy!” I shouted up the stairs. “You want cereal?” After a second, I heard a distracted “No” come from our room, so I only poured one bowl.

Dad handed me a spoon. “You probably shouldn’t call her Amelia.”

I took a couple of bites, chewing slowly. “So what am I supposed to call her? Mom? I don’t want her freaking out or bolting outside or something.”

He sighed. “I don’t know. I don’t know, but that’s what Dr. Cowan said. Not to agree with her, but be gentle about it.”

“Well, that’s really helpful,” I said. “Should be easy. Just like a high-wire act.” I held my arms out and mimicked balancing on a tightrope, using the lines of the tiled floor to guide me, and trilled a circusy tune as I walked. When we were little, Katy and I liked to try out different acrobatic moves — handstands in the yard, swinging around tree branches, balancing on the edge of the fence by the elementary school. Katy was always much better at it than I was. But I used to think that being a tightrope walker in the circus would be a good job. I could walk in a straight line, and I was good at not looking down. When I still took gymnastics, I would walk across the balance beam and imagine I was in a sparkly leotard, high above the crowd, and everyone was awed by my death-defying turns and steps. Sometimes — especially when I was failing something as lame as driver’s ed — it still seemed like a good career choice. I twirled around and spread my arms in a kind of triumph.

Mom had torn her attention away from her maps and was looking at me. “That was very graceful,” she said.

I wasn’t sure if it was Mom or Amelia Earhart talking. “Thanks.”

“You could even do some stunt flying.”

“Yeah. I bet.” I hated that she was right there, looking at me and talking to me, and yet she wasn’t there at all. She didn’t want to be there. Before this, my mom and I got into a lot of fights. I would have taken any of those instead of this compliment that meant nothing. “Sorry,” I said. “I don’t think I’d be a good stunt flyer after all.”

I was pretending to do the homework I should have done for that morning when Theresa called. I’d already ignored a couple of her texts.

“Where were you today?” she asked. “Are you sick?”

“No,” I said. I was hiding under my covers because Katy refused to leave, and I didn’t want to try another room in case Dad or Mom was in there. “My mom was throwing up and stuff, and my dad wanted someone to stay with her while he was at work, so . . .”

“Lucky. We had this heinous pop quiz in English, and I’m not supposed to tell you about it, but study chapters five through seven of
Gatsby.
And get this — Maddie and Josh want to go to the football game.”

I sat up, making a little tent out of my covers. “Like where guys hit each other and get points for it?”

“No good movies are out, and they think it’ll be funny to go and make obnoxious comments. Of course, Josh will probably get his ass kicked later, but what are you going to do? So can you think of something better to do tonight, or are we going to the game?”

After everyone hated me for messing up the field, I wasn’t exactly crazy about the thought of showing up at the football game. Even though the grass was fine again and all the lines were repainted, it was still like I’d shot the football coach. “I don’t know, Theresa. Seriously?”

“Well, think of other ideas and then call Josh and Maddie. Maybe you can talk them out of this.”

I hadn’t even set the phone down when it chirped again. I expected Theresa, with an alternative idea for tonight, but an older woman’s voice came from the other end of the line. “Hi, this is Barbara Ellis. Is this Alex? Sorry, I must have gotten your number mixed up with your dad’s.”

“Mrs. Ellis?” She was Mom’s friend. Even though I had seen her a bunch of times, since she had watched us when Mom was in the hospital, my stomach always tightened when I heard her voice. “You want to talk to Dad?”

“If he’s available.”

I crawled out from under the covers and went to find Dad, passing by Mom, who was still in the kitchen poring over the maps. He was in the living room, with Patsy Cline on the stereo and Jackson at his feet. I handed him my phone and sat beside Jackson, who was chewing on his favorite stuffed duck. Absently petting Jackson, I listened to Dad’s side of the conversation: “Uh-huh. . . . Any time you have. . . . That would be great. . . . For now, at least. . . . Uh-huh. Thanks so much, Barbara.”

When he hung up, I frowned at him. “What did she want?”

Dad cleared his throat and started mumbling about how he’d have to get back to work soon, especially since Mom wasn’t going to be working for the foreseeable future, and therapy would be a lot, even with whatever insurance would kick in. Mrs. Ellis had offered to stay with Mom for most of the day, in case anything happened. But he was avoiding something.

“Just say it,” I said.

He pressed his palms together. “We’ve all got to give stuff up, Alex. I really need you to be here when you get out of school —”

“You’re kidding me!” Jackson whimpered and moved away from me. “So, what, the bell rings and I’ve got to be here?”

“She’s your mom, Alex.”

“No, she’s not. She doesn’t think she is.” When I marched into the kitchen, Dad followed me. We stopped, seeing Mom at the table. “What’s your name again?” I asked.

Mom waved a hand at me, like I was telling a joke. “You know very well I’m Amelia.”

Dad’s frown deepened, and he positioned himself so Mom couldn’t see his face. “Don’t try to confuse her anymore, all right? She’s your mom, underneath all the maps, and that’s it. Now, I really need your help here if we’re going to get her any better. I don’t want to have to fight with you about this. Can I count on you or not?” The lines of his face sharpened in his seriousness, but I could barely look him in the eye because there was a sadness, too, and disappointment. As if I should have been the responsible older sister, rallying everyone in support of Mom. I didn’t want to have to deal with this, either, and the fact that Dad thought I should made it worse. From driver’s ed to the Mom situation, that’s mostly what I felt like — this huge disappointment to everyone. Except Mom, who thought I was some fantastic girl pilot.

“Fine,” I mumbled. “I’ll be here. Except for driving practice. With Jim.”

He nodded. “All right. As long as I’m home before you leave.”

I tried to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “Should we put together a schedule? Like a chore wheel? Thursday: take out trash, hide maps from crazy Mom.”

“Hey, if you want to take the trash out, too, be my guest.”

He was trying to make me laugh, but I didn’t want to, especially with Mom right in front of me. I felt like I usually did in the driver’s seat, with the windows shut and the ceiling pressing down and all the air gone.

I didn’t tell Dad when I left to meet Theresa and the others at the football game. Not that I told any of my friends I was coming, either. I just assumed that, without a better suggestion, that was where they’d be. Even if Theresa had convinced them to go somewhere else, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to be out of the house, and the football game was probably the last place Dad would look for me.

Katy was the only one to see me go. When I pulled on a sweater, Katy looked up from her copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird.
It was practically the first time she’d acknowledged me since we got back from the hospital. She’d spent the afternoon tearing through her homework. She had probably gotten through everything due Monday and started working on stuff that wasn’t due for weeks. “Where are you going?”

“Out.” I grabbed my cell and some money, just in case. I didn’t feel like coming back for a while. “And it’s Friday. Stop doing your English homework, already.”

“Does Dad know?”

“Does Dad know that you’re a total nerd? Yeah, probably.” I stopped at the door. “Don’t tell him, all right? I just need a minute out of this house.”

She stared at me for a second, then sighed, holding her book up again. “Fine. Just don’t run away or anything.”

I smiled at her. “If I decide to run away, I’ll bring you with me.”

I felt like running all the way to the football game. It was brisk out, but the air felt good against my skin, like I’d been stifled under bulky coats and wool sweaters all day. I passed kids playing basketball in their driveways, moms unloading groceries from cars, people standing by their mailboxes and flipping through their mail. Outside, it was any other Friday. None of these people knew that, at my house, we’d just brought Mom home even though she wasn’t better yet. But I didn’t want to think about that anymore. I tried to wipe the image of Mom and her maps out of my mind before a lump formed in my throat. Instead, I started walking faster, then jogging, and then I was running on the side of the road. It wasn’t like running laps in gym. For a moment, I felt like I could run forever.

By the time I reached the school, the game had already started. The stands were pretty crowded — our team must have continued their winning streak. Everyone was a blur of maroon-and-gray sweatshirts. Girls huddled together like it was colder out than it actually was. On the sidelines, cheerleaders with sparkly makeup bounced around and chanted, “Let’s go, Oak Ridge,” over and over. I could see Caroline Lavale with the other color-guard kids. Even the marching band was waiting by the field. I didn’t know we kept them around for anything other than the lame costumes and funny hats.

So far, no one had scored. I didn’t really know the rules, so it was hard to tell who wasn’t doing well and who might actually score at some point. But people kept getting excited whenever a player managed to catch the ball.