The Chance You Won't Return (4 page)

“Alex!” Teddy shouted, even though I was right there. He smiled so all his mismatched adult and baby teeth showed. “Dad wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, gee, I wonder why.” I tried to mess up his hair, but he dodged my hand and rushed out of the room. When he wasn’t trying to annoy me, he could be an all right brother; he even liked playing soccer with me in the backyard. (I used to let him win all the time, but now I liked showing him tricks.) At first, when my mom was pregnant with Teddy, I’d thought I wasn’t going to like him at all. For six months, I complained when my mother couldn’t make lunch or take us shopping because her back hurt or she had to lie down. When Mom came home with him for the first time, Katy fawned over his tiny hands and feet. I hung back, not automatically impressed. Teddy wasn’t a cute baby; he looked long and thin, as if he’d been stretched. But when Mom had asked what I thought about my brother, I’d said he had her eyes. She’d smiled as if I’d called him beautiful.

Arms folded over my chest, I perched on the couch, facing my father.

Dad groaned as he readjusted the makeshift icepack. “Pulled a muscle in my shoulder,” he explained without my asking. “This one box got me. And all those catalogs. Of course people are going to throw them away. I swear, tomorrow I’m going to sort through what I think people won’t need and toss it. Do us both a favor.” As he chuckled, his shoulders shook and jostled off the ice. He tried to snatch it but moved too quickly, wincing at the pain.

“Wouldn’t that be a federal offense?”

He waved his hand as though brushing away a cobweb. “I’d call it efficiency. They’d love it.”

My father was definitely not the typical disgruntled postal worker. “Walking in the fresh air, bringing people news, what could be better?” he often said when people asked about the job. “Better than being stuck in a cubicle all day.” We lived in such a small town that he knew most people on his route. At Christmastime, he came home with cards, plates of cookies, and the occasional bottle of wine. And because he carried dog biscuits in case of unfriendly pets, Jackson followed him around the house, ignoring any other member of the family.

Nodding toward the door, my father frowned. “And speaking of getting in trouble, don’t swear in front of Teddy, huh?”

“It’s not like I’m saying anything he hasn’t already heard.”

“All the same, you don’t have to say it in front of him. He’s seven.”

I heaved a sigh. “Fine, fine.” Before I could get to my feet, Dad held a palm up for me to stay.

“There was a message on the machine when I got home,” he said, “from a Mr. Kane. He wanted to know what time would be good for the conference.”

My heart sank. I’d hoped that Mom had forgotten about the conference and Dad would never have to know.

Dad’s face softened behind his beard. “I offer to take you out, practice, and you refuse. And in class, apparently you’re one step away from taking out an entire building with a car. What’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem,” I said, jumping to my feet. “I suck at driving — that’s all. Who even says I have to learn?”

I made my way toward the kitchen, but Dad called out, “Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m not done discussing this.” His tone was firm enough that I stopped at the doorway. He had to turn in the chair to see me. “Mr. Kane’s willing to talk about options. You might not even have to repeat the class next semester.”

“Woo-hoo.”

“I know it’s scary, but we can go out somewhere, just us, and you won’t have to worry about hitting anything. You can go three miles an hour — who cares? It’s something you gotta learn, Alex.”

“I can get by without it,” I said, sitting down again.

“Sure, but it’s helpful. Besides, what are you going to do? Stay at home your whole life?”

Considering how popular I suddenly wasn’t at school, that didn’t seem like such a bad alternative. But I realized it would also probably lead to the grisly murder of one family member or another. Rather than admitting that my dad had a point, I rolled my eyes. Jackson nudged his head against my palm, allowing me to pet him.

Dad grinned. “Now, should I bring a helmet to practice driving with you?” He rubbed his beard, mentioning that Mr. Kane’s message said he’d talked to Mom about this yesterday. “You guys didn’t already fight about it, did you?”

“You’d know if we did. Teddy’s brain would probably explode with joy to tell you all about it.”

I thought this would make Dad at least chuckle, but his frown deepened. “Would you give her a call for me?” He fingered the ice pack. “Ask when she thinks she’ll be home.”

Scowling enough to seem put out, I dialed the number for the dentist’s office where Mom worked as a receptionist most days. I expected her voice on the other end, but someone else greeted me with, “Good afternoon. Forrester Family Dental.” The voice was clean and crisp. I imagined two rows of sparkling teeth. This must have been Georgia, the new receptionist — bubbly was how my mother had described her.

“Hi. Is my mom there? Janet Winchester?”

“Is this Katy?” I told her it was Alex. “Alex, right. Your mom isn’t home yet?”

I assumed Georgia was still learning the schedule. “No, she works until five on Wednesdays.”

I heard papers shuffling; it sounded like static. Then Georgia told me Mom hadn’t been feeling well, so she’d left a little while ago. “Headache or something. Light-headed, you know? Kind of confused.” Georgia thought Mom must have stopped at the drugstore for aspirin. “I know she was at the doctor’s a few weeks ago, so I hope it’s nothing serious. Tell her I say, ‘Feel better,’ all right?”

When I hung up the phone, Dad asked what Georgia had said. It was a simple answer — Mom was a little sick and went home early. This wasn’t anything unusual. She got headaches sometimes. Lots of people had them. It was just like Dad and his shoulder. And going to the doctor’s could have been nothing, a checkup. Mom wasn’t sick again. Not like before.

Almost four years earlier, Mom had been expecting another baby. I thought three of us were enough, but since Teddy was old enough for preschool, my parents had decided to have one more. “I always wanted a big family,” Mom said.

It was going to be a girl. Mom and Dad brought home the ultrasound pictures to show us. They’d picked out names already — Meagan Rose or Jenna Elizabeth. I told Katy she’d have to share a room with the new baby. Teddy scribbled all over sheets of construction paper and told us they were drawings of his little sister. Mom taped them to the crib so Teddy could welcome the baby when she came home.

Then one day, when Mom was at the end of her second trimester, I found her in the bathroom, crouched on the bath mat. She kept insisting she was all right, but we had to mop up the blood with paper towels. I rode with her in the ambulance because no one else was home, and I tried to say things like, “It’s okay,” but she was pale and stared at the roof of the car. She tried to hold my hand, but her grip was weak, so I had to hold on enough for both of us.

Doctors swept Mom away. I was left in the hospital waiting room, mindlessly watching episodes of court TV shows and shivering under the harsh blast of the air conditioner. Dad appeared briefly, only to join Mom while she underwent tests. Mom’s friend and our neighbor Mrs. Ellis picked me up, already having gotten Teddy and Katy from their after-school activities. Mrs. Ellis tried to smile as she drove out of the hospital parking lot. “Sometimes babies come early,” she said. As if I didn’t know that already.

At home, Katy, Teddy, and I watched Pixar movies and ate Milano cookies. Every so often, Teddy would ask when Mom was going to be done having the baby, and I would tell him that sometimes it took a while.

“Was I like this?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “You were crazy fast.”

He smiled. “I’m the fastest one in my class.” He poked Katy. “I’m faster than you.” Katy vehemently denied this, so they were distracted for a little while.

A few hours later, Mrs. Ellis was still around. She was the one who answered the phone when Dad called. “Yes, yes, of course. Anything I can do,” she said into the phone, and hung up. I didn’t ask why she hadn’t let me talk to my father. I didn’t need to. “There were some complications,” Mrs. Ellis said.

The baby couldn’t breathe. Infant respiratory distress syndrome — that was what the doctors called it. When my dad came home briefly to change and see us, he said the baby’s lungs were too stiff to breathe on their own. Something about how they hadn’t had time to develop. My parents spent weeks at the hospital looking through a huge window at shriveled babies in little plastic boxes.

I only saw her once. Dad asked me to come to the hospital. Katy and Teddy were too young, he said, but I could see my sister if I wanted. I was nervous but said yes. We drove to the hospital without talking, without even the radio on. Inside, we walked directly to the neonatal intensive care unit. Dad pointed her out to me — Meagan Rose. Although I knew it was a girl, I could only tell that from the little pink tag around her ankle. Her limbs were emaciated, and her face was strained as if it hurt to lie there. Her chest kept caving in when she inhaled and exhaled, each breath aided by a plastic tube winding in her tiny nose. The sight of her made me queasy. I didn’t ask to go back after that. A week later, when my parents came home alone, my stomach churned with relief and guilt. I wouldn’t have to see that fragile, withered body again. But maybe somehow, my revulsion at the sight of my sister had caused her delicate heart to stop beating.

After that, the doctors recommended that my parents not have any more children. We were it. Mom went to bed for a week. I tried to be helpful — bring her glasses of water, change her pillowcases, get her books from the library — as if I could make up for what had happened. But she didn’t say much to me, or anyone. Silence sent cracks through her room. Then she got out of bed and made coffee and acted like nothing had happened. It was over and I thought we’d survived.

Dad was waiting for me to tell him if Mom was still at the office. “She’s on her way,” I finally said.

As I spoke, a car eased itself into the driveway. I rushed to the door. But it was Katy, being dropped off from gymnastics by a friend’s mother. Now in middle school, Katy was trading her old friends for new ones, and their families were unfamiliar. Along with Katy, the girl and her mother stepped out of their minivan and walked to our front door.

The mother was shorter than I was and had a mushroomish haircut. She smiled like we’d already met. “Hi. I’m Amy’s mom. You must be Alexandra.”

Katy shrugged at me as if to say that she didn’t usually talk about me but this was a mother who asked questions.

“I wanted to introduce myself to your mom,” Amy’s mom went on to explain. “Is she around?”

I was about to say that my mother wasn’t home from work yet when I saw her walking up the street. At first I wasn’t sure if it was even her or not — something about her was different. Her limbs seemed longer and more languid with each step. She wore the same clothing I’d seen her in that morning — pressed khakis, a light navy-blue sweater — but now she had a new linen scarf wrapped carelessly around her neck as well. As she approached the house, she waved, a wide and slow gesture, as if she had to travel a great distance to reach us.

Katy’s friend’s mom smiled. “Perfect timing, I guess.”

Where was Mom’s car? She’d driven to work that morning. Her expression was friendly and somehow younger. There was no stress under her eyes or around her mouth.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked.

“Only for a second. I’m Karen White, Amy’s mom. We spoke on the phone last week.” Mrs. White extended her hand, which Mom shook heartily. Mrs. White didn’t seem to notice anything off, but I thought my mother’s handshake was too enthusiastic, and her grip looked too firm. I felt like I was watching her underwater; everything was there and recognizable but distorted. I glanced at Katy, who was undoing her tight braid and hadn’t appeared to notice anything wrong.

Mom let go of Mrs. White’s hand. “A pleasure.” She turned to the petite brunette girl at Mrs. White’s side. “And this must be Amy.”

Mrs. White’s smile didn’t leave her face, but it faltered slightly. “Yes, of course, you remember Amy. You gave the girls a ride after gymnastics last week.”

The gentle hint didn’t curb Mom’s enthusiasm. “Wonderful,” she said. “I’ve always thought it was necessary for girls to get exercise and fresh air. My sister and I used to outclimb the boys in our neighborhood.”

That caught Katy’s attention. She frowned, mouthing, “Sister?” so only I could see. Our mother was an only child. I studied Mom’s face, but her expression was genuine — calm and vigorous at the same time.

“I remember those days,” Mrs. White said. “Well, I hate to run, but I’m so glad I finally had the chance to meet you.”

“Lovely chat,” Mom said.

“And you’ll get the girls next week?”

Only then did Mom hesitate. “What . . .? Ah, yes, right. The girls.”

Mrs. White, having started to her car, stopped. She tried to keep smiling, glancing between Amy and my mother. “From gymnastics. Was there a change in plans? If you’re too busy —”

“No, no,” my mother insisted. “It’ll be splendid. See you next week.” Mrs. White opened her mouth to press the issue but closed it again. She clasped Amy’s hand as she walked toward their car. We watched them back out of the driveway, my mother waving until they disappeared.

“What sister?” I asked.

Mom snorted a laugh, holding the screen door open. “What sister? Pidge, of course. Now, what’ll it be, in or out?”

We followed her inside. My father had turned off Patsy Cline and was now trying to read the newspaper with one hand. When he heard the door slam, he set the paper aside and hoisted himself out of his chair. My mother didn’t look up as he stepped into the kitchen. Whistling to herself, she filled a glass with water.

“What’s Pidge?” Katy asked.

Mom gulped half the glass, then set it on the counter, sighing with satisfaction. She blinked hard, like she had something in her eye, and looked at Katy again. “I’m sorry, what?” Finally she saw my father, who was holding the ice pack in place with one hand. “Did you hurt yourself?”