Arcadia's Gift Part 7

Crossing over to the linen closet, I found a set of fresh towels and replaced the ones on the rack. I then scooped up the dirty laundry and piled it in the hamper, squishing it all in to fit. When we were expecting company or planning for an occasion, my mother occasionally would hire a maid to come in to clean. She received a discount because she referred the maid service to her clients for their open houses. I made a mental note to look up the woman's name in Mom's planner and have her come in, at least until Mom was back to functioning like a normal adult.

I blew my nose on a wad of toilet paper and took a couple of deep breaths.

"Mom," I said, leaving the bathroom. "I'll make some sandwiches for lunch. You should eat something. You look like you've lost twenty pounds."

She stood in front of her dresser, fingering a pair of socks like she couldn't figure out what they were for.

"Do you need any help?" I offered.

She looked up at me as if seeing me for the first time. Lately, that was how she always looked at me. "Oh... no. I'll be down soon."

"Don't forget the bath water. It's still running, and you don't want it to overflow."

She nodded, selected a pair of socks and closed the drawer.

By the time I reached the kitchen, my sadness had begun to abate. Maybe it was just the horror of my mother's depression that was triggering it. She was supposed to be seeing a therapist as well. She'd gone to two appointments so far, one while I was still in the hospital. Obviously, it wasn't working.

I slapped together a couple of double-decker PB&J's and set them on the table with an open bag of potato chips. I was almost done eating by the time Mom stumbled down the steps dressed semi-normally in wrinkled slacks and a sweater which fit her fine a few weeks ago, but hung on her now. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s had shrunk so much, they were practically invisible under the fabric.

Just being in her presence filled my mind with grief. The strange thing was I'd thought I was getting better...or at least making some progress. I no longer slept all day, I was dressing in regular clothes rather than lounging in pajamas, I even went for stretches of time without thinking about Lony, not that she was ever very far from my thoughts. But seeing Mom set something off in me, triggering the sorrow to bubble back up.

I got up to wash the dishes so I didn't have to watch her nibbling at her sandwich with squirrel bites. We didn't talk.

I ended up driving us to the appointment in her BMW. She never mentioned that she was too impaired by pills to drive. She simply handed me the keys and climbed in the pa.s.senger side without a word.

We pulled into the parking lot of a new office building on the west side of town. My father's company had constructed the building only a year before. As with many of the buildings and homes he'd built, I couldn't look at it without pride catching in my throat.

Speaking of my dad...across the parking lot, he leaned against his work truck, talking to someone through his bluetooth. I didn't know he was coming, but the pleasure at seeing him improved my melancholy. Mom didn't have quite the same reaction.

"Julia," my father greeted with a bob of the head. He'd been calling the house every night to check in with Aaron and me, but Mom refused to speak to him.

With her lips pursed tightly, Mom wound her arm around my shoulders possessively and said, "Tim. We didn't expect to see you here. Do you have an appointment also?"

"Well, no, Julia, I'm here to support our daughter."

I hated this tension. It was so thick I was suffocating.

"Let's just go inside," I suggested, stalking off and not caring if they followed or not. I was so sick of the fighting. You'd think they could be a little kinder to each other in light of their daughter's death, but instead, the accident seemed to sever any lingering ties there might have been between them.

We entered the waiting room. Mom notified the receptionist we were here, then settled into a chair and roughly flipped through the pages of an outdated issue of Glamour.

Dad blew out a long breath of air and took the seat opposite her. He glanced at the magazines on the coffee table, but didn't see anything of interest. I gave him a weak smile which he returned just as weakly.

"Arcadia Day?" a woman called from the doorway leading back to the doctor's offices. All three of us stood and followed her down the hall where she invited us to sit on a couch in a comfortable looking office with purple walls and a stack of toys on the floor in the corner.

"It's nice to meet you, Arcadia. I'm Dr. Carrick, but you may call me Elaine. I like to keep things informal in this room. I find it helps us to get to know each other."

Elaine had one of those unfortunate faces with a weak chin overshadowed by a large overbite. Her nose pointed long and straight like a beak. Her eyes were soft and gentle though, the kind that might belong to a priest or grandmother in some movie where things were stereotypical and perfect.

"It's Cady," I said. "Arcadia is also too formal."

Elaine smiled and talked to my parents for a few minutes about what the goals were for my treatment and what they wanted me to get out of it. When that was done, she excused them to wait for me back in the other room.

The soft click of the door closing behind them brought back my nervousness. Sitting in a room with a shrink makes a person self-conscious. I stopped picking at my cuticles and folded my hands in my lap.

"So, Cady," she began. "Why don't you tell me about how you've been since your sister's death. I understand you were in the hospital also."

Elaine was very easy to talk to, but I wasn't sure how much I trusted her. I started telling her about how each person in the family was dealing, omitting the part about my mother's drug stupors. I told her about my attempt to go back to school, but glossed over the details as to why I felt I had to leave after one cla.s.s. Before I knew it, the hour pa.s.sed, and I left with an appointment for the next week.

As we were leaving, Dad asked if I wanted to have a late lunch with him. I knew I shouldn't let my mom drive herself home, and besides, I had plans to meet with Bronwyn. The glint in his eyes dimmed when I asked for a rain check, making me feel both guilty and sad at the same time. He gave me a tight hug before climbing into his truck and driving away.

Mother was quiet in the car on the way home. Elaine had stressed during our session the importance of maintaining an open dialog with people to prevent feeling alone in my grief. I figured that was Mom's problem. She hadn't been dialoging with anyone except Prince Valium. Since I had her captive, I decided to confront her.

"Mom, I'm worried about you."

I felt her stiffen in the seat beside me, but she didn't say anything in response.

"I was thinking that until you're feeling better, maybe we could have that maid come in a couple times a week. I know how an ordered house always makes you happy."

Mom stared out the window a long moment before answering.

"Happy," she whispered as if it were a new vocabulary word that she was trying out on her tongue for the first time.

"Well?" I asked.

She sighed, "I guess."

Silence again.

"So," I said, grasping for something to say that might draw her out of her sh.e.l.l. "Aaron went back to school this week, and I'm going to go back on Monday. I'm almost caught up on the a.s.signments that I missed."

Saying nothing, Mom pulled her sungla.s.ses out of her Coach bag and shoved them on her face -the universal sign that a person does not wish to converse. Whatever. I focused back on the road.

"Swing in there, will you?" She gestured suddenly toward the Hy-Vee grocery store.

I braked hard in order to make the quick turn. The car was barely in park before Mom snapped open her seatbelt and flung the door open, narrowly missing hitting the side mirror on the Jeep parked beside us.

"Wait," I said, flipping the ignition off. "I'll go with you."

"Stay here," Mom snapped, closing the door hard behind her.

I watched her walk across the lot to the door, her gait slightly off. A few minutes later, she returned with a brown sack. The bag clinked as Mom slipped into the pa.s.senger seat and set it between her feet on the floor. I leaned over to peer into the top and saw at least four large bottles of alcohol and a small bag from the store's pharmacy.

"Let's go," Mom said, clicking her belt back into place.

I started the car and drove home, gritting my teeth the whole way.

The last thing my mother needed was more drugs and alcohol. Even if her doctor didn't know she was mixing, what kind of doctor prescribed that much medication to a woman who had nothing physically wrong with her? I mean, yes, her daughter died. It sucked. But it's not like if she slept long enough the sadness would magically disappear. My grip tightened on the steering wheel.

As we rounded past the high school, a thought occurred to me. Was it possible Mom was using more than one doctor to prescribe all of these drugs? There had to have been four orange pill bottles on her night stand this morning and a few more on the bathroom counter. As far as I knew, she hadn't been on any medication prior to the accident. That was a lot of bottles to acc.u.mulate in only a couple weeks.

Multiple doctors required the use of multiple pharmacies, right? Otherwise, the pharmacist would notice a person was being over-prescribed. I thought about this a moment. When I'd had bronchitis last year, Mom filled my antibiotics at the drug store next to the hospital. I'm pretty sure that was where she sent Lony to get her birth control pills too. I remember because she and Lony had gotten into an epic argument in the pharmacy parking lot while I sat captive in the backseat. Lony kept complaining that she didn't want to take pills that would make her fat when she and Cane weren't even having s.e.x, but Mom had insisted on taking precautions. Yes, it was definitely the other store, not the one in Hy-Vee.

My skin paled as I began to realize my mother's problem was bigger than I'd thought.

Chapter 13.

I knew I should tell Aaron and my dad about my suspicions of Mom's drug use, but that would have to wait.

Shortly after arriving home, Bronwyn picked me up in her mother's minivan and we headed to Culver's. We were both completely in love with their mashed potatoes. She also ordered a burger, and I a grilled cheese sandwich. We slid into the corner booth where she began filling me in on school.

"I should probably warn you," Bronwyn said, stirring her gravy into her potatoes. "The cheerleaders want to put together some kind of tribute to Lony during the half-time show of the Homecoming football game.

"I don't care. It's not like I'm going to go to the game. Oh, c.r.a.p! I can't believe I flipped out over a stupid locker memorial. Everyone must think I'm insane," I moaned, leaning my head on my hands.

"It's okay, Cady. No one blames you for it. Honestly, they stopped talking about it already. You've been replaced in the gossip chain...Sarah Conlin got knocked up by Chad Buss."

"For real?" I exclaimed. Sarah Conlin was the most popular girl in the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s and the mayor's daughter. Chad Buss was a goofy looking senior with only a double-digit IQ.

"Yeah, they're neighbors, and I guess they've been fooling around in secret for a while. Now that she can't hide the evidence, Chad's been bragging about it all over the school."

"G.o.d, I can't imagine being pregnant at fifteen! I sort of feel sorry for her, but seriously, who doesn't know about condoms these days?"

"My parents probably think I don't," she said with a chuckle.

I grinned.

"So...how are you feeling?" Bronwyn asked.

I held a spoon heaping with potatoes and gravy in front of me, turned it over and watch the contents plop back into the cardboard container.

"I don't know. I mean, sometimes it seems to be getting a little easier, but then something will remind me of Lony and it all comes back. My mother is a completely different person. I can't be near her without getting completely b.u.mmed out."

She nodded and sipped from her Dr. Pepper.

"I've been trying to get out of the house a little more. Actually...there's this new kid at school...Bryan Sullivan? I met him right before Lony died. Anyway, he's sort of been helping me a lot."

My friend's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean by helping?"

I filled her in about Bryan's brother pa.s.sing away and how he'd started calling me. I even told her about him being there for me the morning I tried to come back to school.

"So, do you like him? I mean, like a boyfriend?"

I blushed deeply and played in the mashed potatoes with my spoon. "I don't know. He's really a good guy. Cute. Seems smart. Plays guitar which is totally cool. But, I don't know, it's just not a good time for me right now to think about boys like that."

She agreed. "I bet it's nice to have someone to talk to who's been through it."

"Yeah... Oh, hey! You didn't work at the shelter yesterday did you?"

"No. I'm not scheduled until Sat.u.r.day morning. Why?"

I told her about finding the tumor in Lucy's chest. I figured she'd hear about it from Gina or someone eventually.

"Weird," she said, with a hint of skepticism creeping into her voice. "There has to be an explanation for it."

"I know, but I don't know what it could be. Maybe Dr. Kristy will figure something out."

We finished our food and dumped the garbage in the trash can. We had time to kill before she had to go to church, so we stopped by the music store in the mall. As I was thumbing through the rack of t-shirts, I found one with two cartoon guys paddling a canoe down a river. The caption above the first guy's head read, "Paddle faster. I hear banjos." I bought one for Bryan, getting the guy behind the counter to help me guess the right size.

After leaving the store, I began to worry that Bryan would find my buying him a gift weird. I almost turned back to return it, but I decided to hold on to it and give it to him only if the right time came. If I chickened out, I could always give it to Aaron for Christmas.

Bronwyn dropped me on the curb outside my house. The evening air took on an autumn chill as night descended. My house was dark and foreboding. I checked the time on my cell phone. Only 6:20. The thought of spending the long evening in the House of Horrors made my stomach sick. I mentally ticked through my options then flicked out my cell phone to call my dad.

"Hi, honey," Dad greeted when he picked up. "What's up?"

"Um...I was wondering if I could come by and see your place."

"Sure! Come on over. Want me to order some Chinese for us?"

I wasn't that hungry since I'd eaten at Culvers only a couple hours earlier, but Dad sounded so happy by my visit, I told him to order me a couple veggie eggrolls.

When I hung up, I went straight to my car parked across the street, without stopping in the house first.

I parked behind my father's truck in front of the brick eight-plex apartment building. My parents own a few different rental properties around town. Mom would find deals on investment property and Dad would fix the places up, so they could sell them for a profit. When the real estate market tanked a couple of years ago, they decided to hold onto the places they owned and rent them out, rather than take a loss on the sales. They purchased this particular building the summer after I finished eighth grade. My dad paid us kids to paint all eight apartments and hallways. I didn't get that smell off of my hands all summer.

I rang the bell, and Dad buzzed me in.

"I'll get you a key made next time I go to Menards," Dad said as he opened the door for me.

I stepped inside and glanced around. "Still living in boxes?"

Cardboard U-Haul boxes stood stacked like skysc.r.a.pers around the apartment creating a skyline effect in the living room. The only thing that appeared to be put away was his extensive DVD collection which consisted of every John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Al Pacino movie ever made.

Dad grinned guiltily, running his hand through his thinning hair. "Guess I just haven't had time to deal with unpacking yet."

I shrugged off my jean jacket and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. I recognized the oak dining set from my Grandma Nora's house before she moved to Arizona a few years ago. When she left Iowa for a tiny condo in Scottsdale, she'd put most of the furniture from her large family-sized home into storage.

"Food will be here any minute," Dad said. "Have a seat."

I followed him over to the couch where I snuggled in and put my feet up. The comfortable sectional was also a relic from my Grandma's home. It was strange to think that my dad lived here in this place. It was all just...too bare. All of the walls were off-white and the carpets beige. Hotel rooms have more personality than this place.