told her she was too fat to be my friend.”
Mom ’ s fingers still and then pull too hard.
“Ouch!”
She ’ s gentle again, apologizing for all the yanking. “And Tara?”
I don’ t say anything, don ’ t want to get my hair pulled again.
“Tell me, Lilybeans.”
“Dad said she was too lazy.”
“Wasn ’ t she on the girl ’ s basketball team?”
“And volleyball and soccer.”
“Why didn ’ t you tell me any of this?”
I shrug, not wanting to put more stress on Mom than she already has. She ’ s finishing up the braid, though, and pretty soon she ’ ll be turning me around so she can see what ’ s in my eyes. I might as well tell her and get it all out. “Because you had enough with him changing so much, saying all those things about you. Yelling like you were on the moon.”
Mom finishes my hair without saying anything else and pulls me up to sit next to her on the blue and white bed. “From now on, you tell me everything, okay? Everything.”
I nod.
She tucks a stray hair behind my ear and kisses my cheek. “I ’ m sorry this last year has been so hard.”
I run my fingers along the silky bedspread. I was never a super chatty kid, but in the last year, I haven ’ t been able to string ten words together at a time. All my friends have been driven away by Hank ’ s drinking and his meanness. Mom and me, our lives about school and work and home and nothing else. Hank with his suffocating control, his crazy belief we were doing bad things. Mom and me, our lives about nothing but Hank ’ s growing rage.
With Hank sitting on the blue and white bed and these memories about Mom, the bees get so loud I can’t ignore them anymore. I go where it’s quiet.
* * *
The cell phone Margie gave me is playing a tune from where I left it in the living room. Hank’s gone, vanished from the bedroom. I’m still in the hall, my smart feet tired from standing. I get to the cell phone and pick it up in time.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi, Lily. Are you okay?” Margie says.
“I’m okay.”
“This is my third time trying you. Whatcha up to?”
“Looking out the window. Waiting for your honk.”
“How are you? Did you eat?”
“I fell asleep.”
“Sleep is good, but you have to eat too.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ll get you something on the way home. I’m a few minutes away.”
“Okay.”
“See you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
I don’t mention Hank with his whiskey smell, his being in the blue and white bedroom and then disappearing, not leaving so much as a wrinkle on the bedspread. A not-Hank after all is what I think. A not-Hank with his silence, his clothes that show what he did to Mom, his smelling like he did that night. I think about him at the bookstore, in the blue and white bedroom, wonder if they’re all not-Hanks and I’m maybe closer to the loony bin than I thought.
Five
We get to Dr. Pratchett’s office on time. “Remember, Lilybeans, fifteenth floor, number 1504. It’s on that post-it in your pocket too. Tell Dr. Pratchett hello from me, okay?”
“Okay, Aunt Margie. See you in awhile.”
I get out of Margie’s car where the bus stop is. There’s no bus now—just us. I walk across the field of concrete. Thin clouds make everything gray now, dim the sky, the trees.
I find the elevator and ride up by myself. Fifteenth floor, number 1504. I open a door, see there’s another door too, into the therapy office I guess. I’m sitting in a chair in the waiting room, waiting. None of the magazines look good, so I just sit and try to figure out my next focus. Finish The Stand. It’s a good one and reminds me of Margie’s toasty chair.
A few minutes or a few hours later, the knob to the inner office twists. A man who has to duck through the doorway comes into the waiting room. He’s got dark and light gray hair, all mixed up like concrete that’s dry in some spots, wet in others. He wears his glasses pulled down
Mom ’ s fingers still and then pull too hard.
“Ouch!”
She ’ s gentle again, apologizing for all the yanking. “And Tara?”
I don’ t say anything, don ’ t want to get my hair pulled again.
“Tell me, Lilybeans.”
“Dad said she was too lazy.”
“Wasn ’ t she on the girl ’ s basketball team?”
“And volleyball and soccer.”
“Why didn ’ t you tell me any of this?”
I shrug, not wanting to put more stress on Mom than she already has. She ’ s finishing up the braid, though, and pretty soon she ’ ll be turning me around so she can see what ’ s in my eyes. I might as well tell her and get it all out. “Because you had enough with him changing so much, saying all those things about you. Yelling like you were on the moon.”
Mom finishes my hair without saying anything else and pulls me up to sit next to her on the blue and white bed. “From now on, you tell me everything, okay? Everything.”
I nod.
She tucks a stray hair behind my ear and kisses my cheek. “I ’ m sorry this last year has been so hard.”
I run my fingers along the silky bedspread. I was never a super chatty kid, but in the last year, I haven ’ t been able to string ten words together at a time. All my friends have been driven away by Hank ’ s drinking and his meanness. Mom and me, our lives about school and work and home and nothing else. Hank with his suffocating control, his crazy belief we were doing bad things. Mom and me, our lives about nothing but Hank ’ s growing rage.
With Hank sitting on the blue and white bed and these memories about Mom, the bees get so loud I can’t ignore them anymore. I go where it’s quiet.
* * *
The cell phone Margie gave me is playing a tune from where I left it in the living room. Hank’s gone, vanished from the bedroom. I’m still in the hall, my smart feet tired from standing. I get to the cell phone and pick it up in time.
“Hello?” I say.
“Hi, Lily. Are you okay?” Margie says.
“I’m okay.”
“This is my third time trying you. Whatcha up to?”
“Looking out the window. Waiting for your honk.”
“How are you? Did you eat?”
“I fell asleep.”
“Sleep is good, but you have to eat too.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. We’ll get you something on the way home. I’m a few minutes away.”
“Okay.”
“See you in a bit.”
“Okay.”
I don’t mention Hank with his whiskey smell, his being in the blue and white bedroom and then disappearing, not leaving so much as a wrinkle on the bedspread. A not-Hank after all is what I think. A not-Hank with his silence, his clothes that show what he did to Mom, his smelling like he did that night. I think about him at the bookstore, in the blue and white bedroom, wonder if they’re all not-Hanks and I’m maybe closer to the loony bin than I thought.
Five
We get to Dr. Pratchett’s office on time. “Remember, Lilybeans, fifteenth floor, number 1504. It’s on that post-it in your pocket too. Tell Dr. Pratchett hello from me, okay?”
“Okay, Aunt Margie. See you in awhile.”
I get out of Margie’s car where the bus stop is. There’s no bus now—just us. I walk across the field of concrete. Thin clouds make everything gray now, dim the sky, the trees.
I find the elevator and ride up by myself. Fifteenth floor, number 1504. I open a door, see there’s another door too, into the therapy office I guess. I’m sitting in a chair in the waiting room, waiting. None of the magazines look good, so I just sit and try to figure out my next focus. Finish The Stand. It’s a good one and reminds me of Margie’s toasty chair.
A few minutes or a few hours later, the knob to the inner office twists. A man who has to duck through the doorway comes into the waiting room. He’s got dark and light gray hair, all mixed up like concrete that’s dry in some spots, wet in others. He wears his glasses pulled down
Similar Books
