“We’re leaving in five minutes,” she repeated, looking around the room.
“Just listen to me for a second. I had to come. Jeremiah and Conrad needed me.”
The look on my mother’s face made me stop short. I’d never seen her angry like this before.
“And you didn’t feel the need to tell me about it? Beck asked me to look after her boys. How can I do that when I don’t even know they need my help? If they were in trouble, you should have told me. Instead you chose to lie to me. You lied .”
“I didn’t want to lie to you—,” I started to say.
She kept on going. “You’ve been here doing God knows what . . .”
I stared at her. I couldn’t believe she’d just said that. “What does that mean, ‘God knows what’?”
My mother whirled around, her eyes all wild. “What am I supposed to think? You snuck out here with Conrad before and you spent the night! So you tell me. What are you doing here with him? Because it looks to me like you lied to me so you could come here and get drunk and fool around with your boyfriend.”
I hated her. I hated her so much.
“He’s not my boyfriend! You don’t know anything!”
The vein in my mother’s forehead was pulsing. “You call me at four in the morning, drunk. I call your cell phone and it goes straight to voice mail. I call the house phone and all I get is a busy signal. I drive all night, worried out of my mind, and I get here and the house is a wreck. Beer cans everywhere, trash all over the place. What the hell do you think you’re doing, Isabel? Or do you even know?”
The walls in the house were really thin. Everyone could probably hear everything.
I said, “We were going to clean it up. This was our last night here. Don’t you get it? Mr. Fisher is selling the house. Don’t you care?”
She shook her head, her jaw tight. “Do you really think you’ve helped matters by meddling? This isn’t our business. How many times do I have to explain that to you?”
“It is so our business. Susannah would have wanted us to save this house!”
“Don’t talk to me about what Susannah would have wanted,” my mother snapped. “Now put your clothes on and get your things. We’re leaving.”
“No.” I pulled the covers up to my shoulders.
“What?”
“I said no. I’m not going!” I stared up at my mother as defiantly as I could, but I could feel my chin trembling.
She marched over to the bed and ripped the sheets right off of me. She grabbed my arm, pulled me out of the bed and toward the door, and I twisted away from her.
“You can’t make me go,” I sobbed. “You can’t tell me anything. You don’t have the right.”
My tears did not move my mother. They only made her angrier. She said, “You’re acting like a spoiled brat. Can’t you look beyond your own grief and think about someone else? It’s not all about you. We all lost Beck. Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t helping anything.”
Her words stung me so badly I wanted to hurt her back a million times worse. So I said the thing I knew would hurt her most. I said, “I wish Susannah was my mother and not you.”
How many times had I thought it, wished for it secretly? When I was little, Susannah was the one I ran to, not her. I used to wonder what it would be like, to have a mom like Susannah who loved me for me and wasn’t disappointed in all the ways that I didn’t measure up.
I was breathing hard as I waited for my mother to respond. To cry, to scream at me.
She didn’t do either of those things. Instead she said, “How unfortunate for you.”
Even when I tried my hardest, I couldn’t get the reaction I wanted from my mother. She was impenetrable.
I said, “Susannah will never forgive you for this, you know. For losing her house. For letting down her boys.”
My mother’s hand reached out and struck my cheek so hard I rocked back. I didn’t see it coming. I clutched my face and right away I cried, but part of me was satisfied. I finally got what I wanted. Proof that she could feel something.
Her face was white. She had never hit me before. Never ever, not in my whole life.
I waited for her to say she was sorry. To say she didn’t mean to hurt me, she didn’t mean the things she’d said. If she said those things, then I would say them too. Because I was sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said.
When she didn’t speak, I backed away from her and then around her, holding my face. Then I ran out of the room, stumbling over my feet.
Jeremiah was standing in the hallway, looking at me with his mouth open. He looked at me like he didn’t recognize me, like he didn’t know who this person was, this girl who screamed at her mother and said terrible things. “Wait,” he said, reaching out to stop me.
I pushed past him and moved down the stairs.
In the living room, Conrad was picking up beer bottles and tossing them into a blue recycling bag. He didn’t look at me. I knew he’d heard everything too.
I ran out the back door and then I almost tripped going down the stairs that headed down to the beach. I sank to the ground and sat in the sand, holding my burning cheek in the palm of my hand. And then I threw up.
I heard Jeremiah come up behind me. I knew it was him right away, because Conrad would know not to follow me.
“I just want to be alone,” I said, wiping my mouth. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want him to see my face.
“Belly,” he started. He sat down next to me and kicked sand over my throw up.
When he didn’t say anything more, I looked at him. “What?”
He bit his upper lip. Then he reached out and touched my cheek. His fingers felt warm. He looked so sad. He said, “You should just go with your mom.”
Whatever I’d been expecting him to say, it hadn’t been that. I’d come all this way and I’d gotten in so much trouble, just so I could help him and Conrad, and now he wanted me to leave? Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes and I wiped them away with the back of my hands. “Why?”
“Because Laurel’s really upset. Everything’s gone to crap, and it’s my fault. I never should have asked you to come. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Pretty soon we’ll all have to.”
“And that’s it?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
We sat in the sand for a while. I had never felt more lost. I cried a little more, and Jeremiah didn’t say anything, which I was grateful for. There was nothing worse than your friend watching you cry after you just got in trouble with your mother. When I was done, he stood up and gave me his hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling me to my feet.
We went back inside the house. Conrad was gone and the living room was clean. My mother was mopping the kitchen floor. When she saw me, she stopped. She put the mop back into the bucket and leaned it against the wall.
Right in front of Jeremiah, she said, “I’m sorry.”
I looked at him, and he backed out of the kitchen and went up the stairs. I almost stopped him. I didn’t want to be alone with her. I was afraid.
She continued. “You’re right. I’ve been absent. I’ve been so consumed with my own grief, I haven’t reached out to you. I’m sorry for that.”
“Mom—,” I started to say. I was about to tell her I was sorry too, for saying that thing before, that awful thing I wished I could take back. But she lifted her hand up and stopped me.
“I’m just—off balance. Ever since Beck died, I can’t seem to find my equilibrium.” She rested her head against the wall. “I’ve been coming here with Beck since I was younger than you are now. I love this house. You know that.”
“I know,” I said. “I didn’t mean it, what I said before.”
My mother nodded. “Let’s sit down a minute, all right?”
She sat down at the kitchen table and I took a seat across from her.
“I shouldn’t have hit you,” she said, and her voice broke. “I’m sorry.”
“You never did that before.”