"Give me the bag," she said when I'd finally gotten the last chocolate chip down.
I did as she told me.
"Fine," she said. "That was your food for today and tomorrow. You can join us for supper on Thursday."
"Mom!" I yelled. "It was just some chocolate chips."
"I was saving them for Matt's birthday," she said. "I'm not going to tell him why he isn't getting any dessert on his birthday. I don't expect you to tell him, either. But you've eaten enough for four people, so you're going to skip your next four meals. Maybe then you'll understand how important food really is."
"I'm sorry," I said. I hadn't been thinking about Matt. His birthday is in a couple of weeks, but what are birthdays nowadays? "Can't you make him something else for his birthday?"
"What you did was wrong," Mom said. She sounded more Momlike by then, or at least the Mom I've gotten to know over the past few months. "I can't have you or your brothers walking in here and eating whatever you feel like. This food has to last all of us for as long a time as possible. Why can't you understand that? What if you stroll in here and help yourself to a can of peaches? Or string beans? I know you're hungry. I'm hungry, too. But the only chance we have is if we're very, very careful. Maybe things will get better in a couple of months. Maybe it'll take longer. If we don't look toward the future, we have nothing to live for and I won't have that."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll never do it again. I promise."
Mom nodded. "I know you're not a bad girl, Miranda," she said. "I know it was just thoughtlessness on your part. And punishing you doesn't make me feel any better. But I meant it about the meals. You can eat again Thursday night. It won't kill you to go without food that long. You have enough calories in you right now to last for a week. Now just go to your room. I really don't want to deal with you anymore."
My stomach aches like it used to when I'd pig out on Halloween candy. Only worse, because then I'd have a full stomach. And I wouldn't hate myself so much.
I hurt Mom. Without even knowing it, I hurt Matt. Jonny, too, since he would have loved a dessert. Mrs. Nesbitt. Maybe even Peter.
I'm a selfish, selfish pig. I don't deserve to live.
September 7
Jonny came into my room this morning.
"Mom said you ate something from the pantry yesterday," he told me. "And you're not allowed to eat again until tomorrow night. And if she ever finds out that Matt or I did that we'll get the exact same punishment."
For some reason that made me feel better. I get it into my head sometimes that Mom loves me less than Matt or Jonny.
"That's pretty much what happened," I said.
Jonny looked kind of excited. "What did you eat?" he asked.
"A can of string beans," I said.
"Is that all?" he asked. "You can't eat today because of a can of string beans?"
I told him to get the hell out of my room and stay out. And that was the only conversation I had all day.
September 8
Mom fried two potatoes from the garden. She also heated up a can of string beans. For dessert we had a can of fruit salad.
The prodigal son would have been jealous.
September 12
Monday.
I should be doing schoolwork.
September 14
Matt's birthday. He's 19.
For supper we had artichoke hearts, almost like a salad, and then linguini with white clam sauce. Mrs. Nesbitt brought her home-baked oatmeal raisin cookies, which Matt likes but not nearly as much as he likes chocolate. Thinking about that made me feel sick all over again. I ate one cookie (I knew Mom would be furious if I didn't), but it tasted like dust.
Megan's right about my being a sinner. But she's wrong about hell. You don't have to wait until you're dead to get there.
September 16
Matt went to the post office today and brought home two letters from Dad.
The first was from a day or two after he left. It said how wonderful it was to see all of us and how he was so proud of us and he knew we'd be okay and we'd see each other again soon.
The second letter was dated August 16. He and Lisa had made it to the Kansas border, but Kansas wasn't letting anyone in unless they could prove they had parents or children who owned property there. Which of course he and Lisa don't. The border guards didn't care that all they wanted to do was drive through Kansas to get to Colorado. He said that they had some options. There were rumors of officials who could be persuaded to look the other way.
"What does that mean?" Jonny asked.
"Bribed," Matt explained. "Give them what they want and they let you in."
The problem with that was first you had to find the official, Dad went on, and then you had to have something he wanted. In addition, there were restrictions against letting pregnant women in, and Lisa's pregnancy was showing.
They could try to get in by a back road, but there were reports of vigilantes keeping strangers out.
They could drive down to Oklahoma and get to Colorado that way. They didn't have enough gas, and rumors were things were as bad or worse in Oklahoma, but they were still thinking about it. Lisa was determined to get to her parents.
The temperature was about 40 and he and Lisa were staying at a refugee camp. No heat, no food, limited plumbing. They were only allowed one more day there and then they had to get back on the road. If they had to, they could go back to Missouri. Because of the earthquakes there, the state was pretty much unpoliced.
That was pretty much how the letter ended and it scared all of us. Dad never wants us to worry. Three years ago when he lost his job, he made it sound like it was his life's dream to be out of work. Life is full of unexpected opportunities. When a window closes a door opens.
And of course for him the door did open. He got the job in Springfield, met Lisa, and the next thing we all knew he was married with a baby on the way.
Only now Dad wasn't talking about windows and doors and unexpected opportunities.
It was the first report we've had in a long time about what's going on outside of Pennsylvania. Travel restrictions. Vigilantes. Refugee camps. And that's in the part of the country where things are supposed to be better.
"I'm sure we'll get another letter from him soon," Mom said. "Saying he and Lisa have made it to her parents and that everything is all right."
We all knew she was saying that because she had to.
If we never hear from Dad again, we'll never know what became of him. It's possible he and Lisa will make it to Colorado, and things there aren't horrible, and they'll be okay and the baby will be okay and we'll never know.
At least that's what I'm telling myself. Because I don't want to tell myself anything else.
September 17
I went out to get kindling (I've been such a baby afraid of the big bad forest) and when I came back, I found Mom sobbing at the kitchen table.
I dropped the bags of kindling and went over and hugged her. Then I asked what had happened.
"Nothing," she said. "I was thinking about that man. The one the day we bought the groceries, with the baby on the way. The baby should be born by now, and I started thinking about if it is okay, if he and his wife and their other child are okay, and I don't know. It just got to me."
"I know," I said, because I did know. Sometimes it's safer to cry about people you don't know than to think about people you really love.
THIRTEEN
September 18
Matt and Jonny were at Mrs. Nesbitt's this morning getting her house ready for winter (she refuses to move in with us) when I came in for brunch. I'd just taken out the can of peas and carrots when I heard a thud and Mom cry out.
I ran to the living room and there was Mom sprawled out on the floor.
"I tripped," she said. "I am such an idiot. I tripped."
"Are you okay?" I asked.
She shook her head. "My ankle," she said. "I don't think I can stand on it."
"Stay where you are," I said,
like she had a choice. "I'll get Peter."
I ran to the garage and got my bike. I've never biked as fast as I did to the hospital.
But when I got there, they wouldn't let me in, even when I explained there'd been an accident and we were friends with Peter. All the guard would do was take my message.
I stood outside waiting. The house is so cold we all wear extra layers and jackets, but I'd been in such a hurry I hadn't thought to put on my winter coat or gloves or a scarf. I'd worked up a sweat biking so fast and that didn't help any.
The guard didn't seem to be in any hurry to take my message to Peter. First he made me write it out, and then he read it, and then he demanded I show him some ID. Which, of course, I didn't have on me. I begged him to take the message to Peter. He grinned. I could tell he was used to people begging him for things and he liked it.
I felt the same kind of nauseous sick I'd felt from the chocolate chips.
I stood there begging and crying and wanting to kill him. So help me, if I could have gotten my hands on his gun I would have shot him and anybody else who tried to keep me from getting help for Mom. The guard stood there and laughed.
Then a second guard came by and asked what was going on. I told him. He didn't laugh, but he did say there was nothing they could do to help.
"This is a hospital," he said. "The doctors don't make house calls."
The first guard thought that was a riot.
"Just let me get the message to Dr. Elliott," I said. "That's all I'm asking."
"We can't leave our post to bring someone a message," the second guard said. "Your best bet is to wait here and if someone you know comes out, maybe you can get him to take the message in."
"Please," I begged. "Please. My mother is lying alone hurt. Please don't make me wait here any longer."
"Sorry, Miss," the second guard said. "We have our rules, too." The first guard just kept grinning.
So I stood there. People left the hospital but none of them was willing to go back and bring Peter my note. They all pretended not to see me, like I was a beggar on the street and they didn't want to have to give me money or feel guilty because they hadn't.
I stood for as long as I could, and then I sat down on the frozen ground. The first guard walked over to me and gave me a little nudge with his shoe.
"No loitering," he said. "Stand or go."
"Sorry, Miss," the second guard said. "Rules."
I kept thinking of Mom, wondering if I should go back home. It was so hard to tell how much time had elapsed. It felt like hours, but I had no way of knowing. Jonny had probably gone back to the house. Mom had given him orders not to eat any of Mrs. Nesbitt's food, so he probably came home for lunch. At least that's what I told myself. I couldn't bear the thought of going home without Peter and I couldn't bear the thought of Mom all alone on the living room floor. I told myself Jonny had gone home and brought Mom some blankets and helped her off the floor and everything was okay.
I hadn't eaten since supper the night before and I started feeling woozy. I felt myself kind of floating onto the ground. I don't think I really lost consciousness because I remember the second guard coming over and lifting me up.
"Don't do that, Miss," he said. "It won't do you any good."
I think I thanked him. I went back to standing and willed myself not to faint, not to cry. I asked more people who came out to help me. No one paid any attention.
The first guard said something about getting something to eat. He sauntered off, like going for a meal was the most normal thing in the world to do. I thought maybe the second guard would take pity on me then and let me in, but he just stood there and refused to look at me.
Then Matt showed up. "Mom's worried sick," he said. "What's going on here?"
"Matt?" the second guard said. "Mr. James?" Matt said.
"I didn't realize this was your sister," the guard said. "Go in. Hurry. I could get in a lot of trouble if Dwayne finds out what I did."
Matt raced into the hospital.
Dwayne came back while Matt was still in the hospital. "You still here?" he said, but I ignored him.
After a few minutes, Matt and Peter came outside. "We'll take my car," Peter said. "I have a bike rack."
It was all I could do not to burst into tears. At that moment I realized I no longer had the strength to bike home.
The drive took maybe 10 minutes. I was too exhausted and sick and worried to enjoy the sensation of being in a car.
Matt explained that Jonny had gone home around 1, and when he found Mom on the floor, she was more worried about me than about herself. She was pretty sure nothing was broken, but she couldn't stand and Jonny wasn't strong enough to help her get up. She sent Jonny to Mrs. Nesbitt's to get Matt, and he came home and carried Mom to the sunroom and started a fire. Then he biked over to the hospital to find me.
I'd been standing outside for about three hours.
Peter didn't even try to apologize for the guards. He said there had been incidents and conditions at the hospital were bad enough without people breaking in. I know he might be right, but I didn't want to hear it. And even though it was crazy of me, it made me mad that Matt could get in because the guard knew him, and I couldn't because the guard didn't know me. I told myself to be grateful the guard knew Matt, but the last thing I was feeling was gratitude.
Peter pulled into the driveway and went right into the sun-room. Matt and I unloaded our bikes from the rack.
"You okay?" Matt asked me. "Did the guards give you a hard time?"
"I'm fine," I said.
But the truth was I longed to take a hot shower and wash the whole experience away. All I could think of was how much pleasure Dwayne had gotten out of my misery. I still would have killed him if I had the chance.
But I didn't tell Matt any of that. He didn't need to hear it. We went inside and found Peter examining Mom's ankle.
"A bad sprain," he said. "But nothing's broken. She won't need a cast."
He pulled an Ace bandage out of his doctor's bag and wrapped up her ankle tightly. "Don't even think about stairs for a week," he said. "Stay in here. Matt, you and I will bring your mother's mattress down here. Laura, you can get up to eat and go to the bathroom, but nothing more. Keep your foot propped up when you're sitting. Put as little weight on it as possible. I don't suppose you have a cane?"
"There's one in the attic," Mom said.
"I'll get it," Jonny said. He grabbed a flashlight and flew up the stairs.
While he was gone, Peter pulled out some surgical masks and handed them to us. "Air quality," he said almost apologetically. "We're seeing a lot of asthma cases these days. You might want to wear one of these whenever you do anything outside."
"Thank you," Mom said. "Matt, wear one when you chop wood. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mom," Matt said. He quickly put one on. "Mom always wanted me to be a doctor," he said, and we all pretended to laugh.
Jonny came down with the cane. Peter inspected it and declared it acceptable. Mom wasn't to walk anywhere without it for the next 10 days. She wasn't even to think about leaving the house for 2 weeks. He'd try to get over once or twice to check on her in the meantime.
Then he and Matt went upstairs and lugged Mom's mattress down. I brought her sheets and blankets and pillows. Jonny shoved the furniture around so there'd be room for the mattress. With the woodstove giving off heat and light, the sunroom looked almost cheerful.
"I feel like such a fool," Mom said. "I'm putting everyone to so much bother. And Peter. I know how busy you are. I can't thank you enough for coming over."
"Oh, Laura," Peter said, and he took her hand. I realized if things had been normal, if none of this insanity had happened, he and Mom would have been going out for the past 4 months, regular, normal going-out. And Mom would have been happy.
Mom asked Peter if he could stay for supper, but Peter said he had to go back to the hospital. They were all on crazy schedules, 16 hours on, 8 hours off, because the staff was no
longer at full strength. He really couldn't take any more time off.
"But I'll be back," he said. "I promise. And I want you to promise you'll stay off that foot and let the ankle heal on its own. There's no reason for you to limp any longer than necessary."
"I promise," Mom said.
Peter bent down and kissed her. Then he left and we could hear the sound of his car. Such a funny sound.
"I'm so sorry," Mom said to us. "I know this is going to be a terrible bother for all of you."
"Don't worry about it," Matt said. "We just want you to follow Peter's instructions and get better."
"I'll take care of suppers," I said. "Don't worry about that, Mom."
"I'm not worrying about anything," Mom said. "I know you'll all do whatever has to be done. I just wish I could help you."
I know I'm going to have to be strong for the next couple of weeks. No more whining. No more picking fights. I'll have to do whatever Mom asks me and not protest and not complain. I know I can do it.
But for that one moment I felt so weak, so helpless. I felt nothing but fear and despair and the most awful need to be anyplace else. I told myself it was hunger, but I knew that was a lie.
As long as Mom was all right, I could fool myself into thinking we'd all be all right. But even though I knew Mom could have fallen anytime and sprained her ankle anytime, this felt as though it was the beginning of the end.
So while Matt and Jonny were busying themselves getting Mom set up, I slipped upstairs to my bedroom and wrote all this down. All the things I could never tell any of them.
I thought of Dad and how I may never see him again. I thought of Lisa and wondered if she and the baby would be all right, if I'd ever get to know if I had a new sister or brother. I thought of Grandma and wondered if she was still alive.
I cried and I pounded my pillow, pretending it was Dwayne, and when I calmed down I wrote.
And now I'll go downstairs and make supper and pretend everything is just fine.