Chapter 17
“Are you going to leave your bed like that?” Missy asked me.
“Am I going to leave my bed like what?”
“All messy. Your sheets aren’t even tucked in.”
“You’re not serious.”
“I most certainly am. Pride in your home space is a sign of self-respect.”
“You caught me. I have no respect for myself.”
“You’re being sarcastic, right? It’s so not funny.”
“A sense of humor is a sign of self-deprecation,” I said and turned away, leaving my rumply bed rumpled.
Of the various maladies that had befallen the Sisters in Sanity, Missy was among the worst. Two days after my breakout, the day after V was stripped of her Level Six status, Sheriff began to make good on his threat. At roll call that next day, one of the counselors informed me that as of that night, I would no longer be rooming with Bebe and Martha. After dinner, I was marched to a room in the other wing to find my stuff had already been moved, and I had a new roommate. Missy was the queen of the Stockholm-syndrome girls and one of Red Rock’s greatest success stories. After her parents enrolled her for ditching school to smoke pot a couple of times, she’d had a full-on turnaround and now she was a born-again good girl who loved to work her program and who gushed about being in AA like it was a sorority. When prospective parents wanted to know more about Red Rock, Sheriff would have Missy call them up and spew crap about how the school had saved her life. She was on the promotional video. Her picture was in the brochures.
As I unpacked, Missy watched me through squinted eyes, like she was trying to x-ray my stuff. When I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, she followed me and kept staring as I flossed.
“Do you mind?” I asked.
“Yes. I do. I mind that you’ve been here six months and you’ve made no progress. I mind that you have an attitude. And I mind that you’ve wasted everyone’s time. But now, you’re mine to mind.”
I just stared at her. She couldn’t be serious.
The rest of the Sisters were in similar sinking boats. Bebe had been moved into a room with a Sixer named Hilary, another brochure girl who was pals with Missy and followed Bebe around just as doggedly as Missy did me. Cassie had also been moved, which made no sense because V was moved out of Cassie’s room. It was a tough call, however, to say who had it the worst: V or Martha. Martha still roomed with Tiffany, but the newly promoted Tiffany was on a crazy Level Six power trip. And V? Well, usually when you got sent back to Level One for some offense, you stayed in isolation for a few days at most before starting the long climb back up the level ladder, but after three weeks, V was still in her little room, shoeless and wearing her frayed pj’s all day. The powers that be were really pissed off, and they were taking it out on V for what I’d done. Maybe I should’ve felt sorry for her or relieved or grateful, but when I thought about V, I still felt mad.
“I can’t say that I didn’t warn you about Virginia Larson,” Clayton said to me in a session after the breakout. She had that self-satisfied look on her face, the one that made me want to throw something at her.
“You did warn me,” I said, hoping that would stop the conversation in its tracks. No such luck.
“I told you she was a bad influence, that your mere association with her would have negative repercussions for you. It’s a fact of life that sometimes the actions of others rub off on us, and we have to take responsibility. And now you’re forced to accept responsibility for V’s irresponsibility. Isn’t that ironic, Brit?”
It was actually more ironic than she knew, and though this was one of the few times I agreed with Clayton, I wasn’t about to say so. I halfway suspected that she knew the truth and was hinting at it to bait me. Sheriff, on the other hand, took the more blatant tack. Every time I saw him, he pointed to his eyes with two cocked fingers and then pointed them back at me. “I’m watching you, Hemphill. Waiting for a slip-up.”
Whatever. With the constant surveillance, things were pretty depressing around Red Rock. The one bright spot was Jed. Less than a week after the show, I got a letter from him.
Dear Brit:
How are you? I hope you are well and are doing fine in school, not having any trouble or anything like that. I’m sure I would’ve heard about it. You’re a smart girl and I trust you are progressing fine.
Not much to report here since my last letter. It’s springtime and we’ve had some spectacular days. Of course, it’s still freezing, but that doesn’t stop all the students in town from running around in shorts and sandals. I stay warm in my favorite suede jacket. It has such a nice smell to it.
Uncle Claude has returned from his tour and I thought you’d like to know that he said he enjoyed Utah very much. Apparently, the concert was well received and Claude had some extra time to visit the surrounding national parks. A most memorable visit, he said. He told me to tell you that Zion was the most beautiful place he’d ever been and when you graduate from your school, he’d like to go there with you.
I’m fine. In good health, though I had a little rash on my neck. My colleagues teased me that it looked like a hickey. Imagine that.
It’s a very busy time at work right now, lots of reports to write up, so you’ll forgive me if this letter is short. If I wrote everything in my heart, this might go on for days.
So, suffice it to say, I miss you.
Dad
Swoon. I was dying to get the Sisters together, to tell them about everything that had happened, but there was just no way. Martha and I were forced to sit at opposite ends of the room in class, so no more note passing, and I couldn’t even get next to Bebe in group without Missy sneaking up or Hilary bounding between us.
A few weeks after the breakout and still no contact with the Sisters. I was starting to go batty. In order to keep myself from falling off the cliff into true depression, I called up my night with Jed constantly, reliving every moment. It kept me sane. And then when I thought things couldn’t get any bleaker, Clayton pulled one of her infamous head games.
“I’m going to have some news about your mother,” she told me at the end of a session. “So prepare yourself.”
Aside from Clayton’s occasional attempts to get me to go deeper about Mom, we hadn’t talked much about her. In fact, it had been years since anyone had seriously discussed my mother with me. Dad hadn’t. Stepmonster certainly didn’t. Even Grandma had stopped bringing her up much. It was as though she had died, even though we knew she was out there. In the beginning, when she first went away, I’d jump every time the phone rang, but after a few months, I stopped hoping she’d call.
“What news?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you yet.”
“How can you not be at liberty to discuss it? She’s my mom!”
“I’m on vacation next week, so we’ll talk about it when I get back.”
“Why the hell would you bring it up if you can’t tell me about it? Do you like to torture me?”
Clayton smiled. “No, I don’t like to torture you. I’m giving you this heads-up because I need you to be prepared to open up, to work your issues.”
Two weeks? I suppose I could’ve asked Dad what happened to Mom, but if he knew something was up, why hadn’t he told me anything? His letters had been focused on Billy’s latest tricks and my recent report card. And they said I was in denial! That was it. I needed to talk to the girls. In group that afternoon, I passed Bebe a note.
BB:
Must meet. So much going on w/Clayton, Jed—and Mom. Am going crazy w/silent treatment. Am going crazy, period. Help.
—Cinders
Cinders:
Am desperate for powwow with my darlings. Can you get away tonight?
—BB
BB:
YES!!! I’ll get the key.
—Cinders
Cinders:
Parfait. You alert Martha. I’ll tell Cass. V’s still in iso.
—BB
“I hate her,” I
wailed to the girls. “She’s so cruel. Can you imagine?” I’d just finished telling them about my latest conversation with Clayton.
“God, she’s the worst. She’s like a lion, sniffing around for weakness so she can pounce,” Bebe said. “She loves to natter on about how I have sex because I think I’m unlovable, and contrary to trying to show me the folly of my thinking, it’s like she agrees! Stupid cow is just jealous. I’m sure she hasn’t been laid since before any of us was born.”
“You think that’s bad? She tells me that I’m an embarrassment to my parents!” Martha cried. “She says that I got fat to get back at my mom. Everything I do is to punish my parents, according to her.”
“That’s what she said about me,” Cassie said quietly. “That I was so angry with my folks I had to go and become this abomination.”
Bebe shuddered. “Let’s not talk about that evil wench, darlings. What else is happening? Are you all enjoying your new bodyguards? How’s our little Tiffany?”
“Awful,” Martha said. “It’s like she’s taking all of her wrath out on me. What have I ever done to her? She even watches me eat now, and those bulimics know every trick in the book, so I can’t hide food in my socks anymore.”
“God, how horrific, darling. I empathize. My guard Hilary is of the kill-’em-with-kindness school, and I’m her new pet. She’s like this sparkly Mormon girl. Honestly, she’s got to be a plant, because there’s no way that girl could’ve ever done anything remotely delinquent enough to land her at Red Rock. She’s a virgin, for Chrissakes. She even took one of those chastity pledges, and she’s after me to reclaim my virginity. Seriously, please tell her I can’t get it back.”
“I’m a virgin,” Martha declared.
“I reckon I am too, technically,” Cassie said.
“Never mind that, girls. My point is,” Bebe continued, “that she’s like a Mousketeer, and my most evil barbs don’t penetrate her do-goodery armor. God, I think I’ve met my match.”
“I doubt that,” I said.
“Everything is so rotten right now,” Martha said. “V’s gone. We have to sneak around. Sheriff has been forcing me to go on death marches, and now I have to go on weekly overnight expeditions. Tell me something good, Brit. Tell me about Jed.”
So I did. I told the girls about my amazing night out, and the letter Jed just sent me.
“God, it’s so romantic. You have a boyfriend,” Martha said.
“Do I?”
“Secret dates, sneakin’ love letters. Y’all have a Romeo-and-Juliet scenario happenin’,” Cassie said.
“I don’t know if he’s my boyfriend, but he’s the thing that keeps me from going crazy in here. Besides you guys, of course.”
“I know, darling. Me too. And if it’s bad for us, can you imagine how poor V is faring? Three weeks in isolation.”
“Cruel and unusual punishment,” Cassie said.
“You must be so grateful,” Martha said. “She did all this for you, so you could be with Jed.”
I paused for a second. “I am.”
Everyone looked at me expectantly, like they wanted more.
“I sense a ‘but,’” Bebe said.
“What do you mean?”
“You seem a little off about this.”
“No I’m not.”
“Don’t BS a BS-er, Brit,” Bebe said.
“I’m not off. It’s just what she did was enormous and all, but don’t you think it’s a little weird that she did it?”
“Do I think it’s weird that she took the fall for you?” Bebe asked.
“Yeah, that she’d blow it for herself when she was so close to graduating. It’s not the first time she’s done something like this, and I just thought it was a little, you know, odd.”
“What’s odd is that you seem so ungrateful that she took a bullet for you,” Bebe said with ice in her voice.
“I’m not ungrateful. It just made me feel, I don’t know how to explain it, but…”
“She was watching your back, Brit,” Martha said.
“You know, to fend off the monsters’ attack. Those’re your words, aren’t they?” Cassie looked at me like I’d completely disappointed her.
I took a deep breath. “Look, you guys, I’m not trying to diss V, and I feel horrible for what’s happened to her, responsible even. I should be the one locked up in iso, not her.”
“V turns eighteen in a few months, so she probably knew that she’d get outa here sooner than you would if you got dumped down to Level One,” Cassie said. “She’s a smart girl, that one. She’s got her reasons.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“Remind me never to do you a favor,” Bebe said. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“That’s not fair, Bebe. And this isn’t about you, so stop being such a bitch.”
“I’m the bitch? Please. And this is about me. V is my friend.”
“Oh, and I’m not, is that it?”
“Please stop fighting,” Martha pleaded. “You sound like my parents.”
“Yeah, you two tomcats, cut it out,” Cassie said.
Bebe and I just glared at each other, arms crossed around our chests while Martha and Cassie talked. Then it was three in the morning and I went back to my room with a new pit in my stomach about V and Bebe, lodged next to the one about Mom.
Chapter 18
Those were about the longest two weeks of my life. No news about Mom. No more Sisters meetings. V finally came off Level One, but every time I saw her, she was shadowed by two Level Six girls or a counselor. Bebe wasn’t looking at me, let alone talking to me. Martha was always MIA—Red Rock had her on a strict schedule of death marches. And Cassie was glued to her new roommate, Laurel. No letters from Jed. No distractions. Nothing to think about but Mom.
When Clayton came back, looking neither tan nor rested nor bearing any visible signs of a fun vacation, I was polite. I asked her about her trip. Then I asked her about Mom.
Clayton leaned back in her chair and twirled the pen in her hand. She adjusted the air-conditioning knob and straightened the notebooks on her table. Then she opened my file and pulled out a letter. From the looping cursive, I knew it was from Grandma. From the tape on the back of the envelope, I knew it had been opened. I looked at the postmark: Monterey, California, dated almost four weeks ago.
“You’ve had this letter a month?”
“Something like that.”
“So why did you make me wait?”
“I didn’t think you were ready.”
“That’s not what you said. You said you weren’t at liberty.”
“Fine. I wasn’t at liberty. I hadn’t given myself the liberty to give you this letter. And now I have.” Clayton glared at me, waiting for me to open the letter so she could pick over every last piece of it. I slipped the envelope into my back pocket. Clayton looked surprised.
“You were so anxious last session. I thought you’d want to read it right away.”
“I don’t want to waste our session. And whatever’s in the letter will still be in it later,” I said with a fake smile. The enveloped burned a hole in my pocket for the rest of the hour. As soon as it was up, I ran to the bathroom, where I could read it in peace.
My Dear Brittie:
How are you? I hope you are okay. I worry about you endlessly. Your father tells me you are in a special school, that you’ve been in some kind of trouble, but I just can’t believe it. Not my girl. You’ve always had such a good head on your shoulders, so I know that if there is anything wrong, you’ll work to fix it.
Are you warm enough out there in Utah? Are you eating enough? Can I send you some oatmeal bars? I would like to make a visit. I might even fly to see you. I’m getting used to airplanes now. I’ve actually flown quite a bit of late. I’ve been taking trips up to Spokane…to see your mother.
I probably should have told you about all this sooner, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up, or down, depending. About a year ago, I stopped hearing from Laura altogether. Afte
r spending months lying awake at night, imagining all the awful scenarios that could’ve befallen her, I hired a private investigator to track her down. Well, the first man I hired was a charlatan; he took a lot of money and did nothing. But after Christmas, I hired someone else. This gentleman, a former police detective from Los Angeles, found your mother in no time. She was living in a homeless shelter in Spokane, Washington.
As soon as the detective found her, I flew up to see her. I was hoping that she might come live with me, or even check into a good private hospital I found in Santa Barbara. But mostly, I just wanted to hold her, to make sure she was all right.
From what I can gather, your mother has been living in this shelter, which is more like a group home, for a few months. She is physically in good health. Mentally, I wish I had better news. One of the reasons I didn’t tell you about my visit right away was that I didn’t know how to break it to you. Your mother is very agitated still. She recognizes me one day and then doesn’t respond the next. I showed her a picture of you and she froze up, refused to talk. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live inside her head, and you mustn’t take anything she does personally. Your mother is mentally ill, but I know that deep down she loves you as she always has.
On the positive side, she has a group of what I suppose you could call friends and seems to have a little bit of a safety net. There are social workers who work at the shelter, so there’s always someone keeping an eye out for her. On my first trip, I tried to persuade her to come back to California with me, to check into a hospital, but she refused. I flew back home all set to forcibly transfer her and then I thought better of it. She has a modicum of stability in her life right now. She’s being looked after, to some degree, which is better than nothing. She still refuses any kind of treatment, still thinks the doctors are all out to get her, but my feeling is that maybe over time, if I stay close to her, I can change her mind.