And Then There Were Four

  “We need Kenyon and Evangeline anyway.” I stop the video. “Maybe we can make an outline of what we’re going to say? If not an actual script?”

  We turn our heads toward each other at the same instant and our eyes meet and oh dear God if this is not love then actual love will be too much it will kill me.

  “I can do this, Saralinda,” he says like a promise.

  He is focused. I lost focus for a minute but he’s right, the video comes first. That is our job.

  Also however I want my freaking first kiss.

  I lean toward him deliberately with that soft fierce powerful feeling rising through me, and his face changes it warms and I know exactly what is going to happen, I can see it like a scene in a movie. I’ll be in his arms with my face turned up to his and his arms curved around my shoulders and he’ll cup my face in his hands tender yet strong and bring his lips to mine. I will finally know what he tastes like and he will know what I taste like, and surely it’s safe to steal a moment for a kiss a long kiss a good kiss at last—

  Kenyon rushes back in. “She’s throwing up! I think it was that goddamned green smoothie!”

  Chapter 49. Caleb

  You run after Kenyon and Saralinda.

  In the bathroom, Evangeline is on her knees. Kenyon practically falls beside her. Sweat is now dripping down Evangeline’s face. She says, “Gabrielle drank the smoothie first. I swear she did. I saw her swallow. And she drank much more of it than I did.”

  Kenyon grits her teeth.

  “Okay, so I was stupid,” moans Evangeline. “I admit it.”

  Saralinda wets a washcloth and hands it to Kenyon. Evangeline closes her eyes as Kenyon wipes her face. She clutches the toilet and leans over it again.

  You return to the kitchen. You pick up the thermos, which Kenyon left on the counter, open it, and sniff at the green goop inside. You start to wipe your finger around inside the thermos rim but Saralinda is beside you, grabbing your wrist.

  “Don’t touch it!” You look at her and she adds, “Some poisons work through the skin.”

  You go still.

  “I read it,” she says, as if she fears you don’t believe her.

  No chance of that. You’re appalled at yourself. “You read up on poisons?”

  She colors. “It was in a novel about medieval nuns who are assassins.”

  “Really,” you say.

  “Which was extremely well researched.” She holds her hand out for the thermos, so you give it to her and she sets it down on the counter as if it were a bomb.

  “It’ll have to be tested,” she says. “At the hospital. So they know what to do.”

  She’s three steps ahead of you. Your eyes meet.

  “Yeah. We have to take her to the hospital. At least we have money,” you add, though you’re not sure what good that will do.

  You return grimly to the bathroom. “I’m calling an ambulance,” you say.

  Evangeline raises her head. “No! Once I’m at the hospital, they’ll call Spencer.”

  Saralinda says, “That should be okay, because she can’t do anything to you with all those people there—in fact you’ll be safer than ever—”

  “How do you know? With Kenyon’s grandfather a cop?” Evangeline’s voice is weak but scathing. “Plus, they won’t let you guys anywhere near me in the hospital. You’re not family.” She sits up. “Besides, now that I’ve thrown up, I’m better. It’s not like I drank the entire thermos.” She wipes her mouth. “Give me some water?”

  Saralinda scurries for a glass.

  “Evan, I think you really do need to go to the hospital,” Kenyon says. “We—”

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” Evangeline says. “First we make a video and stick it online. Then I go to the hospital. That way, at least we have some insurance.”

  It’s not so much that this makes sense, although it does. It’s that it sounds so much like logical Evangeline. Maybe she is better.

  Kenyon doesn’t look impressed, however. “Let me talk to her alone,” she says to you.

  She closes the bathroom door, leaving you and Saralinda in Saralinda’s bedroom.

  The walls here are faded pink, and there’s a crammed bookcase beside the bed. Her bed. It’s a full-size bed. It has several pillows and a yellow-and-purple quilt. It’s the bed that she sleeps in, with her hair all mussed, her body under the covers in her pajamas or her nightgown or maybe with nothing on at all.

  You divert your attention to the bookcase, wondering if the assassin nun book is there. You stare at the books. Will you ever finish Dracula? Antoine tried to take away Mr. Hyde and give you Jonathan Harker instead, but you may never know how Harker escapes the vampire’s castle. For all you know, he doesn’t escape. Harker is a mortal, and it’s Dracula whose name everyone knows, not his.

  “Saralinda,” you say. “Let’s try the video again, just us. While they talk.”

  Saralinda nods decisively and brings her tablet back into her bedroom. She has just finished setting it up on her desk when—after a quick glance at the bathroom door, which remains closed—you touch her arm.

  “Saralinda?”

  She turns. She leans on her cane.

  “Caleb,” she says.

  You feel desperate. You slip your hand beneath her chin but she’s already tilting it upward. Then you’re leaning down—

  The door to Saralinda’s bedroom slams shut. From the other side a woman’s voice shouts.

  “Oh, come on! Did you think you could scam me?”

  Chapter 50. Saralinda

  Caleb and I leap apart (déjà vu anyone?).

  “I knew about fake phone calls before you were born! Didn’t it occur to you that I might call the adoption agency and check?”

  No. No, it did not.

  Georgia and I get to my bedroom door as fast as we can though it will do no good I am aware, and yes I am correct, my mother not only slammed the door but also locked it. A locked door—I can’t help quick-checking the ceiling for water droplets gathering and plopping, they are not there but my heart hammers anyway.

  “You’re a fool, Saralinda,” says my mother.

  Yes and in so many ways.

  I breathe. I told my friends this was a safe place to be and now we are locked in and my mother knows we are here which means the other parents do too or soon will which means we are trapped and Evangeline is sick maybe poisoned by Mrs. Dubois and why are we here in the first place? It was because I needed insulin I hate me.

  Should we call an ambulance anyway I don’t know I don’t know—I look desperately at Caleb only he doesn’t know what to do either I can tell.

  My mother rants on. “I always know what you’re thinking. Even before you think it. Nobody will ever know you better than I do.”

  Certainly not if I am dead.

  “You have no idea how much I’ve done for you. You have no appreciation either. I’m sick of it.”

  Caleb is beside me checking the door as if he might be able to smash it down but I watched them install this very door and its lock and they are not flimsy, we are trapped.

  “In fact I’m sick of you!” my mother says.

  Yes I get it.

  Despite sharing a look with Caleb just now about my mom, I am feeling personally flimsy so I lean against the wall beside the door and grip Georgia. There has got to be something I can do but I cannot think what it is besides calling the police and an ambulance and hoping they’ll end up on our side.

  I feel frozen.

  She keeps talking. “You live in a dream world, Saralinda. I expected you to grow out of it but you never did. You read all those romantic books and you just got worse.”

  I wish she wouldn’t criticize my reading about which she knows nothing because she doesn’t read novels, my books are excellent and some have romance yes and also they have theme
s and interesting people in them and so much to learn. And if I were going to die (am I going to die?) I would not care about requesting a last meal, I would request a last book that is how important books are.

  Kenyon opens the bathroom door and looks at me compassionately and also inside the bathroom Evangeline’s head turns. She is still slumped on the floor clutching the toilet but she tries to smile at me, she tries though I have let her down and Kenyon and Caleb too.

  My mother has not stopped the yelling in case you wondered.

  “I suppose all your friends are in there with you? Including that boy?” She says boy like it’s a swear word, and by the way I have never known her to go on a date or to have a friend of either gender. She has no interests but me and work which is weird, right, weird?

  Caleb breathes into my ear. “Don’t answer. Neither confirm nor deny. Why is the lock on the outside of this door?”

  Because of my obstructionist fairy godmother.

  No. Because of my mother.

  I just look at Caleb, I want to crawl into his arms but instead with Georgia’s help I stand upright on my two equally good feet. He touches my cheek with one finger very gently but his expression now is as vicious as I thought he was inside, at first.

  He says, “Does she lock you in here regularly?”

  I almost say: Don’t be silly, she’s not that bad. I shake my head. “No. The builders made a mistake and put the door in backward, that’s all.”

  He looks skeptical and for the first time so am I.

  My mother shouts, “Saralinda! Don’t ignore me!”

  I wish I could. Caleb’s hand cups my cheek and I curve my hand over his. At which Kenyon snorts so I look up and my eyes meet hers and she blows me an exaggerated kiss although her eyes are bleak and then she turns back to where Evangeline needs her because Evangeline is sick, oh no I have certainly not forgotten. Then to my surprise Kenyon helps Evangeline up and they come out together, Evangeline leaning on Kenyon. Caleb goes to help too and they ease Evangeline down onto my bed.

  “Answer me!” yells my mother.

  At this point I don’t remember what she asked—oh wait, I do. That boy. My friends. Yes, they are with me.

  She keeps on shouting. “Answer me! Answer me!” She pounds on the door.

  I shall not confirm. However I decide to lean against the wall because Georgia can’t do everything by herself when I am shaky. Evangeline tries to sit up on my bed and Kenyon supports her. Sweat breaks out again on Evangeline’s face.

  Caleb goes to my bedroom window and heaves it open a few inches which is as far as it will go. Then to my complete shock he heaves again and the window judders all the way up. I immediately feel the breeze and Evangeline lifts her face to it.

  Meanwhile Caleb leans out with his entire head and shoulders and torso and looks down, but if he is looking for a fire escape, well there is none. We are six floors up and you are supposed to use the stairwells in case of fire. While my mother rants, I waste time imagining how great it would be if we could leave by the nonexistent fire escape.

  Only we can’t.

  Call the ambulance?

  “You thankless, self-absorbed, sullen little bitch!” my mother rages on as I check the ceiling again. “I’m sorry you were ever born. That’s what you’ve done to me. You’ve ruined my life!”

  I wonder if the neighbors can hear her. I wonder if they would come if they could. Probably not, probably this sounds like an ordinary mother shouting at her ordinary thankless teenage daughter. At least Georgia is with me and also the wall is behind me to lean on. Only strangely this is not enough. I am okay for insulin and I ate, but my equally good foot feels equally bad and so I slowly sink down along the wall until I’m sitting on the floor beside the door.

  We used to be happy, my mom and me, I swear it—only maybe I am wrong? Because it turns out there are so many things wrong with me from her point of view and, like throwing knives, she says them all. Here is a sampling of what she says.

  Passive-aggressive! Rude! Inconsiderate!

  Rebellious! Caught up in a dream world!

  Insubordinate! Inattentive! Scheming!

  From my place on the floor I pull up my knees and hold myself. It is words not knives.

  Rude! Defiant! Insensitive!

  Only words, except it turns out that somewhere in me I did not believe until now that she hates me and could want me dead. Now I do.

  “Also, I know exactly what you want to do with that boy.”

  No kidding, she does? Does she want a medal for insight? But actually, how could she possibly know this?

  “I bet you’ve already done it! His father thinks you have.”

  I am aghast assaulted appalled and also I feel shamed, I stare at the door as if a window will appear in it so that I can see my mother, she cannot be saying these things she cannot.

  Caleb told me not to respond.

  “You know what you are? You’re a slut.”

  I can’t help it. I speak to her through the door and I am quite calm considering.

  “Mom, it’s none of your business what I choose to do or not do sexually.”

  (Of course the big irony is that I have done nothing.)

  I imagine her reaction even though of course I can’t see it. But I know her. Her eyes narrow and she puts both hands on the door and leans close.

  “My daughter deigns to speak at last, and why? To spout immature rubbish. Not my business what my teenage daughter does with her body? Oh, really? Really?”

  “Really,” I say as calmly as if we were having the difficult but still okay mother-daughter conversation I used to imagine us having. “I’m sixteen,” I say. “It’s time for me to be in charge of my own body.”

  Suddenly I think about my blood sugar regulation and my equally good foot and how when normal people have chronic health problems, what they do is find a trusted doctor and stick with them. Which she never did. I hadn’t thought of this before—I assumed my mother knew best. Only my mother is not normal and she never was, this is the proof. I thought she was taking the very best care of me but her behavior has been wrong about my body all along.

  “What about me?” she continues. “What about all that I sacrificed to be your mother? How about some respect? How about a thank-you? No, none of that. You only have one thing to say, and it’s to defend your right to be a teenage whore!”

  I don’t look at the others, especially at Caleb.

  “Some children are born no good,” my mother says. “There is nothing the parent can do except start over.”

  She is talking about Tori and I shouldn’t say anything else to her now, only what my brain tells me and what my body does are not the same. I shout.

  Yes now I am shouting too.

  “I want to love and be loved! What’s wrong with that? I want to live before I die! What’s so sluttish about that? I’m different from you, that’s all!”

  My mother yells right back. “You want love? I loved you!”

  “No, you didn’t! You’ve—you’ve—you’ve . . .” I can’t find a way to articulate what I have realized.

  “Bullshit! I loved you more than my life! I gave up my whole life for you. And how did you repay me? By leaving. Don’t deny it. You were leaving me every day. I knew. It was like a stab in my heart. You were twelve and you—you began to leave me!”

  Maybe it ought not to affect me but it does, it does, her pain is real she is my mother she will always be my mother and she is right, I did leave her, I had to.

  I had to.

  I lay my palm flat on the door because it is as close to her as I can get and I breathe, I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to do, she was killing me she is killing me still.

  She says (and now her voice is quiet), “I could see it in your eyes. In every word you said. In everything you did. You didn’
t want me to take care of you anymore. Your diabetes. Your foot. Do you know how much that hurt me? When you didn’t need me? Didn’t want to need me? Don’t you understand?”

  She is keening softly.

  She says, “You weren’t supposed to grow up. You were supposed to always need me.”

  I keep my palm flat on the door—maybe she is on the other side with her hand one inch from mine. This is what I imagine.

  “Are you listening? Are you listening to me, Saralinda?”

  I am listening.

  “Don’t you understand everything I did for you? I chose to have you! I held you in my body while you grew! I took you home with me! I changed your diapers! I fed you by hand. I combed your hair. I dressed you and taught you to read! All the times when you were full of energy and wanted to play and I was so tired, I still played with you. All the crying you did when your foot hurt, and I held you and comforted you. I was there. I was always there for you.”

  I press my palm harder into the door and I imagine that on the other side she does the same thing and all I want is to take my mother in my arms and hold her and tell her—

  Words spurt from me. “Mom, listen, I am grateful to you! But love isn’t the same thing as need, and even though I don’t need you the way I did, I will always love you and always be grateful.”

  I plead. “Mom, open the door! Let’s talk for real. Face-to-face. Holding hands. Can we do that? Can we find each other again?”

  She is my mother. Maybe she will open the door and let us out and we can—I don’t know—I can reason with her. Something.

  I sense Caleb close by. I glance up and see that he is holding my tablet which makes no sense but all that matters is that this is my mother and maybe it is not too late after all. My mom is laughing now however, laughing long loud and crazy. She starts ranting again—something about Tori. Tori! No she can’t be allowed to adopt her—no no no—then I can’t listen to my mother anymore because—

  My head snaps back to Caleb. I understand why he’s holding my tablet up like that.