I feel a swell of emotion for Sean and his ability to see me—to know me—without explanation. I love Betsey’s and Ella’s support—we’re all in this together—but when it comes down to it, Sean’s keeping me sane.
“I guess it’s hard to know where you’re going when you have no idea where you came from,” I say.
“Yeah,” Sean says. “I can see that. But Lizzie? You’re so strong: You’ll be fine. Whatever happens, you’re going to be okay.”
I stop walking and face him. “Hey,” I say, grabbing his arm so he stops, too. He turns and brushes a stray piece of hair out of my eyes. I think of how before I met Sean and saw what real life looked like, I was actually okay with my situation. It’s like he held up a mirror in front of me and I didn’t like what I saw.
“I’m glad you’re in my life,” I say.
Sean wraps me in a hug and murmurs in my ear.
“I’ll stay as long as you let me.”
By the time Betsey’s class is over, Sean’s up to speed on the break-in plan and has a list of items to get to help with the mission, ranging from the practical, like his camera, to the somewhat ridiculous, like a laser pointer.
“Why on earth would we need a laser pointer?” I ask.
“I have no idea,” Sean says, “but it just seems cool to have one.”
I giggle to myself about how when I first met Sean, I thought he looked like an off-duty superhero; now I think that sometimes he acts like one, too.
He walks me back to the car and kisses me once more just before Betsey emerges from the building.
“Oh, hey, I almost forgot, I brought you a replacement spy phone.” He turns and jogs to his car, retrieves a package, and jogs back.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the paper bag from him. “I guess I’ll have to find a better hiding spot.”
“Yeah, well,” he says, half smiling. “I brought you three more, just in case.”
When Betsey and I pull off the main road and stop at the gate, we’re still excitedly talking over each other about the office break-in plan and what we might hope to find. Betsey jokes about Mom being a janitor while I type in the code and wait for the gate to open. I take my foot off the brake and start easing down the driveway, and just as I do, I notice a car parked down the lane like the time after Sean’s when I came home because Mom was here. The car is obscured by trees before I have time to mention it to Betsey, but for some reason, it bugs me long into the night.
twenty-five
A little over a week later, I wake up like I’ve been shot with adrenaline. Today’s the day. At some point in the next twelve hours, I’m going to break into my mother’s office and discover what she’s been hiding. Then Betsey, Ella, and I will confront her at last. Everyone’s home from school and “work” for Thanksgiving break, and we have five whole days ahead of us to hash things out.
Today’s the day we get our lives back.
The only thing is that we’re not exactly sure when or how to do it.
The idea is that one of us will find a reason to go out. Our last-resort scenario is that at Mom’s busiest moment—like when she has her hands in a turkey—Betsey will say she needs Advil for cramps and is too sick to drive. I, as Ella, will volunteer to go out, then we’ll all pray like hell Mom buys the switch.
It’s weak, but after going through what felt like hundreds of even weaker options, we decided it was the best. But I think all three of us are hoping that some better opportunity will naturally present itself.
Betsey, Ella, and I congregate in the rec room after breakfast. Mom’s awake but in her office downstairs; I haven’t seen her yet this morning. Ella turns on the TV; none of us watches. Instead, we three spend the passing minutes giving one another meaningful glances. Waiting for something to happen. I’m dressed in Ella’s favorite cardigan and flats, and Ella’s wearing my new captivity uniform: faded jeans and a gray hoodie. She has stick-straight hair and her legs are folded under her; she’s sitting on my side of the couch.
Because I’m facing the hallway, I see Mom in the doorway before the others do. My anger pumps through my veins, but I shove it away, thinking: What would Ella do?
“Hi, Mom,” I say brightly. She smiles.
“Good morning, girls.”
I glance at Ella, who’s deliberately not looking at Mom. She’s scowling, and on her face, I see the me I’ve become.
“I’m going to shower and then head out to brave the grocery store,” Mom says. “Our turkey is ready for pickup and I need to get everything else before the lines are too long. Anyone want to come?”
“I’m in the middle of a book,” I say, patting the hardcover on the side table next to me. “Sorry.”
I could be wrong, but I think I glimpse something funny in Mom’s eyes, like maybe she’s not buying it. But instead of asking me why I’m wearing Ella’s clothes, she looks at Betsey.
“I have cramps,” Bet groans, setting us up nicely for the Hail Mary scenario in case we need it later. Finally, Mom’s eyes fall on Ella.
I hold my breath.
“I don’t suppose you’d like to join me, would you, Lizzie?”
Ella doesn’t flinch, but I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from beaming: It worked!
When Ella remains quiet for a few more seconds, Mom rolls her eyes. “I see,” she says. “Well, then, I’ll go take my shower. You three enjoy your show.”
“Can we play Jenga later?” I ask, just to seal the deal. Ella loves Jenga.
“Of course,” Mom says, smiling again before turning and walking down the hall to her room. When her door is closed, Betsey springs up from the couch and runs downstairs. In two minutes, she’s back.
“What are you doing?” Ella asks. Betsey holds up two shiny keys—one silver and one gold.
“Making your life easier,” she says to me. “These are the only two keys on Mom’s keychain that I don’t recognize. One of them has to open the office.”
“What if she notices?”
“Wouldn’t you rather take the chance than have to break a window or something?” Bet asks.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” I say. “So when am I going? When she’s back?”
“No!” Betsey says in a low tone. “This is even better. You’re going to leave when she does. She’ll never know any of us left the house.”
“But what if she comes back before I do?” I ask. “We won’t know when she’s on her way home. Ella can’t go with her, and you just said you have cramps.”
“Oh,” Betsey says, as if she didn’t think of that.
“Call Sean,” Ella says evenly. “He loves this stuff, and he loves you. He’ll totally follow Mom.” She glances at the closed door at the end of the hallway. “But do it soon: You know how fast she gets ready.”
My conversation with Sean is quick and efficient. He’s up for anything, including staking out my mom. He’s only seen her that one time at the post office, so with just a few minutes left, Betsey logs on to the computer and sends a photo to his phone. We all take our places in the rec room again until Mom leaves, then after we hear the gate close, I dash to my room and grab two of the spy phones. I use one to call the other, then hand the one I called to Ella.
“Now you have the number on the ID,” I say.
“Good thinking,” she replies. “Okay, you need to go… like now.”
I run down the stairs and out the door with Bet and Ella trailing behind me.
“Call us with updates,” Bet says.
“Be careful,” Ella shouts.
“Okay,” I say to both of them before throwing myself behind the wheel and starting the car. I head up the driveway and through the gate, then down the hill, biting my bottom lip all the way.
I’m parking on the street about a block away from Mom’s office when Sean calls.
“She’s here at the store,” he says quietly. “I’ve got her.”
“Okay, great,” I say. “Remember to stay out of sight. She might remember you.”
/> “So?” he asks. “There’s no law against grocery shopping.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say. “Sorry.” Deep breath. “All right, I’m going in.”
I walk up the steps to the office that just has to hold all the answers. I’m not sure what makes me try the silver key first—I guess I just like silver better than gold—but it works. I’m half expecting an alarm to wail or someone to jump out at me when I open the door, but almost more terrifyingly, nothing happens.
I step inside and breathe in through my nose. The place has that metallic antiseptic smell to it like a dentist’s office. There’s a vacant reception desk and a doorway leading to a hallway; I walk through and turn left: the direction that Mom came from that day I saw her here. There’s an office at the end of the hall.
When I go in, I gasp.
Three walls are covered in corkboard and pinned with photos and notes. It looks like what you’d expect in the office of someone tracking a Mafia family. Except that the photos on the walls aren’t of criminals: They’re of me, Ella, and Betsey.
I take a step closer to the wall I quickly see is mine. There are tons of notes scrawled on yellow legal paper, but one in particular catches my eye: Tendency toward fight (vs. flight)—Sympathetic Nervous System difference when compared to #1 and #2.
I step over to Ella’s wall; the phone rings and I jump.
“You scared the hell out of me!” I say.
“Sorry,” Sean says, laughing a little. “Just making sure you’re okay. Are you in?”
“I’m in.”
“And?” I feel like he’s holding his breath.
“It’s… I don’t know,” I say. “It’s an office with walls of photos of me, Betsey, and Ella, with a ton of notes. It’s like she’s monitoring us, only she lives with us. And most of it is really stupid stuff.” I take a step closer to the photos of Ella. “Like, okay, here’s an example: There’s a note pinned here about how much sleep Ella gets. Apparently she averages eight point two hours per night.”
“What the…?”
“I don’t know,” I say, moving along the wall. I notice that there are pictures of the palms of our baby hands, and fingerprints with little circles on them to show the patterns. I look from Ella’s to mine; they look the same to my untrained eye. “It’s like we’re her… project.”
“You said she was a scientist,” Sean says. “Do you think she’s like studying you or someth—”
“Oh my god!” I say loudly. I’m back in front of my wall, and in the corner, there’s a hazy black-and-white picture of Sean and me leaving his house.
“What?” he asks, concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“She knows about us,” I say flatly. “She probably knows everything.” I let the thought sink in, and after a few seconds, I start to feel okay with it. She knows and she’s let it go on. She must have a reason: Maybe it’s that deep down, she does want me to be happy.
“I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a good thing,” Sean says.
“I think it is,” I say quietly, smiling. “Hey, let me call you back. I need two hands to snoop.”
Sean laughs. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye on the mark and call you if anything changes.”
“You’ve been playing too many detective video games,” I say, laughing, too. Then, “Thanks, Sean.”
“You know it.”
We hang up and I linger on my wall for a while longer, then start going through papers on my mom’s desk. There are three stacks of more photos and notes—maybe things she hasn’t gotten around to hanging up yet—and halfway through the second one, I see a photo of a woman I recognize: the one from the gas station.
Nosy Mary.
It’s a professional photo like you’d use on a business card, printed in black and white from the Internet on regular multipurpose paper. There’s a phone number but no name written in the white margin; it’s unclear whether the number and the photo are related.
I consider calling the number until suddenly I remember thinking I saw Nosy Mary’s car when I got coffee with Alison. It dawns on me that maybe Mary’s a private investigator or something, paid by Mom to follow her own children.
My ringtone startles me; I drop the photo and answer the phone.
“Hi,” I say.
“Your mom left the store,” Sean says urgently. “She was in line to pay and she got a call and then just rushed out of the store. She abandoned her cart. At first, I didn’t follow…. I thought she’d left her wallet in the car or something, but then I saw her driving away. I ran out and followed her…. She’s going in the direction of your house.”
“How close?” I say, stepping toward the office door.
“Too close,” Sean says. “You’ll never make it back in time. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I was gunning it, trying to catch up with her.”
I’m quiet for a few seconds, considering. Then I sigh. “Well, if I’m caught out of the house anyway, I might as well get all the ammo I can. I’m going to need it.” Pause. “I’ll call you right back; I’m going to call Ella and Bet to warn them.”
From my recent calls, I redial the other spy phone, but no one picks up. I weigh the downside of having this number show up on the bill for the landline and decide that by the time the bill comes, this will all be over. I call, but no one answers there, either. I call Sean back.
“What do you want me to do now?” he asks.
“Just make sure she goes home,” I say. “Then I guess you’re off duty.”
“No problem.”
Sean and I stay on the phone while he drives, me telling him about the pictures and notes on the walls and him commenting on my mother’s utter strangeness, until he reports that Mom is turning off the main road to our house.
“Just go by,” I say, my heart sinking, thinking of Ella and Betsey having to try to tap dance out of this situation all alone. It bugs me that they haven’t called back yet.
“Stay on the phone with me, okay?” I say. Having Sean in my ear now is like a down comforter in the dark: It’s security. Sean agrees, then launches into a story about the woman who’d been in line behind Mom at the grocery store—apparently she had a total meltdown about the abandoned cart. I open my mouth to say something when suddenly, without an ounce of warning, the most electrically charged surge of panic runs through me.
I suck in my breath and put my hand to my chest as my heart rate skyrockets, seemingly without cause.
“Lizzie, what’s wrong?” Sean asks. “Are you okay?”
“I… can’t… breathe…” I say through gasps.
“What?” he asks. “Are you serious? What happened? Did you touch something weird that maybe… Are you allergic to something?”
“No,” I say, gasping. “Nothing.”
“Can you sit down?” he asks. “Put your head between your knees?” He waits a beat and then says, “I’m coming there. I’m coming to get you. Screw your mom; you need to go to the hospital.”
“N…” I try, but I don’t have enough air to say the word. My ribcage feels like it’s sealed in a concrete mold. “No,” I say. “I… need to… calm…”
Sean gets it and his tone evens out. “Shh, Lizzie, just breathe,” he says into the phone. “Put your hand on your heart; imagine that it’s mine. I’m here for you. You’re okay; just breathe.”
I hear a car honk; I picture him flipping an illegal U-turn to come and help me.
“Breathe with me,” he says before taking a deep inhale, then exhaling. My palm is still firmly on my chest—not pressing, but resolutely planted there. I pretend it’s his.
“Take a breath,” Sean says before inhaling and exhaling again. Once more, and my heartbeat starts to slow. Another time, and I start to breathe with him. A few more breaths, and I’m back to normal.
“Whoa,” I say when I can talk again. Only then do I realize I’m on the floor of my mom’s office. I start to stand up but feel woozy, so I stay put for now.
“What happened?” he
asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “It felt like a panic attack or something. I have no idea why….” My voice trails off; I’m preoccupied by the fact that even though I’m breathing normally now, I’m still feeling very unsettled. I’m jumpy. I snap my head in the direction of the doorway. No one’s there.
“What’s happening?” Sean asks, sounding worried.
“I don’t know,” I repeat. “I’m… I wonder if someone saw me come here?”
“Your mom’s going to find out soon enough, right?”
“I guess, but… I just have this weird feeling right now. It’s like suddenly, I’m… afraid. Not of Mom, but of something….”
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” he says sweetly. “You’re totally safe.”
That’s when it hits me.
“I have to go,” I say urgently.
“What now?” Sean asks. “What’s happening? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “But I get it now. I may be safe, but the others aren’t. Ella and Betsey are in trouble.”
I call home five times on the way, but no one answers.
“Please be okay,” I say out loud, feeling strongly that something is seriously wrong. “You have to be okay.”
I go through it in my mind as I drive. Sean said that Mom got a call, that she abandoned her shopping cart at the store on the day before Thanksgiving and returned home suddenly. Now, after she’s back at home, I get this awful feeling that the others are in danger. But it doesn’t make sense: Mom would never do anything to harm Ella and Betsey.
Would she?
I fly through stoplights and make it to my street in the blink of an eye. At the gate, I pause before driving through, wondering if someone’s inside the house. Sean calls again, but I let it go through to voice mail; I need to think. I can see Mom’s car parked at the bottom; there are no other cars. I’m intensely afraid, but for Bet and Ella, I have to get over it.