Sister Pact (18 page)

“I don't know. I wish I did,” I say. True.

“I'm sorry. Hey, you hungry?”

As if cheesy pizza and an icy Coke would fix everything. I do the math. It's Sunday night. Not too many people out tonight.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“Let's go then.” Nick starts his car. I don't know a lot about cars or care for that matter, but something about the sound of the Mustang's engine makes me feel protected by him.

• • •

Mom walks into my bedroom. “Here, Allie, your pill.” She puts it on my desk with a glass of water.

I look up from my book,
The Alchemist
for English. “Thanks.”

“How are you doing?” she asks.

“Okay.” I go back to reading.

“You nervous about going back to school tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I say before I line up my defenses.

She sits on my bed. I want to crawl into her lap and tell her I know about her paintings. But I don't. My lips are numb, like my heart. And for some reason, I think about when she used to read to us when we were little. If I concentrate hard, I can hear her laugh—her laugh this time, not Leah's, but just as ghost-like and far away. I wonder what made her stop laughing and painting.

“Ask her.” I hear Leah. It's like all of a sudden, she's become my intuition.

“Mom?” I decide to try an alternate route. A test. “Do you ever wish you hadn't married Dad?”

“Oh, Allie, of course not.”

“Seriously, Mom, I want to know.”

“If I hadn't married your father, I wouldn't have had you.” She smooths the hair out of my eyes. I pull away. I don't want bullshit from her anymore. I want real. Even if I'm a liar, I want my mother to tell the truth.

“I'm serious, Allie. You and Leah are the best things I've done.”

I let her words settle into me. Could she really mean that? I think about the paintings in the storage unit, and I want to understand why she stopped. I don't get how you could be so good at something, love it entirely, then lock it away in a storage unit. Does she ever visit her paintings? Does she wish she were painting now? I want to ask her these things. But I don't.

“I'm glad you saw Emery and Nick last night. You have such good friends. You always have. That's another thing I've always loved about you.”

I hope she doesn't bring up Max.

“Have you seen Max yet? I thought for sure he'd be over.”

And just like that, it hits me like a blow to the stomach.

“He has a big swim thing. He's been gone.” Lie.

Her face relaxes. “Oh, I'm sure he'll be over as soon as he can.”

“Yeah. Mom, I've gotta finish this.”

Mom gets up, goes to my desk, grabs the pill and water. She hands them to me. I put the pill in the back of my mouth and secure it with my tongue. I'm getting good at not taking pills these days. I'm almost legend at it.

“Not too late,” she says as she leaves my room.

Lying in my bed, looking out the window, I try not to think about Max. It shouldn't be about him anymore. But there's no escaping him. He's been in my life and my heart for so long, it's hard to flush him out completely. I would if I could, because just the mention of his name makes me feel as if I'm falling. I pull out my phone, go through a series of buttons, and unblock Max.

My phone vibrates.

I hope it's not Max. Lie.

Hi
Nick.

I'm grateful. Lie. It's better this way. Lie. I don't want to see him again. Lie.

Hi Urself
I type back.

My phone vibrates again. Then again. Then again. I see the backload of Max messages waiting for me. My finger hesitates over them. I could just click and see what he said. I could let his words take care of me. I could let Max take care of me. Instead, I surprise the shit out of myself and shift my attention to the new text that Nick just sent.

How r U?

Ok. Nervous about coming back.

I bet. But I'll be there for you. Piper will.

I pray he doesn't mention Emery or Max. Then, of all the timing, there's a knock at my window, and I know it's Max. My heart beats faster. I want him. I still want him. And he's there, perched on the roof under my window. All remorseful. Maybe I could have him now. Maybe I should let him in. He'd be mine at least for the moment. Would that be enough?

“Allie…” Max's voice cracks. Even his crackly voice makes me want him. Even if he's not good for me. Even if he breaks my heart.

My phone vibrates. Nick.

Srsly. Don't b nervous. U can do this. Piece of cake. Or cupcakes. Hey we could do cupcakes!

Max knocks on the window again. “Please…” I need to tune him out and walk away. Nick. He wants me. I'm not sure I want him, but he wants me. Me. I scroll through my Max messages. The ones I had blocked because I knew I wasn't strong enough to stand up to him.
He loves me. He's sorry. He'll change. He wants me.
Except I know none of these words change anything.

Max doesn't leave. He waits for me on the ledge outside my window. He thinks I'll give in to him like I always do. I want to. He's my warrior when he's not off chasing some other girl. Should one night, one mistake, make that much of a difference?

“Just let me talk to you…” he pleads. “You won't answer my calls or texts. Don't send me away now.”

I look at Max and wonder why I can't let him go. Why Nick can't be enough for me.

“Allie…”

I put my hands on the window. I see the pain in his eyes. But I can't stop it. I can't save him.

“Just open up, Allie. Let me see you for a minute. Please.”

I wish I could help him, but how do I save Max without losing myself?

“Good-bye, Max. I can't be friends with you. It's killing me, and I'm not doing that anymore.” True.

I walk straight into my bathroom and shut the door, open the medicine cabinet. Nothing. I drop to my knees and open the doors under the sink, reach to the back of the cabinet. My hand finds the back roll of the toilet paper stash. My heart races as I reach into the center of the rolls and my fingers find the bottle. I stand, bottle in hand, and turn from the mirror as I open the cough medicine, bringing the mouth of the bottle to my lips.

I close my eyes and drop the bottle in the sink. I don't want to do this anymore. My legs get rubbery, and I slide to the floor.

My phone vibrates.

Can't wait to see u tomorrow.
Nick.
I'm bringing some of my pictures to paint from. U want to also?

I nod my head, even though he can't see. Yeah. Pictures. He's right. I push off the floor and go back into my room. There's a small filing cabinet at the back of my closet with my pictures. All the ones I've taken over the years. I pull out the thick files and pour them on the floor in front of me until I'm buried in them. But being buried in my art feels pretty good.

I swear I almost hear Leah in my mind, laughing, saying “Good one, Al.” But I know it's just my memory of her.

The first pictures are of our vacation at Cape Cod. I was twelve. She was thirteen going on fourteen. Almost all the poses are of her trying to show off her new boobs. I can hear her laughing.

“Don't be jealous of me because I'm beautiful,” she said.

“You're messed up.”

She sucked in her stomach and twirled. “This year's going to be the best!”

I remember thinking she was right. I had started to get good at painting. Dad built my studio. I took pictures of the rocks on the beach, the cedar shingles on the houses, the different colored flowers, huge and beautiful. In two months, they'd be gone. But the summer was theirs.

“You're such a dork! Take pictures of me. People are going to want to know one day what I was like. I need a record. You can keep me real.”

That was the last time I remember us all being happy together. That vacation in Cape Cod. More snapshots. A piece of Leah's skirt as she twirls, the green-gray-blue cedar plank with parts of it chipped away and other parts weathered dark gray. One of the rocks on the beach, the water spraying up between them. A close-up of a huge hydrangea. The most optimistic flowers ever. And I know. This is the picture I'm going to paint in class tomorrow. The Cape Cod colors. The color of easy laughs and belief. The color of on the brink. And new paths. The color of hope. I curl up on my bed.

My cell rings.

Im sorry.
Max.

I know he is. But just because he's sorry doesn't mean I have to let him get in the way of me and my art. I turn my phone off. And go to sleep.

“Good one, Al.” Leah's voice is the last thing I hear as I drift off, making me smile.

We pull up to Dr. Applegate's office.

I start to get ridiculously nervous. I start to sweat. I'm scared to see her. Like I'm all open and raw, and she'll be able to see through me. All the way through. And I have no idea what I'm going to do with that.

This time I catch the receptionist, iPod earbuds in, jamming out. I wonder what she's listening to. I almost ask her, but I don't. Just like I don't ask anything I really want to know.

“Simple Plan,” she offers.

“Oh, cool.”

“I know it's so old school, it's lame. But I like it.”

“Me too.”

She smiles at me. And for once I don't think judgy thoughts about her. Who knows why she keeps herself small? She might have her reasons.

“She'll be with you in a sec.”

“Thanks.”

Mom comes in from parking the car. “You want me to go in with you?”

“No.”

“What are those pictures for?”

“Something for art class. I was just thinking of what to do with them.”

“May I?”

I don't want to. When she didn't tell me about her paintings, she built a wall. Why should I be the one to scale it? She holds out her hand. It's like when she held my hand in the car. Maybe this could be like that. I give her my pictures and hold my breath.

“I remember these,” she says. “Cape Cod. What are you going to do with these?”

“I don't know. I'm going to put them all together somehow.” I reach out so we are holding the pictures together. “I was thinking I'd take some of the hydrangea, here, and put it with the cedar and the rocks. And Leah.” I layer the pictures sort of how I see it in my head.

“That's going to be beautiful. Have you thought about the colors?”

Of course I have. It's all I've been thinking about. If I can find them. If they'll come back to me. Right now, all I've got are the ones in the pictures. I hope that's enough to help me find the colors underneath it all—the ones about the feelings.

“Dr. Applegate is ready for you,” the receptionist says.

I walk in, my legs a little steadier, although I feel like it's a little surreal talking about my art with Mom, knowing she really gets what I'm trying to do.

“Hello, Allie.” Dr. Applegate is wearing all black today. Pants with a cashmere sweater. There's a white rose pin on her sweater. The stark white reminds me of her manly art. But on her, it's pretty. And I start to feel better about trusting her.

“I spoke with Dr. Ziggler.”

“I figured.”

“You had a rough weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“He recommended you go on medication.”

“I know.”

“The same meds I want you to take. How do you feel about that?”

I start chewing on my nail. Should I tell her I don't want to take the medicine? I don't want to lie to her. I don't know. I'm stuck. I notice she's brought a light-blue lamp in. It sits on her desk. A smile sneaks onto my face.

“You like my lamp?” she asks.

“It's perfect. Just the right color.”

“High praise from you. Now let's work on you. Tell me what you want.”

I want my sister back. I want my art back. I want me back.

“Let's talk about the pills. Pros and cons.”

I try to listen to her. Really listen. She thinks I should. Maybe she's right. I let her words wash over me like the colors used to. As I do, I picture Leah. What would she think? What would she do? And I realize, it doesn't matter what she would do. This is my life. My choice.

When she's done talking, I tell her, “No pills. Not yet. I want to try this without them.”

“You realize that the best treatment for depression is a combination of medication and counseling?”

“I'm not depressed.”

“I've got to keep recommending the medication for you, Allie. I think it's best.”

I think about arguing, but it won't change anything. “Can we just do the relaxation exercises? They really help.”

“Okay, Allie.”

I close my eyes and listen to her voice, but truthfully, I'm already there. I almost expect to see Leah, but I don't. Surprisingly, I'm a little grateful. It's nice to be alone and quiet. I'm in the ocean. I look up and see a bright-blue sky with puffy, white clouds. I can almost feel the water, cool and silky on my skin. I feel the waves nudging my legs and holding me up. I'm floating and free.

Dr. Applegate's voice caresses my body like a massage. “Look around. I want you to remember what it looks like. I want you to remember what it feels like where you are now.”

I go even deeper in my mind to that totally safe place where I'm in the water, the sun beating down on me, the sounds of the lazy waves filling my ears. I remember being here the last time I felt completely safe. And then I hear her. Just her laughter at first. From that day. The day we took the pictures. Swimming with Leah.

“Told you I'd help you find your colors,” her voice comes to me. I hear her like she's right in front of me. Because she is. Her hair fans out in the water, like a lily pad floating there.

“So this is it. All that's left of me,” Leah says. “Look how deep you have to go to find me.”

“No pills,” I say. “I can't. They almost killed me.”

She turns and walks away. I watch her fade into the light. I feel bad. I should want to bring her back. Shouldn't I?

But this is my life.

My life doesn't have to be about military strategy, doesn't have to be about taking pills and bringing Leah back. It could be about finding my art and connecting to Mom. And forgiving Leah.

For killing herself.

• • •

Mom stays silent on the way to school. We pull up front. I unhook my seat belt.

“No. It's okay,” I say. “I don't need you to walk me in.”

She hesitates, then shakes her head. She pulls out and drives around to the visitor parking spaces. “I'm going to anyway.”

As I go to get out of the car, she puts her hand on my arm. “You sure about going back already?” she asks.

“I have to keep going.” I pull the handle and open the door.

“Okay.”

Mom puts her hand on my backpack and guides me to Student Services. Mrs. Williams, the secretary at the desk, nods at me. “Allie, so glad to see you.”

“Hi,” I say. It's hard to go back to school, where everyone knows how stupid I am.

“I have a note somewhere…” Mom rummages in her purse, which, as usual, is a huge mess.

She produces the hospital discharge papers. Mrs. Williams smiles at Mom, a small, understanding sort of smile. I am grateful to her for that. Mom could use a little understanding. She never got any from Dad. Or Leah. Or me. Mrs. Williams switches to her computer screen and adds
E
to all my absences: Excused. She returns the papers to Mom and fills out a yellow excused-absence slip for me to take to my teachers.

“We're in second period now, Allie, almost third,” she says.

Mom hands me a Coke and a package of cheese peanut butter crackers, the kind she never lets us eat because she says it's junk food.

“Okay, thanks. Bye, Mom.”

I make sure Mom's left the building before detouring. I've got no intentions of going to second. That's one lie I can live with. I shouldn't have to do everything hard, especially not U.S. history hard.