“I still don’t know how she found their numbers,” I say, and then bite down hard on my lip to keep it from quivering. Is this therapeutic? Can it be when it hurts so much?
Daniel leans back against the dresser. “I was bringing you home from a driving lesson—which, by the way,” he adds, smiling, “you were horrible at. Then we walked in and everyone jumped out. Mom’s face . . .” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears streaming down. I start to sob. “She was so fucking happy,” he says. “She was so proud of herself.”
For a moment mine and Daniel’s cries are the only sound in the room. We’re heartbroken. We’re lost without her. I gather myself, swallowing down thickening saliva. “I turned and walked back onto the porch,” I say, continuing the story. “I was embarrassed. She followed me out and asked if I was mad at her. I said yes. I told her I was going to murder you both.”
“You had fun, though,” Daniel says. “After you came in, after Ryan calmed you down. Mom had been prepping lasagna because she knew it was your favorite. Only she forgot there was still a pizza box on the rack from the night before, and when she tried to preheat the oven, she nearly burned down the entire kitchen.”
“Do you remember the flames shooting out of there?” I ask, laughing through my tears. “Ryan and I spent fifteen minutes waving a dishcloth in front of the smoke alarm, until you finally came in and hit it with the broom to knock it off the wall.”
“The oven was ruined,” Daniel says. “So she dumped the lasagna in the trash and ordered another pizza. Deep dish, so the candles would stand up in it.” He smiles sadly. “But she forgot to buy candles, and the only one she could find was a half-burned number eight that was in the junk drawer for years. But we lit it. And we sang.
“Best birthday you ever had,” he says. “Hell, best birthday I ever had.”
I close my eyes, the ache bleeding from my heart down to my toes. We both know my mother wasn’t perfect, even if the memories I’ve allowed the past few months portray her that way. She would yell, that completely unhinged kind of yell that would rattle the glasses in the cupboards. One time during a heated argument she asked if I was stupid, and I slammed my door in her face. And there was that time she called my dad an asshole in the car, when we were on our way home from dinner, because he had criticized her father.
But then she was wonderful. She’d instinctively know when to make brownies or pick us up from school to go to a movie. She’d give Daniel dating advice and taught me how to put on mascara so I didn’t get spider lashes. She was my mother. She was my mother and I’ll never see her again no matter how badly I want to. I don’t think there is a more helpless feeling than that.
“Why are you doing this, Daniel?” I ask finally. “Why talk about her now?”
“Because I want you to hold on to those things,” he says. “I don’t ever want you to forget that it was good sometimes. It was fucking perfect. And no matter what happens, that won’t change.”
I start to wipe away my tears, my adrenaline rushing in. “What do you mean?” I ask in a hoarse voice. “What’s going to happen?”
Daniel puts his palm over his eyes for a moment; his shoulders sag. By the time he straightens again, his face has hardened. Gone cold. The air in the room deflates. “I’m not going to Elko with you, Audrey,” he says. “I’m staying at the Ruby.”
I should ask him if he’s joking, because in the regular world my brother wouldn’t abandon me. He would stick with me even if it meant a few months in our grandmother’s house.
“You can’t,” I say weakly. “You can’t do this to me.”
He tightens his lips, taking too long to answer. “It’s done.”
“But why?” Tears sputter between my lips. I’m going to completely lose it—this isn’t possible. He wouldn’t do this! “Is it because of Catherine?” I shout, jumping to my feet. “You don’t even know her! I won’t forgive you,” I say, nearing hysterics. “I’ll never forgive you if you do this!”
“This isn’t about Catherine,” he states. “You’re leaving, Aud. Dad wants you to stay until tomorrow, but then you’re out of here. Without hesitation. Do you understand? You’ll be fine at Grandma Nell’s—you’ll start over. It’s time to let go of all of this. You don’t have to—”
“Stop being an idiot!” I scream. My head aches from crying, my body is trembling. I’m afraid I’ll hyperventilate if I don’t leave soon. Of all people, I never thought Daniel would leave me. “You can’t stay here!”
“You’re not my mother,” he says darkly. “Stop acting like her.”
Silence. I sway on my feet, bulldozed by his words. Too sickened to be angry. Daniel exhales, seeing the hurt on my face, and takes a step toward me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “But if I—” The phone next to the bed rings loudly, startling us both. Daniel makes no move to answer it, and the ringing comes again—longer and shriller. My brother clenches his jaw and turns away.