It’s just me, just us, Maggie and Grace, blasting through the world and breaking shit on our way through.
Mom’s in a real room at the end of the hall. She’s lying on a bed, clad in a hospital gown, a blue blanket over her legs. Her left arm is in a brace, and there are a few other scratches here and there, including a large bandage near her right temple, but she’s awake.
“Baby,” she says, smiling through droopy eyes.
I don’t return her greeting, but sit on the edge of the bed and gesture to her arm. “Is it broken?”
“No, just a sprain. But they’re keeping me overnight because I bumped my head pretty bad. Hit the door or something.”
All I can think about is how the hell we’re going to pay for all this. For that tube in the crook of her elbow. For that bandage on her head. For that sling on her arm. It’s not like we have health insurance. We’ve never had health insurance. As a kid, I got all my shots at the county health department.
Emmy took me.
“And I have to talk to the police,” Mom says, spitting out the last word like it’s a swear. “It’s absolutely ridiculous.”
“Why is it ridiculous?”
“It was just a little accident. They’re making it into this huge deal.”
I rub at my eyes, hoping this isn’t really happening, that I’m not actually seeing her annoyed expression or hearing her flippant tone get rolling on her just parade again. “You were drunk, Mom. You had a minor in the car.”
“Oh, Eva’s fine.”
“Eva’s freaking out!”
Suddenly I’m standing. And yelling. Loudly enough to draw attention.
“Everything all right?” a deep voice asks from the doorway.
It’s Bryce.
“Yes, thank you,” Mom says.
“No, Bryce, it’s not.”
“Gracie,” Mom hisses. Then she smiles at Bryce. “We’re fine.”
He frowns but nods, eyeing me warily as he leaves.
“For god’s sake, Grace.”
“What were you thinking? How could you drive with Eva in the car?”
“Baby—?”
“Why did you even call her to go with you to Ruby’s? Do you know how screwed up that is? Taking a kid to that dump? She could’ve been hurt, worse than she already is.”
“You were always fine.”
“Was I? Do you know how many nasty guys hit on me? Tried to buy me drinks? Handed me drinks already made? Did you know some asshole followed me to the bathroom one time? I had to pretend I was about to puke just to get him to leave me alone.”
Mom’s eyes widen. “You never told me that.”
“I did!”
“I would’ve remembered that, baby. Did he touch you?”
“You wouldn’t have remembered. Even if you had, you probably would’ve said he was just being friendly. And no, he didn’t touch me. I learned how to fend off that kind of miscreant at a really young age, so thanks for that, I guess.”
I pace the room, so fucking angry and sad. So fucking over it.
“You know what?” Mom says, sitting up a little, her chin thrust out like it does when she gets mad. “I don’t like this attitude of yours lately. Everything I do seems to piss you off, and I’m a little tired of it. I think we need a fresh start.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means as soon as I get out of here and settle this with the police, we’re leaving. Away from Cape Katie. I’m tired of all the small-town mealy-mouthed crap here anyway. Everyone is always in everyone’s business. We need something bigger. Portland maybe. Some place where there will be more opportunities for you to find a job after you graduate next year.”
“After I grad—?”
But the words die on my tongue. I stare at her. She watches me, her annoyance melting into something hopeful, something needy and desperate, that same look that’s always simmering just underneath every other look, even when she’s telling me her grand plans for a trip to New York. That It’s you and me forever kind of look.
Before I can say anything, two uniformed police officers knock on the door. They look bored and tired and ask if I could please give them a few minutes with Mrs. Glasser.
I barely hear them. Barely register their scruffy faces and badges. I just nod, still trying to wrap my mind around Mom’s words.
“Go back to the motel and get our things together, all right?” Mom calls, and I drift out the door. “The car’s totaled, but I’ll figure it out when I get back in the morning.”
I don’t say okay. Nothing is okay. But as I walk down the hall, I know I’m going back to a dank motel room to pack up all of our belongings. There’s nothing to else to do.
Maggie and Grace, together forever.
I sit in the waiting room. Around me, everyone is coughing and hacking and sneezing and bleeding, and it’s a general cesspool of humanity, but I barely notice any of it. My nose burns from the bleachy and medicine-y odors wafting through the air. I’m not sure how long I’m there, blinking heavily at CNN on the TV, before Emmy comes out with her arm around an exhausted-looking Eva, Luca trailing behind them and carrying Eva’s bag.
“Are you coming with us now, Grace?” Emmy asks, digging through her bag for her keys. “Or do you need to stay?”
“Yes,” I say, standing. “I mean, no. I’d like to go now. If that’s okay.”
She pulls her keys out of her purse and takes a deep breath. I’m not sure what I expect from her. Whatever it is, what I get is a weary smile and a whispered “Of course, honey.” She hasn’t looked at me once. Just takes Eva’s arm and guides her out the door, Eva’s gaze on me the whole time.
Tears pool in my eyes, but I can’t let them fall. Not yet.
Luca’s hand slips into mine. “Mom’s just freaked out, Gray. This whole thing shook her up. Remember when Macon was sixteen and got in that fender-bender? Barely a dent on the car, the airbags didn’t even deploy, and Macon didn’t have a scratch on him. She still she took him to the emergency room.”
“She’s mad.”
“She’s mad at Maggie. Not you.”
I don’t say anything. Luca squeezes my hand, but I pull away and walk outside into the silvery drizzle.
The drive back to Cape Katie is silent. Nothing but a few soft drops of rain on the windshield, the wipers swip-swapping every few seconds. No one asks about Maggie. I don’t offer any information.
It’s like we’re both already long gone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A FTER YOU GRADUATE . . .
After you graduate . . .
After you graduate . . .
By the time Emmy pulls up to the Lucky Lobster, Mom’s words have already rolled through my head about a million times. They’re so loud, her voice so tinny in my mind, I barely hear Luca telling me to wait when I toss the car door open and get out.
I’m halfway to the stairs leading up to our crappy entrance-on-the-outside motel room when I hear the door of Emmy’s Accord squeak open again.
“—?let me do it,” Eva’s voice says. “I’ll be right back . . . No, I’m okay.”
I walk faster.
I don’t want to talk to her. If I do, I’ll cry or scream or try to kiss her, and I can’t do anything of those things.