They had been horrible times. I was too malnourished to stay awake in class. Boys in my high school showed me pictures of anorexic women and jeered, “Look familiar, Cara?,” laughing and socking one another in the arm. They might not have laughed if they saw me slipping ketchup packages into my purse to eat for my supper. Even when Mom made a big pot of soup from discount-bin pasta and dented-can vegetables, I would try not to eat much so there would be enough for her. She didn’t have the free lunch I got every day. She didn’t even get ketchup packages.
I played a game on weekends and during the summer that I had never told her about. I called it my two-o’clock game. If I could hold out on eating my one meal for the day until two, then I could still get to sleep at night. It was an exercise in extreme self-control, because I woke up weak with a sharp enough pain in my belly that I sometimes wondered if it would just eat a hole right through me. The easiest times were when I had a book to hide in. I didn’t own any books, but we went to the library regularly and I pretended the stories were as good as food until two o’clock came.
“The kids and I have it a lot better than we did then,” I said, eyes tearing. Who was I to complain? I had let myself forget how far we had both come. “We have more than enough to eat. And we have heat. Remember how cold we got? The toilet would freeze. And poor little Snoopy couldn’t ever keep a bowl of water because it froze right there on the kitchen floor!”
Mom laughed. “We slept in a half dozen layers, and you tied a hood around your head at night. Remember that? Just your nose and mouth peeking out. But we still made vacations. We had little Friday-night celebrations watching the PBS fund-drive movies on that old television with lines all through it.”
“Doctor Who!” we said at the same time.
“We went and picked up pecans together,” Mom reminded me.
“I hated that. I was mortified to be crawling around on the college campus picking up buckets of nuts. I was probably pretty mean to you about it.”
“We laughed about it,” she said. “I wasn’t thrilled to be out there either. But we had nuts to eat.”
“And to give for Christmas gifts to Grandma and Grandpa,” I said. “We made the best of it. We laughed a lot, didn’t we.”
“Don’t worry so much about the details. You’re doing so very, very well, and I’m proud of you.”
I went inside and found Jada and Roman playing Wii bowling. The game may have started fun, but it had dissolved into arguments and stomping. “Anyone in here want to go for a walk?” I asked.
“In the dark?” Jada asked, wide-eyed.
“Sure. When I was a kid we walked at night all the time. We’ll make wishes on the stars and say good morning to the night creatures.”
“I’ll walk!” Roman said, running for the stairs.
Hope and Drew stayed in their rooms, cherishing the quiet time alone. But Jada joined us, and so did Hershey. We imagined fairy creatures waking up in the tall grass and lazy opossums and armadillos rustling around in the forest.
“I wish for a giant frog. Big as me!” Roman shouted to the stars.
“Ewww,” Jada said. “Think how big the bugs would have to be to feed him! I wish I could be in the WNBA. Or maybe travel to Africa. Or India.”
“Then I wish for Disney World,” Roman amended.
“I wish I had four kids and a magical house called Inkwell Manor,” I said, taking my turn to shout to the Big Dipper.
“Mommy! You already have that!” Roman said.
“See? I told you wishes on stars always come true.”
–18–
Fall
Hear the Words I Mean
I knew it would be difficult to move Adam out and finalize a divorce, but I never imagined how often he would forget that these things had happened. Every night I double-checked the window and door locks, and every morning Hershey and I looked for anything bumped out of place. We walked our patrol with her shoulder pressed against my thigh, first through the interior and then along the outside perimeter. I wasn’t sure what we were looking for or what we would do if we found it, but with the illogical, unpredictable shadow of insanity ruling our world, going through these motions gave me the much-needed illusion of control.
I was hyperaware, over-the-top vigilant. All while smiling peacefully enough that Hope and Drew could walk across the street to their elementary school without watching their backs, and toddler Jada wouldn’t cling too tight.
It’s impossible to watch every step, to keep your guard up every second. So now and then I slipped. Most of the time everything was okay. Most of the time I could take out the trash without seeing a bogeyman. Most of the time slipups didn’t matter. Until the times they did.
“You all right?” The voice was low, gentle, and close. Too close.
It opened my throat like a key. “Akraham! Teckrip!” I said. And if I had a minute to think, I was sure, I could translate the ancient words into modern English. But I didn’t have a minute. All my minutes might have found an end exactly halfway up my long, dusty driveway. Adam stood a step away from the gravel, where his footsteps were silent. A thick patch of dandelions bent under his right shoe, suffocating. Jada’s favorite weed-flower.
I looked past him at the house. Just on the other side of that door Karma was waiting, ready to defend me. But she hadn’t come with me tonight, and I couldn’t beat Adam in a footrace, not when his chin was lifted off his chest and the drool cleared away. Not when his feet were lifting high enough to stomp dandelions—not when he was off his meds.
“Are you all right, Cara?” he repeated. It was the old Adam, the one I’d loved deeply before his mind slipped away. He had so much charisma that my knees felt weak from more than terror, and I was mad at him for still affecting me. There in the starlight, it was impossible to believe he was the same person who hurt me, who scared me.
“I’m okay,” I said, careful not to sound too okay. Because he wouldn’t want me to feel like I really did—happy to be free of him and building a life of my own. We’d been divorced several years. He would want me to be tortured by the loss of him.
“Are the kids okay? You look really beautiful. You have always been beautiful.”
“The kids are good. Busy with end-of-school stuff.”
“You shouldn’t be out without a bra.” His chest pushed forward, shoulders back, and I knew what was next, the finger poking at my sternum, shoving the point home.
“I was just taking the trash out. And it’s dark. The kids didn’t get the can up. You know how they are with chores. Scattered as always.” I crossed my arms across my chest. The sleep shirt I had put on after my shower was thin, not something I would normally wear outside. I don’t have to explain anything. I’m not your business. Not anymore. You aren’t welcome here. Go!
Instead of driving his point home, he pinched his fingers across his eyes and held the bridge of his nose. “You heard what Dr. Christe said? Schizophrenia?” His voice choked in a genuine sob. “I’m sorry, Cara. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”