I’m drowning. A whirlwind, a hurricane, a tsunami crash into me and engulf me all at once. I feel all the oxygen leave my body. It’s her. She found me.
“Rosemary! Oh, it’s really you! How could you do this to me?” Mom shrieks, while her long arms grab me and I’m caught. She holds on tight. Her voice breaks. I feel her sobbing against me. She’s crying, and has been for a while, from the looks of her puffy eyes and runny makeup. How did she find me?
Zander is here, too. He stands behind Mom, his tall frame wobbly and ill at ease, as usual, his blond hair tangled and dangling down over his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot and baggy and his face is gray. Mom tries to squeeze every last molecule of air out of my lungs.
“Who is it?” Sylvie calls from hallway outside the apartment. She hurries up, and then a wondering expression spreads over her face. “Your mother, Rosie?” she asks, dark eyes wide. She doesn’t wait for an answer, but calls, “émile, come, come, look who’s here!” She gestures for Mom and Zander to enter and shoos them inside, while émile comes in, looking suddenly even more harried and distressed.
The tiny front room is full of people all talking at once. Mom keeps one arm around me, holding tight to my shoulder. “Well, Rosemary,” she says, sniffing and practically digging her nails into my skin, “you haven’t said anything! I’m sure you’re surprised to see us.” Her ragged voice is hard-edged, laced with fury. She throws a significant look at Zander, who gives a slight shake of his head. “Get your things. You and I are going to have a nice, long talk.”
She dissolves into tears again. Sylvie hands her a tissue, invites her and Zander to join us for dinner. Zander accepts. He tells Mom we can wait a bit and I can leave after dinner so I can say my goodbyes. I still don’t think anyone has noticed my suitcase, now sitting forlorn and forgotten by the front door.
Ansel is waiting downstairs. Sylvie shoos us all down the hall and to the back staircase, and we all squeeze through the door and troop down in one big, noisy group.
They found me. How? Then, as I squirm under my mother’s hand, still gripping my shoulder, I feel like a bucket of ice water was dumped over my head. Jada. She must have told her.
Everyone spills into the shop and keeps talking. Ansel is there at the head of the table, smiling, laughing, while his machine whirs and breathes for him. Sylvie and émile introduce everyone. I pull away from Mom and go to sit at the little chair behind the cash register, partly hidden from the group. Mom lets me go but keeps her red eyes fixed on me. Zander wanders and stares at paintings on the wall. Chatter whirls around me for two, three long, long, long minutes. Sylvie’s voice rises above the others.
“You mean you did not know that Rosie was in France? Mais, c’est impossible!”
émile’s voice rumbles after Sylvie’s, softer, calmer. Trying to soothe. Oh, émile! My eyes fill with angry tears. They spill down my face, and I don’t bother to wipe them away.
I only wanted to get away from my mother. I wanted to so badly that I lied, I stole, and I went to another country! I did everything I could to carve myself a place within this new family. Things obviously didn’t go like I’d planned, but at least I was on my own.
Then, Mom showed up. She found me because my best friend betrayed me. My only friend . . . wait! I think of someone with auburn hair and an easy smile. Nicole! She told me to visit her in London. I’ll send her a text. If I have her address, I can figure out how to get there. Maybe I can find a way to slip out while everyone is talking.
Hey, it’s Rosemary. Can U send me your address? I’m on my way to London.
I hit send and bite my lip while I swipe away tears. Voices rise and fall like waves lapping against the pebble-strewn beaches of Nice while I stare at the phone, waiting, praying. It beeps. I read the words that appear.
Who is this???
Doesn’t she have Sylvie’s number? Maybe she was just being polite. She’s a supermodel, Ro. She doesn’t actually want to be your friend.
The voices die away. When I peer around the cash register, Gavin’s bright copper head swivels in my direction. He holds up a small white card in his hand with an expression of amusement on his face. It’s one of Mom’s “Childhood Apraxia of Speech” info cards. She likes to hand them out. Valerie has one, too. She says, “Ah,” as she reads it.
Hashtag humiliated times infinity. I’ll go to London anyway. I hear they have work for sideshow freaks.
Mrs. Thackeray speaks.
“Please listen, all of you. I have something very important to say,” she announces. “You probably do not know that I am the owner of this building.” Sylvie and émile gasp. Ansel’s eyes widen. The corners of the old lady’s mouth curve upward in a tiny smile.