“Oh God,” I said. I felt a vise tighten around my head. Poor Declan. He’d been doing so well—one of my success stories. I quickly sifted back through our interactions, sure I hadn’t seen even a glimmer that any of this might have been coming. What symptoms had I missed? “He’s been antisocial and withdrawn in the past, but to my knowledge he’s never experienced any hallucinations. Never had any breaks with reality.”
“He needs to be hospitalized, Jackie. I made some phone calls and sent him over to the Central Valley ER with his mom. But his mom isn’t understanding the seriousness of the situation, resisted bringing him.She said she’s tired of her son being poked and medicated and put under a magnifying glass.”
“But she must see that this is different. He’s showing clear psychotic symptoms: disorganized thinking, delusions, hallucinations.”
“I went over all of that with her, but I’m not sure any of it truly sank in.”
I started walking again. I’d reached the end of the driveway, the big black mailbox with Gram’s last name painted in big white letters:HARKNESS.
“Okay. I’ll call Mrs. Shipee. Just to make sure she’s got him over there and help her see it’s the right move. Can you give me her number?”
I set down the package and beer, fumbled in my purse for a pen, and wrote the phone number on my forearm. Then I thanked Karen, hung up, and called Mrs. Shipee before even getting to the house. It went straight to voice mail.
I left a message and asked her to please call me when she got a chance, explaining that I’d had to come to Vermont for a family emergency, but I was very concerned about Declan. “I’m available anytime,” I told her, and gave her both my cell number and the landline for Sparrow Crest.
Back at the house, I found Diane and my father in the kitchen, and—even though it was well before five—a bottle of rum and cans of Diet Coke out on the table.
“Rum and Coke?” Diane offered.
I reminded myself I was officially no longer the booze police and smiled as cheerfully as I could.
“No thanks, I’ve got beer,” I said. I popped open one of the IPAs before sliding the rest in the fridge. It was citrusy and bitter and perfect.
“I saw Ryan,” I said. “You didn’t mention Terri and Randy are getting divorced.”
Diane’s jaw tightened a little. “Didn’t I?”
“Wow,” Ted said. “Are they really? I’m surprised. Those two were the real deal.”
Diane’s phone chirped. She glanced down at the screen and decided to ignore whoever it was. “Your father and I have been going over tomorrow,” Diane said as she laid her phone down and took a sip of her drink. “The service starts at one. I figure we should get to the funeral home at twelve thirty. I’ve had some photos of Lexie blown up, so we’ll put those on stands around the Lily Room. All the flowers have been ordered. I think we should keep things informal. Invite anyone who wants to say something to get up and speak. And, if we’re able to, maybe the three of us could say a few words, too. I have a Mary Oliver poem I’d like to read—Lexie liked her stuff.”
I nodded and took several long sips as I leaned against the counter, Lexie’s package behind me. “I’ll speak,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I’d say.You could always tell the truth, Lexie whispered in my ear. But what truth would that be? There were so many to choose from.
How, for so long, we were each other’s missing piece? How part of me worshiped and stood in awe of her, but another part secretly hated her for the way she captured the spotlight? How her illness swallowed us both up with sharp, grinding teeth then spit us out in pieces? How I moved all the way across the fucking country to try to distance myself, to stop trying to save my sister, hoping I might save myself? Or how when we sat in the lawyer’s office to hear Gram’s will, a part of me cracked open like a fragile dam? All the old resentments came roaring in, washing away any of the good feelings I had left.
Last year, after we’d gotten her ensconced at Sparrow Crest, I was saying goodbye to her at the airport. “Move in. Live with me,” she’d said. “Like we always planned. The Jax and Lex show, remember? We come as a pair. There is no me without us. The X girls,” she said, holding up her pointer finger, waiting.
But I’d kept my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
“Gram left it to you, remember?” I said. “You were her favorite. You’ve always been everyone’s favorite.”
She stared in disbelief. “That’s not fair! And it’s not my fault.”
“No. Nothing ever is,” I said, looking at her, my heavy bag slung on my shoulder. “Nothing’s ever fair. And nothing’s ever your fault. That’s the whole fucking problem, Lex.”
That was the last time I’d seen my sister.
“And, Ted, you should speak, too. I know Lexie would want you to. They’ll have her…cremainsready for us,” Diane said, not waiting for his reply. “It sounds ridiculous, like crumbs left over at the bottom of a box of crullers, but that’s what the funeral director called them.”
“I like ‘ashes’ better,” my father said.
“Agreed,” I said.
“Well, regardless of what we’re going to call them,” Diane said, “what should wedowith them? I’m fairly certain Lexie wouldn’t want to spend time in a box or an urn.”
“The ocean?” Ted suggested.
“Water’s a good idea,” I said. “She always seemed more at home in the water than on land. I vote for Lake Wilmore. Lexie loved it there.”
