“No worries,” I said, keenly aware of the new set of words we were avoiding. If she wasanythinglike me, words of gratitude were some of the hardest to pronounce. “Seems to me Marisa knows how to land on her feet. She probably has nine lives, like a cat.”
“But you’re saying she’s run through a couple of them already,” Sicily said. She stared off down the hall, biting her lip. Somewhere in the front of the house, Edith was using a let-me-talk-to-your-manager voice. Sicily shook her head as though to let go of an idea that had got in, and said, “Let me talk to my mom just a minute, then I’ll take you home.”
“You can drop me off at the train,” I said. “Or, seriously, I could walk to the station from here.”
We both turned to seek out the window. The snow was coming down, little stinging pellets of ice. Wintery mix, Chicago’s favorite flavor. I couldn’t make Sicily drive me all the way into the city. After seeing her drive on good roads, I didn’t want to see her skills tested on slick ones.
“You could come home with me,” she said. “We have a guest room.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering suddenly how much Marisa had told her husband. Did Sicily have younger siblings? “I think that’s a bad idea. I’m not the kind of surprise you should spring on people you like.”
In the next room, Edith drew a sharp breath.
Sicily turned to me, and, almost in slow motion, whatever she had been about to say dropped away. She pivoted and took off at a full Ugg-boot gallop.
I trailed behind her back to Edith, who sat on the front room’s couch, the peacock feather in its vase poking out behind her. Sicily stood over her.
“What?” Sicily said. “Aunt Edie, what?”
“How could she not be there?” Edith was spitting mad, the real thing. “How? How could you not know where she is? You, of all people?”
And when she looked up, dragonfire in her eyes looking for a place to land, it was me she found.
15
Hey. What did I do?
“What?” Sicily asked, her voice wretched. “What? Where’s Mom? Who are you talking to?”
Edith hung up and sat a moment. The lighting off the Christmas tree wasn’t doing her coloring any favors. She looked MerleHaggard, if you see what I’m saying, a lot less like someone on a bus advertisement and a lot more like someone who’d spent the night sleeping on the bench.
“Treatment,”I said, as the idea entered my head.
Edith looked up sharply.
“What?” Sicily said. “Someone tell me. I’m not achild.”
“Marisa told you she was going to check herself into rehab,” I said. “Again.”
Sicily turned to Edith, hoping I was wrong. I was not wrong.
“She’s got a go-to place? Standing reservation?” I said. “But if that’s where she was headed, why didn’t you take her all the way there? Why let a struggling addict make her own way?”
“That’s what she wanted,” Edith said. A note of helplessness had crept into her voice. If this was an act, it was a good one. “She said she was taking the train—”
Lying again. Suburban moms never preferred the train. “Are we sure that’s where she was really going?”
“What do you mean?” Sicily said.
“Maybe she justsaidshe was checking into rehab for a top-off. Maybe she only said what would keep you from worrying—”
“I wouldworry,” Edith started. “I would—”
“Or to throw you off,” I finished. “So she could go enjoy a good bender.”
I could feel the vibe of the room shift as both Edith and Sicily decided not to give my ideas the time of day. They’d rather believe what? That she’d disappeared completely, poof?
Anything rather than believe that Marisa was out doing whatever she pleased. That she’d be willing to hurt anyone to do it.
