Where the Stars Still Shine(23)

“Let me handle this.”

She leaves the Airstream and returns a few minutes later wearing a lip-glossy grin. She gives me two thumbs up. “It’s a go.”

“How did you—?”

“I reminded him you’ve been wearing the same two shirts since you got here,” she says. “That because I am your age, I am far more qualified to take you shopping. And if he lets me take you to the mall, I won’t charge him the next time I watch the boys. Guilt and free babysitting are gold. I did promise to have you back by four, though, so let’s get moving.”

Leaving Kat in the trailer, I take my towel and a change of clothes into the house for a shower.

“… I’m just saying I think you should insist she see a therapist,” I hear Phoebe say, as I go into the bathroom. She and Greg are in their bedroom. Her voice is kind, but I can hear the insistence in it. “You can’t be sure that she hasn’t inherited Veronica’s problems, and who knows what other sort of psychological damage she might have suffered living the way they did?”

“I know my own daughter.” His conviction makes me want to cry.

“But you don’t,” she says. “Not really. Look, I knew Callie coming back to Tarpon Springs could be a reality, and I’m okay with that. I really am. But I would feel more comfortable about her being around the boys if I knew she wasn’t …”

I quietly close the door to the bathroom so I don’t have to hear what she’s going to say next. Even if she doesn’t use the actual word, it still hurts.

The warm water from the shower cascades down on my head, washing away both the tears and the happiness I felt earlier. I tilt my face up to feel the spray and wonder—for the smallest of moments—how it would feel to drown. I wouldn’t be anyone’s problem anymore.

Greg is leaning against the wall beside the door when I come out of the bathroom. “You, um—probably heard—”

“That your crazy daughter can’t be trusted with the boys?” I interrupt. “Yeah, I caught that.”

“She didn’t mean it that way.”

“Really? Because that’s exactly how it sounded.”

“She’s … overwhelmed,” he says.

“She’s had years to prepare,” I say, hearing my mother’s voice come out of my mouth again. “While my life was ripped right out of its socket and dropped in the middle of a bunch of strangers, so excuse me if I don’t care that Phoebe is overwhelmed.”

My shoulder bangs against him as I push past Greg and go out to the trailer. I don’t feel any better for having said what I did. If anything, I feel worse, because I do care. I don’t want my presence to make Phoebe feel stressed out. Don’t like Greg having to play the peacemaker between his wife and his daughter. Hate that every time I raise my voice, it’s as if I’m channeling my mom. But most of all, I hate that Phoebe might be right.

“Let’s get out of here.” The slap of the screen door matches my mood as I enter the trailer and hurl my wet towel at the sink. It misses and falls to the floor.

“Callie, what’s wrong?” Kat asks, following me across the backyard. Her car keys jingle as she hurries to catch up.

“Nothing I want to talk about,” I say. “Let’s go to the mall and you can do your blank-canvas … thing.”

“It’s not a thing,” she says, unlocking her car door. “I want to help you. I want to be your friend.”

“Why? So you can tell everyone you know the kidnapped freak?”

“Callie!” Tears pool in her eyes and I wish I could reel the words back into my mouth. I keep saying the most hateful things to her.

We get in the car at the same time and I sit silently, my face burning with shame, as she digs through her purse. She pulls out her wallet, and I can see anger trembling in her fingers as she flips through the little plastic pockets of ID cards and photos.

“This—” She shoves the wallet at me. Beneath the clear plastic is a picture of two little dark-haired girls, wearing identical pink bathing suits and splashing in a small inflatable wading pool. As I look at the photo, I can easily hear the squeals of delight and imagine them eating Popsicles afterward, rivers of red and orange trickling down their baby-fat arms. I don’t know if it’s an authentic memory or a product of my imagination, but it feels real. “This is you and me when we were four. When we were best friends.”

I am slime.

She turns the wallet around and smiles at the picture. “Of course, I don’t remember it very well, and when you’re four, even the next-door neighbor’s dog is your best friend. But I’ve spent all these years imagining what our friendship would have been like if your mom hadn’t taken you. In my head we had sleepovers and took gymnastics lessons and had first dates with twin brothers, which is hilarious because I don’t even know any twins. And when you came home, I hoped—”

“God, I suck.”

Kat inhales a snotty breath, then laughs. “Ew. That was gross,” she says, fishing a tissue from her purse. “Not gonna lie, I’m looking forward to doing my blank-canvas thing, as you so eloquently put it, but not because I want to be friends with the freak show. I want to be friends with my cousin again. Also, you don’t suck. So, shut up.”