Where the Stars Still Shine(71)

Inside is an evil eye bead knotted on a black cord, just like the one she’s wearing.

“I can’t guarantee it will keep away evil,” she says, as she loops it around my wrist and tightens the knots until it’s a perfect fit. “But maybe it will remind you that you’re not alone. You have me. You have Greg. You have this whole big, crazy, annoying Greek family and we all love you.”

This time it’s me who hugs her. “You’re the best.”

“And I will never let you forget it.” She looks at her watch. “But now, I gotta jet. My mom’s waiting and she’ll kill me if I linger too long.”

“Merry Christmas, Kat.”

She kisses my cheek, then wipes the gloss off my face with her thumb. “You, too, Callie. Love you.”

Her heels clomp on the stairs and she calls out “Merry Christmas!” as she dashes out the door. From the office dormer I watch as she runs down the walk to her mom’s car. After they’ve driven off, I find my phone and send her a text.

Love you, too.





The Christmas Eve presents are unwrapped and Tucker is thrashing around in the discarded papers as if they’re autumn leaves—his new toys already forgotten—when Phoebe suggests pie. In the dessert rush that follows, I go upstairs and trade my Christmas dress for a pair of jeans and the red cashmere sweater that Yiayoúla gave me as a gift. No one notices when I slip out the front door.

Outside the air is crisp, the night silent, and only one car passes me in the time it takes me to ride my bike to Ada Street. I can’t help wondering where my mother is tonight. Did she leave Tarpon Springs? Is she safe? I imagine her out West somewhere, maybe in the desert where the Christmas lights are real, scattered across the night sky, and I imagine her missing me as much as I miss her.

The old house looks sad in its emptiness as I prop the bike against the porch. Old Mrs. Kennedy next door spies me through her kitchen window and waves as I pass, and somewhere in the neighborhood someone is listening to “O Holy Night.” The sound is thin, diluted by distance, but it walks with me as I cross the yard to the Airstream.

The first thing I see when I open the trailer door is the worn-away velveteen of my mother’s black ballerina flats, and my brain just cannot process this because they’re on her feet. And she’s lying on the floor.

“Mom?”

I rush inside and switch on the overhead light. Her skin is waxy white and as I drop to my knees beside her, I notice that the edges of her lips are tinged blue and she’s barely breathing.

“Mom!” This time I shout, but she doesn’t respond. She doesn’t move. “Oh, God. Mom. What did you do?” I give her shoulders a violent shake, but she remains limp and she won’t wake up. Hysteria bubbles up from my chest and out of my mouth as I shake her again and scream. “What did you do?”

My hands are trembling so badly it takes me two attempts to get to the keypad screen on my phone.

“Why would you do this?” I talk to my mom as if she was conscious, as if she can hear me. “If I call for an ambulance, everyone will know where you are. You’ll go to jail. But if I don’t—” I look at her again and this time she doesn’t appear to be breathing at all. “No. You can’t do this to me. No, no, no, no …” I say the words over and over as I dial 911.

The female voice on the other end of the line is calm as she asks about my emergency, but I am running on pure panic.

“It’s my mom. She’s unconscious and I can’t tell if she’s breathing.” The words fall as fast as my tears. “I don’t know CPR and her lips are blue and—please help me. I don’t want her to die.”

“Calm down, sweetie. Can you tell me where you are?”

I give her the address and explain that we’re in an Airstream behind the house.

“Is your mother taking any medications?” she asks.

“I don’t think—” I look around. Beneath the table is a crumpled plastic bag containing a single green tablet. I crawl under and grab the bag. “I found a pill.”

“Can you describe it?”

“It’s green,” I tell her. “With an 80 on one side and the letters OC on the other.”

“Do you have any idea how long she’s been unconscious?”

“I don’t know. I just found her.”

“An ambulance will be there shortly,” the dispatcher says. “Is there someone nearby who can wait with you?”

My mind goes immediately to Greg. “Yes.”

As always, he answers on the first ring.

“Dad?”

“Callie, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

“At the Airstream,” I say. “Mom is here and she’s not—I need you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

I sit down on the floor and lift my mother’s head onto my thigh. Her skin is damp and cold, and her hair feels coarse under my hand as I stroke her head. “I’m here, Mom.” Tears and snot mix on my face and I wipe the mess on the sleeve of my sweater. “I’m so sorry I left you, but I’m here now and I’m not going to leave you again. We can go to Oregon, if that will make you happy. I promise. Just stay with me, Mom. Don’t go.”

The ambulance arrives first, and the world grows fuzzy around the edges as the trailer fills with people using medical terms I can’t understand. They feel my mom’s neck for a pulse and speak in numbers. They pull back her eyelids to shine a light into her vacant eyes, and their voices are replaced by the hum of bees in my ears. One of the paramedics says something to me, but the buzzing is too loud and all I can do is blink in reply. They take Mom away from me, lifting her onto a gurney and sliding a needle into her vein that attaches her to a bag of clear fluid. And then they leave. I scramble to my feet to go after them as Greg comes into the Airstream and catches me up in his arms.