Wish You Were Gone(56)
“Oh, you can sign her out at the front office,” the woman said with a kind smile.
“No, I know, it’s… Can you tell me… has this happened before?” Emma asked.
Ms. Fraimen offered a patient smile. “Second time this week. Earlier this week it was Biology. Today it was History.”
“So, twice?”
“I think three or four times now, total. Since the beginning of the year.” The nurse tapped some keys on her computer. “Yes, twice in September.” She turned the screen toward Emma so she could read the notes. “The first couple weren’t too bad, and we see these sorts of things a lot when eighth graders transition over to the high school. She seemed to level out, but then this week… well, they were doozies.”
Doozies. Is that the medical term? Emma thought, but did not say.
“Thank you.” She walked out after her daughter, vowing to call Mr. Fletcher later and read him the riot act. Four panic attacks. Four. And this was the first she was hearing of it? This was unacceptable. She hoped to God Kelsey got accepted at Daltry, because she wasn’t staying here, that was for damn sure.
Kelsey was already in the car, head back, eyes closed. Emma slammed her door.
“Can we talk about this later?” Kelsey asked before Emma could even open her mouth to speak. “I just want to take a nap.”
“Have you not been sleeping?” Emma asked, practically peeling out of the parking lot. She knew that lack of sleep could lead to anxiety attacks. She’d been there herself. Maybe this was why Kelsey had seemed to be so moody lately, so quick to cry. Aside from the loss of her father, if she wasn’t sleeping, she’d be emotionally on edge.
Kelsey lifted her shoulders and let them fall heavily. “Not really. Every time I close my eyes, I just see Dad. Like, lying there. Dead.”
Emma’s heart split in two. How could she not know this? Why hadn’t Kelsey told her?
“So I’ve mostly just been binge-watching things on Netflix. You’re right, by the way. Gilmore Girls is really good.”
Her daughter had been watching Gilmore Girls without her?
Emma pulled the car up to a stoplight and breathed in and out. She could smell the produce in the back of the car and hoped it wasn’t all going bad right under her nose. Clearly, she should have gone shopping earlier. Or emptied the groceries before coming to school. She couldn’t do anything right. Not one, little, thing.
She had promised herself she would be there for her kids. That they would talk about things. That this disaster wouldn’t break them apart, but make them stronger. The depths of her failure on all counts astounded her.
“Well, the next time you want to watch Gilmore Girls, call me,” she told Kelsey. “Because once you get to the Logan years, we’re going to need to discuss.”
Kelsey smirked. “Sounds like a plan, Mom.”
She was asleep before Emma pulled into the front driveway.
KELSEY
3:30 p.m.
9 hours and 45 minutes before the accident
Kelsey grabbed the cardboard box out of the back of her closet, the items inside rattling around. She used her foot to kick the door closed and everything in the box shifted to one side and began to tip. With a yelp, she righted it again and took a deep breath. There was no reason to be this nervous. No one was home. And besides, if her dad walked in right now, she’d just throw the whole thing at him and tell him he was right. Good for you, Dad! I’m an asshole and it’s all because of you!
Not that her father had ever come home in the middle of a weekday. Hell would have to freeze over first. Or every professional athlete would have to up and die of some rare overachiever disease.
She snorted at her own lame joke and went downstairs. Willow had told her she’d be by around six to pick up the box, but she just wanted to get it over with so she wouldn’t forget. Plus, Laura Cartwright’s mom was picking her up in ten minutes to go play a practice lacrosse game at Gateway Park. She had to keep her skills up if she was going to make JV and have any shot of her father caring that she existed.
At the kitchen door to the garage, Kelsey shifted the box to her hip to reach for the door handle and saw a bat leaning in the corner next to the doorjamb. There was a signature scrawled down the shaft. Derek Jeter #2, 1998. It was barely legible, but she had been indoctrinated enough in Yankees lore to know who #2 belonged to. Her heart thunked. What the hell? This was her father’s prized possession. What was it doing out of the basement?
Her first instinct was to return it to its case. If her dad found it out of place, he’d definitely blame her. He blamed her for everything. But then a dark, evil little thought wormed its way to the front of her mind.
His most prized possession. If someone had presented this scenario to her dad, he would have 100 percent told them she didn’t have the guts.
She picked up the bat, shoved it into one corner of the box, and stuffed the whole thing under the shelving on the far side of the garage.
LIZZIE
“I’m not wearing clothes from Ann Taylor,” Willow said sulkily. “Do not even think about stepping foot inside that store.”
Lizzie raised her palms. Truth be told, she didn’t even wear clothes from Ann Taylor. Most of what she had in her closet was from the secondhand store in downtown Oakmont or things she picked up down the shore or ordered from the Sundance Catalog when she felt like splurging. Shoved into the very back of her closet under a plastic bag was her one black suit from Banana Republic, which she busted out for funerals only. She’d bought it when her father passed on and, luckily, it still fit.