The Astonishing Color of After(57)

“No, honey. She hasn’t been returning my calls.”

When she pulled into our driveway, Axel offered to help me get my stuff into the house, but I shook my head. I was certain now that my intuition had been right—something was up with Mom. Whatever it was, I wasn’t sure I wanted Axel to see.

I rang the doorbell and immediately heard my father’s heavy feet rushing down the hallway. He threw open the door.

“What were you thinking?” Dad’s face flashed through the spectrum of expressions: shock, rage, relief, rage again.

“Well, I—”

“I got a call from Camp Mardenn informing me my daughter’s missing, and suggesting that I talk to the police about putting out an Amber Alert—Leigh, what on earth made you think this would be a good idea?”

“Okay. I—”

“And then I started getting calls from the Morenos asking if we’d seen Axel—did he drag you into this disappearing act? You’re grounded, by the way. For the rest of the summer.”

The unfairness made my jaw clench. “What! Ugh—Dad—can you calm down for a second?”

“Calm down? We had to file two missing persons reports!” Dad shook his head, his eyes rolling up in an I can’t believe this arc. He turned away, leaving me to untangle myself from all the straps of my bags. “Why the hell—?”

“Leigh?”

My head snapped up. My mother’s voice, bodiless, drifting somewhere distant and overhead. She was coming down the stairs. It was the first time I’d heard her say my name in weeks.

“What is happened? Why are you so angry?” she said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Nothing,” said my father. He sounded exhausted. “Everything’s fine. I was just speaking loudly.”

“Leigh,” she said with a soft smile. Her pale pink bathrobe gave her an angelic glow. She hugged me, and I was so shocked I just stood there in her embrace, forgetting to hug back. “You have good time at your party?”

“Party?” I repeated, lost. I looked over at Dad, who wouldn’t meet my eyes.

“I told her about the sleepover party,” he said, scowling. It was a cue to play along.

After the two weeks of misery he put me through, I was not in the mood to help him.

But the sweetness in my mother’s face made me think twice about picking a fight. I wanted her to stay happy. The darkness around her eyes seemed to have faded a bit, and she was standing straighter.

“Sure, Mom. It was great.”

Dad’s shoulders sagged with relief. He turned away and headed for his office.

Mom helped me with my bags. “Why you bring so much for party?” She laughed a little, and the sound was so musical and perfect my breath hitched.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said airily. “I thought I needed it all.”

My mother was about to go into the kitchen, but I stopped her and gave her another hug. She seemed surprised but wrapped her arms around me tightly. I squeezed my eyes shut and inhaled. She smelled clean again. Before I left, she’d had a stale and musty scent from days of not showering. Now her hair was buttery from her coconut shampoo. The shirt under my chin had that fresh laundry scent. All extremely good signs.

“I feel have not seen you for forever,” she said.

“I feel exactly the same way,” I told her, blinking hard to rid the stinging from my eyes.





My father had managed to avoid me all night. It was the next morning and I finally cornered him in the kitchen as he brewed his coffee.

“Okay. What’s going on?” It took everything I had to keep my attitude restrained and my voice low. Mom was still asleep upstairs.

There were gray pouches under his eyes. He threw me a wary glance as he fiddled with the French press.

“What’s up with Mom? Why is she so confused?”

“She’s fine now,” said Dad. “The confusion will pass.”

She’s fine now. Like something had changed.

Rage boiled up inside me. “What did you do to her? Is that why you sent me away?”

Dad shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. His voice dropped to a loud whisper. “Your mother is still recovering, okay? She’s been going through treatment.”

I almost exploded. “What?”

“Shhh.” He held out both hands and spread the fingers wide.

“What kind of treatment?” I wanted to punch something. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

“I didn’t want to upset you, all right? There’s a lot of stigma surrounding it, and there was the possibility of side effects—”

“What. Was. The treatment.”

He rubbed his temples and sighed. “Electroconvulsive therapy.”

I stared at him. “What? Is that—is it what I think it is?”

“Otherwise known as shock treatment,” said Dad.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Now, Leigh—”

“You sent me to camp so Mom could go through that by herself?”

“Listen to me—”

“You can’t just treat us like we don’t know how to make decisions for ourselves. You dropped me off like you were leaving a dog at a freaking kennel! You didn’t even ask what I’d want. Did you ask Mom if she wanted to go through electro—whatever?”