The Return(96)

I was with her when Dr. Nobles came by during rounds and watched silently as Callie finally related the truth about herself. Avoiding the doctor’s gaze and twisting a section of her bedsheet into a tight corkscrew, she apologized for lying. When she finished, Dr. Nobles squeezed Callie’s hand.

“Let’s just try to get you better, okay?” she said.

I knew Callie’s family was planning to drive through the night and would be at the hospital first thing in the morning. Callie made me promise again to be there, and I assured her that I would stay as long as she needed. As darkness fell over the parking lot outside her window, I asked her whether she wanted me to stay on until visiting hours were over. She shook her head.

“I’m tired,” she said, slumping back against her pillows. “I’ll be all right now.” Somehow, I believed her.

By the time I got home, I was utterly spent. I called Natalie but the call went to voicemail. I kept the message short, letting her know that Callie’s family would arrive in the morning in case she wanted to meet them, and that I’d already spoken to Robertson. After that, I collapsed on top of my bed and didn’t wake until the following morning.

*



On my way to the hospital the next day, I stopped at the drugstore. With the help of one of the employees, I spent a small fortune on beauty products, a hairbrush, and a hand mirror. Handing the bag to Callie, I could see the strain on her face. I watched as she picked ceaselessly at her hair, the skin on her forearms, the bedsheets.

“How did you sleep?” I asked, taking a seat next to her bed.

“I didn’t,” she said. “I felt like I stared at the ceiling all night.”

“It’s a big day. For everyone.”

“What do I do if they’re angry, and start yelling?”

“If I have to, I’ll mediate, okay? If things get out of hand, I mean. But they were happy to hear from you yesterday, right? I don’t think they’ll yell at you.”

“Even if they’re happy I’m alive…” She paused to swallow, her face wooden. “Deep down, they still blame me for killing Roger.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I stayed quiet. In the silence, Callie rifled through the bag with her good hand, inspecting the items I’d purchased.

“Do you need me to hold the hand mirror?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I said, reaching for the mirror. When Callie saw herself in the reflection, she winced.

“I look horrible.”

“No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re a very pretty girl, Callie.”

She grimaced as she ran the brush through her hair, then started applying the makeup. Though I doubted her grooming would matter to her family, it seemed to make Callie feel better about herself, and that was all that mattered.

She seemed to know what she was doing, and in the end I was surprised by her transformation. When she was satisfied, she put the items back in the bag and set it on the bedside table.

“How do I look?” she asked, skeptical.

“Beautiful. And now, you actually do look nineteen.”

She frowned. “I’m so pale…”

“You’re too critical.”

She gazed toward the window. “I’m not worried about my mom or my sisters,” she said. “But I’m a little afraid of how my dad will react.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t tell you this, but even before Roger died, we weren’t getting along very well. He’s really quiet and usually doesn’t show a lot of emotion, until he gets angry. And he was angry a lot even before Roger died. He didn’t like the people I hung around with, he thought I could be doing better in school, he didn’t like what I wore. Half the time, I was grounded. I hated that.”

“Most teens would.”

“I’m not sure I want to go back,” she confessed, dread coloring her voice. “What if things are just as bad as before?”

“I think,” I said, “your best bet is to just take things one step at a time. You don’t need to make that decision right now.”

“Do you think they’ll be mad at me? For running away and not calling?”

Because I didn’t want to lie to her, I nodded. “Yes. Part of them will be angry. But another part will be excited to see you. Still another part will be worried because you’re sick. I think they’re going to be feeling a lot of different things all at once. My hunch is that they’ll feel kind of overwhelmed, which is something to bear in mind when you talk to them. But the more important question right now is, How are you feeling?”

She weighed her response. “I’m excited to see them, but at the same time, I’m scared.”

“I’d be scared, too,” I said. “That’s normal.”

“I just want…”

She trailed off, but she didn’t need to finish. I could see in her expression what she wanted, for it was the same thing every child wanted. She wanted to be loved by her parents. Accepted. Forgiven.

“There’s something else you might want to consider,” I added after a moment.

“What’s that?”

“If you want your parents to forgive you, then you’re also going to have to forgive yourself.”