All the Rage(25)

“I’m taking you home. The sheriff’s going to meet us there—”

“Why is he going to meet us there?”

“Come on,” she says. I stare at the water in my hand and I can’t find it in me to move until she says, “Your mom’s sick about this, so let’s not keep her waiting.”

Oh, that’s a magic word. Mom. Okay, let’s not keep Mom waiting. Leanne lets me sit in the front. Hauls herself in. The engine rumbles on and the car rolls forward. She tells me to buckle up and I do. The seat belt feels too tight and I can’t breathe against it. I close my eyes.

“Still with me?” She sounds nervous. I open my eyes. “Say something and let me know it or I will take you to the hospital. I don’t care what my orders are.” She pauses, mutters, “I should be taking you there, anyway.”

But she won’t. Everyone bows to the Turners.

Thank God, just this once.

“It’s hot.”

My eyes drift to the clock on the dash. Eleven. Eleven in the morning. I’ve lost—too many hours. Leanne reaches over and turns the air-conditioning on. I lean into it and wait for it to turn me to ice, but I don’t feel anything but hot and caught between the road I ended up on and Grebe, somewhere still ahead of us. I pull at my seat belt, trying to figure out what it is my body wants. It wants out of this car, but it’s too late for that. I push my legs out, press my feet against the floor. I need home. I have to go home. I need to see myself.

My teeth sink into a cut on my lip that I don’t know how it got there. This feels like … hungover, but—worse. Because I don’t remember drinking, but … I rest my hands in my lap, my palms up. The scrapes remind me of when I was small, running down the street, tripping on my shoelaces, skidding across the sidewalk and my dad—was there.

I stare at my legs. The space between them.





i can’t see myself.

My head rests against the window, the side-view mirror of the SUV so grimy, there’s not a hint of me through it. I need to see myself.

The sheriff’s Explorer is parked in front of the house.

Todd and Mom wait on the steps. Turner is close, but not, and didn’t we just do this? No, not really. What I thought was bad then is nothing compared to now. Mom brings her hand to her mouth when she sees me. She’s in yesterday’s clothes and they’ve gotten too big for her overnight. Todd too, still in the same shirt and jeans he was wearing when I said good-bye to him, before I left for Swan’s.

They’ll see it before I do, whatever’s on me. I’ll be the last to know.

I open the door and get out slowly. My legs are rubbery, like they haven’t walked enough or they’ve walked too much. I count steps forward, trying to assure myself the ground is there, crossing over from sidewalk to walkway, my feet on vines.

Home.

Mom hurries to me, taking in everything I can’t hide. She reaches for my face, lightly brushing her fingers over my cheek before pulling me to her, the weight of this reunion half-lost on me because I didn’t even know I was gone. Turner’s eyes drift over me, whatever he’s seeing, and he frowns. He turns his attention beyond us.

“You say you found her where?” he asks.

“Taraldson Road,” Leanne answers.

“Okay, Howard. Thank you. I’ve got it from here.”

The sound of his voice is so awful, more awful than it’s ever been. It makes me want to be sick. Mom whispers in my ear. Let’s get you inside, baby, come on, and I must look bad. I must not look right. My legs itch to run, to find a place I can deal with this on my own. On the way up the steps, Todd reaches for me. Puts his hand to my arm and squeezes it. Their relief is more than I can take right now. I need to see myself.

Leanne is gone by the time we’re inside. I head for the stairs, reach the banister and grip it tight, pull myself up that first step when Mom says, “Romy, where are you going?”

“I have to…” I can see the bathroom door from here. I just need to be behind one closed door, so I can see myself. “I have to…” I look back at them and the three of them look at me like they don’t know what I am. I can’t tell them what I need. “I don’t feel well.”

“Okay.” Mom steps forward and rests her hand over mine, her touch warm on my warm skin. “You have to talk to the sheriff first.” I shake my head. “Romy, you have to. I’m sure it won’t take long and then you can go to bed—isn’t that right, Levi?”

“We’ll see.”

“Please,” I whisper. She flinches. It hurts her. It hurts her because she can’t give it to me and I never ask her for anything. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow or—”

“No,” Sheriff Turner says. “This is important.”

“I’m sorry,” Mom whispers, guiding me from the stairs. No choice. I have no choice. She leads me to the kitchen and sits me at the table and I rest my head in my hands while they talk coffee, coffee and no, thank you, Alice. The perfunctory politeness of it makes me want to break—everything. I don’t want this. I want to see myself.

“What’s he doing here?” I ask and I’m met with silence and the silence makes me too aware of my body, and I can feel my head trying to assess hurts I can’t see, of whether or not certain places—if they—if.