Here So Far Away(67)

I filled the cup with brown flakes and a stream of red then reached for the makeup mirror on my bedside table. Mum said, “Just don’t . . .”

She didn’t finish the thought. Because there’s no point in telling someone don’t get upset when they’re about to be confronted with what happens when you hit the floor without breaking your fall.

A brick-red carpet burn seared the skin over purple-brown bruises from my nose to my chin. My bottom lip was gaping where a tooth had sliced into it. “Oh my god,” I said, and I started laughing. My face was raw from the wiping and it was pounding, pounding, but I couldn’t stop.

“What’s going on?” Matty called from his bedroom.

“Don’t come in!” Mum said. “Georgie had a little accident.”

“I fell on the way back from the bathroom last night,” I said, calming down. “Or fainted?”

I remembered the scratchy rug against my cheek, my fingers digging into the fibers, the long crawl back to my room. I hadn’t wondered at the time how exactly I’d ended up there. It was just, Excuse me, floor. I’ll be going now.

I touched the oozing space between my nose and upper lip. “Oh, that’s bad.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t knock your teeth out,” Mum said. She felt my forehead. “No temperature. Do you feel sick?”

“I feel like I face-planted.”

“Were you sick last night?”

“I don’t think so. I got up to pee.”

“Is it your monthlies?”

The heat under my sternum radiated upward. “Yeah, maybe that’s it. Or maybe I got up from the toilet too fast.”

“Well, this is the first chance I’ve had to take care of you for a long, long time.”

She looked over at the rose on my dresser.

“Someone left it on the front step last night,” I said. “It might not even be for me.”

“Must be a birthday gift. Are you feeling grown-up?”

“Not this second.” I stretched until my blanketed toes touched the fading Disney stickers plastered across the footboard of my bed.

“When you started nursery school you were so small, doll-sized, and here you are, eighteen, a half foot taller than average. Force of will, I say. Always trying to push yourself out of the nest.”

“Sorry I’ve been such a jerk. I didn’t mean what I said.”

“I knew something was wrong. I said to myself, ‘Marlene, she’s at that age where kids start to have a drink and get into trouble. But you were always so responsible. And now you’re drinking the Listerine.” Her eyes were glistening. “Do you think this is funny?”

I tried to stop smiling. “I don’t drink the Listerine, I promise. Wouldn’t Dad of all people have known if I was an addict?”

“You have always managed to work around him when you wanted to—don’t think I am completely unaware. Although he could have been too loaded up with Benadryl to notice.”

She laughed, and, oh god, what a relief. When Mum let herself get mad at us, it was awful. When she blamed herself, it was the worst.

“I won’t say I haven’t tried anything, but honestly, it’s true what I said about getting peer pressure in reverse. No one wants me to get high.”

“What happened with Lisa, dear?”

“I hurt her feelings. And some other stuff.”

“Is that all that’s been bothering you? I know you can’t be friends with your kids, but I always wished . . . well, I wish you would at least let me mother you.”

There were so many words that wanted out of my crusty mouth.

It hurts to eat.

It hurts to breathe.

It hurts to wake up in the morning.

I don’t know how to break my fall.

She touched my face so tenderly, and it seemed impossible that I could ever tell her about Francis. Her heart couldn’t take it.

“That’s all, Mum.”

“Alright, I’ve got to go to work. Did I tell you that Miriam is convinced I waited on Rod Stewart the other day? At first she thought it was just some fella impersonifying him, but . . . Never mind, I’ll bore you with that later.”

“Doesn’t sound boring.”

“It’s a long story. When you feel up to it, put my mind at ease and eat some breakfast.”

I hadn’t really thought about telling people what it meant to me that Francis was gone. I guess somewhere in the back of my mind I assumed I would when I was ready, whenever that was. He no longer had anything to lose and neither did I, and I didn’t believe he was up in the clouds watching to see if I’d break my promise. But after talking to Mum, I could see all too easily what would happen if I told my parents. About 10 percent of the conversation would be spent trying to reassure her that she wasn’t a bad mother for not intuiting my moral failings, and reckon another 15 percent on the logistics of getting around Dad, the hows and wheres and whens. The rest would be spent defending Francis. I’d have to defend him to anyone I told, even Bill, if we were still speaking. Especially Bill, who thought only bad people did bad things. I couldn’t see how that would make anyone feel better, least of all me. It was easier to stay in the habit of the secret, though when I put on my jacket to go to school, I kept reaching into the pocket for the stone that was no longer there.