If You're Out There(49)

“Well, that’s attractive,” says a little voice. Harr is standing in the doorway with a backpack on one shoulder.

It takes a minute to swallow. “When did you get here?”

“Dad just dropped me off,” he says. “Mom told me to ask if you want lunch.” My little brother appears to be mildly exasperated, like for once he wishes I’d act my own age. It’s a little unsettling, actually. “Well? You want anything?”

I shake my head.

“Okay,” he says, and he shuts the door behind him.

I make a mental note to be a better sister later. Then comes another knock, and the guilt seems to vanish. “Ugh, what now, Harrison?”

But it’s Mom who walks in, looking clean and fresh—a person well into her day.

“I told Harr I’m not hungry,” I mutter. She stops a few feet from my bed to look me over. “What?”

“OkayseriouslyI’vehadenough!” Her reply comes out as a single word. I brace myself for a Big Talk, for the forced excavation of buried thoughts and feelings.

Instead, I feel a cold rush as the comforter vanishes from my bed. “Mom!” I catch the laptop before it flies away. Our eyes lock for a suspended moment before she pulls me, rough, by the top of my arm, up to my feet.

“Get out,” says Mom.

I falter. “What?”

“Out! Out of this house!”

I rub my arm on the spot where she grabbed me, shivering in my pantslessness. “I thought I was grounded.”

“Yeah, well.” Mom slaps my cell phone into my palm. “I changed my mind.” She bends down to scoop a pair of cutoff denim shorts from the floor. “Put these on.” I take the shorts, my mouth agape.

“I said put them on!”

“Okay!” I step into the tattered legs and slip the phone in the back pocket, afraid to disturb the beast.

“Great, you’re dressed,” she says, shoving me toward the door. “See ya!”

“Am I allowed to put a bra on?”

“Fine,” she says, unhanding me. I find one in a pile by the door and slink it through the armholes of my shirt, wary of the woman watching.

Mom holds out a hoodie when I’m finished. “You should probably take this too. In case it gets cold.” The moment I take the sweatshirt in my arms, she begins pushing—out the door and toward the hallway, down the stairs, and into the foyer.

“Wait, I need to brush my—”

“Have some gum,” says Mom, placing a pack into my hands along with my wallet. She opens the door, the daylight pouring in. I blink, adjusting, and she tosses my flip-flops onto the front porch, one at a time.

“I was going to say hair.” Mom turns back to the shelf by the door and produces a brush. I stare at her. Well played.

“I know you’re still a little mad at me,” she says as I work through the sizable snarl that has formed along the underside of my untamed waves. “And to be honest, I’m a little mad at you too. But we’ll just have to deal with that later.” After a few more painful strokes, Mom takes the brush and holds my cheek in her hand. “In the meantime, I think you’ve sufficiently wallowed. So hear me when I say, with all the love in my heart: Get the hell out of my house.”

I shake her off me. “God, do you talk to your clients this way?”

With a happy sigh, she guides me across the threshold, out into the breeze. “Honestly? There are days when I’d like to. But my clients pay me lots of money. You, on the other hand, cost a fortune.” I scrunch my toes into flip-flops, eyes squinting to fend off the daylight. “Anyhoo . . .”

“Mom, you can’t be seriou—”

She closes my lips with her fingers. “Bye, sweetie. Don’t come back before sundown.”

“But—” The door slams shut and I hear the click of a lock. I look at the pile in my hands. She gave me everything but my keys.

I stomp down my front steps. No direction seems to speak to me, so I let my legs take over, guiding me through the tree-lined streets. Wind tussles with trees, sun beaming through cracks. With each step I feel my eyes grow clearer, my limbs less heavy, skin tingling and awake.

Out in the fresh air, it’s a little like I’ve broken from a spell. I’m on the lakefront path by the docks. Shiny white boats bob in neat lines, cheerful against the rocky water. It’s blustery out, a whisper of fall in the air, and despite the hot sun I’m happy to have my sweatshirt.

The joggers are out in full force today, some pushing strollers, others chatting breathlessly in pairs. A shirtless man on Rollerblades whizzes past, half pulling, half pulled by a big dog on a leash. Coming toward me, a gray-haired couple teaches a little girl to pedal her trike, calling out directions in what sounds like Chinese. I step out of the way as the girl makes a break for it, sending the poor old folks running. I smile as I watch her go. This is a place where people are their best selves, happy and free under the enormous midwestern sky.

“Huh,” I say aloud. I didn’t come here once this summer.

I pass a patch of beach set up with volleyball nets. A few scrawny college-age guys dive after balls in the sand, unabashed by their obvious athletic ineptitude. By the water’s edge, two toddlers in frilly suits dip their toes in, overwhelmed and euphoric, with shovels in hand.