Aaron sat in the recliner, his knee bouncing nervously. While not as volatile as most of my class rooms were, the emotions feeding into me were varied and jumbled. My belly knotted up with Mom’s fear and embarrassment. My chest ached with Dad’s concern and love for his family. And my shoulders tensed with Aaron’s uncertainty. The combination made me want to hurl. Instead, I sat on the arm of my brother’s chair, aligning myself with him.
“What is it?” I asked.
My parents exchanged a look before my mother’s gaze became engrossed with her shoes.
“You both know that your mother hasn’t been herself lately,” Dad said, rubbing Mom’s arm supportively. “I know you’ve been worried about her.” He heaved a sigh before continuing. “We’ve talked it over and your mother has agreed to get help.”
“I thought she already was seeing a therapist,” Aaron said.
“She is, but we think she needs more help than an outpatient program can offer her.”
Mom didn’t seem to notice that they were discussing her as if she weren’t in the room.
“What are you saying?” I asked. “That she needs in-patient treatment?”
“I-I’m going to check myself into a rehab facility today,” Mom answered. My gasp had more to do with how difficult it was for her to admit that than any real surprise on my part.
“We’ve found a place in Minnesota that can offer her support for her substance abuse problems as well as grief counseling. I’m driving her up there today.”
“How long are you going to be gone?” Aaron asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“For as long as it takes,” Mom whispered, gazing beyond us out the window.
“I’ll be moving back home temporarily while your mother’s gone to keep an eye on you both. I know you kids have had a lot to deal with on your own for these last weeks, but it’s time that we pull together as a family and get through this.”
I struggled to block out the swirl of emotions in the room so I could assess my own thoughts. Part of me was glad that my mom was getting help. I knew it was the right thing. But another part of me boiled with frustration that Aaron and I were expected to find our way back to normal life on our own, while she was allowed to completely flake out. We didn’t have the luxury of self-pity; we had school. And what about the crap I’d been living through these last weeks? My parents had no idea about the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on. Okay, so I hadn’t exactly told them about it, but they hadn’t thought to ask either.#p#分页标题#e#
I looked down at my brother sitting next to me, and the wind went out of my sails. Soft gray smudges spread under his eyes, dimming his inner light. I opened myself to him and felt the sadness and worry lingering in him as if it had taken up permanent residence. I’m as bad as they are, I thought. So wrapped up in my own problems, I haven’t been there for Aaron. I rested my palm on his shoulder and silently vowed to be a better sister.
“I’m glad that you’re getting help, Mom,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about us. Cady and I have each other’s backs.”
Dad nodded as if that settled everything. “Well, Julia, let’s get your bags in the car and head out. It’s over three hours to Rochester.”
Mom stood and crossed to hug us, but I shirked away and went back up to my bedroom. I sat on the bed trying to understand why I was so angry with her, why I couldn’t let myself feel sorry for her. Guess sympathy doesn’t automatically come with empathy.
I lay back on my bed and covered my eyes with my forearm. The sounds of my parents gathering Mom’s luggage from the bedroom down the hall echoed through the plaster walls. Just as I thought they had gone back down the stairs, a soft knock rapped on my door.
“Can I come in?” Mom asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
“Can I say no?” I sat up, my head dizzy from the movement. Man, I was exhausted. Not sleepy, just spent. I tried to block out her feelings, but I couldn’t do it anymore. Her guilt and pain and sorrow seeped around my shields, demanding my attention. The emotions weakened me further, so I dropped the blocks, letting them flood over my mind in defeat.
“Cady, I know you are worried about me —”
“I’m not worried, I’m pissed off. Big difference.”
Mom sat down on the bed next to me and tried to put her arm around my shoulders, but I shot to my feet, putting distance between us. I couldn’t let her touch me. I had enough of an emotional storm brewing on my own; I didn’t want direct contact with her to drag me into her pity-party, invalidating my own feelings.