Callie reached out and touched Lorna’s cheek, then dropped her hand. “Okay, so listen. I don’t know if I have the time or patience for your wellness program. I mean, between Mom andthe kids... it’s a lot. And we’re going to be gone for a couple of weeks. But maybe we can get together when we get back and catch up.” She leaned forward and hugged Lorna tightly.
Lorna wanted to cry. Two hugs in a week. She’d had no idea how badly she needed them. Especially from Callie. She’d never dreamed this would happen—never considered that Callie was still the same girl who had meant so much to her, with a heart as big as the sun. She felt foolish for having spent so much time convinced Callie hated her for something she never even knew about.
Callie let go and said, “I’m really glad you came. You’re the same old Lorna, but now with panic attacks.” She grinned and, with a wink, turned back and walked into her house.
Lorna watched until the door shut behind her. She felt giddy and relieved and like a two-ton weight had been lifted from her. Callie might not be all in, and even if she was, they might not recapture the friendship they’d had. But Lorna had made her apology, and now she was filled with hope they might find those two teen girls again. Micah would be beside himself.
You were right, Mom. You must love to hear me say that. Too bad you’re not here to say “I told you so.” I know you would enjoy that.
• • •
Bean was asleep in his seat when Lorna turned on the street where she had lived with her mother and sister in a garage apartment. It was getting late, but the lights were still on in Peggy’s house. Lorna walked up the path to the door, giving the rooster a happy slap to the side of its head on her way. She knocked on the door.
Peggy answered, dressed in a robe and pajamas. “Lolo!” she said delightedly. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I’m sorry for showing up so late.” What time was it? Eight or so? She’d lost track. “I need to give you something.” She took a friendship bracelet from her purse. One cold winter day, she and Callie had made dozens of them in Lorna’s room, sifting through the beads, hoping to give them to people they wanted to be friends with. Mostly people who would never be friends with them.
They’d made a best friend version for each other. Lorna had kept the one Callie made for her. The string was yellowed, and a couple of beads had somehow gone missing. She handed the bracelet to Peggy, pressing it into her palm.
“What’s this?”
“It’s my proof that I took care of my first item on the list. I apologized to my best friend.” Just saying those words out loud, she could feel herself smile.Reallysmile.
And it felt amazing.
Hey K, guess who I saw today? Callie Kleberg. She looks great. You always said she would be really pretty if she tried. I don’t know if she is trying, but she is really pretty. She thought I was a flight attendant because of the way I was dressed. Still hitting it out of the sartorial park over here. Get this—she doesn’t hate me. Not anymore, anyway. But the most interesting thing is that the end of our friendship was not your fault. Can you believe it? Me either. Turns out, the reason she never spoke to me again was because I was a shitty friend. That’s it. I didn’t hear her. It wasn’t because you were making my life miserable or because I tried to become a Kleberg. It was because I wasn’t listening. But don’t get it twisted—I wasn’t listening because you were making my life miserable then.This was before your first go in treatment. Remember how impossible you were?
I remember that treatment didn’t last long. I remember you showed up at my concert so stoned or high or drunk or whatever with that stupid, gross guy. What was his name? It doesn’t matter. That was the most humiliating moment of my entire life in a long list of humiliating moments. I always wondered, did a switch go off in your head? I’m just trying to understand how you were clean for so long and then one day—poof—it was all gone. I always tried to understand, Kristen. Well, except in the end.
Speaking of the end, I’m so sorry about that. You have no idea. I can’t even talk about it right now.
Chapter 19Lorna Is Sixteen
Kristen comes home after three months in a residential drug treatment program. Nana and Lorna have made a cake—well, Lorna made it while Nana drank. She has writtenWelcome Homeon it. It’s chocolate—Kristen’s favorite.
There are circles under Kristen’s eyes. She has skinny arms, but her beauty is coming back. She’s so thin. Except for her stomach. Her stomach is too big, like she’s malnourished. She says the food was terrible in prison. She means rehab.
Kristen seems flat and lifeless, not excited to be home. She keeps her arms folded over her body, and her eyes dart around the rooms she is in, like she expects someone to jump out from the curtains and haul her off. Maybe because that’s how Mom and Dad got her into treatment—strangers came to the house and took her.
Kristen says thanks for the cake. She eats a piece, says she can’t eat anything else, and goes to her room to lie down.
As the first week home unfurls, Kristen mopes around the house. She tells Lorna it’s because she’s bored. “I have nothing to do. Mom won’t let me get a job because I have all these stupid meetings to go to.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Lorna asks, although she has no idea what kind of meetings Kristen means.
Kristen plays with Lorna’s long hair, twisting it around her fingers, making corkscrew curls. “No. Then both of us would be bored.”
Mom finally relents and tells Kristen she can get a job. Kristen is happy and begins to look but quickly discovers there are not many options for a twenty-year-old woman with a record of petty theft.
“That doesn’t sound right,” Mom says when Kristen complains about it.
“Are you kidding?” Kristen snaps. “No one wants someone with a record, Mom. I told you.”
Kristen’s mood gets darker as the days roll on. “I hate being sober,” she confides in Lorna. “I hate who I am when I’m sober.”
“Buy why?” Lorna asks. “You’re funny and smart, and I really like you like this.”
Kristen smiles at Lorna like she’s a stupid little kid. Maybe she is. “It’s hard to understand, I know. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself. It’s not like I want to be like this. But I am, and I’m sick of trying to be someone I’m not.”
