My throat burns again, but I don’t cry. I can’t let myself fall apart until we figure this out.
“How many did you take, Mom?” I don’t know why this is the question that escapes my lips. The fact that she stole the bottle to begin with is bad enough.
“It doesn’t matter how many pills she took, Bardot,” Dad says. He puts the car in drive and we coast out of Zayne’s neighborhood. He glances at my mother before turning back to the road. “This arrangement with Lucille isn’t working, Opal. You need to go to a real facility.”
In his tone, there is no wiggle room, no bargaining, no room for negotiation. He means it.
Part of me expects Mom to try to plead with him, but instead she just nods. “I know that, Paul.”
My lips part. “But Mom…” Going to a real facility means we won’t be able to have our weekly phone calls anymore. It means she won’t be home for Christmas either, like we planned.
But I also know it might be her only real chance to get better for good. I can feel Beau’s eyes on my face so I swallow down my emotion.
Mom’s shoulders twitch, and then begin to tremble again. She doesn’t turn around to face us. With her head still hung and her hands covering her eyes, she releases a strong sob.
I can’t hold back my own tears any longer.
And the thing is, I don’t even want to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
24 missed calls from Zayne Silverman.
He’s been trying to reach me since last night, and the calls and texts haven’t ceased once throughout the day. I shut off my phone screen and toss it onto my bed. I can’t talk to him. Not yet. Not after yesterday.
Mom is in her room, packing her suitcase, and Dad is helping her. This time, it’s a much bigger suitcase—one that can carry the rest of the belongings we’ve been storing here for her.
I throw myself onto the bed and cry into my pillow. It’s like releasing a tidal wave of emotion I’ve kept bottled up since the day Mom first admitted she had a problem. I was so angry then, because it wasn’t even her fault. She didn’t ask to injure her back or give up her hard-earned firefighting career. She didn’t want to be in so much pain that heavy doses of hydrocodone would be the only mask. She didn’t know that by the time her injury healed, she would already be an addict.
She didn’t ask to get addicted.
She didn’t ask to have her life ruined.
My cries continue to flow freely. I don’t know why I’m bothering to smother them with my pillow. I have no pride leftafter what happened at dinner, so I shouldn’t care if anyone hears me.
By morning, Mom will be on an airplane, on her way to a proper facility in Florida with a high recovery success rate. She’ll be gone, and I’ll be here, unable to talk to her or see her for what seems like an eternity. The worst part is that all I can seem to do is sit in my room and cry.
I’m so mad at her for failing me, Dad, and Beau when she stole those pills. But the other part of me knows I’ll regret it if I don’t get up and go to her, spend as much time with her as I can before she leaves.
I wipe my nose with my sweater sleeve and get up, walking to my bedroom door and gripping the cool, metal handle. When I swing the door open, Mom is on the other side and she’s holding a white rectangular cardboard box. Her eyes widen like she wasn’t expecting me to open the door, but the surprise melts into a downturned smile. “Hey, baby. Can I come in?”
I move out of the way so she can enter. I know my eyes are still red and puffy, because her gaze lingers on them before she takes my face in one of her hands and kisses my forehead.
We sit on the bed together. Mom sets the box on the mattress before turning to face me. “I owe you an apology, Bardot.”
I blink in surprise at her words. “For what?” I know it’s a stupid question, but what else am I supposed to say?
“I never should have made promises I knew I couldn’t keep.” Mom sniffs. “I know I should have stayed with my sister. But what you need to understand is that it’s just as hard on me to be away from my family as it is for you. When you told me about starring in your play at Fallbrook, it felt like you were growing up and living life without me.” She takes my hand, squeezing, and fresh tears appear in both of our eyes. “I just want to be back in your life. But by coming here before I was ready, I’ve done theworst thing imaginable; I let my baby girl down. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
I pull her into a hug. She wraps her arms around my back in response and we sit together in our tight embrace, rocking from side to side like we used to when I was a kid. “Thank you for apologizing,” I whisper. “I forgive you.” As I speak the words, the tightness in my stomach smooths out, like a hand sliding across bunched up fabric.
We let go of each other, and she turns to pick up the box next to her. “This is for you.” She holds it out to me. “Picked it up this evening.”
I dab my eyes with my sleeve and take the box. “What is it?” I lift the lid and remove tissue paper from the top.
The ice-blue dress from the department store stares back at me.
My lips part. “Mom.”
