Magpie's Daughter

Destination

CHAPTER 16

Mom is furious, crying, yelling at the Moving Guys. I catch just a whiff of something alcoholic on the breath of her scream. I try to tell her that I'm just trying to get to the furnace, that I don't care what happens to all her stuff, I just want the heat to work again.

"And I told you I'll deal with that. You two, get out of here before I have you arrested. Now! This is my house, and I want you out. You don't have permission to be here or to touch my things. Put that down and get out. Now."

Mom is crying, just a mess, and I am too. Tim explains that there's been a misunderstanding, that they thought I was authorized - but she isn't hearing any of it.

"She's sixteen, for god's sake. Leave. Get out of here. I'm going to call the police if you're not gone immediately. This is my house, not hers, and you cannot touch anything in it. Get out now. What do you mean, coming in here and hauling all my things out in the yard? I will have you arrested for trespassing and breaking and entering. Get out now, I'm calling 911."

Tim and Ben exchange a look. Tim goes up to Mom, trying to calm her, telling her there must be some misunderstanding but not to worry, they'll get it worked out, while Ben moves toward me. "Do you need me to call anybody? Will you be okay?"

"What?"

"My girlfriend is a social worker with DFACS. Are you going to be okay here? I can call her if there's a problem." He looks embarrassed but determined to do the right thing.

"God, no. I'm fine. It's okay. No, thanks. She'll be all right. We're fine."

The office party.

Dr. Hargrove invited her to join his staff at the Chameleon once she was done at Dr. Chamberlain's office, and the office party was at 12:00 because everybody wanted to have a nice lunch (maybe with a Long Island tea or two) and then go home early. Which my mother did, only to find me and two strangers going through all her things. She says a couple of times that she told me about the office party, but of course she didn't because if she had, she wouldn't have come home to find me and the Moving Guys cleaning out all the shit she'd stuck under the house. I'd have picked up on something like that, under the circumstances. Not that it even matters because the main thing is I brought someone in, on my own.

I'd expected the anger, maybe even the hysteria. I guess it's understandable. What's getting to me is how – wounded she seems. Like something inside her broke. She's locked in her room, and I hear her sob once in a while. I've knocked on the door, pleading with her, telling her I'm sorry, I love her, I want to help, I'm sorry.

I haven't even told her about my money, the online sales and auctions. I canceled the heating and AC contractor I had scheduled for tomorrow, and half the crap that was in the basement is still spread out in the back yard. I covered it all up with the remaining tarps, for what it's worth, which is not much at all.

Two days go by before she will speak to me. Christmas Eve morning she is in the kitchen when I come out of my room. We're both red-eyed and ragged, worn down by a grief I don't understand. But it's occurred to me that all those things, those bags and plastic containers and piles and mountains and mountains of things just got in the way and kept me from understanding how scared and sick my mother really is.

Why didn't I know that? All those shows I watched, all those fantasies I'd had about getting our house cleaned out and keeping it that way, I'd still got in the habit of thinking the stuff was the problem, but it wasn't.

I tell her again how sorry I am and I mean it. I'm sorry for more than I can say, almost like it's my fault, the way we live.

Mom shakes her head. "I don't know what to say. What were you thinking?"