Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [102]
“Do you remember the night Mom died?” Dan said, “when Caroline was supposed to babysit you?” He seemed to be the spokesperson of the group. My father just stared dumbly, as if he was only half there, in his body only, but not his mind. At the sound of her name, Caroline looked up.
I told them what I remembered—Mom in the sky-blue suit, telling me she was leaving for the night; two long car horns from outside; Mom answering the door, holding her head; the next morning in her bed.
My body grew cold with fear. I ignored my father, still standing. I kept staring at Dan and Caroline. They were adults. They were here in front of me. They were my family.
“But you don’t remember what happened other than that?” Dan said.
“Daniel,” my father said, a sharp word that he seemed to have dredged out of his chest.
But Dan just gave him a cautionary look and shook his head, the way you might warn a two-year-old not to throw his food. Dan was in charge.
But then Caroline spoke again. “I should tell her. I was the one who was there.” She wiped her eyes again and looked at me. “You’re so pretty, Hailey.”
I wanted to cry but I only blinked a few times. “I…Thank you.”
“Mom was going out with her boyfriend,” she said. “I don’t know if you understood that at the time, but I did, and I was angry about it.”
She kept talking. And as she did, my picture of that night trickled in along with her words, an unearthing of long-buried, intentionally forgotten memories.
“Caroline is here,” my mother said. “She’ll watch after you.” She gave me a warm smile, and for a second, I thought maybe everything would be okay, but then came the sound.
My mother jerked her head a little so that her ear was toward the stairs, toward the door. It came again, and I recognized the sound as a car horn, but not from Dad’s car. These honks were two long tones.
When my mother turned to me again, her face had changed. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks pink as if she’d been running in the cold. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tomorrow, okay?”
“No.” I started to cry. I hated it. I knew I wasn’t being a big girl, like she’d asked, but I also knew that she wouldn’t be back tomorrow. She was leaving for good. Everyone was leaving.
“Stop that, Hailey Belle.” Her voice was irritated now, and I tried to control my tears.
The horn sounded again, the same long tones.
Caroline came out of her room then. I didn’t see her, but I heard the door close, and I heard her light tread. Caroline made very little noise and said even less, but I’d grown used to the sounds of her—the catch of the door when she opened it, the creak of the porch swing, the soft scrape of the brush through her hair.
My mother gave Caroline a strange look I had never seen before. It was the same expression Caroline wore the time she accidentally dropped Mom’s favorite vase.
I glanced at Caroline, and it was as if they had changed roles somehow, because Caroline leaned against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, staring at us, the way Mom stared when one of us had done something wrong. I moved my eyes back and forth between the two of them, but they seemed not to notice me. They seemed to be watching each other, waiting for one to drop her eyes.
It was my mother who did so. She squeezed me around the middle, then stood up. “I’m going now, Hailey.”
“No!” I said, the tears falling down my cheeks again. “Don’t go. Please don’t go.”
She started to back away. “I have to.” She glanced at Caroline, who hadn’t moved, then at me. “You’ll understand one day. You both will.”
I heard Caroline give a harsh laugh, like a dog’s bark, a foreign, ugly sound coming from my sister’s throat.
I saw my mother narrow her eyes at my sister, then the menace in her eyes fell away, leaving only hurt.
“Goodbye, girls.” She bowed her head, and in that instant, I rushed to her.
I meant to hug her, to try to hold her there with us, but I was moving too fast. When my hands reached out to her, I pushed her instead. She wobbled