“Oh, there’s a difference between being mentally disturbed and behaving like a spoiled child because you’re not getting things your own way or, more important, deciding them. She’ll get over it,” he said confidently.
He loaded my suitcases into the car’s trunk, and we got in.
“Kaylee, I know I sound like a car stuck in low gear or something, but try to put all this behind you for a while so you can give yourself a chance for a fresh start. It’s going to be great. You’ll see,” he said, reaching over to squeeze my hand gently.
Before we turned out of the driveway, I looked back and saw Mother standing at the living-room window, looking out at us. I felt more of a sting than an ache in my heart. She looked forlorn, abandoned, and much smaller to me than she ever was. It wasn’t all that long ago when she had both Haylee and me in her life, in our home. Now, I thought, with my father gone, of course, she would have no one but her caretaker, Irene. She hadn’t reconnected with any of her girlfriends. The echoes and the memories hanging in every corner like woven spiderwebs might easily drive her back to the hospital.
I knew that it was selfish of me to deser
t her, but there was no way I could return to my school or any school near us. Our story was too infamous here. I was afraid even to go to the local supermarket, maybe especially the local supermarket, or any place where people who knew one another gathered. They would see me and begin their chatter. There she is. She doesn’t look normal. How could she be?
If I stayed, I wouldn’t leave the house very much. I’d become as much of a prisoner as Haylee was, and how would that do Mother any good?
“This is like going to college,” my father said, now eager to fill every moment of silence. “You’re on your own more, and you meet new people. It’s exciting. Don’t you think so?”
“I guess,” I said.
“Oh, it will be. Makes me wish I was eighteen again.”
“You wouldn’t be going somewhere specifically to get away from people who knew you,” I said bitterly.
“You gotta stop thinking of it like that, Kaylee. Look at the positive side. The school will have better teachers. It’s more beautiful. You’ll make lots of new discoveries along with new friends. And when it does come time for you to go to college, it won’t be as traumatic as it is for most high school kids. You’ll grow up faster.”
“Is that good? I think I’ve had to grow up too fast as it is.”
He looked at me.
“You know what I mean?”
I felt guilty now about how I was treating him. He was right, and he was only trying to help me. I had to pull myself up and out of this pool of depression and self-pity.
“You never have to mention what happened to you,” he said. “You don’t have to react to any nasty questions. You’ll see. You’ll feel differently when you get there.”
“I know. I hope,” I added. “I’m sorry, Daddy. And I do feel sorry for Mother, too. I realize she is struggling for a way to forget and start anew, just like I am.”
“Yeah. Well, I promise I’ll look in on her regularly,” he said. “It might even get to where she thinks we never divorced,” he added, reaching for some humor.
I did smile. I sat back. “Tell me about your first day at college, Daddy,” I said. “You never told us much about that.”
He had, but I wanted to hear him talk. I didn’t want to think about what was happening and what I was doing, and I didn’t want him to feel any more uncomfortable than he was. Once he began, he was on a roll. As he spoke, memories returned. I could recall exactly where I was, or I should say where Haylee and I were, when he told us things. Sometimes it was at dinner; sometimes it was when we took long car trips. Mother was laughing then at his stories, too.
Despite their arguments concerning how Mother was raising us growing in intensity almost weekly, neither Haylee nor I had believed that divorce was an option. My father seemed endlessly patient and tolerant. However, as the disputes about us—really about her and the things she was doing with us and to us—continued, he eventually reached his limit and was tired of backing down. I saw that he wasn’t just walking away anymore. He’d linger and argue longer, the reasonableness in his voice darkening into anger until that anger became a different kind of retreat. Mother never gave in, not even for something as small as letting us wear different-colored hair ribbons. My father began to avoid us, all of us. He was coming home later and later, taking more business trips, and eventually even missing our birthdays. Mother didn’t seem to care until it was too late, and then she worked to turn us against him, putting all the blame on him.
I’ve got to stop thinking about all that now, I told myself.
When we drew closer to Littlefield, my father told me that there were about a dozen other girls enrolling today, too.
“I’ll hang around until you’re settled in. There’s a meeting with the principal, Mrs. Mitchell, right after we get your things into your dorm room. She’s very nice but also very firm.” He leaned toward me to whisper. “I overheard two of the teachers talking about her. They call her Mrs. Thatcher.”
“Thatcher?”
“The Iron Lady, British prime minister.”
“Oh.”
He laughed. I wanted to hear more, of course. He hadn’t told me all that much about Littlefield, other than that it was a senior high school, with students in grades nine through twelve, and that the population was about three hundred.
“The dorms are quite nice, but you have to share a room with one other girl,” he finally revealed. It brought a new fear to my doorstep.