As Dad’s voice burred in the background. “Oh yes, sleeping pills,” said Mom. “Any of those, Jamie?”
“Okay, you got me, but only two. Tess and Teddy took most. They like them for the plane trips.”
“This is incredibly disturbing.” She did sound disturbed. “Any kind of self-medicating, Jamie. It’s so worrisome. Please promise me, if you insist on using a sleeping pill, you’ll break it in half and go straight to bed. That’s a narcotic, that’s not a joke.”
… bumped my head and went to bed and couldn’t get up in the morning.
“What did you say?” Mom sounded nervous. Uh-oh. Had I said that out loud?
“My back hurts so bad it wakes me up in the morning.”
“Then I’m going online this minute to look up a local doctor, and I’ll make you an appointment. But if you’re really having such serious issues, you need to come home—because sleeping pills are no kind of solution.”
“Mom, you’re overreacting. Don’t make me a doctor’s appointment that I won’t keep.”
“You just told me your back pain woke you up in the morning, Jamie. How do you think I’m going to react?”
My silence frustrated her, but there was no way she could vault the distance between us. “At the very least,” she continued, “let me find you a doctor and email you the information. And we’ll go see a chiropractor when you get home. Capisce?”
“Capisce.” I was off the hook, kind of. Capisce was one of those Atkinson family words that signaled good humor.
“Otherwise. How are you?” I could feel her listening hard.
“Me? Great.”
“Wonderful.” Mom sounded calmed. “And that means … you’re not feeling too blue?”
“Blue? Like, country-western-song blue?”
“You know what I’m saying. Mopey. Down in the dumps.”
“I’m fine, Mom. No blue moping in the dumps here. For real.”
“Because I’m always thinking about you.”
“I know. But I’m fine.” I knew she wanted more. “I’m trying really hard, Mom. I’m focused on staying positive every day.”
Finally, I’d said the exact right thing. “I’m sure you’re a welcome addition to the McRae household,” she assured me. “You’re so warmhearted. That little Isa probably needs you. She’s practically an orphan, poor thing.”
“Sure.” When it came to her kids, Mom was always selling us to us. We usually teased her about it, but after I exchanged goodbyes with my parents and clicked off, I mulled over her words.
Practically an orphan. Poor thing.
Had I once considered Milo and Isa as lonely spirits in need of my special attention? Not really. In fact, I’d hardly considered them at all. Now, in light of Mom’s words, this seemed unfair of me. Sure, the McRae kids might be privileged, even spoiled, but with one deceased parent, one absent parent and last summer’s plane crash like a big neon sign of tragedy blinking over them wherever they went, they’d had their share of knocks.
How surprising to be particularly needed. I’d spent these past few months barely controlling my own life. Now I’d been entrusted to care for someone else. It seemed like an absurd sort of joke on Isa and me both.
That last Ruby Tuesday lunch, Sean Ryan had sat across from me, his cherub face deflated, his blond brows knit. Keeping his distance with formal phrases like hold on to boundaries and nip it in the bud and still want you to like me as your teacher. He hadn’t wanted to hurt me. He’d only wanted me to go away.
Just thinking about it made my face toast up.
Just thinking about it more made me want to find another pill.
“Jamie. Jamie. Have you gone deaf?”
Connie stood in the doorway. I hadn’t heard her come upstairs. “What are you doing?”
“Me?” I looked around. We were on the third floor, in Isa’s old playroom. I’d been so preoccupied that I’d wandered up here without even realizing it. “I was just looking for my shoes so I can go outside, to find Isa. I’d kicked them off earlier.”
But of course my shoes weren’t up here. I could feel Connie’s exasperation as she followed me back down to my room. “You’d better hurry. Look what it’th doing outhide.” She pointed out to the sky, dark as pewter, the rain sheeting sideways.
This wasn’t just a summer storm. This was turning into a beast, and Isa might be out in it. Some babysitter-to-the-rescue I was.
“I’m leaving right now.” I was already yanking my nylon orange Windbreaker from its hanger. Totally inadequate for what was raging outside, but Connie just stood there, arms crossed in her usual way, and, true to form, didn’t offer me anything better.
NINE
Gusting winds drowned my voice as I released some key swears into the storm. I cursed out everyone, pretty much. The weather, Connie, even poor Mom for hunting me down and calling me out on the pill pinching. The slashing wind and angry sky agreed. But I knew that mostly I was swearing because anger was slightly more comfortable than fear.
What if something horrible had happened to Isa, on my watch? Oh Lord, I’d never forgive myself.
I started my climb to the lighthouse, working a slippery toehold, pushing uphill by way of the walkway. It was foolish to be out in a storm this electric. Surely there was an emergency number to a local patrol station I could have contacted, instead of taking on the search myself. I’d dashed out into the middle of this thing without
Crack! White veins of lightning cut the sky and struck a large tree ahead, popping it full of light like an enormous firefly.
“Isa!” I hollered. And again. Yelled her name until my throat went hoarse. The rubber thong broke off my right flip-flop, so I took them both off and threw them over the rail and out to sea. Continuing my trudge barefoot, head low, arms tucked in front of me to break my fall.
And then up ahead, there they were. My cry caught and died in me the same instant. The pale-eyed boy, the lanky girl. Both standing in position at the edge of the outcropping. Not caring about the rain, or about my presence. Whatever doubts I might have, whatever desire to pretend away what I instinctively knew, I couldn’t shake the fact that in this sighting of them, they were as uncannily, as uniquely positioned as they had been the first day.
This was exactly as Uncle Jim and Hank had always appeared to me, too; as an imprint, as the lingering, unrelenting burn of a retinal afterimage. I squeezed my eyes shut into pulpy sparks of yellow and red but it was too late. They’d found me, they’d printed themselves on me, they were inside.