Independence Day (14 page)

“Yes.” Chessie thought he did. Hoped he did. They needed some serious couple-time to confirm it.

At that moment Gabriella came into the kitchen with Penn close behind. Her younger daughter looked exhausted, but, at the same time, calm.

Penn put his hand on Gabriella’s shoulder.

“Mom,” Gabriella said, staring at a spot on the floor near Chessie’s feet, “I’m sorry.”

Penn cleared his throat, and Gabriella actually looked Chessie in the eye. “I really am.” She sounded sincere.

Chessie couldn’t remember the last time her fourteen-year-old had apologized. After the terror she’d put them all through last night, Chessie wanted to read Gabriella the riot act, but Penn caught her eye. With an almost imperceptible nod of his head he seemed to tell her things were okay. For now.

“Apology accepted,” she finally said.

Gabriella exhaled as if she’d been holding her breath. “Where’s Dad?”

“At work. He had an early interview.”

Both Penn and Gabriella looked disappointed.

Penn patted his granddaughter’s shoulder. “Get some sleep, scout. You can apologize to your dad when he gets home.”

“Thanks, Gramps.” Gabriella threw her arms around her grandfather’s neck before dashing upstairs.

“Thank you, Penn,” Chessie said. “Words can’t—”

“As the kids say, no problem.” Penn grinned.

“Did she tell you why she ran away?”

“She said she could take care of herself. But my opinion? I think she just painted herself into a corner and couldn’t think of a way out. You know how that sometimes happens.”

Yeah. Chessie felt sort of painted into her own corner.

“I gave her a few things to think about,” Penn added, “from a grandfather’s perspective. But I have to shove off. The tourists will be beating down the pound door otherwise. Who knew lobsters were a breakfast food?”

Chessie tried to hug her father-in-law, but he brushed her off. “No mush!” He ruffled Isabel’s hair, then left.

Isabel looked up at Chessie. “I know one thing that’s right. Moving back to Pritchard’s Neck where we have family.”

Yes. If parenthood was easier in a tag team, the bigger the team the better.

G
ABRIELLA FELL
into bed and let the tears flow. She was so, so tired, but when she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, all she could see was Gramps without a wife and Dad without a mother. The two of them working to keep the kids out of a foster home. The worry. If she thought she felt like crap when Keri abandoned her, how much worse had Mom and Dad
felt when they thought she’d left for good? Would her running away mean they weren’t fit parents? Would social services start sniffing around, as Gramps had said? Obviously, she hadn’t thought things through. Her grandfather had made her see the stakes.

T
HAT EVENING
Nick came home, eager to see for himself that Gabriella was safe and sound. And eager to talk to Chessie. He had big news. A major decision. A way, perhaps, to get their family back on track.

Isabel and Gabriella were in the kitchen, making salad and what looked like homemade pizza. He was surprised at the ordinary domesticity of the scene.

“Dad?”

Gabriella stood near the stove, uncertainty on her face. Pop had called him at work to fill him in, to urge him not to be too hard on his daughter. Their conversation was brief. Nick had been in the middle of a meeting, and his father had seemed irritated by that.

“Yes, Gabby?”

She flew at him and hugged him around his middle. Held on as if she had no intention of letting go. “Daddy!” she sobbed into his shirtfront. She hadn’t called him Daddy since first grade. As he held her, he was amazed that his tough-as-nails daughter was so soft and small. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Gently he asked, “Where’s your mom?”

“At her art class,” Isabel replied as she grated cheese. “She should be home anytime now.”

Was it Wednesday already? A whole week since
he’d charged into that class and suffered a dog bite for his efforts? Unbelievable.

“Something smells wonderful!” Chessie burst through the doorway, sketch pad in hand, her face aglow.

“Pizza,” Gabriella said, snuffling and stepping out of his embrace. “Homemade.”

“And Caesar salad.” Isabel untied the dish towel wrapped around her waist. “Ready to eat?”

“I’m starving,” he said, wondering anew at the fluctuations of adolescence. One minute chaos, the next quiet accomplishment. “How’d your class go?” he asked Chessie.

She seemed taken back by his question, but quickly recovered with a smile. “Great! You remember Sandy Weston, the sculptor? Well, while we were drawing, he gave me some great technique pointers for my commission piece. I still don’t have a real handle on the execution. Maybe his suggestions will help. How was your day? Did you get a Latin teacher?”

“Yes.” And so much more. But he didn’t want to disturb this rare, calm family moment. Not with talk of work or Gabriella’s stunt last night. There’d be time for discussion later. He washed his hands, then sat down to a meal his daughters had prepared, apparently without setting off the smoke detector.

“This is fantastic!” he announced, taking a bite of crusty cheese pizza with fresh tomatoes and what looked like fresh herbs.

“Not like the chicken flambé?” Isabel asked with the most tentative of smiles.

“Izzy and I decided fresh from scratch was best.” Gabriella’s voice held pride, a trait not observed in his daughter of late, and the use of the co-operative
Izzy and I
did Nick’s tired heart good. What had Pop said to her?

“Dessert’s cantaloupe with sherbet,” she added. “We figured it’d be pretty hard to screw that up.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” Isabel said, reaching for a second piece of pizza. “Mrs. Weiss stopped by, looking for a plate of hers. She said she brought cinnamon buns over on it, sometime around the Fourth of July. But I think she just wanted to talk to you, Mom.”

Nick watched Chessie’s face. He knew she couldn’t help being hurt by Martha’s accusations after the beach club episode. Last night, after learning from George that Gabriella had run away, she’d brought coffee, but hadn’t stayed long. A peace offering of sorts.

Chessie’s expression remained noncommittal. “Did you find the plate?”

“In your studio. And Mom…? I looked at your new piece. I think you’re trying to be too figurative. Maybe you should go more abstract. You’re trying to get across a concept after all.”

“Wow.” Chessie put down her salad fork. “You might have something…”

Wow was right, Nick thought. This was his quiet Isabel. Talk about still waters running deep.

He hadn’t wanted to talk about what happened today at work, but maybe now was the perfect moment, when both girls were acting so mature. He’d learned a lesson from the contract. No surprises. Besides, this decision was far too big.

He cleared his throat. “Actually… I have some news we should discuss. It could be really good news.”

Three sets of eyes turned his way.

“A headhunter called today. Remember that associate superintendent job in Atlanta? The funding finally came through. The job’s mine if I want it. Starting immediately.”

C
HESSIE STARED
at Nick in disbelief. “Surely you’re not considering this offer.”

“I’m putting it on the table for family discussion.”

The girls appeared stunned into silence.

“You have another year on your contract here,” Chessie protested.

“And that contract releases me if I accept a better offer. The Atlanta offer is much better. A promotion. A big salary increase.”

“But how could you leave here now? The school year’s about to begin.”

“We’re as ready as we’ll ever be. And Eleanor’s ready to assume a principal’s position. It’s only a matter of time before some system lures her away. It would be better for Coastal High if she were promoted here. As for the assistant’s position she’d vacate, there’s a whole new crop of teachers who’ve acquired their administrative certificates since spring. There wouldn’t be a problem filling her spot.”

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” Isabel’s voice was small, her eyes troubled.

“No, hon, I haven’t. I want this to be a family decision.”

Gabriella suddenly came to life. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea. We lived in Atlanta once before, and we liked it.”

“Good attitude, Gabby. Very open,” Nick replied, encouraged by the support.

Chessie wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. “This last move was special, Nick. Your family’s here.”

“We’ve lived all these years with the idea that family was where the four of us were.”

“But I like having a grandfather and aunts and uncles in the same town,” Isabel protested.

“But you hate cold weather,” Gabriella returned. “Atlanta has mild winters. Besides, we’d be halfway between Maine and Disney World.”

“These are just some of the points we have to weigh,” Nick interjected. “That’s why I want you all to think about it.”

“When do you have to give your answer?” Chessie asked, suddenly very tired. She hated the exhausting process of moving, had hoped this move to Pritchard’s Neck would be their last.

“It’s a newly created position, so they’re not pressed,” he said, “but they want the new hire to start as soon as possible. I could probably stall for a week before they offer it to the next person on the list. If I accepted, I’d have to go on ahead. Get an apartment while you stayed behind to sell the house. The girls could live with me and start school.”

Chessie looked hard at her husband, trying to figure out if he had an ulterior motive. Was he seriously considering this new job, or was this more of a power struggle? Had her Fourth-of-July rebellion sparked Nick’s enthusiasm for a transfer? She didn’t want to ask in front of the girls.

“This is Isabel’s senior year,” she said, instead. “She’s had three different high schools so far. Heading into college it would be best if she had a couple years’ stability. Two straight years in Pritchard’s Neck.”

“Through all our moves,” Nick countered, “both girls have maintained excellent grades. Isabel isn’t going to have any problem getting into a top college no matter what high school’s listed on her diploma.”

Isabel looked down at her hands and said nothing.

“I wouldn’t mind moving,” Gabriella interjected.

Sure she wouldn’t, Chessie thought. Between junior high and high school, between friends and, at present, between a rock and a hard place, their younger daughter would jump at a chance for a fresh start.

“I would have to restart my pottery business from scratch,” Chessie said.

“With the raise I’d be getting, you wouldn’t have to work.” Nick gave her that satisfied provider look, and she had to suppress the urge to scream.

“Being a potter—an artist—isn’t work. It’s part of who I am. Right here in Pritchard’s Neck.”

“You can be a potter in Atlanta, Mom.” Gabriella’s voice seemed far away to Isabel.

As the other three talked, Isabel kept thinking,
This can’t be happening. It’s all so wrong.
It was wrong to move when she’d just started to feel as if she belonged here. As if she had reinforcements in her grandfather and her aunts and uncles when stuff got too hairy at home. And now Dad wanted to pull that security out from under the four of them?

“I need an aspirin,” she mumbled, then headed upstairs.

In her room she couldn’t settle down. It was as if her arms and legs had a twitchy energy all their own. Pacing, she flipped through clothing and papers in search of her poetry notebook. Maybe if she tried to write…

Flailing her arms aimlessly, she bumped her desk, sending a stack of books, her poetry notebook included, crashing into her waste basket. When she went to fish them out, she found them among the shredded remains of her college applications.

She’d thought she could help her family by staying home, by commuting to college as a day student. How naïve she’d been.

She grabbed her poetry notebook and a pen. Tried to find images that might convey her sorrow. Tried to find something to say that would make her feel connected and minimize her loneliness. But the words refused to come. If she couldn’t express herself, she had to escape.

She headed for the bathroom and the razor blades.

C
HESSIE WONDERED
at her daughter’s absence. As difficult a topic as Nick had brought up, at least he’d
presented it for family discussion. Isabel needed to be part of this, to make her opinions known.

“Gabby,” she said, “would you check on your sister?”

“Sure.” As Nick had pushed the pluses of the possible move, Gabriella had become quite perky in her support. It was obvious she was pleased to be in her father’s good graces.

When she left the room, Chessie turned to Nick. “What’s the real agenda here?”

To his credit, he looked genuinely perplexed. “No agenda, Chess. This is a serious proposal. We need to take a serious look at it. With Isabel in college a year from this September and Gabriella three years later we could use the extra money.”

“I’m beginning to make extra money with my pottery. And now I want to settle down. Finally. Here in our hometown, with your family around us. I think Isabel—”

Her sentence was cut short by a blood-curdling scream.

Nick bolted from his seat with Chessie right behind as they heard Gabriella frantically wailing, “Omigod, omigod, omigod!”

By the time she reached the landing, Nick was in the girls’ bathroom, kneeling over Isabel, and Gabriella was pressed against the door frame, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Call 911!” Nick barked.

“No!” Isabel screamed. “I can make it stop, Dad. See!”

As Chessie peered into the bathroom, she didn’t know what made her sickest— Isabel’s forearms covered in blood, or her seventeen-year-old methodically stanching the flow with a hand towel as if she were an automaton without feeling or emotional involvement.

“Omigod, omigod, omigod…” Gabriella whimpered, hugging the woodwork and averting her eyes.

Instinctively, Chessie took her younger daughter in her arms where Gabby clung, shivering.

“It’s stopping, Dad.” Isabel held up her arms. The bleeding was reduced to thin red lines like bramble scratches…but there were so many. “Don’t call 911. Please.”

A wave of nausea swept over Chessie as she stared at her older daughter while holding fast to her younger. “Isabel, what is going on?”

“I think I know.” Nick scooped up Isabel, bloody towel and all, then carried her to her bedroom. “Take Gabby downstairs and put on some tea.”

“Tea!” Was he crazy? Their daughter had just slit her wrists. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

“Tea, Chessie.” He laid Isabel on her bed. “Trust me.”

He seemed so calm. In fact, so did Isabel. Unlike Gabriella, who still trembled in Chessie’s none-too-steady arms.

“Chessie, please. Take Gabby downstairs.”

She left, as much to protect her younger daughter as to show her trust in Nick.

In the kitchen she went through the motions of getting down the teapot, the mugs.

“Peach mango,” Gabriella whispered as she huddled on a chair. “That’s Izzy’s favorite.”

“Peach mango it is.” To be sure, this was a nightmare, making tea while Isabel lay upstairs. She didn’t know what was going on, but Nick seemed to. She was grateful for his self-assurance. If Gabriella didn’t need her, she’d be beside him.

But Gabriella did need her. With wide, uncomprehending eyes, she watched Chessie move around the kitchen. A girl who usually spoke before she thought, she remained unnaturally mute.

When the tea had steeped, Chessie poured two mugs and set them on the table, then put two more on a tray. “Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

Gabriella hugged a mug of steaming tea to her chest and didn’t argue.

At the top of the stairs, Nick met Chessie in front of Isabel’s closed door. He took one of the mugs off the tray and nodded to the other. “Take this in to Izzy,” he said softly. “Tell her you love her. Tell her everything’s going to be all right. I’ll go down to Gabby.”

“But don’t we need to take Isabel to the hospital?”

“She needs a doctor, but not a medical doctor. I called the school guidance counselor. She’s recommended a family therapist.”

“What—?”

“Just give her the tea. Sit with her a minute. If she wants to talk, let her. If she doesn’t, that’s okay tonight. Then let her rest and come downstairs. We need to talk to Gabby. I’ll tell you both what I know.”

“Oh, yes! Please. Gabby’s terrified.” As was she.

Nick kissed her gently on the cheek. “It’s going to be okay, Chessie. I promise.”

How could he promise that when everything seemed so awful?

Tentatively, she pushed open Isabel’s bedroom door, expecting to see her daughter in some kind of agony, physical or emotional. Instead, she lay on top of the covers, her eyes closed, her features peaceful.

“Izzy,” she said quietly. “I brought you tea.”

Slowly Isabel sat up. “Thank you.”

Although Chessie tried not to look at her daughter’s arms, she couldn’t help herself. With her sweatshirt sleeves pushed up above her elbows, Isabel made no effort to cover the pattern of cuts covering both arms. So this was why she’d been wearing long sleeves during even the hottest days. Chessie racked her brain to remember the first time she’d noticed the strange attire.

Sipping her tea, Isabel seemed almost relieved. Why? Had she wanted to be found out? Chessie didn’t understand.

She sat lightly on the edge of the bed, and brushed the hair from Isabel’s temple. Her skin felt cool, un-fevered. “I love you, darling. Daddy does, too. And Gabby.”

“I know.”

“Things are going to be—”

“Okay. Dad promised.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“Not now. I’m tired.” She put the mug on her nightstand, then lay down. “Talk to Dad. He understands.”

He did? Chessie fought back tears as she closed her daughter’s door. Then why didn’t she?

In the kitchen Nick was talking quietly to Gabriella, who now seemed calmer. Chessie wished she felt calmer, but, if anything, she felt close to hysteria.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

“Yes.” Nick took her hand and drew her into the seat next to him. “The term for it is cutting. Isabel cut herself because, ironically, it made her feel better. Inside.”

“How could she consider suicide and we never saw any signs?”

“Not suicide, Chess. This type of cutting—painful, yet shallow—is rarely life-threatening.”

“How do you know that?”

“I deal with suicidal teens and teens who cut. Isabel let me check her arms and legs. A good sign this was a cry for help. Her cuts are superficial. Enough to cause pain, not enough to do real damage.”

“Girls do it to get attention,” Gabriella mumbled, biting her nails. “But it’s so gross.”

“You know about this?” Chessie was shocked. Here she thought she was current with the issues in her children’s generation.

“About cutting, yeah.” Gabriella leaned into her father. “About Isabel, no.”

Chessie turned to Nick. “What, outside of normal adolescent angst, is troubling Isabel?”

“I’d say normal adolescent angst would be enough to push a sensitive girl like Isabel to the edge. Plus, Gabby tells me Izzy thought the…discussions we’d been having lately might signal impending divorce.”

“Oh, no. And then you talked of taking a job in Atlanta. Of getting an apartment by yourself…”

“Talk of moving might have triggered this episode, but there were other times, Chess. I saw healing cuts. She’s been doing this a while. Not long, but a while.”

“How could she do something so brutal?”

“As crazy as it sounds, there’s a poetic sense to cutting that would appeal to a girl like Isabel. It’s a display of strength—look at the pain I can bear—as well as sensitivity—look at the pain I am feeling inside. The operative phrase is
look at.
Eventually, cutters want someone to notice. To help bear or ease the pain.”

“That’s why she seemed almost relieved.”

“Yes.”

Feeling inadequate, Chessie leaned into Nick, who was now bookended by his daughter and his wife. What else did Nick know about kids that she didn’t?

And then the epiphany hit her.

All three of them— Isabel, Gabriella and she—felt the desperate need to be seen and connected to the
others. They also needed the others to help bear or ease any burdens along the way.

In the wake of this last upheaval, Nick had contacted a counselor. She hoped the sessions could include all four of them.

F
OR THE FIRST TIME
in…he couldn’t remember how long, Nick took a day off work. A Thursday, no less.

He called in and took a personal day because Isabel, although she had her license, asked him to drive her to her morning appointment with the therapist who’d proposed a plan wherein Isabel would come alone at first. Then later, when she felt as if she could articulate her issues more clearly, the family would be invited to join the sessions. He sat in the waiting room and worried. Giving over control in this area made him very uneasy. Unease, however, was a small price to pay for his daughter’s well-being.

After therapy, he and Isabel picked up Chessie and Gabriella, and he treated them all to lunch at The Breakwater restaurant, a place frequented by tourists who, more than likely, earned more than a high-school principal. Because his three ladies seemed to relax and enjoy the breathtaking view of the coast, the linens and extensive place settings, surprisingly, so did he. When the bill came, he viewed it as vacation money they hadn’t spent. In trying to turn Coastal High around, he’d worked through any time he’d been slated to take off this past year. If he moved the family to Atlanta, he wouldn’t get a chance to
make it up to them for another year, at least. Why hadn’t he seen the importance of vacations before now?