Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (6 page)

After a restless night, I rose early and set out breakfast. Sundays were unscheduled, so those who were hungry wandered in at their leisure. I took my journal outdoors and spent an hour writing about my conversation with Whip.

No matter what Whip thought, the decision really was mine. Nothing short of him becoming a full-time, on-the-premises father relieved me of the responsibility of taking care of the kids. I was so not letting him off the hook without a fight. He needed to squirm and acknowledge what he was asking.

I went over the ideas Raney and I had kicked around and made up my mind. I had to provoke some kind of response, anything, to get Merry's attention. I planned to try the first of the halves: I'd tell Merry I was returning to New York. Permanently. If I could get her to understand she had to take charge, maybe I could also get her to admit she needed psychiatric help. That would be huge and just might put her on the road to recovery and me on the road home. I crossed my fingers and hoped tough love would work.

I returned to the kitchen to find an empty coffeepot. Breakfast dishes cluttered the sink. Someone had eaten. Several someones from the number of plates and bowls. I called up the stairs. Silence. Curious, I looked into the garage. Whip's truck was gone. Not again. Had he gone back to work instead of doing something with his kids? Then I saw the note on the kitchen table.

“Mad Max, Dad's taking us out for the day. I don't know where we're going, but I need to get away from Mom. Love you, Em.”

No sooner had I finished cleaning the kitchen than Merry struggled down the stairs. She was still in her nightgown, her hair uncombed, her eyes unfocused. She reeked of last night's booze. While I didn't think she drank this early, I was positive she was stoned on her morning breakfast of painkillers.

“What the hell do you think you're doing here?” The words were a slurred assault.

I struggled to keep calm and not round back on her with my usual stinging rebuke. “Making coffee.”

“I said, what the fuck are you doing?” Merry leaned against the doorjamb, one hand holding onto the knob.

“With that attitude, I won't tell you. When you're civil, we can talk. If not, you figure it out.” I set out two cups, cream and sugar, spoons and bagels on the countertop. I was starving, so I popped a bagel into the toaster.

Merry sniffed the toasting bagel. “Aren't you going to make me something to eat?”

“No. Have whatever you want.” I poured coffee and carried both cups to the table.

Merry wobbled across the kitchen and sat. She cradled the cup in both hands and raised it to her lips. Her hands trembled so much I was afraid she'd spill it.

Steady, old girl. Don't give in.
“Now, what did you want to know?”

I kept my voice neutral, as I spread cream cheese and jam on half of my bagel and took a bite.

Merry watched my every move. “I want to know what you're doing.”

“Eating breakfast.”

After realizing I didn't fix her breakfast, Merry wrestled a bagel out of the bag and tried to slice it. I hoped she wouldn't cut a finger off. She mangled the bagel into two pieces small enough to fit into the toaster.

“I mean here in my house. What are you doing here?”

“I've been here for weeks taking care of you and the kids.” I finished my bagel and pushed the empty plate aside.

“Why don't you get out of my house?”

“Now that you bring it up, I will. I'm moving back to New York.”

“Wha-at?”

“You heard me. I'm going home. Time for you to take care of your family.”

“But, but I can't!”

“You tell me all the time you don't want me meddling. I'm taking you at your word.” I kept my head down and glanced at Merry's face through my eyelashes. She was deathly pale.

“I need help!”

“Not as much as you think. The therapist said you can drive. Go to the doctor. See what meds you can cut out. Take over the care of your children. Their entire schedule is on the calendar.” I waved at the bulletin board, which had long ago replaced the front of the refrigerator.

“I already do that. I take them wherever they want to go.”

Was she so spaced out she actually believed she was back to normal? This tracked with what Darla told me.

“What car are you driving?”

“You're so stupid. My Lincoln, of course.” Merry carried her half-burnt bagel to the table and reached for the cream cheese.

“Merry, you wrecked the Lincoln. Whip bought you the Infiniti you've always wanted.” I turned aside and blinked tears away.

“He did?”

“It's in the garage. Go look. Start cooking and helping the kids with their homework.”

Merry chewed, swallowed, and said nothing. Her brow furrowed.

“It's time you went back to being a wife and mother. Stop lying in bed all day drunk and stoned on drugs.”

Merry stared at the table.

Did she even understand?

Her voice rose, and she shouted I couldn't leave.

“You're not making sense. You want me to leave. Then, you don't. You can't have it both ways.”

“You're trying to control me. Just like always.”

I ignored her. “I'll talk to Whip about finding a caretaker.”

“I won't have some stupid stranger in my house.”

“Then take care of yourself, dammit. And your children. And your husband.” I put my dishes in the dishwasher and poured a refill of coffee to take upstairs.

Merry shouted after me. “Don't you dare leave, you bitch!”

Strike one. Threatening to leave didn't work. Time to think about the second half: a shrink.

I felt like howling when I called Raney.

“So, it's too much to expect Merry to take care of herself and her children.”

“Yes.”

“Well, what are you going to do about it?’

My two-week deadline still had more than a week left when Whip came into the family room after dinner and threw himself into his favorite chair. He had the telltale signs of getting ready to go away for a while.

“Okay, when are you going where?”

Whip jumped and had the decency to look guilty. Well, slightly guilty. “You remember Johnny Medina?”

“Of course. He's scared to death of me.”

I met Johnny years earlier. A partner in Whip's construction firm, I liked his solid common sense attitude toward life. He was funny too.

“He's got a fucked up job in Central America. Behind schedule. Thefts. Bureaucratic graft. Sabotage.”

“Only you can save the world, huh, John Wayne?”

“Something like that.”

“You're running away. Just say so.” I was angry enough to call Whip's bluff.

“And you don't?”

“Well, I want to run away too. How long this time?”

“About a week.”

“Okay. When you get back, it's decision time.”

Whip shied away from talking about Merry.

“I'll make you a deal. You go to Central America. Get some R and R. I'll take the kids to New York. We'll both get away from the problem.”

“What about Merry?”

“What about her? I'll leave plenty of food. She'll survive a few days alone. Think of it as a trial run. See if she can handle responsibility.”

Whip grinned. “Deal.”

“Don't get too comfortable. Think about putting Merry into rehab.” I rose and moved toward the door. “Think about treatment. You may have to commit her.”

And don't even think about staying in Central America forever. I'll find you. You won't like the consequences of getting stomped by Maxine Davies.

Once I told the kids I was taking them to New York, Alex wanted to leave immediately. Like, the next day. I had to be sure Merry had everything she needed first. I invited her to come with us, knowing full well she wouldn't go. Still, I made a feeble attempt at getting her out of her drunken, drug-befogged existence.

“Leave me alone.”

I took her at her word.

Alex sprang a list of everything he wanted to see and do on us at breakfast the day before we were to leave.

I bit back a laugh. “Hand it over. Hmm, Central Park. Can do. The Statue of Liberty. Can do. The Intrepid Aircraft Carrier. We'll see. Ground Zero. Let me think about that.”

“I really want to go to Ground Zero. It'd be so cool to look at the hole in the ground.”

“I'm not sure I want to go.” Emilie stared off into the distance. “So many people died.”

“It's been three years since the attack. Please, Mad Max, say we can go.”

“Maybe.” I didn't like turning what was left of the World Trade Center into a tourist attraction. “Back to your list. The White House and Air and Space. Can't do.”

“Why not?”

“They're in Washington, D.C., you idiot.” Emilie rolled her eyes.

“No name calling. He's not an idiot. You need to study geography, Alex. We'll start in Central Park with the zoo and the merry-go-round. We can take the subway to Battery Park and ride the Staten Island Ferry. Then we'll go to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.”

I checked off a couple of items.

“What about you, Em? What do you want to do?”

“MoMA. The Natural History Museum. Maybe a Broadway play. A carriage ride.”

“Yuck.”

“Whoa, Alex. Em's going where you want. You can do the same. Besides, think of it as a vacation with a twist.”

“What twist?”

“You'll learn something.”

“Double yuck.”

After trying to see and do everything on Alex's and Emilie's lists, we packed to return to Richmond. We had knocked all but the Intrepid off the lists. I ran out of energy to hike through an aircraft carrier-turned museum. I did relent, though, and took the kids to Ground Zero. We ate lunch in the Davies Enterprises cafeteria two blocks away.

“Wow! You can see everything from here.” Alex bolted from window to window. He pointed to places we'd visited. “Even the hole in the ground.”

“Were you here on September Eleventh?” These were the first words Emilie spoke since we arrived at Ground Zero.

“I was.”

Emilie threw her arms around my waist and buried her face in my shirt.

I decided to drive back to Richmond rather than fly. I wanted my car so I didn't have to rent one all the time. Alex pouted when I told him I didn't have a DVD player in my Jag sedan. I reminded him he had his iPod and several books.

“You can always look at the scenery, you know.”

“That's boring.”

“Could be, but we're going to drive.”

Emilie was happy. “It'll take more time for us to get home, won't it?”

“Sure will.”

Our vacation away from Merry had been a godsend. We called every day, but she never answered. Emilie said her mother was “fine.” At least we tried.

We hadn't been back two nights when cries came from Merry's room.

I climbed out of bed, my heart pounding, my mouth dry as a fart in a mitten. Was Merry having another nightmare? They'd become more frequent of late, just like they had after her father died. In a rare moment, she told me she suffered two recurring nightmares. In one, bright lights headed straight at her, blinding her, but she couldn't get out of the way. In the other, she looked everywhere for something she'd lost. She called and called, but no one answered. Which one was it tonight?

I walked into an empty, darkened hallway. I listened first at Merry's tightly shut door. Nothing. Maybe she went back to sleep. I peeked into Alex's room. He snored slightly, bathed in the blue glow of his computer screensaver.

I eased Emilie's door open. She was curled in a ball, her oldest teddy bear clutched in her arms. Why was the room so much brighter than usual? Emilie had left a small lamp burning on her chest of drawers. As a toddler, Emilie was afraid of the dark after she got up one night and fell down the stairs. When had she started sleeping with a nightlight and her old teddy bear again?

I backed out of the bedroom and bumped into something solid. I gasped, my heart thumping. Merry stood right behind me.

“You scared the hell out of me.” I raised an eyebrow and held a finger to my lips. “Come downstairs. We're awake. The kids are asleep. Time to talk. I'll make some chamomile tea.”

I was pretty sure Merry didn't want to spend the rest of the night listening to me. When I walked down the stairs, though, I expected her to follow. She did.

I filled a kettle, measured tea into a pot, and set out mugs. While I cut a couple of slices of chocolate cake, Merry went to the liquor cabinet, brought the brandy and two snifters back to the kitchen, and poured healthy slugs. After the water came to a boil, I carried mugs of steaming tea and slices of leftover cake to the table.

Time for a mother-daughter talk. I planted myself across from Merry. Maybe I could break through the shell she'd built up.

She rolled her eyes.

“When you do that, you look just like Em when she says, ‘whatev-ah.’”

Merry shrugged and sipped her brandy. No response.

Of late, Merry shied away from talking about anything but herself. That suited me fine; tonight was all about Merry. Her rigid face told me to hurry up and get on with it. Like it or not, she'd sit here until I'd said what I wanted.

I could be relentless. I forced Merry and her younger brother, Jack, to interact with me. They wished I was like other mothers who chewed you out and waited for a “yes, Mom.” If Merry's friends looked contrite, they were off the hook.

“Why doesn't Em call you ‘Mom’ anymore?”

Apparently I'd caught Merry off guard. I didn't know where I was headed. I was winging it.

“She does too.”

“No, she doesn't. She doesn't call you anything. When we're talking, Em refers to you as ‘she.’”

“She's going through a phase.”

“It's more than that. She avoids you.” I sipped my tea and ignored the snifter.

Merry reached into the pocket of her old bathrobe and pulled out a small bottle. She shook a couple of pills into her hand and washed them down with the rest of the brandy before refilling her glass.

“What did you just take?”

“Pain pills.”

When Merry lied, her face gave her away every time.

“Em doesn't want to have anything to do with you.”

“That's not true! Where'd you get such a stupid idea?” Merry's face reddened.

“From Em. You won't listen to her. You yell and curse at her.”

I pulled an imaginary arrow out of my quiver and shot it across the table. It hit Merry dead between the eyes.

“I do not!”

“Is she lying?”

“Goddamn it, I don't curse.” Merry's voice rose.

“You should be involved with your children like you were before the accident.”

“Are you accusing me of being a bad mother?”

I stared at my daughter until she looked away. “No, but you're not behaving like you used to. Do you care about anyone except yourself?”

That got through to her. She looked like she wanted to yell—“How dare you?”—but didn't.

“When was the last time you talked with either child? Really talked and listened to them? Spent any time with them?”

“I…I don't remember.”

Merry's voice was slurred from a combination of pills and brandy. “Last week, I think, when I took them to the mall.”

“You took them to the mall? So not likely.” I gripped my hands in my lap. “I spend more time with the kids than you do.”

“So you're a better mother than me? Since bloody when?” The words were bad breath between us.

“Since the accident. You told me I wasn't the mother you wanted when you were young. I did what I had to do. I kept you and your brother safe and alive after Daddy died. I provided more than the basics and less than you wanted. I gave you both a chance to go to college, so you could earn a living and stand on your own two feet.” I rose and turned the gas on under the kettle. “Stand on them now.”

Merry cursed and accused me of meddling. Called me insensitive. A bitch. Everything and anything.

I didn't miss a beat. “Take responsibility for your family.”

“I can't,” Merry whined. “I'm too tired.”

“If you'd stop putting that stuff in your body, you'd have more energy.”

“What stuff?”

Before Merry could move, I reached into her pocket and emptied the pill bottle on the table.

“This. Look at you. My daughter, the junkie.” I felt guilty attacking her, but it was part of my tough love plan. Would it work? “What is all this?”

“Oxycontin, Zanax, Ambien.”

“What else?”

“Valium and Zoloft,” Merry whispered.

“No wonder you can't function.” I swept the pills off the table.

My daughter crawled around the floor in a panic. It made me sick to see how far she'd fallen. Merry retrieved the last of the pills and swallowed another one before she sat back in her chair.

“How much are you drinking?”

“Not so much.” Merry reached for the brandy but stopped.

Had she heard a little of what I said? “You lie in bed all day, stoned and drunk.”

“What right do you have to criticize me? I nearly died. My baby did.”

“But you didn't.” I reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. “Neither did Emilie. Nor Alex. Nor Whip. Nor me. We're alive. When are you coming back to us?”

Merry's mouth hung open. “You can't imagine what it's like.” She picked at a hangnail.

“You're right. I can't.”

“I don't feel anything.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I doubt that very much. I think you feel a lot. You feel anger at the drunk. Grief and loss over the baby. Pity about your scars.”

“That's not fair.” Merry began to cry. She said I'd never understand.

I was sure she felt it wouldn't do any good to explain it to me.

“I want things to be the way things were before the accident.”

“Don't we all? Wishing won't make it so. Losing the baby was unfair. What you're doing to your family is worse. You say you want things to go back to the way they were. Run this household.”

Merry rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“Before the accident, you were a full-time wife and mother. You were involved with Em and Alex, a loving wife to Whip. Now you're an invalid. Stop drinking and get off the drugs.”

“I can't.”

“Drive the kids to soccer and swim club.”

“I can't. I don't want anyone to see me. I'm a freak.”

“Is that why you won't go out? You don't like the way you look?”

Merry nodded.

“Want me to talk with Whip about finding another plastic surgeon?”

Merry nodded again.

“Okay, but you have to promise to see a psychiatrist. Something's wrong. If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit it. Promise you'll cooperate. You'll go if I make the appointment?”

Merry nodded one last time. All of a sudden, her ears were full. No more of my words would go in. Her face disappeared in a huge yawn.

I shook my head. Mommy would take care of everything. Keep her safe like I did when she was little.

Merry staggered off to bed.

I sat alone in the kitchen for a long time. I reached for the abandoned brandy and took my first sip. I thought about what Merry said. More, I thought about what she didn't say, what I observed. My daughter was in deeper trouble than I imagined. Between the booze and drugs, she couldn't function. The physical therapy center taught Merry the mechanics of living, but not the essence of living. She was relying on too many crutches. Drugs. Booze. Me.