Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (9 page)

One night, about two weeks after Merry's first surgery, I lay in bed engrossed in a hair-raising Michael Connelly murder mystery when someone tapped on my bedroom door.

“Yes?”

“It's me,” Emilie whispered. “Sorry to interrupt your reading.”

“Come in, dear child.” I shifted my pillows higher and motioned for her to climb in on the other side of the bed. “Why are you awake so late?”

Emilie pushed and plumped pillows until she found the right mix. She wriggled into the pile and pulled the coverlet up.

“I don't feel right.”

I placed a hand on her forehead. Cool. No fever. “Do you feel ill?”

“No. It's Mom. She's all wrong inside.”

“How?”

“Well, since Mom woke up from the coma, she's been all wrong.”

I knew both kids resented being shut out.

“Help me understand. You ‘feel’ things I don't. Tell me what it's like so I can get it.”

I put an arm around Emilie and tried to snuggle, but her shoulders were rigid. I massaged her neck to see if I could get her to relax. It didn't work.

“I'll try.” She took a deep, calming breath, something she learned at her yoga retreat. “Okay, before the accident, Mom was like all happy and bright from the inside out. Now, she's dark. Since she met that creepy guy and had her operation, she's started to get bright again.”

“Creepy guy?”

“You know, the yucky surgeon.”

I had no flipping clue what Emilie meant. I was in the farthest reaches of the twilight zone. One thing I got, though. Whatever it was, it was very, very real to her.

“How long has this been going on, Em?” I hugged her for strength. For me as much as for her.

“Kinda like my whole life. It's getting stronger as I get older.”

My thumbs tried to make a dent in her shoulders. “Have you always been able to feel your mom's moods?”

Emilie rolled her eyes.

“Du-uh. I feel everybody's moods. Not just Mom's.”

“You feel mine?”

“It's not mind reading or anything like that.”

Didn't she just read my mind? “What's it like, then?”

“Well, some people can see auras around people, but I don't. I feel colors inside people.” Emilie pushed herself up and propped both elbows on her knees. “It's like this. Mom's old center color was yellow.”

“Yellow's good?” Nothing like drowning in the unknown.

“Yes.” She waved her hands like I was an annoying gnat. To Emilie, the answers must be obvious. “Yellow's happy. When things happen, the outside edge colors change, depending on someone's mood. Darker colors mean mad or scared, lighter mean happy or comfortable.”

“Does Mom have a different color now?”

“Kinda. It's still yellow but it's like so much darker. She's no longer happy. She's scared. Do you get it now?”

Oddly enough, I did. “What about your dad?”

“Dad's blue, very calm and controlled.”

“That's funny. I've always thought your dad was like Paul Newman in
Cool Hand Luke.”

Emilie giggled. “That's, like, so perfect.”

“What about me?” In for a minute, in for a mile. Might as well know what she thought of me.

“Pinky-orange.”

“That's a different happy from the way Mom was?”

“You bet. You're more like Julia Roberts in
Pretty Woman—goofy
but super nice.”

Julia Roberts? No way. Lauren Bacall in
To Have and Have Not
maybe. This child needed exposure to the classic films. It'd be fun to see if she liked
Casablanca.

“So that's what you meant the other day when you said I was pinky-orange again.”

“Yup.”

“And Alex?”

Emilie giggled again. “What's that thing called? You know, that old-fashioned tube you look into and turn?”

“A kaleidoscope?” Alex as a toy with ever-shifting colors was perfect.

“That's it. Alex's center is blue like Dad's, but his outer colors constantly change. He bounces all over the place.”

“Back to your mom. She's not getting better, is she?”

“No.” Emilie leaned against my shoulder. A tear fell on my pajama top. “She's kinda scared, unhappy. She's not warm and bright anymore.”

She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “She's only happy when she thinks about her face. I wish she'd be happy when she thinks about me. I miss Mom.”

“So do I, dear child. So do I.”

I wanted my daughter back so badly I could spit. I even missed fighting with her. Was this the way it was going to be, just drifting along? Or would we work through this and emerge in a better place? I didn't want to say it, but I had serious doubts about healing my relationship with my daughter. I was scared shitless she wouldn't get back anywhere close to where she was before the accident.

I had to do better with Emilie. It was part of my doo-wop.

“Mom'll never be what she was. Even when she's bright, it doesn't include Alex and me anymore.” More tears. “She doesn't love us. We're like leftovers.”

“She's been through a difficult time.”

“So have we, but she's never ignored a birthday. Alex turns eleven in two weeks. I thought she'd plan something.”

I'd asked Merry about Alex's birthday, but she had “plans.” Those plans, which should have focused on her son, didn't include him.

“If your mom won't come, we'll have a great party without her. I'll make sure Dad's home. We'll have a pool party.”

“It won't be the same.” Emilie sniffed and wiped her nose on the tissue I offered.

“You're right. It won't.” I wouldn't fill her head with false hope.

“I don't know how else to say it, but it's like Mom's not there any longer. She's turning into someone else.”

I bit my lip. I wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Cry because my daughter was causing her daughter so much pain. Laugh because I saw aliens stealing her personality.

“Don't worry. There are no pods growing in the backyard.” I hugged her until she grunted.

“I know. I looked. No
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
, but something or someone has snatched her.”

“Indeed.”

“Don't leave us, Mad Max.” Emilie pulled away to stare at me. “We need you so much.”

“I'm not going anywhere until we get your mom back.”

“She's not coming back,” Emilie whispered as she burrowed into the stack of pillows.

As I feared, Merry was a no-show at Alex's birthday party. I plopped in a chaise by the pool and sipped a gin and tonic, light on the gin, heavy on the tonic and ice. The party was over, and I stared at its detritus. Alex invited a dozen boys and girls to the pool party. For once, the weather cooperated.

My head pounded from the shrieks that echoed around the pool all afternoon. The kids had water fights, a water polo match, and swim races, and played blindfolded Marco Polo and dunk-the-girls-off-the-raft contests. I ordered pizza and sub sandwiches. Adults lounged around the edge of the pool or on the covered patio, each keeping a sharp eye on the high jinks. Too much roughhousing earned a kid a time-out.

After four hours in the sun, the party wound down. We ate cake. Alex opened his gifts and, with some prompting from Whip, thanked everyone for coming. The guests drifted away. Alex and Whip went upstairs to try out a couple of new PlayStation games. Emilie was off to her girlfriend Molly's house for a sleepover. As for Merry, she had buried herself in her room with a bottle of vodka before the party began, and never came out.

“Why don't you send Johnny to Peru?”

“I can't. If I don't get away for a while, I'll lose my mind.”

“You're a damned coward, Whip Pugh. Em was right. You're running away.”

“I'm all torn up about this, Max. Know I should stay with Merry and the kids, but I can't. Can't watch her deteriorate.”

“We've been over this before. Merry needs you.”

“Maybe my being away will snap her back to where she was before the accident.”

“Maybe pigs really do fly.” I didn't see a single chance in hell of either happening.

Whip spent two days with Alex and Emilie before leaving. They went to Kings Dominion where they rode rollercoasters until they were sick to their stomachs. After a day at the theme park, they went to Morton's Steakhouse for dinner. Emilie told me later her dad asked a lot of questions about their mother. Even when he was in town, he wasn't in the house much. He didn't see firsthand how troubled their lives were.

“I unloaded on him. He knows about how much Mom's pushed us out of her life.”

“I'm glad you did. Your father needs to hear from you guys, not just from me.”

“So after that, me and Alex—”

“Alex and I.”

“Alex and I gave Dad a list of stuff we wanted.” Emilie handed me a piece of paper. I read it and tried not to laugh. I also tried not to cry. When did these kids get so wise?

Mad Max has to stay until we say she can leave.

Dad has to set up a schedule for when he'll come home and for how long he'll stay.

Dad has to call home every other night and talk with each of them.

Emilie can go out on supervised group dates and have her curfew set at 11 instead of 10 on a weekend.

Alex can continue with soccer, basketball and computer club.

Emilie can continue with swim league, field hockey, and her writing club.

Alex can play video games for a minimum of two hours each weekday and as much as he wants on the weekends.

Emilie can do whatever she wants with her hair.

At least once, Emilie and Alex want to visit Dad in Peru.

Not one mentioned Merry.

“Only nine?”

“Well, there are two more. We told Dad he shouldn't tell Alex to be the man of the house or me to take care of Mom.”

I got it. Alex, a newly-minted eleven, needed to be the kid of the house. I could get down with that.

“Why shouldn't Dad ask you to take care of Mom?”

“I do enough of it already, and I want to do less. She's supposed to be taking care of me. I don't want to be a parent. I want to be a teenager.”

“I get it. Dad accepted your ultimatums?”

“Not completely. Here's his list.”

It's okay with him for Mad Max to stay, but Mad Max has to agree.

He will set up a schedule for coming home as soon as he is settled in Peru.

He will call home every other night and talk with each of them, if they are home.

Emilie can go out on supervised group dates, if she keeps her grades up once school starts.

It's okay for Alex to continue with soccer, basketball, and computer club.

Ditto for Emilie with swim league, field hockey, and her writing club.

Emilie can do whatever she wants with her hair, but absolutely no tattoos or body piercing.

At least once, Emilie and Alex are to visit Dad in Peru, if the worksite is safe and has room for them.

“Dad added three of his own.” Emilie pointed to the last bullets.

You'll do whatever Mad Max says. She's in charge.

Alex, you'll bring your grades back to a B+ range. I know you can do it.

You'll both be respectful to your mother.

“And then we did a ‘pinky swear.’”

We'd been doing pinky swears as long as I could remember. It was a promise that couldn't be broken.

Emilie held out a crooked little finger. I hooked mine around hers.

“Pinky swear,” Emilie said.

“Pinky swear,” I promised.

Whip left on a flood of tears from Emilie, shouts of “take me with you” from Alex, and a hug and kiss on the cheek from me. Nothing from Merry. She didn't even bother to come downstairs to see him off.

With Whip going back to Peru, I could no longer battle with him on a daily basis about Merry. I hoped that would take some of the toxicity out of the house. Maybe I could talk some sense into my daughter.

On the first Thursday after Whip left, I dragged Merry to dinner at Jonathan's Inn to try to restore a normal relationship. I coerced her, because she didn't want to go anywhere with me except to her creepy doctor. Since she'd come through her first major reconstruction with good results, I forced her to celebrate her new-old face.

Jonathan's Inn was old-school, with dim lighting, sound-dampening flooring and widely-spaced tables. Even with a retirement party of over twenty guests celebrating at the other end of the restaurant, our table was tucked into a quiet alcove. I liked the restaurant for its ambience and its filets. It also had the best wine cellar in greater Richmond.

I hoped dinner would tear down some barriers between us and let us chat about trivial things the way we used to. Merry was in a bizarre mood when we left the house. She refused to speak in the car, an obvious hostage to the situation. When we were seated, the waiter poured wine.

“A toast to the return of your beautiful face.” I raised my glass.

“Not yet.” Merry refused to touch rims.

I sipped around the lump in my throat.

“Give it time. Dr. Hunter said it would take one or two big operations and a few smaller ones.”

“I told you, this isn't where I want to be.” Merry looked over my shoulder at her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows. Darkness blocked the view of the river and created a perfect mirror.

I avoided saying anything about her crazy plan to look twenty-one again. I'd promised Emilie I wouldn't poke her. Mute Merry pushed her lobster around her plate. I ate, not because I was hungry, but because I wasn't going to get suckered into whatever game she played. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You avoid me. You hardly speak. I want to help, but I don't know how.” I pushed my half-empty plate aside and poured more wine. Merry held out her glass.

“I still hate the way I look.”

“We've been over this before.” Too many times to count. “You're almost back to where you were before your accident.”

“It's not enough.”

“It's enough for Whip and your children. It's enough for me.” Tears threatened to choke me. “I wish it were enough for you.”

“I won't feel good until I look the way I did before I got married.”

“What?” Where did that come from?

“Or better. Dr. Hunter says I'll look even better when he's done.” Merry smiled a private smile whenever she mentioned Hunter's name.

“I'll look twenty-one again.”

Whip was excluded from the decision.

“I'll be a whole new me.”

“I don't want a whole new you. I want you.” I crossed my arms under my breasts. I didn't care if I looked combative. I felt combative.

“I don't care. I want to be perfect.”

“Your family doesn't want you to be perfect. We want you to be Merry.” Fingers of worry dug into my neck. The muscles knotted, and a headache throbbed at the base of my skull.

“Well, Dr. Hunter says he can make me twenty-one again.” Again, the smile only included Merry and her doctor.

“Who cares what Dr. Hunter wants?” I tried to draw a line between a poke and speaking my mind.

“I do. I'm going to do whatever he says. He knows best.” Merry turned away.

“Why do you want to look twenty-one again?”

A riot of sound erupted from the retirement party. “For He's A Jolly Good Fellow” led into a round of applause. I almost missed Merry's next words.

“Because that was before I had kids.”