Unraveling Isobel (17 page)

“Don't forget how they want to show you off to their friends and point out what great parents they must be. So if you fail to live up to their standards, not only have you let them down on the do-over, but you've made them look bad to their friends.”

“Yeah, but you don't let this stuff get to you like I do,” he said.

“What makes you think I don't let it get to me?”

“You do your own thing. You don't try to be a clone of your mom just to make her happy.”

“Have you looked at me? I'm wearing a cheerleader outfit. Tell me again how I do my own thing?”

“Fair enough. I expect to see you back to your all black uniform by tomorrow.”

“You can count on it.” I planned to burn this outfit as soon as I got home.

“You could keep the skirt. It's black.”

“And about three inches long,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you've got the legs for it.”

I gave my thighs a whack. “Gams of steal. Comes from all the bike riding and walking I'm doing around here.”

“Which brings us back to the car.”

“I'm officially hanging up my keys.”

“Quitter.”

“I'm not a quitter. I just don't want to drive.” Nathaniel didn't say anything. He just looked at me. I rubbed my hands on my skirt. “Okay, I don't want to ruin your car.”

“This time take your foot off the brake and just let the car roll for a bit. Then we'll try the gas-pedal thing again, nice and slow.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

“Isn't it enough for me to thwart the environmentalists' plan by turning another person into a carbon-burning car jockey?”

This time I was the one who didn't say anything.

“Okay, if we're going the honesty route, I want to do something for you. Something nice. This is what I've got,” Nathaniel said.

I felt a rush of adrenaline. “Let's do this.” I looked over at him. “Does anyone ever call you Nate? Nathaniel's really formal.”

“Nathaniel's a family name. I think my dad picked it because it's formal.”

I smiled. “So Nate it is.” I put the car back into gear and carefully lifted my foot off the brake. The car started rolling slowly forward.

“You got it. Nice and easy this time.”

I pressed softly on the gas and the car picked up speed. I was doing it. There wasn't a stall or a shudder. We were going somewhere. We both let out a whoop at the same time.

Chapter 23

I
managed to avoid crashing, denting, scratching, or otherwise marring Nate's car all afternoon. There was a close call when a mailbox seemed to jump out in front of me, but I swerved at the last second. Maybe it was easier to talk with him in the car because I couldn't look at him when I had to focus on the road. Or maybe since I'd already flashed my underwear, there wasn't a need to have secrets. Or it could have been because when Nate said he felt he was a disappointment to his dad, it made me realize that even though I'm always down on people for judging others by their looks, it's exactly what I'd done with him. Whatever the reason, there was no topic off-limits while we drove around the island. We covered:

 

1. The fact that both of us have dated losers in the past, including a discussion of who dated the
biggest loser. Nate won due to a time the girl he dated at boarding school cheated on him with his guidance counselor. Eeew.

2. Our life goals. Mine, to be an artist. Nate's, to be a teacher. We shared the fact that our parents both thought these were insane ideas and acted like we'd told them we wanted to be circus performers.

3. Our favorite things. Me: chocolate, the smell of paint, naps in the sunshine, and movies. Nate: his mom's homemade bread, lifting weights, books, and being near the water.

The only awkward moment was when we pulled into the driveway. Nate had noticed it was almost five and we'd better get back, and then there was a sudden silence that highlighted the fact that we shared the same home.

After dinner Nate went up to his room to tackle his homework. I went back to my room and grabbed my books. I stopped outside Nate's room. I wanted to continue our discussion, but I wasn't sure what the rules were. We lived together, but did that make it okay to just knock on his door? Should I make an appointment? In the end I scribbled
in the library
on a piece of paper and slid it under his door.

The library was cold, but it wasn't too bad with a pile of blankets. Sure, the living room would have electric light, but it
would also have Dick and my mom. I wasn't prepared to break my mom's heart and tell her that my brief and glorious cheerleading career was already over. The oil lamp on the table gave off a decent amount of light. I ran my fingers along the mantel, looking at the framed pictures. My eyes caught on one in particular. There was a stern-looking woman wearing the beaded dress I had found in the attic. She was holding the hands of a little boy. A baby Dick. His mom looked like she had the personality of a prison warden. Her eyes didn't have a touch of softness, and her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun as if it were afraid to misbehave. She might have been holding his hand, but the distance between her and the kid-size Dick was massive. On one of the lower shelves was a stack of Scrabble games. Dick wasn't kidding when he said the family members were big fans of the game.

I lit some extra candles and pulled out my American history textbook. We were supposed to have a test tomorrow. I'd missed the review this afternoon, so I was going to have to figure out on my own what random thing Mr. Mills was going to focus on for the test. I managed to read two chapters before my brain was at risk of overload. There are only so many facts about the Great Depression a person can shove into their head before they become depressed themselves. I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven, but I didn't feel tired.

I pulled out my sketchpad. I let the pencil take the lead instead of trying to plan out a picture. I stopped when I realized what
I was drawing. A seashell. I'd sketched in nautilus shells leaning against each other with a single sand dollar in the foreground. I hadn't thought about the ghost stuff all day. Things had been going so well with Nate, it didn't seem like the time to ask him what he thought of the idea of his dead sister trying to send me a message. I used the side of the pencil to fill in the shadows. I wanted to give the impression that the shells were balanced on each other, resting, but not weighing each other down. I wasn't sure where all the details were coming from. I didn't consider myself to be an expert on any type of marine life, but if I paused for a beat, then my pencil would start to move. I held the sketch out to get a better look. That's when I heard my mom calling my name.

Her voice was raised, coming from the other wing of the house. I stepped into the hallway at the same time she flung open the heavy wooden door between the two wings. She was wearing her bathrobe and her hair was standing on end. She pointed a finger at me.

“There you are.”

I took a step back. I could tell she was barely holding it together.

Dick rushed in on my mom's heels. “I shouldn't have said anything. I never meant to upset you. I'm sure Isobel can explain.” He patted her back. His face was pulled down into an exaggerated frown. I had a hunch that whatever he had said to my mom had been specifically designed to upset her.

“I'd like to hear her explain this.” Mom held out her hand to show me something, but she was shaking and the objects fell. I looked down at the floor where they crashed, a pile of seashells.

My face scrunched up. “Where did you find these?”

“I found them right where you left them. They're all over the house.” Her voice shook. “I'm worried about you, Isobel.”

“I didn't do anything,” I stammered.

“Now, we talked about this,” Dick said to my mom. “You can't let yourself get upset. What Isobel's doing is a call for help. It's not in her control. What we need to do is let her know we hear that call and we're not going to ignore this or sweep it under the carpet.”

I looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on. Mom's eyes glanced down and her nostrils flared in annoyance. She yanked the sketchbook out of my hands. The metal spiral caught the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger, and an angry red slash of blood appeared.

“You didn't do anything? Then explain this.” She thrust the sketchbook toward me so that the paper was an inch from my face.

Dick shook his head sadly as if instead of a picture it was a terminal medical diagnosis. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what? I drew a picture. It's just a picture.”

Nate came into the library, his eyes widening when he saw what was going on.

“There are seashells all over the house. Dick stepped on one at the top of the stairs. He could have slipped and hurt himself.
Now I find you drawing pictures of seashells. Either you did this and don't remember, or you're doing it and now lying about it.” Mom's lower lip shook.

Dick pushed his facial expression into something that was supposed to resemble concern, but I could tell it was way closer to a feeling like enjoyment.

I didn't say anything. I couldn't explain, so it didn't seem that it would be a good idea to try.

Dick shook his head sadly at my mom. “We need to go ahead with what we discussed. I can't have you this worried.”

“Of course not,” my mom agreed, not meeting my eyes.

“What have you discussed?” I asked, looking back and forth between them.

“You need an evaluation,” Dick said.

“Evaluation for what?” My voice raised an octave.

“You need to see someone.”

“You're sending me to a shrink?” I glanced over to Nate, afraid to see what he must be thinking.

“There's no reason to become hysterical. With the way you've behaved, many people would have simply checked you into residential care. We're trying to find a middle ground, to make sure you get the help you need,” Dick said.

“Residential? Do you mean a psych ward?” I yelled.

“The way you're acting now makes me think residential might be what you need.” My mom dropped the sketchbook at my feet and ran out of the room.

“She's very upset. She's concerned for you. I'm concerned for you. When I saw these all over the house I knew it had to be you. This picture just confirms it. Your mom has tried to avoid reality where you're concerned, but I'm not going to allow that. Mental health problems run in your family. Your behavior is erratic. You don't like me for some reason and you feel the need to act out. I hope that's all it is. I checked around, and there's someone here on the island. You can head this off before your problems overwhelm you. And if we can't tackle this here, then we'll take it to the next level.”

“What if I don't want to go?”

“That isn't an option,” Dick said as he walked out of the room.

I bent down to pick up my sketchbook. I couldn't look at Nate.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm not crazy,” I said softly.

Nate crossed the room and crouched down next to me so that we were face-to-face. He stared me straight in the eyes. “I believe you.” He opened his arms and I fell into them.

Chapter 24

N
ate slid open the library window and crawled out. He held out his hand, and I took it, following him into the night.

“The house alarm is only set for the doors. If we go out this way, no one will know,” Nate said.

“I can explain about the mental health thing,” I said.

“Don't worry about it. Let's just get out of here.”

It was cold outside and I shivered. He pulled off his sweatshirt and gave it to me. I pulled it on, enjoying that it was still warm. We walked across the flagstone patio toward the garden. He slipped between two bushes, and we were on a trail I didn't know even existed. It wound downhill.