The Chance You Won't Return Page 14

  — Amelia Earhart

  Mom’s first appointment with her psychiatrist was later that week. Dad arranged it so it was after school, when I could go, too. When I asked why, he said it was so I could tell the psychiatrist about what I’d seen of Mom’s behavior, which had been more than either Katy or Teddy had seen so far. I didn’t have to go every week unless I wanted to. The way he looked at me, eyes bright but a little sad, I could tell that he wanted me to be a regular feature at these meetings. I told him I’d have to think about it, especially since I needed to study for Mr. Kane’s special exam.

  Dad ate lunch in his mail truck that day to get the time off in the afternoon. The post office was being really great, he claimed, because he’d been such a dedicated carrier all these years. Even so, he didn’t look at me when he said this, and I knew he was worried about what would happen if he took too much time off work. A lot of carriers would offer to take over his routes if he couldn’t make it in. Dad was still in his postal uniform when he drove us to the psychiatrist’s office.

  “Maybe you should bring the psychiatrist’s mail with us,” I said. “She’d probably knock a few dollars off the price. For the convenience.”

  “Couldn’t hurt. Too bad I left the mail sack in my truck.” He glanced along Waverly Avenue, which was lined with old houses and new brick office buildings. “It’s Dr. McGlynn. Number four-seven-five. There should be a sign out front.”

  In the backseat, Mom asked, “How many of these do I have to do today?” She had put on a long brown skirt and khaki blazer for the occasion — with the usual linen scarf, of course. That morning I’d been surprised to see her iron her clothes and brush her hair in the mirror. At first I wondered if she was Mom again, but she caught me watching and talked about how important it was to keep up appearances when talking to the media. She didn’t love giving interviews and speeches, but it was all part of the job. The reporters liked to see that she was feminine, too. “G.P. taught me that,” she said, patting me on the cheek as she passed.

  “Just the one appointment today,” Dad said. “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

  She nodded. “That’s a pleasant surprise. Usually you have me scheduled for about eight interviews in a row.”

  “Nope,” Dad said. “This’ll be the first.” His voice was calm but his fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

  Mom laughed, light and cheery. “Oh, yes, George. Maybe later I’ll take a nap and have tea with the ladies’ society.”

  “Why not?” Now his voice was tighter, like it was whenever he got mad at me for talking back. “Take a nap every day. You need the rest.”

  I turned around and could see the lines in Mom’s face deepen as she started to argue. Before she could say anything, I said, “Hey, how about that Ninety-Nine meeting? That was a great time, right?”

  She smiled at me. “Exciting, wasn’t it?” She chattered about the air derbies, the solid group of aviatrixes we’d gotten, and how the world would have to start paying attention to female pilots. I thought I’d done a good job getting her to calm down, so I was surprised when Dad’s fingers still clenched the steering wheel. “What?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything for a second and then muttered, “Damn, we must have passed it. Keep a lookout, all right?”

  My eyes didn’t quite catch the house numbers. “I was just trying —”

  “She’s not —” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Mom, whose fingers rested against the car window, and dropped his voice. “She’s Janet, your mom, and playing along might seem like it helps, but it doesn’t.” He stopped the car abruptly by the curb. “We’re here.”

  It was one of the old houses — white, with a wraparound porch and a bed of chrysanthemums out front. The sign didn’t just name Dr. McGlynn — she shared the building with a chiropractor, a Kaplan SAT prep center, a nutritionist, and a law office. “She can’t afford her own place?” I asked.

  “How much space does she need?” Dad said brusquely.

  Great. Now he was mad at me before our psychiatrist appointment. Dr. McGlynn would probably be able to sense the tension before we even told her anything. She’d probably ask about my relationship with my parents, and I’d have to tell her about fighting with my mom most of the time — until she became Amelia Earhart and thought I was some ace girl aviator — and how lately Dad, whom usually I got along with, had been disappointed in me about everything.

  Inside, we climbed a tall staircase to the second floor, thick red carpeting muffling our footsteps. Offices split off a long hallway. From a distance I could hear voices and the tapping of fingers on a computer keyboard. Dad led us down the hall, to a door marked with DR. MARY MCGLYNN, MD in bronze letters.

  The office was brighter than I’d imagined, with startlingly white walls and framed posters of tropical flowers. Behind a massive receptionist desk, a woman with frizzy red hair cradled a phone to her neck as she wrote on a huge calendar.

  “Yes, Thursday at noon. We’ll see you then.” She looked at us. “Can I help you?”

  Dad introduced us. The receptionist told us that Dr. McGlynn would be with us in a minute and to have a seat. She gave Dad a clipboard with forms to fill out. Glimpsing over his shoulder, I read the various questions — our address, insurance information, if Mom had ever been on other medication or had been hospitalized at any point.

  An older woman with clipped white hair and a crisp pink blouse approached us. “Mr. and Mrs. Winchester? I’m Dr. McGlynn.”

  Dad stood to shake Dr. McGlynn’s hand and introduced himself. “And this is my daughter Alex,” he said. His eyes rested on Mom for a second. “And this is my wife.”

  We followed Dr. McGlynn into her office, which was smaller than I’d thought it would be and lined with bookcases. My eyes scanned the titles — Trauma and the Mind; A History of Psychotherapy; Weathering the Storm: Mental Illness and Its Long-Term Effects. A few medical textbooks were mixed in as well. Her desk was painstakingly tidy, and it looked like dust never settled on it. In the corner of the office was a small, leafy plant; I couldn’t decide if it was fake or not.

  “Thanks so much for taking us on such short notice,” Dad said to her as we sat down — Mom and Dad on a small couch, Dr. McGlynn and I in a couple of armchairs.

  Dr. McGlynn shook her head. “Dr. Cowan’s a good friend.” She picked up a set of folders from her desk and scanned through them, then set them on her lap. “He’s sent along your paperwork from the hospital, but why don’t you tell me a little about what’s been going on?”

  Dad talked about how Mom had seemed a little off for a while — distant and distracted — and he’d assumed it was because she was tired or stressed, but whenever he asked, she’d say she was fine and brush him off. Beside him, Mom sat up straight, hands folded neatly in her lap. Everything about her was tight. I was afraid she’d run out, the way she had with Mr. Kane, so I kept watching her. When Dad mentioned that meeting at school, he paused, waiting for me to pick up the thread, and I missed it.

  “Alex?” Dad said. “The conference?”

  He and Dr. McGlynn were looking at me; Mom was staring at a row of books, frowning. I glanced at Dr. McGlynn to see if she had any cues as to how I should answer, but her face was blankly concerned.

  “It was about driver’s ed,” I said, and explained how Mom and Dad were supposed to meet with Mr. Kane, and how Mom had gotten upset when Mr. Kane had called her Mrs. Winchester.

  “Rude man,” Mom muttered to her hands.

  I paused, not sure if I should keep going, but Dr. McGlynn’s eyes were still on me. “She couldn’t answer his questions. Or wouldn’t, I guess. So she took off.”

  Mom stood up suddenly, like a windup toy jerking to life. “This interview is a waste of time,” she said. “I need to plan my trip. George?”

  For a second, I wanted to agree with her, just go home and give her her maps and let her be happy. Who cared if she wanted to be Amelia Earhart? It was a kind of contentedness, and even if she was
n’t my mom, I could still tell her things. I wanted to believe it was better than having her on the brink of frenzy. I was ready to grab my parents and run when Dr. McGlynn spoke up.

  “Please, we’ll get to that,” Dr. McGlynn said, voice steady. She looked at my dad. “How about you two wait in the other room while Alex tells me the rest?”

  Dad nodded slowly and guided Mom into the next room. As he left, I could hear him making excuses — they’d have to wait just a little longer. I could hear him call her Amelia. Hypocrite.

  “That’s kind of what happened before,” I told Dr. McGlynn. “Mom getting all upset, I mean.”

  “It must have been very upsetting for you,” she said. I wondered if having a soothing voice was a requirement for getting an MD in psychiatry.

  I shrugged and stared at the plant in the corner, trying to find any indication of life — bugs, dying leaves, damp spots of soil.

  “So this was the first time you’d seen her like that?”

  I told her about the little things we’d noticed before then, and how that day at school seemed to be the final straw. She hadn’t been Mom since then, at least not so any of us had noticed. “Your job is to make her Mom again, right?” I said. “She gets to talk this out and get medication, and then she’ll forget about being Amelia Earhart?”

  “The aim is to work through whatever caused your mother’s delusions, yes.”

  “What if she doesn’t want to?”

  Dr. McGlynn told me a little about trauma and coping mechanisms and how the brain tries to take care of itself, but I didn’t hear many of the details. Instead I imagined the inside of Mom’s head, how she was like a tiny plane in a storm, not knowing which way was up and hoping all her instruments held together. She was calling, “Mayday! Mayday!” and the person on the other end of the radio was Amelia Earhart.

  Dad and Mom switched with me. When they went back into Dr. McGlynn’s office, Mom was calm again. I waited for them under the tropical flowers, pretending to read whatever magazines were on the coffee table. When they came out, Dad looked like he’d run a couple of marathons. He talked to the receptionist and made a standing appointment for Thursdays.

  Just as we left the building, I heard someone say, “Alex?”

  It felt like the porch under me was coming apart splinter by splinter. Shit, I thought. Theresa appeared on the porch beside me. Shit, shit, shit.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, a little too quickly. Mom and Dad paused on the front steps, and I wished I had psychic powers so I could tell them to get in the car before Theresa said hello.

  “Hi to you, too,” she said. “I’m just dropping off my SAT prep test.” She glanced at my parents. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Winchester.”

  Mom frowned and opened her mouth, but Dad spoke over her. “Hi there, Theresa. Good luck with the SATs.”

  “Thanks.” Theresa looked back at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded, feeling like all the blood in my head had surged to my stomach. Every muscle in me, from my legs to my fingers, tensed. Dad guided Mom away from the porch, toward the car, and I tried to breathe a little.

  “Did you just fail a prep test or something?” Theresa asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, trying to laugh but it came out more choked. “No, I mean, I didn’t fail, but my parents thought I’d do better. So they’re all on me to practice and are signing me up for classes and whatever.”

  “That sucks,” she said. “Let me know if you want to go over stuff. Sometimes Josh and I practice during study hall. We can all be miserable together.” She glanced at the car. “Hey, can I get a ride home? I walked here — my parents are happy for me to take the classes until it means they have to drive me to the test center. Awesome, huh?”

  “We can’t.” My breathing was sharp and shallow. “Sorry. Dad’s got to get back to work.”

  “I don’t mind if you drop him off first.”

  “My mom probably wants to yell at me some more. It’s not a great time.”

  Theresa didn’t seem entirely convinced but she said, “All right. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. Sorry again.” Without saying good-bye, I raced to the car before Theresa could get a good look at my mom, who was sulking in the backseat. When I swung myself inside the car, I said, “Drive. Just drive.”

  “You all ri — ?” Dad started to say.

  “Fine, just go.”

  We pulled away from the curb. I glanced at Mom in the visor mirror. She looked so pissed, I thought she might be herself again. I almost expected her to start lecturing me about how I should be preparing for the SATs like Theresa, but she snapped at Dad instead. “Why do you keep setting me up with these useless interviews? It’s a waste of everyone’s time.”

  “Dr. McGlynn —”

  “I don’t need a doctor.” Mom folded her arms over her chest. “George, I swear I don’t know what you’re after here.”

  Dad braked at a stop sign and stayed there. “You’re tired and upset. She’s trying to help you feel better. Don’t you want that?”

  Mom didn’t respond for a second. Another car drove up behind us and we had to pull forward, so I’m not sure Dad heard Mom say, “I’m fine. I’m fine, I am. I just have so much to do.” She stroked her arms as if she were cold.

  “This is what you have to do: get better,” I insisted. “You don’t have any other plans.”

  I was sure Mom’s face would tense, but I knew she wouldn’t listen anyway. In a minute, she’d be telling us about her first time in an airplane. It would be like she hadn’t heard me at all.

  That night, Mom was back in the kitchen, making charts or fiddling with broken appliances or something. Around midnight I got out of bed and walked to the top of the stairs, where I stopped and listened to her as she worked on something Amelia-related. Instead of going downstairs to join her, I sat on the top stair and listened. At the top of the stairs I inhaled deeply, trying not to cry. If I only kind of listened to Mom downstairs, she could have been Mom again, muttering her frustration about the electric bill instead of weather patterns. I missed her so much that it felt like a real burning in my chest. It felt like smoke and ash filling my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. When I went back to bed a little while later, I had fitful dreams about burning and drowning at once.

  Halloween was less than a week away. At lunch, Theresa and Josh and Maddie talked about what we were going to do. Josh was holding out for a horror-movie marathon and was slowly wearing Maddie down. Originally she’d claimed there was no way she’d watch some brainless movie about hot teens getting hacked up, but Josh promised to find something worthwhile. Soon she was making conditions about how much gore there could be, and I knew she’d cave.

  “How about something old?” Josh suggested. “Like Psycho?”

  Maddie cringed and dipped a fry in a pool of ketchup. “Thanks, but I’d like to shower sometime next week.”

  Josh nudged me. “Any ideas?”

  I shook my head. “Not my genre.” Earlier, I’d tried to avoid my friends’ table. Theresa was being kind of weird around me ever since I’d brushed her off at Dr. McGlynn’s office, and I still wasn’t thrilled with her since driver’s ed. Plus, I’d been hoping to catch Jim alone. At first I’d glanced around for him, but Maddie came up to me and practically dragged me to their table.

  “You’re not going to ditch us for Jim Wiley, are you?” Theresa asked.

  Suddenly everyone was looking at me. “What does Jim have to do with anything?” I asked, tearing a napkin into little pieces.

  Theresa rolled her eyes. “Hello, it’s like a miracle you’re having lunch with us today. You’re always hanging out with him now. I mean, that’s fine, but just don’t be all distant now and disappear on us on Halloween, too.”

  I thought of that word, disappear. If the most famous female pilot in the world could go missing over the Pacific, could I go missing in the middle of school, with my friends around? And if I could, who would send out the sea
rch planes?

  “Jim and I are not even a thing,” I said sharply. “I just don’t have any opinions on horror movies. Pick out what you want and I’ll be there.”

  Theresa and Josh exchanged a skeptical glance. Maddie half smiled at me. “You and I can hide during the scary parts.”

  At the end of classes, I went to the library. By then, I’d gone over the torn pages so many times, I’d almost memorized them. Mom kept talking about her plans for her next flight, but which one was that? I was afraid it was the final one, the around-the-world one. If I was going to figure out what was going on with Mom, I’d need the complete history. And this was the most discrete way to find it.

  By that time, there weren’t too many students in the library, just a few kids doing homework or on Facebook while they waited for rides home. I walked straight back to the biography section and pulled the Earhart books off the shelf.

  Just check them out like a normal person, I told myself. You should have done that to begin with.

  But checking the books out would make it all real. It would be like getting a book about mental illnesses or bookmarking a site about delusional disorders, which maybe Dad was already doing. I wanted to keep everything hidden in some small way. Plus, if I tried to check them out now, the librarian would notice that someone had torn out pages. She’d probably apologize and say she’d order another copy, and then I’d have to argue with her that it didn’t matter to me, that I wanted them anyway. And then maybe she’d be suspicious of me.

  “Hey,” a voice said through the stacks. Jim strode around the shelves, hands shoved in his pockets.

  Shit. I clutched the biographies to my chest. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

  “I get tutored in chemistry, remember? Just waiting for Mrs. Frasier to get here. She had to give a makeup test or something.” He nodded to my arms — more precisely, to the books. “What about you?”

  “Not much,” I said. “Just, you know, history project.”

  He tilted his head, trying to read the spines. “Earhart? Isn’t she one of your favorites?”