“God, she’s the best!” His eyes lit up like it was Christmas. For as long as I’d known Jackson, his parents weren’t home very much. His dad was a professor at University of Pennsylvania and his mom was a corporate attorney at some big law firm in Philadelphia. They both worked long hours and always gave Jackson money for lunch. But Jackson had gotten sick of school cafeteria food years ago and I had started giving him half of the lunch Aunt Betty would make me. When Aunt Betty discovered this, she started to make two lunches every morning so that there would always be enough for the both of us.
“So wha does da buffday girl want to do today?” Jackson asked with a mouthful of the roast beef sandwich.
I laughed. “Jax. It’s only ten thirty in the morning. We still have two more periods left before lunch.”
“What? I’m hungry?” He shrugged and took another large bite of the sandwich.
I shook my head. “Just don’t eat half of my lunch when it’s actually lunchtime because you’ve finished yours.”
He gave me a sheepish smile. “Well, no promises there.”
I giggled and punched him playfully on the arm.
“So seriously, though, what would you like to do today after school?”
I frowned, feeling a heaviness in my heart. “I’d like to see my mom today for my tenth birthday; I’d like my mom to smile and hum to me while she braids my hair.” I paused, realizing how bitter I sounded. “Never mind. I don’t have any plans.” I walked a little faster ahead so he couldn’t see the moisture in my eyes.
“Wait—” He ran after me. “It’s your birthday. Why can’t you do that? I can see if Maria can take us if your aunt and uncle can’t get out of work to take you.
I couldn’t help but smile at Jackson’s offer. “Thanks … but that’s okay. Aunt Betty said that it’s not a good idea to visit her right now.”
“What? Why not?”
“She says my mom’s been really sick and her doctor doesn’t think I should see her at this time.”
“Oh.”
I watched Jackson put the rest of his sandwich back into the paper bag. “That sucks, Clo. I’m sorry.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me in for a hug.
I was going to resist, and had for just a second, but as soon as he wrapped his arms around me, I knew that it was exactly what I needed at that moment.
CHAPTE R EIGHT
Spring 1998
Thirteen Years Old
It was the call no one is ever prepared for. It was the call no one ever wants to receive. It was the call no one ever wishes upon even their worst enemies.
But it was the call I was about to receive that day.
It was an idle Wednesday afternoon, much like any other during a school week. I was at home doing my homework and waiting for Jackson to come over after he was done with his track practice.
I was working on my pre-algebra problem, sitting at the coffee table in the living room while MTV’s Total Request Live was playing in the background. Carson Daly was talking to a few people from the live studio audience at the moment but I knew he was about to reveal the sixth most requested music video of the day. I had my fingers crossed that it would be Savage Garden’s “Truly Madly Deeply,” my favorite song. I’d been calling and voting every day for several months now to make sure it was getting enough votes. I’d even had Jackson call and vote from the phone in his house every day—okay, so most days I’d had to call for him, but to me, that was merely a technicality, and at the end of the day, “Truly Madly Deeply” was getting at least two votes every day. It was number six yesterday and being the loyal fan that I was, I didn’t want it to fall to seventh place. So I was anxiously waiting for Carson to announce the video that was in sixth place.
Just then, the telephone started to ring. I walked over to the kitchen counter to grab the phone, my eyes never leaving the TV screen.
“…and number six on TRL today is…” Carson started to say. I held my breath as I picked up the phone to answer it.
“Hello,” I said absentmindedly into the receiver, my focus still on Carson.
“… “Truly Madly Deeply” by Savage Garden!”
“Woo!” I cheered out loud as the music video started on the screen.
“Chloe?” I heard Aunt Betty’s voice calling out to me.
“Hey, Aunt Betty. Sorry about that. My favorite song just came on.” My body started swaying with the beat of the song.
“That’s nice, honey,” she said in an eerily soft voice. “Um, so I wanted to let you know that I’m on my way home right now.” There was a rawness in her voice that gave me pause and I immediately felt my entire body tense up.
“What is it? Is something wrong, Aunt Betty?”
“I’ll be home soon.” I noticed she didn’t answer my question.
I felt a wave of panic prickle down my body. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Is Uncle Tom okay?” I asked her in quick bursts of alarm.
“Y—yes, we’re both fine. We’re not hurt.” Her words stumbled out and I could tell she was flustered and anxious about something.
“What’s wrong?” I looked at the clock and realized Jackson hadn’t shown up yet. “Is it Jackson? Please don’t tell me it’s Jackson, Aunt Betty.” I felt my chest tighten with worry as the thought of something happening to Jackson tore at my insides.
“No, honey. Please calm down. It’s not Jackson.” Her voice was overly soothing and strangely disconcerting, inducing the opposite effect she’d probably intended.
“What is it, then? What are you not telling me?”
“I just exited the freeway, so I’ll be home soon. We can talk then.”
I searched anxiously for the meaning behind her words, trying to piece together a logical explanation for her odd behavior. It was clear she had something to tell me, but she didn’t want to say it over the phone. She says she’s okay, Uncle Tom’s okay, and Jackson’s okay … so what else can it be?
Then, as if clarity had smacked me against the face, another person came to mind. Suddenly, a wave of apprehension swept through me.
“Is it my mom?” I cried out, my voice rising an octave higher.
There was a brief silence before she answered, and yet it felt like a lifetime.
“Honey, I’ll be home in less than two minutes,” she insisted. “Just wait for me, okay?”
My stomach twisted in agony, knowing her response was no different than saying “yes.” Something had happened to my mom and it must not be good news if Aunt Betty wanted to tell me in person.
As the overwhelming flood of fear and anxiety began to consume my thoughts, I tried to think back to the last time I’d seen my mom. It’d been almost a month ago when I had visited her at the long-term rehabilitation facility she was staying at. She was nearing the end of her three-month stay, and she looked healthy, sober, and happy. I had updated her on everything that’d been going on with me since the previous time I’d seen her. She had promised me that after she left the rehab facility, she wouldn’t need to return to one again. She had promised me that she felt like she wasn’t sick anymore. She had promised me that I’d be able to move back in with her soon.
“Chloe?” came a voice from behind me. “Chloe?”
I turned to the voice. It was Aunt Betty standing at the opening of the kitchen area and looking at me with concern in her blood-shot eyes.
“Are you okay, honey? I called out your name several times before you turned around.”
Her blood-shot eyes! As if someone had just flipped a switch inside me, I leaped to Aunt Betty’s side. “Is my mom okay?”
The moment I saw her face twist in agony, I knew I didn’t want to hear it.
“Honey,” she began slowly, “I think you need to sit down for this.”