12.
Day Eight – Catherine.
"Lindsey?" I holler up the stairs, smirking at our repeat performance of the other day. The bubblegum pop is still needling its way into my brain, but I suppose I should be grateful that it's not the ear-shredding rock that Greg favours.
"What did you say Mom?" She yells back, and now I know I'm in Groundhog Day.
Smiling, I climb the stairs and knock on her door. Again, the music stops and she opens the door to me. The full-wattage smile she gives me is a vast improvement on the 'energy saving' version I received the other day. I had last night off, and spent it taking Lindsey for dinner and a Cirque show. She seems to be feeling better since our conversation the last time I sat down on her bed like this. As I reflect, I realise that I'm feeling better too. It's not that I think sending Lindsey to a psychologist absolves me of all my parental guilt or responsibility, but I'm pleased to actually be doing something to help her, and that I finally seem to have been able to express how much I care.
"I was just wondering if you still want to come with me to see Sara."
She looks at me incredulously. "'Course I do. Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, I don't want you to get bored. It's likely just to be lots of coffee and talking."
"What on earth gave you the idea that I don't like talking?" She asks.
"You're right motor mouth, I should have known better," I tease. "It just might not be the kind of talk that you're interested in."
"Is this your trying-to-play-it-cool way of telling me to stay home?"
"Not at all. I just wanted to make sure you were up for this." Really, I want to make sure she's okay with seeing Sara in whatever state she may be in.
"I want to see Sara. I like her, mom, and I want to cheer her up" Lindsey explains.
"She might not be very easy to cheer up" I warn.
"I know, I know. You explained it all the other day; Sara's still in withdrawal, which is making her ill, as well as having emotional issues, which is making her feel bad." My little girl nods at me sagely.
"Linds, those aren't my words. Where'd you get that?" I ask. True, that is the gist of what I was trying to tell her, but I'm sure I did a lot more tiptoeing than that.
She shrugs "internet."
I chuckle. "You're a smart girl, Linds. And perhaps a bit more grown up than I care to admit."
She beams at being called grown up. I can't help but smile as I think that one say she'll be desperate to be thought of as younger than she is, like me. "So are we going?" She enquires.
I nod, and jump up from her bed. "Let's go get 'em."
We head for the car and jump in, both buckling up. Lindsey, apparently, is well past the stage where she has to be asked to do so; I wonder when that happened. Where was I? I ruffle her hair a little as she squirms, grimaces and then giggles. It feels so much better to interact with her like this instead of how we had been a couple of months ago. No mother wants to rage at their child, I think, and then my knowledge as a CSI kicks in and I correct myself: no mother should want to rage at their child, and the ones who do aren't fit to wear the 'mom' name badge.
The drive is comfortably quiet as we flick between 'Lindsey music' and 'Catherine music.' Three songs each, that's our rule, but by the time we pull up to the clinic Lindsey's on her fifth and is sitting stock-still in her seat, grinning away to herself like she's getting away with something when in fact It's me who's letting her do it.
And there's also the fact that I'm slightly nervous about seeing Sara, which I'm more concerned with than changing the track on CD player.
I wonder how Sara's feeling today. A smart person probably would have called in advance, but whatever I may have bragged to her on the phone, smart is not always what I am. I mean, she's undoubtedly more on edge than me, probably still not feeling too great physically, and she's maybe even a little more nervous than I am. Given the timing, I can deduce that I must be her first visitor, and I wonder if I may have overstepped the mark in assuming this role. Did I give her enough of a chance to say no?
I mentally roll my eyes at myself. It's too late now, Willows, so just put one foot in front of the other and go see the woman.
Still, despite my nerves and deeper down than my worries over whether I'm intruding, I'm looking forward to seeing Sara Sidle, and that thought makes the painted smile on my face slowly become genuine.
