"That's Aunt Mirabelle?" Tiffany exclaims.
"God, yes," Mom groans.
Aunt Mirabelle draws closer up the walk at a slow pace, stepping cautiously through the slush. The sidewalk has turned icy. She keeps her head down, watching her step, so I can't see her clearly. I don't think she's as I remembered, but really, I don't remember her at all. As she approaches the front steps, the deadbolt turns and Maria opens the front door.
"Good God! Don't let her in!" Mom shrieks and runs out into the foyer.
Dad, Tiffany, and I follow at her heels. When we reach the foyer, Mom's standing in the doorway, blocking the entrance with Maria peering out around the door frame. Mom has her hands firmly planted on her hips and even from the back, she looks frightfully intimidating. She blocks our view of Aunt Mirabelle, who is a fair bit shorter than Mom.
"May I come in?" Aunt Mirabelle's voice asks.
"No!" Mom shouts.
Aunt Mirabelle peeks around Mom's shoulder, her eyes and bangs all that's visible. "Ted? May I come in?" she asks Dad.
Dad hesitates. He glances at his sister, then at Mom, then at my sisters and I. He doesn't know the correct response. He doesn't know whose wrath may be worse.
"Say no, Ted!" Mom barks without turning around.
"Ted?"
"Um...I guess you can come in," Dad finally answers.
"Thank you," Aunt Mirabelle says and shoves Mom out of the way. She literally shoves Mom, pushes her backward out of the doorway, catching Mom slightly off-balance.
Mom appears absolutely shocked. "Who the hell do you think you are, Mirabelle?" she demands. "Turn around and go right back out that door!"
Aunt Mirabelle ignores her. She drops her carry-on bag on the foyer tile. It lands with a thud, the only sound in the room. Tiffany, Maria, and I have backed away from the door, nearer to the living room archway. Aunt Mirabelle smiles at us. She has a relaxed smile, a friendly smile. She unzips her parka and tosses it down on top of her carry-on. She isn't anything like I imagined. I imaged someone like Mom - cool and sophisticated and remote. Aunt Mirabelle looks...well, she looks ordinary. She's a couple inches taller than me with light brown, slightly messy hair falling past her shoulders. She's not wearing any make-up - maybe some mascara, maybe some lipstick that's mostly worn off. Her face is lined and sort of tired. She looks the age she's supposed to look. She's even dressed ordinary - tan slacks, brown boots, a lilac-colored v-neck polo.
"Good God, Mirabelle," Mom says after shutting the front door and coming to stand beside Dad. We face Aunt Mirabelle together, the five Kilbournes versus the lone aunt, a false united front. A facade like all the others. "What the hell happened to you? You've really let yourself go. You look...old."
Aunt Mirabelle stares at Mom, blankly. "Of course I got old, Kathalynn," she replies. "I haven't seen you in ten years. Did you expect me to look the same?" Aunt Mirabelle sweeps Mom up and down with her eyes. "You don't look the same either. What...what happened to your chest?"
"Dr. Irving," Maria answers.
Mom's cheeks redden ever so slightly, the flush barely noticeable. It's the only indication of any embarrassment or discomfort. Mom squares her shoulders and holds herself straight, perfectly erect, a foreboding presence. Or so she hopes. "You also got fat," she says, nastily. "You got old and fat."
"I'm not fat," Aunt Mirabelle says. She doesn't sound bothered at all by Mom's rudeness. "This is how most people our age look. I'm completely average, Kathalynn."
Mom smiles, smugly. "And so proud of it," she sneers.
Aunt Mirabelle looks at Mom a moment longer, then turns back to my sisters and I. She's finished with Mom. She's having no more of it. She smiles at us again. "You must be the girls," she says. "My gosh, you're all so grown up. Do you remember me at all?"
Tiffany shakes her head. I shrug. Maria says nothing, having suddenly turned shy. After all her phone calls, after telling Aunt Mirabelle - a perfect stranger - Lord knows what about our family, Maria can do no more than stare at her. Is Aunt Mirabelle not what she expected? Is Maria disappointed? Maria slips her hand in mine. I squeeze it, lightly, reassuringly. Aunt Mirabelle continues to smile. Her smile remains as before, relaxed and friendly, but now there's something more, something a bit sad twitching at the corners. It passes across her eyes, too. Her eyes are rather strange, large and wide so she appears surprised, caught off-guard. They're odd and startling.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Mom demands again.
Aunt Mirabelle's smile slowly lowers. She tears her surprised eyes from my sisters and I to refocus on our parents. "I'm concerned," she tells Mom. "I couldn't get anyone on the telephone. I decided I needed to come out and speak to you in person. This evening was the soonest flight I could get. I cut Christmas short with my own family to be here," Aunt Mirabelle explains, as if that means anything to my parents. "I'm very concerned about your family, Ted, Kathalynn."
"Stop calling me that," Mom snaps. "You do it to annoy me. You always have."
"We're getting off point," Aunt Mirabelle replies, smoothly. "I am concerned about things I've been told, things that have gone on in this house and with your family. I'd like to discuss my concerns with you. In private, I think. Just the three of us."
"I don't think so, Mirabelle," Mom spits out, icily.
"What concerns?" Dad asks. He appears genuinely confused. What else is new?
"I have quite a few," Aunt Mirabelle says. She's speaking only to Dad now. "Ted, let's go into the living room. We can talk in there." Aunt Mirabelle steps forward, around Dad and takes his arm as she passes. She tugs him along with her.
"Ted!" Mom bellows after them. "Ted! Don't listen to her! You always let her do this! Ted!" Mom stomps after them.
Tiffany, Maria, and I follow. We are silent. We are nearly breathless. Tiffany seems confused, like Dad. Maria...I don't know what Maria is thinking or feeling. She's so quiet and blank that I cannot guess. She set this in motion, this is all her doing, and now she hangs back. She removes herself and watches mutely.
Mom, Dad, and Aunt Mirabelle don't sit down. Instead, they stand in the living room, around the center, awkwardly. Mom places her hands on her hips again, attempting to take up more space in the room. She is a presence. She is a presence to be reckoned with. Dad and Aunt Mirabelle face each other, a great distance between them, their arms hanging at their sides. They don't look like brother and sister. I see no resemblance, I see no flicker of connection. Will this be my sisters and I someday? Will we stand together in a room and no one will guess we've ever met before? Will we not speak for years, not to one another, not about one another, like none of us exist, like we are nothing to the others?
I wonder, having never really wondered before, if this is how it's always been for Dad and Aunt Mirabelle. Have they always stood without connection, or have they gradually worn away, drifting apart and forgetting the other? There is a wedge between them and it's grown throughout the years. Now it's so deep and wide, I doubt either can see the other on the opposite side. I don't want this for myself. I don't want this for Tiffany and Maria.
"What is it then?" Mom asks, testily. "You might as well get it over with and get out of here."
"In front of the girls?"
"Yes," Mom says, tone growing testier.
Aunt Mirabelle glances over at where we stand beneath the archway. She hesitates. Whatever she planned to say, she reconsiders. She reconsiders her words or her phrasing or perhaps, everything intended in her visit. What does she know? What all has Maria said to her? She may know about Wes. She may know about Sam Thomas. There are so many things - private, personal things - to know about us. All our secrets, all our humiliations, all our mistakes.
Maria releases my hand. She slips quietly into the living room and sidles up to Aunt Mirabelle. "I'm Maria," she says. She's regained her courage. Whatever shyness or misgivings she had have fallen away.
Aunt Mirabelle smiles down at her. "I know," she says.
Mom begins tapping her right foot.
Aunt Mirabelle looks up again. Her smile turns vague, distant. It's not the friendly one she had for my sisters and I. "Ted and Kathalynn...Kathy..." she begins. "I have concerns - deep, serious concerns - about your family. I'm very worried. I have spoken to several people and - "
"It was that Elizabeth Brewer, wasn't it?" Mom cuts in.
"Yes. I have spoken to Elizabeth Brewer," Aunt Mirabelle confirms.
Tiffany and I raise our eyebrows at each other. Aunt Mirabelle's spoken to Elizabeth?
Mom clenches her fists and grits her teeth. "That woman is nothing but a busybody and a gold-digger! She weaseled her way into this neighborhood and she is systematically attempting to dismantle and discredit the upstanding families of this community. She is - "
"We're off-point again," Aunt Mirabelle interrupts. She does it very casually. It flows like regular conversation. "I've spoken to Elizabeth Brewer, yes. She seems very nice and as concerned, if not more so, about your family than I am. I have spoken to several other people and all share similar concerns. I don't know exactly what's gone on within this house, but I have some idea. I think you are two of the most selfish, neglectful parents I have ever heard of. Ted, I am glad Mom and Dad aren't alive to witness what you've done to your own family. They would be ashamed and horrified."
Mom's jaw drops. "How dare you!" she screeches. "You waltz in here after ten years and start barking orders and passing judgments? Who the hell do you think you are, Mirabelle?"
"I think I'm the only adult with brains left in this family," Aunt Mirabelle replies, her voice rising slightly. She turns to face Dad straight on. "Hookers?" she demands. "What's wrong with you, Ted?"
Dad actually turns red. "They aren't hookers," he says, irritably. "They're escorts."
"What's the difference?" Aunt Mirabelle demands. "The price?"
"They look like Kathleen Turner," I explain. The words spring out. They spring out all on their own.
If possible, Aunt Mirabelle's eyes grow even wider. "Ted!" she shouts. "That's disgusting!"
Mom glares at Dad. "I told you no more prostitutes," she says, furiously. "Can't you get it for free? You have to pay for it?"
"Do you hear yourselves?" Aunt Mirabelle asks, aghast. "Do you hear what you're saying in front of your daughters?"
Mom waves at Tiffany and I, dismissively. "They know," she says. "They're big girls. They can handle the knowledge that their father's a pervert with a Kathleen Turner fetish."
"They're teenagers!" Aunt Mirabelle protests. She looks down at Maria, then to Tiffany and I to Mom, and finally settles her wide-eyed stare on Dad. "They're teenagers!" she cries again. "They shouldn't be hearing about your extramarital affairs, paid for or otherwise. Yours, Ted, or yours, Kathalynn." Aunt Mirabelle gives Mom a meaningful look. "And they shouldn't have pubic lice and they shouldn't be performing sex acts on boys in their bedrooms. They shouldn't be having sex at all. Not with boys their age, not with married men, and not with teachers." My face grows warm. I bite my lip. Maria refuses to meet my gaze. Maria told Aunt Mirabelle all those things! It had to have been her. She told Aunt Mirabelle and then Aunt Mirabelle called Elizabeth for confirmation. I want to cry. They've all been talking about me, talking about what a whore I am. I'm a whore and Tiffany's a whore. And they all know.
"Well, well, well," Mom says, sassily. "You're just so smart, aren't you, Mirabelle? As usual, you think you know best. You think you have all the answers. You just know everything about everything, don't you? I suppose you know all about Shannon's abortion, too."
Tiffany gasps.
My stomach drops. It drops straight to my feet. It doesn't come back up. It stays there, sinking down into my toes.
"Her what?" Dad shrieks.
Aunt Mirabelle stares at me. Her eyes can't possibly grow any wider. Her face may explode if they do.
I shift my eyes to Maria. She stares at me. She stares at me with her mouth open slightly, eyes big, lip quivering.
"You had an abortion?" she whispers. The quiver quickens. "You had an abortion?" she shouts.
Maria bursts into tears.
Aunt Mirabelle slips her arm around Maria's shoulders. She pats her shoulder. Maria's comforted by a total stranger. She's comforted by a total stranger while her family looks on.
I turn on Mom. "Why did you have to say that?" I scream.
Mom gives no reaction. "How was I supposed to know she didn't know?" Mom asks.
"If you were ever home, you would know," Tiffany snaps. "If you hadn't gone to Hawaii, you would have known. You should have been here taking care of Shannon. You should have taken her to her appointment. Instead, you went to Hawaii and had a party and screwed your brains out while we were stuck here with a mess!"
Mom tilts her head upward. She flicks her eyes down at us. Her expression is stone. "Shannon shouldn't have been pregnant when I was leaving for Hawaii," she says, coldly. "It's not my fault she was too stupid to not make the boy wear a condom. Why should I be punished for her stupidity?"
Aunt Mirabelle stares at Mom, hand to her chest, mouth gaping, appearing absolutely horrified. "Because you're her mother!" she exclaims. "You went to Hawaii while she was having an abortion? What's wrong with you, Kathy?" Aunt Mirabelle turns to me. "She should have been with you," Aunt Mirabelle tells me. "Are you okay?"
I nod, numbly, biting my lip.
"Of course she's fine," Mom says, agitatedly. "It's a common procedure. All the girls have them these days. In and out and it's over. And I wouldn't get so high and mighty about it, Mirabelle. It's not like Shannon's some sort of victim here. She spread her legs for some idiot boy and faced the consequences. Next time, she'll be sure he slips something on before he slips it inside her. She learned her lesson."
"This is appalling," Aunt Mirabelle announces. "How can you talk about your daughter that way? I know we've had our problems, Kathalynn, and we've never gotten along, but you were never like this before. What happened to you?"
"Your idiot brother and his ungrateful children," Mom replies. "And I wouldn't be so quick to jump to Shannon's side. She doesn't even know who knocked her up."
"I do, too!" I protest, tearfully. I don't know when I started crying. I don't know when Tiffany put her arm around my waist. "He was my boyfriend!"
"The man in your bedroom!" Dad exclaims. He doesn't sound upset. He sounds proud to have remembered. "The teacher!"
Mom's mouth becomes a thin line. "A teacher knocked you up?" she asks in a measured voice.
I nod.
"You let some middle-aged, pot-bellied teacher get between your legs?" Mom asks in the same measured voice. It's cold, devoid of feeling. "You really are stupid. Do you have any idea what a scandal like that would do to my reputation?"
"Kathalynn!" Aunt Mirabelle cries. "Ted! Don't you have anything to say about this?"
Dad looks at Mom, then at me. He returns his attention to Aunt Mirabelle. "Well...I guess there's no harm done," he says. "She took care of the problem and nothing can be changed now. Kathy's right. Shannon's learned her lesson. She'll be more careful next time. I think it's good that Shannon's not afraid to explore and experiment. She's young and should enjoy herself. She shouldn't be an uptight prude." Dad chuckles. My father actually chuckles. "Mirabelle, you remember Fay McCracken? That frigid bitch. I don't want Shannon to be like her. Mean and nasty and colder than a block of ice. And combative. You want Shannon to be like her? Now, Fay's sister - "
"Why are you talking about the McCracken sisters?" Aunt Mirabelle interrupts. There's a strange look on her face. "We're discussing your daughter. Your daughter who slept with a teacher and got pregnant and had an abortion. Who cares about Fay McCracken? I doubt she's given you any thought since she beat you up after the prom. You're fifty-one years old, Ted! Grow up! You don't want Shannon to be like Fay, do you want her to be like Margolo? Do you want her to steal the neighbor's gun and splattered her brains all over your bedroom wall? Is that what you want, Ted?"
Dad shifts uncomfortably. "Well, no...of course not."
"Then shut up about the McCrackens," Aunt Mirabelle replies. She looks down at Maria, who's wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Are you going to be okay?" she asks.
Maria shakes her head. Then she nods. She doesn't know. I don't blame her.
Aunt Mirabelle rubs Maria's arm. She says something softly that I don't catch. Then Aunt Mirabelle returns her attention to Mom and Dad. "This is simply appalling. I don't think we've even scratched the surface of what's been going on here. These are serious problems. Your daughters have serious problems and the two of you don't even care. You don't even notice. I think the girls should go back to Evanston with me."
"You are not taking my children!" Mom protests.
"Why not? You clearly aren't interested in them. And I'm not suggesting I take them to keep. It's just a visit. They're on Christmas break, aren't they? I think your daughters are in need of some time away from this house."
"I would rather die than give you my children," Mom says, nastily.
I wipe away the remainder of my tears, staring at Mom. There is no hope left in me. There is no hope left in me that Mom wants me and is fighting for me. I know the truth. She just doesn't want Aunt Mirabelle to have me. She wants me and my sisters out of spite.
"Maybe...maybe we should let them go," Dad says, hesitantly.
What?
Has Dad actually been paying attention?
"Are you insane?" Mom demands. "Did one of your prostitutes give you syphilis and it's gone to your brain and driven you into dementia?"
"No...it's just that..." Dad says with further hesitation. "If they go with Mira, we won't have to worry about them at all. We can do whatever we want. Mira actually wants them. They can be her problem for a couple weeks."
I almost laugh. Like it matters whether we're here or in Evanston, Illinois. Mom and Dad do whatever they want anyway. We haven't been their problem for years. Maybe their burden, maybe their inconvenience, but problem? No. But then...I cock my head slightly to the side, studying my father. Am I giving him too little credit? Does he know exactly what he's doing, speaking to Mom in terms she can agree on? And then...maybe I'm giving him far too much credit.
"Fine," Mom says. "You two make the decision. Do as you please. I don't care."
I don't care.
And she doesn't.
Aunt Mirabelle nods. "Thank you, Kathy," she says and sounds completely sincere. "Would you girls like to come back to Evanston for a visit? We can try to get a flight out tomorrow. Your cousins - my girls - are excited about seeing you again. They're about your ages, Shannon and Tiffany. And you can meet Greg and of course, Max, who is Maria's age."
"Who's Greg?" Dad asks.
"My husband."
Dad wrinkles his brow. "What happened to Chuck?"
Aunt Mirabelle blinks a couple times. Her face remains blank. "Chuck?" she says. "Chuck and I have been divorced for eight years, Ted. Greg is my second husband. We've been married for almost five years. Didn't you read the wedding announcement I sent?"
Dad chuckles, nervously. "I guess not!"
"Hm," Aunt Mirabelle says and looks at Dad a moment longer, then moves her eyes from him. She returns her attention to Tiffany and I. "So, would you like to come?" she asks again.
"I'll go," Maria announces, loudly. As if anyone had any doubt. "I'll go right now."
"Well, we won't leave until tomorrow."
"Where are you staying tonight?" Mom asks. "Because you aren't staying here!"
"I'm staying at the Strathmoore Inn downtown."
"Can I come with you?" Maria asks, eagerly. "I love hotels!"
My mouth drops open. Maria wants to leave right away? As soon as possible? After everything she said to me today, she wants to run off at the first opportunity?
"If it's all right with - " Aunt Mirabelle begins.
"Take her," Mom cuts in.
"I'll get my stuff!" Maria cries and races from the room. She leaves us so easily.
I turn and chase after her. As I cross through the foyer toward the stairs, I hear Tiffany saying, "I don't know..."
I freeze in Maria's open doorway. She's dragging her suitcase out from underneath the bed. She struggles to lift it onto the bed. She unzips the suitcase and throws open the lid.
The suitcase is full.
"You knew!" I exclaim, coming into the room. "You knew she was coming!"
"Of course I knew," Maria replies, pushing down some of her clothes, making more room in the suitcase. "She told me last week. She had to wait for her vacation to start. Tonight was the soonest she could get here." Maria folds the sweater TIffany gave her for Christmas and stuffs it in the suitcase.
Something dawns on me, hits me in an instant. I should have known. I shouldn't have dismissed it. I should have realize something wasn't right.
"Mrs. Bryar knew, too, didn't she?" I demand. "That's why you were in her bedroom! This is what you were talking about!"
"I was saying goodbye," Maria explains, opening her closet. She removes her pea coat and tosses it on the bed. "Thank you for taking me over there. I thought I'd have to say goodbye over the phone. Don't be angry with Mrs. Bryar. I made her promise not to tell you."
"Has she been talking to Aunt Mirabelle, too? Just like Elizabeth?" I ask. My voice breaks. What has Mrs. Bryar told Aunt Mirabelle about me? She obviously didn't tell her about the abortion. Aunt Mirabelle appeared genuinely shocked at that. But what else has Mrs. Bryar said?
"Yes," Maria confirms. She's trying to shove her new cosmetics case into the suitcase, but it won't fit. There's too much in the suitcase already. It's packed full, like Maria plans to leave forever. "I told Aunt Mira to call her. I told Aunt Mira to call Elizabeth and Watson, too, and Mr. and Mrs. Papadakis and Lily's stepmom. I gave Aunt Mira all their numbers."
"Why would you do that?"
"You know why," Maria answers. "Everyone agrees this is for the best. Elizabeth thinks so and so does Mrs. Bryar. They only want to help, Shanny. Mrs. Bryar says she had a very sad childhood, too, and no one ever helped her. Don't be mad at them, Shanny."
"I...I'm not. But Maria...you know this is only a visit, right? This isn't forever. Aunt Mirabelle can't keep you."
"I don't intend to come back," Maria replies and shuts her suitcase. She zips it. "In a week, Mom and Dad won't remember that I exist."
My eyes fill with tears. "Maria..." I squeak, high and pleading, "why do you want to leave me?"
Maria turns around. "Because I don't want to turn out like you," she answers.
The tears break through and trickle down my cheeks, dripping off my chin onto my shirt.
"I'm sorry, Shanny. I meant what I said earlier. I love you. I really do. But I have to get out of this house. I have to get out while I can. This house ruins everyone who lives here. I love you and you've tried, but I want a real mother. I want real parents, who can take care of me. You and Tiffany would be leaving me behind soon anyway. I'm just leaving you first."
I watch her and she watches me. I close my eyes, tears still leaking out. I bite my lip and nod. I know. I know.
"I'll get your toothbrush," I say.
"I already packed a new one."
I nod again. I wipe away my tears and cross to Maria, closing the distance between us. I wrap her into a hug, hold her tight and long. Then I let her go.
I let her go.
I leave for my bedroom while Maria packs her backpack, filling it with books and magazines and all her favorite things. It may not be forever. Maria may not get what she wants. And then...maybe she will. Maybe she won't come back. I sit down on my bed and hold my head in my hands. I tried. I tried and I failed. I hear footsteps on the stairs, then moving down the hall, and then Aunt Mirabelle's voice drifts out from Maria's bedroom. I can't hear what she's saying. I can't hear what Maria answers back.
Tiffany comes into my bedroom. She positions herself in front of me. "I think we should go," she tells me.
I look up. "What?"
"I think we should go," Tiffany repeats.
"We don't even know her!"
"Can she possibly be worse than what we have here?" Tiffany asks. "I mean, did you look at her, Shannon? She looks normal. She looks like someone you'd see shopping in the frozen food section at the A&P. I bet they're all normal. I bet they go out for pizza every Tuesday night and watch videos together and argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry. They probably own a station wagon!"
"What does it matter? I thought you were going to be emancipated?"
"I am," Tiffany says. "As soon as I turn sixteen. I need somewhere to go though. Maybe they'll be nice."
Tiffany's won over that easily? She's actually considering leaving, too. Leaving for good.
Aunt Mirabelle comes to stand in the doorway. Even though the door is wide open, she knocks. "May I come in?" she asks.
I nod.
Tiffany turns to her. "I don't have to decide tonight, right?" she asks. "I can decide in the morning, can't I? And it's only for a visit?"
"Yes."
Tiffany nods. "Okay, good," she says. "I'm going to help Maria." She walks out of the room.
Aunt Mirabelle and I are alone. She steps into my bedroom and grabs the desk chair and drags it over to the bed. She sits down in front of me. She sighs and smiles. It's the vague smile. "So..." she says and sighs again. "You're not seven anymore."
I shake my head.
"You all look so different. Different than I remember, of course, and different than how I imagined. Your house looks so different, too. And your parents...Everything's changed. Ten years is a long time."
"It is," I agree and fold my hands in my lap. I don't sit up straight. "Has Dad always been a jerk?" I ask. I can't remember. I didn't think so, but what do I know?
"Oh...well...yes," Aunt Mirabelle says. "He used to be more of an endearing jerk though."
I suspected as much.
"I'm not going back to Illinois with you," I tell her. I might as well get it out. I know I can't leave, even if my sisters do. Too much has happened, too much has changed. My parents may not care, but other people do. I want to be here. I want to rebuild my life here. There's still so many things I must mend.
"I understand," Aunt Mirabelle says.
"We haven't always been like this. I don't know what you've been told. Everything, I suppose. We haven't always been terrible though."
"I know," Aunt Mirabelle says and takes my hands in hers. "I know. And you aren't terrible. I've heard some...disturbing things, but I've heard many wonderful things, too. Not only from Maria, but from everyone I've spoken to. The Brewers and the Papadakises and Tracey Bryar. Everyone has very complimentary things to say about you and your sisters. They're all worried and they all care about you very much. None of them think you're terrible."
I bite my lip and stare down at our hands.
"So...you had an abortion," Aunt Mirabelle says, slowly. "I didn't know that."
"Hardly anyone does. I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay." Aunt Mirabelle releases my hands and sits back in the chair. "Maybe you'll change your mind in a few days. About coming to Evanston, that is. Or...about anything else."
I shrug. "Maybe," I say, but I don't think so. "You'll take good care of Maria?"
"Yes."
"She deserves a better chance."
"Everyone does."
Sometimes I think I've run out of chances.
But maybe not.
"I'll think about it, Aunt Mirabelle."
Aunt Mirabelle smiles. It's the relaxed, friendly smile she had for me earlier. "You may call me Mira or Aunt Mira. I think your family's the only ones who still call me Mirabelle. It's such a dumb name." She laughs. "I guess it's like how I'm the only one who still calls your mother Kathalynn. She's wrong. I don't do it to annoy her. I think it's a pretty name." Aunt Mirabelle smiles again and reaches into her back pocket. She takes out a white business card. "Here. I brought this for you. It has my work number on it and I've written my home number on the back. I'm on vacation now, so call me at home. Anytime."
I take the card and study it. Aunt Mira works at Northwestern University. I had no idea. Mira Wickerman, the card reads. I didn't know her last name either.
"I'm ready," Maria announces from the doorway. She's wearing her backpack and struggling to hold up her suitcase.
Aunt Mira and I stand. Aunt Mira strides over to Maria and takes the suitcase. She can barely lift it either. I walk more hesitantly. Maria is leaving. She's really leaving. She might not come back.
"Ted!" Aunt Mira calls, dragging the suitcase down the hallway. "Ted! Come up here!"
Dad bounds up the stairs. Aunt Mira swings the suitcase at him. She hits him square in the stomach with it.
"You can drive us to the Strathmoore," she informs him. "Put that in the car."
Dad doesn't say anything. He simply obeys.
Maria insists on saying a final goodbye to Astrid, who's asleep in the bathroom of all places. Maria gets teary-eyed hugging her. Afterward, the four of us - Tiffany, Maria, Aunt Mira, and I - go downstairs together. Mom's nowhere in sight. She doesn't come to say goodbye. She doesn't even bother to pretend. When did she stop even pretending? It's one of those gradual things that move at such a cautious pace that no one even realizes what's happening. Then it's too late. Like me and my slipping, my falling down and hitting bottom. Dad's waiting in the driveway with the car running. Tiffany and I walk Maria and Aunt Mira onto the front porch. We each hug Maria. I hold her an extra long time. I manage not to cry. I may see her in two weeks...and I may not.
I know this is what's best.
Tiffany hooks her arm through mine as we watch Maria and Aunt Mira walk down the steps and toward the driveway. Tiffany may go, too. She'll come back, but she might not stay long. As they move down the walk, Maria slips her hand into Aunt Mira's. She takes the hand of a stranger and holds it. And somehow, it doesn't seem wrong.