Read Online A Seahorse in the Thames by Susan Meissner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Susan Meissner
Ads: Link
for my lap when I tell my mother Rebecca decided to leave the Center without telling anyone where she was going. I carefully avoid saying Rebecca has run away.
“What do you mean she didn’t tell anyone?” Mom says, furrowing her brow.
“I mean, she left sometime last night with her suitcase. She wrote a note asking that her fish be fed but she didn’t tell anyone where she was going.” I say nothing of the other note. Rebecca obviously wants that kept between her and me.
“Are you telling me no one knows where Rebecca is?”
Her eyes do not betray what she is thinking. It could be anything. She could be on the brink of hysterical crying or an angry tantrum or wordless shock. I hesitate before telling her it’s true. That no one knows where Rebecca is.
Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head slightly, like she just had a tiny, silent conversation in her mind and part of her asked a question and the other part said, “No, we’re not going there.”
She says nothing audibly.
“Mom?”
“Rebecca packed a suitcase?”
“Yes.”
“Did she take everything?”
“No. Not everything.”
Mom sits back in her chair a little. Margot gets off the couch where I am and hops onto my mother’s lap. “Then I am sure she will be back,” Mom pats her dog but her hand is shaking.
Of all the responses I was picturing my mother having, this was not one of them. She has completely detached herself from the very real possibility that Rebecca could be in danger.
“Mom,” I reply. “She took what she could fit in her suitcase. She took the photograph of Julian!”
Mom flinches a little when I say Julian’s name. It’s a name not mentioned very often in her presence. I did not mean to so easily say it just now. But I think by taking Julian’s picture Rebecca was offering us a glimpse into her plans. She took what was most precious to her because she does not know when she is coming back. Or maybe she took it because she has no plans to come back at all.
“I can’t deal with this, Alexa,” my mother whispers. “I really cannot.”
“We can’t pretend there’s nothing wrong here!” I snap back.
“She’s an adult,” Mom says, feigning ease.
“She’s a disabled adult!”
My mother winces. She hates that word.
“Mom.”
My mother raises her eyes from the dog on her lap to look at me. “What are we supposed to do, Alexa!” she asks, and the tone of her voice is tense and laced with sadness. “If Rebecca wants go somewhere, who are we to stop her? She is a grown woman.”
“Mom, she is a vulnerable adult!”
“As are we all,” Mom says, looking back at Margot.
“So you’re not going to do anything about this?” My words are evenly spaced with tiny flecks of anger in each one.
Mom doesn’t answer right away but she continues to stroke the dog. “The police will find her.”
“The police aren’t looking for her.”
She looks up at me and says nothing. For several moments I don’t either.
“She’s my sister. I love her.” I finally whisper.
At the word “love” I see the faintest of tremors run through my mother’s body. I know she loves Rebecca, but I don’t understand the way Mom loves. I haven’t for a long time.
“If Rebecca had wanted you to know where she was going, she would have told you,” Mom says.
For a second or two I ponder this.
“I can’t just do nothing.”
“Then by all means do something.” My mother’s words, though whispered, sound urgent. Her eyes, when she raises them to look at me, are ablaze with emotion she refuses to give in to.
It’s after noon, and since I’ve not had breakfast, I am ravenous, but I decline Mom’s offer to make me a sandwich. I want to get home to see if Rebecca has showed up on my doorstep. I decide to call my father on my way back to Mission Beach. We don’t talk often, but I call him anyway. Perhaps he will be able to make some decisions about what to do about Rebecca since my mother refuses to.
Dad, who is on
“What do you mean she didn’t tell anyone?” Mom says, furrowing her brow.
“I mean, she left sometime last night with her suitcase. She wrote a note asking that her fish be fed but she didn’t tell anyone where she was going.” I say nothing of the other note. Rebecca obviously wants that kept between her and me.
“Are you telling me no one knows where Rebecca is?”
Her eyes do not betray what she is thinking. It could be anything. She could be on the brink of hysterical crying or an angry tantrum or wordless shock. I hesitate before telling her it’s true. That no one knows where Rebecca is.
Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head slightly, like she just had a tiny, silent conversation in her mind and part of her asked a question and the other part said, “No, we’re not going there.”
She says nothing audibly.
“Mom?”
“Rebecca packed a suitcase?”
“Yes.”
“Did she take everything?”
“No. Not everything.”
Mom sits back in her chair a little. Margot gets off the couch where I am and hops onto my mother’s lap. “Then I am sure she will be back,” Mom pats her dog but her hand is shaking.
Of all the responses I was picturing my mother having, this was not one of them. She has completely detached herself from the very real possibility that Rebecca could be in danger.
“Mom,” I reply. “She took what she could fit in her suitcase. She took the photograph of Julian!”
Mom flinches a little when I say Julian’s name. It’s a name not mentioned very often in her presence. I did not mean to so easily say it just now. But I think by taking Julian’s picture Rebecca was offering us a glimpse into her plans. She took what was most precious to her because she does not know when she is coming back. Or maybe she took it because she has no plans to come back at all.
“I can’t deal with this, Alexa,” my mother whispers. “I really cannot.”
“We can’t pretend there’s nothing wrong here!” I snap back.
“She’s an adult,” Mom says, feigning ease.
“She’s a disabled adult!”
My mother winces. She hates that word.
“Mom.”
My mother raises her eyes from the dog on her lap to look at me. “What are we supposed to do, Alexa!” she asks, and the tone of her voice is tense and laced with sadness. “If Rebecca wants go somewhere, who are we to stop her? She is a grown woman.”
“Mom, she is a vulnerable adult!”
“As are we all,” Mom says, looking back at Margot.
“So you’re not going to do anything about this?” My words are evenly spaced with tiny flecks of anger in each one.
Mom doesn’t answer right away but she continues to stroke the dog. “The police will find her.”
“The police aren’t looking for her.”
She looks up at me and says nothing. For several moments I don’t either.
“She’s my sister. I love her.” I finally whisper.
At the word “love” I see the faintest of tremors run through my mother’s body. I know she loves Rebecca, but I don’t understand the way Mom loves. I haven’t for a long time.
“If Rebecca had wanted you to know where she was going, she would have told you,” Mom says.
For a second or two I ponder this.
“I can’t just do nothing.”
“Then by all means do something.” My mother’s words, though whispered, sound urgent. Her eyes, when she raises them to look at me, are ablaze with emotion she refuses to give in to.
It’s after noon, and since I’ve not had breakfast, I am ravenous, but I decline Mom’s offer to make me a sandwich. I want to get home to see if Rebecca has showed up on my doorstep. I decide to call my father on my way back to Mission Beach. We don’t talk often, but I call him anyway. Perhaps he will be able to make some decisions about what to do about Rebecca since my mother refuses to.
Dad, who is on
Similar Books
