Chapter 54

IMMOVABLE OBJECT

Mom, I just want to—Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.” Zitsy rolls his eyes and shakes his head at me. “Mom. Mom. Can I just say one thing? Mom. Mom.” He holds the phone away from his ear, and I can hear his mother’s tinny voice freaking out from across the room. “I’d better get home,” Zitsy says. “I don’t want my mom to hemorrhage something.”

“Let’s go, Kooks,” Flatso says.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Come on, Kooks,” Zitsy says. “Sitting here isn’t going to help anything.” He looks around the slightly seedy waiting area. Orange foam is coming out of one of the chairs. Most of the magazines are torn and smeary looking. An old and slightly busted television blares in the corner.

“You guys have moms who will freak out if you don’t come home. I don’t.”

I didn’t mean for that to come out at all, but once the words are out of my mouth, I realize that they sound kind of pathetic. It’s like, Cue the violin music, people! Ugh.

Flatso chews her lower lip, like she’s stopping herself from saying something. She and Zitsy look at each other for a long time, apparently having some kind of ESP chat.

After about two minutes of meaningful glances, Flatso says, “Okay, Kooks. We’ll be back first thing.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Zitsy asks.

“I’m fine,” I say, trying hard to look spunky and not tragic. I lean back in my chair and look up at the television dangling in the corner. “I have my Snuggie on. I’m cozy.”

Flatso gives me a hug and a quick kiss near the ear. Then she and Zitsy head out into the parking lot. As I watch them through the window, I have to fight the urge to run after them. But what good would it do? There’s no point in going home. I’ll just stay here… with Katie, even though she doesn’t know it.

A cell phone rings, and I look around in confusion because I’m the only person in the waiting area. Until I remember that I have a cell phone—one of those cheap in-case-of-emergency things that Mrs. Morris insisted I keep with me. I’ve never actually used it before.

When I pull it out of my pocket, I see that it’s Mrs. Morris’s number, the only one I put in the contacts. I choke on my panic, and press the talk button to say, “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m sorry for worrying you! I’ll come home right away!” But before I say anything, I remember she’s dead.

My mind is still reeling as I press the phone to my ear. “Cuckoo?” Marjorie is saying. “Kooks? Are you there?”

“Marjorie?” My voice is a hoarse whisper, scratchy as sandpaper.

“Oh, I’m so glad I reached you! Are you okay? Are you coming home?”

“I’m at the hospital in Tuality—”

“The hospital?”

There’s fear in her voice, and it leaves me weak with surprise. I hadn’t realized that she cared about me—that she would want to know where I was and whether I was all right. I hadn’t thought of her at all. But she saw me rush out of the house in the middle of the night—she must have been worried.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. It’s Katie. She’s—hurt. And they won’t let me see her and…” My voice starts to quaver, and I have to count ceiling tiles until I feel somewhat normal again. “Anyway, I don’t think I can leave. I don’t want to leave until I know she’s okay.”

The line is quiet, and in the space of the silence, I realize something. Even though I’ve been living with Marjorie, I’ve been treating her the way you treat a wobbly desk. Like something that isn’t ideal, but is okay for now. But Marjorie isn’t a desk; she’s a person. She’s Mrs. Morris’s daughter.

I feel bad for treating her like furniture.

“I understand,” Marjorie says finally. And it really sounds like she does.

Marjorie may be a flake, but she’s a flake who seems to actually get me. I don’t know what that means, but it’s true.