THE PHONE’S RINGING.
And it rings again. And again.
When it rings again, I check the screen to make sure I pressed the listing for Dad with the satellite emoji next to it, which signals the number for the super-high-tech phone my parents use on expeditions, the one that can always reach them. After confirming that I do in fact know how to operate a smartphone contact list, the line rings again one more time, and then starts in on the next ring when Mom picks up.
It’s not that I don’t love my mom. And it’s not even that I don’t love talking to her, or as though my mom hasn’t talked me through upwards of fifty, actually probably more like one hundred, crises. It’s more that, where Callie’s concerned, Mom’s always sort of thought of her as more of a specimen she’s objectively interested in than, say, a daughter. Dad and I, we see her as a necessary part of the family. Or at the very least I know that Dad makes sure we all know that he’s on Callie’s side, and he has shown what could easily be called compassion toward his younger daughter, in addition to his first and favorite. But anyway, it was Mom and not Dad who answered the phone, so I prepare to put the kind of cheerful voice that might get me past the gatekeeper and into Dad’s ear.
“Hey, Mom!”
“Hi, Lorna, sweetie. Is everything okay? Did something happen to Callie?”
“No, no, Callie’s fine! Everything’s just dandy. How’re the turtles?”
“Turtles?”
“Whenever anyone says ‘Galápagos,’ all I can think of are giant turtles everywhere, possibly speaking, catering, bringing drinks, floaties, et cetera.”
“Cabana boy turtles is what you’re telling me you imagined?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s certainly a fun image,” she says, and then we both go silent for too long for either of us to keep pretending that everything’s normal and fine.
“Lorna?” Mom says.
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to ask me to fetch your father so you two can talk about whatever it is you two talk about?”
“Mom! I’d never even dream of asking you to do a thing like that!”
“Well, I take it all back then,” says Mom.
“I forgive you,” I say, then take a deep breath away from the speaker. “But now that you mention Dad . . .”
“Aha! Well, sorry, sweetie, but your father is unavailable right now. He’s out at the research site, and he’ll be mostly unreachable for the better part of the rest of the day. The sinkholes and the lightning storms are at it again, but there are also these strange clouds that keep gathering. You get the feeling they’ll shake with thunder at any minute. And beneath them, the earth and the sea are trembling. As if they’re in concert. It’s so bizarre, honey. And absolutely amazing. Your father claims he’s seen something like it before, but it was back when we didn’t have the instruments we have now, so the data is practically nonexistent. It’ll take us at least a week to figure out what to make of it.”
Perfect. My eyes wander over to the car. Stan, Callie, and Ted are just sort of standing there, waiting, looking freaked. Even Ted looks freaked out, like maybe everything that just happened finally, right this moment, caught up with him. And the idea that he maybe didn’t know what he was doing is pretty scary, and the idea that he is just now realizing what happened is honestly even scarier to me right now. So I just go for it.
“Well, Mom, since you and I are chatting and all . . .”
“Yes, honey?”
And all at once, I can’t even help it. It just spills out of me. I tell her about the party and about how it wasn’t my idea but I still let it happen, so I’m sorry for that, but I think I kept it under control okay, and don’t worry, the house is fine, and everyone made it home safely and responsibly. But how the party came to a screeching halt when we discovered that Callie made this model of an island. I describe to her the vibrating expanse of the sculpture, with the almost blooming blossom things, the way it trembled, the way Callie’s hands trembled over it. My voice catches on the words and feelings that are coming up from my chest and propelled out of my mouth, into the receiver, up to the satellites, and then into my mother’s ear.
I power past these trips and falls and tell her about Stan and Ted, who they are and how they came to the house after Stan and I found out that Ted was also building an island at the exact same time Callie was. I tell her how, after a lot of careful debating, Stan and I decided to take our siblings and go, to figure out what they needed. Because they’d built those sculptures of what seemed like exactly the island where Dad was when he found them, and they kept pointing to it and trying to get in the car, and in the end, all we could think was that they wanted to go there. Home. To their home. And then before we knew it, they were running to the car, and then they were in the car, and so we figured that was it, they wanted to get in the car and go somewhere, so we drove. We just drove. It was the only thing we could think to do for them.
I tell her about the diner, how I decided, or I guess already believed, already knew, that I wanted—that I want—to do this because of Callie. Because of craving that closeness and feeling of sisterhood and finally, for once, maybe being able to do something for her. I talk about agency, how Callie and Ted and everyone like them seem so trapped in these bodies without language, with no way to ever really tell anyone anything, ever, not about themselves, or the weather, or the weather inside of themselves. Nothing. Not a thing, not once, not ever, not never.
And then the bear. Oh my God. I tell her about the bear, and I just barrel through it because I can’t even stand to think about it or to have her ask me about it. So before she can ask I tell her not to, and I tell her that we’re fine, but we’re all really rattled. Even Ted looks rattled now, like he wasn’t prepared for any of this, for his actions, for the bear, for the highway, for this life.
“But,” I tell her, “they are trying to go somewhere. I know they are. It’s like they’re being pulled, and they’re pulling us in that same direction. They need to go home, to their home, they know that we can take them there, that we can do this thing for them. Mom, this is a chance for me to do more than just chaperone her around a world she isn’t equipped to engage with.” And now my throat is closing up on me, and the words are sort of hiccupping out. “This is me enabling whatever it is she feels to be her sense of purpose. I’m sorry,” and I start sobbing and trying to talk through it, which barely works. “I know this sounds crazy. You’re probably freaking out. But this just feels so important. And I’m responsible, remember?” And I take a moment here, because I’m crying. “You and Dad said it yourselves. I am. I’m a good kid, and it’s not just because I know how to work around things. It’s because I have no real interest in trouble, and I don’t invite it. How often do you get to do a good thing, like a genuinely good deed, for someone you love? Mom. I’m scared. But I’m mostly happy because I can help Callie.” And I start wiping the snot from my nose and the tears from my face and trying to do that thing from earlier where I try to remember how to breathe.
It doesn’t work, though. My heart is racing all over again, and I just wish it would stop, but it won’t. The line is insanely quiet. I have no idea what is coming, and I am terrified. I keep breathing into the stark silence, but I know she’s still on the phone, because I can hear something gathering inside her.
Then, suddenly: “Turn around, Lorna,” she says. “Now. Right now. Get in the car, then turn the car around, and go back home. Please. Please, Lorna.”
My eyes dart to Callie, and my heart starts jumping even more. What?
“What?” I say. “Mom, did you hear anything I just said?” Oh God oh God oh God. I shouldn’t have said anything! Unless, “Is it because of the party? Because the house is fine, and locked up, and I called the cops to let them know we wouldn’t be home in case of burglaries, and I set timers for the lights, and . . .” Ugh. Of course it’s not that. Obviously, Lorna, come on. “Is it the thing with the bear? Because we’re fine! I was just scared, so I wanted to tell someone about it so I could feel less scared. Which I do now! Thank you! Talking to you has really helped. It was nothing. Mom, I just—”
“Lorna. I need you to listen to me. I need you to take a deep breath and listen to what I’m about to tell you, which also happens to be something people could kill me for telling you. Okay?”
“Okay,” I say softly, and now I feel my heart is actually in danger of stopping. Everything’s stopped. The whole world feels like it’s slowing down, and now I’m stuck here, in this moment, for probably forever. What the hell is she talking about?
“Listen. Your father”—she snorts a bit, or else breathes hard through her nose, I can’t tell—“your father believes that this group of orphans Callie belongs to are peaceful and naive and innocent. But there are many people, many of them in the government, who do not feel this same way. These people believe that Callie and the other children like her are a sort of living weapon. A force to be used against us. Against people.”
“What? Mom, are you kidding me with this? That’s insane—”
“Lorna! Let me finish! This is important, you have no idea how important. Because of Jane. Jane—well, Jane isn’t Callie’s caseworker, Lorna. Jane is the government liaison who was assigned to monitor Callie and Ted and three other Orphans. This is why it’s always the same hospitals, always the same doctors.” She pauses for a moment, and my chest feels crushed, like the bear from Ted’s fury.
“Lorna,” she starts again. “Lorna, if you take Callie and that boy, Ted, if you take them back to the place where they were discovered, which is where I’m almost certain they’re trying to get you to take them, if you do that, the consequences will be very, very bad.” She gets quiet here, and she does not elaborate on what she means by “bad.” “We’ve been playing with fire for years by having her here, in our family, in our home, and if you do this . . . If you do this, Lorna, baby, there will be hell to pay.”
“Stop!” I shout, panic engulfing me now. “What the hell are you even talking about? I—I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a single word you say! Where’s Dad? I want to talk to Dad. Please. Now. Put Dad on please. Now.”
“I can’t, Lorna. I told you—he’s not here, he’s at the site, and thank God he is. Please. Please. Please do not take them back there. Please. Please listen to me, and do as I said, and I promise that Jane won’t harm you. Or Callie,” she adds.
Then, after her longest pause yet, during which I’m not talking because I’m shaking so hard and she’s not talking because her desperation is so thick I can feel it through the phone, she says, “Whatever you do, Lorna, please: Please don’t die for Callie. Please. Just please promise me you won’t die for her. I know you love her, I know you love her like she was your own sister, I know that. But do not get between her and the government. Please. Please don’t die for her. She’s not your blood. Please, Lorna—”
I hang up. I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner, but what she said about Callie, about how she’s not my blood . . . I just couldn’t hear any more of it. I look over, and Stan is waving at me. Somehow, blindly and floating like in a dream, I make it there, to the car, and he starts the engine.
“What happened?” he says.
And then I just start weeping and shaking and shaking and weeping.