Julia's Daughters

“Sound?” Izzy freezes, her hand stuffed in her Doritos bag.

I should tell her to put the chips away. Of course, if I were a better mother, we would have gotten some sort of lunch when we stopped to use the bathroom. I have no idea where we can get food between here and Grand Junction. I wonder if we go to Bryce Canyon if the museum has some sort of snack bar or something. I should have packed a cooler; I used to be that mom.

“Are you watching a video on the iPad, Haley?” I ask, glancing at her in the rearview.

I thought it would be okay for her to use it to research hotels for tonight. I want her to feel like she’s still a part of this family, like we need her. But I’m not letting her watch movies in the backseat. That would defeat the purpose of locking her up in the car with me for five days so we can talk.

“No, Mom, I’m not watching cat videos.”

So she heard it too.

I hear it again. It’s definitely a cat. And suddenly I realize I know that sound. “Isobel Mae,” I say sharply. There are no cars to be seen in either direction and I pull over.

A meow comes from the back of my car. Mr. Cat’s plaintive meow.

“Mom tells you to pack a bag and you think that means bring the cat?” Haley is half-laughing, half-mocking. “You brought your cat with you in the car to drive to Maine?”

Izzy’s still holding the chip bag. Now she’s staring at me and looking exceedingly guilty. She has crumbs at the corners of her mouth. “I didn’t want to leave him.”

Haley unbuckles and leans over the backseat as soon as the car comes to a stop on the shoulder.

“Leave him alone,” Izzy hollers, scrambling to unbuckle her seat belt.

“Where is he?” Haley gets up on her knees and begins to pull through the bags in the back. “Christ, you put him in a duffel bag?”

Last time we stopped, Haley threw my bag over the seat. I guess it’s a miracle Mr. Cat wasn’t hurt. I can’t believe he’s been quiet all this time.

The cat starts meowing again. I hear a bag being unzipped.

“You put him in a bag? Izzy, he could have suffocated.”

Izzy starts to cry. “He couldn’t suffocate. I put a tissue box on each end of the bag and there’s mesh so he could breathe.”

I stare at my youngest daughter. I can’t believe she brought the cat. A cat!

Mr. Cat hollers and flies over the seat to land next to Haley. He’s pretty agile for his age.

“And you’re worried about my mental status?” Haley scoffs.

I watch, still not quite believing this has happened, as the cat hops from the back seat to the console between the two front seats and then sits down and looks at Izzy.

“Oh, kitty, kitty, Mr. Cat. Are you okay?” Izzy croons. “You were supposed to stay quiet. You promised me if I brought you, you’d be quiet.” She strokes his back.

Mr. Cat, a tabby, isn’t big. Never was, but in his old age, he seems to be shrinking. He weighs less than five pounds. Luckily, he looks no worse for wear for his ride in the duffel bag. He starts to purr.

I give my daughter my best stern-mother look. “We can’t drive across the country with a cat, Izzy.”

“Why not?” As she pets him, she leaves Doritos dust on his ratty fur. “He’ll be good. Won’t you?” she asks the cat. She peers up at me. “Please, Mom? You won’t even know he’s in the car.”

“Except for the meowing.” Haley from the backseat. “And what happens when he has to pee and poop? That’s going to smell great in here.”

I exhale and plant both hands on the steering wheel, closing my eyes for a second. We’re two and a half hours from the house. We’ve got roughly forty hours of driving to go. This is a hell of a way to start out.

Maybe Ben’s right. Maybe I can’t do this.

But how could I have anticipated this problem? Who would check to be sure their ten-year-old hadn’t packed a cat. I mean really. A cat?

Izzy reaches for Mr. Cat, knocks the bag off her lap, and spills Doritos onto the floor of my new car. Well, it’s not exactly new now, but it seems like it. It’s like I’ve lost the last two months of my life.

I grab my phone and glance up in the rearview mirror. A car flies by us. We’re far enough off the road that I think we’re safe, though. “Stay in the car. Both of you,” I add sharply. “I’m going to call your father.”

“Mom, please,” Izzy begs. “Can’t he go with us? I promise I’ll take care of him. I promise he won’t be a problem. You won’t even know he’s with us.”

“What are you going to do?” Haley asks. “We should probably go home, shouldn’t we?”

“We’re not going home. Stay in the car.” I get out, taking care the cat doesn’t try to escape. I have to hold back not to slam the door. I’m not even that angry with Izzy, just with the situation. I see how it makes sense to her, bringing the cat. He means the world to her and her world is a mess. That old cat is her security blanket.

That doesn’t mean I’m taking him to Maine with me.

I walk around the car and stand out of earshot. Everything is dry and stark and brown around me. As far as I can see on both sides of the highway is barren desert. I should probably keep my eye out for snakes. I stare at the baked ground and I call Ben. He doesn’t pick up.

Of course he doesn’t.

I leave a message. “Could you call me back? Right away?” I hesitate. I don’t want him to worry that we’ve been in an accident or I’ve let Haley get away from me. “We’re fine,” I add. “It’s just that . . . Izzy brought Mr. Cat. I didn’t know he was in the car. Call me.”

I disconnect. I feel like I should call someone else, but who? Not Laney. She’s in class, besides being in Maine. I stand there thinking for a minute and I realize I don’t have anyone to call. How pathetic is that?

I haven’t had a good friend in Vegas since my dear friend Maureen died of leukemia four years ago. I just never connected with anyone else the way I connected with her. And honestly, I haven’t made the effort with anyone. I’ve been so busy with the girls and working part-time and volunteering and . . . just life.

I guess I could call someone in Ben’s family, but if I admit I need someone to come get a cat, I’ll never hear the end of it. And I don’t know if Ben told them I was driving to Maine with the girls. I’m not getting into it with Linda or Ben’s brothers.

I can’t believe I don’t have anyone else to call.

Before Caitlin died, I had lots of acquaintances who weren’t quite friends but their phone numbers are in my cell. People I spent time with because of the activities our children were involved with. A lot of people came to the memorial service and dropped off food at the house. I still have unidentifiable casseroles in the freezer. People called. They stopped by, but only right in the beginning. I can’t remember the last time that one of those people called to see how we were. Maybe that’s my fault. I didn’t call anyone back. I didn’t even answer the door.

I stand there, phone in my hand, staring at the car. I can see that Haley is talking, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Izzy is clearly ignoring her. I don’t know what I’m going to do about Izzy. I should have thought this through better. I shouldn’t have brought her with me, with or without the cat.

But even in a do-over, if I’m honest with myself, I know I wouldn’t leave her home with Ben. I realize now that she needs to be with me, even as broken as I am. Izzy needs her mother. And so does Haley.

I fight a lump that rises in my throat and comes out in a little sob. I turn away from the car and face the desert. “Oh, Caitlin,” I murmur.

I turn back to look at the car again. Haley’s given up trying to talk to Izzy. She’s looking at the iPad. Izzy has Mr. Cat on her lap. She’s petting him and he’s rubbing against her.

I call Ben again. He still doesn’t answer. I don’t leave a message this time.

It’s hot out here. Not hot like it will be in a month or two, but hot enough. Eighty degrees, probably. I should get back in the car. My skin is so pale and pasty that I’ll burn just standing here.

But instead of getting back in the car, I pace.

What do I do now? Obviously, I can’t take a cat cross-country. He has to go back. Do I just start driving toward Vegas and hope Ben calls me back and I can get him to meet me somewhere? How many hours will that put us behind?

It’s not the miles I care about. It’s that I don’t want to lose the little bit that I’ve accomplished today with Haley. Just the fact that she’s actually talking to me. A little. If we head back to Vegas, will that change the momentum? Will she get it in her head that we can just go home and forget this whole thing?

I don’t want to turn around. I feel like I can’t. Maybe that’s silly. Maybe this is about Ben, and me wanting to prove something to him. Which is certainly ridiculous. But it’s the principle of the thing.

I’m not turning around.

So, what? I sit here? Wait for Ben to drive all the way here? That doesn’t make any sense, either. Maybe we could go on to Bryce Canyon. I think I recall a lodge being there. Maybe Ben could join us. Maybe a night together, the four of us, and he’ll decide to go with us to Maine.

I sigh, feeling like I want to curl up in a ball and cry again. Ben’s not going to come spend the night with us. He’s not going to change his mind and get on board, figuratively or otherwise. I walk slowly to the car. Get in.

“Is Dad coming for the cat?” Haley asks, not looking up from the iPad.

I close my door and turn my face to the vent and let it blast cold air across my cheeks. I close my eyes, then open them, turning to Izzy. “You should have asked me about the cat.”

“You would have said no,” she answers quietly. There are no tears now, just stubbornness on her face and in her body language.

Her response surprises me. I expected her to argue or make excuses, but I didn’t expect flat-out defiance. I can’t decide if the idea pleases me or upsets me. I like the idea that she’s brave enough to defy me. It’s proof of her strength. It tells me she can get through this terrible tragedy that’s befallen our family. It tells me Izzy will be okay. But the idea that she’d bring the cat with her, knowing it would be against my wishes, pisses me off, too.

“We’re not going to Bryce Canyon.” I take off my sunglasses to wipe a smudge on the right lens with the hem of my T-shirt.

Izzy wraps her arms protectively around her cat.

“So we’re going home?” Haley asks from the back.

Clearly her vote.

I slip on my sunglasses, check my mirrors, put the car into drive, and pull out onto the highway. Headed north.

“What? So first her and now her cat?” Haley’s loud, her tone aggressive. “I thought this was supposed to be about me.”

I think for a moment before I respond. “It’s about all of us. Go ahead and book the hotel room in Grand Junction. And see where there’s a Walmart or a Target or something. Mr. Cat is going to need some food.”

“I brought cat food,” Izzy pipes up.

It’s not until she says it that I remember the can of food falling out of her sweatshirt pocket back at the house. How could I be so dumb as to have not connected the dots?

Because once again, who would have suspected their daughter would smuggle a cat into the car for a cross-country road trip?

“He needs a litter box,” I say.

“Unbelievable,” Haley complains from the backseat. “We’re really not taking the cat home?”

From beside me, Izzy, sounding quite pleased with herself, says, “Mr. Cat’s been wanting to see Maine.”

Laney laughs on the other end of my phone.

“It’s not funny,” I tell her, but I’m laughing too. What’s the old saying? It’s better to laugh than to cry. I’ve already cried enough for this lifetime.

A man comes out of the elevator and eyes me as he goes in the opposite direction, rolling a suitcase behind him. I’m sitting on the floor in the hallway, leaning against our hotel room door. When Haley got in the shower, I left Izzy and Mr. Cat (smuggled into the Marriott) watching TV and slipped out to call Laney. First I told her about going back for Izzy, then about the little bit of talking the three of us did, then about the cat.

“Actually it is funny.” Laney giggles. “And I had no idea there was such a thing as a travel litter box.”

“Me either. The wonders of Walmart.” I sip a bottle of vitaminwater, wishing I had a glass of wine. “Found it in the pet aisle.”

“And you still haven’t heard from Ben?”

I sober. “Nope. He was really upset with me, Laney. About me doing this. He thinks Haley needs to be in counseling.”

“She probably does,” Laney agrees, “but a mother has to go with her gut instinct. Your instincts have always been good, Jules. There will be plenty of time for counseling later.”

We’re both quiet for a second.

“You’re doing the right thing. In bringing Izzy, too. Brilliant, Jules. I don’t know that I would have had the guts to do it.”

“It didn’t feel gutsy,” I confess, fiddling with the lid to the bottle. “It felt impulsive and now it feels irresponsible.”

“Izzy needs to be with you as much as Haley does. She deserves your attention too.”

I lean forward, drawing up my knees, hugging myself with my free arm. “But does she really need to be exposed to . . .” I search for the right words. “Laney, this is serious. Cutting herself? I never knew such a thing existed when I was Izzy’s age.”

“She’ll be okay. She’s a smart, strong girl. She’s like her mother.”

I give a little laugh that sounds more like a stifled sob. “I don’t feel strong. I sure don’t feel smart. How did I miss this going on in my own home?”

“Quit beating yourself up. You are strong,” Laney tells me. “Otherwise, you couldn’t have gotten out of your bed and into your car. You couldn’t have gotten Haley in that car.”

“But threatening to have her committed?” I close my eyes for a second. “Tell me that’s not going to be an interesting conversation later. When this is all over and we come out the other side.”

“But at least you’ll be able to have that conversation later,” she tells me. “You’ll still have your daughter to be able to have that conversation.”

I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“I am.” I hear her take a sip from her glass. She’s having wine. “You think Haley’s resolved herself to doing this, now that you’ve made it clear it’s what you guys are doing?” she asks me.

“I think so.” I recall incidents from the day. “She’s making it plain she’s not happy with the situation, but I’m not worried she’s climbing out the window anymore.”

“Hotel windows don’t open. You don’t have a balcony, do you?”

I chuckle. “Fourth floor. No balcony.” My phone beeps and I check the screen. I’m tempted not to even answer the other call when I see Ben’s name. But I know that’s not going to solve anything. “I gotta go. Ben’s calling,” I tell Laney.

“Call me back if you need to.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll call you tomorrow night.”

“Sooner if you need me,” she says.

I answer Ben’s call.

“She took the cat?” he says when I say hello.

No “Hello.” No “How are things going?”

I lean the back of my head against the door, resolving to buy a bottle of wine tomorrow, somewhere, so I can have a glass tomorrow night. I decided after looking at the map on Caitlin’s iPad at dinner that we are going to try to make it to Lincoln, Nebraska, tomorrow. It’s probably going to take us twelve hours, with stops for my teeny-tiny bladder, but with the cat in the car, I’ve given up the idea of taking the scenic route. At this point, I just want to get to Maine with all three of us in one piece.

“Yup. She brought the cat,” I say into the phone. “By the time we heard him, it was too late to turn around. Why didn’t you call me sooner, Ben? I called you hours ago.”

“So this is my fault?” He’s angry.

And I’m tired. Too tired to fight with him. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.” I sigh and brush back the hair that’s fallen over my face. I actually looked at hair dye when we stopped to get the disposable cat litter box and a carrier for Mr. Cat. I didn’t buy the hair dye, but I thought about it.

“You can’t drive across the country with a cat in the car,” Ben says.

I get to my feet. I’ve left the girls alone long enough. I need to get back in the room. I need to go to bed because suddenly, I’m so tired, I can barely hold my head up. “Sure I can,” I say. “He was fine in the car. He rode on Izzy’s lap all the way to Grand Junction. He was pretty tickled when we got the litter box, though.” It’s my attempt at a little humor. Ben doesn’t laugh.

“What are you doing, Julia?”

“What am I doing? What do you mean? I told you what I’m doing. I’m trying to help Haley. I’m trying . . .” I search for the right words, words that will make my husband of almost twenty years understand how broken I’ve become. How close I came to doing something worse than what Haley has been doing. “I actually think I made a little progress today. We talked about Caitlin and about how much we miss her.”

When Ben doesn’t say anything, I go on. “You know, we haven’t talked about her. Ben, why haven’t we talked about Caitlin and . . . and how much we loved her and how much we miss her and . . .” I don’t finish my sentence.

He’s quiet for so long on the other end of the phone that I wonder if he hung up. But he hasn’t. I can hear him breathing.

His voice cracks when he speaks and tears well in my eyes when I hear the pain in his voice.

“What’s the point in talking about her, Jules? She’s dead. Nothing we can do or say can change that.”

I take a shuddering breath. “The point is, we’re not dead. The point is, we have to find a way to live without her, Ben. We have to find a way to help Izzy and Haley live without her. We have to find a way to help Haley forgive herself.”

He’s quiet again, and then he says, “Call me tomorrow night?”

I guess that means our heart-to-heart conversation is over. “It might be late.”

“I’ll wait up. Be careful.”

I hesitate. “I love you,” I say.

The phone clicks on the other end. I don’t think he heard me. I consider calling him back, to say it, to make him hear me.

Instead, I let myself back into the room.