Esme waited outside of the occupied mini mart bathroom with Atty, who was lightly doused in vomit. “You want me to go in with you?”

“No,” Atty said.

“Good thing you were wearing flip-flops?”

“Don’t upside this. Please.” Atty had already cried a little. “I got some on my book.”

“I told you not to read in the car.”

“I wasn’t!”

The bathroom door opened and a woman with a blond perm walked out. Atty rushed in and locked the door.

Esme didn’t want to hover so she walked back to the aisles, where she found Liv and Ru idling in front of the bank of refrigerated drinks.

“How’s she doing?” Ru asked.

“It’s been years since she got carsick,” Esme said.

“It’s not carsickness,” Liv said. “Don’t shut down on this.”

“We all should have shut down in the car,” Esme said. “We said some awful things to each other.”

“Do you think we’re a family of liars?” Ru said.

“Who knows?” Esme said. “Maybe it’s the human condition.”

“Atty’s freaked out,” Liv said. “I think she might be depressed and anxious.”

Esme opened one of the refrigerator doors and pulled out a ginger ale. “She just needs to settle her stomach.”

“Esme,” Ru said. “It sounds like she took the musket and fired it because she was being bullied. What was this quacking thing about anyway?”

“You can’t imagine our year. That clusterfuckingphobic place. That place was crazy. I’m glad she told her French teacher to go poop in a hole. That woman is certifiable.”

“Why did she tell her French teacher to poop in a hole?” Liv asked.

“Is that even an expression?” Ru asked.

“The headmaster brought me in and read the transcript. It was her first ding. He thought it was a sign that the time bomb was going to explode. That’s how he saw us ever since Doug left, ticking away on his precious campus.”

“What happened exactly?”

“I argued that Atty had actually said to the French teacher, Why don’t you go poop in a hole? which felt a lot different than demanding that someone Go poop in a hole.”

“Well,” Ru said. “That’s one argument, I guess.”

“She didn’t want to do a project on Paris, and the teacher said something acknowledging that Paris, being the location of her father’s indiscretion, must make the assignment difficult for her or some shit. And Atty merely…”

“Queried why this teacher didn’t poop in a hole,” Ru said.

“Exactly,” Esme said.

“She wasn’t accusing the woman of pooping in holes,” Liv said. “Quite the opposite. She was wondering why she didn’t.”

“You all might think this is very funny. But I tell you Atty was the sane one in an insane world.”

“Wow,” Liv said. “She’s right. You are proud of her for doing it.”

“Of course I am. I should have done something but I was just being a stupid sheep, following the rules, going quietly so I didn’t upset anyone.” Esme turned to Liv. “Did she tell you I was proud of her?”

Liv nodded.

“Still,” Ru said. “I think she might need to talk to someone. You know?”

“She needs family,” Esme said. “Real family. The kind that doesn’t walk out on her.”

They walked to the counter and paid then looked through the plate-glass window at their parents. Augusta was pumping gas. Nick, who’d been put on cleanup duty, was holding a plastic bag of vomitous paper towels. He looked happy, leaning against the car, gazing at Augusta while she spoke. Wind kicked up wisps of her hair and she was gesturing wildly, not angrily, but passionately. And then he started laughing. She glanced at him and laughed too, covering her mouth almost girlishly.

“Jesus,” Ru whispered.

“Those two are falling in love,” Liv said.

“I can’t believe that Uncle Vic was my father,” Esme said.

And then Atty startled them. “Aunt Liv,” she said, “you’ve got throw-up in your hair.”

Liv reached around and patted her hair. “Shit!” She headed for the bathroom, but then stopped. “Come with me, Atty. I’ll need help.”

Atty sighed and followed her.

—

“Okay,” Liv said, turning on the faucet and leaning over. “What’s going on? Why did you barf?”

“I don’t know.”

“Get some foamy soap.”

Atty pumped the canister attached to the wall, filling her hand with white fluff. “I feel these waves of awfulness like the world is going to end.”

Liv held out her hand, and Atty passed the foam to her.

Someone knocked on the door.

“We’re in here!” Liv shouted and then she said to Atty, “What’s it feel like?”

“It’s like being locked in a closet except it’s more like I’m the closet. I’m trapped and I’m the trap.”

Liv rubbed the suds into her hair. “Huh. Like people are stuck inside you?”

The knock came again.

“Seriously?” Liv shouted at the door. “People are in here. Do you not understand waiting in line?”

“No,” Atty said. “I’m the person and the closet. Does that make sense?”

“And this feeling hits you like a wave how often?” Liv was rinsing now.

“Almost every day but this is the first time I barfed about it.”

Liv put her head up to the hand blow-dryer and dipped under it. The bathroom filled with noise and hot air. Atty took a picture of her aunt drying her hair, Instagrammed and tweeted it with #sadyolo. “How do you get all those rich men to marry you?” Atty asked. “Love must love you.”

“Love loves me?” Liv laughed. “No, no. Love doesn’t love me at all. It’s scientific. I’ve invented a very precise system.”

The dryer turned off automatically. The room was suddenly silent. Liv’s ears started ringing. She felt raw and unclouded. Everything was clear and unmuffled like she’d just come up from underwater. She looked in the mirror. She remembered being naked in front of Teddy Whistler before she turned him in. When he told her the truth, she should have loved him more. “But maybe I’ve done everything wrong, Atty. How do I know?”

“I don’t understand anything. I’m just the closet and the girl in the closet.”

“No you aren’t.”

“You don’t know what it was like when they quacked at me.”

“Why did they quack at you? Did it have to do with the fanny pack somehow?”

“Why doesn’t anyone in this family understand irony?” Atty patted her chest, her eyes widened and filled with tears. “One day we’re going to just be oil paintings staring out at nothingness.”

Liv grabbed both of Atty’s upper arms and held on tight. “Why did you steal that fucking musket? Were you going to kill yourself?” And then she whispered, “If you were, you can tell me. I might be the only one in this fucked-up family who will understand.”

Atty shook her head, refusing to comment.

“Tell me, Atty!” Liv said. “You’ll die of an ulcer if you hold this stuff in and you’ll never be able to heal because you can’t be honest with yourself!”

“I can’t tell anyone!” Atty said.

“Nothing is so awful that you can’t say it to me,” Liv said. “I’m an addict, for shit’s sake!”

“I thought you were at the top of the drug addict hierarchy?”

“That was bullshit. Addicts are addicts. There’s no hierarchy. Tell me! Tell me now! You wanted the musket to go off, didn’t you? You thought it would? You wanted it to put an end to it all.”

“I wanted it to go off! But I didn’t want to kill myself!” Atty shouted and she ripped herself loose and threw her shoulder against the wall.

Liv watched her slide to the tiled floor. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t want to kill myself,” Atty said, staring at the tips of her fingers. “I stole the gun and wanted to get Brynn Morgan interested in it. I had this elaborate plan where I’d teach her how to clean it. I wanted it to go off in her face. Like an accident. This was before I really realized how time-consuming it is to fire a musket, of course.”

“Like an accident?”

Atty kicked the large metal garbage can. “But I couldn’t do it, could I?”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Liv said. Her heart was banging. She patted her chest and then scratched her arms and then she laughed. “You’re not a killer, Atty. Is that what you think?”

“Brynn wasn’t interested in the musket. Who wants to clean an antique? I wasn’t thinking straight. You thought I was going to kill myself. You said all that stuff about the trigger and putting an end to it all,” Atty said, staring up at Liv. “You said you’d be the only one who understood. You tried to kill yourself, didn’t you?”

“It was a misunderstanding. There was a gun.” She closed her eyes, but only lightly, as if she were remembering something peaceful. She’d gotten a pawnshop owner to assemble her ex-husband’s pheasant-hunting gun. She’d taken it to her favorite restaurant on the Upper West Side. She ordered her favorite meal and then folded her napkin into the shape of a swan, propped it on the table, and went to the bathroom. She was going to do it, right there, where, she figured, it would be easy to wipe down the mess. “I couldn’t do it either,” she said.

“I need help,” Atty said. She held out her hands, and they were shaking badly. “I walk around all the time feeling like I’m going to explode out of my body. I’m so anxious. I wouldn’t kill myself because I already feel like I’m dying!”

“It’s panic,” Liv said. “You’re going to be okay.” She dug through her pocketbook. She pulled out a wallet with lots of zippers. She slipped her fingers inside one compartment and pulled out a ziplock bag with two pills in it. “This is a great gift I’m giving.”

“What are they?”

“My last two Valiums.” She shoved them into the front pocket of Atty’s jean shorts.

“I can’t take these!” Atty said.

“I find great comfort in just having them,” Liv said. “But more comfort in actually taking them. Either way, it’s not fair for you to feel this bad. Try them out. If they work, we’ll talk to your mother about medicating you a little.”

Atty stood up. “I probably shouldn’t take drugs from a druggy.”

“Realistically, they’re usually the ones with the best shit.” Liv rested her hands on Atty’s shoulders. “This is how America survived the 1970s.”

“Okay.”

“Listen. Your shit is real. And this is a weapon in your arsenal. That’s all.”

“Thanks.” Atty started to tweet something about having real shit going on in her life, but her aunt slapped her hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Tweeting.”

“Well, stop. It’s weird and dissociated or something. No one needs to know your business anyway. Be a little more mysterious, okay? Jesus.” Liv unlocked the door, but before she opened it, she said, “I’m going to need another few minutes. Tell everybody I’m coming.”

“Okay,” Atty said.

Liv opened the door and found a middle-aged woman in purple yoga pants, glaring at them.

“I had throw-up in my hair,” Liv said to the woman. “And we were having a tender moment.”

“Like I care,” the woman said.

Liv stiffened and stared at her. “Looking at people with that face on your face is making you prune up.”

The woman was about to shoot something back but Liv raised her hand and gave her a look. “Why don’t you go poop in a hole?”

Atty smiled at Liv then walked past the woman back into the store, tweeting, Looking at people with a face on your face will prune you up.

Liv shut the door again, locking it quickly, and as the woman in purple yoga pants started pounding, Liv lit up a joint, sat down on the toilet lid, and calmly smoked it.