Keisha didn’t get up until after four, and when she came out of her room, I looked at her differently, noting that her eyes looked bigger on her face due to the fact that her face was so thin, like the rest of her. I could tell she didn’t feel well, and as much as I scrambled for another excuse, John’s accusations were too fresh in my mind for me to ignore. Was she really using again? It broke my heart to consider it. What more could we do to help her?
I decided to preempt John’s meeting by confronting her myself. She didn’t take it well.
“Of course he thinks I’m using,” she said, pinching off a corner of the piece of toast she’d made for her breakfast-lunch-dinner. “He always assumes the worst.” She looked up at me. “And you hadn’t told him about paying for my school?”
The accusation was not subtle—it was my fault he was surprised by the expenses, thus triggering his fears.
“And I didn’t know you hadn’t talked to him about paying Tagg off. I thought he knew.”
A second stab, and I didn’t know how to defend myself against either one. I’d never told her I was keeping those things from my husband; of course she’d assume he was in the loop. And if I had told him those things, none of this would have happened. “I’m sorry,” I said, but hearing myself apologizing to her after everything I’d done for her was a bit of a shock, one that didn’t sit well with me. “I’ve done everything I’ve done to help you, Keisha.”
“By getting me in trouble with my dad?”
I stared at her for a few seconds. She went back to her toast.
“Keisha,” I said. She didn’t look at me. “Keisha,” I said again.
She finally looked up, but her expression was annoyed.
“You are using again, aren’t you?”
“You know what, I don’t have to put up with this,” she said, pushing her toast away and standing up. “I can go somewhere else, ya know. If you guys want to go ahead and think the worst of me, I can leave.”
“I’m not asking you to leave—I’m asking if you’re using.”
“So you can make me leave,” Keisha said, heading toward her bedroom. “I knew you guys didn’t want me here. I knew it.”
“Keisha,” I said sharply, following her to her room. She tried to shut the door, but I put out my hand and stopped it, leaving a space where the two of us faced off with one another. “I am not trying to kick you out, but I need to know if you’re using. If you are, we need to deal with it. I just need you to be honest with me.”
She stared at me for a few seconds, then let go of the door and raised a hand to her eyes. “I’m trying so hard,” she said in a soft, shaky voice. “I really am, Shannon, but it’s never good enough, is it? What’s wrong with me?”
I pushed the door the rest of the way open and pulled her into a hug as she crumbled, crying into my shoulder. “He’s going to kick me out; you know he will.”
“Maybe not,” I said, smoothing her hair and trying to calm her down. “But we have to be honest.” I did not miss the hypocrisy of my words. “We’ll sit down with him tonight, and we’ll tell him everything, okay? All the stuff we should have told him sooner.”
“He’ll make me leave,” she said again into my shoulder.
“It’s my house too,” I reminded her. “And he wants you to be well as much as I do. We just need to reassess things, that’s all. We’ll figure this out.”
As the time for John’s return got closer, Keisha’s anxiety grew stronger. She said she was supposed to work tonight, but I demanded she call in—this was more important. She didn’t want to, we argued about it, she said she’d be fired, but I held my ground, knowing that this discussion with John would be a defining moment for all of us. He needed to see that we’d both made it a priority. In the end, she took her phone into her room and closed the door while I threw together a roasted tomato soup for dinner and set out some frozen rolls to thaw.
John and Landon returned at seven o’clock. Landon must have already been given instructions, because he went straight to his room with barely a smile in my direction. I heard the door snap closed and turned to face John.
“I made dinner.”
“I want to get this over with.”
I bit back my argument, well aware of the part my actions played in this situation, and went down the hall to Keisha’s room. I lifted my hand to knock and took a deep breath, centering myself and trying to remain calm. I knocked and waited for her to open the door, but several seconds passed. I knocked again and listened closely for movement. I heard nothing and was beginning to feel annoyed, thinking she’d fallen asleep, when the worst-case scenario entered my mind. She’d threatened suicide before. I turned the knob, but the door was locked. I ran for my room and grabbed a bobby pin that would help me trip the thumb lock.
“What’s going on?” John asked, entering the hallway.
I ran past him on my way back to her room.
“She’s not opening the door,” I said, jamming the curved end of the bobby pin into the door while jiggling the handle. “It’s locked.” Right then, however, the knob turned in my hand and I threw the door open. John entered with me, both of us scanning the disaster area of her room, the bed, the closet, looking for her. It took several seconds for my heart to slow down and my brain to admit she wasn’t there.
“She’s gone,” John said, standing by one of the two windows that faced the back of the house. The window was closed, but the blind had been pulled all the way up, and as I approached, I could see the screen lying against the outside of the house. I stared at it and then closed my eyes, pressing one hand over my stomach and bringing the other one up to cover my eyes. I felt dizzy. Sick. I felt John’s hand on my arm, but I pulled away and left the room.
“I need a few minutes,” I said, going into our bedroom and shutting the door behind me. I sat on the bed and took deep breaths while trying to understand what had just happened. She’d left because she felt sure she’d be kicked out once John knew the truth. Where would she go? Would she come back?
Please come home, I said in my mind over and over again. I’d said this prayer before. Please, please, please come home.