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Chapter Thirty-Six
Lindy
Sometimes, you just need your mama. And this, I decide, is one of those times.
Once Jo woke up, cutting off our fruitless but hilarious brainstorming session of grand gestures, I headed out. Val, Winnie, and Jojo were happily watching cat fail videos on YouTube.
My car ride didn’t inspire any ideas better than Winnie’s suggestion involving a group of peacocks （technically called a muster） or Val’s idea to have Chevy fake lock Pat up. I think she just likes that one because it involves seeing Chevy. I kinda like it too because it would be fun to see Pat behind bars again. But ultimately, none of the ideas are quite right.
I may not know how—yet—but I will come up with something. I will. And then, I’m going to grand gesture him so hard, he won’t know what hit him.
Before I head inside the facility, I finally dig Rachel’s letter out of my purse. It feels like a door I need to close, even if I’m a little nervous about its contents.
The letter is so very Rachel.
Apparently, she wrote the letter from rehab, where she returned after a week of bingeing. Sad, but not really a surprise. The rest of her letter alternates between passive aggressive and just straight-up aggressive. While acknowledging I’m “probably” the best person to care for Jo, Rachel also made sure to mention how much she hates letting me “win” and hopes I’m happy now.
Yes, Rachel. I am happy now.
Or, I will be, once I resolve things with Pat and restore the family of three we’ve been building.
I hope Rachel can find healing, I really do. But I don’t feel the tiniest bit bad throwing her letter away.
When I reach Mama’s room, she smiles, eyes lighting up. “Hello, my Lindy Lou Who!”
I haven’t heard her use that nickname in years. I sit down, pulling my chair close to hers, noting the fresh flowers and a few extra bird feeders.
“Hey, Mama. What’s new?” I ask, hoping to get my bearings on what year we’re in today.
Mama looks down at her wrist, then frowns, rubbing the place where a watch used to be. “Have you heard from Rachel? She left for the library earlier and should have been back by now.”
I cannot seem to escape my sister. “Haven’t seen her.”
The library is not a place she ever set foot, but I can see her using it as a cover when she was sneaking off somewhere else in middle or high school. Which would make me college age, maybe late high school?
Mama reaches out, taking my hand. “Would you mind driving up there, looking for Rachel? I just don’t like the people she’s been hanging around with lately. They’re … not the best.”
No, they hadn’t been the best. They helped my sister take the leap from bad to worse, from struggling with addiction to going fully off the rails. Though I think even if Rachel had friends like Winnie and Val, she would have chosen the same path. It seems inevitable.
I think of Rachel’s letter, of the venom and bitterness she still holds all these years, and I’m just sad for her. I don’t think anything Mama or I did could have made a difference, but I wish she could escape her own demons. Throwing away the letter has left me with a sense of closure I didn’t know I needed. Even talking and thinking about Rachel now, I feel somehow more free.
“Is everything with you okay?” Mama asks. “You seem sad. Talk to me. I’ve been so worried about Rach I’ve probably been distracted. I’m sorry.”
Tears roll down my face, despite me squeezing my eyes shut as much as possible. They’re terrible at security, my eyes. Just letting all the tears roll right through like tiny escaping bandits. No concern at all.