Leave Me

“Everything will work out fine? Have you looked around lately?”

“Yeah.”

“Does it seem like it’s working out?”

“Yeah, it does, actually.”

“In case you haven’t fucking noticed, I had bypass surgery.”

He paused. “I noticed. And you’re getting better.”

“I’m not getting better.” She was yelling into the phone now. “I’m getting worse!”

“The doctor said you’re doing fine. You’re just getting yourself into a state.”

A state? She was dancing on a surfboard, juggling knives, while they all went about business as usual. But it wasn’t business as usual. She’d had open-heart surgery. And in spite of what Jason and Dr. Sterling thought, she wasn’t getting better. And if she didn’t get better . . . How would they manage? When Jason couldn’t even pay the goddamn taxes on time.

“I hate you!” she yelled. Then turned off the phone and threw it across the room, burying her head under the pillow and crying herself to sleep.

11

She was dreaming of water. She could hear it. The ebb and flow of the waves.

Plink. She felt it now. It was raining inside her dream. Plink. And inside her room.

And then the bed shook and Liv shrieked, “Wake up! We have lice! Wake up now!”

She forced her eyes open. Liv was standing above her, along with Oscar, and Niff Spenser. All three of them were dripping wet.

“There was a check at school,” Niff explained. “We tried to call, but we kept getting voicemail, so I volunteered to bring them home.”

The beeping. It was the call waiting.

“Where’s Grandma?”

“Napping,” Oscar said.

“The front door was open so I just let us in,” Niff said.

Maribeth blinked and looked at the clock. 12:13.

“Lice?”

“Unfortunately, both Oscar and Liv have them.” Niff lowered her voice. “Pretty bad, the teachers said.”

“So what do I do?” she asked Niff. “Use that shampoo?”

“Oh, no, those chemicals are quite literally poison,” Niff said.

Oscar had no grasp of hyperbole. He jutted out his lower lip, a sign of imminent tears.

“Nobody’s poisoning anybody,” Maribeth said, reaching out to pat his head and then swerving and going for his shoulder instead.

“You can hire nitpickers to do it, but I learned to do it myself,” Niff said. “There are videos online. You have to be very thorough to get the nits. They’ll be checked before they’re admitted back into the classroom and there’s a strict no hat or wig-sharing policy for tomorrow’s Halloween party.”

Shit. Halloween wasn’t until Friday but for some reason the party was tomorrow.

“We can’t miss the Halloween party,” Oscar said, chin going full tilt now.

“You’re ruining everything!” Liv yelled at Maribeth.

“Liv! Manners!” Niff looked aghast. She turned to Maribeth. “I can help if you want.”

“Thanks,” Maribeth said. “We’ll take it from here.”

AFTER NIFF LEFT, Maribeth looked up a couple of nitpickers online. No one could come today, and besides, they would cost four hundred dollars, for the twins, plus more to check the adults in the household.

Her mother, up from her nap, padded into the bedroom in socked feet. “Did I hear the twins?”

“They were sent home from school with lice,” she said. “We have to get rid of them.”

“I think you use kerosene.”

“No, you don’t use kerosene. We use Pantene and a special comb, like this one.” She pointed to her screen. “Can you run out to the drugstore for me?”

Her mother’s eyes flitted to the window. It was pelting down a nasty, gray fall rain. “In this weather? I don’t think I should.”

“Someone has to go.”

“Ask Jason.”

“He’s working off-site today. He won’t get home until late.”

“Doesn’t everything here deliver?”

“Rite Aid does not deliver.”

“Can’t you order on the computer?” Her mother gestured to the screen.

“I could but it wouldn’t get here in time. I have to comb them out before school tomorrow. They’re not allowed back in until they’re clean.”

“Can’t Jason get the comb tonight and you do it tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s the Halloween party,” Liv hollered from across the loft.

“We can’t miss the party,” Oscar bellowed.

Maribeth sighed. “I’ll go get the comb.”

“I don’t think you should go out in this weather,” her mother said. “It’s not the end of the world if they miss one party.”

Hearing this, the twins began to cry.

Maribeth reached for her coat.

AS SHE SLOGGED through the rain, Maribeth wondered a few times if perhaps she was dreaming. It was a comforting thought because then this wasn’t really happening. She wasn’t out here, in the rain, walking to the drug store. When her local Rite Aid didn’t carry the type of comb she was after, she almost cried. The pharmacist took pity on her and called across the street to a competing chain, which did have the comb.

She lugged everything home. The errand, which in her healthy days would’ve taken fifteen minutes, had taken nearly an hour. She was wet, cold to the bone, and depleted, like something essential was draining out of her.

Back at home, they negotiated a movie—Enchanted—and then the three of them sat down on the sofa. She did Oscar first, guessing, correctly, that he’d be more compliant. He bopped his head to the “Happy Working Song” while Maribeth pulled out the disgusting creatures, one after the other. A half hour later, she was still pulling out nits.