The Motherhood Intervention: Book 3 in the Intervention Series Read online

  Who am I kidding? I can’t stay up past their bedtime. I’m barely awake now.

  Was Willow capable of putting five kids to bed?

  Absolutely not, Winter said.

  Was it possible to punch your imaginary friend in the face?

  Sarah could put herself to bed, and the boys could get completely ready on their own. They’d still expect to be tucked in by an adult, and they didn’t know enough to realize Willow didn’t really qualify as an adult. Summer sniggered at that thought. Willow cocked an eyebrow at her.

  Hannah required lots of help. Olivia could just lay in her bassinet or the baby swing while Willow dealt with everyone else. So it was really just two people Willow had to take care of, and one of them couldn’t even move of her own volition at this point.

  “Fine,” Summer said. “You win.”

  “What?”

  “Actually,” Summer said with a cackle, “You lose. Derek and I will go out tonight. We’ll just go for a couple of hours, like you said. Maybe we’ll grab dessert or something. I think you can handle it.”

  Summer didn’t miss the self-satisfied smile Willow hid as she walked into the kitchen. “I can handle it.”

  Delaney and Josie would be pleased, too. They’d congratulate her on taking time for herself and her marriage.

  Horror-movie scenes of her children in Willow’s care flashed through Summer’s mind: Luke and Nate cut up and bloody from using real kitchen knives to sword fight. Hannah facedown in the bathtub, drowned with one arm down the drain and the other chubby fist clutching the water pony she so loved. Sarah’s hair on fire, her face burned thanks to curling iron instructions from Willow. Olivia’s tiny body in the trash can.

  Oh, my. I really am losing it.

  She had to stay home. If she valued her children’s survival, she would stay home.

  She had to go. She couldn’t stay home every night for the rest of her life, listening to the ticking of the clock.

  Josie and Delaney would be so proud. They’d think she was feeling less anxious. That she was able to let go a little. Relax. Have fun. Summer nodded to herself.

  Fake it ’til you make it. I can do this.

  Willow opened the fridge, and Summer heard her say, “I hope you two enjoy yourselves.”

  ***

  Summer and Derek decided on Hot Diggity Dog’s, the drive-up restaurant they’d frequented as teenagers. On the way there, Summer picked at a loose piece of skin on her cuticle while simultaneously chewing her lip. She checked her phone every five seconds to see if Willow had called or texted to report an emergency. She couldn’t stop thinking about Luke, about his tiny chest being cut wide open on a cold operating table in a cold room. She kept quiet about it, though, because she was supposed to be relaxing.

  “Nothing like a little nostalgia,” Derek said, oblivious to the runaway train in Summer’s mind. He pulled the car into the corner spot.

  With no little effort, Summer brought her train to a grinding halt and switched gears. She could do this. “I love that we used to come here and make out.”

  “Those were seriously the days,” Derek said. “I had the hottest girl in school in my backseat. On her back. In this very same corner spot.”

  Summer swatted him on the arm. “You never had me on my back in the backseat.”

  “Okay, not in this corner spot. But at the drive-in, I did. They were playing that classic movie … what was it?”

  “You don’t know because you were trying to get into my pants for the first half, and we were having sex the entire second half. Well, for the final three minutes.”

  “Ha. You don’t know either, because you liked it. Like I said, those were the days.”

  They ordered fries and chocolate milkshakes, just as they would have years ago. They sat in silence while they waited, watching the teenagers who drove in, pumped up on freedom and hormones.

  “Our girls will never be allowed to wear something like that.” Summer pointed at a pair of girls in tube tops and skinny jeans, their eyeliner thick and their hair perfectly straight.

  “I have news for you, Summer Gray. Those are the kinds of things girls hide under their parent-approved baggy sweatshirts.”

  “We’re going to have to check them going out the door.”

  Derek nodded. “I can’t believe we have three girls now. Good thing we have two boys to balance them out.”

  For now, Winter whispered.

  A carhop on roller skates glided to a stop at Derek’s window and Summer was forced to sit in silence while Derek paid for the food.

  “Do you think Luke’s going to be okay?” Summer said when the carhop rolled away after an eternity.

  Derek sighed. “I think so. I researched Dr. Karlsen and it looks like she’s one of the best heart surgeons in the nation. She’s really good at what she does.”

  “You researched her?”

  Even though Summer knew exactly what she was doing—latching on to something insignificant and readying for an all-out fight—she couldn’t stop herself. Anger is so much more satisfying than fear.

  “I recognize the deadly mom voice,” Derek said, catching on immediately.

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Summer said.

  Derek laughed. “Because you keep talking like that. What’s wrong with me researching Dr. Karlsen?”

  “I already researched her, that’s what’s wrong. I told you she’s well-respected and she knows what she’s doing. Why couldn’t you trust me?” Her rational inner voice (not Winter, that mean bitch) told her to stop, to take a deep breath, to get off this track. But it felt so good to direct all these icky feelings of stress and anxiety at a particular person.

  Derek put his hands up as if he were surrendering. “Independent research, that’s all!”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  Ridiculous. Of course he trusts me.

  “That’s ridiculous,” Derek said. “Of course I trust you.”

  “Then why would you research on your own?”

  “I know where this is going,” he said. “It’s like a runaway train. If I hadn’t researched, you’d say that I should have. But because I did, you’re saying I don’t trust you.”

  Summer sighed, more because she knew he was right than because he was irritating her.

  “Don’t get huffy with me,” he said. “You know I’m right.”

  He handed her one of his fries, and she took it. “You’re right. I know you’re right. I’m just stressed.”

  “Eat a fry, drink your shake, and we’ll be okay. We’ll make it through this. Luke will be okay, too. He’s strong. Okay? Stop picking at your cuticles. You’ll be sorry tomorrow when they’re all sore and bleeding.”

  They ate the rest of their fries and drank the rest of their shakes in silence, holding hands across the center console, just like they’d done since they were teenagers.

  Delaney and Josie were right. Summer needed date nights with Derek. For herself and for their marriage. And maybe having Willow here wasn’t so bad. It had been nice to get away for just a couple of hours.

  That was Summer’s final thought as they pulled out of Hot Diggity Dog’s … before Summer knew what they’d find when they returned home.

  ***

  “Everything looks quiet,” Derek said when they parked in the driveway. “Maybe we could stay outside and neck for a while.”

  Summer laughed. “If only. I’ve got to feed that baby.”

  The house was completely silent, except for the ticking of that damned clock. Summer felt a twitch on the right side of her face. Insanity, setting in. Olivia slept soundly in her swing, her hands folded neatly on her stomach.

  “Sure is quiet,” Derek whispered. “Where’s Willow?”

  The effect was eerie: Olivia sleeping in her motionless swing, the house appearing otherwise empty.

  “She probably defected. Took off.”

  “Give her a break,” he said, irritation so evident in his voice she laughed.

 
“I was just kidding,” Summer said, and Winter added, “Geez.”

  “Your mood tonight hasn’t exactly been conducive to kidding around.”

  Summer shrugged. They peered over the back of the couch to see whether Willow was laying down. She wasn’t. Summer walked into the kitchen to see if she was sitting at the table. She wasn’t. A sense of unease formed in the pit of her stomach.

  “I’ll go peek in on the kids and make sure they’re not actually having ice cream parties in their rooms,” Derek said.

  “Check the bathroom,” Summer said, picturing Hannah with her arm down the drain.

  Summer searched the kitchen floor and counter for bloody knives. Was it possible that Willow had gone to bed, too? She never went to sleep this early but maybe she was reading or something. “The Secret To Parenting Your Adult Daughter After Disappearing for Fifteen Years.” Did that book exist?

  Derek returned. “Kids are all tucked in and sleeping.”

  “Thank goodness for that. Maybe Willow’s outside on the patio.”

  Derek nodded, and they walked together to the sliding glass door on the other side of the kitchen.

  When they stepped outside, they saw her. Willow had, at one time, been sitting up at the patio table. Now, though, she was slumped over, her forehead on the glass tabletop, a cigarette still burning in her hand.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Derek, unaccustomed to seeing a parental figure passed out drunk, panicked immediately.

  “Call nine-one-one,” he said.

  Summer huffed out an impatient breath and walked over to the table. She jerked the cigarette out of Willow’s relaxed grip and ground it out in the plastic ash tray Willow had undoubtedly sneaked into the house after one of her trips to the dollar store.

  “She’s fine,” Summer said. “We don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Shouldn’t you check her pulse, just to be sure? Don’t roll your eyes at me, Summer! I mean, is she even breathing?”

  The speed and cadence of Derek’s voice snatched Summer right up and plunked her down as her twelve-year-old self, returning home from a field trip to the Grand Canyon. It was late, after ten p.m., and Willow hadn’t come to pick Summer up when the bus dropped the kids off.

  Someone else’s parent—a mother who had been waiting responsibly in her car when the bus pulled into the school parking lot—offered to drive Summer home, and kept her eyes off the trailer when she stopped at the curb.

  The porch lights were off. As Summer approached the front door, the responsible mother called through her rolled-down window, “Can you see, honey?”

  Summer had turned around and waved, smiling as though she were overcome with pure joy at the thought of returning home to her own irresponsible mother.

  She fumbled to unlock the door and was surprised to find the inside of the house completely dark, too. All the hiking had left her thirsty, and she walked towards the kitchen, flipping lights on as she went. As she passed the small, rickety dining table, which stood on its three metal legs at the edge of the living room, Summer startled. Someone was sitting there. Well, not sitting, exactly, but slumped over on the orange Formica.

  Summer felt torn, frozen with indecision. Should she run right back out of the house, chasing the responsible mother down the street? Or should she satiate her curiosity about who was sitting at the table? If she left now, she could probably get to a neighbor’s house and call the police to report an intruder. But then she’d never know who had broken in. What if it was her father? Or one of Willow’s friends? This person obviously wasn’t dangerous at the moment. But why would anyone in their right mind be sitting at the table in the dark?

  Fate made the decision for her. The headlights of a passing car illuminated the figure at the table.

  Willow.

  Motionless. Silent.

  Dead.

  Summer’s mother was dead.

  It was the only explanation.

  Relief and anger flooded Summer’s bloodstream in equal parts. She heard a roaring in her ears and thought for a moment she might pass out. Death was at least a good excuse—perhaps the only good excuse—for forgetting to pick Summer up. On the other hand, Willow drinking herself to death was a final declaration of her true priorities. She’d chosen booze over her daughter one final time.

  Summer took a deep breath and ventured forward, one tiny step and then another. She’d have to call an ambulance. Shouldn’t she check Willow’s pulse, first? Make sure she wasn’t breathing? She’d have to tell the nine-one-one dispatcher something.

  She inched toward the table.

  Then, Willow moaned. Summer’s own voice echoed the sound, and she jumped.

  Alive.

  The rage that suddenly flowed through her body was so strong it threatened to consume her. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t throw a tantrum, she couldn’t break anything. So she stood there in silence and hated her mom and loved her and felt the deepest sense of despair. Is this what their life was coming to?

  The next morning, Willow nursed a killer hangover, and for the first time ever, Summer refused to bring her water or aspirin or a bacon and cheese burrito.

  Throughout the rest of her childhood, Summer daydreamed about Willow dying. She ran through what she’d do, who she’d call, where she’d live. All the possible scenarios had one thing in common: Willow’s death never surprised her. She felt completely prepared, ready for whatever new life faced her.

  After all, a life without Willow couldn’t be any worse than one in which she played the all-important role of Summer’s nemesis.

  ***

  Reeling from the memory of the first time she found her mother passed out drunk, Summer grabbed her husband’s arm and pulled him back towards the sliding glass door that led into the kitchen.

  “Let’s go to bed,” she said. “She’ll be fine out here. I’ve seen this before.”

  “No, really, aren’t you going to check her pulse or breathing?”

  “You can.”

  When Derek put his fingers on Willow’s wrist, her head rolled to the side so her face turned towards Summer. Her mouth hung open just slightly, and a tiny dribble of drool slid out one corner to pool on the table. She sucked in some air, and her head rolled back to where it had been.

  “Well, she’s alive,” Derek said, speaking so quietly it was almost under his breath.

  “I wasn’t worried about it,” Summer said. “I told you, I’ve seen this before.”

  Head down, Derek followed Summer through the door. She slid the deadbolt into place.

  “Shouldn’t we leave it unlocked?” Derek said.

  “Nope. She knows better than to wake us up. And I don’t want any intruders kidnapping our children.”

  When they laid down in bed a long while later, Summer said, “This won’t happen again.”

  Whether Derek heard the ominous tone of her voice or had already fallen asleep, he didn’t argue.

  ***

  The next morning, Summer waited for Willow at her own kitchen table. When she heard the patio chair scrape the concrete, she unlocked the sliding glass door. She stood inside it with her hands on her hips.

  Willow dragged herself toward the door, smoothing her skirt. She already held a lit cigarette, gingerly, afraid she’d burn herself with it as she made her way back to the house. Summer pulled the door open with enough force that it bounced off the jamb and started closing again. Willow jumped, her bloodshot eyes and mouth forming three perfect O’s on her pale face. Summer stifled a laugh and at once felt cruel.

  “What are you doing out here so early?” Summer asked, playing innocent.

  Willow mumbled something Summer couldn’t understand, and tried to push her way into the house.

  “You’re not smoking that in here,” Summer said.

  Willow stopped and looked Summer in the eye for the first time.

  “Stop me,” she said.

  Summer heard the challenge in her mother’s voice, and stepped quickly back and shu
t the door between them. Willow dropped the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with the ball of her bare foot, then winced and cursed. Summer opened the door, and Willow walked past her without looking up. She almost collided with Derek, who was making his way into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. She excused herself and made a beeline for the bathroom.

  “She made it through the night, I guess,” he said.

  “Unfortunately,” Summer said.

  They sat at the table sipping coffee for a few moments without speaking.

  “I can’t believe the kids are still sleeping,” Derek said.

  “I know,” Summer said. “I’d die for an extra cup of coffee this morning.”

  Summer didn’t get to hear Derek’s answer, which she’d hoped was permission to bathe her bloodstream in caffeine, because Willow finally emerged from the bathroom and limped into the kitchen. She got a coffee mug out of the cabinet and poured herself a cup, inhaling the steam loudly.

  “Rough night?” Summer said.

  “Especially because you locked me out there,” Willow said.

  “I assumed you were in bed in the girls’ room.”

  “Liar.”

  Summer shrugged. “Willow, I think you need to leave. I mean, leave the house for good. I can’t have you around my kids if you’re going to be drinking like this.”

  “I raised you just fine.”

  “Did you?” All of Winter’s little soldiers stood at attention in Summer’s brain, spears at the ready. “I seem to recall raising myself. And it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t want you here.”

  Derek slinked out of the kitchen. A fresh wave of anger threatened to take Summer’s breath away. How could he leave her at this moment? Why wasn’t he supporting her in this? Why did he keep disappearing? Willow took his spot at the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t mean, ‘Enjoy your coffee and then go,’” Summer said. “I meant, leave. Now.”

  In response, Willow slurped the coffee. Olivia wailed. Willow remained at the table with her hands cupped around her mug, her eyes focused on something deep within it. Summer sat down across from her, and spoke as calmly as possible, despite the little soldiers getting ready to charge.