Waiting for Butterflies Read online

  “What is that, Rachel?” She demanded to know, even though Rachel couldn’t hear her. “What are you doing? I’m here, Rachel! I’m here!”

  No matter how much Maggie yelled, the only indication Rachel showed that she was aware of Maggie’s presence was the usual increase of agitation. She gripped the pill in her fist and violently punched the mattress in sync with the bass booming through the earphones. Maggie grabbed Rachel’s fist to force her fingers open, so she could take the pill away from her. But her daughter’s hand passed through her grip. No matter how hard she tried, she could not make physical contact with her. Rachel pounded more fiercely.

  “Stop it, Rachel! This is not who you are!”

  As if to rebel against her mother’s commands, Rachel whispered, coarse and fierce. “Cricket, I hope you’re right.” She opened her hand, and without looking at its contents, quickly popped the pill into her mouth. Her eyes widened. Her movements stopped as the bass thumped on without her. Maggie tried to read her expression. Shock? Disbelief? Whatever it was didn’t last. Resolve took its place as she clenched her jaw and held her breath.

  Maggie sank to the floor in surrender and hid her face in her hands. “Please, God, help me! I don’t know what to do!”

  A sudden movement pulled Maggie from her desperate plea. Rachel stood beside her desk; she spit the pill into the trashcan. As pieces of the dissolved pill fell, relief seeped through Maggie’s body, leaving a trail of weakness in its wake.

  Her daughter placed both hands on the edge of her desk. Leaning forward, she whispered just loudly enough for Maggie to hear. “This is not who I am.”

  Warm tears trailed down Maggie’s face. Had Rachel heard her? She stood to walk closer to her daughter, to hold her, protect her. But as she reached out, Rachel’s body tightened, her fists clenched. Maggie stepped back. Rachel took a deep, cleansing breath. Not yet.

  While she could not describe the depth of her relief, Maggie could hardly count it a victory. Confusion and terror ran through her. What was the pill? Where did she get it? Who was Cricket? Although Maggie believed Rachel needed her now more than ever, she helplessly moved toward the door, giving her daughter space.

  Although she left Rachel’s room, Maggie knew she couldn’t ignore what she had just witnessed. She ran to her own bedroom where Sam was still sound asleep.

  “Sam!” Maggie yelled from the doorway. “Wake up! You have to wake up!”

  She hurried to the bed, leaned over and yelled directly into his ear. “You have to go to Rachel! Wake up!”

  Still, there was no sign her words impacted him. Her frustration multiplied as she gripped his shoulder to shake him, but again, she was unable to make physical contact. She looked around, desperate for a solution. The picture frame. Could she slam it down loudly enough to wake him? She reached for it, but her grip had no effect. She remembered: the family was present, the girls wide awake.

  “Please, Sam.” Her voice weakened. “Don’t fail Rachel.”

  But the truth was Maggie was the failure. She had failed Sam. Her promise was nothing but emptiness because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help Rachel. And she couldn’t help him. He was on his own. “Please,” she whispered one last time.

  Accepting defeat, she retreated to the chair in the corner. A myriad of emotions washed over her, but anger left the deepest mark. What was happening to her family? Rachel was not the kid who took pills as a desperate escape. And Sam wasn’t a father unaware of danger that threatened his home. Yet if he remained oblivious to Rachel’s needs, how could he stop what Maggie had just witnessed? But her sharpest anger was aimed at herself, at her inability to help her children, her husband, the very people at the center of her existence.

  She leaned her head back, tilted her face upward. Why am I here if I can do nothing but watch my family fall apart? Are you punishing me, God? Is that what this is? For the times I wasn’t the mother or wife I should have been?

  She buried her face in her hands and let guilt wash over her as she recalled the crimes that may have led to this punishment. The time when Olivia was three and Maggie left her in the bathtub to go answer the phone. She could still hear the crash as Olivia slipped trying to get out of the tub, and her screams in the ER as they stitched her chin. And all the times Rachel begged for Maggie’s undivided attention to play a game or to watch a movie when Maggie had been consumed by buyer-seller negotiations. How many times had she put work before her girls? Before her husband? How often had she denied Sam the physical connection he desired, knowing it had been too long, but needing sleep more than she needed him?

  “That’s it, isn’t it, God?” Maggie lifted her chin and raised her voice, certain this time her words were heard. “You’re punishing me.”

  Her hands trembled with fury. What did God expect? Hadn’t she done her best most of the time? She’d lived her life exhausted, always trying to meet the demands placed on her. She wasn’t perfect, but didn’t she try her hardest to be a loving mom, a supportive wife, and to build a successful business so her girls could grow up secure? Isn’t that what a parent is supposed to do? And hadn’t she been committed to raising the girls in church, without Sam most of the time? Her fingernails bit into her palms.

  “Okay, so this is it? My punishment is to watch my family suffer and think about all the opportunities I missed? To agonize over the damage that now I can’t do anything about?” Rage pulsed in her temples.

  She leaned back, drained, and closed her eyes. She had one last question. “Is this my eternity?” Her heart ached at the thought. She did not want to leave her family, but if she could do nothing to help them, what was the point?

  A tingle in Maggie’s chest startled her. She opened her eyes and sat upright. She recognized it, almost physical, the same sensation she had in the place where she’d seen Nate. As it grew stronger, heaviness radiated from her torso, through her arms, and exited her body through her fingertips. Until that moment, she had not realized how heavy the burden for her family had grown throughout the past week. She tried to access the anger that had consumed her only moments ago. It was gone. While she could still detect a sense of sadness, it was once again dull and distant. Peace slowly replaced the turmoil. Love once again became her principal emotion.

  Then somehow she knew. This wasn’t punishment. This wasn’t her eternity. And though she still felt helpless, she was confident a time would come when she would understand.

  “Forgive me.” She rose from the chair, grateful for the renewed strength.

  Sam rolled over and opened his eyes. If he could see Maggie, he would have been staring right at her.

  “Good morning, honey.” Maggie smiled.

  Sam reached for the frame on the night stand and pulled it closer. “Morning, Mags,” he said to the picture.

  Sam crawled out of bed feeling like he had gone three rounds in a cage fight. But one glance at the clock told him it was past time to be up and moving.

  Olivia, he saw, had migrated to the family room to watch cartoons.

  “Hey, Livi.”

  “Morning, Daddy.” She waved her hand without breaking her trance from the screen.

  “How do chocolate chip pancakes sound?”

  “Yummy!”

  “Okay then. Chocolate chip pancakes coming right up. But first, let me wake Rachel.”

  Sam found Rachel lying on her bed with her cell phone in her hand, fingers frantically dancing across the keys.

  “Good morning.” He was curious if she’d acknowledge their exchange last night.

  “Hmm.” She stayed focused on the screen.

  “Who you texting?”

  “A friend.”

  “Kristen?”

  “Mmm.”

  Rachel’s terse responses drained Sam’s tolerance. He’d hoped they had taken a step forward.

  “Rachel Nicole, put that down and talk to me.”

  She lowered the phone to her stomach and glared at him with raised eyebrows. A challenge?


  His temperature escalated. “Listen, young lady, I understand you’re going through a lot right now—we all are. But that is no excuse for your disrespect. I’ve tried to understand your frustration with Olivia, and to give you space when you disappear into your bedroom, but this attitude has to stop. Now, I am going to ask you one more time. Who are you texting?” Her expression didn’t change. Was it still attitude? A bluff? Finally she spoke.

  “Kristen.”

  “Kristen, huh?” He had an idea. “Why don’t you ask her to come over, maybe spend the night? A girls’ night—that would be good, wouldn’t it?” It might not be so good for him, but he was willing to sacrifice a peaceful afternoon if it meant hearing Rachel giggle and be a silly girl for a few hours.

  “Uh, no.” The answer was too quick.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Just no. It’s complicated, Dad.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Okay. Wanna talk about it?”

  As if weighing the option, Rachel looked at her father.

  Sam shrugged and held up his palms, acknowledging his lack of expertise in girl drama, but hoping she would accept his invitation.

  “It’s just—” Rachel shook her head. “She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know what it feels like right now, you know? And I don’t want to talk about who she has a crush on, or what new movie is coming out.”

  It was an opening. He had to take it. He walked over to her bed and sat down next to her. “What do you want to talk about?” Silence hung between them for several moments before he persisted. “You know, you can talk to me, Rach.”

  She turned her face away from him, but he saw her chin quiver and her teeth press into her bottom lip.

  “Rachel?”

  “I can’t.”

  Her whisper punctured his heart. His own tears swelled as he watched his daughter wrestle with her grief. He wanted to reach out, to comfort his little girl, but he wasn’t sure how, or if he should. She was such a mystery in so many ways. To compromise, he gently stroked her hair as he waited for his voice to return, uncertain what to say when it did. He decided not to push. Their conversation, though brief, was the most meaningful exchange they had shared since their nightmare began. For now, it was enough.

  “Well, if you feel like breakfast, I’m making chocolate chip pancakes.”

  Rachel nodded then turned on her side to face the wall.

  Before her dad came into her room, Rachel had texted Kristen to see if she was still mad about the project. She was willing to admit Kristen was right; she had dumped the project on her. If Rachel didn’t want to think about black and white photography, she could have at least come up with another way to contribute.

  Rachel did not get a response to her first text. But after the second text, when Kristen did respond, Rachel wished she hadn’t. Yes, Kristen was still mad. It was too late for sorry. No, she didn’t want to do something today. Then Rachel got angry. And the more she thought about it, the angrier she became. Kristen was so selfish. She didn’t know what it was like to lose her mom. She would never understand. Suddenly, Kristen’s friendship seemed unnecessary. Rachel didn’t have to explain things to Cricket. Cricket understood. Mostly.

  Then came her dad’s interrogation. And he wanted her to talk, seriously? What would she tell him? Did he expect her to describe the pain that pulsed throughout her body each time her heart beat? Or how every nerve ending burned with anger? Or maybe . . . maybe he was waiting for her to confess.

  Did he know about the text? The one she’d sent her mom? The thought made every muscle in her body quake. Did he know the accident was her fault? That her mom was dead, his wife was dead, and everything was falling apart because of her? The night that Detective Wade described the accident, she heard him say it. Surely, her dad had to hear it, too. From the witness’s description of how sharply her mom veered into the other lane, she must have been distracted, that maybe she had reached for something, her purse, her cell phone.

  Every time Rachel thought she was strong enough to suppress the guilt, something forced it to the surface. This morning it was her dad. Maybe she couldn’t do this by herself. Maybe Cricket was right. Maybe she should have taken the pill. Would it make all the feelings go away? She texted Cricket.

  Hey

  Sup

  What was that u gave me

  Take it?

  She didn’t want to admit she chickened out.

  Sorta.

  It help

  Dunno yet what was it

  Oxy pain med

  K cu

  K

  Pain medicine? Her dad took pain medicine after his wisdom teeth were removed. She tiptoed from her bedroom and peeked from the hall into the kitchen. Her sister stood on a chair beside her dad in front of a griddle, placing chocolate chips on a pancake, making a smiley face no doubt. Her dad flipped the pancake and Olivia started on the next one. Rachel ducked back before they saw her, and then snuck into her parents’ bathroom. Cautious not to make noise, she pulled open the medicine cabinet and scanned the shelves. There it was. A prescription bottle with her dad’s name on it. She skimmed the label. Take for pain. Oxycodone. Oxy. That must be the same thing. She pressed down firmly on the cap and turned it until it opened. Several pills were inside. She should take only a few, so her dad wouldn’t know they were missing. She replaced the cap and closed the medicine cabinet.

  “What are you doing?”

  Her dad’s voice triggered a rush of adrenaline. She squeezed the pills tightly in her fist and froze. Her heart pounded so loudly she could barely hear her response. “I have a headache.”

  “You know you’re not supposed to take anything without asking first. Besides, the ibuprofen is in the kitchen.”

  “Oh yeah. I forgot.”

  “Well, come eat some pancakes. See if a little food takes care of your headache before you take anything.”

  Relieved he hadn’t noticed the pills in her hand, Rachel hoped her weak knees could carry her to the kitchen without collapsing.

  The phone rang as Sam put pancakes on the table. He checked the caller ID. Pastor Rob. He should ignore it, but if he did, the guy would probably keep calling. He answered, annoyed, hoping the pastor could hear it.

  “Hey, Sam. I hope this isn’t a bad time. I wanted to call to see how you’re doing.”

  The edge in the pastor’s voice suggested he’d picked up on Sam’s tone. Unsure why, a hint of guilt nipped at him. He eased his grip on the phone and summoned a dose of patience.

  “Well, we’re making it, I guess. Trying to find our way back to normal.”

  “Things are different now, you know. You might need to adjust your expectations, find a new normal.”

  “A new normal?” Sam hated to admit it, but the pastor was right. He had spent the days since Maggie’s death wondering how long until life would feel like it had before the accident.

  “It seems impossible now, but one day you’ll wake up and things will feel normal, just different normal. It’s a strange transition, but it will happen in time.” The pastor’s voice relaxed. “How are the girls?”

  Sam thought about it. “Better. We kind of had a meltdown last night, but I think that was a good thing.”

  “Is it anything I can help with? Your family has endured a lot. Have you considered counseling?”

  Counseling? The very thought of a practical stranger manipulating his emotions like a game of Jenga set Sam on edge. He didn’t respond.

  The pastor broke the silence. “Well, I had another reason for calling. If you like, we can pick up the girls in the morning. We drive right past your neighborhood.”

  “In the morning?” Sam was confused. “Oh, tomorrow, Sunday. Yeah, uh, I’m not sure.”

  “Unless you’re planning to bring them?” The edge returned to Rob’s voice.

  “Don’t think so.” It would take more than a phone call to get him in a church pew, but Maggie would want the girls to go. “If it’s not too much trouble to stop by on your way through
, the girls will be ready.”

  Sam hung up the phone, not anticipating the battle that would ensue.

  “Who was that?” Olivia stuffed a forkful of pancake into her mouth.

  “Pastor Rob. His family is going to pick you up on their way to church tomorrow.”

  Rachel pushed her breakfast away. “I’m not going.”

  “What do you mean you’re not going?” She rarely missed church or youth group before the accident. He thought she’d be happy to go back.

  “I mean I’m not going.”

  Tension emanated from Rachel. He forged ahead carefully, uncertain what might set her off. “Why not?”

  “Why?”

  Sam didn’t expect that question. He fumbled for an answer. “Because your mom would want you to go to church.”

  Rachel raised her eyebrows. There it was again—the challenge. “So? She wanted you to go, but you didn’t.”

  “That’s different. I’m an adult. That’s my decision to make.” His argument was full of holes, but it was the best he had.

  “It’s not different. You know church doesn’t do any good. That’s why you don’t go. Now I know it, too. And I’m not going. Not to church and not to youth group.” Rachel locked her arms in front of her.

  Olivia dropped her fork on her plate. “But I want to go to church, Daddy.”

  Rachel directed her rebuttal toward her little sister. “Don’t be dumb, Olivia. It’s a waste of time.”

  “Daddy!”

  Olivia’s eyes searched him for answers, answers he did not have. Should he force Rachel to go to church? Somehow he felt that was the right thing to do, but how could he with the precedent he’d set? And he certainly wasn’t in an emotional place to step through the doors himself for the sake of setting an example for his daughters. Shouldn’t he, of all people, understand where Rachel was coming from?

  “It’s okay, Livi. You can go to church.”

  Olivia smiled and took bite of bacon.