Chapter 7 Lee
Lee
Charlotte had a wall phone. It rang throughout the day and night, a reminder that Charlotte couldn’t be trusted with credit cards.
She’d run up tabs at Neiman Marcus, the Gap outlet, the Ralph Lauren outlet, BleuBelle, the Paris Brocade, HomeGoods, Bed Bath & Beyond, J.Crew, Old Navy, and Michaels arts and crafts store.
“Michaels?” Lee exclaimed, peering at Charlotte’s stack of unpaid bills.
“What on earth, Mom?” Lee was irritable: She’d crept to her mother’s medicine cabinet in the middle of the night to discover that Charlotte had hidden Lee’s pills elsewhere.
Her mother knew Lee was listening to Depression’s entreaties.
Of course she knew—Charlotte had always been sharper than she let on when it came to her children’s self-destruction.
“I wanted to decorate for the holidays!” said Charlotte now.
“What holiday is in April?” said Lee. “Wait, is Easter in April?”
“Yes, Easter is in April,” said Charlotte, who had become less religious as soon as Father Thomas, Charlotte’s decade-long crush, had moved to a diocese in Cleveland.
“But I was buying decorations for next Christmas. Everything was fifty percent off—garlands, candles, faux pine needles. Nothing tacky.”
Lee set the bills aside. Her mother had become one of those people who hang flags keyed to the season outside their front door. There was currently a flag featuring April flowers rippling in the wind outside 37 Wiley Bottom Road.
As they ate buttered English muffins and traded sections of The New York Times, Lee waited for her mother to be distracted enough to give her time to search for the pills. Or maybe she would wait until Charlotte went to Publix for groceries. “Mom,” she said, “I think we’re out of sliced turkey.”
“Nope, I got some!”
“Are we good for coffee and wine?”
“I think so,” said Charlotte. Her eyes lifted from the paper and settled on Lee. Lee could tell Charlotte was wary.
“Great!” said Lee.
The wall phone rang and rang. Charlotte did the crossword puzzle with a felt-tip pen.
Lee read a profile of scammer Anna Delvey in the Style section, then a story about looted Greek artifacts being held at the National Gallery in London.
What was the deal with looters and scammers?
Did no one have a moral compass anymore?
Lee wasn’t made for this world. Yet another reason, thought Lee, to exit.
Lee had been told by many mental health professionals over the years that Depression was telling her lies and she had to focus on reality. But what if Depression’s proclamations and reality were one and the same?
“When the voice of depression drowns out your true heart’s voice,” one therapist had said, “that’s when you are in danger.”
Francine sent a text: did you post a TikTok about bikini?
Lee’s true heart said, “I’m done.”
The wall phone rang. Charlotte, dressed for tennis though no one was playing tennis, stood up. “Don’t answer it!” said Lee.
“Honey,” said Charlotte. “It could be someone from my golf group. It could be an old friend who doesn’t have my cellphone number.”
“You know it’s creditors.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Charlotte.
“Or maybe scammers,” said Lee.
Charlotte raised one shoulder coquettishly and picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said. Her face went from anticipatory to concerned. “What?” she said. “Flora, what?”
Lee, hypervigilant (as always) slammed her coffee cup into its saucer. Flora was Lee’s niece, her sister Regan’s sixteen-year-old daughter.
“OK, OK,” said Charlotte, into the receiver.
“Honey, I’m sure your mom’s fine. She went to her artsy thing, right?
Her ‘Mom-cation’? I understand, dear, but it’s only…
yes, yes, OK. Maybe she’s not texting you because she just needs…
sorry, Flora, what? What is a Find My phone?
You’ve lost me, dear. Flora, have you called your father? Hm, well, OK. I don’t blame you.”
“What is it?” said Lee.
Charlotte nodded. “Mmhmm…OK…I truly don’t think you need to worry, sweetheart.
I truly don’t. Listen. Flora. Flora, dear, calm down.
Why don’t you and your sister just go ahead and make yourselves a yummy, yummy dinner.
Do you want me to email some recipes? There’s a cashew chicken with broccoli from The New York Times… oh, OK, dear. Pizza sounds yummy, too!”
“Regan’s missing?” said Lee.
Charlotte put her hand over the phone. “Pipe down!” she hissed at Lee.
“Sorry.”
“I love you, Flora. OK, dear. I’ll talk to you later, OK? Bye, now, honey. You enjoy your yummy, yummy pizza.”
Charlotte replaced the phone, put her hand on the counter, and dropped her head, as if she were dizzy or had lost her balance.
Then she straightened, put her shoulders back, and began to perform her favorite role, “Charlotte-without-a-care.” (It was no mystery where Lee’s performative talent had come from.)
“What is it?” asked Lee. “What happened?”
“Well,” said Charlotte, sitting back down and sipping her coffee, “Regan went on a little…” Charlotte waved her hand in a circular motion. “A little ‘Mom-cation.’ ”
“What does that mean?” said Lee.
“That’s what they’re calling it now, a Mom-cation. Anyway, she went to a scrapbooking event or some such. What could be more dull…but anyhoo. She left the girls to fend for themselves. I didn’t like her plan, but whoever listens to little old me?”
“Why did Flora call?” said Lee, impatiently.
“Flora’s a nervous Nelly. She just is. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
“But…” said Lee.
“I do hate them being so far away,” admitted Charlotte. “Remember when they lived on She Crab Circle? Six minutes by golf cart! Now the girls don’t have anyone.”
“Yeah,” said Lee. This thought made her sad.
Charlotte sighed. “Why did she go all the way to Greece, Lee Lee?”
“Because of her Vision Board Workshop,” said Lee.
“Greece is so far away,” said Charlotte, looking old.
All this sadness, and nothing you can do about it, said Depression.
Lee went to her mother and hugged her.