Chapter 8 Lee
Lee
Charlotte emerged from the depths of her attic crawl space, brushing dust from her hair. She held a large pink duffel bag in her hand. “I thought I had a suitcase in here,” said Charlotte. “But there’s no suitcase. I did find this monogrammed bag from L.L.Bean!”
“That’s going to be heavy for you, Mom,” said Lee.
“Oh, pish!” said Charlotte.
Pish? Lee swallowed her annoyance. She tightened the sash of the paisley-print bathrobe she’d borrowed from Charlotte, then sat on the floor outside the crawl space, sipping coffee. “What did Flora say, exactly?”
“Regan said she’d be home Sunday, but Flora’s convinced Regan is in danger because…
something about finding her phone,” said Charlotte, continuing to rummage through mountains of holiday decorations.
“Or maybe it’s not finding her phone? I didn’t really understand the nitty-gritty.
But Flora is very worried and honestly, I can’t stand it that they’re all alone over there!
” Charlotte sighed. “She’s like you,” she added.
“What does that mean?”
“Just that Flora worries more than she needs to.”
“Oh,” said Lee.
“I’m sure that’s a hard way to be,” said Charlotte. Lee was surprised and touched that her mother was acknowledging an uncomfortable subject.
“Yeah, it is,” said Lee.
It was a hard way to be.
Charlotte proclaimed, “I never worry!”
“I know, Mom,” said Lee, not noting that perhaps this was why Lee had been forced to handle all their family’s worries from a young age.
“I just have fun!” proclaimed Charlotte. Then she whirled back around and continued her search for luggage. She said, “Regan will probably get back to Athens before I even land, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing like an old lady!”
“Wait, Mom, you’re going to Greece?” said Lee.
“Poor Flora. She’s been taking a Greek subway to school. A subway! Honestly! Now it’s nighttime over there and the girls are all alone in the dark. Flora said they don’t have any adults to call. This is the problem with leaving your family!”
“Mom…” said Lee, standing up and approaching Charlotte.
“If you want to be helpful, buy me a plane ticket. To Greece. I suppose I’ll need a rental car. I don’t know! And who is going to watch you and all your sleeping pills? Honestly!”
Lee exhaled through her nose. “Let’s just wait until Sunday and see if Regan comes home,” she said, trying to sound reasonable.
“They’re all alone in the dark!” said Charlotte.
“I’ll go,” said Lee. She was testing the words, but even as she spoke them, something familiar stirred in her chest. How many family calamities had she handled over the course of her childhood? How many times had she been the one to step in when everything fell apart?
Charlotte’s relief was immediate and visible. Lee watched her mother’s shoulders ease. And there it was again—that old, sick satisfaction of being needed. Even now, even when she wanted nothing more than to disappear, her family’s crisis called to her like a drug.
A new plan emerged: Lee would go to Greece, fix whatever mess Regan had gotten into, and then fly back in first class. She’d sip champagne, wash down thirty pills…and savor absolute peace above the clouds. But first, she’d do what she’d always done: Save everyone else.
“Really? You’ll go?” The hopefulness in her mother’s voice made Lee realize how scared Charlotte had been at the thought of leaving home. This was another sadness—her mother had once been a jetsetter.
Charlotte had even fallen in love with a man named Paros during their family Mediterranean cruise. What had happened to Charlotte’s romance with Paros? Lee had never even asked.
“Maybe we should both go to Greece,” said Charlotte. “They told me to keep very close watch on your pills….”
“Just the sleeping pills, Mom,” Lee clarified. “I can handle the rest myself.”
“Those are the ones I’m worried about,” Charlotte replied.
“Really, Mom,” said Lee. “I’ll be fine.”
There’s one way to be finally, finally fine, said Depression.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes and looked at her eldest daughter.
Lee arranged her face to convey contentment and competence, meeting her mother’s gaze directly, raising the corners of her mouth into a relaxed (but not creepy) smile, tilting her head encouragingly.
Her favorite acting coach had been a devotee of Stella Adler’s “imaginative detachment,” which instructed that “the actor must not use his own life to create a role; he must use the life of the character.” Lee tried to become a person who had their shit together, to convey this energy to Charlotte.
Charlotte, hoodwinked—or simply worn-out—nodded, smiling. “OK,” she said. “I do have golf on Friday,” she added.
“How old are Flora and Isabelle again?” said Lee. Now that her plan was set, she actually did feel anticipation, an emotion that had eluded her for a long time. This lightness was common with depressives who’d made an exit strategy, she knew. It felt good.
“Isabelle is eighteen,” said Charlotte. “And Flora just had her sixteenth birthday party. Regan took them to a mall. A mall! In Athens, Greece! They couldn’t even read the Greek alphabet to find a place for manicures. How depressing. Anyhoo, do you want this monogrammed duffel bag, Lee?”
“No thanks, Mom.”
“Suit yourself,” said Charlotte, dropping the duffel and climbing out of the crawl space. “Now, did you also say you’d call Matt?”
“Ugh,” said Lee. She hadn’t spoken to her sister’s ex-husband since the divorce.
Lee had seen him at Palmetto Pool with his young, pregnant wife, but she had avoided them.
Once, Lee and Matt had been hot-and-heavy high school sweethearts.
Then Lee had dumped Matt and moved to California.
Matt had married Regan and treated her badly.
The thought of speaking to smug old Mansplaining Matt made Lee feel queasy.
“Let me get the plane ticket,” said Lee.
“I’ll finish the crossword,” said Charlotte.
Lee had once had a personal assistant named Val. Lee texted her, and Val agreed to look at airfares even though she was now employed by a Real Housewife of Orange County. (Val, who had a septum piercing, was not loving Orange County.)
“Mom,” said Lee, following Charlotte into the kitchen. “What ever happened to Paros?”
Charlotte dropped her felt-tip pen. Otherwise, she did not react. After a few seconds, she picked up her pen again. “Who?” she said.
“Paros? The Greek man from our cruise?”
“Oh, Paros,” said Charlotte. “Hm…I honestly have no idea.”
Lee heard the words even without Charlotte speaking: and furthermore. This was Charlotte’s shorthand for “this conversation is over.”
Lee’s phone chimed and she let the moment go. “Val can get me to Houston tonight,” said Lee. “And to Athens in the morning.”
“Good,” said Charlotte. “Let’s call the girls.”
When was the last time Lee had spoken to her nieces?
She’d once gazed at her sister’s social media photos longingly, perhaps obsessively.
But Lee’s stardom had enabled her to begrudgingly accept her spinsterhood.
Unfortunately, the Covid shutdown and tedium of life with her mother had reignited an ember of regret in her gut, and she’d begun peeking at Regan’s posts of her teenaged daughters again: Flora at the Acropolis, both girls eating gyros, Isabelle wearing sunglasses and holding a frappé iced coffee.
Sixteen-year-old Flora wore round glasses, parted her blond hair in the middle, and seemed willing enough to have her picture taken.
Isabelle was an eighteen-year-old with one or more tattoos, her expression often challenging.
When Lee was eighteen, she’d already been taking care of her siblings and her own mother for years. Some eighteen-year-olds had kids of their own! Yet Lee had to begrudgingly admit it felt good to be needed.
As Charlotte dialed her granddaughters, Lee felt weirdly shy.
“Isabelle, sweetheart,” said Charlotte. “Your Auntie Lee is going to come visit. Can you feed your sister for one more night? I’m sure your mom will come home while Auntie Lee is en route, but Flora seems worried…
do you want to talk to Auntie Lee? What? Oh, that’s fine, dear. I’ll tell her.”
Charlotte hung up the phone, turning to Lee with an overly cheerful smile.
“She didn’t want to talk to me?” said Lee, stung.
Her nieces, especially Flora, held themselves at a distance from their aunt.
They were polite but aloof at family gatherings, hiding behind books or their devices when Lee tried to engage them.
Did they think she was pathetic? Lee felt wobbly.
She’d secretly hoped that her nieces thought she was amazing for being a reality TV star.
But maybe teenagers thought reality TV was embarrassing.
It was also possible that her nieces didn’t think about Lee at all.
“Oh, who knows,” said Charlotte. “Don’t be dramatic. Did you buy your ticket?”
“Do you think Regan’s hurt…or kidnapped or something?
” said Lee, deftly turning her self-hatred into concern for her sister.
In the psychiatric hospital, Lee was told that her messy childhood had left her with complex PTSD.
Her therapist had said it was as if she had actual scars, and certain events could open the wounds, sending her brain back in time.
Her biggest trigger, apparently, was when her younger siblings or mother needed her.
Watching Charlotte put her hand to her mouth made Lee feel responsible, as she’d felt after her father’s suicide.
Someone needs to handle this, whatever this is, her heart said. And that someone is going to be you.
It was the oldest pattern in her playbook—crisis hits, Lee steps up, Lee fixes things, everyone else gets to fall apart safely.
She was addicted, they told her in group, to “emotional intoxication,” and had to fight her urge to visit “the emotional drugstore.” Lee couldn’t remember what the “drugstore” was in this metaphor. Was her missing sister the “drugstore”?
“You pack,” said Charlotte. “And I’ll bring you up some peanut butter crackers.”
As Lee filled her suitcase, Charlotte appeared in the doorway holding a small pharmacy bottle. “Here,” she said, extending it toward Lee with obvious reluctance.
Lee looked at the bottle—seven white pills rattled inside. “A week’s worth?”
“That should be plenty,” Charlotte said. “You’ll find your sister and be back before you know it.”
Lee pocketed the medication, feeling the familiar weight of Charlotte’s worry. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be fine.”
Charlotte nodded, unconvinced but out of options. “Promise me you won’t—”
“Of course, Mom. I promise.”
Both Lee and her mother knew that promises about depression were impossible to keep.