Drive Me Crazy (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six
Cassie

I
don’t know what Howie and Lana talked about during her perfect opportunity to get us headed back, but it’s clear that abandoning this End of the Road business wasn’t it. When Nono and I get back from “stretching our legs and getting some air,” neither Lana nor Howie says a word about whatever Lana and her dad needed to discuss privately. Howie takes his turn behind the wheel, and Lana asks Nono if she’ll read more from
Peter Pan
. I hand her my notebook with a big question mark drawn on it, but she shakes her head. I push it farther in her lap, insisting she at least explain what her dad said, but she only writes
I need to rest for a little bit.

Which, okay. Maybe the phone call made it necessary
for this to be done in two parts, and she’s biding her time. Lana’s smart, and I trust her. I can wait. So long as we’re turned around by lunch.

When we stop for a bathroom break in Rock Springs—which really should just be called
Rock
—I expect
this
will be the moment, but Lana simply trades seats with me and asks if
she
can have a turn reading. For the first time, it seems like she’s shutting me out. It’s as nauseating and uncomfortable as when Kendra Mack was reading Fiona’s diary. A bad, unsettled feeling suggests there’s more going on in my friend’s head than I know. Once I find out, I may not like it.

I stare out the window, but there’s nothing to look at. I’m getting even more antsy. I ask Nono if I can use her phone, to find us a place to eat, but Nono’s Don’t-Let-Cassie-Near-a-Gadget thing is holding strong. “I think your grandfather’s done a grand job of finding places for us so far,” she says. “Let’s see what he can come up with next.”

He’s not my grandfather,
I grumble in my head, but I know better than to say it. Howie tells me it’s still another hour and a half before the next stop, anyway. I take out one of the magazines I brought, but after about twenty pages of flipping, almost all I can think about is my friends, and the party, and all the fun I’ll miss, if Lana doesn’t say something fast.

By the time we get to Rawlins, I’m about to crawl out of my skin. Since Lana stopped reading a while ago, we’ve been listening to Nono’s playlist again. It’s cycling through a croony phase that makes me want to turn the car around just to escape this terrible music.

The restaurant for our late lunch is small and ugly on the outside, but at least inside there’s a gift shop and some delicious smells pouring from the kitchen. My stomach growls. As we wait for a table, I go over to the postcards and spin the rack as hard as I can, which is when I hear Howie’s phone ring behind me.

I’m tired of being in the dark. Something’s going on that’s ruining my life, and it’s time I knew what. I duck down on the other side of the rack so Howie can’t see me, but I can still listen.

He says, “Okay,” a lot. Then, “When do they want to schedule it?” He heads toward Nono and Lana.

I follow behind as casually as I can, stopping to pretend I’m interested in some tacky T-shirts with a bunch of horseshoes on them. Howie hands Lana the phone, which is right when the hostess calls for us.

Nono gives me a tense smile. “How about we sit down and let Lana finish her conversation?”

I go only because I have to. But Howie stays behind in the gift shop with Lana, and suddenly I’m glad we got
separated. When she hangs up with her dad, she’ll have a moment alone to finally talk to Howie about her homesickness.

Nono and I get seated. She picks up her menu and says, “Cassandra, let’s just try to focus on our lunch, okay? I think I could eat five of these tacos.”

I’m hungry too, but my curiosity is much bigger. I keep one eye on the menu and one eye on Lana, whose face has turned white. I can’t take any more of this.

“I’m going to go wash my hands.” I stand up and head for the restroom without waiting for Nono’s answer, but instead of going in, I loop back over to the rack of ugly T-shirts. From there I have a good view of Howie and Lana, and better than that—I can hear them.

“If you need us to head back,” Howie says, “even with what you told your dad, we can do that right now. Tess and I both want whatever you want, Pumpkin.”

I can’t believe it. Here it is—the moment when Lana saves the day. I don’t know how she managed to orchestrate it so perfectly, but I can’t wait to hug her.

She looks up at him, still pale, but also determined.

“What I want,” she says, “is to catch the Magic Moment.”

I’m paralyzed with shock. Not even my heart is beating in my chest. Howie just offered to take us home—to turn the car around
right this minute
—and she
isn’t
going to do
it? I’m not sure I can breathe. I didn’t think anyone could be more two-faced than Fiona.

I stay frozen behind the T-shirts as Howie pats Lana on the back and says, “That’s what we’ll do, then.” He heads for the table, and Lana goes toward the restrooms.

Before I can think, I’m stomping across the store. I shove the bathroom door open so hard, it slams against the wall behind it and bounces back. Lana’s standing at the sink, pressing wet paper towels to her face. The noise of my barging in makes her jump.

“Lana Thorton-Howe, you’re going to tell me why you just betrayed me, and you’re going to tell me right now. We had the perfect plan to end this trip, but when you got your chance—a real, obviously important chance—you said no.” I cross my arms and lean against the bathroom door to stop myself from attacking her. “Rule Number Twelve is Tell Me the Truth, and Do It
Now
. I’m not letting you leave this bathroom until you do.”

She looks at me and takes in a shaky breath. The bottom ridges of her eyes start to glimmer. She’s been so stone-cold and quiet all morning, it surprises me. But I will not feel sorry for her. I won’t.

“Cassie,” she says, wiping her eyes, “I really don’t want to let you down—I really don’t. But I can’t turn back now.”

She’s so upset, I feel an urge to try and stop her tears. I
want to stay mad, but the way her voice is shaking has got me worried. I take a few steps toward her. “What is it?”

She looks at the floor, but I can see her face close off as she shuts down the emotions and shuts me out. “I don’t think I—”

Something inside me snaps. It feels like Kendra Mack and Izzy Gathing with their secrets. Like the way Tom laughs with his friends but says, “Nothing,” when I ask what’s so funny, or how this whole week not even my own grandmother is on my side. It’s like Fiona keeping her real thoughts about me in her diary, instead of trusting me with the truth. That Lana’s doing it too is way too much.

“You’re so selfish!” I holler. “You say no one talks to you, but you never tell anybody anything about yourself. It’s not only hotel rooms you don’t know how to share. No wonder you don’t have any real friends!”

I storm out. There’s nowhere for me to go besides back to the table, but I don’t want to sit there with her. I don’t want to be anywhere near her for one more minute, let alone the rest of this trip. I thought Lana was my friend, but now she’s intentionally ruining my whole life, and she won’t even tell me why.

“I’m not hungry,” I tell Nono and Howie when I get back to the table. “May I please, please go back to the car and wait for you there?”

“Don’t be silly.” Nono pulls out the chair next to her. “We’re all starving. Have some chips and salsa, at least. What’s gotten into you? You’re flushed. Sit down and have some water.”

“I don’t—” I start, but Lana’s coming over.

“Cinnamon churros with chocolate dipping sauce first sound good to you?” Howie says, squeezing her shoulder as she sits down.

She looks at me, but I pull my eyes away quick. If she’s not going to tell me why she’s abandoning me right now, at this most crucial point, then I’m not telling her anything, ever. Not even with my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Lana

N
o wonder you don’t have any real friends,
Cassie’s voice repeats in my head. I was already reeling from what Dad had told me about Mom, but this almost hurts more, because it’s right here, instead of states away. Of all the people in the world I’d never want to hurt, Cassie is at the top. I know she deserves an explanation, but by the time I’d recovered from my shock, she was already sitting with Grandma Tess and Grandpa Howe, acting like nothing in the world had happened.

All through lunch, she won’t look at me. When I try to say anything, even “Grandma Tess, could you hand me another napkin?” she talks over me like I’m not there, asking Grandpa Howe silly things like are there any snakes
at the End of the Road, and is there even a working toilet. She’s trying to make me feel bad, I can tell. Trying to say, through her questions about how long it would take an ambulance to get out there if someone got hurt, that she can’t think of a more awful place to have to go. And that it’s all my fault for forcing her.

At first it makes me sad, but when we’re walking back to the car and she still ignores me, even though I know she hears me call her name, it starts to make me angry. Cassie said I was selfish, but a big reason why I haven’t said anything yet to her about my mom is because we’ve been so focused on all
her
dramas. Now, when I’ve just found out that there is actually a tumor on Mom’s brain—that she’ll have to have surgery to find out if it’s cancerous—and these headaches are truly life-threatening, Cassie acts like even making eye contact with me will give her a disease.

It makes the next eight hours to Omaha, Nebraska, absolutely awful. Besides the tension between Cassie and me inside the car—and all the terrible thoughts and sadness about my mom and her brain and hospitals and my poor dad—outside of it, everything is dry and dusty, and there’s nothing interesting to look at except for flat, flat, flat. Even Grandma Tess’s music is either sad or angry sounding. The only thing that helps me endure it is knowing that every mile gets us closer to the Magic Moment,
where I can wish all of this away. Even Dad said he thought it would help.

After our twelve-hour drive, Grandpa Howe and Grandma Tess find out there’s karaoke in the lounge at our hotel and decide to sing a few rounds. I understand it’s probably to help take their minds off Mom, but there’s no way I’m singing. Being stuck in a room with Cassie enduring more of her silent treatment doesn’t sound good either, but I can’t think of another place to go. She obviously feels the same way, since the minute the door shuts behind us she locks herself in the bathroom and starts filling the tub. It feels extra mean of her to run a bath for herself when she can tell I’m upset, plus I’m the one who told her baths could help you feel better. As tears tremble at the edges of my eyes, I try to channel some of Tamika’s bravery and decide to crawl into bed to start her a letter. Even after only a few lines, telling her what’s happening feels better and reminds me I
do
have real friends. Even if Cassie’s never going to be one of them.

The next morning, our grandparents call our room at 7:17. When Cassie gets off the phone with Grandma Tess, she turns her back and pretends to look for something in her suitcase.

Which, fine—I hope she knows I don’t want to talk to
her, either. I’ve been making all the overtures so far this trip, and I’m not doing that again. I have other things to worry about than Cassie.

I realize we’re in a different time zone now, and that what’s early in the morning for us is super early for Mom and Dad, so I don’t send a message first thing, because I want Mom to be getting her sleep, though it’s hard not to. When she finally texts on our way to Chicago, relief washes over me.

Well, it’s official. Dad’s cooking is way better than hospital food.

I smile and hold up the phone so Grandma Tess can see.

Tell the nurses about Dessert First
, I tell her.
At least the pudding should be all right.

I’m glad my mom is joking, but still it feels like Dad’s trick—to laugh off bad subjects.

How are you?
I ask.

Tired of waiting. Ready to be home, and to have the surgery scheduled. These doctors take forever. What about you?

I pause, unsure how I really am.

“Gee, Lana,” Cassie’s fake-sweet voice breaks in. “You sure are on your phone a lot lately. Why, it seems like you’re not really here with us.”

Before I can even process what a mean thing that was
to say, or how to snap back at her, Grandma Tess reaches behind the seat, grips Cassie’s knee in her hand, and says, “That’s enough.” To keep from looking at either of them, I type back to Mom that I’m ready for her to be home too, and ready for us to get to Maine. While I’m sliding my phone back in my pocket, I catch Cassie’s eye by accident, and for a second she looks almost apologetic, but then she just snottily raises her chin.

Maybe, I think, the reason Cassie gets along with Kendra Mack and her awful friends so well is because she actually deserves them.

When we arrive in Chicago late-late that afternoon, Grandpa Howe is energized by being in a big, bustling city, and I’m grateful for his determination to keep this fun. He makes sure to get us a glossy hotel right on what he calls the Magnificent Mile, and before we even get into the elevator to put our bags in our room, he’s already talking to a lady at a desk about what we should see first.

“How about a stroll over to Millennium Park?” he asks us when she’s done with her recommendations. “You girls have got to see the Bean.”

I have no idea what this is, and I can feel Cassie wondering as much as I am, but when our eyes connect, we look away.

“You do; it’s beautiful,” Grandma Tess says. “And then we’ll have gotten plenty of exercise and can go for a nice, big steak dinner.”

“Sounds like good thinking to me.” Grandpa Howe puts an arm around Grandma Tess. Cassie hooks her arm in Grandma Tess’s other one, so I purposely move over to the opposite side, putting our grandparents in the middle.

Grandma Tess and Grandpa Howe trade Chicago stories while we walk, seeming surprised when they find they’d both visited the same places at different times, and excited to tell each other about the spots they’d each been to that the other hadn’t. Their happy storytelling is nice, but all I can think of is how whatever I see today I’ll never get to share with my mom if they find out she really has cancer and she dies like Nana Lilia did. The Magic Moment could fix all that, I guess, but what if—even after we get there, after all of this—I’m still not able to catch it? Then Mom and Dad will never be old together the way my grandparents are.

I try to use Dad’s “interested eyes” again when we reach Millennium Park, but it’s hard to make it fun. People are everywhere—some spread out on blankets in whatever grass there is—enjoying the day. Two boys on skateboards take turns showing off tricks, and when one of them zooms in front of us, I can’t help wondering if Cassie thinks he
might be cute. Not that I care what she thinks anymore. The Bean itself is a huge, glossy silver bean standing as tall as a building in the middle of a courtyard, with plenty of space for people to walk under it and take pictures in the mirrored surface. Grandpa Howe asks a woman nearby if she’ll take our picture, so we pose, Cassie and I staying on opposite sides. I know our grandparents can see that we can hardly stand to be around each other, which makes me feel worse about everything, if that’s possible. I was so determined not to ruin this trip for them. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we should just go home.

I decide to call Mom again. If she wants me there for her surgery, I’ll give up this Maine fantasy and go where I’m needed.

Standing away from the Bean, but still within Grandpa Howe’s sight, I wait two rings, three, before she picks up.

“Hey there, Freckles.”

I smile at the sound of her voice. “Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she says, sounding it at least a little. “We’ve got the surgery scheduled for Tuesday. The doctors just left and I was about to text you, so your timing is great. Where are you now? Chicago, Dad said?”

I tell her about our city walk and the park we’re in. She tells me she’d love to see it, and maybe we’ll go together
next summer. I swallow hard. Maybe it won’t be that bad, if Mom’s talking about trips. But then I remember Grandpa Howe and Nana Lilia thought they’d be taking trips too.

“I wish you were here now instead of in the hospital,” I say. “Tell me about the surgery.”

She explains that the tumor is located on the left side of her brain, just between her temple and her ear, where it’s easy to reach, which is good. She says they’ll have to shave half her head, but that Dad thinks that will make her look more punk. The procedure will take a long time—several hours—and she may have to be in the hospital awhile after.

What she’s not saying is that in order to get to the tumor, they’re going to have to slice open her skull with a little circular saw. I’ve seen it on TV, when Tamika was in her brain surgeon mode and couldn’t get enough of those medical shows. Mom’s also not saying that when they take it out, maybe they’ll accidentally get some of her healthy brain, too, and she’ll lose her vision, or her leg muscles, or even her memory. Or that even if that doesn’t happen, she’ll still have to go through a lot of rehab afterward. The worst part, of course—that it could be cancer, and that could mean it’s also spread—neither one of us wants to mention.

“They’re sending me home before too much longer,” she finishes. “The pain’s been managed, and I’ve had about every test you can think of. All we have to do is wait.”

“Do you need me there?” I finally brave.

“This isn’t like being sick in a way where you need a lot of help,” Mom says. “I would hate for you to miss seeing the End of the Road just to sit around here. I want you to keep having fun adventures, so you’ll have lots of stories to tell me while I’m recovering.”

“Okay,” I say, not sure whether to press. I do want to make the Magic Moment, but suddenly hearing that Mom doesn’t need me at home makes me want to be there. Telling her that I want to curl up in her lap, so she can stroke my hair and make me feel better, when
she’s
still in the hospital, feels like what Cassie called me in the bathroom yesterday—selfish.

“I love you, Mom,” I say instead.

She tells me she loves me too, and not to worry, she’ll soon be safe at home. Tears prick in my eyes at the thought of that, but when we hang up, I know the only thing left for me to do is make that wish.