Georgie lay in the dark for an hour.
She cried some more.
And talked to herself. “I’m imagining things. I’m tired. I’m just tired.”
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
She opened them again, and watched the yellow phone.
She thought about going home. She went out and sat in the car for a while. Eventually, she plugged in her cell phone and tried to call Neal. (He didn’t pick up.) (Because he never fucking picks up. And maybe he had left her, maybe they were so out of synch that Georgie didn’t even recognize when he was actually, really leaving her. Maybe he’d already told her he was leaving, and she just hadn’t listened.) She sat in the car and cried.
Then she tried Neal’s mom’s number, even though it was late. Georgie just needed to talk to him again. Normally. She needed to have a normal conversation to reset everything.
His mom’s line was busy. Maybe his dad had some really important ghost phone calls to make at midnight central time.
Georgie thought again about trying to sleep. She thought about how all her freaking out was probably making this situation—whatever this situation was—worse.
Then she went inside and went through the kitchen cabinets until she found a bottle of crème de menthe, probably left over from the last time her mom made grasshopper pie. (Her mom and Kendrick weren’t drinkers.) (Potheads? Possibly. Neal suspected.) Georgie drank it straight. It was like getting drunk on syrup.
At some point she must have fallen asleep.
SATURDAY
DECEMBER 21, 2013
CHAPTER 8
Four missed calls—all from Seth.
It was already noon, and Georgie was just leaving for work. Her phone rang as soon as she plugged it into the car lighter.
“Sorry,” she said, answering it. “I overslept.”
“Jesus, Georgie,” Seth said, “I was ready to call the police.”
“You were not.”
“Maybe I was. I was just about to drive all the way out to Calabasas looking for you. What the fuck?”
“I stayed at my mom’s again. I’m sorry. I forgot to set the alarm.”
That was a vast, vast oversimplification. Georgie had woken up on her mom’s couch a half hour ago, with one of the pugs licking her face. Then she’d puked for twenty minutes. Then she’d spent another ten trying to find clothes in Heather’s room—nothing fit—before ending up in her mom’s closet, settling for a pair of velour sweatpants and a low-cut T-shirt with rhinestones. Georgie hadn’t even brushed her teeth. (Didn’t see the point; her whole body already smelled like mint.) “I’m coming,” she told Seth. “I’ll bring lunch.”
“We already have lunch here. And half a script—it’s fucking terrible, hurry up.”
“I’m coming.” She ended the call and got on the 101.
Four missed calls, all from Seth. None from Neal.
Georgie rubbed her thumb over the phone’s touchscreen. She wasn’t thinking about last night. Last night was something Georgie was not going to think about right now.
It was a new morning. She’d call Neal and start over from here. She held the phone up over the steering wheel and thumbed through her recent calls, pressing AN EMERGENCY CONTACT.
It rang. . . .
“Good day, sunshine.”
“Hey, Alice. It’s Mommy.”
“I know, I heard your song. Also, there’s a picture of you when you call—from Halloween. You’re dressed like the Tin Man.”
Neal had been the Cowardly Lion. Alice was Dorothy. Noomi was Toto the cat.
“I need to talk to Daddy,” Georgie said.
“Are you in the car?”
“I’m on my way to work.”
“You promised not to talk on the phone in the car—I’m telling Daddy.”
“I promised to wait until I was done merging. Where is Daddy?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s not there?”
“No.”
“Where’s Grandma?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alice.”
“Yeah?”
“Please find Grandma.”
“But we’re watching The Rescuers.”
“Pause it.”
“Grandma doesn’t have pause!”
“You’re only going to miss a few minutes. I’ll tell you what happens.”
“Mommy, I don’t want you to spoil it for me.”
“Alice. Listen to my voice. Do I sound like I’m in the mood to debate this?”
“No . . .” Alice sounded hurt. “You’re using your mean voice.”
“Go get Grandma.”
The phone fell. A second later someone picked it up.
“Don’t use your mean voice, Mommy.” It was Noomi. Crying. Undoubtedly fake crying. Noomi almost never truly cried; she’d start fake crying long before she arrived at actual tears.
“I’m not using my mean voice, Noomi. How are you?”
“I’m just so sad.”
“Don’t be sad.”
“But you’re using your mean voice, and I don’t like it.”
“Noomi,” Georgie said, in what probably was her mean voice. “I wasn’t even talking to you. Calm down, for Christ’s sake.”
“Georgie?”
“Margaret!”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” Georgie said. “I just . . . Is Neal around? I really, really need to talk to Neal.”
“He went to do some last-minute shopping for the girls.”
“Oh,” Georgie said. “I guess he didn’t take his phone.”
“I guess not—are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Yeah. I just miss him. Them. Everybody.” She closed her eyes, then quickly opened them. “You and . . . Paul.”
Her mother-in-law was quiet.
Georgie decided to keep going. She wasn’t sure what she was fishing for. “I’m sorry the girls didn’t get to know him like I did.”
Margaret took a breath. “Thank you, Georgie. And thank you for letting Neal bring them to Omaha. Since we lost Paul, well, this is the hardest time of year to be alone.”
“Of course,” Georgie said, wiping her eyes with the heel of her thumb. “Just tell Neal I called.”
She pressed END and dropped the phone on the passenger seat.
That sealed it.
Georgie had lost her mind.