Scarlet didn’t even know how to respond. Church? She had never been in a church once in her life, and had never known her mom to go to one, either. She was beginning to seriously worry if her mom was losing it, having some kind of nervous breakdown. Had her being sick shaken her up that much? Or was something else going on with her?
“Why?” Scarlet asked, breaking the thick silence.
“I felt the need to talk to someone,” she said, “about what happened yesterday. The thought of losing you…”
Her mom suddenly teared up, and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
Scarlet felt a pit in her stomach.
“Mom, I’m fine,” she said, more edgy than she wanted to be. “Seriously. There’s nothing wrong with me. God. Why are you making such a big deal of this?”
“I saw Father McMullen. Do you remember him? He remembers you. He met you, when you were a child.”
“I don’t remember ever even going to church,” Scarlet said.
“When you were young, we took you a few times. Anyway, he said he wants to see you.” Scarlet looked at her mom as if she had two heads. Who was this person who had landed at their dinner table?
“He wants to meet me? Why? What are you talking about?”
“I told him about you, and about our family, and about what happened, and he thought it would be a good idea to meet you.”
“Why?” Scarlet insisted, her voice rising. Now she was getting mad. What was her mom telling this priest about her?
“Caitlin, what are you talking about?” her dad interjected, setting down his fork.
“Is there anything so terrible about meeting with a priest?” she asked. “About going to church?”
“I’m not going to church,” Scarlet said. “Hello, I haven’t gone my entire life. Why should I start going now? Because I got sick? Because I disappeared for a few hours?”
“Scarlet,” her mom said, “please. I’m asking you to do me a favor. I never ask anything of you.
I’m only asking this one thing. Please. I’m worried about you. I want you to come to church with me. I want you to meet Father McMullen.”
“What’s the point?” Scarlet responded, feeling her heart pounding inside her chest. “I don’t understand. Like I said, I’m fine.”
Was her mom losing her mind? Was her family going crazy?
“You don’t know that,” her mom said.
“What are you saying: I’m not fine?”
Scarlet felt herself shaking inside.
“Caitlin, Scarlet is fine,” her dad interjected. She was grateful that at least he was taking her side.
“Just because the event shook you—”
“I just want her to meet with the priest,” she responded, her voice rising, too, more insistent than ever. “Please. Just do this for me. He can heal you.” Scarlet found herself standing, her face flushing red.
“Heal me of what!?” she snapped, nearly shouting.
Her mom just stared back, silent.
“You’re crazy!” she yelled back at her mom. “You’re losing it! You’re the one that needs to be healed! Seriously. You go talk to someone. Like a shrink or something. I don’t need to be healed. I’m fine. I’m sorry if you see me as some kind of freak. But I’m not. I’m perfectly normal!” she shouted, as if trying to convince herself, too.
Scarlet burst into tears as she turned and fled the room, running up the steps, crying, Ruth at her heels.
She could hardly process it all. She couldn’t believe that her mom thought of her as a sick person. As needing to see a priest. To be healed. What did that even mean? What did she think was wrong with her?
As Scarlet ran up the steps she heard her parents voices below, arguing with each other. She heard her dad sticking up for her, yelling at her mom, and heard her mom yelling back. Scarlet cried harder. She felt as if her entire family life was crumbling around her. Was she to blame? What was going on? It seemed like just yesterday everything was so perfect.
Scarlet ran down the hall and slammed her bedroom door behind her. She heard her mom’s footsteps on the staircase, then down the hall, coming towards her door.
“Scarlet, I want talk to you!” her mom shouted, outside her door.
“Go away!” she screamed back.
“Scarlet, please, open the door!”
But Scarlet ignored it. She locked her door, crossed her room, and curled up in her favorite chair, Ruth at her lap.
Scarlet sat there, never feeling more alone in the world, as she cried and cried. After a long time, finally, her mom’s voice disappeared from the door.
Scarlet eventually sat up, wiped away her tears, and reached over and grabbed her small, white leather journal from her end table. She used to write in it every night, though she hadn’t written in a while. Now, she felt the need to. She had to make sense of her world, to get a hold on her range of conflicting emotions.
She pulled back the cover, flipped through the pages and found an empty page. She reached over and grabbed her favorite, purple pen, then leaned over and began to write: Today was the worst day. I woke up in the hospital. I can hardly believe it. It was so weird. I came home sick, then blacked out, and I don’t remember anything in between. Mom and Dad say I ran out the house, and that I was missing for a while. Which really freaks me out. I don’t remember it at all. I really want to know where I went. What I did. If I saw any of my friends. Hopefully, no one saw me.
I’m also freaked about what happened to me. Am I sick? Was it sleepwalking or something? Will it happen again? Mom doesn’t want to let it go. She keeps asking me if I’m okay, and she’s so worried. Now she wants me to talk to a priest. It’s so annoying. I can’t stand to be around her right now, and I’ve never really felt this way before.
The dance on Friday is causing me so much pressure. I was sure Blake would ask me today. I’m sure he would have if it weren’t for Vivian. I hate her. Every time Blake gets near me, I feel she’s waiting to steal him. I don’t know if he asked her. Or if he’ll ask me. I hate dances. This is all so stupid anyway.
I wish I knew where Blake stood. We had a really good time the other night, at the movies, on my birthday. I really want to be close to him. I want him to be my boyfriend. I don’t really know if he feels the same. Is he not into me? Is he into Vivian? Did I do something wrong?