The next stop was Charlene’s room. I pushed open the door slowly, expecting to see her in her bed. But much to my surprise her room was empty.
My heart sank.
She wasn’t there.
“Charlene?” I called.
I walked inside of the room. My heart beat wildly as I stared at the empty bed in my daughter’s bedroom. Then I saw the curtain move and realized the window was open. I stuck my head out and looked down.
Yup, she had definitely crawled out the window, there was no doubt in my mind. There was a ladder leaning up against the side of the house. She wasn’t even trying to hide it. But where had she gone? Could she be in some kind of trouble?
With a sudden urgency, and rising anger, I rushed to Joe’s bedroom. He was fast asleep. I shook him awake. My mind was a flurry of panic and anger.
“Where is Charlene?” I asked, my voice trembling with emotion. “Joe.”
He groggily stared at me, still not fully conscious of the situation. He blinked his eyes.
“W-what?”
“Charlene? She’s not in her bed. Where is she?” I asked frantically.
Joe’s eyes widened as the realization of what I was saying slowly sank in, and he shot up quickly, finally understanding the gravity of the situation. He looked up at me with a grim expression.
“She’s not? But I thought she was. She was in it last time I saw her. I said good night to her at eleven.”
“Well, she’s not there now.”
I felt a sharp pang of worry as I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. I felt my heart racing as I called her number, my thumb shaking slightly with the urgency of the moment. As I expected, she didn’t answer, and so I left a voicemail, desperately pleading with her to call me back and tell me where she was.
I tried again, but still had no response. I tried to find her location on Find My Phone, but she had it turned off, even though I had specifically told her to turn it back on.
I couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. Where was she? And what had happened to her? I had no way to know for sure, but I knew that this wasn’t good. I feared she was out drinking and driving again.
“Can you see where she is?” Joe asked, rubbing his eyes. “In that app?”
“No,” I said, frustrated and worried. “She’s turned it off again. Breaking the rules. She’s grounded, Joe. She’s not supposed to go anywhere.”
“I know that,” he argued. “Why do you always think that I’m some idiot that—”
I snapped my finger. It was Friday. Of course.
“Peyton’s party,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
I pointed at him. “She got mad at me for grounding her because that meant she would miss out on this birthday party that she had been looking forward to. I guess she decided to go after all.”
Joe shook his head. “I see. She’s being a teenager; well, big surprise there. She went to a party. So what? She’ll be fine.”
I stared at him, puzzled at his reaction. Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he jumping out of bed and into the car to go pick her up? What was wrong with him? I barely recognized him. It was like he’d given up.
“What do you mean?” I said almost spitting in frustration. “She lied to us, Joe. She broke the rules and you’re not even mad about it?”
He exhaled and rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should cut her some slack.”
My eyes grew wide. “Slack? What do you mean? She’s lying and running away. Breaking every agreement we make. And you want to cut her some slack?”
He sighed. “She’s going through stuff. We all are. She’s acting out.”
“You’re darn right she’s acting out—” I started, but he placed a hand on my arm to stop me.
“Because of you. Because of what is going on at home,” he said, gazing into my eyes. “Because of what you’re doing to us.”
He was right, in a way. Of course, she was acting out because of what was going on. She had even told me so herself that she knew and that she found it… well, appalling, is the nicer word for it, I guess.
Charlene’s and Joe’s words hurt like nothing else in the world. But I had to remember what my therapist had told me: “Let go of the guilt.” I can’t save everyone all the time. I wasn’t responsible for other people’s actions and reactions, only my own. I knew what was happening at home was out of my control and yet, some part of me still wanted to take responsibility for it. To be the hero who saved the day. I had always been super mom. But now I had to realize that I wasn’t. That I couldn’t make everything perfect again, by blowing on scrapes and bruises and putting Band-Aids on, or cooking their favorite meals or taking them out for ice cream. Those days were over.
I wasn’t perfect.
I wanted to do something, anything, to make things right, but I just didn’t know how. All I could do was stand there, helpless and alone. I sighed and turned away, my eyes heavy with unshed tears.
“Geez, thanks, Joe. Guess it is all my fault. Way to make me feel better.”
“I didn’t know it was my job to make you feel better,” he groaned. “You’re certainly not doing your best to make me feel good, are you? These past weeks have been the worst in my life. But I guess you don’t care about that. Because that’s just me, right? Your husband. A man. And you don’t like men anymore.”
I scoffed and shook my head, hands on my hips. Of course, he made this about him. “You’re just… you’re… this is too much. I can’t do this right now. I need to go find my daughter.”
With that I stormed out of the room, biting back my tears and replacing them with frustration and anger toward my daughter who—once again—had treated me with no respect.
