Infinite in Between by Carolyn Mackler Read Free Book Online

why he was on the bus.
    Yeah, Zoe wrote back to Max. Four is good.
    Zoe clutched her phone in her lap. She hadn’t talked to her mom in three months. Jane had told her that the rule at Sierra’s “place”was no outside contact. Zoe knew what place meant. It meant rehab, but no one was saying it.
    Zoe could see that the guy next to her was talking to her. She pushed her headphones down onto her neck.
    â€œI was saying that I like your phone,” James said to her.
    â€œThanks.” She hoped he wasn’t trying to start a conversation. She didn’t think she could do that right now.
    â€œIs that the new one?”
    â€œNot really,” Zoe said. She stared out the window. It was going to be hard to make it until four o’clock.
    Zoe slid an English muffin into the toaster and was just opening the fridge for jam when Jane walked through the door, home early from work. For a second Zoe was embarrassed to be helping herself to food. She still felt like a guest here.
    â€œI wanted to get a jump on Thanksgiving cooking,” Jane said. Her eyes darted to Zoe’s phone on the counter, which made Zoe suspect she was there to make sure things went smoothly with today’s call. Even though Max had texted Zoe to set up the call, Jane seemed to be talking to him quite a lot. It was Jane who told her that Max said her mom was returning from Arizona in two days. Also, Jane and Max had decided that Zoe would fly to LA for Thanksgiving then come back to Hankinson to finish up the fall semester. Over Christmas break she was moving back to California for good.
    The toaster popped, which made Zoe jump. She reached for a butter knife but accidentally dropped it onto the floor.
    â€œYou can help me cook if you want,” Jane said, bending over for the knife. “After your call.”
    â€œOkay . . . thanks,” Zoe said.
    At four on the dot Zoe’s phone rang. She was sitting on her bed, examining her toenails. On both big toes she still had a smudge of purple from the pedicure she got on the last day she and her mom were together.
    â€œMom?” she asked hoarsely.
    â€œZoe? This is Lani,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m your mom’s counselor. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
    Lani spoke slowly, like Zoe was a preschooler.
    â€œI’m about to put your mom on,” Lani said. “I’ll be on the call too. Your mom is excited to talk to you, but she’s still vulnerable. I’m sure you understand. Let’s be strong for her.”
    Before Zoe had a chance to ask what that even meant , Sierra said, “Hey, Z. How’s it going?”
    Zoe’s eyes welled up. She tried to say hi back, to sound strong, but she felt like crying.
    Lani jumped in. “I know this is hard for both of you. It will be wonderful to see each other at Thanksgiving next week.”
    Zoe wiped her eyes. “Will Lani be there?” she asked her mom.
    â€œNo,” Lani said. “I won’t.”
    â€œAre things—” Zoe paused. “Are they better?”
    In a million years she could never say alcoholic out loud. Back in October, Jane had driven Zoe to an Al-Anon support group at a church in downtown Hankinson, but Zoe couldn’t get out of the car. Her legs literally wouldn’t move.
    â€œCan you explain for me?” Sierra asked Lani.
    â€œRecovery is a process,” Lani said. “Your mom will need everyone’s support on her journey.”
    Zoe picked at her toenail. When they hung up a few minutes later, Zoe realized she’d never actually talked directly with her mom. Lani was the go-between for the entire call.
    A few days later Zoe was helping Jane bake a pecan pie. Paul Simon was playing. Jane was explaining how her son, David, was coming for Thanksgiving and he was bringing a few buddies from Downing College.
    Jane worked as an administrator at Downing, the small college forty-five minutes away. David went