Free In the Bag by Kate Klise Page A

bad? I remembered the time at LAX when I thought she’d died.
    Oh, God. This is what I get for wanting to throttle my daughter earlier in the day. This is my punishment for being a terrible mother.
    “Do you think you need to see a doctor?” I asked.
    “No,” Coco said, gulping for air. “It’s just like . . . a bug or something. Can’t you go without me?”
    “I can’t leave you here alone.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because I can’t, ” I said, picking up the phone and dialing Solange’s number.
    She answered on the first ring. Of course Solange was awake at this late hour.
    “I hate to do this to you,” I said after explaining the situation. “But I knew you’d understand.”
    “I do understand,” Solange replied. “But, Daisy, I need you here. Would Coco be more comfortable on a train?”
    I asked. Coco buried her head and started crying.
    “I’m afraid she really doesn’t feel well,” I said.
    Solange asked to talk to Coco. I could hear only my daughter’s end of the conversation.
    “Hi . . . Thanks . . . I know . . . No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just . . . I feel crummy. I’m sure it’s nothing . . . Of course I wouldn’t mind. I know! College, right? I’m going to be on my own in four months anyway.”
    Of course she’d already begun the countdown for when she was leaving me. It’s okay. Perfectly normal, in fact. Don’t take it personally.
    “Uh-huh,” Coco was now saying. “Yeah, okay. Thanks. I will. Bye.”
    She handed the phone back to me.
    “The problem is solved,” Solange reported. “Coco will stay in bed and get better. You will call Coco from Madrid every four hours. She has music, DVDs, TV, and a refrigerator full of food.”
    “But—” I objected.
    “You will leave Paris tomorrow morning and be back the next morning,” Solange reminded me.
    “That’s a whole day,” I said.
    “D’accord,” Solange said. “And Coco will be in bed. If she starts to feel worse, I will have my doctor go and look at her.”
    “Doctors make house calls in Paris?” I asked.
    Coco lifted her head. “Of course they do, Mom. Didn’t I tell you to see Sicko ?”
    Her superior tone coupled with her ability to keep a running tally of my flaws convinced me that she was already on the road to recovery.
    “Daisy, you have the best daughter in the universe,” Solange was saying. “You can trust her to stay in my apartment for twenty-some hours, for God’s sake.”
    “D’accord,” I said. “I do have a great kid.”
    Coco looked at me and smiled.
    So I agreed to keep my commitment to Solange. And part of me—that secret part I really and truly don’t like very much—was grateful to have an excuse to spend some time on my own away from my perfect kid, whose only fault was that, at times, she reminded me exactly of me.

CHAPTER 25
    Webb
    I didn’t sleep much that night. Could’ve been the paella, but more likely I was stressing about meeting Coco.
    Somewhere around 2:00 a.m., when I was sure Dad was zonked, I got out of bed and pulled on my jeans and a shirt. I grabbed a room key and went downstairs to the business center to check e-mail.
    Nothing from Coco, so I read some of the other messages I’d been ignoring the last few days. They were all from friends at school.
     
Fr: Archboy@com
To: Webbn@com
Subject: Wassup???
hey wassup someone said yr in costa ricka or russhia or s/ware izzat right well b cool and stay safe you missed a bitchin party last pm at gavin’s house no parents + lotsa beer + laaaadies
     
Fr: Methatswho@com
To: Webbn@com
Subject: w/r r u?
Attached: You gottta hear this!
hey webbmaster. didnt c u @ G’s party and yr not r/trnin my t/msgs or calls u ok? g’s party was awsumest of the year open this file. u wont bleeve yr ears
    I clicked on the attachment and was treated to the sound of farts performing the opening bars of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.
    I hit CANCEL and closed the file. I decided to reread Coco’s messages instead.
    It