Healed

by Tess Thompson

  The second time out, with a grumpy driving teacher who looked as though he’d recently stepped out of a biker club, she managed to hit a person. In her defense, she barely tapped him as she pulled out of a parking space at the driving school. Her victim had been clearly intoxicated in the middle of the afternoon—which likely was the reason for his homelessness—and had stumbled in front of the car with a sudden swiftness. She was driving five miles an hour. Not fast, thankfully. Still, in her shock, she slammed on the brakes. Hard. The teacher’s forehead smacked the dashboard. The homeless guy was fine. Drunks tend to bounce. Her teacher, unfortunately, had a sizable bump on his forehead. Pepper Griffin was kicked out of driving school. They wouldn’t even give her parents their money back. The story had spread like a wildfire in the dead of summer. By the next morning, all the kids at her small private school knew about her near-homicide. Everyone had a great laugh at her expense, which further sealed her determination never to attend a high school reunion.

  After giving her teacher a concussion and almost taking out a harmless albeit drunk homeless guy, Pepper had decided her driving career was a lost cause. Having access to the great freedom machine, as Dack called it, wasn’t worth the pressure of being responsible for killing someone. Cars were completely irresponsible in the wrong hands. And hers were all kinds of wrong. Furthermore, talk about an exercise in trust. At any moment, a car could veer into your lane and, boom, it was all over. The best you could hope for was that you were wearing clean underwear.

  “Why is it that I always think there’s more to the story than what you tell me?” Cora asked, not unkindly or with a hint of accusation. Her voice was always flat and even, like the smell of antiseptic in a medical clinic. All very clean and tidy but without an ounce of warmth.

  That said, the woman was good at her job. She cut right through Pepper’s bullshit and zeroed in on the truth.

  “I have a phobia. Is that what you want to hear?” Pepper asked.

  “Of driving.”

  “I almost killed a man when I was in driving school. So now I don’t drive.”

  “Was that so hard to say?” Cora asked.

  Pepper wanted to let out the world’s longest sigh and roll her eyes like a thirteen-year-old girl shopping for clothes with her mother. She refrained. “It was a little hard.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s embarrassing.”

  “And therefore, makes you feel vulnerable,” Cora said.

  “Yes.” Vulnerable. The most overused word in America.

  Knitting, lavender, and vulnerability. Even better when done together.

  Cora set aside her knitting. “I’ve been doing a little research about the craft of acting since you became my client. My niece is studying the dramatic arts in college and is a great source of information. I’ve learned that much of the initial training is focused on becoming vulnerable so that you might adequately express human emotion. Yet you seem to have difficulties doing so. Even with a therapist.”

  “Playing a part is different from being me.” Being Pepper might look easy from the outside, but the inside was as complicated as one of those thousand-piece puzzles Dack loved.

  “Could we try something new in the spirit of making progress as quickly as possible?” Cora asked. “When I ask you a question, don’t censor yourself. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. I promise not to judge you.”

  Cora was as relentless as her knitting needles.

  “I’ll do my best,” Pepper said.

  “Are you having any luck finding a place to live?”

  Ah, yes. Now they’d come to her second problem and cause of embarrassment. Ironically—given her earlier brush with the almost-homicide of a homeless man—she was homeless. Thirty-one years old and a perpetual guest. A mooch. Not because she was a day drinker like the poor guy she hit with the front bumper of a Chevy. Thank goodness. She had enough problems without adding drinking to the list.

  “My options are somewhat limited.” With her funds from the latest acting gig already drying up like her skin in hot weather, there was no way she could afford a place in Los Angeles or Cliffside Bay. Thus, she had made mooching a professional sport. “It’s hard to find a rental in Cliffside Bay, and I don’t have much money.”

  “Yes. We agreed that it would be a challenge. At the same time, you expressed a deep desire to have your own place and rely less upon your friends. You’re sure to remain stuck if you never take actions to change your situation. Did you take any steps we agreed to last week?” Cora crossed her legs at the ankles. Her shoes were black with a buckle. Raggedy Ann shoes.

  “I did not,” Pepper said.

  “Why is that?”

  Cora was not the kind of shrink she’d anticipated. Pepper had assumed she’d be the type who asked a leading question at the beginning of the session and then wrote psychoanalysis type stuff in a notebook while the client rambled on about their feelings. Not Cora. Although she looked like someone’s grandma with her knit dresses and comfortable shoes, she was a real ball-breaker—always pushing for progress on Pepper’s to-do list and bugging her about being more proactive about her life and work. Cora had no clue what the acting life was like. One didn’t just will a job your way. There were thousands of girls hoping for an audition for some crappy television show. When she’d mentioned this to Cora in a previous session, the irritating woman suggested goal setting and vision boards and being clear about your intentions.

  “I had a place until my best friend fell in love in like two seconds.” Pepper hadn’t meant to say that out loud or with such a biting, bitter tone.

  Pepper and Lisa had planned on renting an apartment on the second floor of the Victorian, but an unforeseen set of circumstances had prevented their plans. First, Lisa fell in love with Rafael and decided to move in with him. Second, Lisa had asked Pepper to give up the apartment so that her twin, David, and his two young children could move in. She’d agreed without hesitation. The poor guy’s wife had been dealing and distributing drugs from her minivan while their children slept in the back seat. She was murdered when the bad men she worked for learned the FBI was about to arrest her. They killed her before she could make a deal in exchange for information. At least, that was the theory.

  When she wasn’t in LA for an audition, Pepper stayed with Maggie and Jackson and their adorable baby, Lily, in their idyllic house down a country road five miles out of town. Yet another couple blissfully in love and having perfect little babies. They were all around her. It was enough to make a lonely girl even lonelier.

  Pepper, Lisa, and Maggie had attended four years at NYU together and then spent another eight in pursuit of Broadway careers. Oddly, Maggie was now a folk-rock star, and Lisa was the “it” girl of Hollywood.

  And that left Pepper.

  An almost movie star. Who was she kidding? She wasn’t an almost anything. Other than her recent part in a slasher movie and a long list of Broadway chorus girl credits from her time in New York, she was more moocher than actress. Her character in the worst horror film ever made had been killed in the first twenty minutes. Filming had wrapped in August, so the movie hadn’t yet released. Technically, she didn’t know that the film was bad, but she had a distinct suspicion. The script had been terrible. The other actors had been young and untrained with no tricks to elevate terrible dialogue or rescue the implausible plot. Unless the editing team was a bunch of magicians, there was no hope for the thing.

  Alone. Out of work. Bitter. Worst of all, jealous of her two best friends. Which only made Pepper’s suspicions about herself abundantly clear. She was a bad person. Just like her biological father. Selfish, self-centered, self-absorbed. All the words that began with self.

  Her response seemed to energize Cora. She leaned forward and fired off the next question. “This is the second time you’ve mentioned Lisa’s rapid engagement. Do you disapprove?”

  “No. I don’t disapprove. I’m happy for her. Rafael’s a great guy. She finally met the right man.�
�� Even if he was former military. “I can be glad for her and sad for myself.” Pepper had recently learned something about friendship she hadn’t known before. One could be happy for a friend’s good fortune in parallel with feelings of jealousy and abandonment.

  “What makes you sad about her engagement?” Cora asked.

  She kind of hated Cora. “I’m being left behind.”

  “Everyone’s moving forward but you?” Cora asked.

  Right. Lisa and Maggie had thriving careers and supportive partners who adored them. She was broke and alone.

  “And I feel like a mooch,” Pepper said. “A pathetic loser.”

  Her stepfather always said visitors and fish go bad after three days.

  Even Jackson, Cliffside Bay’s young and saintly doctor, might tire of her frequent presence in his home. The same worry didn’t apply to Maggie. They were like family. Sisters by choice. For years, she and Lisa and Maggie had shared apartments in New York City. In the early days after college, they’d lived in a one-room studio together. They were sardines in a can back then. She’d loved those times.

  “I’m fine to stay at Maggie’s. As long as Jackson doesn’t get sick of me.”

  “Why would he get sick of you?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that…” She looked down at her lap. “I’m often too much for people.”

  Cora smoothed a plump hand over the arm of her chair as if petting a cat. “What does that mean?”

  “Unless they want to have sex with me, most men dislike me.” Men wanted her to shrink down to their size. “I say what I think and don’t pretend to be dumb just because men love to feel superior.”

  “Can you give me an example?” Cora asked.

  “Not off the top of my head, no.”

  “All men are not the same. There are men who like women who challenge them.”

  Pepper shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “May I ask you something?” Without waiting for an answer, Cora asked anyway. “Why did you start therapy with me?”

  “Lisa and Maggie thought I should.” Pepper squirmed, remembering the conversation. Maggie had been insistent that she talk about the trauma she’d experienced at nineteen. Four sessions later, she hadn’t yet told Cora about the awful night on the subway.

  “Do you know why they wanted you to see someone? Did something happen among the three of you that prompted the request?”

  Pepper picked at the fabric of her jeans, buying time. “I had an argument with Lisa and Maggie.”

  They’d been in Lisa’s kitchen washing up the dishes from one of the Sunday-night dinners with the residents of the Victorian when Lisa brought up the subject of Stone.

  She winced as she remembered the conversation.

  “I’d appreciate if you’d drop this ridiculous and unfounded animosity toward Stone.” Lisa handed her a cup to put in the dishwasher. “You were so rude to him tonight that I was actually embarrassed for you and for him.”

  “I wasn’t rude, just distant.” Anger widened the space between her breastbones. She came out fighting. “I don’t like him. What’s it to you?”

  “He’s my friend and Rafael’s best friend. I don’t like the way you talk to him. It makes you seem petty and spoiled.”

  “I don’t have to like him just because you want me to.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Pepper, you don’t even know the guy. How can you hate him?” Lisa slammed a rinsed plate onto the counter instead of handing it to her.

  “You spent like two minutes with Rafael before you decided you loved him. What’s the difference?”

  Lisa gaped at her, like a stunned fish. A fish with the face of an angel.

  Pepper scuttled away from the sink. The minute she’d said it, she knew it was so far out of line as to be a zigzag. She placed her hands on the edge of the cooktop and took in a deep breath, waiting for the explosion from her friend.

  It didn’t come. When Pepper had the nerve to look, Lisa was simply standing there with her hands tented under her chin. Her light blue eyes shimmered. From unshed tears or anger? Pepper couldn’t be certain.

  “You’re the one who told me hate is not the opposite of love. Indifference is. Right?” Lisa asked.

  “That’s right.” Her father’s behavior had taught her that lesson far better than any definition in a textbook.

  “You’re not indifferent to Stone Hickman. Which is what this is all about, and you know it.”

  “You’re wrong.” Pepper glared back at her friend.

  “You haven’t allowed yourself to get to know him because you’re wildly attracted to him.”

  “What’re you talking about? He repulses me.”

  “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know this isn’t about him, other than the fact that he used to be a Marine. Maggie’s right. Your weird revulsion toward the sweetest guy around is about what happened to you, and you’ve never dealt with it. If you spent time with him instead of doing everything in your power to alienate him, you’d see what a wonderful person he is. He would never hurt a woman.”

  “I’ve dealt with it fine. I’m strong. Not everyone has to spend thousands of dollars at the shrink to work through stuff,” Pepper said.

  Lisa’s eyes filled with tears as she took two steps back and slammed into a corner of the counter. “How can you say that to me?” Her voice trembled. “Take it back.”

  Pepper’s stomach lurched as she realized what she’d said. Lisa had spent time in a mental facility when she was younger. Recently, she’d started intensive therapy after being at a concert where dozens of people were gunned down by a monster with an automatic rifle. “I didn’t mean you. I’m sorry. I just meant that I don’t need therapy. I’m fine.”

  Lisa drew near enough that Pepper could see the shimmer in her friend’s eye shadow. Lisa tapped her lightly on the chest. “Listen to me. You’re going to call the therapist’s number that Jackson gave you, and you’re going to make an appointment.”

  “I’m a grown-up. You cannot make me.”

  “Do you value our friendship?”

  “Of course I do. You know that. You and Maggie are my family,” Pepper said, hoping not to choke on the tears that gathered at the back of her throat.

  “Then you’re going to do two things. You’re going to get into therapy and deal with the trauma from that night. And in the meantime, you’re going to do whatever it takes to get along with Stone. No more smart remarks or mean glances his way. No more antagonizing him. You’re going to treat him with the kindness and respect he deserves.”

  Before Pepper could answer either way, Lisa turned on her heel and fled the room, leaving only the scent of her perfume.

  Now Pepper looked up at Cora. Rip the bandage off. There was no other way. “I was raped when I was nineteen.”

  Cora flinched as though someone had slapped her. “I’m so sorry.” A slight pause as Cora adjusted her skirt. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  “My friends think I should. They believe it’s messing up my relationships with men.”

  For once, Cora didn’t ask a follow-up question. The silence was like a bowl of heavy cream between them. They both wanted to dip their fingers in but weren’t sure how.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Pepper said, finally. “I mean, it was a long time ago. Shouldn’t I have moved past it by now?”

  “Time does not heal all wounds,” Cora said. “Despite what people say.”

  Pepper unlocked her knees and rose from the chair to walk over to the window. Cora’s office was in the front room of her house. Her home sat at the base of the southern hill and looked out to the sea. The lawn butted up against a section of the boardwalk that ran above the long stretch of sandy beach. Several potted planters with mums decorated Cora’s front steps. A woman with two small children in a double stroller had stopped at the edge of Cora’s lawn to adjust the baby’s blanket.

  “Do you think talking about it will help?” Pepper asked.

  “I wouldn�
��t be in this chair if I didn’t.”

  Pepper ran her finger along the edge of the windowsill. The smooth white trim paired well with a soothing blue.

  Blue was supposed to calm a person. She’d read that somewhere.

  “Tell me what happened,” Cora said. “Just the facts.”

  She remained at the window. A gust of wind tickled the chimes that hung from a rafter of Cora’s covered porch. They made such a lonely sound, like a high-pitched, staccato cry for help. “I was on the subway late at night. The car was empty other than me and four Navy guys. They were drunk—staggering and belligerent—and cornered me. ‘Let’s take turns.’ That’s what they said right before they grabbed me. Three held me down while one raped me. Before the next one could take his turn, the police came. I learned later that a man in the next car had seen them cornering me and had called 911.”

  An image of the Navy men dressed in whites floated before her. It was forever ago, but she could see their mean faces in detail. One fair with freckles. Another had a crooked nose, as though it had been broken in a fight. The third man who held her had a thick, bulging vein in the middle of his forehead. The rapist had eyes like Hitler.

  “Eleven minutes. That’s how long it took before the cops showed up,” Pepper said. “But it seemed like a lifetime.”

  She forced her eyes to focus on the woman with the stroller to keep the images of that night from crowding her mind. The young mother kissed the baby on the head as she tucked the blanket tightly around her.

  “Were they charged?” Cora asked.

  “Yes. I made sure of that.” The police had taken her to the hospital. “Rape test and the whole thing. They went to prison.”

  The woman outside the window got behind the stroller and set off down the sidewalk. Pepper watched her blond ponytail sway back and forth, as if it were happy. Free as could be. What would it be like to be live without the weight of the past? She turned back to look at Cora. “I wish I were normal. Because of them, I’ll never be.”