by Kris Ripper
“I see what you mean, of course,” she said. Singer had always been extraordinarily competent. “But parenting is more than a task to be accomplished. It’s not as simple as being a good student, or a good employee.”
“Uh. Well. We didn’t really know each other in school. I only ever saw him from afar, mostly when he was in plays with my cousin.”
“Yes, Singer had a flair for theater, didn’t he? That’s the kind of thing I mean. Less of a … job to be done, more of an innate talent. That’s how I feel about having children.” She smiled and picked up her purse. “Nice speaking with you, Jake.”
“You too, Mrs. Thurman.”
She left as he was still putting together his sandwich. Of course, young people were notoriously blind when in love. Jake likely didn’t realize the extent to which his inclination to have children ran contrary to Singer’s disinclination to do the same. Anyone could see Singer had no particular gift in this area. Half the time he seemed afraid he was going to drop the little boy.
Surely Singer understood that the noble thing to do would be to cut ties now, when the child was young, and not saddle Jake with a disinterested partner. Was he really so selfish that he would rather avoid the inevitable confrontation than face the clear facts? He was so very much like Drew sometimes.
Of course, none of it was the baby’s fault. And they were throwing an unnecessarily elaborate birthday party for him in a few weeks. Viv mentally mapped local children’s shops and considered driving into the city. Miles should have at least a few things that had not been purchased at Target, for goodness’ sake. And she might not have many more opportunities to expand his wardrobe.
22
Lisa
68 days since leaving Grace
Lisa’s only excuse was that Mother should have been asleep, with her earplugs and eye mask. Not lying in wait, ready to spring yet another appointment on her.
She should have been asleep, dreaming of whatever Mother dreamed about. (And here Lisa drew a blank: what images invaded Mother’s mind while unconscious? It was hard to imagine Mother letting the polished veneer she preferred to reality slip, even in sleep. Surely Mother didn’t dream of snakes that became faces, or beds that became sucking space vacuums with teeth.)
She shivered, and Mother looked over.
“The air conditioning in these places,” Mother said. “Almost as bad as the music.”
These places, like Mother had seen a lot of shrinks’ waiting rooms? Maybe she just meant with Lisa, in the last two months.
“Lisa?”
Mother stood up with her, stood behind her, and the man at the door put out his hand.
“Lisa? And you must be Vivian.”
“Call me Viv, everyone does.”
Lisa fought an eye roll. Once, she’d been dropped off at home by a concerned parent from some party the cops broke up. She’d been standing there—a little like this, actually, in the doorway—and the other mom had introduced herself, frazzled from talking to the police, pretty freaked out. Mother, reliably, had said, Call me Viv, everyone does, and Lisa had caught Singer’s eye for a second where he was sitting on the sofa in the living room. He hadn’t rolled his eyes (Singer was not an eye roller), but he’d looked at her, then Mother, then her again, like he was saying, I know.
Was she supposed to sit down? But Mother was standing there, half in, half out of the room, urgently explaining to the man that she felt it necessary to stay with Lisa for the session, blah, needs me, blah.
He was in his forties, black, hair cut close, maybe like the military, but she couldn’t always tell with black guys, polo shirt over an upper body that looked like it wanted to be defined but had gone soft—good shoes, though. If she’d seen him on the streets in Long Beach or Santa Monica, walking back to the office after lunch, she would have approached him with a smile. He would have let her get exactly twenty seconds into her pitch before graciously excusing himself. He would have been one of the ones who told her to have a good day, even if she pushed him into another twenty seconds.
One of Jake’s cousins had recommended him, which was probably why Mother was so freaked out. She hadn’t personally vetted this one like she had all the others. And already she couldn’t control him.
“Thank you, Viv, that’s very helpful.” He had one hand on Mother’s shoulder, leading her back to her chair. “We’ll see you in a few minutes.”
Then he ushered Lisa into the room and shut the door.
She offered a half shrug. “Sorry. I’m not sure what any of this is trying to do, but you could probably let her in. I don’t care.” It wasn’t exactly true, but it was true enough to not feel like a lie.
He waved a hand at the room. “Sit anywhere. And you’re thirty-four years old, Lisa. That’s at least fifteen years out from when I’d be comfortable having your mom in on your first session. And twenty years out from when I’d welcome her. Sit. Unless you’d rather stand, but I’m definitely going to sit.”
His name was Saul. Saul Smith. It was right there on his degree, from UCLA. So, Southern California, interesting. He might well have been one of her potential recruits once.
She sat in an armchair.
“Do you get a lot of thirty-four-year-olds dragged in here by their mothers?” she asked when he didn’t say anything.
“A few. Am I the first person she’s dragged you to?”
“Not even close.”
“I’m not an expert on cults. Your mother appears to have a dim view of my profession in general, but she seemed especially irritated that I’m not an expert on cults. I take it I was not her choice of therapist?”
“No, my—brother’s boyfriend’s cousin gave me your name. Sorry.”
“For your mother’s dislike? It doesn’t bother me.”
She shifted in the armchair, trying to find a way to explain Mother. “I was gone, you know. She must have been worried.” Which sounded weird. Mother worried? Mother—the woman who greeted I know it’s late, but the police called, and there were drugs with Call me Viv, everyone does—worried?
“She should go to therapy,” Saul said, deadpan.
“Yeah. Well, sometimes I think she is, and I’m just the excuse she’s using.” Lisa shrugged. “Sorry, I have no idea what we’re doing here. This is probably a waste of your time.”
“Do you like baseball? We could talk about baseball until your time’s up. I get paid either way.”
“Ha. Yeah, not so much. I used to like basketball, but it’s been a while.” She gestured to the diploma. “Lakers fan, by any chance?”
He nodded. “But it’s been a while. Well, you want to give it a shot? Therapy, I mean, not basketball. I could ask some questions, nod wisely, generally give you the impression I have all the answers while mentally planning my fantasy baseball team.”
“Is that something you do a lot?”
“No. But not never, either.”
They stared at each other for moment that probably felt longer than it was.
“Sure,” Lisa said. “Okay.”
“Were you in a cult?”
“I guess it depends on how you define ‘cult.’”
He—Saul—smiled. “Good point. Let’s see.” He pulled out his phone, tapped on it, leaned back. “Google tells me a cult is ‘a system of religious veneration and devotion directed toward a particular figure or object.’ It can also be ‘a relatively small group of people having religious beliefs or practices regarded by others as strange or sinister.’ Which definition do you think your mother’s using?”
“May I look?”
Saul hesitated, then held out his phone, angled so she could read it but not inviting her to take it.
“I guess the second one. I think Mother regards any group of people doing something she doesn’t understand to be sinister.”
“That’s the thing about words. Ultimate
ly, there’s always interpretation involved. So, given those two definitions, would you say you were in a cult?”
She wanted to see Google again, but she didn’t really need to. Directed toward a particular figure. Praise for Anthony Grace. Even now, out of touch for only an hour (she’d refreshed the search on her phone minutes before being called back to the office), her fingers tingled with the desire to see where they were, who was online, what they were doing. Sometimes they mentioned him, always as He, like Jesus, like he needed no name, like that one capitalized letter communicated his greatness.
“Yes.” Was there something else she was supposed to say? Should she apologize? Explain?
Saul nodded. “And you live with your mother now?”
She blew out a breath, shaking her head. “No. No, I live with my brother, and I live in the old house, but Mother wasn’t supposed to be there. He and his boyfriend live there, with this kid they’re adopting, and Mother just showed up. I mean, I was with them for five days, you know? My parents. And it was too much. They wanted to … fix me.” It was vitally important that he understand she did not move in with Mother and Dad. “And now she’s here and she’s really screwing everything up. She told Jake—that’s the boyfriend—that it’s not his house, and he was actually just defending me, so that makes it so much worse. But she won’t leave, and we don’t know why.”
“Hang on, I need a recap. Your brother and his boyfriend live in your parents’ house, while your parents live elsewhere.”
“Right, yeah. Yes.”
“And when you left the cult, you moved in with them. With your brother and his family.”
Singer had a family now. It was surreal, but accurate. “Yes. And I think—I don’t know—I think maybe it would have been okay, even though they’re Derries.”
Saul raised his eyebrows.
“These kids we went to high school with—my brother’s boyfriend is one of them. And he’s got all these cousins who used to hate me, but I don’t think they hate me anymore.”
“And how does your mother fit into this picture?”
It must look insane from the outside. How much less insane did it seem to her, after living with twenty-seven other people at the farm? Lisa wasn’t sure.
“Mother showed up one morning. Without calling. Or maybe she called and we ignored it, I don’t know. And since then it’s been—” Intolerable. Impossible. “Difficult.”
“She moved in?”
“I guess so? At least, she won’t say she moved in, and she won’t say when she’s leaving.”
“And who pays the bills?”
“Singer and Jake, I think.”
“Not your parents?”
She shook her head. “No. If Dad was paying the bills, Singer would have moved by now, or at least talked about it. But he’s still waiting for Mother to leave, so he must think she’s going to.” She shook her head. “Does any of this make sense to you at all? I mean, maybe I was in a cult, but describing this feels a lot more crazy to me.”
Saul smiled, and she decided she liked him. She couldn’t quite smile back, but he was okay, he got it somehow.
“Sounds crazy, yeah. But it also sounds like it has the potential to be a solid support network for you.”
“Except for Mother.”
“She mentioned you have a lock on your door. It particularly disturbs her.”
“Yeah. Well, Emery got it for me.”
“And Emery is another friend? Or one of your brother’s friends?”
“Singer’s sister-in-law’s sort of brother, I think. He has dimples.” Oh, god, did she say that out loud? She blushed. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”
“Can I ask why you have a lock on your door?”
“I was blocking it with a table. But that only works when I’m inside. I wanted a way to lock it when I left. And Jake—that’s Singer’s boyfriend—said I should feel safe in my own house. But I don’t, really.”
“Because you think someone might enter without your permission?”
“Oh. Well. Not exactly.”
Saul offered a small smile. “Not exactly?”
“I know Mother would enter without my permission if I wasn’t there. But Singer and Jake never would, and I still didn’t … feel safe. Before.”
“Because of your cult.”
“I guess so.” She tried to keep her fingers from writhing around each other, but her bones were showing again. They’d be snakes soon, she could feel it.
“Do you worry that someone will come after you, Lisa? From before?”
What’s the difference between worry and hope? “It’s not gonna happen. People leave. No one person is more important than any other.”
“Sometimes feelings aren’t rational. You can know your mother means well and still find her presence difficult. Are you afraid they’ll try to take you back?”
Bones, white bones, segmented by knuckle joints. Twisting around each other. “I think I more—at first? At first, every time someone knocked I was afraid. And also, it’s like I never existed, like I was never there. Sometimes I wish someone would—would try. To make contact. But I know they never will.”
“Your mother says you were there for three years.”
She nodded, throat dry.
“It’s perfectly normal to miss them, Lisa. And if you feel comfortable, with your brother, with his boyfriend, or his friends, talking about it, that would be good.”
It didn’t seem logical. “They think I was abducted. Forced to stay there. I mean, they know I wasn’t Patty Hearst, but they don’t get how much I loved it. How much I wanted it. How it felt more like home than here.”
“Tell them,” Saul said. “If you can. And try to convince your mother to go home.”
“Not likely. I don’t know what she’s waiting for, but I don’t think I can do it, whatever it is.”
He nodded and looked up at the clock on the wall. “We’re done. Feel free to make an appointment for next week.” But she saw in his face he didn’t think she would. No. No way Mother would pay for a therapist who wouldn’t even let her in the room.
“Yeah, okay. Uh, thanks.”
Sure enough, Mother promised she’d never have to return to Saul’s cold office. “He’s a hack. I’ll find someone better.”
There was no point in arguing. So she didn’t. She surreptitiously pulled out her phone and refreshed Twitter again. It wasn’t any more real than Mother’s world, but at least it didn’t require her participation.
23
Frankie
Coming clean
Logan was nearly always in a good mood. It was simultaneously one of Frankie’s favorite and least favorite things about him. On one hand, it made him reliable and predictable, to say nothing of—attractive. Low-key, noninvasive good cheer was apparently a quality Frankie actually enjoyed, though she wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone.
On the other hand, it was a point in Logan’s nature that emphasized the gulf between them. Frankie had a reputation for temperamental, incurable nosiness to maintain, after all.
She knew immediately upon starting work that afternoon that today was not a day when she had to worry about feeling like she corrupted him by challenging his seemingly effortless happiness.
After checking in with Izzy in the office—“Get out of here, Derrie, can’t you see I’m busy?”—Frankie did a round of the store, gathering a stack of books to reshelve. She ended up at the front checkout desk and sideways bumped into him as a way to say “hello.”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite light up his eyes. “What’s up, girlfriend?”
“I am not your girlfriend.”
“I think you’re wavering on that front.”
She was. “I’m really not. Why do you look all bummed out?”
“I’m not ‘bummed out,’ Frankie. I’m
, like, contemplative.”
“Oh yeah? About what?” On a normal day she’d knock on his head, pretend it was empty. Not a game for today.
“It’s nothing. I’m mostly inventing a reason to feel bad about myself. Sort of.”
Frankie glanced around. They had exactly one customer, a regular, who was sitting in the back of the store reading a book about game theory. She definitely didn’t have to be in ultra-professional mode, so she shoved the books out of the way and jumped to sit on the counter. Izzy would snap at her if she happened to venture into the store, but she’d looked pretty busy in back. Plus, Izzy snapping was the usual way of things, not something Frankie needed to avoid. After a brief hesitation, she mock-punched Logan’s shoulder. “Why’re you trying to feel bad about yourself?”
He sighed. “You’ll think it’s pretty absurd.”
“Shoot. Distract me from trying to figure out why Singer’s being even more obtuse than usual.”
“Wait, he is?”
“Yeah, like I’m no one’s expert on relationships, but he’s playing this whole ‘I don’t know what to do, blah blah blah, Jake’s mad at me’ card right now that’s really getting on my nerves.”
“Seriously? But are you sure you’re not just sort of making it up, because—”
A less gentle punch this time. “I said, distract me.”
Logan grinned, raising his eyebrows in invitation. “But I love Derries drama. Maybe you should be distracting me.”
“Fine. Tell me what exactly you’re not thinking about, and I promise I’ll come up with something way more overwrought to replace it.”
“Okay. Deal.” But he paused for a moment, looking almost hesitant. “The thing is, it’s silly. And I know it’s silly. But I feel lousy anyway.”
Frankie was known for rushing in and asking too many questions. She was also known for saying too much, and at all the wrong times. And maybe, with the cousins, she still played that role, if role was what it was.
With Logan, she did something else. She gave him a little bit of space and waited for him to speak.
“You know how I went to that big graduation party for my cousin over the weekend?”