Influenced

by Eva Robinson

  Hannah didn’t feel like a very brilliant psychologist—not when she was about to start taking money to make up disorders for rich people.

  She smiled. “I thought maybe if Rowan took a portrait of a promising student from Rindge, she could post a caption about what the teen center would provide for her. Someone already eighteen would be easier, permissions-wise. Maybe give some details about the kinds of help available, the tutoring, the arts classes. A goal of how much money Rowan’s trying to raise, how it’ll help the students with their specific needs—applying for college, SAT tutoring, all that. And we could try to run viral contests so it’s shared.”

  Rowan grimaced. “I don’t want to sound like a total jerk, but photos of teenagers isn’t really my brand. I do sound like a jerk. Okay, maybe I could get someone to shoot from behind, sort of in the distance, just standing on the ground of the building site? Shot from behind but with really lovely sunset lighting. And then…” She waved a hand. “Whatever you said, Hannah.”

  “Brilliant,” said Peter. “I like the bit about the SAT tutoring. I mean, the inequality is just so glaring, right? We have some students paying thousands of dollars for classes that make their scores go up hundreds of points. The kids who can afford it get extra time. With private testing, if you pay the right psychologist, you can buy the results you want. My ex-boyfriend was one of those psychologists, and he had to go.”

  Hannah felt the heat rising to her cheeks. She’d soon be writing a report explaining that Isobel—Rowan’s younger sister, who had no discernible disability—absolutely needed double the time on the SATs because of executive functioning issues she’d invented.

  Of course, she could never admit to it, but she wanted to scream at him, to justify herself. “I’m sure those psychologists aren’t intending to be unethical. You know, it’s like that psychiatrist who diagnosed everyone with bipolar at Mass General. Was he part of some nefarious plot? No, it’s just that everyone has biases that color how they interpret things. When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail…” She trailed off. “And all that.”

  He spread his hands, palms up. “And the end result was a bunch of kids on liver-damaging medications that they never needed. To me, when it comes to morality, intentions don’t matter as much as how it affects the real world.”

  Rowan gave him a playful shove. “Peter, can you smoke a bowl or something and get back to us? Go back to your ‘I’m a Creep’ song.”

  His eyes crinkled when he laughed, but Hannah still felt her cheeks grow hot with anger. He wouldn’t care that she had to make a living, would he? Everyone was so quick to judge these days. “Well, you certainly have an interesting perspective,” said Hannah, but it sounded hollow, angry.

  A heavy silence fell over them, the air thinning. Hannah forced a smile. Why did she care? Probably because she knew he was right. “Anyway,” she added, “the college boards are generally terrible. If we got rid of them, it would solve a lot of problems.”

  “Well, no arguments from me,” said Peter. “But there’s stuff going on you would not believe. Wealthy people are just buying their way in.” Peter took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I’m not talking about the SATs. That’s just the stuff people know about. I’ve heard a rumor from one of my students that there’s a serious academic fraud situation going on. People are completely buying their way into the Ivies with bribes and favors. The student wouldn’t tell me who was involved, but I plan to find out.”

  Hannah felt a chill ripple over her. Was he talking about what she was doing?

  Rowan rolled her eyes. “There’s no conspiracy. Money’s always paved the way to acceptances. If your parents donate a few million dollars, you’re more likely to get in. You can read all about it, in fact, in the angry comments on my Instagram photos. They’ll explain to you exactly why I’m actually an idiot who didn’t deserve to go to Harvard.”

  Peter shook his head. “This is different.”

  Hannah arched an eyebrow. “Well, what is it?”

  Peter pressed his lips together, then pretended to zip them. “I’m not ready to say anything yet.”

  Stella glared at him, seemingly irritated that she wasn’t being let in on the gossip. “Well, who else knows about it?”

  He smiled. “You know what? I’m going to shut up and play my guitar again. Any requests?”

  “Bob Marley,” said Rowan.

  Hannah was desperate to know what he was talking about, but Peter was already walking away.

  “That sounds like quite the conspiracy.” Stella flicked her flowery hair behind her shoulder, staring after him. Then she turned to the table, plucked a strawberry tart from a plate, and dropped it on a napkin. “Anyway, moving along, please try this. I just picked these berries from my garden, maybe a little early. But I swear, it tastes like heaven.”

  Hannah pulled it from her hand. Stella was a single mom of three, and she’d somehow found the time to bake strawberry tarts with berries from the garden? “Impressive.” Hannah took a bite, her tongue delighting at the sweet custard and the tart berries. She needed this, actually, to soak up some of the wine.

  Stella shrugged. “I always need to bake when I have parties. Peter has a severe nut allergy. I got donuts once from a bakery, and we had to EpiPen him then spend the night in the ER. Not a fun end to a party. And speaking of anxiety, I should check on my kids. I’m so glad you could come, though, Hannah!”

  “I’m glad to help.”

  Rowan caught Hannah’s eye, then nodded at the smoking man again. He sat about twenty feet away from them, oblivious to all the gossip.

  Hannah grabbed a second strawberry tart, then started crossing the grass toward Daniel. As she approached, he turned and caught her eye.

  And Rowan was right—completely. He looked younger than she’d expected, with large, dark eyes, dark hair and thick eyebrows, a trim beard. He smiled at her.

  Hannah lifted one of the tarts and asked, “Do you want one of these? It’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  “I’d love one.” Even his accent was gorgeous. “Care to join me? I’ve been left all alone.”

  She took the seat next to him and dropped the tart on the wide wooden arm of his chair. “I’m Hannah.”

  “Daniel. Lovely to meet you.”

  “Someone told me you made the sculptures?”

  “Oh, yes.” He lifted his cigarette and pointed at one. “And that one seems to be staring at us. It’s a little disconcerting.”

  Hannah peered through the shadows at a stone statue of a woman. She seemed to rise from the ground, her skirts swirling around her. Amazing that he could make stone and moss look so delicate. “Does she have a name?”

  “Melusine. A beautiful and vengeful water spirit.”

  “And what did she want revenge for?”

  “For men disappointing her and breaking their promises. Again and again.”

  “A tale as old as time. Did you make up the character?”

  Lantern light glinted in his dark eyes, and he smiled. “Oh, no, she’s an old legend.”

  “I noticed you said she was staring at you. And if she’s a spirit of vengeance, I’m wondering if you feel guilty for something.”

  “Do you think that’s what it means?”

  “Well, it’s just that people interpret ambiguous stimuli based on their core beliefs—” Oh no. She was doing that thing, the one where she got nervous and started babbling academic jargon. “Sorry, what I meant was, maybe you’re ruminating on vengeance a bit because you feel conflicted about something.”

  Unlike her, he wasn’t actually eating his tart. “Are you a psychologist, by any chance?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  He leaned closer. “I think psychology is fascinating. I have a book about Jung, with big color pictures of his art. His mandalas.”

  Jung had believed he was inhabited by the spirit of a fourth-century gnostic. Jung was psychotic. “He was definitely an interesting person. Maybe more of an
artist than a scientist.”

  Daniel arched an eyebrow. “Why do I feel like you think that’s a bad thing? Am I being judged?”

  She laughed. “No, of course not. The world needs both. Like your sculptures and the living things growing on them.”

  Hannah was now deciding that not only was Daniel beautiful, but she felt immediately drawn to him. She’d only just met him, but already Hannah wanted to know where he was from, what the street looked like where he grew up. What his parents were like, and what he ate. What he did before he went to sleep at night, what his ideal woman was like, what he dreamt about, and how he drank his coffee.

  But she’d start with one question at a time. “And where did you get the idea for moss?”

  “I’m inspired by folklore, always. In German folklore, there are people called the Moosleute. The moss people. Some said they were demons, or nightmare creatures. They’re the old and wild side of us. Primal things. And it’s nice when art is a little bit alive, isn’t it?”

  At this point, she’d totally forgotten about Luke. “Well, Stella is very lucky to have these nightmare creatures in her yard.”

  He smiled. “I’m too scared to ask for them back. She looks delicate, but she can be very intimidating.”

  “Rowan said she met you in Paris. What do you think of Boston? How does it compare?”

  “I like it. There’s a lot of natural beauty. But I still have to see a lot more. Have you been to Walden Pond?” he asked. “Where Thoreau lived?”

  “I have, yes. I went skinny-dipping there, in fact.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she could feel her cheeks going red. “A long time ago.” It had been in high school, and on her own. She’d heard the other kids had gone the weekend before, and she hadn’t been invited, so she drove out on her own.

  “I haven’t been there yet.”

  “Oh, it’s lovely and peaceful there. Especially in the spring, before the schools are out.” The humid spring breeze kissed her cheeks, and she could feel herself blushing. With the quiet music and beads of golden light around her, this seemed like a perfect moment. She was herself again—not just a mom filling up sippy cups, not a glorified personal assistant running from room to room delivering cell phones to teenagers. “I was thinking of going Sunday.”

  “Oh? Maybe I could meet you there?”

  In this moment, she felt like maybe a world of adventure was still possible, and euphoria warmed her skin like sunlight. “Yes. Absolutely. There’s a lot to see in Concord.”

  Before she could say another word, the sound of footfalls turned her head.

  Rowan was walking closer, hips swaying. She arched an eyebrow, moving right for them, and already, Hannah could feel her stomach falling.

  That was the problem with euphoria—it always came with a crash.

  With a feeling like dread sliding up her spine, she was sure she already knew what would happen next, because it had all happened before.

  Twenty-Two

  Hannah’s stomach tightened as she watched Rowan smile down at Daniel, a dark curl falling in her eyes. She was barefoot now, and the red strap of her dress had fallen down over her shoulder. She cocked her head, eyes locked on Daniel, and Hannah felt like she’d suddenly blended into the shadows.

  “Daniel,” said Rowan. “You have to help me brush up on my French. I’m forgetting everything.”

  He flashed her a lopsided smile. “But did you ever really learn it? I don’t remember that.”

  She sauntered over to him and lowered herself into his lap, one arm around his shoulders. “Isn’t he the most beautiful man in Cambridge? Shame about the smoking, really.”

  “I’m trying to quit. I don’t know what to replace it with.”

  “Women,” said Rowan. “Women and more art.”

  Hannah’s mouth opened and closed. And here it was—the point where she was forgotten because someone more interesting had entered the picture.

  She glanced out toward Fresh Pond, tuning out Daniel and Rowan.

  Suddenly the weight of her fatigue was pressing down on her. Maybe it was the champagne, maybe it was the three hours of sleep a night, but her thoughts were growing muddled, words fragmenting in her mind.

  And when she closed her eyes, she felt herself floating back in time.

  I’d rather die…

  Senior year of high school, she’d followed Thomas Holbrook out to the bridge over the Charles. Tom had perfect cheekbones, a shaved head, and a tattoo of a crow on his bicep. He was one of the only people who was nice to her. She told him of her plans to take trains all over the world. In her mind, she’d kind of thought they were dating, despite never having kissed.

  They were meant to be together. She knew that more clearly than she knew anything else she’d learned in school. She’d been in love with Tom. He was the one who’d introduced her to Herman Hesse and Kafka, and that had seemed so important at the time.

  Then Rowan had shown up. She had the kind of beauty you could just stare at. And as a high school girl, what else was there? Everyone thinks high school girls are silly and dumb. If they’re pretty, then at least they have a bit of a purpose. It means they’re destined for great things.

  When Hannah looked back at her own high school pictures, she cringed. Big sweaters, pimples, glasses her dad got for free from a teachers’ union.

  It should not have been shocking when Tom asked Rowan to the autumn formal at the Charles Hotel instead of Hannah. Nor should it have been a shock when Rowan dumped him a few months later, and he’d wandered brokenhearted and drunk out onto that bridge, swaying over the frozen river. Girls like Rowan were made to break hearts.

  And given that dumpy high school girls are not interesting to anyone, was it really so surprising what happened next? She remembered that night, the sound of ringing in her ears, like a high-pitched screaming that was driving her insane. Banshees in her mind, heralding death.

  When Thomas had stood on the edge of that bridge looking lost, and Hannah told him she loved him—

  “Hannah?” said Daniel. “You look lost in another world. We were talking about Walden Pond. Do you think Thoreau’s shack is still there?”

  “Thoreau was a fraud,” she snapped. “He wasn’t out in the wilderness. He lived on a friend’s property close to the town center, and his mom made him sandwiches and did his laundry every day. And he thought ordinary working people were stupid, I guess because they didn’t have the good sense to have their moms looking after them.” Slowly, the ringing subsided, replaced now by silence.

  Daniel and Rowan were both staring at her, and a terrible silence slowly unfolded.

  Hannah felt herself snap back into the present, and it took her a few moments to orient herself. She’d broken out into a cold sweat, and her blood was pumping hard.

  Time had been so strange for her lately—moments sometimes stretching on for eternities, and other times everything seemed to be sped up, as if hours had passed in just a few minutes. Right now, it seemed only moments ago that she’d been at her house, smashing ants on the floor. Truly a life of quiet desperation, as Thoreau would say. He was right about that, at least.

  She kicked off her shoes and pressed her bare feet against the ground, trying to root herself in the solidity of the earth. This was what she did when she needed to get in control again. And they weren’t in high school anymore, were they? The old rules didn’t apply.

  “Sorry, I haven’t been sleeping enough,” Hannah added, mentally blocking out the fact that Rowan was still in his lap. “And you know what? His writing is still fantastic, and he was absolutely right about the natural beauty of the pond. ‘The moon traveling over the ribbed bottom, which was strewed with the wrecks of the forest.’ Perfect place for an evening picnic, I think. Maybe the peacefulness of the place would help my mind go quieter.”

  “I think it would. I need that, too. I get insomnia,” said Daniel. “I stay up late listening to music.”

  “So it would be good for both of us, then.�
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  He pulled out his phone. “How do I find you online?”

  Hannah’s cheeks were warming. “HannahBookAddict on Instagram.”

  “Oh, lovely. I will—”

  His words were cut off by Rowan resting the side of her head against his, nuzzling him. “It’s so nice to have old friends around.”

  Now Daniel’s gaze was on Rowan again, and their faces were so close… His attention was back on Rowan now.

  “I was sorry to hear about your friend,” he said. “Arabella. I think I met her once here, no? With her husband?”

  Rowan let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s so tragic. I really admired her. She was so clever…”

  Both Rowan’s arms were around his neck now, her face close enough to kiss him. Hannah was staring to get the impression that Rowan had sent her over only because she wanted to show her—again—that she could take any man she wanted from her.

  There it was again, that ringing rising in her ears.

  I’d rather die, Tom had said.

  “Yes, you seem awfully broken up about your friend’s death,” said Hannah, unable to hide her sarcasm.

  The world fell silent again, as both Rowan and Daniel stared at her.

  “Sorry,” she said quietly.

  Hannah’s hands were shaking, and she stood and slipped into her shoes. Silently, she crossed the grass, heading back to the porch.

  Clearly it was time for her to go, as Rowan still seemed to have the ability to rattle her.

  She didn’t meet anyone’s eye as she climbed the curving stairs up to the porch. She searched through the darkness for her purse and felt a rush of relief when she pulled her phone out. No missed calls from Luke.

  A hand gripped her arm, and she spun around.

  “What was that about?” Rowan stood behind her, her arms folded.

  Hannah supposed she might as well tell the truth. “You told me to speak to Daniel, and that I might like him. And then just as we were making plans together, you sat in his lap and wrapped your arms around him, and you pretty much looked like you were going to make out with him. What was that? A power play of some kind?”