I mourned my lost childhood and the mother I might have known. I thought of girls I’d gone to school with and how much I’d envied their lives. Their mothers took them on shopping trips and weekend lunch dates. Their mothers showed up for school functions and shared in their daughter’s accomplishments. More important—they wanted their mothers to be there.
Anger replaced my sorrow. I thought of Piper’s accusation that I could have put an end to it. I gazed upward. “God, you could have stopped it from happening, but you didn’t.”
This time, instead of the silence, I heard an audible voice. “Yes, I could have, but I didn’t. What will you do with me now?”
I jumped up and looked around me. The voice had been so startlingly clear—so real. Yet there was no one there. The idea struck me that someone might be playing a trick on me. Someone might have been walking on the beach just like I had been. They might have heard me talking to myself.
But I wasn’t talking to myself. I had actually uttered a sort of prayer. Had God answered me?
I reconsidered my words. God could have stopped the hideousness that was my childhood. He could have given me a normal life, with a mother who wasn’t crazy. But He didn’t. He let it happen. He didn’t intervene and He didn’t heal.
“What will you do with me now?” the voice had asked.
Was it really possible that God had spoken to me? Did He do that? Talk to everyday people who were accusing Him? To a woman who had given up on Him years ago? Or was I crazy too?
I thought of my father and Mark. They both claimed a life that now included time spent with God. Mark talked about God like He was a personal friend—someone who might answer the phone anytime I called. How could that be? Why would the God of the universe even want to take time for me and my questions?
What will you do with me now?
The question whispered in my heart. I hesitantly retook my seat and looked up once again. “Are you really there?”
I shook my head and stared at the water again. “I suppose that was a stupid question.”
“There are no stupid questions when they are about me.”
Again the voice seemed so real I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t heard it. Was I losing my mind? Was this a sign that I had inherited my mother’s schizophrenia?
Fear gripped me. I had always told myself that if I made it to thirty without any signs of mental illness, I would probably be safe. Now I was hearing voices.
“Hey, Bailee,” Mark announced on the other end of the phone. I struggled to wake up as he continued. “I have a new project for you if you’re still interested.” I yawned and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight. I should have been up an hour ago, but then again I hadn’t gotten to sleep until nearly five.
“Of course I’m interested.”
“You sound tired. Did I wake you?”
“Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I was awake until . . . well . . . I was restless.”
“Wanna talk about it?” His voice soothed me.
“First tell me about the project.”
“I emailed it to you already. I knew you’d say yes. It’s nothing difficult—one of those tell-alls by the former nanny of the latest Hollywood ‘It’ couple. Nothing but a straightforward copy edit.”
I suppressed another yawn and got out of bed. “When’s it due?”
“I’d like it back by a week from next Wednesday. Can you manage that?”
“No problem.” It would mean less time to spend with my new stepmother and father, but that didn’t bother me. Without giving it a second thought, I asked Mark the question that burned in my mind. “Does God talk to people?”
“Of course He does.” The matter-of-fact answer silenced me, so Mark continued. “Why do you ask? Is He talking to you?”
“Would it surprise you if I said yes?”
“Not at all.”
His utter ease with the idea almost irked me. “Mark, I’m serious. I’m either hearing voices or God answered me when I asked Him something.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Maybe Mark was stunned by the fact that I’d talked to God. Maybe he was worried just as I was that I had somehow lost my mind.
“It’s been my experience that God always meets people where they are—when they need Him most. Can I ask you something?”
I shrugged and walked to my window. “Why not?” I pulled back the curtain. Raising the blinds, I gazed out on the cloudy skies. Looked like rain.
“What did you ask God?”
I frowned. I didn’t really want to have to explain, but it was my own fault for having started this conversation. “It wasn’t really a question. It was more of a statement.”
He chuckled. “So what did you state?”
For a moment I toyed with ending the conversation. Finally I decided to give him a brief explanation. “I had been thinking of something that happened when I was young. I reminded God that He could have stopped it, but He didn’t.”
“And what did you hear Him say?” Mark’s voice was tender.
“He agreed with me,” I said, barely able to vocalize the answer. “And . . . He . . . well, He asked me a question.” I suddenly felt really silly. “Look, let’s just forget it.”
“Why?”
How could I possibly explain without giving him the details of my life? Details that I would just as soon forget.
“Bailee?”
“I’m here.” I didn’t know what else to say.
He seemed to understand. “I really care about you. I want to help if I can.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened or what God asked you, but isn’t it time to face the truth?”
I nearly dropped the phone. “What do you mean, the truth?”
“You’ve reached out to God, and He’s reaching back. It might not look like what you thought it would, but it’s there just the same.”
“How can you be sure it’s God and not just me losing my mind?”
“I suppose I would base it on whether what He says lines up with who He is and what He says in the Bible.”
“He told me I was right and that He could have stopped it. And then He asked what I would do with Him now,” I blurted.
“And what was your answer?”
I couldn’t believe that I’d just told Mark something so extreme and he wasn’t even questioning the validity. I looked at the floor and wondered how to reply. If I was honest, I would have to tell him that I didn’t have an answer.
“I think the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face,” Mark began, “is the realization that God can do anything, and yet sometimes—”
“Does nothing,” I murmured.
“Or so it seems.” He was full of compassion as he continued. “It seems that God sits idle while the innocent suffer.”
“Yes.” I wanted to say more, but I knew to do so would require an explanation that I wasn’t yet ready to give.
“But He doesn’t, you know. He has given man free will and allows us to make our choices. But He is never idle, and we are never alone. Even in those moments when we believe we are.”
“Bailee!”
It was Geena calling from the hallway. “I have to go,” I told Mark. “My sisters need me.” I hung up without waiting for him to answer and went to the door.
“What is it?” I asked, opening the door.
“It’s Piper. She’s missing.”
Chapter 9
I couldn’t begin to imagine where Piper had gone. She’d taken the rental car, however, so there was nothing for Geena and me to do but wait.
“She was very angry last night,” Geena said as she stirred creamer into her coffee. “You should have been honest with us a long time ago.”
“It wasn’t for a lack of wanting to,” I assured her. “I just worried that it would only add more questions, more fears. I didn’t want you and Piper sitting around dreading the possibilities.”
“Like you were?” sh
e questioned.
I met Geena’s grim expression and couldn’t hide my own worry. “Yes . . . I suppose so.”
“Schizophrenia explains an awful lot,” Geena continued. “At least from what little I know. The few things I can remember—the things we’ve actually discussed—all seem to fit into a giant puzzle now.” She took a long drink from her mug before continuing.
“If schizophrenia was the reason Mom acted as she did, then I truly feel sorry for Dad. If she wouldn’t take her meds or get help, he must have had a real nightmare on his hands. Especially since he probably got very little help from the mental health community.”
“Dad didn’t know the half of what we went through,” I muttered.
“Piper came to me in tears last night. She asked me if depression was a sign of schizophrenia. You’ve seen how she’s struggled . . . she figures it must be her inheritance from Mom.”
“She could overcome her depression if she’d get some help. Good grief, she lost her mother when she was six. Knew that her father was responsible for the death. Then he wrapped himself up in business, leaving us at one boarding school or another . . . or in the care of hired help. Piper never had a moment of continuity in her life until we moved to Newton, but by then the damage was done.”
“We never fit in at boarding school,” Geena offered. “Piper especially seemed confused and alone.”
“I know, but there was never anything I could do about it. At least Dad kept us at the same school—and for a time, in the same room.” I remembered when the day came to split us up. Piper had spent weeks begging Dad to reconsider, but when the day came, Piper didn’t cry or pitch a fit. Instead, she sat in perfect resignation. Wasn’t it Thoreau who once said, “What is called resignation is confirmed desperation”? Piper had been desperate, but I found myself useless, unable to help her. God knew that I had tried. I had pled my case to the head mistresses and to Dad, but both said that the separation would be good in the long run. I disagreed then, and I’ve never changed my mind.
I understood that we had to separate and do our individual tasks related to school. No one would expect a fourth grader to sit in an eighth grader’s class. But most children went home at night to their parents and siblings. They had dinner around the table or at least some form of togetherness. At least that was how I imagined it. Not so for the Cooper sisters.
Late in the morning we heard a car pull up to the house. Geena beat me to the window and announced our sister had returned. Piper stalked into the house and threw a sheaf of papers along with the car keys onto the table.
“There you are,” she announced. “Everything you would ever want to know about schizophrenia.” She picked up one sheet and began to pace. “Where should I start? Should we discuss the angle of it being a psychotic disorder—an abnormal state of the mind in which thought processes are disrupted?” She tossed the page down and picked up another.
“Why don’t we take a moment to reflect on the fact that there are positive, negative, and cognitive symptoms. Better still, let’s pin down what doctors generally look for first—delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech and behavior. And those are just the positive symptoms.”
“Piper, calm down. Bailee and I both know something of schizophrenia,” Geena declared.
I felt sorry for Piper but wasn’t sure what to say. She turned on her heel and went to the table to grab another piece of paper and continued to pace. “Well, until this morning, I didn’t know much of anything about it, so please bear with me as I detail for you the five types of schizophrenia.
“There’s our number one contestant—Paranoid Schizophrenia, which offers us delusions and hallucinations, not to mention that those patients generally focus on being pursued, betrayed, or plotted against. Sound familiar?” Her sarcasm was like a knife in my heart.
“How about behind door number two?” She looked to Geena and then to me. “That’s right, we have Disorganized Type Schizophrenia. It doesn’t seem to have the degree of delusions and hallucinations that Paranoid Schizophrenia offers, but it does allow for some negative symptoms that are not found as often in number one. You might ask what the negative symptoms are, and I’m glad you did.”
Our petite little sister marched to the table once again and riffled through the papers until she found what she wanted. “Negative symptoms include the flattened effect, where folks have trouble showing emotions.”
“Well, that certainly isn’t your problem,” Geena interrupted, her tone sarcastic. “Look, we get it. You’re angry. I was angry too. Bailee didn’t keep this from us to be mean. She thought she was protecting us.”
Piper shook her head. “Don’t interrupt. We’re learning about important family history here.”
I shuddered and said nothing as Geena took a seat beside me and Piper continued. “Other negative symptoms would also include anhedonia—this is where patients fail to experience or express pleasure in things they once found enjoyable. Add to this reduced speech and a lack of initiative, and you could very well be describing me for the last two years.”
“Oh, stop it,” Geena demanded. “You aren’t suffering from schizophrenia and you definitely don’t have reduced speech.”
Piper zeroed in on me and came to where I sat. “What about it, Big Sis? You’re the keeper of such information. Have you determined yet whether I suffer from our mother’s mental illness?”
“I never meant to hurt you,” I said, unable to think of anything else.
“Well, you failed,” she said matter-of-factly and walked away.
“Piper, I always intended to tell you. I just wanted to wait for the right time.”
She turned and looked at me. “And how did you determine when that might be? When we started showing symptoms? It’s hereditary, you know.”
“It can be. It doesn’t have to be. Scientists credit drug usage as the main cause of increased cases,” I countered. “There’s only about a ten percent chance in people who had one parent suffering the disorder.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked in disbelief. “You’ve known about this for years and said nothing.”
I couldn’t muster a response. I’d always imagined this moment of disclosure, but I figured my sisters would be grateful. Once I was able to explain my reasoning, I figured they would be touched—appreciative. That was far from what I was seeing now. Something authoritarian rose up in me.
“I was wrong.” I looked at Piper and put on my role of big sister. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry.” Glancing over to Geena, I added, “You both have a right to be angry. However, I want to remind you that Dad will be here today with our new stepmother. I want to resolve this now.”
Piper crossed her arms. “Good for you.”
Her lack of understanding made me angry. “This is the thanks I get for doing what I could to keep you safe from harm? I spent my entire life watching over you and seeing to your needs before my own.”
“Nobody asked you to,” Piper said, taking a step forward. “Nobody.”
I nodded. “You’re right. They didn’t ask. They demanded.” I felt rage begin to bubble up from down deep inside. I felt unappreciated and scorned for my devotion. “They demanded.”
“Who demanded?” Geena asked. “Who forced that on you, Bailee?”
“Our mother,” I said, shaking my head. “She always demanded that I keep track of the two of you—that I help her account for your safety.”
“From dangers that didn’t even exist,” Piper interjected.
In a flash I found myself taken back in time to a moment when our mother had tried to teach us to swim in the Port Orchard Strait. I had no idea where our father or the housekeeper was, but Piper was nearly two. She couldn’t possibly remember the event, but she’d gotten too cold in the water and was sick for nearly three weeks afterwards. Dad had been very worried about her recovery, but I had never told him the cause of Piper’s sickness. Would the dangers have stopped if I’d been honest?
“
But Bailee is right,” Geena said, bringing me back to the present. “Dad will be back before we know it, and Judith will be with him. Dad is the one who should have told us the truth. My question, however, is do we approach him about this with a stranger in our house?”
Piper calmed a bit. “I don’t see as how we have a choice.”
I could only imagine the scene we would create. “Maybe we can convince Dad to speak with us privately. After all, they plan to stay in the cottage.”
The phone rang as if on cue. Geena was closest and picked it up after the first ring. “Hello?”
I could tell that it was Dad. I saw Piper slump to a chair as though all of her gusto was now spent. Geena nodded and looked to me. “We’ll see you when you get here.” She hung up the phone.
“The ferry just docked and they’ll be here in a few minutes. Dad wants us to join them for lunch.”
“I guess we can talk when we get back then. Hopefully Judith will want to rest—maybe take a nap. We can let her know that we want to talk privately with Dad. She’ll understand.”
“What if after confronting Dad, he decides to turn himself in?” Piper asked.
“I hardly think that’s going to happen,” I replied. “He’s had fifteen years.”
Confusion muddled my thoughts. Geena had been determined to get a confession and see Dad face the consequences for the past. Piper had been terrified of what that might mean. But after all I’d shared, what did they think now? I was starting to feel a sense of exhaustion.
I remember Dad talking to my grandma Cooper when I was about seven. She told my dad that love sometimes required sacrifice, and often that sacrifice would be uncomfortable—even painful. It seemed this was one of those times.
I checked the clock on the wall. They would arrive in a matter of minutes. Not only would we face an alteration to our family in the form of a new stepmother, but we would confront the past head-on. We would ask the question that had consumed us since our mother died. Were we strong enough to hear the answer?
Chapter 10
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