“NOW WHAT?” I turned to Jules. After a promising start, the trail had run cold.
“You’re too easily discouraged, Sasha. We’re just going to have to do some digging. Let me copy down all the cities and the dates. They might be significant, taken as a group. Mr. Grant, thank you for all your help. Here’s my phone number—if you remember anything else or you get some more information that might help us, could you give me a call?”
Now Jules really did sound like a police inspector. I waited for her to whip out a business card, but she just wrote her number on the outside of the manila envelope.
Standing on the sidewalk outside the store, my resolve continued to wane. “GREAT. NOW WE’RE LOOKING FOR A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK THE SIZE OF THE WHOLE WORLD.”
“You are such a downer. I think the fact that this person travels so much narrows things down considerably.”
“DEFINITELY. I’M THINKING RUSSIAN SPY OR ART SMUGGLER. MAYBE WE SHOULD CALL INTERPOL.”
“There’s no use talking to you when you’re in a mood. I’m taking you home. You can read your sex book and fantasize about Ben. He’s a big part of your reason for doing this—remember? Keep your eye on the ball.”
“IN THAT CASE, DON’T YOU MEAN BALLS?”
“Exactly my point. With talk like that, it’s obvious you’re in desperate need of a tongue down your throat and a hand down your pants.” Jules kept a straight face, but I could see she was about to crack up.
“YOU THINK?”
Would Ben ever kiss me like he had before? I worried I would never feel his arms around me again, and that made me more depressed than my lost voice ever had.
Chapter 15
“How are you doing, Sasha?” Dr. O. sat, pen poised over her legal pad, waiting for me to announce some major breakthrough.
“I FEEL GOOD. NO PROGRESS ON THE TALKING FRONT, BUT I FEEL LIKE I’M MOVING IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION.”
“In what way? Any progress with that boy? Did you get back together?”
“NO, NOTHING SINCE HE TOLD ME HE LIKED ME BUT HE FELT LIKE HE WAS GETTING IN THE WAY OF MY GETTING MY VOICE BACK.” It was easier to talk about it with her than with Charlotte.
“And how does that make you feel?” Classic softball shrink question. I expected more from the illustrious Dr. O’Rourke.
“IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE SHIT.”
Dr. O. raised her eyebrows. I usually made an effort to control the language when I was with her, but she was annoying me. Since I couldn’t tell her about how Ben’s supernatural talent had played such a significant role in our relationship, we weren’t going to get very far with this line of inquiry.
“Understandable. But you must see that someone with your condition has more complex issues than most teenage girls, and it would have to be a very unusual boy to be able to handle them over the long term, no matter how mature.”
If any boy had the stuff to cope with my issues, Ben was the one, but even with his extraordinary gift he didn’t have the patience to deal with me.
“SOMETHING ELSE DID HAPPEN. I VISITED THE ACCIDENT SCENE.”
Dr. O. stopped writing and looked up. “Interesting. What made you decide to do that after all this time?”
She was probably annoyed with me for not having done it years ago when she recommended it. But better late than never.
“I DON’T KNOW. I JUST WOKE UP ONE DAY AND DECIDED IT WAS TIME TO GO THERE. IT WASN’T THE SNOW AND ICE THAT MADE OUR CAR HIT THE TREE.” I tossed it out there, expecting a spectacular reaction, but she just went back to scribbling on her yellow pad.
“What makes you say that?”
“SEE FOR YOURSELF.” I handed her a few of the poems. “THESE WERE TUCKED INTO BOUQUETS OF WHITE TULIPS THAT SOMEONE LEFT AT THE BASE OF THE TREE.”
“Goodness.” After scanning each one, Dr. O. took a deep breath. “Are there more?”
“I HAVE SEVEN OF THEM, BUT THERE WERE THIRTEEN ALL TOGETHER. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE REST.”
“How do you know how many there were if they weren’t all there?” Dr. O’Rourke asked.
“JULES AND I TRACKED DOWN THE FLORIST AND …”
She cut me off. Finally, I had sparked some interest. “Tracked down?”
“IT WAS JULES’S IDEA. WE CAMPED OUT IN A TREE AND GOT LUCKY. THE GUY FROM SHAKESPEARE’S FLOWERS CAME BY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.”
“Fascinating. So what did you find out?” Dr. O. stared at my fingers as I furiously typed answers to her questions.
“WHOEVER CAUSED THE CRASH DOESN’T WANT TO BE FOUND. NO NAME, NO RETURN ADDRESS, PAID IN CASH, AND POSTMARKS ON THE ENVELOPES FROM ALL OVER THE WORLD. PRETTY MUCH UNTRACEABLE.”
“What do your aunt and uncle think about this?” she asked.
“I HAVEN’T TOLD CHARLOTTE AND STUART YET. SHOULD I? IT WOULD PROBABLY JUST UPSET THEM, AND UNTIL I KNOW SOMETHING, WHAT’S THE POINT?” Charlotte would be angry with me if she knew I was keeping such a major secret, but truthfully, what difference would it make? “IT’S NOT LIKE MY FAMILY WOULD BE ANY LESS DEAD IF WE KNEW EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED.”
“That’s true. A very mature attitude. And if you need to talk, you always have me. So does that mean you haven’t gone to the police?”
I shook my head. Maybe she was worried they would subpoena my medical records and arrest her for stealing Charlotte and Stuart’s money for the past four years.
“THE POLICE AREN’T GOING TO WANT TO INVESTIGATE A CASE THEY CLOSED FOUR YEARS AGO. ACCORDING TO THE REPORT, ICE CAUSED MY FATHER TO LOSE CONTROL OF THE CAR. I COULD FIND A SIGNED CONFESSION UNDER THAT TREE, AND I DOUBT THE SHORELAND POLICE DEPARTMENT WOULD ADMIT TO BEING WRONG.” Not that I had anything against local law enforcement, but their skills ran more toward directing traffic at weekend tag sales and handing out parking tickets.
“You’re probably right about that. At this point, so many years after the fact, it’s probably best to leave things be. As you so succinctly said, it’s not going to bring your family back. It seems to me that looking forward is your best strategy. Maybe knowing that your father didn’t do anything wrong is enough for you. Do you really need to know all the details?”
“I DON’T KNOW.”
“Have you considered the possibility that this poet is some weirdo who’s making stuff up, trying to draw attention to himself?”
Dr. O. leaned forward, as if trying to read my thoughts in my eyes, probably trying to see if this new information had made me any nuttier. I had been worried that she would insist we call the police with the information Jules and I had found, so that they could solve the mystery and provide me with some kind of closure. Weren’t psychiatrists all about closure?
“BUT WHY WOULD SOMEONE PRETEND TO BE THE PERSON WHO KILLED MY FAMILY? THAT’S EVEN CRAZIER THAN I AM.”
“Just throwing it out there. This world is full of all kinds of unusual people, as you well know. So now what are you going to do?”
“I HAVE NO IDEA, BUT I’LL FIGURE IT OUT.”
For the first time, I really felt like I was going to figure it out. And the fact that Dr. O. didn’t seem to have all the answers didn’t matter at all.
“That sounds like a good idea. Just keep in mind your goal—getting your voice back. It’s easy to get distracted, and your friend Jules sounds like someone who likes projects. You don’t want to get so busy playing Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson that you lose your focus.”
“JULES GETS CARRIED AWAY SOMETIMES, BUT SHE WANTS ME TO GET MY VOICE BACK AS MUCH AS I DO.” I seemed to spend a great deal of time defending my best friend’s good intentions.
“And what about your boyfriend?” Dr. O. looked at her watch but didn’t say anything. We were almost out of time, thank goodness.
“HE’S NOT MY BOYFRIEND ANYMORE.”
“But he would be if you could talk to him, isn’t that correct? It’s all about the talking. Keep that on the front burner. At this point, I think memory recovery might be overrated, especially in your case.” She didn’t need to rub in the fact that
I had a lousy memory. “Okay, I’m afraid we have to call it a day, but I think you’re getting there. Keep it up—move forward, Sasha. That’s where your future is.”
“YES, MA’AM.” Did Dr. O. really just say that?
“By the way, I’m going to a medical convention next week, so I’ll be out of the office. If you need me for anything, you can e-mail, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
“I’LL BE FINE.” I picked up my backpack and opened the exit door.
“You’re right, Sasha, you will be.” Dr. O. smiled warmly and went to open the front door to let in her next victim.
Chapter 16
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
Ben’s mother opened the front door before I was even halfway up the walk. How did she know I was coming? How did she know who I was? During the weeks Ben and I had been dating, I hadn’t met his mother. And although he had said he was the only clairvoyant in the family, he did say that his mom was magical, whatever the hell that meant. The closer I got to my old front door, the more I realized just how bad this idea was. Seven Seashell Lane was no longer my home, and Ben was no longer my boyfriend.
“I’M SASHA BLACK. I’M SORRY TO BARGE IN ON YOU LIKE THIS. I SHOULD GO.”
Just as I had suddenly had the urge to return to the place where my family had died, I had woken up that morning with a desperate need to go home again. For whatever reason, my addled brain was telling me to return to the nest. But what little confidence I’d felt when I set off on my latest quest dissolved as the dreadful monotone that stood in for my voice echoed in the chill late afternoon shadows; such a contrast to Mrs. Fisher’s lilting, almost musical voice. Turning around, I was practically in the street when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“What are you doing, Sasha? Don’t go. You’re supposed to come here. I want you here. Ben wants you here, even though he doesn’t know it yet.”
She knew the magic words. At the sound of Ben’s name, I turned around and looked into eyes the exact same color and shape as Ben’s. We had not spoken to each other at school, and he never came to the library anymore. Glimpses across the cafeteria, down a hallway—that was all I had seen of him in the last month. Seeing someone up close who was so close to him made me miss him even more. Maybe he was here. No one was peering out from behind the curtains, but perhaps my exile was almost over.
“BEN WANTS ME HERE?” I wanted to hear her say it out loud again.
“He wants you to get better. He’s having a difficult time right now. Your breakup was hard on him.”
She made it sound like I had broken up with him. Now I knew Ben was a freak. What teenage guy had heart-to-hearts with his mom about his love life? Had he filled her in on the specific circumstances that had led to that breakup? As weird as this family was turning out to be, I couldn’t imagine that kind of openness. But the possibility that my blow job blooper was fodder for dinner table conversation in the Fisher household made me want to run fast and far.
“IS HE HERE NOW?”
Please be home. I crossed my toes inside my shoes. At the very least, he could tell me exactly how much his mother knew about us.
Ignoring my question, Mrs. Fisher asked, “Did Ben tell you anything about me?”
“JUST THAT YOU AND YOUR HUSBAND ARE UNIVERSITY PROFESSORS, AND THAT YOUR HUSBAND IS WORKING ON A BOOK.”
“Nothing else?”
I shook my head. Maybe Ben had lied to me. Maybe Mrs. Fisher was a card-carrying telepath and was testing me.
“I’m surprised. I wonder why. I guess he wants you to do this all on your own.” She was almost talking to herself at this point. Definitely not a mind reader. Ben had been telling the truth. Thank goodness.
“WHAT DIDN’T HE TELL ME? ARE YOU LIKE BEN? DO YOU READ MINDS?” I had to ask, just to be sure. “WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ON MY OWN?”
“No, I can’t hear your thoughts. Only Ben has that particular gift. But we’re an unusual family, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that our paths have crossed.”
In her long skirt and dangly gold earrings, she resembled a gypsy fortune teller more than a college professor. “REALLY?”
Was this woman merely eccentric, or was I on the verge of something momentous? Maybe Mrs. Fisher could help me find the mysterious murdering poet, help me figure out what to do when I did. A crystal ball seemed as good a solution as anything Jules and I had come up with so far.
“I do. When we were moving back to the States, we weren’t sure where we should live, but when we walked into this house—your house—it spoke to us, and I knew we had to start the next leg of our journey here.”
“YOUR JOURNEY?” Did that mean they weren’t staying in Shoreland?
“I feel the spirit of your family in this house. Do you think you might be ready to do a little spiritual spelunking, Sasha?” Crazy and alliterative.
“I DON’T KNOW.”
“Sit for a few minutes. It’s okay. You’re a little afraid of me. I see it in your eyes. Please don’t be. I’m not as strange as you think I am.” Maybe Mrs. Fisher really was a mind reader. She sat down on the step and patted the place next to her.
I sat down next to Ben’s mother on the front steps of my old house, just like I used to do with my own mother when I came home from school. Biting my tongue, wanting to cry at this unexpected peek into my past, I looked up at Mrs. Fisher, half expecting my mother to be staring back at me, but it was just the hippie cat lady, and I breathed a little easier. Maybe just being in my old house would be enough to get the memory ball rolling. Buoyed by this nutsy woman’s off-the-wall enthusiasm, I almost believed I was ready to face it.
“I’m so sorry about the loss of your family. There is no greater tragedy. But your survival speaks to your strong spirit,” she said, smiling sadly.
“NOT SO STRONG. I STILL NEED FOUR TRIPLE-A BATTERIES TO SPEAK, AND I BARELY REMEMBER MY CHILDHOOD. I’M AFRAID OF EVERYTHING. AS YOUR SON HAS TOLD ME, I’M A MESS.”
“Ben doesn’t really believe that, and neither do I. Besides, you’re not so fearful as you once were.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” I hadn’t told anyone other than Dr. O. about the poems and flowers, and she was bound by doctor-patient privilege. And Jules had sworn she wouldn’t spill it.
“You forget, dear girl, your thoughts speak louder than words.” For a few seconds, she rested her hand on my head.
“BEN? HE HASN’T SAID A SINGLE WORD TO ME IN OVER A MONTH.” Thirty-six days, actually, but I didn’t want his mother to think I was obsessed with her only child.
“He may not be speaking to you, but he’s keeping tabs on you. He hasn’t left you, even if it looks that way.” Was this quirky woman just being kind, or was that really true? I desperately wanted to believe her.
“HOW? HE TOLD ME HIS ABILITY ONLY WORKS AT CLOSE RANGE AND HE’S BEEN AVOIDING ME.”
“As far as you know.” One eyebrow went up, just like Ben’s.
“BUT I’VE ONLY SEEN HIM AT A DISTANCE AT SCHOOL AND NEVER ANYWHERE ELSE.”
“I don’t want to say that Ben has been stalking you, but he does make the occasional nocturnal visit. Your mind is apparently very active right before you fall asleep.”
“OH.”
I felt hot all over, and I knew my face was bright red. Most nights before I dozed off I spent fantasizing about Ben being in bed with me. I hoped he had exercised some discretion and conveyed only relevant information to his mother, which hopefully did not include my mental reenactments of various examples in Jules’s sex book. It was hard to tell from her face exactly what she knew. From now on, I would have to revise my bedtime routine.
“You’ve visited the scene of the accident—that took tremendous fortitude. And you know that someone caused the crash that killed your family. That’s tremendous progress, don’t you think?”
Another more pressing thought occurred to me. Now that I was making a concerted effort to heal my psyche, maybe Ben would come back to me. His mother would vouch for my si
ncerity and diligence on my mission to recapture the power of speech. How could he say no when I was doing exactly what he wanted?
“WHAT TIME IS IT? I HAVE TO BE SOMEWHERE AT 4:30.”
That wasn’t exactly true, but I needed to be alone, to sort out all this new information, and I needed to figure out how to tell Charlotte about the poems. And Ben wasn’t here.
“It’s time, then. Do you want a ride home?” Mrs. Fisher stood, brushing off her skirt.
“I DON’T MIND WALKING AND I COULD USE THE FRESH AIR. IT’S NOT FAR.”
“If you like. Ben won’t be home until much later, but I’ll tell him you were here. Although I suppose he probably already knows that.” Maybe she was a mind reader after all. “You’re not ready to see him anyway.”
My face fell. “BUT I’M TRYING. ISN’T THAT ENOUGH FOR HIM? DOESN’T HE CARE?”
“Yes, Sasha, he does, very much.” She spoke with such conviction, I had no choice but to accept what she said.
“THEN YOU’LL TALK TO HIM FOR ME?” It was unlikely that Ben’s own mother would agree to be my advocate, but it was worth a try.
Mrs. Fisher shook her head. “Please try to understand. Ben is taking the long view. You have your whole life to have a relationship with him, or some other young man. But that will only take place if you work out your relationship with yourself.”
Mother and son apparently subscribed to the same life philosophy, which meant, at least for now, I was on my own. Damn.
Chapter 17
“Look.”
Jules dropped a newspaper page in my lap as I sat on my old couch in the library sunroom. I enjoyed my afternoons there less since Ben had given me the boot, but I had no better place to go, and there was always the hope that he would sit down next to me just as he had that first day. So here I sat, looking at a monograph of Italian Renaissance painting, staring at Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, daydreaming about Ben.
“TEENAGE GIRL GIVES BIRTH TO TWINS IN BACK OF TAXICAB. FASCINATING. ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING?”
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