“It isn’t?” Kylie beamed. “I want to. I was scared before, but now I’m not. We can keep coming, right, Mom?”
I thought about Matt and his reservations. I couldn’t make this decision by myself. We’d have to discuss it. “We’ll talk about it with Dad.”
Kylie deflated a little.
“We can discuss this further next time,” Dr. Indigo said, obviously sensing she shouldn’t push. “Now, what did Kylie eat to cause her reaction?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” I said, embarrassed. How much peanut had she ingested when she ate the candy? I was too caught up in the moment to ask Bernie for a piece to analyze. “I’ll get a piece of the candy for you as soon as possible.”
Dr. Indigo nodded. “Okay, since we’re not doing the treatment today, let’s focus on relaxing your body. You’ve been through a trauma, Kylie.”
Kylie’s eyes grew large, her imagination luxuriating in the word “trauma.” But Dr. Indigo wasn’t being melodramatic. It felt like trauma, just thinking about my daughter lying terrified on the gymnasium floor, a shot full of adrenaline possibly the only thing saving her throat from closing up. “You, too, Ally. And . . .” Dr. Indigo glanced at Heather.
“I’m Heather. The friend. I’m stressed, too, but for a lesser reason.”
Dr. Indigo lifted an eyebrow.
“Online dating,” Heather said. “It makes me nauseous.”
“Well, everyone can benefit from relaxation techniques,” the doctor said after a moment’s hesitation. “Would you like to join us?”
Heather grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We were stretched out on the floor, heads touching, our feet splayed out—as she gazed down at us, I’m sure we looked like a slightly lopsided star to Dr. Indigo.
“What happens to our energy when we’re stressed out?” she asked.
“When I’m stressed,” I said, thinking about how I’d avoided seeing my mom that morning, “I feel like I don’t have any energy at all.”
“I feel empty and listless,” Heather said. “Like, all my emotions are far away, and it takes too much energy to retrieve them.”
Dr. Indigo nodded. “Kylie?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not trying to cause stress, I’m trying to help you alleviate it,” Dr. Indigo said. “Let’s approach it like this. When I say the word ‘stress,’ what’s the first thing you think of?”
“Scared,” Kylie said. And more heartbreakingly, “Alone.”
The doctor smiled. “Good answers. I think a lot of people feel this way. What do you think most people do when they’re completely overwhelmed by stress?”
“Drink heavily,” Heather said.
“Distract themselves,” I said.
“Try not to cry,” Kylie said.
“And do any of these work?” Dr. Indigo asked.
“No,” we said in unison.
The doctor began to circle us, clockwise. “What most people assume,” she began, “is that because we suffer individual stressors, we must deal with those stressors individually. This is simply untrue. As human beings we can share energy with each other, and we can give each other positivity, and we can help drain unproductive energy away.”
“And how is this done, exactly?” Heather said. “I’m kind of an experiential learner.”
“I’m glad you asked,” Dr. Indigo said. She lit some candles and a stick of incense. It wasn’t her regular patchouli, but lavender mixed with something sweet but not cloying.
“Close your eyes,” she began. “Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Breathe out. One, two, three, four. And again. And again.”
We inhaled and we exhaled, again and again, counting the beats. Just when I felt like I might fall asleep, Dr. Indigo continued.
“Kylie, what are you stressed about?”
“Getting kicked off the school play. I’ve missed a lot of days.”
I couldn’t believe she hadn’t chosen the exposure incident. The normalcy of her answer gave me a quick jolt of reassurance.
“Ally,” Dr. Indigo said, “Kylie is going to take a deep breath. When she exhales, she’ll be exhaling her stress. When you inhale, you’ll be taking some of it in, to help her out.”
I could feel Heather stiffen. I was sure she was struggling to contain her laughter.
“Kylie, I want you to think about all of your worries about the school play. Swirl them together and breathe them in. Hold them for a minute. Ally, be prepared to take them in. Exhale, Kylie. Now.”
I could hear Kylie breathe out. Almost instinctively, I inhaled deeply. I imagined taking all my daughter’s fears and drawing them into my body, where my adult defenses could pick them apart, one by one. She was no match for everything being thrown her way. But I could take it.
“Those fears might not be entirely gone, Kylie, but they’re much weaker now that your mom has taken some of them. Do you feel a little lighter?”
“I think so,” Kylie said. “I don’t think I’m worried as much.”
“Good,” Dr. Indigo said. “Okay, Ally, what can you release to Heather?”
I didn’t want to burden anyone with my problems, least of all my best friend. I wracked my brain for something mild, something innocuous.
“I can take it, Ally,” Heather said quietly. “Hit me with your best shot.”
“Trust your friend,” Dr. Indigo said lightly.
There were too many things I couldn’t say out loud. I was worried for my daughter’s future. It was a primal worry—deep and body numbing and too overwhelming to hand off to someone else. The worries I had for myself seemed almost inconsequential. I couldn’t give Heather my fear of being alone for the rest of my life, or the fear that I’d hurt my mother in my search for my past, or the fact that Mom was halfway down the slide into old age.
“I’m afraid I’ll lose the school board election,” I said. “I’m afraid I’ll make an idiot out of myself.”
“Chicken,” Heather whispered.
“Gather up those fears,” Dr. Indigo said. “Take them in, hold them for a moment, and then breathe out, long and slow. Heather, inhale Ally’s fear.”
“Gladly,” Heather said, and inhaled theatrically.
We lay there breathing normally for a moment, until Dr. Indigo turned to Heather. “Your turn.”
Heather was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, I felt like I was hearing something very personal, from a place she rarely revealed. “I’m afraid . . .”
“Keep going,” Dr. Indigo encouraged her.
“I’m afraid . . . I’m afraid I’m never going to be as good of a person as I want to be.”
I reached out and took her hand. “You’re plenty good.”
Dr. Indigo snapped her fingers. “Don’t judge her fear, Ally. Now, Kylie, you’re going to take Heather’s fear. What are you going to do with it?”
“Stomp on it,” Kylie said, without hesitation. “Squish it. Destroy it.”
“Okay, Heather, are you ready?” Dr. Indigo said. “Get that fear in your lungs. Kylie, be prepared to take it in.”
Heather drew a breath and exhaled sharply. Kylie inhaled, coughed a little, and inhaled again.
“Oh no,” Kylie said. “Did I cough it out?”
“You still have it,” Dr. Indigo assured her. “Go ahead and start stomping.”
“I did it,” Kylie said after a minute. “It’s obliterated!”
“I can feel it,” Heather said, a bit tearful. “You did that for me. Thank you!”
“We’re stronger together,” Dr. Indigo said. “I know you’ve heard that many times before, but sometimes we need to experience things to understand the truth of them.”
“That sounds a little cheesy,” I said, “but I get it.”
“I can’t eat cheese,” Kylie said, and we all laughed.
CHAPTER 17
“Do you guys want to take a drive?” I asked once we were back in the car.
“Why does that sound like we don’t have a choice
?” Heather said. “Where to?”
“Bernie’s house. I want to see if she has any more of that candy.”
“She feels bad, doesn’t she?” said Kylie from the back seat.
“She does.”
“I want to talk to her. To tell her it’s okay, and I’m not mad.”
“That’s a good girl you’ve got there,” Heather said under her breath.
“Of course, sweetie,” I said. I glanced in the rearview mirror, and Kylie’s eyes were already drooping. She was asleep before we got on the highway.
Traffic was brutal, and we pulled up in front of Bernie’s house an hour and forty-five minutes later.
“Isn’t that your mom’s car?” Heather said. “Oh, wow. Do you think she decided to give you up and move in with Bernie? That could totally be a reality show. Bernie could complain and pass judgment, and your mom could sit there and stare at her with nothing-escapes-me eyes. The whole show could be about how long it takes before your mom goes off the deep end.”
“My mom loves her own house too much. And she already has us to drive her crazy.” I had a strange sense of foreboding. It was completely bizarre that her car was still there. Why hadn’t I noticed it was missing? I’d been tired, so tired, when I hauled myself out of bed, and then Kylie decided she wanted to go to school, so in the hustle to get moving, I hadn’t knocked on her door before we left for the day. Also, part of me was too afraid of what she’d say about Micki. Mom had texted, twice, to check in on Kylie, but her messages were clipped and pointed—I figured she also needed some time before talking about what I’d done. But apparently she wasn’t alone in her room—she was with Bernie.
Bernie’s house, a box-shaped one-story ranch, looked perfectly respectable from the street, but when we got to the door, I noticed the brown paint had nearly peeled entirely from the wood. The railings were wobbly, and some of the cement was crumbling.
“Miss Bernie lives here?” Kylie asked. “I thought she’d live in a rich-lady house.”
I hushed her as the door opened.
“Mom?”
“What a surprise,” she said flatly, but then smiled at Kylie. “How’s my girl?” She ran her hands over her granddaughter, as if to make sure nothing was broken.
“I’m good,” Kylie said. “The peanut didn’t win.”
“Of course it didn’t.” She looked up at me, her expression grave. “This woman is a friend of yours? You need to come in here and have a look.”
It wasn’t the smell that hit me, bleach mixed with cheap air freshener, it was the emptiness of the space. Bernie’s living room could hardly be worthy of that name. There was a couch, a threadbare rug, an old television set with an actual dial that needed to be turned. An antenna, covered in aluminum foil, reached toward a yellowed ceiling pockmarked with moisture bubbles.
“Where’s Bernie?” I asked, my voice a whisper because my heart blocked my vocal cords. This is what she comes home to every night?
“She’s in her bedroom,” my mom said. “Come on, I want to show you the kitchen.”
“Mom?” Kylie sat on the edge of the couch. “I don’t think I want to go in the kitchen.”
“I’ll hang with you, Miss Kylie,” Heather said. “Go,” she told me.
Kylie must have had a sixth sense, because the kitchen was much worse. It wasn’t so much dirty as empty and broken. The faucet dripped into an old porcelain sink, and two of the cabinets were missing doors. The refrigerator sounded asthmatic. Enough floor tiles were missing that it was like walking through a minefield, not a kitchen. An old percolator was the only indication that anything food related was actually ingested in this room.
“She doesn’t have anyone to help her,” my mom said, in a way that told me she’d already made up her mind to do so. “The basement rail is missing, some of the lights aren’t in working order, there’s no food that I can find, save a few cans of soup, and the shower door has come off its hinges in the bathroom. These things aren’t hard to fix. It’ll just take a little time.”
“Mom, she’s a proud person. I know you understand that.”
“When I dropped her off last night, the house was completely dark. I didn’t like the feel of it, so I walked her inside. I saw . . . the state of things. I couldn’t leave her to this, so I slept on the couch. I don’t care much about her pride right now. I care about her safety, and this screams accident-waiting-to-happen. I think she understands that on some level.”
I hadn’t seen the whole house, but I could see that Bernie had been living in a neat, tidy hellhole. Had Micki ever seen this? I had a pretty small family, but I still had people in my life who would notice if I’d taken up residence in what was essentially a haunted house. A lump of sadness settled in my gut—Bernie truly had no one. No wonder she’d invented Reggie.
“I have to work,” I said, “but I’ll help you as best I can.”
“You have enough on your plate with running for office. Maybe I’ll ask Matt. He’s really coming along with his remodeling skills.”
“Matt is . . . handy?”
Mom smiled wryly. “I wouldn’t exactly say that, but he’s getting there.”
“We need to talk,” I said. “You know that, right?”
Mom hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m not sure what upsets me more, that you did it or that you didn’t tell me.”
“I’m sorry for both. Well, one more than the other.”
“Look, Ally, when you decide to keep a secret from someone you love, what you’re really doing is saying you don’t find that person trustworthy. I thought I was, in your eyes. It breaks my heart that you don’t think so.”
There was probably nothing she could say to make me feel worse. “I’m so sorry. I am. I trust you more than anyone.”
“I don’t feel like debating that,” Mom said. “At some point, we’ll talk about it, but I can’t deal with all the emotional repercussions right now, so I’ll deal with your friend’s problem. It can be fixed.”
“We don’t need fixing,” I said. “Do we?”
“Can I make you some coffee, Ally?” Bernie stood in the doorway. Dressed in a fleece robe and worn slippers, she looked even tinier than usual. Still, her hair was neatly combed, and she wore the lipstick Radha had picked out for her.
“No, thank you. Actually, I was hoping you still had some of that candy you gave to Kylie at the debate.”
Bernie’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. I’ll look. Maybe.” One tear escaped, rolling down her gaunt cheek. “Please tell me she’s still okay.”
“She’s sitting in your living room,” I said, taking her small hand. “And she’s fine. I’d just like a sample of the candy to give to her doctor.”
Bernie disappeared for a moment and returned with a small baggie full of mini-chocolate bars. “I bought it from the bins at the specialty grocery store. You can have all of them.”
I thanked her and slipped the bag in my purse.
Bernie grinned at my mom. “Sophie is going to help me with my house. She slept on the couch last night to make sure I was okay. Wasn’t that nice?”
“My mom is a solid person. Very capable.”
“Trustworthy,” Mom said, her eyes boring into mine. “I’m going home to get some things I need. I’ll come around later today and get started.”
Bernie’s face shifted, as though she’d just remembered something unpleasant. “Oh, I—I’ll have to know how much it’s going to cost before we start anything. Maybe you could draw up an estimate, and I can think about it.”
“I don’t have anything going on,” my mom lied. “And you’re a friend of my Kylie, so you’re a friend of mine. Friends don’t charge friends.”
Bernie looked like she’d swallowed a chicken bone. “I suppose they don’t.”
“Bernie?” Kylie called from the living room. “Can you come here?”
Bernie stood up quickly, happy for an excuse to leave the room. “She sounds perfectly well,” she said before scurrying off.
“Don’t look at me like that,” my mom said. “I can finish Kylie’s room next week. Bernie is a nice woman, probably just getting by on social security. I can do a good deed every so often.”
I kissed her on the cheek, and was grateful she didn’t brush me away. Then I picked up Bernie’s purse and walked down the hall to her bedroom to return it. Truth be told, after seeing the rest of the house, I wanted to get into that bedroom to check it out.
It had the same feel as the other rooms—that of an estate sale on the last day, only a few overlooked items left in a house that once held things that truly mattered. The bed was neatly made, but the silk bedspread had dulled to a muted pink, and pillows had flattened with time and use. The dresser held no framed photographs, perfume, or jewelry, only a very utilitarian-looking brush and a pillbox that was empty when I checked.
The closet ran the length of one wall, hidden by folding doors. They were open a crack, and a flash of white caught my eye. Fully aware and slightly mortified that I was violating Bernie’s privacy, I justified opening the door with the idea that I’d hang the purse for her.
I gasped. Inside, next to some uniformly hung slacks and blouses, were six wedding dresses, pristine and unused, and all labeled “Micki’s Originals.” A few veils were visible on the shelf above them, and four pairs of white shoes were lined up below.
Shocked, I sat on the bed for a moment. Was this where all Bernie’s money was going? Did Micki know? Did she encourage it? Feeling sick to my stomach, I took one more look at the dresses, their bright hopefulness almost hurting my eyes.
There were all kinds of things I needed to do. But the list was long, and my ability to prioritize was not the greatest. So I took a deep breath and did what I usually did—I acted.
The shop was closed, lights out, displays darkened, but I pounded on the door anyway. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d been stupid and impulsive—how well did I know Micki? Why hadn’t I ever been to her home? Maybe I should have left things alone instead of forcing the past into the present.
I’d come alone, and the main street of Willow Falls had shut down, save O’Malley’s Pub, but even the low hum of music escaping its closed doors seemed eerie. It was only seven o’clock, but in late October that looked like midnight. I needed to get back to Bernie’s to take Kylie home to bed. Frustrated, I gave the door a sharp kick.
The Other Family Page 19