by Nancy Thayer
Emily sat back down. “So what’s new?”
Zodiac slipped off her backpack and opened it on the table. “We’ve brought you your homework. Cordelia’s got your books. And we’ve got some letters for you. The nurse at the front desk checked it all already. Can you get E-mail here?”
“No.”
“Too bad. Everyone wants to say hi, but they’re all going crazy with finals and term papers and stuff. You know.”
Cordelia gushed, “Merrit Frobisher’s been expelled!”
“No way.”
“Third time caught smoking pot.”
“In the woods?”
“In the boathouse.”
“Who was he with?”
“By himself.”
“That’s sad.”
“Yeah, but he’s fucked up. Something’s going on with his family. He’s always bummed after family vacations.”
“But by himself. Poor Merrit.”
“Jorge wants you to call.”
“He wants me to call him?”
“That’s what he said. Brought his beautiful body all the way across the courtyard especially to give me the message. Believe me, I tried to sidetrack the man, but he wasn’t interested.”
“But why doesn’t he just call me?” Emily asked, bemused.
“Emily, dope, because the last time you were with him you spazzed out on him.”
“Oh. Right. But he still wants me to call him?”
“That’s what he said. Could I please ask you to call him. He’d like to talk to you. Here’s his number. He’s got his own phone.”
Emily took the paper but her elation vanished. “I can’t. Somebody will answer the phone and know it’s me.”
“Oh, grow up.”
“I just can’t do it. It’s too embarrassing.”
“I’ll ask for him,” Keith said.
“Would you? That’s great.”
“Star Trek,” Bill announced suddenly. He rose, a giant of blubber.
Keith, Arnold, and Cynthia pushed back their chairs.
“Later,” Arnold said.
“Coming?” Cynthia asked Emily.
“In a minute. I need to find out about my homework.”
“Right.”
“She’s a little on edge, isn’t she?” Zodiac whispered after Cynthia and the others had left the room.
“I should go with them,” Emily said, surprised at how much she wanted to.
“You should go with them to watch Star Trek?” Zodiac asked skeptically. “Ice cream and Star Trek. What is this place, perpetual kindergarten?”
“Emily, we’re so worried about you,” Cordelia said. “When are you coming back? What’s going on?”
She yearned to tell her friends, especially Zodiac, but she’d promised Dr. Travis. So, looking at her hands—because Zodiac could tell by her eyes when she was lying—Emily said, “I guess it has something to do with my father. That he never sees me.”
“Oh, Emily,” Cordelia said, her eyes tearing up.
“So what can they do for you here?” practical Zodiac asked.
Emily shrugged. “Just talk, I guess.” She could feel the intensity of Zodiac’s scrutiny. “Learn not to feel hopeless,” she added, remembering what Dr. Travis and Beldon emphasized. “Think about options. Learn to take control of my life.”
“Like you can, at age fifteen,” Zodiac said skeptically.
“Isn’t it kind of … creepy? Being with all these, like, psychos?” Cordelia asked in a whisper.
“They’re no more psychotic than I am,” Emily snapped, and for a moment the desire to do something grotesque possessed Emily. Laugh maniacally like Vincent Price. Jump around grabbing at her armpits and grunting like a gorilla. Or just twitch a little. Maybe roll her eyes. Did this mean she really was nuts? Or was it just that she was sick of Cordelia and her overly sweet, overprotected mentality.
“Will you be able to come to the Christmas party?” Zodiac asked, and before Emily could answer, Cordelia chimed in, “And what about the Christmas trolls?” The trolls were a Hedden tradition; each student drew a name, then bought a present for another student whose name was kept a secret until the presents were given on Troll Morning, the last day of classes.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “I’d like to come back, at least for Troll Morning.” With a rush of astonishment, she said, “I’ve been here a week. A week. I haven’t been in town or in a car. I’ve just been here.”
“What have you been doing?”
“Sleeping, mostly.”
“What happened to your face?” Cordelia asked in a little girl voice. “And your hands.”
Emily thought the marks were pretty much healed. She stared at her friend without flinching. “I clawed myself.”
Cordelia cringed and drew back. Zodiac rose and came to Emily and wrapped her arms around her in a hug. “Look. You’re doing what you need to do. You’re my best friend and you’re a fabulous dame and you’re going to get through this and come out healthier and stronger than the rest of us.”
“Zodiac.” Emily hugged her friend. She wanted to hug her forever. Zodiac’s presence was so comforting. To be this close to another human being, and not to fear the touch, not to instinctively panic, need to get away … Emily could almost believe she could trust again.
Then Cordelia, who hated to be left out of anything, ruined it all by coming over and hugging both Zodiac and Emily while trying to squeeze in between them. Emily felt ridiculous and the hugging became a parody of itself.
Zodiac must have felt the same; she rolled her eyes at Emily and stepped back. “So okay, we’ve got to get back to Hedden. We’ll come over as often as we can. And don’t forget to call Jorge, okay?”
“Tell him … the phones here are usually busy.”
“Emily.”
“I’ll call him.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
In the corridor Emily could hear the murmur of the television, but Star Trek would be almost over now, and she didn’t especially want to be around people. Going the long away around in order to avoid the living room, she got to the privacy of her room and fell onto her bed, hiding her face in her pillow.
When Owen and Linda arrived home after the session with their children and Dr. Travis, they were too numb to talk any more, and with a kind of weary relief they went to their separate studies to work.
But Linda found it difficult to concentrate. She couldn’t stop thinking about Bruce and his outburst, his cursing. Bruce’s behavior during the conference with Dr. Travis certainly lent Emily’s story credibility. Obviously Bruce had a dark side, an interior violence, of which she and Owen had not been aware. They would have to face the truth. Owen would have to face the truth.
Where could they go from here? She hated feeling so powerless to change things. It didn’t help that things were so strained now between her and Owen. She prided herself on her ability to dig into any problem and work it out, but now she could only wait, wait to hear from Dr. Travis.
That night she said to Owen, “I think I’ll call Janet to see if she can go Christmas shopping with me on Wednesday. No matter what happens, we’ve got to be prepared for some kind of Christmas celebration. Then I can go right to Family Group in the evening.”
“Good idea,” Owen replied. “But listen, about Emily … don’t tell Janet.”
Owen was in his favorite armchair, a book in his hands. The light falling from the standing lamp behind him enclosed him in a honeycomb of light, and clearly Linda could see how tired Owen looked, how weary. Old. Her heart went out to him.
“All right,” she agreed, adding, “I’ll be glad to put it all out of my mind for a while.”
Gigantic foil bells and elves and candy canes swung from the ceiling. Elvis was singing Christmas songs to a rock beat. Saleswomen wearing red lipstick and plastic holly brooches on their sweaters smiled brightly, offering to spray perfume on Linda as she hurried through the Filene’s entrance and into the main corrido
r of the mall. After the gloomy silence of their farm, all the sensory excitements seemed nearly surreal to Linda, and yet something about it, the enormous Christmas tree spangled with decorations, the scent of cinnamon in the air, the brisk chatter of other shoppers hurrying past, made Linda smile. Made her feel less alone, more optimistic.
And then Janet was there, throwing herself around Linda, giving her a big bear hug, enclosing her in a mist of Joy. “Linda! I’m so glad to see you!”
“And you can’t imagine how glad I am to see you,” Linda replied.
Janet drew back, studying her friend’s face. “Everything okay?”
Linda hesitated. “Everything’s fine,” she said. “I’m just stuck on a chapter in my book and I can’t get started.”
“Well, honey, you’ve come to Dr. Feelgood’s Shop Till You Drop Mall and Mood Clinic.” Janet laughed. “Forget everything. Just buy. You’ll feel better fast.”
Linda grinned at her friend’s enthusiasm. “Shall we talk first, or dive in?”
“Let’s dive in. I’ve got a ton of things to get.”
They decided to split up for a couple of hours before meeting at Legal Seafoods for lunch. Janet had always been Linda’s shopping guru, aware of where the best sales and bargains were, the best clothes for Emily and her tribe, the best stocking stuffers. After making a list of Janet’s suggestions, Linda tore through the mall, buying presents for Rosie and Riley and lots of presents for baby Sean, for Bud and Irene Burton, for Janet. A cashmere scarf for Celeste. Lots of treats and goodies for their old dog, Maud. At Banana Republic a handsome wool sweater in the window caught her eye, and after a moment’s hesitation, Linda went inside and bought it for Owen.
When most of her shopping was done, Linda stood with her bags in the noisy mall, surveying her loot. The corner of a foil-wrapped tin with a Godiva cake protruded from a bag next to a box of long candy canes. An elegant Scottish tartan paper spread over the box holding the sweater for Owen. White stars exploded over deep blue foil; she would use that for the Burtons’ books. Santa Clauses cavorted with elves; she’d wrap Sean’s Legos in that.
Over the years Christmas shopping had taken on an almost ritualistic importance for her. It was a challenge, a quest: could she find the perfect gifts that in this darkest season would make her loved ones’ faces light up with pleasure, that would carry them through the cold season back into the sun? Linda believed in giving lots of presents, lavish presents, and in giving what was unexpected as well as what was wished for.
She hadn’t yet bought a present for Bruce, and somehow she couldn’t. Somehow she could not conjure up a scene in which she’d be with him at Christmas, handing him a present.
Everything had changed. With every moment she was only getting through the day, forcing herself not to think of Emily, not to think of Emily being raped, of Emily being raped by Bruce, or what was somehow worse, Emily lying about it in order to hurt Bruce. She didn’t think her daughter was capable of such deception … and yet she didn’t think Bruce capable of rape.
But Emily was strong, Owen was strong, and Linda would not let her family be defeated. Somehow she and Owen would get through this. They would not be defeated.
Linda found herself staring at a display of inexpensive, gaudy, Christmas earrings. Silver bells tied with red bows. Gold Christmas trees with jewels for lights. Gold boxes with red ribbons. At one time Emily would have squealed, “These are so cute!” Would she still? Would this season hold any pleasure for Emily at all? It must; Linda would not let everything be ruined. She swept four sets into her hands, for Emily and for her three best friends. Then another, for Janet. And another, for herself.
And another. For Tina Dr. Travis.
“Like my hair?” Janet asked after the waiter took their order.
“It looks great. It always does.”
“I had it colored. First time. The road downhill begins.”
“Nonsense. You look thirty.”
“I doubt it. And I am forty-three. Next year Georgia graduates from college. Can you believe it? And Johnny starts. Empty nest.”
“You’ll love it.”
“I don’t think so.” Janet’s eyes teared up. “Oh, Linda, Georgia wants to move to Seattle.”
“Oh, Janet.”
In the fifteen years she’d known Janet, it had always been Janet with her blond hair and long legs and adoring husband whose life seemed more normal, whatever normal meant. Her husband was a lawyer and Janet owned a stationery store but didn’t let it take over her life. She just enjoyed stocking what pleased her, having clientele she liked.
“What’s up with you?” Janet asked. When Linda didn’t answer at once, she remarked, “You seem preoccupied.”
“Just trying to think of anyone I forgot to buy a present for. I think I got more presents for Sean than anyone else.”
“Let me see them.”
Linda lifted out the boxes from the nest of packages and held up the clothing for Janet to admire: red knit Christmas pajamas, a sailor outfit as soft as a cloud.
“Why are babies so seductive?” Janet asked, sighing.
“Nature is very clever,” Linda replied. “If we had to start right off with adolescence, the human race would never continue.”
Janet caught the tone in Linda’s voice. “Something is bothering you.”
Linda bent over her shopping bags, returning the baby clothes to their boxes, hiding her face until she could gain control of her emotions. “Just a lot of things on my mind, that’s all. It’s a busy season.” She felt angry to the point of tears. She’d known Janet longer than she’d known Owen; Emily had known Janet longer. She confided everything to Janet in the past; it was a kind of betrayal to their friendship to keep silent now. But what could Linda do? She did not think the spiral of betrayals would stop here.
Chapter Eighteen
That night Linda sat with fourteen other people in a semicircle in the dining room of West 4. A coffee machine bubbled cheerfully away in the far end of the room, reassuring them of imminent release from their metal folding chairs.
“Let’s talk about the holidays,” Dr. Travis suggested to the group. Everyone groaned. “Let’s talk about what it feels like to have a family member in the hospital during the holidays.”
“I don’t mind saying that it’s damned inconvenient!”
Linda turned to study the man who had spoken.
“Could you introduce yourself, please?” Dr. Travis asked.
“Bartholomew Wight. Bart. This is my wife, Reba.”
He was silver-haired and portly, but elegant in his three-piece immaculately tailored suit. His wife was simply beautiful. Enormous blue eyes, a gentle smile. Linda could see where Keith’s looks came from.
“I’m a lawyer,” Wight said. “Estate planning. Probate. Taxation. Personal injury.” He looked around the group as he spoke, nailing each person with a word. “I have a small but successful firm and my good name is worth money to me. We entertain a lot. Have to. People know they can count on me, trust me. I’m reliable. My clients consider me the Rock of Gibraltar. We give a Christmas party at our home every year for upwards of two hundred people and Keith, my only son, should be there. He’s a liability when he isn’t.”
“They choose my clothes for me for the party,” Keith said, staring at Dr. Travis.
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on dressing like a—a Las Vegas showgirl! Silk shirts! Flowered vests!” Mr. Wight’s face was growing red.
“Dear,” Mrs. Wight said warningly, putting her hand on his arm.
Linda exchanged a look with Emily. She wished Owen were here to see the other families; their own might not seem so terrible by comparison.
“Just one day a year!” Mr. Wight bellowed. “Hell, not even that! Just five hours a year. Five hours a year we ask our son to behave as if he’s a normal human being who’s come from a decent home so that my fellow lawyers and prospective clients can be reassured that I’m someone they can depend on.”
“All right, fine, I do want you to have a girlfriend with you. You’re eighteen years old. It’s time you had a girlfriend. Otherwise you seem odd.”
“Dad, I am odd.”
“Only because you choose to be! Out of some misbegotten desire to bite the hand that feeds you.”
“I’m not ‘choosing’ to be gay to torture you and Mom! I am gay, and I don’t want to pretend that I’m not! I want to be accepted for who I am.”
Keith was nearly at the point of tears and Bartholomew Wight was turning purple. Dr. Travis interjected smoothly, “Let’s talk about why it is that this particular season pushes so many of our buttons.”
“Television,” Arnold said. “Television propaganda.”
Cynthia’s mother nodded. “It is hard, trying to live up to the—the”—she spread her hands as if feeling for the right word—“the glittering perfection of television Christmases.”
Linda agreed. “It’s like Christmas is the end of a novel, and everything on that one day has to be tied up in a perfect bow.”
“Nonsense,” Bartholomew Wight growled. “No one achieves perfection, ever. Christmas is about family, plain and simple, we all know that, and once a year I think it’s not too much to ask my son to act like one of the family.”
“To publicly deny that I’m gay,” Keith said.
“You go, boy,” Emily said softly and gave Keith a nod.
Poor Keith, Linda thought, shifting in her chair, and was not prepared for Dr. Travis zeroing in on her daughter.
“Emily, how do you feel about this Christmas? Do you expect to spend it in the hospital?”
Emily shrugged and in a small voice said, “I guess. I know I don’t want to go back to the farm.”
Then where will she spend Christmas? Linda wondered. And where will I?
“You’re supposed to go home for Christmas,” Cynthia’s mother reminded her.
“I don’t have a home anymore,” Emily replied bluntly.
“I hate Christmas!” Arnold’s mother burst out. An emaciated platinum blonde, she sat drumming her fingers on the patent leather purse in her lap. “We always fight. Always.”