by Harper Bliss
My mother, who used to be my hero—and whose fall from grace I witnessed with an incurable ache in my soul. I practiced the conversation I should have with her countless times in my head, and with Dr. Hakim, whose limitless patience, I suspect, is what makes him one of the best in his field. Most nights, I fall asleep reciting the words I should say. I know myself well enough to realize they’ll never leave my lips the way I intend them to. That connection—from brain to tongue—has never worked very well for me.
It’s always easier to not do something difficult. I have a note on my phone containing many of Dr. Hakim’s parting words. I guess this one applies. I’ll need to talk to my mother sooner or later—after having put it off for about twenty years. It’s why I came here in the first place. I text her back, saying I will be at the cabin all afternoon. Immediately after I’ve sent it, a knot forms deep in my stomach.
My mother and I never talk. On the few occasions that I made it back to Northville since leaving for college, I always went out of my way to make sure I never found myself alone in a room with her. I call her maybe once a month, the conversation dead after a few minutes, because, from behind the walls we have both put up, we have nothing to say to each other.
* * *
As soon as I lay eyes on her, it strikes me again that, at least physically, she’s not the same woman anymore. Emaciated frame. Eyes as dull as the blackness I know so well. Face puffed up in all the wrong places because of too many pills she shouldn’t be taking.
We don’t hug, the courtesy embrace reserved for my return used up days ago. After she has sat down in one of the porch chairs, all I see is a woman gone wrong. A life wasted on all the wrong emotions. Hate. Bitterness. A twisted sense of duty.
I did it all for you and your sister. Not that I expect any gratitude in return, she once said. The familiar hint of blame in her voice, a hard edge in her tone that clings to it like a stain that can never be washed out.
As I pour us both a cup of coffee, I know that pity should not be the primary emotion bubbling to the surface when laying eyes on my own mother, but it’s what I feel anyway. At least it’s better than anger—the reigning sentiment in the Goodman house for as long as I can remember.
We both sit there, not knowing where to start. Even small talk seems too much, and neither one of us is very good at it.
“I’ve, uh, been seeing a psychiatrist for a few months now,” I begin to say. “We both agreed it would be a good idea for me to come here.”
“Oh, Ella, just tell me one thing.” I know what she’s going to ask before the words leave her mouth. “Was it my fault?” The courage it must have taken her to formulate that question doesn’t weigh up to the instant flash of anger that rises through me. Because I didn’t come here to absolve anyone of guilt.
“No, Mom.” My tone is sharp. “We all make our own choices and no one else is responsible for them except ourselves.”
“I don’t sleep anymore. Not even with a double dose of Ambien. I lie awake at night, twisting and turning. Thank goodness your father and I have been sleeping in separate bedrooms for years—although I can still hear him snore through the wall, especially on Thursdays and Fridays, after he’s been to The Attic…”
A brand new silence descends on us after her short ramble. I want to say I’m sorry—because I’m infinitely sorry for what I did—but not like this. Not after she’s just slipped on her coat of endless suffering and victimhood again.
“Oh hello, Mrs. Goodman.” Kay steps into my field of vision, back in shorts and a t-shirt, and I could not be happier to hear her voice. Because, as much as I need to have a conversation with my mother, I don’t want to have it now. Kay’s sudden appearance is like a lifeguard’s just as I’m about to drown. “How are you?”
“Kay,” is all Mom says, and I can almost see the cogs in her brain turning. Are they doing it? This bisexual woman and my daughter?
“Care to join us?” I’m quick to ask, although it’s hardly fair on Kay to invite her into our awkward non-chat. A glance passes between us, and in that instant, I know Kay will save me.
“Sure, if I’m not interrupting.” She climbs the two stairs. “Good to see you, Mrs. Goodman. It’s been a while.”
Mom scoots her chair back a bit, so Kay can drag a third one closer and huddle around the table with us.
“Let me get you a mug. Or would you like something stronger?” I shoot up out of my chair.
“Coffee’s fine,” Kay says, easing into her seat, her face relaxed.
Despite Kay’s calming presence, I need to take a deep breath while I grab the extra mug. Even a few minutes away from the stifling atmosphere that always hangs between my mother and me feels like a huge relief.
When I return, I see the relief on my mother’s face because of Kay showing up as well. We share DNA, are cut from the same cloth, and she’s probably just as grateful that our conversation was interrupted. And she got the answer she came here to get, anyway.
Mom and Kay chit-chat about the weather, the beauty of West Waters, and Uncle Pete, while I observe them silently. Every time my mother speaks, I hear my own voice—and, to my own dismay, it makes me cringe a little. Because, as much as I don’t want to be like her, like a woman I’ve grown to pity more than respect, I am her daughter, and nothing has ever been more set in stone than that.
Chapter Eleven
“I’ve seen her change too,” Kay says, a few hours after Mom has left and we’ve moved our conversation to the lodge. “Over the years.”
“Yeah, playing the victim doesn’t really suit anyone.” I bite down hard on the inside of my bottom lip, trying to fend off the wave of emotion that is coming loose again. “I used to really look up to her, while Nina was always more of a Daddy’s girl. I guess, when it came out, she was at that delicate age where disappointment turns into destructive rage. One she, obviously, still hasn’t recovered from.”
I spot the look of puzzlement in Kay’s eyes, but she doesn’t probe.
“Dad had a mistress. A full-blown affair with someone from work. It lasted a year and, as Mom likes to remind us, if she hadn’t found out, it might have gone on forever.”
Kay’s eyebrows shoot up. “John? Are you kidding me?”
“I know. You’d never have pegged him for the sort just by looking at him. A quiet, demure, hard-working man who never wished harm on anyone. Although it put the hours he spent at work into perspective, of course.” I can grin at it now. I’ve spent years analyzing the possible motivations for my Dad to strike up a romance with another woman, always coming back to the same old reasons. I also know that, while it was the direct catalyst for the destruction of our family, at the core of it all, it wasn’t the main reason.
“I was only thirteen and I didn’t really understand what was going on, but Nina took it hard. He was her hero, you know? The guy she adored most in the world. After that, she went off the rails. Fell in with a bad crowd. Blew her college applications. It’s hard to say why some people never bounce back. She’s very much like Mom in that respect. Very proud. Extremely stubborn. Would rather hold on to a super-destructive grudge than forgive. Not budging an inch.”
I glance at Kay. She has narrowed her eyes, appearing fully absorbed by the sordid details of my family’s secrets.
“Mom made it seem as if she was making a huge sacrifice by not leaving him. By standing by his side and not kicking him out. That first year, not a day went by that she didn’t rub it in all of our faces. Dee Goodman, the biggest person on the planet.” I shake my head. “But let’s just say that, from then on, dinner was quite a frosty affair. Every moment bathed in an accusatory silence and every word drenched in blame. They dealt with it the way they deal with everything: by not addressing it, by keeping up appearances at all costs, and by ignoring it until the problem goes away.” I fix my eyes on Kay. “Have there never been any rumors about this in town?”
Kay shrugs. “It happened so long ago, but no, not that I know of.” She spreads her arm
s. “And, growing up here, I’ve heard a lot of gossip. Even at an age when I wasn’t supposed to.” She flashes me a grin, her bright white teeth glittering in the dusk. “There was talk about Nina, of course. About her and the Hardy boy. How that turned out.”
“The final nail in my Mom’s coffin. God, you should have heard her. As if all the suffering of the world had been piled upon her. ‘After all I’ve done for this family.’ Endless litanies like that. The problem with Mom is that she has always believed that she’s the only one who ever had the courage to do the right thing. Not that it’s all Mom’s fault.” I sigh deeply. “And now they’re both retired, still living in the same house, spending most of their time together—well, minus the hours Dad spends at The Attic. Can you believe that?”
“True love and all that,” Kay says in a sarcastic tone.
“Love?” I snicker. “If I know one thing in my life with absolute certainty, it’s that love has nothing to do with it.” I let my gaze drift over the water.
“Tough day today, Little Ella,” Kay says, as if reading my mind again. “Swim?”
“God yes.” I glower at Kay, unsure if she means a repeat of our nude night swimming session of the day before. Night hasn’t fully fallen yet, and I’m a bit hesitant to shed all my clothes.
She pulls her t-shirt over her head, revealing the white bikini top that suits her skin tone so well.
“I’m not wearing my bathing suit.” I watch Kay step out of her shorts and I feel it again. I feel glad to be alive.
“Just jump in in your underwear.” Kay turns and leers at me. “Or naked.” Coquettishly, she brings her hands to her hips. “You won’t get any complaints from me.” She walks to the water’s edge and dives in.
Perhaps because of all the memories I’ve dug up today, and how everything about them seemed to be about being in control and curbing the sense of freedom needed for happiness, I take off all my clothes and, naked, jump in after Kay.
“Bold move, Goodman.” Kay is treading water in the middle of the lake. “Not that I was watching.”
With the water flowing all around me, unobstructed by any fabric, I feel almost as one with the lake—and I never want to wear my bathing suit again.
As the sky turns a shade darker, I glare at Kay. She’s so easy to be around. So uncomplicated. So pure. So everything I’m not.
“Thank you.” The words bubble up from the bottom of my heart.
“For what?” Despite the darkness, I see the kindness in her eyes.
“Just for being you—and being here.”
“Oh, Ella,” she pauses for a split second, “you have no idea.”
Before I have a chance to respond, she swims off in the other direction. Momentarily stunned, I watch her as the distance between us grows bigger, but I don’t give her time to get away too far. I’m not as good a swimmer as Kay, and it takes a while before I catch up with her. I rest my elbows on the landing where she has chosen to rest, breathing in deeply to restore my heart rate to something acceptable.
“What did you mean by that?” I manage to puff out between sharp intakes of breath. Our elbows nearly touch.
“Nothing, really.” Kay slowly turns her head to face me. “Nothing I could possibly burden you with right now, anyway.” Something in her eyes has changed. As if, deep inside of her, a battle is raging, a fierce debate on whether to lower her defenses or not.
“Come on. I just shared the best kept Goodman family secret with you.”
Under water, our feet bump into each other.
Her eyes still on me, our feet now a safe distance apart, she says, “I take it back. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“What? Why?” I feel the moment slipping away.
“Additionally, I could never tell you while your naked body is floating so close to me.”
Suddenly, I’m very aware of my nipples and how hard they’ve become. How the water between my legs seems to pulse to the rhythm of my heartbeat.
“Never mind.” Kay starts pushing herself out of the water, gulps of it cascading down her strong arms. “I’ll get you a towel.” I watch her totter off toward the lodge and I’m fairly certain of what she wanted to say. I feel it too, but, perhaps for different reasons, I can’t say it either.
Chapter Twelve
The next day, I invite my father for a beer at The Attic. As close to home turf as it gets for him. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and, apart from us, Joe the bartender, and a lone figure hunching over the bar, it’s empty. At my request, Dad and I slide into a booth, waiting for our first beer before launching into anything resembling a conversation.
“Look, Ellie,” he starts uncomfortably. “What I said the other day… heat of the moment stuff, you know?”
“It’s fine, Dad.” I dismiss his comment with a wave of my hand. Maybe it bothers him that Kay owns this place—possibly his favorite place in Northville. And that of the money he spends here treating his buddies, a considerable amount goes straight into her pocket. I try to empty my brain of assumptions. In my family, we hardly ever speak before thinking—often ending up not speaking at all because we think we have it all so figured out in our heads already, anyway.
“I’ve known Kay Brody since she was born. I know she’s all right.” Already, his eyes are watery—all the emotions he fails to express in words always surfacing there. “She hasn’t had the easiest time, with both her parents passing so quickly after each other. And then the whole history with Jeff. It must have taken a toll.”
“Kay is the most level-headed, honest, down-to-earth person I’ve met in a very long time.” I choke up a bit as I say it.
Dad looks up, the question burning on the tip of his tongue. But Joe brings our beers, slapping both me and my father on the shoulder in some sort of awkward, friendly gesture. Dad takes a big gulp, his frame visibly relaxing.
“Is something going on between the two of you? I’m not asking so I can judge or give my opinion. I’m only asking because you’re my daughter, Ellie. I feel as if I know nothing about you anymore.”
My dad’s forwardness takes me aback—and makes me wonder if he had a few shots of whiskey before coming here.
“No. We’re friends.” I try to keep my tone steady. “I didn’t come here to fall in love.” But what if you do? A voice in my head asks.
“I wouldn’t expect you to tell your old dad even if something was blossoming between the two of you.” Dad sends me a sad smile.
It’s different talking to him. Although he carries a lot of anger inside of him as well, it’s often obliterated by guilt—something I can relate to much easier than my mother’s eternal victimhood.
As much as I would like to sit here all afternoon and discuss the merits of Kay Brody, I have a much more pressing matter to talk through with my dad.
“I’m worried about Mom.” Because I recognize the signs, I want to add. “She came to see me yesterday and—”
“She has nothing left to hold on to. The thought of you was basically the only thing that kept her going. Your phone calls once a month if we were lucky. Still, hearing your voice always perked her up. Until…”
Despite knowing all too well it would be like this, the blame being piled upon me so quickly and resolutely pierces like a dagger through my heart. My nails bite into my palms as I clench my fists tightly.
“What you did was the final straw. It broke her. And me, for that matter.” He quickly wipes away a tear dripping from the corner of his eye.
“What I did?” I barely have the energy left to break out in anger.
“Do you have any idea what it does to a parent to have to take that call? To have some stranger tell you that your child, the human being you created, tried to end their life?”
I have no response. I just sit there, tears falling into my beer. Because what can I possibly say to that? I try to think of what Dr. Hakim would say. This is another one of the scenarios we practiced—but I could never fully commit because it was just too damned painful.
/> I’m so choked up I can’t even apologize.
My dad does it for me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ellie.” He holds up his hands. “This is not how I want it to be.” His words remind me of the general status of my entire life. “You have to understand… after Nina left, to fill that void, we pinned it all on you. And then you came out… and I know I’m not supposed to say this—I know that very well—but, at the time, it was a blow. One we recovered from quite well. Even brought your mother and I a bit closer together in the end, but you were too far away to notice at that point. Something I don’t blame you for. I’ve had a lot of time to think, Ellie, and I fully realize it must have been hard for you to tell us, this broken family that barely held it together.”
Brain fuzzed by an onslaught of tears, I’m amazed by my dad’s words. He would never speak like that with my mother in the room. Or, perhaps, I have made a few misdirected assumptions over the years—held on to certain ideas that took on a life of their own in my head.
“But to recover from this.” Dad shakes his head in slow, desperate movements. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t want to run anymore.” The words tumble from my mouth in hesitant stutters. “It’s why I came back.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dad knocks back the rest of his beer, signaling Joe for another round. It was a huge mistake to meet him here, in a public place, but Dad seems undeterred by his own tears—and mine.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” For the first time since arriving, I look him straight in the face. His skin is deeply wrinkled and his breath comes heavy. A sad soul trapped in an unhealthy body.
“How about this—” He pauses as Joe plants another round of beers on our table. “Why don’t you invite your new friend Kay over for dinner? I’ll make my signature beef stew. It won’t just be the three of us.” He cocks his head. “Which means your mother will behave.” A small smile creeps along his lips, erasing the sadness for an instant.