Our life.
She was so calm when I told her I was going to live with Ellen and Richard. Like she had expected it all along, but I don’t really believe she did.
I don’t really believe she wants me to go. Not all of her, anyway.
Then why is she letting me go through with this decision?
Why isn’t she saving me from myself?
See, I think I made a mistake in calling Ellen yesterday.
It was just I was so upset.
I remembered what Verity once said about Alan’s being one of those people who consistently make decisions against their own best interests. Maybe I’m one of those people too.
A loser.
Verity said she believes I’m mature enough to know what’s right for me.
If she really believes that, she might be seriously wrong about me.
There’s this old expression. “You made your bed; now you’re going to have to lie in it.”
That fight was stupid. Verity was right about that. And she said she was sorry. But I couldn’t say I’m sorry to her, though I am sorry. Because those words can’t change anything now.
I’ve made my bed.
Chapter 101
As soon as breakfast was cleared away—Gemma had gone back to her room and shut the door, gently this time—I drove over to Annie’s house, first writing a note for Gemma and leaving it on the counter by the microwave. Be home soon, I wrote. Call me if you need anything.
If you need me.
“Why do you think she’s doing this?” Annie said, taking a seat across from me at her kitchen table. My confessional.
“That’s what I’ve been wanting to ask you.”
“They’ve been pressuring her. Ellen and Richard.”
“Maybe, but I never thought Gemma would succumb to pressure.”
“She is still just a kid, remember. And with all that’s been going on with Alan? Maybe she just snapped.”
“We had a fight yesterday, right after Alan missed his weekly call. It’s the first time he’s done that. And then I got a call from Marty telling me there’d been a break-in at my studio and that the course on metal patination I proposed for the fall probably won’t happen. And then, the next thing you know, Gemma and I were at it.”
“Nice timing,” Annie said dryly. “What exactly were you at it about?”
“Nothing and everything. Hurtful things were said. Doors were slammed.”
“You think one fight might have tipped her over the edge? Do you think she’s decided to leave to punish you?”
“Oddly, no, I don’t think that’s it. She’d be exultant if that were the case. Instead she seems depressed.”
“Well, this is a mess.”
“I checked them out, you know,” I said. “Ellen and Richard. Back when they first came to town. One of the lead detectives on Gemma’s case, Bill Morrison, he’s retired now, but he was happy to help me dig for some dirt. Except there isn’t any dirt. Ellen and Richard are squeaky-clean. No criminal records. Pillars of their gated community. Regular churchgoers. An income that makes me want to choke. There’s nothing wrong with them.”
“Except that they’re not Gemma’s parents, and you are her mother.”
“Kids do just fine growing up without their biological parents.” Whom was I trying to convince? “They do just fine growing up with grandparents or an aunt and uncle.”
“We’re talking about Gemma. Not anonymous kids.”
“I know that! Sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”
“If I were you, I’d be screaming.”
I think I managed a smile. “We’re walking on eggshells with each other. And I’m absolutely miserable.”
“You could refuse to let her go. She’s still a minor. You could put your foot down.”
“No,” I said more firmly than I felt. “I have to believe in that idea of loving someone enough to be willing to let her go. Giving her the choice to stay or to leave.”
“But what if she doesn’t come back to you? Are you willing to accept that possibility?”
“No,” I admitted. “But I have to make myself willing.”
“Does Alan know about this?” Annie asked. “Not that he’d be of any help to you, or to Gemma, for that matter. Especially not now that he’s rejected a plea bargain and proven once again he’s an idiot.”
“Gemma hasn’t even told her father that his cousin is in her life.”
Annie sighed. “Have you told Marion yet?”
“No. I think I’m hoping Gemma will change her mind and Marion won’t have to know we almost lost her again.”
“Do you think Gemma will change her mind?”
I shook my head. “Honestly? No. She’s proud. She’s stubborn. And for all I know, she really does want to get away from me.”
“Then maybe you should tell Marion before Ellen does. Marion’s delicate. Ellen is not.”
“Ellen wants nothing to do with Alan’s mother. She won’t go near her.”
“All right, your call. So, have you spoken to Ellen since Gemma’s announcement?”
“I’m going to call her later today. I’m dreading it. I’m not at all sure what I’m going to say. Congratulations, you won? If you hurt my daughter, I’ll kill you?”
“Do you want me to be with you when you talk to Ellen? Moral support.”
I shook my head again. “Thanks, Annie. But this is something I should do on my own. If only I knew why Gemma wants to leave!”
“Maybe she thinks she’s doing you a favor.” Annie shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m just throwing stuff out and seeing what, if anything, sticks.”
“But I thought I’ve made it clear to her that I want her with me. We were getting along.”
“You hardly know Gemma, Verity,” Annie pointed out. “None of us do. Sorry, but that’s the truth. For all we know, she’s always been . . . inconsistent.”
Would Alan have insight into Gemma’s unexpected decision? The thought surprised me.
Abruptly, I got up from the table. “I should get back,” I said. “Thanks, Annie.”
“I don’t know that I’ve done anything to deserve thanks.”
“You listen,” I said. “What’s better is that you really hear me.”
Chapter 102
“I heard Verity and my mother talking. I came right over. Is it true, Gemma? Are you going to live with those cousins in Massachusetts?”
I looked down at my hands. I forgot I’d been wearing one of Verity’s rings—with her permission—since yesterday morning, before Alan’s non-call. Before our fight. It was silver, set with a small triangular turquoise. I took it off and put it in my pocket. “Yeah,” I said.
Cathy, perched on the edge of the lounge chair next to me, shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re going.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am,” she said earnestly. Everything about Cathy is earnest. It used to annoy me. “I thought we were, I don’t know. I thought we were all friends.”
I cringed. That word again. I’d called Cathy my friend more than once. “Well,” I said, “Greyson is a really good school, so . . .”
It was a pathetic reply. Cathy didn’t bother to argue it.
“Verity must be devastated. Sorry, Gemma, but I heard her before, at my house.”
I thought: Is she? Then why did she say sure, go ahead, go live with Ellen and Richard?
Okay. That’s not exactly how it happened, but still. She didn’t say no.
Had I wanted her to? Had I secretly hoped she would refuse to let me leave, take the choice out of my hands?
“But why?” Cathy persisted. “Why are you leaving when you’ve only been here a few months? You haven’t even given life here a real chance!”
“Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t done,” I said, but there was no real anger behind those words.
She was sort of right, after all.
Cathy got up from the lounge. “I have to go,” she said. “I’ve got a babysitting
job at two.”
“Okay.”
“Look, are you really sure about this?”
I was glad I was wearing sunglasses. Well, actually, they were Verity’s backup pair. She’d told me I could wear them if I couldn’t find my own.
I was glad I was wearing sunglasses because I couldn’t stop my eyes from going all watery. “Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m sure.”
When Cathy had gone, I grabbed my bike, the one Verity had bought me, and pedaled as hard and fast as I could down to the beach.
I wonder how close to the beach I’ll be living in Lexington. I should look at a map, I suppose. I’ll definitely miss being able to hop on my bike and be at the water in fifteen minutes.
The beach was crowded—it was one of those perfect days we seem to get here a lot, and it was almost fully high tide, so there wasn’t a lot of sand to go around—but I eventually found a fairly private spot up close to the dunes, what there are of them. (Some bits are restricted because of these little birds that nest there.) I sat right on the sand because I’d neglected to bring a blanket or a towel with me. There was this tangle of seaweed and rope I thought I’d like to draw, but I’d left the house in such a hurry, I forgot to grab a sketchbook, too. I should keep one in my panniers, I thought. And a towel. And then I realized that when I go to live in Lexington, I’ll have to leave the secondhand Tyler and my hand-me-down panniers here with Verity and take the Trek Ellen bought me.
I wonder if Verity will keep the old bike, in case I want it someday. She should try to sell it and get some of her money back.
There’s an art department at Greyson. I saw that on the website. But I wonder if every time I pick up a pencil I’ll think of Verity and coming here by myself to the beach and how I enjoyed it so much and feel too, I don’t know, too nostalgic to work. Too sad. I don’t want to stop drawing, but maybe I will. Maybe I won’t even have the time to take art classes if it turns out I have to catch up with the other kids in my grade, which is totally possible, given the relatively crappy education I’ve had so far.
It’s all a giant mess.
I pulled up my knees, wrapped my arms around them, and rested my head on my arms. The sound of the surf coming increasingly closer was loud in my ears but not loud enough to drown out the sound of my sobbing.
Chapter 103
When I got home from Annie’s, I found the house empty, and for a split second I panicked and was convinced Ellen and Richard had spirited Gemma away.
It was with some difficulty that I got control of myself enough to check for her bike in the garage. The Tyler was gone. The Trek was there.
Lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place. Right?
Actually, I think that’s a myth.
I went back into the house and called David at the college, where I knew he would be. And I told him the whole story, from Alan’s missed call and Gemma’s sad and bitter mood right afterward, to my upsetting conversation with Marty McGinty (of course, David already knew about the break-in at the college but not about the likely cancelation of my course), to the ridiculous blowup that had resulted in Gemma’s deciding to go off and live with Alan’s cousin. David listened without intrusive comment.
When I finished the tale, I felt exhausted. I am exhausted.
“Well?” I said.
“This is a train wreck,” David said promptly. “Sorry, but I can’t pretend I think Gemma’s going off with those two is a good idea.”
“I’m not asking you to pretend,” I said.
“And she hasn’t given you a reason?”
“No. I can make a few guesses, but I might very well be wrong. As Annie pointed out, I don’t really know my daughter, do I?”
“Sadly, Annie’s right. None of us really know her. Look, Verity, don’t go down without a fight.”
“This isn’t a contest between Gemma and me,” I protested.
“No, it’s a contest between you and Ellen. At least that’s how she sees it. It’s a battle of wills, with Gemma the prize.”
“David,” I asked, not expecting a definitive answer, “why does Ellen want her?”
“All that matters for us is that she does. Look, is she willing to put anything in writing? Has she brought in a lawyer? What if she gets Gemma down there to Lexington and then changes her mind? Are there stipulations to this arrangement?”
My head was swimming. “David, I don’t know the answer to any of those questions. I told you, I haven’t spoken to her yet.”
“I’d like to know what her husband really thinks of this scheme.”
“I wish you wouldn’t use that word. Scheme.”
“All right, this plan. Does he really care about Gemma’s future or is he just letting his bored wife amuse herself?”
Richard had to have consented to the idea of Greyson and all that went with it, I thought. All the money that was involved. . .
“What’s in it for him?” David went on. “Why is he taking in a seventeen-year-old girl he barely knows?”
“Stop!” I cried. “I know what you’re saying.” Of course the black thought had occurred to me, that one or both of them could be a sexual predator. It’s why I’d gone to Bill Morrison and asked for his help in vetting Ellen and Richard.
“When are you talking to them?” David asked.
“I’m planning on calling as soon as I get off the phone with you.”
“Take some deep breaths first. Seriously, Verity, if you don’t feel you can be strong, wait to make the call.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll be careful, but wish me luck anyway.” Ellen, the emotional vampire. Is that what she is?
“I’m wishing you more than luck,” he said. “And, Verity? You know I’ll do anything you need me to do. Anything.”
“I know,” I said.
I do know.
I sat very still for a long time after my conversation with Ellen, hands in my lap. I felt stunned, patronized, and bullied, much as I had felt at the encounter with her at Joe’s Diner.
And I felt guilty, guilty for seeming to want to hold my daughter back from a chance for a bright and shining future. Ellen and Richard’s version of a bright and shining future.
My manner on the phone was purposefully formal. It seemed a wiser choice than screaming and yelling at the woman with whom my daughter had chosen to entrust herself for at least the next school year. Ellen’s manner was upbeat, almost breezy. Well, why wouldn’t it be? She had won. She had gotten what she wanted, whatever that was in the end.
I attempted to discuss a few practical matters.
“I’ll want to visit her, of course,” I said. I don’t want to ask for permission to see my own child, but I know I can’t just be dropping in on Ellen and Richard whenever I feel like it. Rather, whenever I have time to make the two-hour trip there and the two-hour trip back.
“Of course,” Ellen said soothingly. “She will be very busy, though. It might be best to wait and see how she’s adjusting at Greyson before scheduling too many social calls.”
It was an evasive answer, and only the first of many.
“What about the holidays?” I said. “Thanksgiving and Christmas. I’d like her to come home for the holidays.”
“I know you do, Verity. Though there’s an awful lot going on at Greyson around Thanksgiving, a semiformal dance for one, and an overnight to New York City. Gemma might not want to miss the activities and the chance to spend some downtime with her new friends.”
“Yes,” I said, “but—”
“As for Christmas, Richard and I usually escape to a warm climate for a week, and Gemma did express some interest in joining us. She has almost a full two weeks off then, and I know you’d hate to keep her from a chance to travel.” Ellen laughed. “When I told her we love to visit Hawaii, her eyes almost popped out of her head!”
Had they? Gemma has never said anything about Hawaii to me. I couldn’t bear to bring up the projected spring visit to Paris.
In the end, I suspect I’ll have to let
Gemma be the one to decide where she spends her free time. Let her go and see if she comes back. That’s the mature thing to do, isn’t it?
“There’s her clothing,” I went on, my manner still formal, if less assured. Inside, I was flailing, losing ground. “We need to discuss an allowance. And what to do about her immediate medical care if she should get sick. She’s hoping to start driving lessons this fall. And you know she talks to her father once a week. You have to let her talk to him if she wants to.”
“All those things will be taken care of, Verity.”
“Her life . . .” I almost couldn’t go on in the face of Ellen’s continued bland assurances. “Her life needs to be stable.”
“And that’s exactly what Richard and I can provide. Stability.”
Implying, of course, that I could not.
“I’d like,” I said, “whatever final agreement we come to, to be in writing.”
Ellen laughed. “You don’t have faith in me. Oh, Verity, I’m not like my cousin. You can trust me not to do anything to harm your daughter.”
“Still,” I pressed, “I’d like the arrangement to be formalized in some way, for Gemma’s protection and my own peace of mind.”
“All right, of course. I’ll talk to Richard, and he’ll take care of everything.”
There was so much more to say, but I had to get off the phone. It was all too much.
Maybe I should ask David to be with me when I next talk to Ellen. Richard should be present too, especially if he’s going to “take care of everything,” whatever that means exactly. Maybe I should bring along a lawyer of my own. David’s good friend in Portland might help us for a rate.
Oh, I just don’t know!
One thing I do know for sure: Spending another Thanksgiving and Christmas without Gemma, after the tease of having her with me this summer, will be unbearable.
Simply unbearable.
Chapter 104
“And this,” Ellen said, “is a view of the south side of the house. See the trellis? We get the most gorgeous roses in June.”
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