“What happened to your family?” Ben said quietly.
“I never saw them again.” A male cardinal flew by, all handsome and red. “And we made a deal, the right deal for Maisie. At least, I thought it was. At the time.”
“Maisie, that’s a sweet name.”
She smiled, and they fell into silence as the traffic dwindled. Rush hour was long gone.
“I didn’t want her to need for anything, especially love. I grew up with an unfit mother. I didn’t want that for Maisie, so I let her go. I had to let them both go.”
“He didn’t come to see you, your husband?”
Katie shook her head. “I was in bad shape. Couldn’t even talk to him on the phone. He funded Delaney’s move to Asheville and paid my hospital bill. In return, I agreed to a divorce and Cal’s demand for full custody, but his lowlife lawyer decided it wasn’t enough. Insisted the mentally unstable mother surrender her parental rights. At first I didn’t want to take that final step, but my lawyer was young and didn’t know how to fight. And then Delaney asked what my heart told me was best for Maisie, so I signed away my life.
“But it was tough on Delaney. She’d become Maisie’s full-time babysitter, even though she and Cal didn’t have the best relationship. I guess she had to blame one of us for my leaving, so she picked him. Delaney and I agreed to stay dead to Maisie, and Cal’s best friend agreed to step in as our replacement. The four of us did what we thought was best for Maisie. I hated that Delaney had to give her up, too, but Maisie was better off without me. I always believed that. I had to.”
I could hurt Maisie, even now. What if I still want to hurt her? No, no, I would never do that. I love her. But what if I don’t? I wasn’t a mother to her. Running away isn’t love.
“Hey, I understand.” Ben moved his helmet and scooted over until their thighs touched. He put his arm around her, and Katie leaned against his chest.
“That’s an unusual arrangement,” he said. “Two men raising a little girl.”
“Cal and Jake have an unusual bond. Have since they met in first grade. Cal had just moved to the States, Jake had just moved to Chapel Hill to live with an older aunt after he was orphaned. Jake was taking first grade for the second time, and Cal was new to the American classroom. Guess they bonded early as outsiders.” She shrugged. “Jake and I never figured out how to trust each other or share Cal. After our wedding, Jake’s aunt died and he ran off to LA to make it big. When I left he was still out there. A washed-up actor by day and a nanny to an autistic boy by night. Jake was always good with kids. It’s grown women he can’t handle. Delaney was one of his casualties.”
“Right, then. I’m putting him at the top of my shit list.”
“You have a shit list?”
“Not until today. Did you ever tell your husband about the OCD?”
“No, because I didn’t know. The night I ran away, I asked for help, but he locked me out.”
“Bastard,” Ben said in a voice she didn’t recognize.
“I don’t mean from the house, from our bedroom. Things had been bad between us for months. I was already seeing a therapist. A useless one who only focused on my childhood trauma, which brings us to the fun part. My parents.”
Cars crawled up to the light. Stopped, idled, went.
“When I was twelve, my mother snatched a steak knife out of my hand and stabbed my father.”
“In front of you?” To his credit, Ben didn’t flinch.
“Not, you know—” Katie mimicked Norman Bates slashing at the shower curtain. “It was pretty minor as stabbings go, but my father, being a stand-up guy, ran off, never to be seen again. Mom moved us back to Greensboro, her hometown, and became an alcoholic shut-in. She’d never been the most emotionally balanced person, but the move was meant to be our do-over. After that I pretty much raised Delaney, and then she raised me.”
“What was wrong with your mother?”
“Who knows? Once we moved she upped the Hail Marys and drank herself into la-la land.”
“You’re Catholic?”
“Lapsed.”
Katie looked up at the sky. It wasn’t dark, not yet, but the outline of the moon was visible. “Cal has an even harder time processing violence than I do. He knew about my mom, but we both pretended it didn’t happen. We were good at that. Pretending things hadn’t happened. When I finally tried to explain what was going on in my head, he probably assumed I’d become my mother. Easy mistake.”
“You’re making excuses for him?” Ben’s arm slid from her shoulder.
“That’s why Delaney suggested I come to Raleigh today. She thought it might help me stop wearing this.” She pulled up the long chain that hung around her neck and showed him her gold wedding band.
“He didn’t stand by you, Katie. That’s shit behavior however you look at it.”
She re-hid the chain under her T-shirt. “I believe marriage is for life, and I understand why he acted as he did. We both put our daughter first.”
“I’m sorry your husband failed you.” Ben laid his hand, briefly, across his mouth before resting his knuckle under his chin. “And that your daughter doesn’t know her mother’s an incredible human being.”
“You’re biased because I worked for you for free. But wait, there’s more!” she said in a late-night infomercial voice. “Not all the docents are middle schoolers. Two of them are fifth-graders, and one of them is Maisie. Maisie is my docent.”
“Jesus.”
“And I think she might have OCD, and if I’m right, I need to talk to Cal, need to warn him there’s a time bomb ticking in her head. But what if I’m wrong and I charge back into their world for no good reason? I stayed away to keep her safe, Ben. But what if the OCD’s doing everything to her it did to me? What if Cal doesn’t understand the danger?”
What if I see her again and hurt her accidentally?
“Is it genetic?”
“I guess, but faulty brain wiring isn’t that simple. My OCD was triggered by postpartum overdrive, an obsessive need to protect my baby. I might have wondered about Maisie once she reached puberty or adulthood, but at ten? And yet why didn’t I think about that? While I was walking here, I started remembering weird shit Mom used to do and weird shit I did as a child. What if our OCD is genetic? What if I had it at Maisie’s age and didn’t realize? What if by running away, I didn’t protect her from anything? What if I simply hung her out to dry with a man who sees intrusive thoughts as a threat?”
“That’s a ton of what-ifs. Where’s this insecurity coming from? You’re not insecure, Katie. It’s one of the many things I admire about you.”
“It’s doubt, not insecurity.”
“Huh. That’s pretty interesting.”
“Not if you have the doubting disease, I can assure you. Why, Ben, why did I have to be so convinced staying away was the right thing? Certainty isn’t real, it’s an OCD con.” The ringing in her ears reached a crescendo until she could hear nothing but the memory of waking every morning to the promise of forever. “I love you today and forever,” Cal used to say. Forever was another con. Another certainty that didn’t exist.
Ben slapped his thighs and stood. “We need a plan.”
“You don’t want to run back to Ohio, never to return?”
“Wouldn’t be able to take the winters. My blood thinned after I moved south.” He assessed her with those huge gray eyes. “I always knew you were resilient, but this? You, Katie Mack, are a constant wonder.” Ben offered her his elbow. “Come on. We’re going out for dinner.”
“Why?”
“That’s what friends do, knucklehead.”
She stretched, stood up, and rubbed life into her buttocks, numb from sitting on a hard bench. “I haven’t scared you off?”
“Your story’s inspiring, not scary. Is there a local support group around here? If not, you should start one, spread the hope.”
“I was in one a while back, but no one else had violent thoughts. A roomful of people with obsessions a
nd compulsions, and they found my fears bizarre. Harm OCD is the dirty underwear of the OCD world. The only thing worse is pedophile OCD.”
“Pedophile OCD?” His chin jerked back.
“Yeah. And people think we’re neat freaks and hand washers.”
“Definitely start your own group. You’d be terrific.”
“Maybe one day. Right now I have a hard enough time helping myself.”
“This from the woman who sat up with me all night after a sculpture fell on my head.”
“Someone had to.” She slotted her arm through his, and they started walking. “Where are we going?”
“Wherever we want. How do you feel, now that you’ve told me the truth?”
“Exhausted, but okay. I think. I still have to figure out what happens next, though.”
“That’s easy.” Ben nodded at a green neon sign advertising beer. “I suggest a drink.”
“I want to hate Cal so bad. Why, why do I still love him?”
“You’re asking me to explain love? Have you paid any attention to the disaster that’s my dating history?” He shook his head. “You’re a mom. I should have known.”
“I was a middle school English teacher, too. In my old life.”
“And you let me deal with the school groups?”
“I struggle around kids. So many potential targets for the OCD beast.”
He stopped and pushed open the door to the bar. The smell of hops welcomed them inside, along with raised voices and a whoosh of air-conditioning. “What else do I need to know about OCD?”
“Everything,” she said. “I’m going to tell you everything.”
SEVEN
KATIE
Moths danced under the outside lights, and Delaney finally stopped choking on her vanilla bean iced tea. Farther down the street from Cocoa Cinnamon, beautiful people drifted around the food trucks parked outside Motorco, the music hall. The crisscross of white lights strung overhead added to the street carnival atmosphere. A green katydid, a bush cricket, landed on their trestle table and sang its song: Katy-did, Katy-didn’t, Katie did, Katie didn’t.
“Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?” Delaney’s voice came out hoarse. “You can’t see Maisie again.”
“Why? I’m not breaking the deal if she doesn’t know who I am.”
Liar. What if I accidentally tell Maisie I’m her mom? I could trigger a serious OCD episode for her. What if I’m lying? Am I—lying?
“I’m only going to see her once. That’s all,” Katie said. “To make sure. I need to make sure.”
“That’s checking.”
“It’s not. I’m ninety percent sure she has OCD. Or eighty percent, but definitely above sixty. Her body language screams anxiety. And she checks worse than I do.”
I ran away because I didn’t love her enough to stay, because I could have harmed her.
No, I do love her, and I didn’t hurt her yesterday. Have I ever been a threat to Maisie?
No, but what if . . .
A mosquito buzzed by Katie’s ear, and OCD droned worse than a trapped hornet.
Delaney snatched up a wad of paper napkins and swiped at the tea stain across her chest. The guy with two full sleeves of tattoos at the next table watched. “Hey”—she glanced up—“stop looking at my boobs. I’m not some peep show.”
The guy blushed, and Katie gave him a sympathetic smile, which was ridiculous. Maybe she didn’t know what was best for anyone. Maybe she never had.
“I’ll spend another hour with Maisie, maybe two,” Katie said, “and if I’m sure, Ben can take my suspicions to Whitmore, who’ll listen because he has firsthand experience with OCD.”
“And what happens on the show’s opening night?” Delaney said.
“Ben will stand in for me after I come down with a nasty case of food poisoning.”
What if Maisie doesn’t have OCD, and I’m making all this up because I want to see her again? How do I know I have OCD? What if I don’t? What if I’m using that as an excuse because I don’t want to admit I’m a child killer? How do I know I’m not a monster?
A thought is just a thought, and I control fire. I am strong.
Katie’s left foot tapped the ground. Tap, tap; tap, tap.
“I don’t care what cockamamie plan you and Ben cooked up.” Delaney fixed her green eyes on Katie. “And yes, he’s getting the same pep talk. Dealing with a life of worry before you’ve been measured for your first bra? I can’t imagine, but—”
“You were measured for your first bra?”
“Mom, in one of her saner moments,” Delaney said. “Sis—I love you. I know what this means to you, but no good ever comes from kicking over big rocks. Not unless you’re hunting for a nest of copperheads. That part of your life is over. Done. Finito. End of story.”
Katie stirred the white chocolate latte topped with ginger that Delaney had told her was a crazy choice for a sweltering August evening. Crazy choices—she peeled her sweaty thighs apart—another Katie Mack specialty.
“Are we talking about me and Cal, or you and Jake?”
“Cheap shot. You know I don’t think about Jake anymore.”
“The same way I never think about Cal?”
Delaney scanned the night sky. Was she searching for shooting stars, as they’d done when they were kids? Katie followed her sister’s gaze, but couldn’t make out anything beyond the Big Dipper. A band started up inside Motorco, playing with the beat of a dirge. Did Maisie have a favorite band? Did she play an instrument? Maybe something big and bold and twice her size, like a trombone?
“Do you think he’s still in her life?” Delaney said.
“Jake? Undoubtedly. She referenced an Uncle Jake.”
“There can be only one.” Delaney got that distant look again. Was she remembering Jake napping with Maisie on his chest at the christening? After flying back from LA for the service, he had slipped effortlessly into the role of human pacifier. Cal was grateful for the break from Maisie’s crying jags and so was Katie, until the spouse of one of her teacher friends mistook Jake for Maisie’s dad. Or maybe Delaney was thinking about how she and Jake disappeared later that night. As they had after the wedding.
“Honey, please tell me Jake isn’t the reason you keep putting off all those marriage proposals from Patrick.”
Delaney laughed, and the tattooed guy risked another glance. “That’s so preposterous I’m not even going to answer it.” She picked at the back of her amber ring, one of the many non-engagement rings Patrick kept giving her. “You think she’s a bookworm or a gamer? Most kids are either-or. And physically is she a Sullivan or a MacDonald? It was hard to tell in last year’s photo. Is she small like you?”
“Yeah.” Katie grinned. “And she has my ex-mother-in-law’s overbite.”
“I need more, more details.” Delaney slid a finger up and down the condensation on her glass.
“She’s eager and inquisitive, talks with exaggerated mannerisms, and dresses as if raised by wolves. There’s an innocence about her, but also a seriousness. Oh, and she’s a writer. How perfect is that?”
And I could ruin it all, couldn’t I?
“English major mom, librarian grandmother, professor dad. Makes sense. But we can’t interfere.”
Katie’s tongue rubbed the sore inside her mouth. It would never heal unless she left it alone. “And why is that?”
A dog walker strolled by, texting despite the small troop of dogs on leashes attached to the back of his belt. Confident in his ability to remain in control. Katie combed her fingers through her hair and began twisting. Even after five years, the short hair still surprised her as much as her reflection in the bathroom mirror: the multiple ear piercings, the heavy black eyeliner copied from Delaney, the boho chic that had started as disguise and now felt right. Non-OCD right. Music pulsed louder as Katie turned back to her sister.
“Please, Sis. Don’t do this. Callum shut you out when you needed him. Not once, but twice. In my book, no one gets a third chance. If
you do anything—anything—that risks contacting that asshole, you might as well hand him a baseball bat and say, ‘Here, have another swing and finish me off.’ On the other hand, if you want to take up voodoo and stick a red-haired male doll full of pins, I’m game. Don’t think for one second that I’ll ever forgive him, either for what he did to you or for drop-kicking me out of my niece’s life.”
“And Jake?”
“What about Jake?”
“Come on. You don’t think Jake had a hand in stripping me of my parental rights? That’s a move with Jake’s signature all over it.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” Delaney reached for her purse and riffled through its contents.
“I don’t, but more to the point, why don’t you?”
“Can we forget about Jake? He also belongs in our past, and you can’t reinsert yourself into Maisie’s life because of this.” Delaney slid an envelope across the table as if it were rigged to explode. Then she leaned over and fished Katie’s drugstore reading glasses out of the messenger bag discarded in the middle of the table.
“Here, you’ll need these.” Delaney held out the glasses. Katie hesitated before taking them.
Someone laughed, a dog barked, a new song started playing in Motorco, and the tsunami roared closer. Shaking, Katie touched the handwriting, ran her fingers over the return address: Cal’s office. He’d relegated her to campus mail. And the postmark was . . . July 9?
“You’ve had this since Maisie’s birthday?” Katie said.
“I couldn’t figure out how or when to tell you.”
The envelope was torn open. Katie reached inside, but there was no photograph. She pulled out a folded piece of paper—a letter—and took off her glasses. “Will you read it to me?”
Delaney nodded and began.
“Dear Delaney, How are you? I think of you often, and I hope things worked out for you and Katelyn. Every day I look back on our lives together with such sadness and regret. How did it all go so wrong? I loved Katelyn with such passion. I will never forget that, and together we created Maisie, the best of both of us.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t have the strength to bring Katelyn home from Asheville. I’m sorry that I dumped everything on you. I knew, however, that you would do a better job than I ever could. You forget I watched you look after Maisie and your mother.
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