I could understand their anger and feelings of betrayal. Even their desire to get revenge. But to spread that outrage to men they’d never met? To set up their own kangaroo court that allowed the accused no defense or appeal? To punish them harshly and illegally? To put themselves and their friends in danger of prosecution and jail time? Is this where the strength of Moxie took them? To this dark side? What were they thinking?
“Diana, I hear your anger when you talk about the frustration the Moxie members felt as individuals. Can you tell me more about the power you felt?” I asked.
Diana nodded, her dark eyes cold and hard. “Feeling powerful is fairly new in my life,” she said flatly. “My ex was physically abusive and I took it for years because deep down I thought I deserved it. My grandparents, who were very strict and religious, raised me. Hard work was expected. Laziness was a sin, and everything fun was laziness. They taught me I didn’t deserve anything, that we’re all sinners in God’s eyes, that I could never be good enough. I rebelled by marrying a guy who was good-looking, charming, self-centered and spoiled. When he had affairs, took my money, hit me, and accused me of having sex with other men, I felt like it was my fault—that I deserved it. I was so powerless that all I could do was keep trying harder to please him.”
Her face softened briefly. “I wanted us to be a family for our babies. I wanted Amy and Hugh to have the real family I never had,” she said. Her eyes narrowed. “But the shitbag got worse and worse,” she said bitterly. “He found every excuse he could to have a tantrum and leave the house. He’d yell that everything was a mess and he couldn’t find his things. Then he’d empty drawers on the floor and storm out. Sometimes he’d stay away for two or three days. Finally a friend helped me see my codependency and my fears of leaving. I got in touch with my personal power and left him. I did it for my kids. I didn’t want them growing up in that toxic environment thinking men can push women around any time they want.”
Diana stopped and turned to Hana. “Your turn,” she said.
Hana shook her head. “No. I’m not going to bore Cleo with the story of my ex,” she said. She turned to me. “But you have to understand why we do this,” she said. “We’re not stealing, we’re righting wrongs. Not just wrongs against us, wrongs against all women. Have you followed the sexual assault suits against the university football players and recruits? Those guys use women like sex toys, and get away with it. One woman was gang-raped at a recruiting party, but football boosters used their power to whitewash the whole thing. The police, the district attorney and the grand jury investigated her claims, but the prosecutors decided not to file sexual-assault charges.”
Diana was nodding vigorously. “Exactly,” she said. “My ex is long gone but he messed me up in a lot of ways. After all I went through with him, I’m not interested in a relationship with any man. My physical therapy and massage practice is doing well. And my feelings about abuse have become stronger over the years. Intimate partner abuse is the number one cause of injury to women—more common than muggings, stranger rapes and car accidents combined. I see victims in my practice. Even though they don’t admit they’re being abused, I recognize those bruises. So yes, I’m on a crusade to stop this.”
Miserable stories. I felt myself joining their anger. But I couldn’t go there. I looked off at one of Gramma’s paintings on the opposite wall for a minute to restore my sanity. It was time to take a principled stand. “I sympathize with your anger and frustration,” I said. “I also hate domestic violence. But I can’t endorse your tactics. You can’t simply take the law into your own hands like this.”
Then I turned to Gayle. “How did you all agree to this extreme solution?” I asked.
Gayle’s face reddened. “The thing is,” she said, “we’ve all seen enough abuse of women. And society isn’t doing much to stop it. In Moxie, we spent years trying to let go and rise above our angry feelings, but finally we began to ask ourselves whether overlooking and letting go was the best way. We kept coming back to the idea that rising above and almost ignoring the behavior of an abusive man is like accepting their behavior, which in turn sounds like giving them permission to carry on. We decided we weren’t willing to tolerate it any more. So we had to act.”
“But some of you have had regrets since?” I asked. “Some of you want it to stop?”
A battle took place on her face. Then she squared her shoulders and looked straight at Diana and Hana. “Yes,” she said. “Sabrina and I realized that being involved in this illegal activity was risky for us and for our children, even if it was for a good cause. She planned to do what she could to stop it. Did she tell you that?” she asked them.
Diana and Hana looked at each other for a long moment. Then Diana shrugged. “Okay, I’ll admit it. Sabrina did have a thirty-day plan. And Hana and I were part of it. She said we had thirty days to dismantle the website, the accounts—all of it—or she was going to report us to the police. But if you think we pushed her off a cliff or something to stop her, you’re wrong. In fact we don’t even think she’s dead. Go ahead and try to contact her again. If she is dead and you talk to her spirit, you’ll find out we didn’t have anything to do with it.”
Chapter 22
Waves of nausea overwhelmed me. I knew that if I stood up or even moved I would vomit on the floor. Partly morning sickness, but more Moxie. I felt sick about Moxie’s illegal activities and petrified about what my involvement with them could mean for me and my baby.
But I stayed in therapist mode. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to settle my stomach. “I appreciate your telling me the truth about the website,” I said as evenly as I could manage. But at this point I don’t know what to do with this information, or whether I can be involved with any of you any more. You all need to leave now so I can think. I’ll let you know tomorrow what I decide.”
Diana leapt to her feet in front of me, muscles tensed, nostrils flared, eyes cold and hard. “Don’t underestimate us,” she said forcefully. Waves of anger poured off her, headed straight at me. “We’ve done some investigating. We know your boyfriend is a cop. If you even think about telling him any of this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. You know what we’re capable of.”
As I struggled with how to respond to Diana’s threat, Hana stood up next to Diana and put her arm across Diana’s shoulders. “I think what Diana means to say is that one step in the wrong direction will cause you a thousand years of regret,” she said quietly. “That’s a proverb worth remembering. Now we will leave as you requested.” She pulled Diana off into the front room, where they put on their coats and boots and went out the front door.
“Be smart and keep your mouth shut,” Diana yelled back at me on her way out.
I sagged back into my chair, feeling sicker than ever. Gayle sat quietly in her chair next to me. When I collected myself enough to look over at her, she was looking down at the floor, her shoulders slumped. We sat together in stunned silence for a minute, as if part of some botched meditation exercise. Then Gayle spoke haltingly. “I’m so sorry. I never should have told you.” She straightened in her chair. “But you insisted on knowing,” she said firmly, “and now that you know, you’re in as much trouble as the rest of us.”
But I’m nothing like them, I thought. I’m not on some vendetta to punish men. “Do the Moxie members hate all men?” I asked.
“No, of course not,” she said. “Except for Diana, we’ve all been in good relationships with men. Some of us still are.” She took a deep breath and looked off across the room. “If luck had been with me, I’d be happily married to a guy I met a few years after I got divorced from Frank. His name was Stuart. He was sweet and funny and a terrific dancer. My soulmate. But he got cancer—lymphoma. He fought so hard to live, never complained, went through chemo and radiation, all the nasty side effects.” Her voice broke. “When Stuart died, it felt like the end of my world. I haven’t found anyone like him since, but I know there are lots of good, kind, gentle men out there.”
Pablo is a good man, I thought. Okay I was hurt when he left me years ago, but I got over it. And now we’re together and I love him and he loves me. Poor Gayle. She’d had more than her share of bad breaks when it came to men.
“I’m sorry that happened to you, Gayle,” I said. “But I’m glad to know you see more than one side of this story.”
“Moxie may have gone off the track,” she said leaning forward toward me, “but it’s for a good purpose. We’re not crazy or stupid or irrational. If we’re guilty of something, it’s caring too much—which puts us in a Karma-free zone. We so desperately want to help abused women.”
My head was spinning. I held up my hand to stop her. “Look Gayle, I can’t talk about this anymore right now,” I said wearily. “You have to go. I’ll talk to you later.”
She stood up and turned toward me to offer parting words. “Cleo, I know you’ve gotten way more than you bargained for when you agreed to my brother’s request to help find out what happened to Sabrina. But please don’t give up on us. I have to know whether Sabrina is dead or alive.”
I didn’t answer. She waited a minute, then walked off toward the front room.
When I heard the door close behind her, I got up slowly, went to the front door and locked it. Then I bolted into the bathroom and puked my guts out. After which I didn’t feel up to walking home, so I took a nap on my couch.
§ § §
I woke up energized, hungry, annoyed and confused. Was it really as easy as they said it was to get away with identity theft? Now that I knew what they were doing, what should I do about it? Was I putting myself—and my baby—in danger if I turned them in? I had no idea what they might do, but I took Diana’s warning seriously. I wouldn’t underestimate them. On the other hand, I didn’t want to think about Pablo’s reaction if he found out that I knew what Moxie was doing and didn’t report it. I needed more information to help me think this through.
I fixed myself a peanut butter sandwich and headed for my computer to do Google searches on identity theft. The information was not encouraging. I discovered that identity theft affects millions of households in the U.S. every year, mostly through credit card and/or bank account misuse. But in most cases, the criminals are never identified, partly because by the time theft victims realize their information has been compromised and report the theft, the case is cold, partly because the cases often cross state lines and jurisdictions, and partly because the thieves are too smart to leave a paper trail. Without any details on Diana and Hana’s scam, how could I possibly prove what they are doing if they deny it? And would it be worth risking their retribution to try?
Then I thought maybe I could find Hana and Diana’s website. But Google found millions of domestic abuse victims’ discussion groups, and I had no criteria to narrow the search. I went on some of the sites and read women’s stories, many of whom wrote about how hard it is for them to leave the abuser, either because they believe the abuse is their fault, because they are afraid to lose the relationship, because they feel guilty at the thought of leaving, and on and on. They just keep taking the abuse, while somehow hoping the guy will change. As a therapist I’m familiar with these dynamics, although I don’t generally treat abuse victims. Nevertheless, reading victims’ stories reminded me of the horrific emotional and physical pain so many women live with.
A little whisper inside me said if Moxie has the courage and the ability to act against some of these abusers, good for them. I’m not saying I agreed with what Hana and Diana were doing, but I wasn’t ready to turn them in to the police. As my clients, the Moxie women were entitled to confidentiality unless they were threatening physical violence to themselves or others. And in truth, I could see how they had come to judge the morality of their actions based on the outcomes. Sometimes the end does justify the means.
But sometimes it doesn’t. If they had pushed Sabrina off a cliff to keep their secret, they had to be held accountable. Diana’s words rang in my ears: Go ahead and try to contact her again. If she is dead and you talk to her spirit, you’ll find out we didn’t have anything to do with it.
And that’s what led me to call Gayle for the second time that day, and once again invite her to come to my office.
§ § §
Gayle showed up right away, surprisingly willing to go into the apparition chamber, even though she had said she never would again after her last experience. “Your Contact Project was the reason Bruce brought me to you in the first place,” she said. “And I agree that I need to try again to reach Sabrina. I’m not afraid of getting my mother. If she shows up this time, I won’t listen to her. I’ll simply stand up and tell her to go away.”
I got Gayle set up in the apparition chamber, reminding her to relax and think positive thoughts about Sabrina. I had no energy for paperwork, so I went into the counseling room to think and listen to music while I waited. As before, I worried that if Sabrina appeared to her in the apparition chamber, Gayle would be hit hard with the undeniable fact of her death. Even though Gayle had been saying that she no longer believed Sabrina was alive, being face-to-face with her spirit would be a shock.
I had almost dozed off, when I heard, “Yo, Cleo.”
Tyler swooped across the room, spinning his board to a graceful stop on the coffee table. “No waves today,” he said, frowning. “Bummer. More paddling than surfing.”
I straightened up, moving slowly so as not to push Tyler away. “Huh? What do you mean, ‘no waves’?” I asked.
“Gayle’s sitting there like a duck, bobbing around.”
“What are you saying, Tyler? Does Gayle need help?”
“No. She’s not surfing. A wannabe. Like a waxboy on the beach.”
Before I could figure out what to ask next, he and his board rose up and away. “Later!” he said as he surfed off through the wall, leaving me to try to decode his cryptic message as usual.
I still hadn’t figured it out when I heard the chamber door open about an hour later. Gayle walked slowly into the counseling room, looking sad and resigned, but showing no signs of shock or deep grief. She sagged into a chair, her head in her hands.
I got up and brought her a glass of water, but said nothing—just waited for her to begin. She raised her head, mumbled “thanks for the water,” and took a sip. She lapsed into silence again, eyes glazed.
I waited.
Finally she exhaled deeply and looked at me. “I saw her,” Gayle said in a monotone, “but she was very far away. I said ‘Sabrina, what happened to you?’ but she didn’t answer. She turned away and said, ‘Not Brandi. Not for Ian.’ I told her I’m doing everything I can to keep our agreement and take care of Ian, but Brandi is making it very hard. Sabrina got this very sad look and said, ‘You have to stop her. Brandi is wrong for Ian.’ Then I couldn’t see her or hear her anymore.” Gayle sat back, eyes closed.
I didn’t react right away, because I didn’t know what to say. Gayle’s reaction was not only unexpected, it was peculiar. Seeing Sabrina did not bring up the intense grief I was prepared for. Furthermore, Gayle showed none of the amazement, awe, or intensity I’ve seen in other clients who have reached a loved one in the chamber.
“How did you feel when you saw Sabrina?” I asked, finally.
“Sad,” Gayle said. “And guilty because I haven’t been able to get Ian away from Brandi. And confused because I still don’t know what happened to Sabrina.”
I was confused also. Gayle’s reactions weren’t ringing true to me. For the first time since I’d started the Contact Project I found myself doubting a client’s report. While it was possible that Gayle’s reaction could be this subdued, I was skeptical. Maybe Brandi was right when she predicted that Gayle would lie about reaching Sabrina as a way of proving she is dead and to get Ian away from Brandi. Maybe this was what Tyler was trying to warn me of when he said Gayle wasn’t surfing, that she was a wannabe on the beach.
But I couldn’t express those doubts, certainly couldn’t accuse her of lying.
And there was no way to verify what she had experienced in the chamber.
These Moxie women were full of surprises and they always seemed to be one step ahead of me. But at this point I was determined to hold my own with them to find out who was responsible for Sabrina’s disappearance.
Chapter 23
Friday morning I got a desperate call. “Cleo, this is Allie Hecht.” Her voice broke. “My mom, Charlene, was at Glenwood Gardens with your grandmother.” She paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “You probably know Mom died last month.” Another pause. “I’m having a hard time. Mary Ellen at Glenwood Gardens suggested I call you for grief therapy. And I really need some.”
I remembered Mary Ellen telling me Allie was angry because she thought the hospital had deliberately hastened her mother’s death. She’d said Allie wanted to sue the hospital. Knowing that, I wasn’t eager to add Allie to my client list. Helping someone move through anger and blame in their grieving can take a long time. And I had a lot going on. But I had told Mary Ellen I’d talk to Allie if she made an appointment.
“Of course, Allie,” I said. “Charlene was so sweet. I know Gramma and all the residents miss her. I’m so sorry for your loss. Would you like to set up an appointment to come in?”
“I would,” she said softly. “I thought I’d get over it on my own, but with the holidays coming up, I really miss Mom. And today is her birthday, which makes it even worse. Is there any way I could come in today?”
Lynn Osterkamp - Cleo Sims 03 - Too Many Secrets Page 13
