I thought about it for a moment. “But it really doesn’t change anything.”
He looked at me oddly. “How can you say that?”
For a moment I thought I should just drop it—to change the subject to something, anything else. I was afraid of my emotions and of what I might say or do. In so many ways I felt like I was talking to a total stranger.
“It’s . . . well . . . it’s just that . . . this was only one of the secrets. Our whole life has been about secrets. I feel . . . I can’t help it, but I know there are things that I can’t remember. I know that there are things that happened to me that I need to understand.”
“What kind of things?” His look was both questioning and uncertain. Maybe he feared I was becoming as delusional as Mom had been.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’ve spent a lot of time in therapy, Dad. My counselor says I’ve blocked out an awful lot. There are long ribbons of my life that I can’t remember. There are also spaces of time that I can’t seem to forget. She says I have some of the earliest memories she’s ever seen in a person, but at the same time there are stretches of years that are simply blank.”
“There’s a lot of things I don’t remember from my childhood,” Dad replied. He scratched his chin where a stubble of whiskers served as reminder that he was on vacation. “I never saw them as important.”
“Well, they are to me. I need to remember. I need to know why I choose to remember some things and not others. I need to understand.”
“And does your therapist think that’s possible?”
“She does under the right conditions.”
He shoved his hands back into his pockets. “And what conditions are those?”
“There’s no textbook way to know for sure. I need to feel safe. That’s the most important thing.” I paused and gazed at the pebbles beneath my feet. “Dad, I haven’t felt safe for most of my life.”
He took a step back. My statement had clearly surprised him. “Why would you say that? Haven’t I provided a good home? You’ve never had to worry about going hungry or not having the things you needed.”
Despite my resolve to remain unemotional, tears streamed down my cheeks. “I didn’t have peace of mind. I still don’t. I’m twenty-seven and I know that I could still show signs of schizophrenia. That secret has haunted me for so long, Dad. That secret has probably done as much harm as knowing . . . believing that you killed Mom. I’ve had to bear it all alone, because I knew you didn’t want me to know about it. So instead I have waited and watched like an inmate trying to learn whether the governor overturned his sentence from death to life.”
“But you show no signs of the disease. Why fret over it?”
The way he made my worries sound so trivial made me resentful. “Because it could happen, Dad. Do you never worry about one of us developing it? It’s known to be hereditary.”
“So is heart disease. We have some of that in the family as well.” He sounded irritated. “Are you stewing over that too? In the end, Bailee, there are a great many things you could worry about. Physical and mental problems, relationship issues . . . but what purpose does it serve?”
“I’d like the opportunity to decide for myself whether they deserve to be considered. I’d rather consider them and meet them head on than go on hiding my head in the sand pretending they don’t exist.” My voice was rising as my anger stirred. “You have a philosophy of ignoring the truth—of letting reality be hidden in secrecy and deception. I can’t stand it!”
His expression went blank. “I think this conversation is over,” he said, turning away from me.
I wanted to run after him, but only for the opportunity to say other hurtful things. Watching him go, I knew our relationship would never be the same. Up until now we had all played the game very carefully, but now the rules had changed.
After Dad disappeared around the house, I finally headed off on my walk. I couldn’t stop the tears from coming, nor did I want to. I had this odd notion that if I could just cry enough, I would cry the pain out. If only it were true.
I maneuvered down the rocks to where I spied a fallen log and took a seat. I reached for my phone and dialed Mark’s number, then clicked it off and shoved the phone back into my pocket. That only served to make me cry all the harder. I wanted to reach out to him—to have him reach back. I pulled the phone out again and hit redial. Mark answered on the second ring, but I found it impossible to speak. A sob trapped the words in the back of my throat.
“Bailee? What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I finally managed to croak out. It was a good thing I didn’t want to impress this man.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s happened?”
This was my breaking moment. This was that place on the bridge where I knew if I continued across I could never turn back. I drew a deep breath and fought to steady my voice. “Mark, my life is a mess. My family is a mess. My past is a mess.”
“And?”
That single word sounded like a challenge. I wanted to counter it easily, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to. This was far too complicated. “And I don’t know that you can deal with this much . . . mess.”
He had the good sense not to laugh. “Why don’t you let me be the judge?” His voice was deep, firm, and yet . . . comforting.
“Because I’ve never played that role well. I’ve always had to be strong for everyone else. I’ve always had to weigh out each word . . . each deed against whether it was in everyone else’s best interest.”
“So I’m giving you permission to think of yourself first this time,” he countered. “I’m allowing you the right to matter the most in this moment.”
That touched me in a way I couldn’t begin to describe. It was exactly what I longed for: to matter. To let my need be known. I considered what he’d said for several moments. He wasn’t preaching at me. He wasn’t demanding of me. Mark was simply giving me the right to . . . be honest.
“For years I believed a lie,” I told him. “I thought I knew the truth.” I sighed and fought for words to explain. “Mark, it’s such a tangle of half-truths and deceptions.”
“What is, Bailee?”
I sniffed back tears. “My life. It’s so complicated. So ugly.” I began to cry in earnest. “I’m sorry . . . I . . . I shouldn’t . . . I should go.”
“Please don’t.”
There was something so soothing in his tone. I wanted to find solace in his words—his company—but I couldn’t seem to give myself that right. Despite his dispensation of approval and permission, I didn’t seem to be able to force myself to let go.
“Bailee, if you say the word, I’ll come to you. I’ll help you through this. I’ll be there just for you.”
The statement startled me. No one had ever offered to be there for me like that. Was he serious? Would he really come? Did I want him to? It was silly to even question the latter. I knew I wanted him there. I knew I wanted to let go of my fears and embrace a relationship with this man. I feared, however, that I would only ruin a good friendship.
“Bailee?”
“I’m . . . here.” I struggled to speak. I felt like a frightened little girl—the same child hiding in the box—the same one searching for the lost baby.
“Tell me to come to you.” His voice was low and even.
I hesitated only a moment, and then something inside me broke. “Come. Please . . . come.”
Chapter 14
I was a small child again. It was my old nightmare—one of several. My mother was hurrying me along a tree-lined path. It could have been our driveway in Bremerton. It could have been almost anywhere. I struggled to keep up. My legs were so tired, but at her urging I found the strength to follow.
Momma was carrying a baby in her arms. I heard the baby crying, but Momma quickly hushed it. “We have to hide. We have to keep them from knowing where we are.”
“Who, Momma?” I remember asking the question over and over. “Who’s gonna come? Who’s gonna find us?”
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“It’s not important. What’s important is that we stop them,” she declared. “They want to take you away. They want the baby.”
I was never at all sure who was after us. In the years right before Momma died, it was her fears of a serial killer that drove her actions. But my child’s mind crisscrossed memories and thoughts with my adult dream state. The serial killer didn’t come up until years later when Piper was born. I was six by then—much older than my counterpart in the dream.
———
I awoke with a start and sat straight up in bed. There was a hint of light on the horizon, but it wasn’t truly dawn yet. I slipped on some drawstring sweats and a bulky sweater and tiptoed downstairs.
Someone had thoughtfully put up a hammock on the deck, and I made my way to it. The canvas looked damp from dew, so I threw a blanket over it and crawled atop. I liked the way the sides rose up to hug me. It was like being wrapped in a cocoon. I felt the swaying lull me into a state of drowsy relaxation as I watched the sun creep up over the horizon. Seattle’s skyline could be seen glinting in the morning light. Across the sound the city would be awakening. People would be setting out for church or breakfast or a day of leisure.
I thought again of the repeating dream. Remembering my mother’s desperation. Why did that particular memory continue to haunt me? Dinah, my therapist, believed these were memories trying to break through, but I wasn’t convinced. To me they seemed like strange collages of my biggest fears.
The baby, I thought. The baby was key. My inability to keep the baby safe made me feel so helpless. I didn’t want to let Momma down. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. I didn’t want to fail.
But fail what? In my nightmare she was carrying the baby to safety and I was following. Although I’d been slow, I’d managed to keep up. Why then did I feel that I hadn’t done my part?
I knew there were other dreams where I couldn’t find the baby. Maybe it was all tied together. Maybe there had been an incident that I couldn’t remember fully. But with the gentle sway of the hammock soothing me, I found my eyes growing heavy. I drifted off to sleep wishing I knew the truth and fearing it at the same time.
“It’s all your fault,” my mother yelled. A hard slap across the face stung me. I began to cry.
“I’m sorry, Momma. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all your fault.”
I knew I’d done something very bad, but what? I reached out to my mother only to have her turn away, her dark brown ponytail swinging as she walked.
“Don’t leave me,” I cried. “Don’t go.”
I tried to catch up, but my legs were too tired. I couldn’t walk fast enough, and soon I found it impossible to move more than a few inches at a time. My mother disappeared from view and I was left alone. Dread washed over me. Danger seemed to permeate my surroundings. I was alone and something bad was about to happen. Something bad had already happened.
———
Waking some time later, I caught the scent of coffee on the air and knew that someone else was finally up. I shuffled into the kitchen and saw that both Geena and Piper were poised over cups of steaming liquid. Neither said a word to me nor seemed surprised that I’d just come in from the deck entrance rather than the stairs.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and turned to face them. I supposed they were still angry at me. Maybe they felt I owed them further apology. Maybe I did.
“Are you hungry? I could fix breakfast.” It was a lousy offering, but the best I could muster.
“I think you’ve tried to fix enough,” Piper said sarcastically. She looked up and I could see the dark circles around her eyes. Perhaps I was the only one who’d actually slept last night.
Ignoring her attitude, I went to the fridge and pulled out a carton of eggs. “Well, I’m going to poach a couple of these. If you want, I can do the same for you.”
“I just want yogurt,” Geena said, joining me at the refrigerator. She grabbed a container and padded back to the breakfast bar.
“Nothing is ever going to be the same,” Piper declared.
I met her harsh expression. “No, I suppose not, but maybe that’s a good thing. After all, we’ve uncovered the truth.”
“But how many other lies have gone unrealized?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I do know that we won’t make things better by treating each other like the enemy. I’m sorry for my part in all of this. I’m sorrier than you can possibly know.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that it happened,” Piper replied.
I looked to Geena. “I suppose you hate me as much as she does.”
“I didn’t say I hated you.” Piper got to her feet. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Nobody hates anyone,” Geena interjected. “We’re just hurt and tired—maybe a little scared too.”
Fear I understood. I had lived all these years waiting and watching for some sign that I was losing my mind. I worried over my sisters, agonizing over whether to tell them about the mental illness or leave it be.
I put the eggs aside. “I used to lie awake at night waiting for Momma to come get us,” I said without giving it much thought. “I never slept well because I was always afraid I would miss her signals. She told me every day that it was my job to keep you two from harm. I can still hear her telling me that if I didn’t take my responsibility seriously something bad would happen again.”
“Again?” Geena asked. “What was she talking about?”
I shrugged. “No doubt it referenced one of the many mistakes I’d made and her subsequent punishments. I remember her hitting me—knocking me to the ground. I wanted so much to please her. I thought it would make her be happy again.” I shook my head. “It isn’t important now, but I didn’t want it to happen to you or Piper.”
“She never hit me,” Piper said, her tone rather defensive. “I don’t remember her hitting you. Are you sure you aren’t just making it up for effect?”
“No. I don’t doubt that you didn’t know. She saved those occasions for when we were alone. She told me she was raising me to be responsible.”
“Well, responsibility doesn’t equate to lying,” Piper countered. “You may have been told to take care of us, but that didn’t give you the right to keep the truth from us.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Frowning, I picked up the eggs and put them back in the refrigerator. “I’m not as hungry as I thought.” Her words reminded me of how I felt about Dad.
I headed for the stairs only to have Geena call after me. “Shouldn’t we talk this out?”
I turned and looked at them sitting there watching me. “Talk? What can I possibly say that will make you understand? I thought I was doing what had to be done. I was wrong. I own it.” Dad had said something similar and it rushed back to me like an accusation.
“But shouldn’t we make some sort of plan for dealing with what we’ve learned?”
Geena was ever the logical one, but nothing about this situation seemed logical. “What exactly do you mean?” I asked.
She looked at Piper, then got to her feet again. “Well, for starters, maybe we should get Dad to release mom’s medical records to us so we can see for ourselves the details of her condition. We’re going to have to be able to speak to our own doctors about such things.”
“I’m not telling anyone about anything,” Piper declared. “I’m not going to some shrink.”
Geena eyed her hard. “Not even if you develop symptoms?”
Piper paled. “I hate psychiatrists.” Her voice was barely audible.
As far as I knew, Piper had never gone to a psychiatrist or been forced into counseling, so I wasn’t at all sure why she spoke with such negativity. I wasn’t sure how to counter her comment and was glad when Geena continued.
“A good counselor is useful in figuring out the details of your emotional issues. You’ve told me on more than one occasion that you feel depressed more often than not, yet you won’t get any
help.”
“Interference,” Piper said. “It’s not help; it’s just interference. One doctor thinks one thing and another something else. You can’t get a straight answer from anyone.”
“You sound like someone who’s tried,” I said.
Piper threw me an angry glare. “Maybe I have. You might think you run my life, but you don’t. There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” She got up and brushed past me. “Neither of you know as much as you think you do. Frankly, I’m sick and tired of this family. Maybe it is time for me to move abroad. At least then I won’t have you two breathing down my neck.”
Piper stormed off up the stairs and Geena and I stood there watching like witnesses at the scene of an accident. I turned slowly to face my sister and could see that Geena was just as surprised as I was.
“What’s gotten into her? She acts like we want to hurt her,” Geena said.
“She’s mad at me and taking it out on both of us.”
“No, it’s more than that,” Geena replied. “We hit a nerve. The whole mention of counseling and psychiatrists was more than she wanted to deal with. She’s got one thing right, though . . . I don’t think I know her anymore. She’s really changed in the last few months. I thought maybe it was just the stress of graduation, but now I think it’s something more. Maybe she is schizophrenic.”
“Maybe it’s the whole turmoil of becoming an adult—moving out on her own. It’s a difficult time.” I knew even trying to decide about moving to New York City had me in knots. How much harder for Piper to consider moving as far as England.
My cell phone chimed in my pocket. I drew it out and saw that the text was from Mark. He would arrive in Seattle around four.
“Say, I have a favor to ask.” I met Geena’s raised brow. “Could you possibly stand a roommate for a little while?”
“Here? Why?”
“Mark is arriving this afternoon.”
Geena looked at me in disbelief. “Your boss is coming here?”
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