by Harper Bliss
CHAPTER NINE
Kay has brought out the whiskey and we sit, wrapped in soft bathrobes, on her deck again. I take a sip, and another.
“Good stuff, huh?” She eyes me quizzically. “There’s something different about you. You seem more at ease after that swim.” A smile slides along her lips. “Are you catholic? Was it like being baptized all over again?”
Silently, I shake my head and wait until she relaxes back into her seat, twirling her glass between her fingers. “What you asked me earlier. About what happened to me?”
“Yes.” Kay nods.
“I gave up. On life. On everything.” The soft, steady voice with which I proclaim the words surprises me. “Mainly on myself, because I was so sick of making the same mistakes over and over again, of repeating the endless cycle of a short peak of happiness—usually brought on by a delusional love affair, but not always—followed by an ever-growing darkness. So sick of putting on that mask every single day, of putting on that front. Of pretending that life was peachy.” I pause to take another sip. The heat of the booze burns inside of me, marking the moment. It also allows me to continue to speak these words I’ve only—stutteringly, engulfed by bottomless shame and guilt—ever uttered in Dr. Hakim’s office.
“To keep up that front takes everything you’ve got. After all, I was made professor long before my time was due. I had a house in Back Bay. The respect of my peers. Never short of attention from attractive women. I had every reason to be happy. When I looked at my life objectively, like an outsider, I could almost see it. But I never, ever felt it. Not longer than five minutes anyway—which was, quite possibly, the cruelest aspect of it. These fleeting glimpses of how it could be. Of how other people must go through life. Able to face adversity because of normal levels of self-esteem. Always ready to battle the downs because of this unstoppable zest for life. While I, with my PhD and promising career, wallowed in misery.”
Kay leans forward in her chair, placing her elbows on the table, her hands close to mine.
“I didn’t understand, so I studied it. Because that’s what I do. I read dozens of books, some of which delivered the aha-moment I was so desperately looking for, lifting me out of my depression for short bursts of enlightenment, but all the knowledge in the world can’t change your brain chemistry.” I pause to let my gaze wander over the water, the effect it had on me, predictably, already wearing off.
“Unfortunately, I possess a very dramatic, hopeless streak. One that doesn’t allow me to shrug things off and move on. I’m not resilient.” A familiar pressure in my chest. “I’m weak.” I try to take a deep breath. “And I went to great lengths to prove it.” The way I burst into tears is how my forehead can burst out into a sudden sweat when running, instantly drenching, all of it raining down my skin at once. “Oh fuck.” Pushing my palms against my eyes doesn’t help.
“Hey, hey.” In a flash, Kay is by my side. One hand inside the robe, on my knee, the other stroking my arm. “You’re not weak. You’re brave.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know the half of it.” It comes out as a howl, a cry for help too late to make a difference.
“You’re here. That’s what matters.” Kay’s voice is raw. Low. It sounds sort of undone. Her fingers knead the flesh of my knee.
“I’m sorry.” I straighten my posture a little. “This… shouldn’t be happening. You never asked for this.”
“I did, though. I asked you what happened.” With the sleeve of her robe, she catches a few tears on my cheek. But my emotional confession has left me numbed, and the significance of the moment passes me by. “Why don’t we go inside? You can take a shower. You should stay in my guest room tonight.”
“I haven’t told you everything yet.” For the first time since cracking, I look into her eyes.
“But you’ve told me more than enough.” Endless kindness brims in her eyes.
“I need to tell you now. If I don’t, I may never do it.”
“Okay. Of course.” Kay pushes herself up, leaving one hand on my shoulder while she speaks. “Let me just do some rearranging.” As if it’s made of the lightest plastic, she shoves the wooden table to the back of the deck, grabs her chair and sets it down where the table was, next to mine. She refills both our glasses, hands me mine, and sits, her face so close I can hear her breathe.
She doesn’t ask me if I’m comfortable with her being so near—touching distance—just assumes she’s doing the right thing. I like that about Kay. And I don’t mind that her hand is hovering close to my exposed knee again, the coffee color of her skin contrasting starkly with the white fabric of the robe, even in the dark.
When I start speaking, my voice is small, because it’s the only way it can be to say this. “When I said earlier that I gave up, I—” A sharp intake of breath, because admitting defeat out loud is never easy. Putting the moment I decided to let go into words—the moment I had never planned on recounting to anyone. “I meant that I tried to kill myself.” I stare into my glass, into the dark-golden liquid. “Pills. My housekeeper found me. Maybe because I wanted her to. But, mainly, I just wanted to slip away. Leave unnoticed.” I take a sip to relax my throat.
“When I woke up in the hospital, my friend Trish next to me in tears, all I felt was shame. I was so ashamed, in fact, that I pretended it was all a mistake. That I was fine. You know, employing tactics I learned from a very young age. For a while, I even made myself believe it. Checked myself out of the psych ward after three days with a big smile on my face. I couldn’t feel anything except massive, obliterating shame. It eclipsed everything. Everyone knew better, except me.”
Kay’s hand is on my thigh, on top of the robe. She presses down hard with her fingers, possibly indicating that she understands. But someone who hasn’t been there can never fully understand. The darkness. A despair so great there’s no way out. And all the world sees is a coward who couldn’t take it anymore. Just another someone who has taken the easy way out.
“I hadn’t even really planned it. I’m a doctor of biology, I mean, I should know what can do the trick, right? But I could never bring myself to consciously think too much about it. It happened more in a haze. My brain encased in fluff, my body going through motions.”
My thoughts start to scatter again. My mind jumping from one dazed memory to the next.
“Trish called my parents, of course. Which was not too bad, because in my family we only believe firmly in one thing: ignorance is bliss.” My usual chuckle at what should be emblazoned above my parents’ front door doesn’t happen. “Obviously, I couldn’t keep up the charade. Returning to my house, to where it happened. Everything a blurry reminder, but a reminder nonetheless. My friends didn’t let me get away with it either, so I ended up seeing Dr. Hakim, one of the best psychiatrists in Boston. He made me come up—because that’s what they do, you see—with the idea to return home. And face the music, so to speak. Haven’t heard a lot of music yet.”
By the end of my speech, I feel detached from the words. A calmness runs through me. My breath has returned to normal and my chest feels loose and non-constricted.
“I said you were brave. Coming back here takes courage.” Kay fixes her gaze on me, as if words are not enough. As though I need to see it in her eyes as well.
“I’ve been hiding out here, mostly. Enjoying this beautiful, idyllic place. Trying to forget, once again.”
“You came, that’s what’s important. Take it one step at a time. You’ve just been acclimatizing, that’s all.”
I meet Kay’s eyes. “You’re not shocked or, at least, deeply appalled by my story?”
“No.” There’s a lot of power in the way Kay shakes her head. “Of course not.” She removes her hand from my thigh and holds it open, palm up, inviting me to put my hand in hers. “Seems to me that, out of everyone, you’re the one who’s giving yourself the least credit.” I touch her fingers with mine. “This one thing you did doesn’t define you, Ella. It doesn’t have to set the tone for the rest of
your life.”
With both of our defenses down, I see all of Kay’s beauty on full display. “God, you’re so together. So wise.”
“And I didn’t even go to college.” Kay curls her fingers around mine, a small but confident smile on her lips. “Hey, I know you have a lot to deal with, but I’m here if you need me. Every step of the way.”
Despite being touched by her kindness, I have to ask. “Why? You barely know me. You certainly don’t owe me anything. I mean—”
“Does there have to be a reason for everything?” Kay doesn’t let me finish. “I’m your friend now, Ella. It’s what friends do.”
“Just so you know—” I start choking up again. “I’m a bloody lousy friend.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” Eyes on me, Kay leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead.
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning at breakfast—more of Kay’s deliciously creamy scrambled eggs—I’m wrapped in silence. The whiskey knocked me out in the end, pushing me into a fitful sleep, but I’m still tired. Last night’s conversation has drained all energy from my body.
Kay doesn’t force small talk, as though she has a sixth sense about these things. She’s all showered and dressed already, wearing jeans and a pale yellow blouse, I’m still in the robe she loaned me last night.
When my curiosity gets the best of me, I ask, “What’s with the fancy-dress?” I’ve been here almost a week and I’ve never seen her in anything but shorts or slacks.
“Got some business to attend to today. Some potential tenants are viewing one of my properties.”
One of her properties? The surprise must be visible on my face, because Kay breaks out into a smile and gives a chuckle. “My father didn’t go to college either, but he knew that real estate is always the best investment.” She shrugs. “I don’t have expensive tastes, but West Waters barely makes me enough to get my hair cut every three months. And buy a new pair of denim shorts now and then.”
“How many ‘properties’ have you got?” My interest is piqued.
“Just a few apartments in the building they constructed on the high street in the nineties. And The Attic.”
“You own The Attic?” I have to keep my jaw from dropping all the way down to the table’s surface.
“Bought it after Jeff left me. Bit of a bitter revenge situation at the time, but it has paid off well in the end.”
It hits me that, last night, I poured the inner workings of my soul out to a woman I know hardly anything about.
“Jesus christ.” I drop my fork onto my empty plate. “A woman of many talents.”
“We all have bills to pay.” Kay starts pushing her chair back. “And I’m mostly reaping the rewards of the smart decisions my father made.” Towering over the table, she locks her gaze on mine. “I have some errands to run first. Feel free to use the bath, or anything else you may need. Just make sure the door’s locked when you leave.” She looks at me in silence for a few moments before inching closer and putting a hand in my neck. “See you later.” A quick squeeze of her fingers, and she’s gone.
Instantly, Kay’s house feels too empty, allowing too much room for destructive thoughts. I want to stay longer, have a bit of a browse around, check out which books she reads and what she keeps in her refrigerator, but I can’t. I have to get out of there now that she has left. It doesn’t feel right anymore.
I locate my clothes in the living room, draped over the back of a chair. When I pick up my underwear, I can’t help but think that Kay touched it when she put it there. I’m your friend now, she said. And perhaps she is, but I distinctly remember the shiver of arousal that came over me in the water, and I realize it wasn’t just the freedom of skinny-dipping that caused it.
* * *
Verbalizing is a powerful, positive thing. Dr. Hakim’s voice in my head again. But any relief I felt after telling Kay is slowly but surely being crushed by shame again. At least, in Dr. Hakim’s office, I could leave the shame behind, if only for a few hours a week. I’m starting to miss his liver-spotted hands, his long fingers stroking that pitiful excuse for a goatee whenever I said something remotely meaningful. Out here, it’s just me. And Kay. But that’s different. And I know what he would say: Steer clear of distractions, Ella. This is a pattern we’re trying to break.
When I arrive back at my own cabin, I take a long, hot shower before booting up my laptop and opening a draft e-mail to my sister. She’s my flesh and blood—the only sibling I have—and she doesn’t even know. At least I haven’t told her. I can’t be sure about my mother—whom I wouldn’t put it past to use it to lure a response out of Nina. Distorted negative thinking. Stop it. Instead of letting my thoughts meander into that direction, I turn to the e-mail, which has been sitting in my drafts folder for weeks, and start typing. I compose an abridged version of what I told Kay, leaving out any criticism of our parents, and, before giving myself the chance to doubt—clearly remembering Kay’s hand on my thigh and her warm, supportive response—hit send.
Of course, Nina is not Kay. I think of Kay’s confession in the woods, about her teenage crush on my sister. I don’t allow myself to acknowledge the pang of jealousy that shivers up my spine.
My phone, which I left on my night stand before leaving for Kay’s the night before, only now pops up in my field of vision. Dr. Hakim would be proud of me for not being glued to it permanently. I have one missed call and a text message from my mother.
I would really like to come and see you at the cabin some time. Whenever suits you. Love, Mom.
It’s only a short message but by the time I’m done reading it, the screen of my phone is a blurry mess behind my tears. And I know that as long as I can’t read a text message from my mother without crying, I have a very long way to go.
Physically, I feel only the tiniest bit hungover, but emotionally, I feel very tender. Exposed. My secret is out. I’m not sure I can face my mother today, but a text message like that is as clear an invitation as I will ever get.
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?”
