by Julia Shupe
“I think your phrasing was off.” I frowned. “What the hell’s going wrong in my life? That’s the question. And the answer to that is everything.”
“Everything?” Adrianna pursed her pouty lips. “Come now, Vanessa. It can’t be that bad. Break it down for me. Take it apart. Often smaller problems seem larger than they truly are. You know that. Take a deep breath. Take a moment to compartmentalize the issues. Examine the problems as if they aren’t your own. Ask yourself the right questions: do the issues you’re having affect every facet of your life, or are they minor problems you can tackle, one by one?”
“Every facet,” I answered, stubbornly.
“How so?”
“Because these particular issues involve Danny, and Danny affects every facet of my life.”
An appointment with Dr. Hagen usually helped calm me down. Talking through my problems usually brought me a fresh perspective. But this time, it only seemed to make things worse. I suddenly longed to pace the room, punch something, or have a childish tantrum. I needed to release this pent aggression. I wanted to shout or beat my hands on the table. In the end, I settled for hyperventilation. The room started spinning. The oxygen thinned. My head began to pound. I started gasping.
Dr. Hagen reached across the table. “Vanessa, stop it. You have to calm down. Tell me what this is about. Slowly.”
“It’s not what this is about. It’s who. And it’s Scott. He’s talking about custody again.” I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “And this time, I think he’ll do more than just talk. This time, I think he intends to act.” I pressed my fists to my eyes, where tiny bursts of lightening flashed across my closed lids. Nothing in the world meant more to me than Danny, and no one got me angrier than Scott. I took a breath. “He parades his new life in front of my face like it’s an award he’s won, or a badge he’s earned: his new stepchildren, his beautiful new wife, his fancy new house. He thinks he’s become such a family man now. But it’s all bullshit. It’s a façade. He’s not a family man. He’s never been one. It’s a new veneer he’s trying on for size. He doesn’t want custody of Danny. Not like I do. Not deep in his soul, like me. He doesn’t need him, or depend on him. Danny represents a box Scott’s checking off some cosmic daddy list.”
“You don’t think Scott loves his son?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s what you implied.”
“You’re taking his side.”
“I’m objective, Vanessa. I don’t have a side.”
“Scott loves Danny,” I said. “I know that he does. He loves his son. But he loves himself more. That’s always been the issue. He’s not the kind of man who should have chosen to be father.”
Adrianna stared but didn’t blink. “And did he? Was fatherhood a choice Scott made?”
For a moment, I was stunned into silence. Though I hated to admit it, Adrianna had a point. Fatherhood wasn’t a choice Scott had made. If anything, he’d gone with the flow when it happened. When we first learned I was pregnant, I just assumed he was as excited about it as I was. The memories of that time brought a smile to my lips. Pregnancy had captivated me. It was the happiest time I could ever remember having, though I couldn’t remember Scott sharing the joy. Actually, I couldn’t remember him showing much emotion at all.
“No,” I allowed. “I suppose you’re right. Our pregnancy was certainly unexpected. I just assumed Scott was as happy as I was.”
“Assumed? You know what they say about assumptions. Did you ever ask Scott how he felt about becoming a father?”
I knew she was pressing me, testing my limits. It was why she was such a good therapist. She was reclining in her chair, hands folded across her expensive navy trousers. Her questions were making me angry. She was turning things around, making me doubt myself. Ignoring my feelings, I tried to trust the process. “Scott and I didn’t talk about much, and certainly not about anything important. We never talked about feelings.” I sighed. “Scott, to me, always seemed dead inside, like something had happened when he was a child, something that stole his vigor and zest for life. He’s a master at compartmentalization. He always keeps his feelings out of reach. And as a result, he becomes an empty shell. I could never connect with Scott, not fully. At times, I wonder if I ever truly loved him. That was one of the main problems in our marriage.”
“It was? But Scott connected with someone, didn’t he? He had an affair. He stepped outside his marital bonds. He developed feelings for someone else. Do you think he made a connection with her?”
“Ouch,” I snapped. “That’s harsh. So you think it was my fault, then. Is that it?”
“No. That’s not what I’m saying.”
Adrianna rarely apologized for anything, so I tried my best not to take offense. This was part of her process. “You don’t understand what I’m saying,” I said. “Scott’s affair wasn’t about feelings.” When she opened her mouth, I held up a hand. “With Scott, nothing is about feelings. This whole thing—his entire life—is an outward show. It’s about pretense and appearances. It’s about how others see him. He’s not a deep man, Dr. Hagen. There’s an imaginary list in his head, a manifest, a series of things he wants to achieve, things he thinks successful people must achieve. And if he doesn’t achieve them, he’ll think that he’s failed.
“He’s a collector of things, and people, Dr. Hagen, but he doesn’t connect to any of them.” I bit my lip. This was difficult to explain. I was coming off harsh, and I knew it. “Take our sex life, for example. It was mechanical. Stiff. He never touched me with tenderness or passion. He was never comfortable looking me in the eye. He was rough and detached. Each move was choreographed. It was predictable and robotic, never inventive or passionate. I remember watching other husbands walking with their wives, and wishing for the same kind of tenderness and depth: men who massage their wives’ shoulders, touch their hair, or men who hold their wives’ hands, and smile. It looks so natural and sincere for other people. I longed for that. It made me jealous. Scott never did any of that. He never bared his emotions. Everything was surface-level, and shallow.”
Adrianna was quiet for a moment. “I have to tell you,” she said. “None of what you’re saying sounds intentional to me. It sounds like Scott needs therapy of his own. Could he be unaware of how he acts? Have you tried looking at things from his perspective? Scott—like everyone else, by the way—is the sum total of his life experiences. Maybe there are things he never told you about, things from his past that caused him pain, or things that caused him to mistrust other people. Maybe someone closest to him betrayed him in some unforgivable way. That can cause a person to detach from the world. Maybe he’s doing the best he can with the cards he was dealt. Is that possible?”
As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. Scott hadn’t had the most idealistic childhood. He loved his parents. He’d had a good home, but his parents divorced when he was old enough to remember the pain. Maybe that event shaped the man he became. Maybe he was doing the best he could do. Maybe I was just being a bitch.
“Vanessa,” Adrianna continued, “I’ve been counseling people for over fifteen years, and one thing I can tell you is this: there are always two sides to a story. Human beings act how they’re taught to act. Few people in this world are able to conquer childhood trauma. No,” She corrected herself, shaking her head. “I’m not using the right word. It’s not trauma necessarily—not in every case, at least. And certainly not when it comes to Scott. As a child, he probably wasn’t traumatized. As a child, you weren’t traumatized. By modern standards, you both had fairly normal childhoods. You were raised a certain way, by imperfect people, who were also raised by other imperfect people. It’s a never-ending cycle, Vanessa, a snake eating its tail. People are like multi-colored Lego sets. They’re like castles, or fortresses, built one wing at a time. Sometimes the pieces fit together smoothly, with no gaps in between, no chips, or crumbling mortar. But sometimes, the construction is weak. The pieces are built on a sinki
ng foundation, or the pieces themselves are fragmented or chipped. Those are the parts that need work. Those are the reasons why people come to talk to me. That’s why you’re here, is it not? To work on some of your own unstable wings? Is it possible that Scott may need a little work too?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. It was easy to point fingers at someone else, at their life, their decisions, the paths they had taken, particularly when those paths led to lying and cheating. It was much more difficult to ask why. To seek the underlying causes of things, it takes introspection and empathy. Was it me? I wondered. Had I driven Scott away? Had I done something to make him cheat? Had I left him unfulfilled, or lonely? Had I caused him to seek a different companion to fill those needs?
I swallowed and answered Adrianna’s original question. “I’m sure Scott has personal things to work on. We all do. There must be a reason why he’s so cold and impersonal.”
Dr. Hagen heaved a sigh. I wasn’t giving her the response she was seeking. “Vanessa, every person sees life through different lenses. Everyone’s prescription is different. If I put Scott’s lenses up to your face, they’d blind you, and yours would do the same thing to him. The light would be wrong. The images would be fuzzy.”
“Glasses? Legos?” I cracked a smile. “What is this? Metaphor day?”
“It is if it gets my point across, then yes. Seriously, Vanessa, do you get what I’m saying? The best way to negotiate with others is to try to understand their worldview, to try to understand what makes them tick. All of us walk through life like bag-ladies, trying to collect—”
“Stop,” I begged her, starting to laugh. “I get it. Stop with the metaphors. I see your point. You’re belaboring it now.”
“Okay.” She leaned back, a smile on her face. “Enough with the metaphors. I’ll stop. As long as you understand what I’m saying. We all have baggage. It’s part of the human experience. It would do us well to remember that. If you want to keep custody of Danny—in my opinion—you’ll have to empathize with Scott. You’ll have to imagine the things he’s carrying around, the experiences he’s currently living with. If you’ve only ever scratched the surface with Scott, then next time, bring a pickax. Try to get beneath his outer crust. It’s the only way to make a true connection.” She cocked her head. “And what about you?
“What about me? What do you mean?”
“Over the past few years, what personal experiences have you shared with Scott? What versions of yourself have you exposed to him? Have you shown him your anger? Your frustration? Your pain? Have you acted tough when you really felt weak? Aloof when you wanted to connect? Why not try something different next time? Instead of always portraying strength, why not show him vulnerability for a change? Show him your humility and patience. Show him something unexpected, something real, something he’d never anticipate from you.” Setting her elbows to the table, she cupped her chin. “We’re constantly reinventing ourselves, Vanessa. It’s unavoidable. It’s what we do as we become older, and wiser. Are you the same woman Scott left two years ago? Or have you digested that experience and evolved? Become a different person because of it? Did you not learn valuable lessons from that marriage, and apply them to your life to make it better? It’s what we all do, Vanessa. We’re like snakes shedding—”
“Stop!”
“Nope.” She laughed. “I’ve got one more. And it’s a good one, so you better listen up. We’re like snakes shedding old skin. We damage that skin. We tear it and mar it. We scuff it, tattoo it, then peel it back to reveal something new. There are countless iterations of the self, Vanessa, innumerable versions of the people we want to be. Each version is an improvement over the last. We grow and we change. We never stay stagnant.”
“And what about you?” I asked suddenly. I was curious about the woman in front of me, the composed therapist, the self-possessed mentor. “In this crazy world we’re living in, how many Adrianna Hagens have there been? How many old skins have you shed and left behind?”
She steepled her fingers, her gaze pointed and piercing, and for a moment, I was slightly uncomfortable. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she whispered. “But fortunately, this session isn’t about me, and fortunately, you aren’t my therapist. We’ll save that topic for a different day. Shall we?”
My phone buzzed against my leg, snapping me out of the fugue state I was in. Lifting it awkwardly, I read the message out loud. “Duty calls,” I whispered. “This session is over. Another woman has been taken.”
Chapter 32
On the way back to the station, I reflected on Dr. Hagen’s sage advice. Maybe I was just being bitchy—not that I needed to apologize for anything. Not when it came to Scott. He was the one who had lied and cheated. He was the one who had chosen to leave. But still, I thought, second-guessing myself; Adrianna made a decent point. I had friends who’d suffered similar breakdowns in their marriages, bitter infidelities at the hands of those they loved, in marriages I’d once thought strong and secure. But if I took a moment to examine them closer, those seemingly perfect unions weren’t perfect. Set aside the fancy clothing and the shiny new cars, the 2.5 kids, and the golf and tennis lessons. Set aside the public displays of affection. If I scratched the surface, what would I find? That polished veneer might have flaws. And the flaws, in some cases, were crystal clear. The weaknesses of those marriages were obvious to me. Had mine been as obvious to others?
Why, I wondered, was life like that? Why was it so hard to perceive one’s own problems, yet so damn easy to see the problems affecting others? And what, for that matter, did people think of me? Of my marriage? Of my once-intimate family that had broken apart? What kind of person did my colleagues think I was? How did my private life differ from the one I showed to the world? Did people think I had driven Scott away? Did Danny blame me for the loss of his father?
Jesus, I thought, cracking a smile. Sessions with Adrianna always made my head spin. The woman gave me the cold hard truth, and it usually wasn’t the version I expected. But it was good. Healthy. A unique perspective. I wasn’t keen on playing nice with Scott. The fact was: I didn’t want to. It was difficult enough not to sucker-punch his groin. Though a softer approach would likely work better, it would be hard as hell to make myself do it. I was angry with Scott despite knowing it was childish. His betrayal still stung. It was a wound that hadn’t healed, and probably never would.
Wait, I thought, lightly tapping the breaks. Had I just admitted to being wounded by Scott? Was I in pain? Was I hurt? It was interesting to consider. Had I just caught myself feeling something for him? Did I actually miss him? The realization was jarring. Where pain existed, wasn’t love typically found? Maybe my pain was evidence of love, and maybe that love had been buried too deep—to deep to notice it was there. I smiled. In a way, it felt good. It felt human. At one point in my life, perhaps I had loved Scott. At one time, he may have even loved me. Stranger things had happened. Maybe endless fighting had eroded those feelings. But perhaps, at one point, they were there.
With strengthening resolve, I gripped the steering wheel tighter. Maybe I’d give Dr. Hagen’s method a try, if not for Danny’s sake, then certainly for mine. Because if I ever lost Danny, there’d be nothing left of me. Why not give it all I could, while I could? Why not try a different approach? Being a bitch hadn’t worked. Would compassion? Would empathy?
In a moment of maturity, I made a decision. I’d bare my pain and insecurities to my ex-husband, and if he weren’t moved, I’d revert to my default setting.
Putting the car in park, I slicked back my hair. The sky was gray and beginning to spit rain. Clouds had gathered, both dark and menacing, and the parents of the newest victim were waiting inside the station. Compartmentalization, I mused, was part of my daily routine at work. I was good at it. I was one of the best. I just needed to apply those same skills to my personal life.
Bowing my head, I walked fast through the rain. I would treat Scott like he was a suspect at the station: dip
lomatically, skillfully. I’d wear kid gloves. I’d play good cop. I’d be kind and quiet. Listen more. Speak less. I’d give him a chance to fill the uncomfortable silences.
“Just in time,” Gil whispered, opening the door. “Have a good lunch?”
“Didn’t have time to eat.”
After leaving Amanda Reed’s apartment, we’d driven directly to Jennifer Hall’s house, and after that shit-show, we’d parted ways for lunch. As expected, at Jennifer’s, we didn’t find much. This case, seemingly, was one dead end after the next.
“Sorry you didn’t eat. You should have tried to grab something, because you don’t have time now. The Harlow’s are here: Angela’s dad, and her sisters.”
“And the girl? How long has she been missing?”
“One day”
“Okay,” I nodded. “We can work with one day. We’ve definitely had worse.”
“We’ve had worse?” Gil raised a brow. “Did I just detect optimism from Ms. Vanessa Stone?”
I shrugged. “Thought I’d try it on for size, see how it fit, give this maturity thing a shot.”
“I’m impressed.” He stepped aside to let me slip pass. “But optimism aside, get your game face on, because we’re about to scare the shit out of an already scared father.” Gil shook his head. “Poor guy. His daughter was just taken by a serial killer, and he’s probably hoping she ran away with her boyfriend.
Jacob was already seated in the interrogation room, opposite Mr. Harlow, one leg casually crossed over the other. Two girls sat on either side of their dad, each in a metal foldout chair. They looked tense.
“This,” Jacob said, sweeping his arm toward Gil and me. “is Vanessa Stone and Gil Knowlton. I’ve asked them to join us for a consult, if you don’t mind.”
Angela’s father cleared his throat. “Of course I don’t mind. Whatever you think is best. Whatever you think will help find my little girl. We need to find her, Agent Forrest. She wouldn’t do this. This isn’t like her. Something’s wrong.”
