“I know that part,” she said. “I mean—what does shelooklike? What’s her story?”
Mikey Pearce and Scotty had said her full name, but probably too quickly for any of the children to have looked her up. A small mercy that depended, Gretchen knew, on borrowed time.
“What difference does that make?”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows raised. “Seriously, Mommy?”
Mommy. And just like that, all the years—years and distance, so much distance—were stripped away and discarded in a pile on the floor between them. Gretchen swallowed once, then again, but it felt already as if her entire face were engulfed in flames. There her daughter was, still staring at her. It was a test. Gretchen needed to be able to answer this simple question. For her own sake and for Elizabeth’s.
“Well, Frankie Callahan was a gorgeous young artist with whom your father climbed Kilimanjaro. It seems she was very talented and probably charismatic and popular. According to Hilary she has many, many followers on her”—Gretchen waved a theatrical and yet also deliberately dismissive hand—“social whatever. Is this what you want to know? Are you trying to upset me further?”
“Upset you? Is that seriously what you think I’m doing?” Elizabeth looked appalled.
“No, of course not.” Gretchen felt annoyed and guilty now. She wasn’t trying to upset Elizabeth, but she also couldn’t face an interrogation. Gretchen rubbed her cheek. “I’m just— What is it you’re trying to tell me, Elizabeth?”
“I’m just worried that you’re doing that thing you do.”
“What thing that I do, Elizabeth?”
“Pretending.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mom, I was fucking snorting Ritalin and then cocainein this houseall over the place. I did it on this counter. For like two years straight. There was white powder everywhere. I left rolled-up bills out on the coffee table, and younevernoticed.”
She had forgotten all about Elizabeth and the drugs. As bad as the cult was, it was better than what came before. At least she’d been clean since she took up with the group.
“I noticed, Elizabeth.” And she had. She had just…decided to wait it out. It was mostly Elizabeth’s friends, she had told herself.
“So you noticed and you didn’t say anything?” Elizabeth’s mouth hung open.
That was the thing with her younger daughter—there was never a right answer. “Elizabeth, you kept your grades up, you had friends, you seemed happy, it didn’t seem like—”
“What about Cassandra?”
“Cassandra didn’t do drugs.” At least Gretchen was pretty sure she hadn’t.
“Mom! She was a fucking vombot for all of high school!”
“A what…?” But as soon as the question came out of her mouth, Gretchen remembered the toilets.
For at least two years, every time she went intoanybathroom in the house, the toilet seat had been up. She’d scolded both Richard and Becks several times, but they’d sworn it wasn’t them. And then, poof—it had just stopped. Had she suspected?…Yes, she had. But Cassandra had never been dangerously thin. And sheobviously didn’t do that nonsense anymore. She’d been pregnant, for heaven’s sake!
“Mom, Jesus Christ. I’m in acult!”
Gretchen’s throat was tight. “I don’t know exactly what you’re accusing me of, Elizabeth.” Her voice trembled. “But I resent the—”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Elizabeth shouted so loudly Gretchen’s ears rang. Her daughter’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. “I’m just worried. I’m really worried about Dad.”
“Regardless of what you apparently think of me, your father didn’t kill anyone, Elizabeth. Andthatis the only thing that matters.” Gretchen was angry now. Also hurt and scared and lots of other things, but the anger was within easy reach. “And, as you said yourself, youarein a cult. I think you should ask yourself how clearly you see anything these days.”
Now Elizabeth looked like she was going to burst into tears. Gretchen felt paralyzed, torn between the urge to wrap her arms around her daughter to comfort her and the certainty that reaching past her rage would send her insides spilling out all over the floor.
“Yeah, great, thanks, Mom.” Elizabeth’s tone was icy again, wounded betrayal in her eyes. Gretchen blinked back tears as she watched her daughter disappear down the hall. When her phone rang, she answered without thinking, without checking.
“You didn’t show up.” The deep voice was calm and steady but so menacing.
Did she honestly think she could ignore people like this without consequence? Was she insane? “I’m sorry, I know. Things are just so complicated right now. My husband has been arrested and—”
