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"I guess it'll be the same time as yesterday and the day before," I told her.
"Um," she said. She thought for a moment and then turned back to me sharply. "Remember, don't let that woman make you say anything you don't want to say," she warned.
"I won't."
She nodded, her eyes still fueled by fury, remaining as bright as two Christmas tree lights. Her lips stretched and she spoke through clenched teeth.
"I hope he's sitting in hell," she said. I wondered why I didn't.
I should, I thought. I should hate him more than she does.
I gazed at the front door of Doctor Marlowe's house. Maybe today, maybe today I would discover why all this was so.
It gave me the strength to open the door and step out. Mother looked at me, shook her head, and drove away, her neck as stiff as ever. I watched her stop at the end of the driveway and then turn into the street and head back for home.
Then I took a very deep breath, pressed my clutched hands against my stomach, and walked up to the door to press the doorbell. When Doctor Marlowe's maid Sophie opened the door, I was surprised to see the three of them: Misty, Star and Jade, standing there right behind her, smiling, or more to the point, smirking out at me.
"We decided not to waste our time back there in Doctor Marlowe's office. If you didn't show up on schedule, we were all going to go home," Jade said, lifting the right corner of her mouth, and speaking in her most arrogant, haughty voice.
"I'm glad you came," Misty said with her habitually bubbly smile.
"Let's get started," Star added. She brought her hands to her hips and leaned toward me. "Well, c'mon in. Don't stand out there all day gaping at us like some dummy. Doctor Marlowe's waiting for you."
I stepped in and Misty jumped ahead of Sophie to quickly close the door.
"Gotcha," she said and laughed.
They gathered around me to march me back to Doctor Marlowe's office and for a few moments, I felt like I was going to my own execution.
There was plenty about myself I wanted to see die. Maybe, I thought, it was time to do it.
2
Doctor Marlowe was at her desk when we all marched into her office. She quickly finished whatever she was doing and joined us.
"Good morning, girls," she sang with that happy smile of welcome. "I didn't know anyone had arrived yet. Did you all come at the same time?"
"Where's Emma this morning?" Star asked, instead of answering her question. "She usually sets off the alarm when we appear."
Doctor Marlowe laughed. I admired her ability to never lose control, never get upset or angry at anything any of us said, especially Star, who never seemed to be tired of testing her. Of course, after having heard her story, I understood why Star was so angry all the time. And then I wondered if that wasn't really the way I should act, too.
"My sister had an early dental appointment. Everyone comfortable where you have been sitting?" she asked, glancing quickly at me. Now that I was actually here, she looked almost as nervous as I felt.
"Why shouldn't we be?" Star asked. Doctor Marlowe's smile flickered like a flashlight with weakened batteries and then
disappeared.
This morning she wore turquoise earrings and had a bit more of a wave in her dirty blond hair. It was trimmed neatly at her ears. As usual, she wore a skirt suit with a white silk blouse with pearl buttons closed at her throat.
The first time my mother had met her, she had seemed relieved that our therapist wasn't particularly pretty. For reasons I didn't quite understand, Mother was always suspicious of attractive women or else intimidated by them. There wasn't a movie star or a model with whom she didn't find fault. They were either obsessed with being too thin or conceited and had distorting priorities. Mother was proud of the fact that she rarely, if ever, looked in the mirror more than once or twice a day. She thought the world would be better without them and if she caught me gazing at myself, she would ask, "Why are you looking at yourself so much? If something's wrong, I'll tell you:'
I didn't think I looked in the mirror any more than or even as much as girls
my age did, but I couldn't help being self-critical and comparing myself to other girls and women I met. Doctor Marlowe's nose was a bit too long and her lips too thin, but she did have a figure I coveted. I would even like to be as tall. I always felt short and dumpy because of my own figure and height. Doctor Marlowe was at least six feet one and I was barely five feet four, and with my figure, that made me feel almost comical, distorted, despite the nice things Daddy used to say. He was practically the only one who tried to make me feel good about myself.
Was Mother right? Were those really all lies? And if they were, weren't there some lies we needed?
"Well, let's get started," Doctor Marlowe declared with a small clap. She nodded and sat and motioned for us to do the same.
