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“She’s nine,” I reply. “And if you’re so innocent, why did you flee from the police?”
“She lies. She lies better than I ever could.”
“She’s nine,” Willa echoes my last response.
“Lara, when did Madden start showing signs of anger?” I ask, stepping in closer to her, causing her to take steps backward. “Not just childhood anger but threatening signs that you might be in danger?”
“Since she was old enough to show that emotion, I don’t know,” she says, wrapping her arms around her waist. She sounds unsure about her accusation. “She’s psychotic.”
With that diagnosis, it’s clear she hasn’t consulted a doctor yet.
“I—if anything, she might be presenting symptoms of conduct disorder. She’s young to be categorized as psychotic.” This is according to psychological studies. I know everyone is different, but Lara shouldn’t be assuming a diagnosis. “While the condition can sometimes be categorized as a hereditary illness, the symptoms typically only present themselves when a vulnerable person encounters environmental influences that exacerbate the traits. And in your case with identical twins, Blakely would also show the same signs unless they have unique external influences.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” Lara shouts. “I’ve raised my girls the same way. Not one of them has been treated differently than the other.”
She should watch her back with Blakely if that’s the case, and if Lara’s correct about her theories—Madden being responsible for purposely drowning Fallon, she’d be safer with the police.
“This could have been prevented had you gotten Madden the treatment she needed.”
“They would take her away from me,” Lara cries out. “Do you know what they would do to her?”
I do, but it’s clear she doesn’t understand how psychology works with young children. She sacrificed the rest of her family’s wellbeing on an account of her selfish unfounded fears. “Instead, she took Fallon away from you—forever.” My words are brutal but sometimes it’s the only way to get through to someone who can’t see past their own nose.
My statement creates a thread of silence between us, making it easy to hear the aggressive thuds coming from the outside of my door. “Newport Police, open up!” Thank God Willa sent for them.
Lara crouches next to the couch, wrapping her hands over her head as if she can hide herself in plain sight of the door. She needs help too. The whole family does, clearly.
Willa shimmies over to the door, pressing her hand to her chest as she releases the lock. I keep my stare glued on Lara, wondering if she’s about to pull a weapon out of her loose sweater.
The breeze from the door rushes against my back and police swarm the apartment, detaining her with ease as if she’s a doll. “Do you have any remorse for what you did to me and my family?” Lara whimpers. “I’m not responsible for everything you hold against me, but you’re responsible for everything I hold against you.” She isn’t making any sense. “It was your fault my sister died. It was your fault my parents became money hungry vultures and made me marry Corbin. Your mistake is my demise, and yet, you still don’t see it that way.”
“Enough. Quiet down,” an officer tells Lara, pulling her up to her feet.
The scene of watching the police take Lara out of my apartment strikes a nerve.
That night—the night of the fire when paramedics were tending to me, I saw the police taking Lara with them, but I was sure it was because she was shouting and screaming at the top of her lungs to rescue her sister. She was pleading with them to let her go back upstairs to help find her. The police held her back. They kept her contained, not allowing her back near the building that was crumbling to the ground. I felt sorry for Lara, almost like I do right this second. Mom and Dad said the girl’s body wasn’t found but the building had burnt down so quickly, it wasn’t a surprise that no one could find her. If she had gotten out somehow, her disappearance wouldn’t make much sense. I heard her screams, but maybe it was all a scheme to rob my parents in a lawsuit. I was too young to understand the lengths someone would go to get what they wanted. Their family had nothing. Dad couldn’t collect rent from them for months sometimes, but he felt bad for their situation and let it slide. He saw the good in them when there may have been nothing but evil. For all anyone knows, Lara could have started the fire that night so her parents could claim the insurance payout. It could have all been a lie, just like she could be lying about Madden and Fallon now. Is she the one with hereditary psychosis?
Willa places her hand on my back and for a long minute I forgot why I was so angry with her. “Are you okay?”
I shrug her hand off my back. “No, I’m not okay. Why would you tell my dad where I was?”
I’ll get to the part where she let Lara into our apartment next.
“What? I didn’t talk to your dad. I went to pick you up at the police station, but you were gone, and your phone went right to voicemail when I called. Why would I call your dad when youmade it clear you have some big issues with them? I was upset that I didn’t know what was going on with you, but I would never hurt you like that. You’re my best friend, Hales.”
“How could I know what to believe? If that’s true, I don’t know how my dad knew where I was,” I tell Willa, staring out toward the dark balcony doors, wondering who else knew where I was today.
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
I’m not sure how old I was when I began to question the word “normal,” but I was taught that the word means…common, similar to something, and doesn’t stand out from a crowd. The word is tossed around my house like it’s our last name and I wonder if Mom and Dad are confused about the meaning too, because they always refer to our little family as the most normal people anyone must know. Except, we aren’t like anyone else who lives in this multi-family townhome, especially in comparison to the family next door.
There are so many days when I walk up our front steps after school and hear shouting from the neighbors. One of the kids will storm out and slam the door, or it’s the wife who leaves. The family isn’t happy, or at least that’s what it sounds like to me. Maybe because I don’t have any siblings, there’s a lack of arguments in my home. My parents seem to love each other and get along, maybe more so than other parents. Or maybe it’s because Dad isn’t home most of the day. He travels around Rhode Island checking on the properties he owns and manages, including the one we currently live in.
I let myself into our townhome now, not finding Mom in her usual spot in the kitchen. She loves to cook more than anyoneI’ve ever met in my life and says the kitchen is the only place she ever wants to be. I don’t really like to cook, even though she’s taught me how to make every one of her favorite recipes. It always feels like work, just work.
“No, Gary. This will be the fourth month. This building costs a fortune. We can’t just let tenants slide because you feel sorry for them.”
