“Okay,” my mom said without missing a beat. “I will.” And the thing is, even as angry and frustrated as I was, I didn’t doubt for a second that she would.
My mom held my hand as we marched out and over the waves and then as we treaded water beyond them. My mom made me—helped me—stay out there until I’d calmed down, until I could let go of her hands. Until I stopped begging to return to shore. Until I finally learned how to swim in the ocean. And when we made it back to the beach, I raced away and up the sand without looking back. Because I wanted to tell my dad.
Finally, I open the laptop; there are responses from every one of the men I messaged.Hey!And aGreat to hear from you!And aWow! How have you been?But beneath all those pleasantries there’s Randy. And Randy seems pissed.
So I guess you’re not dead.I flinch.
I study Randy’s profile. A lawyer who lives on the Upper West Side. In the first of his profile pics, he’s standing on a boulder at the top of a tree-covered peak. Fit and attractive-ish … maybe. Or at least not totally unattractive. It’s hard to tell for sure. He’s got on a baseball hat and sunglasses. In the second picture, he’s still in the hat and glasses, standing on a boat, holding a large fish—that he’s … caught? In the last photo, he’s ditched the hat and sunglasses, a small curly-haired dog next to his completely hairless, cartoonish face. I’m not sure what he’s trying to accomplish. I only know that it’snotworking.
Ugh. Mom, you could do so much better than Randy.
Is it possible she doesn’t know that? I mean, she’s gorgeous. People say we look exactly alike, but that’s only from a distance—the same jawline, same facial structure. Up close there’s only one truly beautiful one: my mom.
Any chance you could come by Caffe Reggio? In the Village?I ask Randy.Would love to see you. I’ll be here until 6:00 p.m.
Three dots appear and disappear, then appear again.As long as you promise to actually be there this time!
My mom must have ghosted Randy.Good for you, Mom.
I’ll be here!
Of course, now I realize that I have no strategy planned for once these men show up. Find out if they know anything—that’s the point. “People don’t have to admit the whole truth to reveal the part that matters,” I remember my mom once saying.
I’d rolled my eyes at the time. Everything to her was a teachable moment. “And you’re like some kind of expert on this because you’re a lawyer?”
I was listening, though. I’d recently learned that Annie was talking about me behind my back at Beacon. She’d denied it, but I had to get to the bottom of it. I was willing to take any tips I could get.
“I guess, in a way,” my mom had said.
“Fine, then explain it.”
“There are two keys to getting the truth out of someone: the power of silence,” my mom said with a knowing smile. “And the art of the open question.”
Eventually, she dropped the Yoda act and explained exactly what she meant, even gave examples. And it had worked with Annie. She admitted she had said something mean behind my back. There’s a good chance it will work with Randy.
Still, I should have someone else here, for backup. Not Detective Wilson, obviously. I could call Mark and ask him to come sit with me, though, or Lauren. But I’m pretty sure they’d shut the whole thing down, too. Because meeting with strange men who might have hurt your momisa terrible idea.
I wish I could ask Will to come. He’d be able to make me feel safer, without interfering. But I can’t ask him to miss his Eliot seminar, which starts in ten minutes. I send a text instead.
I read my mom’s journal.
Ellipses right away, and my heart does a stutter step. It still does every time I hear from him.
Did she say something about your dad?
It takes me a moment to realize what he means.
Oh, no, no. It’s a journal from when she was a kid. She grew up in a home. There’s so much sick stuff in there.
Part of me feels terrible spilling my mother’s secrets so casually. But I’m beginning to think maybe she didn’t really want them to be kept hidden.
What kinds of stuff?
Rats. Sex abuse. Things I don’t even want to think about.
That’s terrible.
And I never knew. Because I’m an asshole.
