The Wrong Sister, page 24
“Now, Tess. I want you to continue to breathe. Let your breath find and maintain its own natural rhythm. If your mind wanders, that’s okay. That’s what minds do. Don’t judge your thoughts. Don’t filter or stop them. Follow wherever your mind and memory lead you. Be like a curious puppy. Follow the trail of images, feelings, and thoughts with an open sense of wonder.”
At that moment I would have been perfectly fine with whatever she suggested. It felt that good to finally be at peace.
“I’m going to play some music now, Tess. As you sit there so relaxed, so calm, I want you to listen. Focus your full attention on the sounds.”
I heard the tapping of keys on her laptop. A few seconds later I heard whistling come through the speakers. It was a pleasant tune. Vaguely familiar. Then I heard a man singing. Midrange and agreeable.
You know I can’t smile without you.
“Follow the tune, Tess.” Sally continued to use that gentle, hypnotic cadence. “Tell me where this music is taking you.”
“I know the words,” I said.
“Because you know the song,” she said. “Are any images coming to mind?”
My brain floated along with the tune. Quick glimpses of visions I couldn’t bring into focus came and went.
“I can’t catch them.”
“That’s okay, Tess. You’re doing great. Continue listening to the music.”
I can’t laugh and I can’t sing. I’m finding it hard to do anything.
That line brought another sound to my mind. A woman’s laughter. Then another image. This one lingered.
“I’m with my mother. We’re wrapping a present. A Valentine’s Day gift for my teacher.”
“Very good, Tess.” The song kept playing. “Is your mother saying anything?”
“She’s joking about how many heart-covered mugs my teacher will get.” My own voice sounded different to me. Younger somehow. “Mom’s saying my gift will be different.”
“What did you give your teacher? What present are you wrapping?”
I strained to pull the mental image closer. “I don’t know. I can’t . . . It’s a pair of mittens. We got my teacher a pair of pink mittens.”
“Good job.” The song disappeared, and I again heard keyboard keys click. “Let’s try another one. Focus on this tune and tell me where it takes you.”
I heard a piano playing a classical piece. Deep and brooding. My shoulders tightened. My hands squeezed the arms of the chair. The piano lumbered on. My breathing accelerated. Rapid and shallow. After a while a man’s voice accompanied the instrument.
Spirit move me . . .
The man kept singing. I rocked back and forth in my seat.
. . . Whirling like a cyclone in my mind.
My eyes shot open. “Turn it off! Stop it!” I jumped out of my chair. “Stop it!”
Anderson was on his feet, moving toward me. I lurched back, knocking over my chair and nearly falling. I stumbled into the corner, sliding down the wall into a crouch.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Stop it! Stop hurting Mommy . . .”
CHAPTER 28
“You’re okay, Tess.” Sally Normandy hurried over to kneel beside me. “You’re safe.” She wrapped her arms around me, rocking back and forth, murmuring I had nothing to fear. “Take deep breaths. You’re going to be all right.”
My gasps were short and frantic. I wondered if anyone had ever choked on their own tears. Sally’s hair brushed my cheek. She smelled like a vanilla cupcake fresh out of the oven. I heaved a giant sigh, then let my lungs fill with air. I wanted to freeze that moment. Let this kind woman wrap me in her assurance that all would be well. But I knew this night wasn’t over. In a very real sense the interview was only beginning. I looked up past Sally’s shoulder and saw Detective Anderson standing over us, hands on his hips. The harsh overhead light made the scowl on his face all the more sinister.
“What’s wrong with me? Am I . . . crazy?” I asked that same question several times before I pushed myself away from Sally’s embrace, edged farther back into the corner, and wiped the tears off my face with shaking hands. “Is . . . is that what’s happening to me?”
Sally laid her warm hand on mine. “No, Tess. You’re not crazy.”
I looked up at Anderson. “Do . . . do you think I am?”
He stared down at me for too long. He gave Sally a tired look, then glanced at the wall with the one-way mirror before bringing his attention back to me. “I deal with crimes and clues. I leave crazy for people with alphabet soup after their names.”
“Come on, Tess.” Sally stood and reached out to me. “Stand up. Let’s get you back in a chair. You’ll be more comfortable.”
I shook my head, pulled my knees up to my chest, locked my arms around them, and jammed myself as tightly as I could into that corner. I swayed, tapping each shoulder to the wall. First my right, then my left. Again and again. I stared out into the room, not allowing my eyes to focus on any one object. I brought all my attention to the moment each shoulder touched the wall.
“Stop!” I yelled out each time my flesh met cinder block. “Stop! Stop! Stop!”
“What now?” Anderson asked Sally. “You got her locked into some kind of mental breakdown or something?”
“Stop . . . Stop . . .” I wasn’t yelling anymore, but I stayed fixated on my command. My voice sounded so very far away. My mind seemed shattered. Part of it was dedicated to my incessant chant. Another part wondered how long I could last. Still another was detached from the entire scene, monitoring what was going on with an aloof lack of concern.
“Tess! Listen to me.” Sally’s voice was firm now. “I’m going to touch you. Tell me where you feel me touching you.”
She bent down and laid her hand on me.
“Come back to your body, Tess. Come back to this moment,” Sally commanded. “Focus. Tell me where you feel my hand.”
My chest burned with the strain of breathing. “M . . . my . . . my arm.”
“Where on your arm?”
My head lolled back against the wall. I closed my eyes.
“Where on your arm, Tess? Focus. Where am I touching you?”
“By my wrist,” I whispered.
“Very good. Keep breathing. Stay in your body, Tess. Tell me where you are right now.”
I couldn’t grasp what she wanted. Should I tell her I was in the corner, protecting myself from whatever might come next? Or did she want to know my memories? Did she mean for me to inform her of all the images flooding into my consciousness? I opened my eyes, blinked away the tears, and looked at her.
“I’m in the police station. You’re a psychologist.” I looked up at Andy Anderson. “And you’re a detective. You want to blame me for something I didn’t do.” A fresh wave of tears dripped down my cheeks. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. “You want to trip me up. Lock me away.”
“No one’s here to hurt you, Tess.” Sally stood, again offering me her hand. “I understand what’s going on, and I promise you no harm will come to you. Can you come sit? Fill us in on what’s left for us to understand?”
Her voice was gentle. But it inspired the kind of confidence that made me want to please her. I remember thinking she was probably very good at what she did. I stumbled to my feet. Sally was there to steady me as I walked to my chair. Anderson had already resumed his position across the table.
“We finally got preliminary DNA testing back,” he said. “You want to confirm whose body it is the boy found under those rocks?”
I wanted to scream. Tell him again it was all Mimi’s fault. But I didn’t have the energy. Besides, it would do me no good. They didn’t believe in Mimi.
I started rocking again. I ran my hands up and down my arms, shivering as though I was stranded in a snowstorm. I started humming an old Barry Manilow tune. The one about how he was the guy who wrote all the songs.
“Is she going off again?” Anderson asked Sally. “Should you maybe give her some medication or something?”
“She’s protecting herself.” Sally kept her eyes on me while she answered him. “Give her time.”
“I’ve given her all damned night. Maybe it’s time to admit this isn’t working.”
“There’s no working here, Detective. Tess has spent years shielding herself from something unspeakable. Her defenses have kept her safe for a long time. Now they’re crumbling. She’s terrified.”
Anderson ran a hand over his buzz cut and sighed. I expected him to start yelling, but when he spoke he sounded resigned.
“You seem to have all the answers,” he said. “You ask her. See how far you get.”
Sally gave me a subtle smile. As if she was letting me know it was okay to tell her whatever it was I wanted to say.
“It must have been very upsetting to hear the body had been found.” She reached to the side and picked up a small evidence bag. She held it for me to see. “Can you tell me now who this necklace belongs to?”
I stared at the golden chain with the small engraved charm. I reached out, withdrawing my hand before it could touch the plastic encasing it.
“You know who this belongs to, don’t you?”
I sucked my lower lip into my mouth. A sound, high pitched and piercing, escaped me. Like an overfilled balloon slowly leaking air. I pulled my eyes away from the necklace and looked into Sally’s.
“Tell me, Tess. Whose necklace is this?”
My mouth opened and the piercing wail stopped. My lips smacked open a few times, but no sound emerged. Until, finally, I heard my own voice.
“That’s my mother’s necklace.” I huffed out another sound, this one short and primal. “My mother wore that always. To keep me near her.”
“For the record, are you telling us the body recovered from the marsh is that of your mother?” Anderson’s tone was all business. “Audra Winslow Kincaid?”
I kept my eyes on Sally. She nodded her encouragement.
“Yes,” I whimpered after I uttered the word. Then my shoulders heaved and my left leg began to bounce.
“How do you know that?” Anderson asked.
I looked away. My legs calmed. My breathing settled.
“Stay with us, Tess,” Sally directed. “Don’t go away. You have nothing to fear. I’m right here beside you.”
I brought my attention back to her. Her face was soft. She looked like one of those pictures you see of Princess Grace. Where her face is so filled with love, you know she’s got to be one of the kindest people who ever lived. That’s how Sally Normandy looked.
I shook my head and said nothing.
“Were you there, Tess?” Sally asked. “Were you there when your mother was put under those rocks?”
I moved. It was slight, more tic than full nod, but they were each watching me so closely it was enough.
CHAPTER 29
“I’m afraid I have to ask you more questions.” The kindness remained in Sally’s voice. She pushed the box of tissues toward me and waited while I wiped an ugly mixture of tears, saliva, and snot off my face. “I know it’s hard. I’m hoping you’ll trust me when I tell you everything is going to be all right. No one can hurt you anymore.”
I tightened my grip on the arms of my chair and looked toward Anderson. “He wants to hurt me. He wants to blame me for something I didn’t do.”
“For the love of . . .” Anderson sounded exhausted.
“You’re frightening her,” Sally told him. “Maybe it’s better if you stand against the wall. You might not seem so looming a presence.”
I could tell he wanted to be the one pressing me for details. But he sighed, waved his hands in an exasperated whatever way, and walked over to the corner. Sally waited a few moments. I focused on calming my breathing.
“You said Phillip Jasper saw a bruise across your mother’s face the last time he saw her.”
I looked down at my hands. “When my mother was at his office to tell him she was leaving.”
“Do you know how your mother came to have that bruise?” Sally asked.
I kept my focus on a small red blotch on my right thumb. Where did that come from? Was it a pimple? A cut?
“Tess, stay with me. Do you know how your mother got her bruise?”
I forced my mouth to open. One tiny aperture. “He hit her,” I whispered.
“Who?”
I traced my left thumb over the red spot. Was it ink? Had I been making a sign at work?
“Don’t drift away, Tess. Who hit your mother?”
I raised my face to meet hers. “My father.” The encouragement her eyes telegraphed gave volume to my voice. “My father hit my mother. Many times. Not just that day. But on that day I was afraid he’d never stop.”
“You saw it?”
I nodded. My voice was barely a whisper. “It was my fault.”
“What was?”
“He was doing it for me. My father was beating my mother because of what I told him.”
Sally looked over to where Anderson stood. I turned my attention toward him as well. “He hurt her because of me. Is that what you’re waiting for? You win! You tripped me up! My father hurt my mother, and it was all my fault.”
I began to sob. I choked on my own tears and gasped for air. Anderson and Sally remained silent. Eventually my fury exhausted itself. I felt hot and weak. I swallowed hard and shivered despite feeling as if the temperature in the room had been raised twenty degrees.
“You were twelve years old.” Sally waited until my last tear fell before speaking. “Help us understand how you could have made your father beat your mother.”
I took a tissue and swiped it across my face in three rough moves. I was surprised at how coarse my voice sounded when I spoke.
“I saw them.”
“Your father and mother?” Sally asked. “You saw them fighting?”
I shook my head. “My mother and Phillip Jasper. I saw them together.”
Sally remained in her pose of understanding. “In an embrace?”
I nodded.
“Was this the first you knew of their relationship?”
I nodded again.
“Did they see you?”
“No.” My voice was louder than it should have been. I forced it to a lower volume. “No, they didn’t. I was supposed to be at school. But there had been a fire drill. All the students were out on the lawn. Fire trucks came. Kids started walking away from the schoolyard in all the commotion. I left, too. I was hungry. My lunch box was in my locker, and those firemen weren’t letting anybody back in.”
“So you headed home? Your mother and Jasper were there?”
I shook my head. “The weather was warm. I don’t know the exact day, but it was late spring. I remember there were only a few days left of school. I figured I’d go to my mom’s office. Maybe she’d take me to lunch. Maybe she’d give me money to buy a sandwich down on State Street.”
“You went to the biogenetics building?”
“No. It wasn’t built then. I went to the old place. Where my mother used to work. I knew the back staircase. Tucked in the corner. The one that always smelled wet no matter what the day was like outside. It was the fastest way to get to the lab where her office was. I remember passing a couple of students when I got to her floor. They were heading out. Probably to grab their own sandwiches. Maybe they’d sit in the grass. Like I said, it was a really warm day.”
Sally tapped her hand on the table. Like she was trying to grab my attention. “Stay focused, Tess. Can you do that for me? You climbed the musty staircase, passed some students, then what?”
My chest heaved. My hands shook. “The door to my mother’s office was open. I went in, but she wasn’t there. Then I heard her laugh. Just a little. Like a giggle maybe. I walked toward the sound. It was coming from a small room off my mother’s space. The room where the copiers and worktables were. They didn’t see me.”
“Who’s they, Tess? We need to hear it from you.”
I looked to the corner. Anderson was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, listening to every word. I turned back to Sally.
“My mother was there with Phillip Jasper. She was leaning against a cabinet. Her arms were around his neck and he was . . . he was . . .”
“You’re doing great, Tess. What was Phillip Jasper doing?”
A brief sob escaped in an angry choke. “He was unbuttoning her blouse! His fingers were working their way down the front, and my mother was letting him! She wasn’t stopping him! She was smiling!”
“That must have been hard for you to see.”
I slammed both hands on the table. “She was my mother! She had a husband! You’re not supposed to be doing that if you have a husband! And you’re not supposed to be doing that while you’re at work and your husband is trying so hard to make everything right for the family!”
“Relax, Tess. Take a deep breath. Calm down.” Sally gave me a minute to settle. “What did you do then?”
“I backed away. I remember walking on my tiptoes, trying to be quiet. I was afraid of what might happen if they caught me.”
“Did you go back to school? Back to the fire drill?”
I shook my head. “I ran home. The house was empty. I went straight to my room. I don’t know how long I was there. All I remember was my rage. Then hearing my father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. He was calling for us. First my mother’s name, then mine. He opened my bedroom door, took one look at the disaster my anger monster had made, and demanded to know what was going on. He started picking up the pillows and blankets I’d yanked off my bed. Yelling at me for making such a mess. Shouting how I needed to gather all the books off the floor and return them to their shelves. Warning me I’d be punished for the mess I’d made.”
