Identical (49 page)

Don’t you dare talk to me like that.

He stalks over to the bed, raises

his arm, and just as it starts to fall…

I wouldn’t do that if I were you,

sir.
Carol.
I’m afraid I’d have

to report you for child abuse.

Daddy spins to face her, anger

leaking from his pores like sweat.

I know the law. Don’t recite it to me.

Artfully, Carol maneuvers between

Daddy and me.
I’m afraid your blood

work indicated a problem, Kaeleigh.

We’ll need to keep you an extra day

or two, to run a few tests. Sorry.

I know you wanted to go home.

Daddy backs up a few steps.

Problem? What kind of problem?

She isn’t pregnant, is she?

Carol’s grin is sardonic.
Funny

place for you to go first. No, we’ve

found an electrolyte imbalance.

It’s probably from all the vomiting

she’s been doing, but we want to

test her for kidney disease.

Phew. Saved by possible kidney

disease. At least for a couple of days.

Hey, wait. Kidney disease?

The electrolyte imbalance is real,

the result of not only puking

from Oxy withdrawal, but also

the binge-and-purge cycle

that my alter and I seem to have shared.

Speaking of bingeing, I’m starving.

“You eat. I’ll throw it up. You’d be

a regular oinker if not for me.”

They weren’t really worried about

kidney disease. Carol just used

that as an excuse to keep me here.

“She’s a real pal. What she’s really

after is dissecting our psyche.”

If I let her into my head, maybe she

can make you frigging disappear.

I’m sick of listening to you.

“Well, then, you go away and let me out.

I want to play. And I need to get high.”

I want so much to talk to Carol.

But I’m not even sure where to begin.

Drug abuse. Alcohol. Bulimia…

“Don’t forget that lovely bit about

shaving until you slice yourself open.”

And that’s the easy stuff. Promiscuity.

Dissociative identity disorder. And

the granddaddy of all—fucking Daddy.

“More accurately, letting Daddy

fuck you and keeping it to yourself.”

Even if I tell her every bit of it,

there’s no guarantee she can fix me.

Suicide sounds better and better.

“Yeah, but you’d have to get it right.

Or maybe, just leave that to me.”

Can’t think of a single thing.

Mom? A long-distance mother

focused completely on herself.

Friends? Not a single one I’ve

allowed myself to get close to.

School? Can’t stomach the thought

of seeing Old Man Lawler again.

Drama? Oh well, that’s what

understudies are for, right?

Boyfriend? Don’t make me

laugh. I’d much rather cry.

“Hey, you can’t really blame him.”

He’s solid.

“You’re fractured.”

He’s hopeful.

“You’re hopeless.”

He’s always there.

“You’re half there.”

He’s faithful.

“You’re so not.”

He’s giving.

“You’re afraid to give.”

He’s honest.

“You lie all the time.”

He’s loving.

“You don’t know how to love.”

And all because of Ian.

I’m still not sure how

to give it, but I’ve tasted

it. Maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that’s more than

some people ever get.

Maybe I really need

to taste it right now.

I haven’t let myself break

down and weep in a very

long time. Could never see

much use in it, really.

Tears impress no one. But,

oh yeah, there’s no one

here to impress. So I go

ahead and let tears fall.

Rain. Storm. Flood. My

pillow soaks with the salt

of regret, and I rest my

head against it, until…

I wake, certain of it. It’s early

evening, and the room is pale

and the soft perfume of roses

drifts from the nightstand.

Hey. How are you feeling?

I think it can’t be, but when

I turn my head, it’s Ian’s face

I see. The tears start up again

immediately. “Better now.”

I should have come sooner, but…

He stands, comes over, sits

on the bed, gently brushes

the moisture from my cheeks.

“It’s okay.” He’s here now.

No. I should have been here for you.

He opens his arms and I drop

into their circle. “Oh God,

Ian, I’m so sorry. I don’t know

what to tell you, where to begin….”

Don’t. Not now. Just let me hold you.

But if it is, I need to stay

locked inside it forever.

I can’t believe he’s here.

I can’t believe he still loves

me, but my heart says he does.

“Oh, Ian. I love you so much.

I’m so sorry I ever hurt you.

If you give me time, help me

get well and strong, I promise

to make everything up to you.”

He’s quiet for a long time.

Finally he says,
I don’t know

exactly what’s wrong with you,

or with your life. It would be

easier to walk away, put you

and your pain behind me. I’ve had

days to think it over, and at first

that’s what I decided to do.

But I love you so much, the idea

of life without you in it is scarier

than trying to deal with this. I’ve

talked with Dr. Shore, who tells me

you’ve got a long road to recovery.

I don’t know if we can get

through this, but I want to try.

And right now, one thing is enough.

I have to believe we can make it.

Without that, I have nothing at all.

One thing to live for. One day at a time.

It will not be easy to let him all the way in.

But if I can open up to anyone, it’s Ian.

Okay, maybe to Carol—Dr. Shore—first.

Then she can show me how to let him in.

One thing to live for. One day at a time.

Daddy will try to stand in the way.

So I have to push Daddy out of my way.

To do that, I need Ian’s strength behind me.

One thing to live for. One day at a time.

And all the courage I gathered overnight

dissipates like smoke in winter wind.

He hands me a paper bag.
Clean clothes.

The ones you have here stink to high heaven.

Dutifully I go into the bathroom, slip into soft

blue velour. It should feel comforting. But…

When I emerge, Daddy is looking at Ian’s roses.

I hope he has enough sense to stay away.

Wrong! “Ian is the only good thing in my life.

Don’t you dare try to keep him away from me!”

Daddy’s stare is iron.
I guess we’re lucky

you
aren’t
pregnant, aren’t we?

“Shut up! Ian and I never…Don’t you get

that love doesn’t have to be about sex?”

He stays in control, in case Carol is near.

Don’t you ever tell me to shut up again.

“Or what, Daddy? I won’t let you hurt me

anymore. I swear to God I’ll tell everything.”

He comes closer, lowers his voice.
Go ahead.

Your word against mine. No one will believe you.

I will.
The voice precedes a woman—

not quite familiar—through the door.

Daddy’s jaw drops.
Mother! Dear God.

How did…what are you doing here?

Grandma Charlotte. Yes, I can almost

remember her face. Only it’s thinner,

her gray eyes clearer. And she smells

of expensive perfume. Not whiskey.

She draws near, reaches out one hand, but

doesn’t touch me.
Kaeleigh. How pretty you

are. So like your mother. Forgive my long

absence. And, please, forgive my silence.

Since my grandmother re-entered

my life. Six months of relative

safety. Ha-ha. Forgive the pun.

I live with her now, in my parents’

postcard-pretty dwelling, coiffed

and manicured from curb to chimney.

Like me, it’s perfect on the outside.

But behind the Norman Rockwell facade,

I’m slowly coming to terms with our secrets.

That day in the hospital, Grandma

Charlotte confessed hers:
I was too

young to be a mother, only sixteen.

Ted was not a bad man. When I got

pregnant, he did the right thing

and married me. But we came from