The Heat of the Moon: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (14 page)

I rubbed my arms where chill bumps had risen. The room was much too cool now. I didn’t remember saying anything about Kathy. “She was a friend of mine. When I was a kid. That’s all.”

“She moved away, and you were upset about it?”

I didn’t answer. He could take my silence for agreement.

“Why do you think you called her name just now?”

I shook my head mutely.

Kathy. My secret friend. I’d shut her out of my mind for years.

Kathy, why are you crying?
She was always melancholy, and I never knew why, only that her heart had been broken somehow and I wanted to make her happy again. She’d been closer to me than anyone in the world. I knew the depth of her sadness and she knew all my hopes and dreams, my secret thoughts. I could trust her never to betray me because she lived only in my imagination.

“Rachel,” Theo said, his voice low, coaxing, “we must talk about what happened. It’s important.”

“I can’t. I can’t right now. I shouldn’t have tried this, it was a stupid idea.”

“Perhaps all it means is that hypnosis is not the right approach,” Theo said. “I think we can get at your memories in more conventional ways. But it would be very helpful to understand what happened today.”

“I can’t talk about it, Theo.”

He sighed and sat back in his chair.

“You can’t tell Mother about this, Theo. Promise me.”

“I’ve already made that promise, Rachel. You know you can trust me.”

I stood. “I have to go.”

He wanted me to rest and collect myself, but within a few minutes I was driving him home, maneuvering the narrow streets of Georgetown with meticulous care to prove I was calm. I refused his invitation to come in, but said I’d see him again soon.

On the George Washington Parkway, traffic was a hum and a blur around me. I drove automatically, as if my car were linked to those ahead and behind, pulled and pushed along like a toy on a track.

***

I knocked on the apartment door, tentative raps that gained speed and force until I was banging my fist against the wood. Abruptly the door swung open, making me stumble forward across the threshold with the momentum of my next blow.

Luke caught me in his arms.

Chapter Thirteen

“What’s wrong?” Luke said. He pulled me all the way inside and shut the door.

When I opened my mouth nothing but a rasping noise came out. I dropped my shoulderbag on the floor and hurled myself against him.

“Hey!” he said, surprised. But he hesitated for only a second before he enclosed me in his arms. “What’s going on? Huh?”

I buried my face in his neck, drawing in the scent of his skin. “I’ve missed you so much,” I whispered. “Don’t let me go.”

His arms tightened around me. I felt his heart thudding, answering mine. “Oh, God, Rachel,” he groaned, his breath warm against my ear. “I want you all the time.”

He covered my mouth with his and pushed me against the door, the length of his body pressed to mine. I tasted salt on his lips. Heat flooded through me and all that mattered was our connection, the here-and-now reality of him, my anchor in a whirlpool of fear and confusion.

He drew back for a moment, breathing heavily, his eyes drugged with need as he searched my face. “Are you sure?” he asked, just as he had the first time.

“Yes.” I nodded. “Yes.”

We undressed each other where we stood, fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers, lips brushing bare skin, his tongue flicking over my nipples. He was stiff in my hand and I would have drawn him into me there against the door, but he stepped away and said hoarsely, “Come to bed.”

We fell onto the bed and I clamped my legs around him, thrusting with him in a rough, urgent rhythm. I was aware that I was crying, the tears bathing my face. When I came a ragged moan tore from me, and I sobbed against Luke’s shoulder as I felt him shudder and heard the breath catch in his throat.

He rolled onto his side, gasping, and pulled me against him. “Rachel. God, Rachel, I love you.”

He held me until my sobs diminished to silent tears. At last I lay quiet, covering my swollen eyes with the back of my hand. I stayed that way for a long time before I lowered my hand and opened my eyes to let the light back in.

Luke’s face swam in my tears. He’d pushed himself up on an elbow. I reached to smooth his disheveled hair, then brushed my fingertips over his cheek. His skin was hot and moist with sweat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t slam the door in my face,” I said.

“I can’t see that ever happening.” He nudged my chin up and lightly touched his lips to mine. “Okay,” he said, “tell me what brought this on. You didn’t come here in that kind of frenzy just because we haven’t seen each other for a while. What’s wrong?”

I pulled away from him, sat up so that I couldn’t see his expectant face. “I’m afraid to tell you. You’ll think I’m losing my mind.”

“Aw, come on.” He sat up beside me and tried to look in my eyes, but I averted my head. “Rachel. Give me some credit, okay? You came to me. That says a lot.” 

I couldn’t imagine what words to use. Here in the ordinariness of his apartment, every idea I had about my family seemed too crazy to speak aloud. “Could we get up?” I said. “I feel like I need my clothes on for this.”

He laughed. “Okay, go sit down in the living room and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

He pulled on his jeans and tee shirt and padded out in his bare feet. I dressed more slowly, dreading what I was about to do and sick at the risk I was taking. I wished I could forget everything else and just go on from here with Luke.

In the living room a mocking swath of sunshine fell across the space where the stack of packing boxes once stood. They were gone at last; Luke had settled in. But the mere thought of the boxes brought back the memory they’d awakened, and it hit me like a glancing blow, leaving me momentarily disoriented.

It was a memory of our move from Minneapolis to McLean, I was suddenly sure of that. I’d cried about it, but that was normal for a child. I’d been leaving behind all that was familiar, and I was still grieving for my father. Michelle had played on the boxes, giggling, unaffected by loss. She was too young to absorb anything more than the excitement of upheaval.

A neat explanation, produced by my rational mind. Why didn’t it dispel the alarm and panic the memory stirred?

Stop it. Don’t think about it.

I sank onto the couch.

From where I sat I could see Luke moving about in the narrow little kitchen, pulling a mug from a cupboard, standing over the kettle on the range. I concentrated on the fluid movements of his hands, the fringe of sandy hair across his forehead. But as I watched him, a vague mental image of someone else shifted into clear focus. The man I’d dreamed about, seen at the edge of my thoughts, suddenly had firm outlines, a body. Tall and rangy, with a natural grace. So familiar. Not Luke, no, of course not, but so much like him.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. I was grafting something positive onto a nightmare to make it less frightening. I couldn’t believe anything my mind spat out.

“Here you go,” Luke said, holding out the mug. “With lemon and a scandalous amount of sugar, just the way you like it.”

“Thanks.” I sipped the tart-sweet tea as he settled beside me.

We sat in silence until I placed the half-empty mug on the coffee table. Then Luke said, “Did something happen today? What got you so upset?”

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand—I have to go back farther. Tell you all of it.”

“All of what?”

I rubbed at my temples. “God, I don’t know where to start. I don’t understand any of it. It scares me to death. I go around half the time feeling like I’m not quite sane. But I’ve got to tell somebody, Luke.”

“Tell me.”

He clasped my hand. The strength and warmth of his grip held me, kept me from floating away in an ether of panic. 

I dragged in a deep breath, stared straight ahead, and began. Coaxing me through frequent silences, Luke pulled it out of me bit by bit, a jumble of tangled strands.

I told him about Mother’s unspoken rule that my father was never to be discussed, and her distress when the subject was brought up. Her story about me destroying family pictures and my discovery that the pictures still existed—and didn’t include me. The dreams, the memory that came back the day Mrs. Coleman brought Maude, and her daughter, to the clinic. The missing birth certificate. My certainty that Mother was hiding something important from me.

“I’ve tried to imagine everything it could possibly be. I’ve thought about things that make me sick to my stomach. Things that never would’ve entered my mind a few weeks ago. Maybe my father abused me, and I repressed the memories, and Mother doesn’t want me to recover them. Or maybe I’m adopted, and my origins were so dreadful or shameful that she doesn’t want me to find out. Either I’m adopted or she lied to me about when and where I was born.” I laughed, a harsh wild sound. “Maybe I never was born. No wonder I’m having trouble remembering things—I don’t exist!”

I stopped and sat with my head in my hands. “Now’s your chance to go call the men with white coats and butterfly nets.”

“I’ll hold off on that.” Luke’s fingers kneaded the back of my neck. “Have you asked your mother about the birth certificate and the pictures?”

“No!” I jerked my head up. “I’d have to tell her I broke into that box, I went behind her back—”

“God damn her!”

His outburst made me flinch.

He jumped up and paced, raking his hair back. “Christ, what a witch. I could wring her neck. All she has to do is tell you the truth, but she’s got you scared to death to even ask about it. Nothing is wrong with you. She’s the one who’s crazy.”

I slumped back, covering my face, trying not to cry again.

Just then my cell phone bleeped inside my shoulderbag, which still lay where I’d dropped it on the floor.
Mother,
I thought. It was nearing dinnertime and she’d wonder why I wasn’t home.

Luke retrieved the purse and held it out to me. “You going to answer it?” he said when the phone had rung five times and I’d made no move to take the purse from his hand.

“I guess I should,” I said reluctantly, hoping the ringing would stop by the time I got the phone out. It didn’t.

“Rachel, how are you feeling?” Theo asked. “I’ve been terribly worried about you since we parted.”

I released my breath and allowed my shoulders to relax. “I’m fine, Theo. I’m with a friend. I’ll be in touch.” I pushed the off button before he could answer.

The phone rang again as I was putting it back in my purse. I sighed. I shouldn’t have hung up on Theo so abruptly. But this time it was Mother. At the sound of her voice every inch of my body snapped taut.

“Rachel, I don’t like to interrupt whatever you’re doing, but I was wondering if you’ll be home for dinner.”

“No,” I said.

She was silent, probably waiting for an explanation. I didn’t offer one.

“Rachel, where—” 

“I’m with some friends. I’ll get something to eat.”

“Are you all right? You don’t sound like yourself.”

No, I didn’t. I felt oddly dissociated from my own voice. “I’ll see you later, Mother.” I switched off the phone. For a moment I sat with it in my hand, once more fighting the urge to cry. I’d never been a crier, and I couldn’t get used to these sieges of tears.

When I glanced at Luke, I saw he was watching me closely, a crease cut between his brows. I remembered what he’d said the day we talked in the staff lounge:
You’re a different person around her.

“You didn’t want to tell her you were with me,” he said now.

“No.”

“Is it just me she despises,” he asked with a sour smile, “or would she do that number on anybody you brought home?”

“She’s never thought anybody was good enough for me or Michelle. She puts a lot of emotional energy into worrying about us.”

“Trying to protect you from the big bad world.”

His tone was sarcastic but what he said was true. I nodded. A feeling had always existed, unspoken, that our little family was somehow damaged and not yet out of danger. We had to huddle together against a threat that was never identified.

What came into my mind then was one of the paintings I’d seen in the Picasso exhibit at the National Gallery. “The Mother.” A thin dark-haired woman in motion, head thrust forward; a white-swaddled infant in her arms; an older child, a girl, clutching her hand. The mother was tense with urgency and purpose. Fleeing from something, taking her children to safety. The way Mother had fled with us.

Fled from what?

I got rid of the painting with a shake of my head. “If Mrs. Coleman hadn’t brought her little girl with her the day Maude was hurt, none of this would be happening to me.”

“It probably would have surfaced some other way,” Luke said. “Rachel, you’ll never get answers if you don’t confront your mother. Whatever the truth is, you’ve got a right to hear it.”

“You don’t know—” I broke off, pulling back inside myself, reluctant to go on.

“I don’t know what?”

“I haven’t told you what happened today. I went to Theo Antanopoulos—I told you about him—”

“I remember. Go on.”

“I wanted him to hypnotize me to see if I could get back some memories. And he tried. But when he was putting me under I panicked, I just lost it completely.”

Luke rubbed my shoulder. “Why? Were you afraid of what you might remember?”

“Yes, I was. But I’d made up my mind to face it. It was the induction itself that scared me the most.” I paused, recalling the rising tide of panic that had overwhelmed me. “I felt like I was doing something terribly wrong. Something I’d been forbidden to do. I think Mother’s conditioned me not to let anyone except her hypnotize me.”

“What? You mean she’s hypnotized you?”

“Lots of times. Michelle too.”

“What for?” 

“To help me get over my father’s death. According to Theo. Then for other things later on. I used to get jittery before important exams at school, but after Mother hypnotized me I’d calm down. Michelle used to be afraid of thunderstorms, and dental work, anything involving a needle in the mouth, but Mother used hypnosis to—”

“Hold on,” Luke said. “I want to hear what happened after your father died. You were just a little kid. She was using hypnosis on you?”

“Theo said she used hypnotherapy to help me deal with my father’s death.” I looked at Luke. “But I didn’t deal with it. I forgot it completely. I forgot him.”

He stared at me for a long moment, understanding growing in his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

“I heard her voice when I was with Theo. I remembered her telling me never to let anybody else hypnotize me.”

My mind circled, closing in on the unspeakable thought. A vulnerable child, a child in pain who longed for comfort and approval. A powerful adult who knew how to burrow deep into the minds of others. So many things I’d never asked about. Things I should have wondered about and didn’t. My natural curiosity had been stamped down and silenced. Until now.

Luke was angry, almost shouting, but I barely heard what he said.

Why would Mother do that? To protect me? Or to protect herself? From what?

“Whatever it is,” I said, “this thing she doesn’t want me to remember, it’s important enough to make her—”