Identical (50 page)

different places. I was a child of privilege,

he a sweet blue-collar man. He was my

rebellion. And when he couldn’t give

me the life I was used to, I fell into

addictions. Whiskey. Cigarettes. And,

to fight my depression, Prozac.

He cheated, yes, but that’s not why

I left. I left from utter boredom.

And I left your poor father behind.

Daddy winced, but continued to

listen. I wanted to know more.

I wanted to know everything.

Alcoholism is not a pretty thing,

and I was an ugly alcoholic.

I moved in with a string of men.

None wanted to deal with a drunk,

and eventually all of them showed

me the door. One time, I decided

I needed to find Ray, see how he

was doing. I tracked him to Santa

Barbara, a couple of years before

the accident. Your mother and he

seemed happy enough. Happy to

have two beautiful daughters.

I wanted to be part of your family,

even managed to clean up my act

so they’d let me spend time with you.

“So it
was
you who used to babysit

us. I remember we used to play

Monopoly and checkers, didn’t we?”

She nodded.
It was a wonderful

time of my life. But then…

then the accident happened.

When Raeanne died, I only knew

one way to cope. I’m sorry,

Kaeleigh. You needed me.

But I needed Dewar’s to get me

through the funeral. Once I started

drinking again, I couldn’t stop.

I noticed Daddy’s fingers,

drumming the arm of his chair.

“But why did you go away?”

Grandma Charlotte glanced at

Daddy, whose drumming quickened.

We can talk about that later.

That part of the story helped

me make some major decisions.

That part of the story went like this:

I wanted to stay in your life, knew

you might need me. Your mother

was broken, your father cold as

the death of his daughter—the death

he most certainly caused. The death

none of us could really accept.

One day I came over and walked

in unannounced. I heard noise

in the bathroom, so stumbled back

to investigate, about three sheets

in the wind. I was drunk but not too

drunk to take in what was going on.

Your mother was gone, and your

father was washing you. Only the way

he was washing you was all wrong.

He was touching you in a sexual

way, Kaeleigh. I confronted him,

but he just laughed in my face.

“I’m a respected judge and you are

nothing more than a disgusting

drunk. Who would people believe?

I could take you down, Mother.

Will
take you down. You made me

what I am. You and my father.”

He ordered me to leave, and I did.

In fact, I ran. Forgive me, Kaeleigh.

I should have kept you safe.

Instead I drank even more to forget.

I drank until one day I looked in

the mirror and saw death.

Getting sober once and for all

wasn’t easy. But I didn’t want

to die until I knew you were okay.

And I didn’t want to come back

into your life, needing Dewar’s

to cope with what I found.

She got sober for me. Besides,

Daddy played the same card

with me, and I believed him, too.

Anyway, Carol says the only way

to get past all this is to forgive

who I can. Confront, and forgive.

Easier said than done. I want to

forgive Mom. But how can I when

she won’t say she’s sorry, or even

admit her role in this melodrama?

I did confront her. I asked how

she could have closed her eyes,

pretended nothing was wrong. She

turned it back on me.
Why didn’t

you tell? Why didn’t you get help?

I hated her for a while. Now

I kind of feel sorry for her. When

Raeanne died, it emptied

every ounce of love from Mom’s

heart. Why couldn’t she save

just a spoonful—for me?

No one at school knows

about the two sides of me.

Ian swore himself to secrecy.

Everyone else thinks I had

a mild case of viral meningitis.

Well, DID is a brain thing, after all.

I missed some school, but not

much, made it up quickly, so

I’m not really behind. At Carol’s

urging, I apologized to Mr. Lawler,

who gave me an A for the semester.

In fact, I managed a 3.5 GPA. All As.

Except PE. Can’t have everything.

Drama? The play went perfectly.

We brought ’em to their feet.

I still hate Madison, avoid her

when I can. But I don’t get in her

face. The game has lost its appeal.

If I see Ty or Mick, who I guess

walked until he found his truck

and never said a word to anyone.

Ty is the only other person who

might suspect DID. But there are

lots of reasons for him to keep quiet.

Carol has helped me understand

why I pushed myself into such explicit

sexual behavior. It was programmed

into me when I was very small.

Part of me hated it. Part of me

couldn’t help but enjoy it. Part.

I’m taking driver’s training.

When I’m ready, Grandma

Charlotte will sign for my license.

One cool thing. She and Grandpa

Ted are talking again. Not like they’re

dating, but at least they’re cordial.

I still work at the old folks’ home,

but only one day a week, mostly

just to stay in touch with Greta.

And the only one who understands

the depth of Daddy’s deceptions.

Not even Carol knows firsthand

how it feels to be hurt in such a way

by someone who’s supposed to protect you.

Greta is the one who convinced me

I had to confront Daddy with every

ugly truth, had to force him out of my

life.
If you don’t, you will never

begin to heal. And you can heal.

I didn’t want him to go to prison.

He probably would have pulled

strings to avoid it, anyway. I didn’t

want to see him locked up. But

more, I didn’t want to testify.

Didn’t want the world to hear all

the dirty details. Daddy checked

himself into a pricey rehab,

promised to get his head fixed.

Not sure that’s possible.

When he gets out, he’ll move

into an apartment in Santa Barbara.

Thirty miles away. Not far enough.

But it is what it is. I have not

forgiven him. Not sure I ever will.

About Daddy. I just can’t bring

myself to tell him. He thinks

the stuff that happened is because

of the accident. Childhood trauma.

Oh yes, one of many. But he doesn’t

need to know the worst of them.

Maybe one day I’ll be able to let

him that far in. But not yet.

For now, it’s enough to have him

in my life, to see him every day.

Grandma lets him come over,

is good with us dating. Maybe

she knows we still don’t have sex.

Not ready yet. And he knows it.

We’ve come close. Lots of times.

Can’t help but get turned on by him.

I’m not a frigging saint. But when

we do, I want it to be for all the right

reasons, and I won’t know it’s right

until I get beyond all the wrongs.