Misty (17 page)

Granny and I had the same eyes, only hers were just a bit rounder and somehow still lit up with hope more often than my much younger black pearls did. However, this morning her eyes were full of worry, making them look heavy, so heavy she looked like she wanted to just close them and lay her head back on that double down pillow she claimed was full of good dreams.

How I wished I had a pillow like that.

Granny had had so many troubles in her life, troubles she had buried deeply in her mountain of memories, so that I never even knew about them. She didn't want me to know. If I asked her too many questions about her own youth and her own hardships, she would just shake her head and say, “You don't need to feed that rat of hate living in your heart anything extra, Star. Your momma and daddy have done enough to provide it with a feast that's kept it too fat as it is.”

“What is it, Granny?” I asked as she squeezed my hand in the car.

“You give Doctor Marlowe a chance to help you, Star. Don't shut all the doors and windows, child,
like you've done so many times before. You're too young to become someone's lost cause, hear? Your momma likes to wear those shoes, but you kick them off.”

“Yes, Granny,” I said, smiling.

If I had inherited just a small piece of that steel spine of hers, I would surely make it through all the rain and wind on the road ahead of me, I thought, and there was plenty more to come.

She let go and I continued to slide out of the car.

“And don't look down on those other girls just because their families have some money,” she warned me.

I shook my head at her.

“What do you know about people with money, Granny? You never had any rich friends to complain about, did you?”

“Never mind your smart mouth, child. I don't have to have close rich friends to know having lots of money doesn't mean you don't need sympathy and a helping hand. Those other girls wouldn't be here otherwise, would they?” she pointed out.

She was a smart one, my Granny. I guess something could be said for the school of hardship, too. Granny could be the valedictorian of that school and graduate with honors, I thought, not that it was something anyone would want or be proud of, especially Granny.

“Okay, Mrs. Anthony,” I said. Whenever I called her by her name, she knew I was teasing her.

“You hold your tongue in there, child, and be civil, hear?” she warned me firmly.

“Yes, Granny.”

“I'll be back the same time as yesterday,” she said and started away.

I watched her drive off, a little old lady, not more than five feet four inches tall, with shoulders still capable of holding up the responsibilities my much younger mother couldn't tolerate. Granny still had plenty of grit and walked proudly with her head high.

Granny always kept her smoke-gray hair brushed back and tied neatly in a bun. She wore just a touch of lipstick, but no other makeup—ever. Her eyeglasses were really the only frilly thing she permitted in her life. They were fashioned like expensive designer glasses, with dark frames. It gave her just enough of a touch of style to make her comfortable with her outward appearance, and she loved it when her older men friends kidded her and called her Miss America.

She was once a very pretty woman. She didn't look her sixty-eight years, despite the tensions and disappointments in her life. Granny wasn't as much of a churchgoer as most of her friends, but she had a deep faith in the goodness of people and the promise of an everlasting paradise at the end of the difficult journey. In her mind there were always people worse off anyway, and she put more of her strength and energy into feeling sorrier for them
than she did for herself. There was nothing she taught me that was more important to her than to despise and avoid self-pity. She said it was like “shackles around your ankles, keeping you chained to disaster and defeat. Instead, you pick yourself up when you get set back some and move on until it's time to stop and put your trust in the Lord,” she advised.

Maybe you had to be old to believe like that, I thought. I wasn't ready to simply accept disappointments and defeat and move on. I refused to bend and I let whatever winds that blew at me know it. I'd break before I'd bend. Granny told me that was just defeating yourself, but I still had the need to scratch and claw, kick and punch and spit into the faces of those who made my life miserable.

It was supposed to rain all day in Los Angeles today and the clouds were blowing in from the northwest and thickening rapidly as the hands of the wind molded them like clay. Doctor Marlowe's large Tudor house looked darker, the windows reflecting the gray skies. It was a very big house, the biggest I had ever been in, here in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Brentwood, too.

There was nothing to reveal that Doctor Marlowe's house was a place where she treated patients, or clients, as they liked to call us. I guess that was deliberate. Doctor Marlowe certainly didn't want us to feel like freaks or anything. She wanted us all to be relaxed, like people just visit-
ing, but I had no other reason to come to this part of the city where so many rich people lived, no other reason than supposedly getting my head put back on straight.

However, no matter what the courts and the schools and the other doctors had said, I still didn't believe in the value of coming here even though Doctor Marlowe used words as her medicine. She prescribed different ways of thinking about things, used questions the way other doctors used X rays and always tried to turn your eyes around so you were looking into yourself instead of at her.

I admit that she made me think about everything twice at least, but it still hadn't made me feel any better about myself or the things that had happened to me and my brother. I wasn't going to walk out of this big house and her office one day and be picked up by loving new parents, was I? She wasn't going to wave a magic wand over my horrible history and make it dissolve into thin air like some bad dream. I'd still be what Misty called an orphan with parents.

It was a good description. Mommy and Daddy weren't dead and buried, but they were dead to me even though there were no funerals. Instead of a procession to the cemetery, there had been a parade of lies and crippled promises limping along from the day I was born until today, until this moment, all of it parked outside, still following me everywhere, waiting to be told where to go.

Me, too, I thought, I'm waiting to be told where to go. Doctor Marlowe wanted to take me to some second chance, some new start full of new hope. She wanted me to believe that the only thing holding me back was myself. She spoke as if I didn't long for a real family and a nice home and nice friends, as if I had to be talked into it. Right.

It got me angry just thinking about how she wanted me to blame myself. She expected me to discover what was wrong with me and fix it rather than point to a drunken mother and a deserter and deadbeat for a father. I wasn't ready to excuse them or forget them and it would be a cold day in hell before I would ever forgive them. Granny was right about the rat of hate gnawing away at my heart, but for now I didn't see any place else for it to be.

Doctor Marlowe's maid Sophie, opened the door for me and stepped back quickly as soon as she set her eyes on me. Maybe she thought I had something contagious. The doctor's sister Emma was nowhere in sight, which was fine with me. She was a big, heavy older woman who always looked at me as if she thought I might steal something from the house. I know I made her so nervous she couldn't wait to get out of my sight. I didn't want her there anyway.

As it turned out, I was the last to arrive. They were all sitting where they had sat yesterday, with Doctor Marlowe in her chair. She wore a navy blue dress and had her hair brushed down. I thought it
made her look older. Maybe she thought she had to look that way with us. She was tall and lean, with long arms and legs. Yesterday we asked her why she wasn't married, but she wouldn't tell us. She claimed she was the doctor here. She'd do all the asking. It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “You're just hiding behind that like you say we hide behind stuff,” but I promised Granny I would try not to let my mouth and tongue have a mind of their own.

Jade and Misty glanced at Cat and then at me with self-satisfied smiles on their faces because I had been wrong about her not showing up. After Misty had told her story, I predicted Cat would quit group therapy, but, if anything, she looked a little more bitter than she had yesterday. Her hair was neatly brushed. She had on some lipstick and she wore a light blue cotton dress with matching blue loafers. Doctor Marlowe looked pleased about it, too. Maybe we were all a good influence on Cat, I thought. At least someone might get something valuable out of this. It was just that I would have guessed Cathy would be the least likely one.

“Good morning, Star,” Doctor Marlowe said with a warm smile on her face. Whether she meant it or not, she did make me feel like she was happy to see me.

“Morning.”

I took my seat and looked at Misty, who seemed the most anxious of all for me to get started. What
did she think I was going to do? I wondered, entertain her?

“It's getting so dark outside,” Doctor Marlowe said, turning on another lamp. “We're in for a storm. So? How are you all today?” she asked.

Jade was the only one who really responded.

“Tired,” she said with great effort. She was dressed as stylishly as she had been the day before. Today she wore polka dot and blue silk pants with a sash, a ribbed cotton body suit, and a cardigan sweater tied over her shoulders like some fancy college girl. It all made my light blue and white one piece and scuffed loafers look like some hand-me-downs Granny had found at a thrift shop.

Misty was in jeans and sneakers and wore a T-shirt that said
Mommy went to Paris and all I got was this stupid T-shirt.

“Still not sleeping well?” Doctor Marlowe asked Jade.

Jade had a way of turning her head so her chin always stayed high. I hated admitting she was pretty, but she was. Those green eyes made her special.

“Nothing's changed,” she replied. “Why should I sleep any better?”

Doctor Marlowe nodded. Misty tucked the corner of her mouth into her cheek and Cat stared with admiration at Jade as if she had said the most important thing and was more important than Doctor Marlowe.

“Anyone want anything before we start?” Doctor Marlowe asked.

“Got milk?” Misty asked with a silly grin. Jade laughed and Cathy the cat smiled. Misty was making fun of the television commercial, of course. I couldn't help but snicker myself. At least Misty had some smiles and giggles to carry around as well as the tears and rage. I secretly hoped she had enough for all of us.

“Well, when we take a break, we'll have something,” Doctor Marlowe said. She looked at me. “So, today is your day, Star,” she said.

“I don't know how to begin,” I said, folding my arms under my breasts the way Granny always did when she was setting to hunker down behind an attitude or thought.

“Begin any place you want,” Doctor Marlowe said.

“No place comes to mind,” I said sullenly.

“Do you remember the first time your mother and your father had a bad argument?” Misty asked. “I mean a really bad, all-out argument.”

“Maybe she didn't have a father right from the beginning,” Jade said in her most arrogant, haughty voice.

I spun on her.

“I had a father,” I snapped. “My mommy and daddy had a proper wedding and all, too. In a church!”

She shrugged.

“Mine, too,” she said. “You see all the good that's done me. Now look where I am.”

I stared at her a moment and then gazed at the other two. Everyone seemed to have the same desperate and lost look in their eyes.

It occurred to me that despite our differences, we all had a similar way of saying, “Once upon a time.”

I guess I could find mine, I thought.

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