“Twenty-nine.”
“What makes you think she’s unable to make contact?”
“She should call,” I burst out. I hate myself for it. “Every single day I ask Marleen, every single day, has Penelope called? Every day those words come out of my mouth and every single day she tells me, not today, maybe tomorrow.” I scoot forward. “I don’t know what to do. I need to see Edward. I need to sort this out.”
“I understand. What do you think needs sorting out?”
I stare at her. Talking about money is tacky.
“Edward pays for everything. All this,” I say and swipe my hands at my surroundings. “Medical care, rent, my housekeeper, my bills. But for how long? I can’t help wonder what will happen if he has a change of heart?” I sigh. Heart is not something Edward has, after all. He got rid of me in my darkest hour. I can almost see him roll his eyes about my choice of words.
“Your worries are financial, regarding your future,” she jumps in.
“I have no proof of divorce, there’s no paperwork, no settlement, no alimony. I need answers.”
“And then there’s your daughter.”
“I wonder about her, too. Yes. I need to know she’s okay.”
“Would you describe for me what you remember about the last time you saw her?”
“We were in her room, I sat on her bed. I held her hand.” That’s not true at all. I made this up just now. I don’t know where the image came from but it becomes an instant memory. I claim it, file it away. I operate in good faith here, we all know how faulty memory can be. That’s what our last encounter shall be, one of devotion. My daughter is grown, why I would sit at her bedside and hold her hand is beyond me but so be it. I can’t bear digging into hiding places so I keep eye contact and say with a firm voice, “I’ll sort it out.”
“It seems like you need answers to all those questions.”
I fold my hands in my lap. This gesture always works, pious motions move the heart, I have always believed that. You pull a child into an embrace, you close your eyes, hold them tight. People assume devotion.
“I think I just got carried away. Coming here”—I want to say was a mistake, but instead I lower my voice—“wasn’t necessary. I’m fine. I just had a moment.”
My thoughts are like a runaway train: Edward has Marleen under his spell. Money does that; it buys you things that are not natural. When confronted with the immensity of it all, I realize I have to be a fortress, keep myself from harm. I’m a distrustful person, I know that about myself, but instead of worrying about what others can do to me, I’ll strengthen my resolve. It’s really the only way.
Vera told me not to trust Marleen and now Jacobson . . . I can’t trust anyone. Especially Edward. He’s got them all fooled, even Dr. Jacobson. Explain to me how she knew their names?
* * *
• • •
Back at the apartment, a sandwich in cellophane sits on the counter and beside it a small teapot. I unwrap it and behold it. Turkey. Swiss cheese. Romaine. The lettuce leaf is in between the cheese and the turkey and I want to take it apart and reassemble it but I’m not supposed to be picky about food, a promise I made to myself.
I listlessly and without joy eat my lunch. I feel like I’m forced to, Marleen will give me a lecture if she finds food in the garbage. No need to make a fuss about it. Those are the exact words I used to say to Penelope. I have to practice what I preach. That’s what they told me, the therapists, children don’t listen to you but they watch you all the time.
Food had always been a disaster with Penelope. I’d prepare things that I thought children liked—pancakes in the shape of dinosaurs and cheese turned into building blocks, eggs into canoes, I painstakingly picked letters from alphabet soup to write simple words—but they ended up mushed up or splattered across the floor.
Penelope was Penelope, it’s as simple and as difficult as that. How endlessly I pondered her motivations—energetic or hyperactive, impulsive or living in the moment—which one was it? The spin was endless, but there came a point I had to acknowledge that—
But am I in the dark about something else? Is there something I refuse to realize? So many thoughts in random order. I’m not crazy, you know, I’ve seen her drawings when she was a child, those horrid unsettling drawings—
That’s why I worry. That’s why Edward can’t be left alone to deal with her. He doesn’t understand the complexity of it all.
Memories of Penelope appear like shadows, suddenly, without warning. Tucked away for decades but then suddenly they long to be recognized. How could I have paid attention to all the details but missed the big picture?
10
PENELOPE
They locked me in a cupboard,” Penelope said. “There was nothing I could have done.”
The doctor stared at her but eventually broke eye contact. Penelope was aware of how unbelievable, unlikely, even preposterous that sounded.
“I swear they did. Why would I make this up?” she added.
“Your mother tells me—”
“That’s your first mistake. Talking to my mother.”
“Your mother tells me,” he goes on, “the police got involved. It was a break-in. They interviewed people in the neighborhood.”
“They locked me in a cupboard,” Penelope repeated, staccato this time, robotic.
“They? It was more than one?”
“I was in the cupboard, I don’t know.”
There was no cupboard and no them. It was a party Penelope had organized. The house under construction was at the end of a cul-de-sac, with no one around for a mile or so. The party had gotten out of hand but once the cupboard lie was told, it was hard to take it back. Everything after turned into a lie and taking back hundreds of them was, well, difficult.
Her mother made Penelope see this doctor because she was mad at her and for no other reason than forgetting to feed the stray cats while her parents were gone for the weekend. It wasn’t that Penelope didn’t want to feed them, but before she knew it the weekend was over and her mother only knew because she counted the cans she had bought and left on the kitchen counter.
While her parents were away, Penelope had gone out back but the cats were shy and feral and didn’t really want any affection. One of them, a tabby with large eyes, tiptoed sideways at the drop of a leaf blowing by. Penelope grabbed her and held her tight as she wiggled. One of her friends wanted a kitten and there were so many of them and Penelope took it inside the house and made calls about the party.
There was this new subdivision with Mediterranean-style houses and it was the weekend after Thanksgiving and no one was working and Penelope told her friends to cut the lights and park in the area by the side of the house, which was invisible from the street. Three cars with five people each, altogether there were twenty. A few came on foot. There was alcohol. They did tequila shots straight from the bottle. No one brought lime or salt or anything, and the liquor burned going down, making their lungs feel on fire.