Macy widens her eyes. “The Glass House? Really? That’s one of the best restaurants in all of Manhattan.”
“So I hear.”
“That’s amazing. You’ll do well there.”
“I’m a good server, for sure. But I got the job because… Well, you know.”
“Because of the Wolfes?”
“Because I’m one of the island’s victims. I mean, the manager asked me where I’d been working for the last five years, and what else could I say? Anything else—a lie—would have made me look bad.”
“I agree. It’s best to be honest. Especially with a potential employer. And if she gave you the job because of that? Then show her that you earned the job on your own.”
“That’s what Leif says.”
“Leif?”
“Oh, yeah. I haven’t seen you in a few days. Reid decided I need my own security detail because of the texts.”
“I have to admit, Kelly, I agree with him.”
“It’s only Brindley,” I say.
“We’ve talked about this before. Brindley denies sending you texts.”
I scoff. “Why does no one believe me? She’s had it out for me ever since she came to the island.”
“That’s just not true. It was every woman for herself on that island. You know that as well as anyone.”
“It’s just…”
“What?”
I shake my head. I don’t know what to say. I’ve spent my life blaming others for my own misfortune, but maybe Brindley hasn’t done anything.
“You really believe Brindley’s not behind it?”
“I do. I think, Kelly, that you wanted to find someone to blame, and for some reason, you chose her. I think I may know why.”
“Oh? Please enlighten me.”
“You have a tendency to envy others. I think that stems from your childhood with your mother, as we’ve discussed. Your envy for Brindley didn’t happen on the island. It happened once you were rescued.”
“I see what you’re getting at. Because she was only there for a couple of months.”
“Exactly. She had it a lot easier than you and the rest of the women.”
I don’t say anything. Macy is always so on-target with me. Back at the retreat center on the island, I learned not to get so defensive with the therapists. I learned to listen to them. Really listen and dissect what they were saying as it concerned my life. And I understand.
I haven’t been able to stop getting defensive with others, but I’m certainly better at it with my therapists.
“You’re probably right.”
“Your childhood was something no one should have to live through. Your mother was a tyrant, and I’ve already told you how I think she probably suffered from borderline personality disorder. It’s a disorder that can be managed, but your mother never got any help. She was also probably bipolar, which again is a disorder that can be managed with medication and therapy, but she didn’t get any help. It’s why you felt you were always walking on eggshells around her. You didn’t know if she was going to be in one of her good moods or one of her bad moods.”
“Or in one of her bad moods that was masquerading as a good mood,” I say, “like when she deflated my volleyball on my birthday.”
“Yes. That’s such a sad story, Kelly, and it has affected your entire life.”
“I know. I was always so envious of the other children, the children who had mothers and fathers who loved them. Who didn’t send them to a closet and lock them in.”
“Exactly. You still struggle with envy today. But it’s time to move forward. Put that kind of envy behind you. You’re going to have a good life now, Kelly. Everyone is in your corner. The Wolfes—”
“I haven’t been treating the Wolfes very nicely.”
“I know. You’re going to have to make an effort there.”
“But their father—”
“The Wolfe siblings are not responsible for their father’s sins. You know that. They feel absolutely terrible about what their father put you women through, which is why they’ve tried so hard to help you.”
“I know. And I am grateful.”
“Have you told them that?”
“No. I haven’t. It’s just very hard for me to express gratitude. I haven’t had that much to be grateful for in my life.”
“Have you been journaling like I suggested?”
Macy is a big believer in journaling. I hate writing, so I have no choice but to shake my head. “It’s just not my thing.”
“True, it’s not everyone’s thing. Let me suggest something else. I want you to start a gratitude journal. You don’t have to write your feelings down or write paragraphs and paragraphs of anything. All you need to do is every night before you go to bed, write down two things that you’re thankful for that day.”
“All right. That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything huge. Maybe you had a sandwich at a deli that was particularly good. You’re thankful for that. It can be something that simple.”
“All right.” The turkey sandwich I had at the Tollhouse Café with Leif pops into my head. The salad was too sweet, but the sandwich was delicious.
Of course…that’s where he met Terry…
Macy hands me a pad of paper. It’s one of the yellow pads that she writes notes on. “You don’t even need any special journal. Use this.”
“This is a plain yellow legal pad.”
“Yes, it is. A gratitude journal doesn’t require any special tool, Kelly. Just paper and a pen or pencil. This will do just fine, and this way, you don’t have to go out and buy a notebook or journal or anything. Just keep this notepad by your bedside, and every night, before you turn off your light, write down the day’s date and two things that you’re grateful for. Maybe it’s something that happened that day. A good sandwich, like I suggested. Or maybe it’s something more important.”
“I don’t have a lot of gratitude about my life.”
“I know you don’t, but you should. You’re alive, Kelly. You’re young, you’re beautiful, and you’re smart. You have a new job. You have people looking out for you. You have so much going for you.”
Sometimes, when Macy talks to me like this, I actually believe her. I actually believe that I’m lucky to be alive.
I certainly don’t want to be dead. I do want to live. I’ve never thought about ending my life, not even on the island.
In fact, for me, the island wasn’t all that bad. I’ve told Macy that, and it makes her so sad. For her to know that my childhood was so awful that being abused and tortured and violated by depraved men while in captivity on an island wasn’t so bad for me.
Sure, they hurt me sometimes. They hurt me physically more than my mother ever did, but there’s one thing my mother did do for me. She made me numb. Immune to pain after a while. So it was easy for me to compartmentalize what happened to me. To accept my fate, and to know that it would eventually be over. One of them was actually nice to me. If “nice” includes violating me with a body part rather than a knife. I called him The Dark One, though he said his name was Mr. Smith.