Intensive Therapy Part 7

"h.e.l.lo, Gregory. Are you all right? How's Melinda?"

"I'm fine, Mother. It's quiet. Melinda's in her room. When will you be home?"

"Soon. We're leaving the restaurant. Why?"

"Brad invited me for the weekend. His family's going to Mount Snow. It's been cold enough to make snow in Vermont. Brad s...o...b..ards, and he says I'll pick it up right away. If we leave now, we'll beat the traffic and be settled in early tonight, so we can be there when the lifts open in the morning. The lifts close at four on Sunday, so I'll be home by ten. I'll do my homework in the car. Can I go? Please?"

"I'll ask your father. How can you read in a moving car? The thought makes me nauseous."

"I researched your condition online, Mother. It's a neurological disorder called benign positional vertigo. There are exercises you can do to make it better. We'll work on it together if you like. I'll e-mail you the link."

Such an amazing child, Victoria thought. She and Martin agreed that Gregory could go on the trip.

"They can get me in fifteen minutes. So I might not see you. Is that okay?"

"All right," Victoria replied. "Make sure you wear your helmet."

"You worry too much, Mother. Google 'progressive muscle relaxation.' It'll help you control your mind."

"Wear your helmet. Promise or I won't let you go."

"Okay. I'll take my skate helmet with me."

"Promise you'll wear it. Swear."

"I swear. Progressive muscle relaxation, Mother. Promise me you'll do it."

"We'll see."

"Swear."

Victoria laughed. "I swear I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Stop being a lawyer, Mother, and swear."

"Okay, I swear."

"I'll do my homework, but you have to do yours. Fair?"

"Fair is fair. Have a wonderful time, Gregory."

"Love you. Tell Martin I love him, too. Bye."

When Victoria and Martin returned home, Gregory was gone. He had made his bed, straightened his desk, laid out his clothes, and arranged the pillows and throws precisely the way she preferred.

Victoria tapped gently on Melinda's door. No answer. She knocked harder; still nothing. It took four more tries, each progressively louder. Finally, she hollered, "Melinda, open this door now."

"What is it?" Melinda responded lethargically.

"Melinda, honey, there's something we need to discuss."

The k.n.o.b twitched, setting the door ajar. Looking at Melinda's room made Victoria's stomach turn. Dozens of books lay strewn about. Melinda hadn't touched dinner, which she'd deposited on the floor next to two half-empty yogurt containers and a banana skin. Melinda's shoulders slumped, and her skin looked pasty.

"Cut the 'honey' c.r.a.p, Mother," sneered Melinda, sitting crosslegged by her bed. "You say 'honey' whenever you're going to complain about me."

"Melinda, you have to get to sleep early enough to get up on time for school. You're up all hours with the iPod piped into your headphones. And that disgusting sound your phone makes croaks all night long like a bullfrog."

"No way. You shut off the Internet at eleven."

"We're not morons, Melinda. We know about text messages. There were hundreds a few months ago."

"Admit it," Melinda snarled. "You hate me."

"Hate you? This isn't about me liking you or not. It's about life in our house."

"Our house? Since when do I have any say here?"

"We've always let you pick your furniture, your clothes, your food, your friends."

"Friends. What friends? Everybody hates me."

"We don't."

"'We'? Which we? You? You and Daddy? You and Gregory? You love Gregory a hundred times more than me. Why did you even have me?"

"Why? Because we wanted you. I wanted a daughter more than anything. Don't you know that?"

"Whatever. It doesn't matter."

"Melinda, I don't want to fight," Victoria said, trying to be patient. "I just want our family to work. Your job is to get educated, and you can't do that if you're sleeping until noon. And I hate being your human alarm clock."

Melinda walked to the opposite corner and turned her back. "School is a f.u.c.king joke. All my teachers want is for me to sit like a doofus while they preach."

"We've been over that, honey ..."

"Stop the 'honey' s.h.i.t. I told you I don't want to hear it."

"I'm sorry," Victoria said. "Daddy and I have talked with your teachers. They understand you have a lot to say, but they don't want you interrupting cla.s.s. They want you to wait until discussion time."

"You never take my side. It's always my fault."

"That's not so. We'll send you to another school if you want. You could get into Andover or Exeter. You're brilliant. And witty."

"Sure; ship me off to New Hampshire, so you don't have to deal with me."

"That's not true. We want you to feel challenged. Wouldn't you love being around students whose minds work like yours? Why won't you consider it?"

"You can't wait until I'm eighteen, can you? I can just see you signing me up for the Army. 'Please take my daughter. She's got a lot of talent, but she needs discipline.'"

"What's so wrong with discipline? Raw talent's not enough, Melinda. Look at your father and me. We didn't turn out so bad."

"Spare me the litotes, Mother. You think you're such hot s.h.i.t, don't you."

What a nightmare-Abington in a reverse mirror, Victoria thought. "I know I'm no 'hot s.h.i.t' of a mother to you, Melinda. You've made that perfectly clear. But what I am or am not has nothing to do with when you go to sleep. You make noise at night. It keeps us up, and it's not good for you. Surely you can apprec-"

"Appreciate what? I love this speech. The 'after all we've done for you ... ' It's such total f.u.c.king bulls.h.i.t. You don't give two s.h.i.ts about me. You never did."

"This can't go on. We have to do something. Maybe counseling."

"Great. Pack me off to some shrink, because you don't like me. You're f.u.c.ked up, and I get blamed."

"Look, Melinda, there are rules. If you can't follow them, we'll make other arrangements. There are other people in this house besides you. And yes, we are going to counseling, whether you like it or not."

"f.u.c.k you." Melinda grabbed a porcelain figurine of an ice dancer she had won at a skating compet.i.tion and hurled it to the floor, smashing it to pieces at Victoria's feet. "Are you happy, now? See what you made me do?" Melinda screamed, breaking into tears. "I wish you were dead."

"She's so awful," Victoria told Martin moments later. "There's no reasoning with her. It wasn't a discussion, it was a diatribe. My head feels like a punching bag. I'll be awake all night for sure."

"Do you want some tea?" said Martin, leading Victoria into the kitchen.

"I heard it in Gregory's voice; he was relieved to get out of the house. I can't believe this nightmare. I couldn't wait to get away from my parents' house. Now my son can't wait to get away from his."

"What happened in there?"

Victoria reported the details like a war correspondent.

"This changes things. I agree, we have to do something," Martin said. "What are you doing next week?"

"Jury selection in the Barlow trial starts Monday at ten. Tomorrow, I have to prep the rest of my witnesses. They're in from out-of-state; I can't stand them up."

"We've got to help."

"There's someone I'd like to talk to," Victoria said, wondering how receptive her old therapist from college, a.s.suming she could find him, would be to hear from her. "Whatever we're dealing with, I'm afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"That something horrible will happen. I'm failing as a mother, Martin. I'm failing. And I don't know what to do."

15.

Monday, December 7, 1981

On the last week of the term, Victoria arrived for therapy in a panic about failing biology. The impending catastrophe would blemish her otherwise perfect transcript.

She promptly spilled her herbal tea on her skirt and on her lab notes, which scattered on the floor. She shot out of her seat in a fury. "G.o.ddammit! Now what?"

"Here, let me help you," Dr. Speller said, barely containing his smile. The more fl.u.s.tered Victoria became, the harder he choked to keep from laughing. "My, my, what a mess," he said, helping to wipe everything up. "We should write a paper together about this: 'Advances in Psychoa.n.a.lytic Technique.'"

Victoria laughed with him, then said, "I don't know what I'm going to do about biology. The only reason I took it was because my suitemate said educated women need to understand medical terminology. But everyone in my cla.s.s is pre-med or a science major who's already taken biology and chemistry in high school. It's not like English, where I remember every character from every novel I've ever read. I don't think scientifically, and there's just too much to memorize. My GPA will be ruined for sure."

"What are you working on now?"

"DNA transcription. The professor uses an overhead projector. This morning, a fly landed on a transparency of a DNA helix. It lolled across the screen like it was laughing at me. I have no idea what's going on."

"There must be someone who can help you."

"There's my TA, Leslie Kilway. She teaches lab and recitation. She's preparing us for finals."

"Can't she help you?"

"I'm not sure how I feel about her."

"Are you saying there's a connection between how you feel about Leslie and whether or not she can help you?"

"Like I said, I'm not sure how I feel about her."

"Well, do you like her?"

"'Like?' I don't even know what that means. 'Interested' is better. I'm interested in her, and I think she feels the same way about me. But there's something about her that turns me off."

"How so?"

"I know Leslie wants to help-even though I'm standoffish she's offered to go over the material; she must know how much trouble I'm in grade-wise-but the way she acts makes me think she's dull."

"Dull. Do you know anything else about her?"

"She's finished medical school and is doing brain research."

"You say she's trying to help. Let's talk about what that feels like for you."

"Jesus Christ, do we have to do this today?" Victoria said irritably. "All I said was that someone is trying to help me. Why do you have to make such a big deal of it?" When Dr. Speller kept silent, she glared at him; when he didn't respond right away, she asked, "Don't you have anything to say?"

"Not yet," he responded firmly.

Victoria glared at him. He didn't flinch; it was clear he was going to outwait her. She resumed, "Leslie asked if I wanted a one-on-one review of photosynthesis and the Krebs cycle. She said that and a question about the genetic code would be on the exam."

"Can you tell me more about Leslie?"