Chapter 23 #2
I accepted the check and hugged her. She hugged me back so long and hard I could feel the vibration of her chest into mine with each raspy breath.
When she let go, she said, “I never wanted to say anything, especially when it came to Benjamin. I knew it wasn’t my place. But I’d always hoped you’d get him the help he needed.”
“It’s too much.”
“It isn’t. I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”
Waiting how long?
I felt rattled by her generosity and even more, by what lay behind it. An older woman’s trust in me. Her equal mistrust of my child, brewing for longer than I could have guessed.
I thanked her, took my glass into the mobile home, and came out again, with a final rushed minute for one last hug and more thanks of confused gratitude. I was about to go to my car when she said, “Did you hear about that missing girl? She’s from your area.”
“West of us,” I said. “Arlington Heights.”
I didn’t mention that I’d seen the girl much closer to our home, between Pleasant Park and Lake Forest. It seemed like planting a seed of suspicion or concern that didn’t merit planting.
Willa said, “The poor parents are furious because the police aren’t taking it seriously. They say she’s not a runaway. Wonder if it has something to do with those girls from your school.”
“No idea. Doesn’t it seem like there’s suddenly all these crimes against young women—all from the North Shore?”
Willa had eased back down into her lawn chair.
She lit a fresh cigarette. “Not at all. It was much worse than this, before your time. Not just the North Shore, but northern Illinois, southern Wisconsin. Your mother and I used to talk about it, though she always reminded me not to talk around you and your brother. She didn’t want you to be scared. ”
“When was that?”
“If she thought Ewan shouldn’t hear, he must have been only twelve or so. A year before she died. So you would have been . . . seven?
“But then the numbers started coming down,” she said. “Or at least the number of dead girls found. I suppose there were still runaways and unaccounted for missing persons after that, but not bodies. These things must come and go in waves.”
I checked my phone. I apologized again for the morbid topics. I thanked her again for the loan. I gave her a tight hug, squeezing her warm, round birdcage of a chest, sorry when I had to let her go.
When I got to Curtis’s office, I was several minutes late, but Benjamin wasn’t ready yet.
That was a first. I waited in the car until it got too hot.
Then I got out and wandered toward the shady side of the mother-in-law apartment, where some unwatered azaleas were browning and shriveling in the heat.
I looked around for a hose, and finding none, peered into the window instead.
On tiptoes I could make out a room empty except for a collection of free weights and kettlebells.
So, it wasn’t being sublet to some prim elderly lady, as I’d assumed.
And then again, I’d never seen another car or anyone coming and going.
A car door opened with a rusty creak, then slammed shut. Benjamin was done with his appointment and waiting for me.
“How’d it go?” I asked after I buckled in.
He pushed a piece of paper into my hand.
At first I thought it was a bill. Instead, it was a handwritten note on cream-colored letterhead: Benjamin mentioned that a detective brought up the possibility of using hypnosis to retrieve a memory but he’s nervous about the process.
I have client calls all afternoon but I’d like to phone this evening if that’s okay? Thank you. Curtis.
“This is great,” I said, backing out, windows still down. “He must think hypnosis can help you remember the car that picked up Izzy at the pool. That’s why we went there the other day, wasn’t it?”
“I told you. I told everyone. I didn’t see the car.”
“I’m not questioning your honesty. I just wonder if you’ve forgotten. It happens.” Maybe especially when you’re distracted by a girl stepping out of her underpants.
I heard Benjamin sigh and shift, bringing his knees up against the glove box, when he could simply move the seat back and have more room.
Sometimes, I thought he liked to pretend he was one of those tall, gangly teens who simply wouldn’t fit anywhere.
“I think you should try it. There’s nothing to be worried about.
It’s a myth that you lose control or do things against your will. ”
“Then what’s the point?”
“You’re suggestible. But only in a way that you want to be suggestible. That’s why it can be helpful for entering a deep enough trance for remembering lost details—and other things too. People have used it for chronic pain control, quitting bad habits, managing anxiety . . .”
“If it’s so great, you try it.”
I looked over. He wasn’t scowling or glaring.
After a minute, I said, “Okay. If it would make you feel better knowing I tried it first and didn’t end up flapping around like a chicken, then I will. I’ll ask Dr. Campbell to hypnotize me. It’s a deal.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see his half smile.
I’d reached the end of the white fence, where we normally turned left onto a larger street that led us back toward Green Bay Road.
“Look at that,” I said, feeling lighter already. A small lane ran behind the horse pasture, into a deep stand of woods, toward a sign I couldn’t read from this distance. I drove slowly, wheels churning gravel, until the font became legible.
GROVE ACADEMY, EST. 1936.
The dense canopy of trees enclosing the road made it look like an enchanted tunnel.
We crept forward, my foot completely off the gas until the road branched.
A sign indicated dormitories to the left, main buildings to the right.
Around a bend, the shadows parted and a red roof appeared, fronted by a half-circle drive.
One side of the main building sloped up like the prow of a ship, decorated with stained glass.
“I applied to work here, three days ago,” I told Benjamin. “I knew the school was nearby, but I didn’t realize it was this close to Dr. Campbell’s office.”
“Yeah, he says the office and house came with the teaching job,” Benjamin said.
“That’s a great perk.”
The oaks here were taller than at Summit, with thicker trunks and gnarlier branches. They reminded me of some black-and-white photo I’d seen, taken in France. All of the signage, I noticed, matched Curtis’s gold-on-green professional clinic sign.
As we watched, a nun in a black habit and thick-soled white running shoes exited the front door, saw us waiting at the bottom of the drive, and waved before continuing to her red Volkswagen Golf.
“Look at that, Mom,” he said. “Even a nun has a cooler car than you have.”
I smiled. “Cooler shoes, too.”
After a moment, he asked, “Are most of the kids who go here Catholic?”
“Only about half, according to their website. Plus they went coed last year. That could be convenient, if they offered a tuition waiver for staff family, the way Summit did.”
I waited for him to object. When he didn’t, I said, “I don’t think I’ll get it, though.”
“You might.”
The day’s peace offering.