Chapter Twenty

THE HIEROPHANT, REVERSED

 

I shove the heavy front door aside like it’s made of cardboard. Aunt Joanna, sitting at the kitchen island with tea and a magazine, looks up as I stomp into the room and slam the bottle on the counter. Startled, she looks up, her face full of concerned curiosity. Is it real or fake?

“What’s wrong?” Her voice has just the right amount of sympathy.

Too perfect. Is she really worried, or is this just from a lot of practice?

“What’s this for?” Anger simmers in my veins, but I manage to keep my voice calm. “You’re so against drugs, and this is in your car. Seconal!”

A flicker of hesitation in her eyes, Joanna sighs, her cheeks warming. “Yes, it’s Seconal. Sometimes I have a hard time sleeping, especially in a strange bed.”

“Really. You’re so worried about me taking something, when you’ve got a bottle of hard-core sleeping pills?”

“It’s a little embarrassing, but yes.”

Frustration bubbles from my chest into my throat, screaming to be let out, but shouting at her isn’t going to get to the truth.

Deep breath.

“Well, I’m not saying you’re lying, but I know you aren’t taking these. I’ve been around drinking and drugs my whole life. I can tell who’s using, and you aren’t. You wouldn’t bring an empty bottle with you from San Diego, so that means you’re doing something else with them.”

Her face is crimson. She starts to say something, but I cut her off.

“At the same time, ever since I got here, I’ve had the symptoms Jennie had when she was taking pills. Sleeping like the dead and forgetting things. And the day I fainted—you know, the day you accused me.”

Frown lines appear as she shifts her weight on the stool.

“So tell me how that happened?”

She opens her mouth to answer but I interrupt her again. “I’ll tell you how that happened. You drugged me. You’ve been drugging me since I got here!”

Shiloh lifts her head from her water dish by the back door.

Joanna stiffens. “I have not. I would never. I did bring those pills with me, like I said, to help me sleep. There were only a few, and the empty bottle must have fallen out of my bag.” She sounds like she’s in control, but her finger traces the handle of the mug. An anxious move if there ever was one.

“You know, Rory, all I’ve tried to do since I got here is help you. After I told you about Steve, I thought we were going to be friends. Then you accuse me of stealing from you, and now this.”

A standard passive-aggressive move, turning the blame onto me, but it’s not going to work.

“Don’t even start. I never gave you that bracelet, and you know it. Telling me all these sad stories about you and my dad. I have enough going on here without all your bullshit.”

“Exactly.” She shakes her head and sighs. “As soon as I heard about your mother—who was always too out of it to keep in touch—I left my gallery to come here and help you. I always tried to help both her and Steve. I begged her to go to rehab more than once, you know. When she died, I knew you’d be all alone, trying to deal with this house and figure out what to do next. Then, when you got here, you were so rude. You yelled at me for simply getting started on the massive pile of work in the library. They were shocked at your behavior too. Cam didn’t say anything because it was your first night, and we all knew you were tired.”

Liar. Cam and Star weren’t shocked by me. They were shocked by her showing up and taking over.

“I wasn’t tired that night, not until after our little tea party. But Cam did say something that night. He told me he was on my side, and anything I wanted to do, that’s what we’re doing.”

“Well, of course he said that. What else could he say to someone he has to work for? Think about that night. Didn’t you notice Cam and Star left right after dinner? That’s why I got out the pictures, so you could calm down. But I would never drug you. How could you think such a thing, after all we’ve been through with Steve and Jennie?”

My jaw clenches. That’s it. I’ve had enough of her lying, enough of her toxic concern. “Well, I don’t believe you. I want you to leave.”

“What?” Her mouth drops open.

“You heard me. Get out of my house. Pack up your stuff and get out of here. Get a hotel room in town, or drive to Phoenix. Or take some Seconal and sleep in your car, I don’t care. But you aren’t spending another night in this house.”

She shakes her head, and sits up straight, suddenly calm. “I would never leave you at a time like this.”

“The hell you won’t. Don’t you get it? I’m kicking you out.”

“No. I won’t go. Not when we finally found each other after all these years.” She clasps her hands together resolutely, resting her elbows on the counter. “We’ve had a couple of misunderstandings, but when people get thrown into a situation like this, it’s perfectly normal.”

“Normal? Nothing about my life has ever been normal. Not this, and certainly not you!”

“I know, sweetheart.” Her voice is low and thoughtful. “It took me a few days to truly understand the reason for your hostility when you came, and why you’re still so angry—angry enough to accuse me of drugging you.”

What kind of bullshit is this? “There is nothing for you to understand. You’re leaving.”

“Oh, but there is. I thought I knew, but I really underestimated what kind of life you lived with Jennie, how much damage you’ve dealt with. It’s not your fault. You’ve never been able to trust anyone in your life, not even your own mother.”

My mind races. The cold wall around my resolve crumbles a tiny bit, because she’s not wrong. Her words whirl around in my head, looking for the spot where they make sense, but no, I won’t let them.

“You drugged me. Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“I can’t believe you really think I’d do such a thing. I know we got off on some rough footing, but I didn’t know how much I’d start to care about you. I don’t have kids of my own, and you…you surprised me.” A tear spills down her cheek.

“What are you talking about?”

There’s no mystery here. I always say what I think, right when I think it. Maybe that’s the surprise, but it’s the only way adults ever listen to me.

“You surprised me because after your first night I started to really like you. You’re so tough, so funny, while you’ve been through so much. You put on this brave face and act like everything’s fine, and it just hurts my heart.” She looks up, her eyes shiny with tears. “Tonight after you called 911, I realized what you’ve really been going through. It must have been agony to make another emergency call. I saw it on your face when you came downstairs. You’re not just grieving for your mom. You’re dealing with trauma. You have PTSD.”

First Liz, and now Joanna? “Post-traumatic stress disorder? I don’t have that.”

PTSD is what soldiers get, and people who’ve been through violence—actual trauma. But as soon as the words come out of my mouth, a seed of doubt lodges in my brain like a sticker in my shoe.

The flashes of Jennie’s last night on earth, the sounds and smells that overwhelmed me, feeling so fragile the wrong touch could shatter me into a thousand jagged pieces. When my brain is reliving something, trying to make sense of something that makes no sense, that’s PTSD.

“Yes, Rory, you do,” she says gently. “It’s not just tonight, not just your mother’s terrible death. You’ve been dealing with ongoing trauma for years, and it’s finally catching up to you. It’s the reason for all of your trust issues. It also explains those forgetful moments you’ve been having. I bet you’ve had some pretty strange dreams too.”

Her words sound like a statement but it’s a question, and as soon as our eyes meet, she has her answer. Another seed digs in beside the first.

“Please, you have to listen. I went through the same thing after Steve died. I just didn’t make the connection. Now that I understand your situation, there’s no way I can leave you here alone. Surely you see that.”

“I’m not alone. Star’s here.” My stubborn tone covers the uneasiness spreading in my chest. Maybe she’s right. Everything she’s saying about PTSD makes sense. When Liz explained it I didn’t believe her, but the brain fog, the forgetfulness, the anxiety that turns into anger—it all fits.

“Of course you have Star. She’s your friend, and a loyal one, too. But what does she know about PTSD? She’s not as mature as you are, and she might take something you say the wrong way.”

The other day. Star crazy-driving down the driveway, tossing me around in the truck bed because she was jealous. She does take things pretty personally.

“And she’ll be busy taking care of Cam when he comes home,” Aunt Joanna continues. “You’d be basically on your own all day. How are you going to finish the inventory by yourself, when every box is full of memories that could trigger the same kind of experience you had today?”

I have no answer. My mind jumps to the box of Jennie’s mementos—her cards, the antique key that holds smothering darkness, and that thick folder full of newspaper clippings about her life.

I wonder what else lurks in the office to trigger my own memories, or worse, someone else’s lingering shadow visions. The visions Joanna knows nothing about.

“No,” she insists. “I could never do that. We’re the only family we have left in this world. We’ll just put this behind us and focus on helping poor Cam, and finishing this inventory. Can you do that with me?”

Her troubled eyes and tearstained face remind me of Jennie. How many mistakes she made, how many times she was sorry and promised never again. How many times those promises were broken. Promises mean nothing.

But my mother had a disease. No matter how much she loved me, she was an addict, her failures controlled by the darkness. Those desperate promises always came with fear in her eyes. Even though she meant every word, she knew it was only a matter of time before it all fell apart again. She knew it, and so did I.

But we forgave and pretended because at the end of the day we only had each other, and living with the lie was better than opening up a truth we couldn’t change, one that would tear us apart.

There’s none of that in Joanna’s eyes. No desperation or fear, just compassion. She does care about me, as much as I’ve resisted it—and as long as we’re being honest, I’m starting to care about her. That’s why finding the bottle feels like such a betrayal.

“I wasn’t very nice to you at first, and I’m sorry.” I admit.

“Oh honey, you don’t have to apologize. That’s all in the past now. Let’s focus on the future. We still have so much to do.”

“I’m sure I could handle this house on my own,” I continue, sure of no such thing, “but there’s just so much.”

She stands up, gathers me into a gentle hug, and I let her. “And this little family of ours will get the job done. Thank you for understanding. I don’t know what I’d do if we lost each other.” She takes the pill bottle and drops it in the trash. “Let this be the end of it. A new beginning for the two of us.”

The more I think about it, the more she makes sense. Joanna would be embarrassed about taking sleeping pills, given our family history. Forgive and forget, that’s what families do, right?

The knot in my stomach unravels, and I hug her back. Just like when we talked about her life with my dad, a dose of honesty makes me feel like the fresh start I was hoping for when I came here is finally happening. As much as I’ve been fighting it, there’s finally someone who understands.

“It’s getting late. Why don’t you go to bed, and if Star calls, I’ll go pick her up. I’m pretty sure she’s going to be there until morning.”

~ * ~

As I climb the stairs, the weight of the day presses down, making my shoulders sag and my legs feel like they’re filled with wet sand. Tired, but not sleepy. The candy wrapper is right where I left it.

Shiloh scoots ahead of me and plops down on her spot in front of the closet. I change into pajamas and lie on the bed, holding Ian’s turquoise and reading the scrap of paper with his phone number on it twenty times, wondering if I should call. He said to call him, but suddenly I’m nervous.

It’s not the actual calling—this is 1990 after all, and girls can call guys—it’s what I want to talk to him about that makes me hesitate. Oh hi Ian, what’s this shimmering vibration coming out of your hands that calms mesquite bushes and heals electrical burns?

Well he did say he would check on Star, and that has nothing to do with auras or gnarly roots trying to get me. I punch in the numbers. He answers on the second ring.

“Hello?” He’s got Metallica playing.

“Hi, it’s Rory.”

“Hey. Hi.” The music drops so I can barely hear it. “Everything okay over there? Did you get the power back on?”

“Yeah. Did you see Star?”

“When I left, Cam was still in surgery, but Star seemed fine. She was watching TV and eating Cheetos.” His laugh warms me, spilling smooth aura energy out of the phone. It touches every nerve in my body, vibrating like a guitar string.

“I’m waiting for her to call, actually. She tries to be all tough, but it’s mostly an act.”

“You guys did great today. You kept Mr. Cameron calm and warm, and elevated his leg—everything you needed to do.”

“That was my aunt, mostly. She kept us all breathing tonight, not just Cam.”

“Aww Rory, don’t sell yourself short. You were just as steady as she was. It was like… like you’ve done this before.” He’s asking without asking, opening a door. Again I want to tell him everything, tell him all my truths because his gentle voice fits me the same way his arm fit mine when we climbed out of the arroyo.

“I was pretty freaked out calling 911,” I admit. “But yeah, I have done this before. A few times, before my mom died.” Saying this out loud to Ian feels more like a bruise than the usual open wound.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it was for you tonight.”

“It was terrible for a few minutes. I felt a lot better when you showed up, though.” My cheeks are burning. It’s a good thing he can’t see me through the phone.

“Everyone’s always glad to see the ambulance.”

Not the ambulance, Ian. You.

“I’m sure.” My laugh doesn’t sound nervous, a miracle.

“Any chance I could see you when it’s not an emergency?”

My heart flips over. “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

“I’m working the next few days, but maybe we could do something on my day off.”

“Sure, that sounds great.” Can he hear my heart pounding? My ears are ringing too, a funny doo-doo-doo sound. There it is again.

“Oh Ian, the call waiting is beeping. Probably Star.”

“Okay then. Talk to you tomorrow, Summer Winters.” I can feel his smile because it matches my own.

“You and that name.” As if it bothers me. “Bye.”

I press the button and let go. “Hey, Star! What’s going on? How’s your dad?”

“He’s still a little groggy, but good. The surgery’s over and we’re in his room.”

“Thank God. You ready to come home?”

“No, I’m going to stay over. They brought a cot.” I hear Cam’s voice in the background, then Star. “Dad, I’m staying until morning, so get over it. See? He’s obviously fine, he’s already giving me crap.”

“Give him a hug for me. I’ll come get you first thing.”

“Cool. Anything going on there?”

The drama with Aunt Joanna flickers in my mind, but no. This isn’t the time, and Star would never understand. Besides, everything’s settled now.

“Well, one thing. Ian gave me his number.”

“Yes. Told you he likes you. Are you going to call him?”

“Already did. You interrupted us.”

Star pauses. “Whoa. I don’t know what’s freakier—you actually calling him, or the fact that there’s call waiting in that old place.”

~ * ~

Everything that happened today whirls through my head in slow motion, circling around the name of what’s been happening in my head—PTSD.

I wonder if Jennie had it too. Getting visions of her dead friend had to be traumatic, especially when they found Mary-Alice’s body.

When I turn out the light, I sink fast into the darkness. I was going to check out that tarot card with the numbers, but it’ll have to wait until morning. Then find the room key.

I’ll check the car when it’s light out. Maybe it fell out of my back pocket somewhere in the hospital and someone found it. Call tomorrow. The sliver of candy wrapper is still under my door. It’s not going anywhere.

A shadow gathers in the corner behind the door. Shiloh sighs and says nothing, so it must be all right. Hi, Mom? A muffled thump comes from Aunt Joanna’s room, then the black velvet curtain of sleep closes in.