AS A PSYCHOLOGIST, I’m trained to observe what isn’t said—the unspoken. Because, often, the most important part of a patient’s story is what they deliberately or subconsciously leave out.
And there’s something I didn’t tell Eddie when he asked me to make a list—what Pearl told me this morning. When Mom first arrived in LA, she was relieved to have put New York behind her, but she wouldn’t tell Pearl why, not even when Pearl asked her, which was why Pearl was surprised when, years later, Mom decided to return to New York for her college reunion.
Why would Mom have gone to the reunion if she was happy to put New York behind her? I guess, maybe, if enough time had passed, she might’ve had a change of heart.
But she also told me she was nervous before the trip. She said it was because some of her former classmates had gone on to have big theater careers, and she wondered if they’d still have anything in common. But maybe that wasn’t the reason. Maybe something happened to her in college that she was worried about revisiting.
When she returned from that trip, I saw her bruised body up close, which she said happened when she was mugged. After that incident, she warned me to stay away from New York. And I always did because Dad never seemed keen on me going there, either.
After he died, I was supposed to visit for a bachelorette weekend. But when my girlfriend called off her engagement, the weekend was called off too.
What was it about New York that made Mom so nervous about me going there? Did the Cadells try to go after her during the reunion weekend, and she worried they’d target me there if I went to college in the city or ever visited?
That doesn’t make sense, though, because if she’s still alive, it was her life in LA that she ultimately abandoned. And if she feared the Cadells might come after me, she would’ve been just as worried about it happening in LA.
Maybe she wasn’t worried about something happening to me in New York. Maybe she was nervous I’d discover something there. Something about her. Something that might end up compromising me …
I call several hospitals near NYU to see if they have any medical records of Mom being admitted as a patient after the mugging in 1997. A hospital record might provide more information about what really happened if what she told me wasn’t true.
I know it’s more than a long shot because of HIPAA laws, which I’m well versed in, but I’m desperate, so I still try. Every hospital employee I speak with tells me that I need to email them her death certificate and my identification as her daughter before they can look into it. Nobody can tell me when or if anyone from the records department will get back to me. Only one young woman even asks for my name and phone number to get back to me.
I know I’d have a better chance of getting answers in person. It’s harder to turn people away when they’re standing in front of you.
This is why I didn’t ask Eddie to put on the list what Pearl told me, because I would’ve come to the conclusion that I’ve reached now: I need to go to the one place Mom warned me to stay away from—New York City.
I book a red-eye flight for tonight and text Eddie to let him know. I also apologize because we were supposed to go to the Four Seasons in Santa Barbara this weekend to celebrate our second anniversary, where we celebrated our first last year. He immediately texts me back not to worry, that we can reschedule our trip, and that he’s contacting Paul to see if I can stay with him and Anthony at their apartment in New York.
After a couple of minutes, Eddie calls me.
“I just spoke with Paul. His dad had emergency heart surgery last night in North Carolina, where his parents live. He and Anthony are leaving soon. They’ve offered to let you stay at their place and can leave you a key with one of their neighbors.”
“I think I’ll feel more comfortable staying at a hotel,” I say. I don’t tell him the reason why—that I’ll feel safer being around people than in an apartment alone.
“Okay,” Eddie says.
“Thanks for asking him,” I say, and we hang up.
Since yesterday morning I’ve gone from sadness to anger to sadness for being put in this situation. Now I’m back to anger again.
If Mom’s still alive, finding her is no longer just about warning her that she’s in danger. It’s about me being able to safely return to my life, which it doesn’t seem I’ll be able to do until I figure out what’s going on. People are following me. I don’t even feel safe being in my own home now.
I went through hell after her death and have worked hard to move past it and build a life for myself. And now, because of whatever web she got herself entangled in decades ago, that life is at risk.
I start packing.