Sliding On The Edge (18 page)

Tell her about the
picture, Shawna. Tell her what you wrote, how you reject everyone.
Tell her!

But Shawna did exactly what Kay
expected. She shrugged.

“
Do you know what I mean
when I use the word
depressed
?”

“
No.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have
brought her here. Maybe the school’s way off base. I need some kind
of grandmother’s manual, because I know I’m doing everything wrong.
Pay attention, Kay. Pay attention. I’m trying.

“
I like ice
cream.”

What? What did she say
about ice cream?

“
Me too,” Dr. Lubell
said.

And Shawna’s smiling? What
did I miss? Pay attention
.

“
What do you want different
in your life?” Dr. Lubell asked, and Kay held her breath for the
answer. She had so many things she wanted to say.
I want my granddaughter to love me. I want to
love her. I want my son back. I want my life back the way it should
be.
But the question wasn’t hers to answer,
so she waited for what Shawna would say.

Shawna, the smile gone so quickly that
Kay doubted she’d seen it at all, sat with her eyes closed. Her jaw
was set in that way she held it when she wanted to explode, when
the full force of her anger ran free.

Yes
, Kay thought,
she holds back a lot
of what’s inside her. . . everything except language that could
singe a hide from twenty feet. That, she never holds
back.

Kay was tired and hot. She wanted to
rip off her suit and free her feet from their misery. She wanted to
get out of this office. So far, Dr. Lubell hadn’t done more than
ask a few questions. Was this all there was to counseling? What had
she expected? A miracle, that’s what.

Shawna opened her eyes at last. “I
want . . . to go home,” she said.

Home? Did she say,
home?
Kay leaned her head back against the
couch. Suddenly it was too heavy to hold up.

Chapter 34

Shawna

When the receptionist
introduces us, I’m thinking,
Who in the
hell is Shawna Stone?

You, dummy.

Me?

Yes. That’s your real
name.

Is that the name I’ll keep
forever?

Why not? Here lies Shawna Stone,
chiseled in . . . you guessed it, Stone!

Does having a real name
make me more real?

I think this is a question for the
shrink, who isn’t what I expected. I pictured her with thick specs
and bangs, but even as old as she must be, she still qualifies as
hot.

And I’m still trying to digest seeing
my grandmother in a black silk suit that curves over her hips. She
looks pretty sharp in her white silk shirt, with no plaid anywhere
in sight. A tiny gold chain gleams at her throat, and she’s wearing
black leather heels, which shoot her another two inches up into the
stratosphere.

Kay sits sweating on the couch, like
she’s just crossed the finish line. It’s time to play their game,
so I sit next to her and try on my obedient face.

The therapist sits opposite us on
another couch. Between us is a glass coffee-table with a stack of
magazines and a small silver bowl. The room around us glows with
light, but I don’t see a single lamp.

The shrink leans back and folds her
hands in her lap like she’s settling in for the long haul. “Do you
want to begin by talking about what’s brought you in to see me?”
She looks at me and then at Kay. I have an answer to her question,
but I’m not answering questions today. You want to hear what I’d
tell Ms. Shrink if I was in the mood? I’d say, a truck. A beat up,
hammered piece of shit. That’s what brought me here.

“
I only spoke with you on
the phone briefly, Mrs. Stone. But you seemed to feel it would be
helpful for you and Shawna if you could both talk to someone to
work through some family issues.”

What family issues? Maybe I need to
ask questions instead of answer them.

My grandmother leans forward and puts
her arms on her knees. “I’m worried about my granddaughter. Shawna
is—” She stares at the tabletop then sits back again, like she’s
rehearsing her words inside her head. “Her principal and her
teacher think she needs to talk to a professional who knows how to
work with a young person who . . . who might be . . .
depressed.”

Kay swallows hard and her gold chain
shines in the magic light. “I get the feeling she’s angry at me . .
. at everything and everybody. When she’s not angry, she doesn’t
seem to care about anything.”

I’m listening to her like
she’s talking about somebody I don’t know. It’s interesting to hear
her describe somebody, and how they act and what they feel. She’s
talking about Shawna Stone.
Don’t know
her. Sorry.

“
I’m not,” Kay clears her
throat, “handling the situation well. I really don’t know how.” Kay
sits back now, as though she’s used up her batteries and needs to
recharge.

The shrink nods. “Shawna, do you want
to say anything about your grandmother’s concern?”

I shake my head.

“
She said you seem angry at
her, and she’d like to understand what she can do to perhaps work
through that anger with you.”

I close my eyes. I hate being here,
and I shove the stack of magazines across the table. They hit the
silver bowl and it clatters to the center.

“
What’s all this crap about
me being angry?”

“
I can see I’ve pissed you
off. But I’d really like to know you, so I don’t want to do that
again.”

I can’t read her face. I can’t tell
where she’s going with all this blah blah. I don’t say another
word.

“
I see that you don’t want
to talk about how you’re feeling.” She cocks her head at me, and I
stare back. “That’s okay. Maybe another time.”

Who’s the nut here? Why would I talk
to her about anything? I’m being drilled by a psycho-shrink hottie,
and corralled by granny-in-a-suit next to me. I’d like to walk out
right now, just slam the door in their faces. I didn’t expect this
party with mood lighting. I’ve got other things to do with my
time.

Kay’s gone mute and practically buried
herself into the leather couch. I wonder if she’ll sink inside and
disappear. The hottie is looking at me, her expression as flat as
if she’s ironed it on.

It’s so quiet I can hear
myself breathing.
How did I let Kay drag
me here? Why? How can I get out of here, ASAP?

“
Okay, I’m pissed.” She used
that word so . . . I . . .CAN . . .TOO. I glare at my
grandmother.

“
Do you want to talk about
why you’re pissed?”

“
I hate . . . your crappy
questions . . . your—” I wave my arms “—crappy room. I feel like
hurling this damned silver bowl against the wall and getting the
hell out of here.”

“
I can understand your
wanting to be someplace besides this stuffy office.” She looks
around her. “But are you willing to help out your grandmother and
me by giving us a little time here?”

Huh?

“
How about telling me where
you’d like to be instead? Where do you like spending your
time?”

I shoot up to my feet. “What you’re
asking, it’s nobody’s business.”

“
You’re right, but I just
want to know you better. Forget I asked you that
question.”

“
Shawna, sit down please,”
Kay says this softly, like she’s too tired to raise her
voice.

I melt into the chair. Suddenly I’m
tired, too. I feel like I could sleep for a week.

“
Let’s start again, shall
we?” The shrink’s looking at me, waiting.

I’m not going to talk to her
anymore.

“
Is there anything you feel
comfortable sharing about yourself? Something that will help your
grandmother know what she can do to make things better between
you?

Now Kay is looking at me, too. I’ve
got four eyes boring holes in me.

I shake my head and study the panels
with their mystery light. Not one more word. No. I feel Monster’s
nudge, and the shaky feeling travels down into my stomach. I’d put
my head on my lap if I were alone—if these two women weren’t at me
with all this drool. I don’t want anybody to know me. And if I
needed help, I’d ask for it. I don’t need anything from anybody.
Leave me alone. I do fine by myself, alone. Me and Mom . . . we do
just fine alone. It goes south when other people mess with us . .
.or with her. I push my hands under my thighs and wait for Monster
to scram.

“
Do you have any idea why
your principal might think you’re depressed?”

Hottie isn’t letting up. I
shrug.

Kay rubs her eyes.

“
Do you know what I mean
when I use that word,
depressed
? It’s used so much that I
wonder if anyone really knows what it means anymore.”

“
No.” That slips out before
I catch myself.

“
Would you like to find
out?”

Would I? Hell, no. De = down, Pressed
= pushed flat. That’s enough.

For a while the shrink watches me,
then asks, “What makes you happy, Shawna?”

Happy. That’s the word
Principal Green used. What is it about these people in California,
always going on about being happy? They don’t get it, do they?
Happy isn’t something I know much about. And even if it comes, it
doesn’t stay.
Then that moment slips into
my mind.

In a place I don’t
remember, the woman’s long red braid is tied at the end with a
velvet ribbon, and lying over her shoulder like a thick red
rope.

I’m five. Mom is gone. The
woman knocks at the door and asks why I’m crying. Then she props me
up on pillows and feeds me ice cream, and I lick the spoon and she
laughs and I laugh—

“
I like ice cream,” I
say.

She smiles. “Me, too.”

I’ve said something
right?

“
If someone asked you what
you wanted to change in your life, would you feel like answering
that?” the shrink asks.

And while I’ve squeezed my eyes shut
against the light, I’m wondering who in the hell wrote her
script?

I don’t want anything to be different
in my life because there’s no way anything else will be any better
than what’s happening right now.

But she’s the first person who ever
asked ME what I want. Me, Shawna Stone, or whoever the hell I am.
Mom never asks me what I want. She’s always telling me what SHE
wants . . . needs . . . has to have, or SHE’LL just die!

Kay never says anything, one way or
the other, except for me to follow her rules. Any day she’ll hook
me to a lead and trot me around in a circle until I learn the steps
as good as her gray does.

What
do
I want?
Give her something, Shawna. Anything
.
And then go over that question later, when you’re not being
squeezed—de + pressed—for an answer.

I open my eyes and look straight at
her. “I want . . . to go home.” When I hear myself say the word,
home, I don’t believe what flashes in my brain. I don’t see the
Casino Royale, with all its lights and its racket. No. It’s that
damn red house with the barn, and Kenny Fargo hurling spit on the
porch, with Kay leading the gray out to the trail, and me holding a
stupid apple, my leg over the fence reaching out to
Magic.

The shrink gives me that smile again.
“Okay. We’re done for today. I agreed to start by meeting with you
and your grandmother together, briefly. Next time we’ll talk
longer, and it’ll just be you and me.” She stands. “Now, Shawna, go
on home. It’s a nice place to think over what we’ve talked about
today, right?”

What just happened here?
Did she just trap me? Did she make me say what she wanted me to
say?

She has that look—the one a card
counter at the blackjack table gets when he knows what the dealer’s
about to lay down.

I can’t meet her eyes her right
now.

Chapter 35

Kay

“
Shawna, I don’t want to
hear anymore!” Kay’s head had been pounding since she’d left for
the appointment with the therapist. During the session, she’d felt
a vise tighten around her skull, and the fight with Shawna on the
way home only made the pain worse. She gripped the wheel tight and
willed herself not to throw up. She’d never had a migraine in her
life, but she’d never had a possibly suicidal granddaughter before
either.

Being jostled by the truck wasn’t
helping. She rubbed her eyes and decided she might have to consider
buying one that actually had springs and didn’t look like it had
been through a demolition derby.

She turned off the main road
onto what she referred to as
her arroyo
seco—her dry brook.
More like a bucking
bronco ride to hell.