Speaking in Tongues (3 page)

“Okay, then the next day the bears came out of
the forest again and started whispering, blah, blah, blah, you get the picture. Then that night they went back into the woods. And this time some old man said
he
knew what they were talking about. They were gossiping about the people in town. And so everybody figured that everybody else knew all their secrets and so they went home and closed all their windows and doors and they were afraid to go out in public.

“Then—the third day—the bears came out again. And it was the same thing, only this time the duke or mayor or somebody said,
‘I
know what they’re saying! They’re making plans to attack the village.’ And they went to get torches to scare away the bears but they accidentally set a house on fire and the fire spread and the whole town burned down.”

Megan felt a shiver. Her eyes slipped to the top of the desk and she couldn’t look up at Dr. Peters. She continued, “Tate only read it to me once but I still remember the last line. It was, ‘And do you know what the bears were really whispering about? Why, nothing at all. Don’t you know? Bears can’t talk.’ ”

This is so bogus,
Crazy Megan scoffs.
What’s he going to think about you now?

But the doctor calmly asked, “And the story was upsetting?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ’cause everybody’s lives got ruined for no reason.”

“But there
was
a reason for it.”

Megan shrugged.

He continued, “The town was destroyed because
people projected their own pettiness and jealousy and aggression on some innocent creatures. That’s the moral of the story. How people destroy themselves.”

“I guess. But I was just thinking it wasn’t much of a kid’s story. I guess I wanted
The Lion King
or
101 Dalmatians.”
She smiled. But Peters didn’t. He looked at her closely.

“What happened after your father finished it?”

Why did he ask that? she wondered, her palms sweating.
Why?

Megan looked away and shrugged again. “That’s all. Bett came and picked me up and I went home.”

“This is hard, isn’t it, Megan?”

Get a clue.

Quiet! Megan snapped to C.M.

She looked at Dr. Peters. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Would it be easier to write down your feelings? A lot of my patients do that. There’s some paper.”

She took the sheets that he nodded toward and rested them on a booklet he pushed forward for her to write on. Reluctantly Megan picked up a pen.

She stared at the paper. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say what you feel.”

“I don’t know how I feel.”

“Yes, you do.” He leaned close. “I think you’re just afraid to admit it.”

“Well—”

“Say whatever comes into your mind. Anything. Say something to your mother first. Write a letter to her. Go!”

Another wave of that scalding heat.

Spotlight on Crazy Megan . . .

He whispered, “Go deep.”

“I can’t think!”

“Pick one thing. Why are you so angry with her?”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

She clenched her fist. “Because . . .”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Because she’s . . . She goes out with these young men. It’s like she thinks she can cast spells on them.”

“So what?” he challenged her. “She can date who she wants. She’s single. What’s
really
pissing you off?”

“I don’t know!”

“Yes, you
do!”
he shot back.

“Well, she’s just a businesswoman and she’s engaged to this dweeb. She’s not a fairy princess at all like she’d like to be. She’s not a cover girl.”

“But she wears an exotic image? Why does she do that?”

“I guess to make herself happy. She wants to be pretty and young forever. She thinks this asshole Brad’s going to make her happy. But he isn’t.”

“She’s
greedy?
Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes!” Megan cried. “That’s it! She doesn’t care about
me.
The night on the water tower? She was at Brad’s and she was supposed to call me. But she didn’t.”

“Who? Her fiancé’s?”

“Yeah. She went up there, to Baltimore, and she never called. They were
fucking,
I’ll bet, and she forgot about me. It was just like when I was little. She’d leave me alone all the time.”

“By yourself?”

“No, with sitters. My uncle mostly.”

“Which uncle?”

“My aunt Susan’s husband. My mom’s twin sister. She’s been real sick most of her life, I told you. Heart problems. And Bett spent all this time with her in the hospital when I was young. Uncle Harris’d baby-sit me. He was real nice, but—”

“But you missed your mother?”

“I wanted her to be with
me.
She said it was only for a little while because Aunt Susan was real sick. She said she and Susan were totally close. Nobody was closer to her than her sister.”

He shook his head, seemed horrified. “She said that to
you?
Her own daughter?”

Megan nodded.

“You
should have been the person closest to her in the world.”

These words gripped her by the throat. She wiped more tears and struggled for breath. Finally she continued, “Aunt Susan’d do anything to have kids but she couldn’t. Because of her heart. And here Mom got pregnant with me and Susan felt real bad about that. So Mom spent a lot of time with her.”

“There’s no excuse for neglecting children. None. Absolutely none.”

Megan snagged a Kleenex and wiped her face.

“And you didn’t let yourself be angry? Why not?”

“Because my mother was doing something good. My aunt’s a nice lady. She always calls and asks about me and wants me to come visit her. Only I don’t ’cause . . .”

“Because you’re angry with her. She took your mother away from you.”

A chill. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

“Come on, Megan. What else? Why the guilt?”

“Because my aunt needed my mom more back then. When I was little. See—”

Crazy Megan interrupts.
Oh, you can’t tell him that!

Yes, I can. I can tell him anything.

“See, Uncle Harris killed himself.”

“He did?”

“I felt so bad for my aunt.”

“Forget it!” he snapped.

Megan blinked.

“You’re Bett’s
daughter.
You should have been the center of her universe. What she did was inexcusable. Say it. Say it!”

“I . . .”

“Say it!”

“It was inexcusable!”

“Good. Now write it to her. Every bit of the anger you feel. Get it out.”

The pen rolled from Megan’s lap onto the floor. She bent down and picked it up. It weighed a hundred pounds. The tears ran from her nose and eyes and dripped on the paper.

“Tell her,” the doctor said. “Tell her that she’s greedy. That she turned her back on her daughter and took care of her sister instead.”

“But,” Megan managed to say, “that’s greedy of
me.”

“Of
course
it’s greedy. You were a child, you’re supposed to be greedy. Parents are there to fill
your
needs. That’s the whole
point
of parents.
Tell
her what you feel.”

Her head swam—from the electricity in the black eyes boring into hers, from her desire, her fear.

From her anger . . .

In ten seconds, it seemed, she’d filled the entire sheet. She dropped the paper on the floor. It floated like a pale leaf. The doctor ignored it.

“Now. Your father.”

Megan froze, shaking her head. She looked desperately at the wall clock. “Next time. Please.”

“No. Now. What are you mad about?”

Her stomach muscles were hard as a board. “Well, I’m mad ’cause why doesn’t he want to
see
me? He didn’t even fight the custody agreement. I see him every two or three months.”

“Tell him.”

“I—”

“Tell him!”

She wrote. She poured her fury onto the page. When the sheet was half full her pen braked to a halt.

“What else is it, Megan? What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh, what do I hear?” he said. “The passion’s slipping. Something’s wrong. You’re holding back.” Dr. Peters frowned. “Whispering bears. Something about that story’s important. What?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go into the place where it hurts the most. We go deep, remember. That’s how I operate. I’m Super Shrink.”

Crazy Megan can’t take it anymore. She just wants to curl up into a little crazy ball and disappear.

The doctor moved closer, pulling his chair beside her. Their knees touched. “Come on. What is it?”

“No. I don’t know what it is . . .”

“You want to tell me. You
need
to tell me.” He dropped to his knees, gripped her by the shoulders. “Touch the most painful part. Touch it! Your father’s read you the story. He comes to the last line. ‘Bears can’t talk.’ He puts the book away. Then what happens?”

She sat forward, shivering, and stared at the floor. “I go upstairs to pack.”

“Your mother’s coming to pick you up?”

Eyes squinting closed painfully. “She’s here. I hear the car in the driveway.”

“Okay. Bett walks inside. You’re upstairs and your parents are downstairs. They’re talking?”

“Yeah. They’re saying things I can’t hear at first then I get closer. I sneak down to the landing.”

“You can hear them?”

“Yes.”

“What do they say?”

“I don’t know. Stuff.”

“What do they
say?”
The doctor’s voice filled the room. “Tell me!”

“They were talking about a funeral.”

“Funeral? Whose?”

“I don’t know. But there was something bad about it. Something really bad.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there, Megan? They say something else.”

“No!” she said desperately. “Just the funeral.”

“Megan, tell me.”

“I . . .”

“Go on. Touch the place it hurts.”

“Tate said . . .” Megan felt faint. She struggled to
control the tears. “He called me . . . They were talking about me. And my daddy said . . .” She took deep gulps of air, which turned to fire in her lungs and throat. The doctor blinked in surprise as she screamed, “My daddy shouted, ‘It would all’ve been different without
her,
without that damn inconvenient child up there. She ruined everything!’ ”

Megan lowered her head to her knees and wept. The doctor put his arm around her shoulders. She felt his hand stroke her head.

“And how did you feel when you heard him say that?” He brushed away the stream of her tears.

“I don’t know . . . I cried.”

“Did you want to run away?”

“I guess I did.”

“You wanted to show him, didn’t you? If that’s what he thinks of me I’ll pay him back. I’ll leave. That’s what you thought, isn’t it?”

Another nod.

“You wanted to go someplace where people weren’t greedy, where people loved you, where people had children’s books for you, where they read and talked to you.”

She sobbed into a wad of Kleenex.

“Tell him, Megan. Write it down. Get it out so you can look at it.”

She wrote until the tears grew so bad she couldn’t see the page. Then she collapsed against the doctor’s chest, sobbing.

“Good, Megan,” he announced. “Very good.”

She gripped him tighter than she’d ever gripped a lover, pressing her head against his neck. For a
moment neither of them moved. She was frozen here, embracing him fiercely, desperately. He stiffened and for a moment she believed that he was feeling the same sorrow she was. Megan started to back away so that she could see his kind face and his black eyes but he continued to hold her tightly, so hard that a sudden pain swept through her arm.

A surge of alarming warmth spread through her body. It was almost arousing.

Then they separated. Her smile faded as she saw in his face an odd look.

Jesus, what’s going on?

His eyes were cold, his smile was cruel. He was suddenly a different person.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

He said nothing.

She started to repeat herself but the words wouldn’t come. Her tongue had grown heavy in her swollen mouth. It fell against her dry teeth. Her vision was crinkling. She tried once again to say something but couldn’t.

She watched him stand and open a canvas bag that was resting on the floor behind his desk. He put away a hypodermic syringe. He was pulling on latex gloves.

“What’re you? . . .” she began, then noticed on her arm, where the pain radiated, a small dot of blood.

“No!” She tried to ask him what he was doing but the words vanished in comic mumbling. She tried to scream.

A whisper.

He walked to her and crouched, cradling her head, which sagged toward the couch.

Crazy Megan is beyond crazy. She loves him, she’s terrified of him, she wants to kill him.

“Go to sleep,” he said in a voice kinder than her father’s ever sounded. “Go to sleep.”

Finally, from the drug, or from the fear, the room went black and she slumped into his arms.

One hundred and thirty years ago the Dead Reb had wandered through this field.

Maybe shuffling along the very path this tall, lean man now walked in the hot April rain.

Tate Collier looked over his shoulder and imagined that he saw the legendary ghost staring at him from a cluster of brush fifty yards away. Then he laughed to himself and, crunching through rain-wet corn husks and stalks, the waste from last year’s harvest, he continued through the field, inspecting hairline fractures in an irrigation pipe that promised far more water than it had been delivering lately. It’d have to be replaced within the next week, he concluded, and wondered how much the work would cost.

Loping along awkwardly, somewhat stooped, Tate was in a Brooks Brothers pinstripe beneath a yellow sou’wester and outrageous galoshes, having come here straight from his strip mall law office in Fairfax, Virginia, where he’d just spent an hour explaining to Mattie Howe that suing the
Prince William Advocate
for libel because the paper had accurately reported her drunk-driving arrest was a lawsuit doomed to failure.
He’d booted her out good-naturedly and sped back to his two-hundred-acre farm.