Sweet Karoline (8 page)

How
he sees the real me through the weeks of sleeping, cleaning and shopping, I will never know. The person who was folded in a dark cave slowly emerges, changed and exhausted. I tell him I will always be grateful that he sees a future me, a goodness in me.

Dear Diary,

I
have always thought of her as a false goddess. So charming on the outside, so inept and incapable within. She has none of the ability to rule over herself, let alone be a deity for anyone else.

Chapter
9

After a time I almost believe in Ethan's vision of Anne. As long as I never think about the night Karoline died, as long as I vow never to tell him my truths. Ironically, I trade a superficial lifestyle for an introspective one, as long as the layers I inspect never touch my deepest sin.

Ethan
tells me all about his move from Dublin to Los Angeles when he was thirteen. His story so closely mimics the Kennedy legend that I know Karoline would have been proud. Irish parents loaded with determination and intelligence land in Hollywood and make a fortune. His family owned several textile plants back home and around England, but Ethan's father has taken the company to where the sidewalks are paved with gold and multiplied its profits beyond any of their ancestors' dreams. Edward and Teresa Byrne became so well connected and famous, that Karoline and I had heard about them long before I met Ethan. Who knew that the gangly, ugly detective at our door would turn out to be their son?

They
were not happy when Ethan became a police officer, but Ted and Teresa have not abandoned him. Probably because they know he wouldn't really mind if they did disown him, at least from a financial point of view. Money definitely does not matter to Ethan. He does care, however, about his parents as people.

Another
disappointment for Ted and Teresa is that Ethan has never married, though he came close a couple of times. His sister Marianne is a wife and mother of three and she's a year his junior. Of course Marianne wed a millionaire film producer, someone whose credentials have even more weight than her own family's.

However,
Ted and Teresa aren't very happy with me as a potential daughter-in-law. They are appalled that Ethan has become involved with someone from a case. Not to mention I am obviously unwell, jittery and odd, unable sometimes to form a coherent sentence. I cling to their son. He is my life raft and it's noticeable.

He
's not simply my savior, though. Ethan is a gift that I unwrap, layers of surprises, complex yet simple. A man with ribbons of feelings, intellect, insights and generosity. A man infinitely interested in Anne the complicated woman. Not surface Anne, but someone who has depth. We both become prospectors of Anne's other self.

Over
time Ethan wakes me up, takes me out of the apartment and my grief over Karoline. Slowly I begin to smile, then laugh again. Energy seeps back. I stop talking to myself or to my dead friend. I no longer shop, sleep or wash dishes obsessively. I clean up the Picassos. I begin to make decisions.

I
rearrange the furniture in the living room. Cover the couch with a soft green throw. Put a lacey tablecloth over the wooden surface that needs too much polish. Except for the CoJon and a few other treasures that I love, I put or give away most of our souvenirs. I am able to occupy the space. I even open Karoline's bedroom door, though I haven't yet disposed of her belongings.

Halina
took a few items, but she doesn't want to deal with her daughter's clothing or other things. Halina has left that up to me. Anne, the best friend, the sister Karoline never had. The beneficiary of her apartment. Halina seems oblivious to that last detail. Perhaps she assumes that we paid for the place as equal partners. Certainly she will never know about Boosha. Not if I can help it.

I
have dinners with Parris. We go to movies. Wander around parks and the zoo. Slow, quiet activities that she senses will allow me to heal. She invites, never pushes and always accepts when I need to be alone. Her big open smile has become a source of joy. Her arms are a comfort zone. I am astonished by her generosity, her easy-going ways. She models for me that friendship doesn't have to smother.

I
am alarmed that former Anne still reemerges occasionally. I walk around with two selves, the one I am discovering and the one who now and then whispers nasty things in my ear. She sets me off balance. I thought she was gone.

I
often feel as though I am acting without a script. I am bereft and confused. One Anne is the same haughty selfish bitch that she's always been. The only people that I'd ever really allowed into my head and heart were Karoline and Giulio.

The
other personality is soft and weepy and vulnerable.

I
am not certain which of these personas is the real me. I am not certain I like either of them.

Dear Diary,

I
have begun my strategy. Wheels in motion, as they say. They will both learn the hard way, but they've left me no choice. Neither of them will survive this war intact. Maybe then they'll obey. They'll look and see the real Queen and say, yes your majesty. Ha ha ha. Seriously, though, it's all for their benefit.

Chapter
10

Ethan and I make love after many months of exploration. Hours and hours of conversation, dinners and outings, handholding as we walk the beach. His lips are always soft and full, promising, but I don't allow the shiver to extend to my toes. I've never held out this long, never thought too much about jumping into bed with someone I fancied. With Ethan it's as though I am a romantic and must wait until everything is perfect.

Jesus,
you are turning into a maudlin asshole
, Ice Queen Anne whispers, but I fling her aside. As time goes on, I dare to think that the best side of me is becoming stronger. Perhaps Ice Queen Anne is suddenly afraid and tries to take over now and again. I vow not to let her, but I know I have a lot of work ahead in order to bury her.

Ethan
's arms feel different from any others who have held me. His care feels different. He doesn't tell. He gives options and suggestions. He doesn't force, he inspires. There's no judging. His eyes display acceptance, giving and taking, acknowledgement of an inner me that even I have trouble seeing. Until he leads me into my bedroom, I'm not certain that I haven't conjured a dream man.

Ethan
removes my clothes tenderly. Touches me soothingly. Massages my arms and back and neck. He picks me up off my feet and lays me on the wide mattress, then climbs in beside me, still fully clothed. His big hands begin to feather over my skin. Not a touch but a buzz of electricity from his fingers, up and down my legs, over my belly and arms, my breasts, shoulders, head. I feel the tingle in the deepest parts of me. My physical being links with my thoughts.

Then
he begins to kiss me and the sensual thrill is like nothing I've ever felt. His lips are a caress, a warm connection that is both a soothing bath and a wash of desire. When we are face-to-face, he looks into my eyes. I see a version of myself that I do not recognize. I gently remove his shirt, his pants, his underwear. It's my choice. He gives himself to me at my request, not as a result of his desire alone. When we join in lovemaking, I feel as though I have entered his skin, tucked myself inside him. I am fully engaged, no longer dismissive and apart.

I
suddenly know the meaning of the words, 'and the two shall be as one'. Not subsumed, but made stronger, more complete, better.

When
Ice Queen Anne begins to whisper that she is about to OD on sugar, she is suppressed by all five senses, which are awakened and dancing with excitement.

All
that night we touch one another, physically and spiritually, passionate and heated, soft and exploring. We take turns sleeping in one another's arms, cocooned and strengthened, comforted and safe. I have never felt so treasured.

For
the next few weeks I travel another new landscape. I am still uncertain and shaky. I watch my feet and tread carefully, looking for potholes, enjoying the soft sandy parts between my toes.

It
takes a huge burst of courage to reveal some of my secrets. But somehow I know that this is part of the hard work. The end goal will be worth it; a new Anne, a life with love will emerge.

We
sit on the couch, facing one another, touching and talking. I decide I have to tell him. I know what I have to do and I don't want to approach it without his support and knowledge. Again, this is a far different Anne that I'm contending with. I'm not sure she knows what she's doing, but I have to trust her. She's the one that this man loves.

"
Ethan, I want to show you something."

I
pad in my stocking feet into my bedroom and retrieve the packet from under the mattress. Seated back in the living room, I stare down at the thick pile of papers held together with a blue ribbon.

"
This is what I found in Karoline's closet. I need you to read the first three."

He
spreads his fingers through the papers. Reads. Stabs the pages with his big fingers as though angry with the words and not the writer. When he is finished he looks up at me with anguish in his eyes and fury on his face.

"
Have you read them all? Is any of this true?"

"
Yes and yes."

"
They were in Karoline's closet?"

"
Yes. In a trunk she kept there. Some of the letters came in the mail, but even though they were clearly sent to me…"

"
…you never knew about them."

It
isn't a question and he isn't shocked. I think I should explain. Excuse.

"
We had different household duties. Karoline got the mail, mostly because I always forgot and once I misplaced the key. The landlord charged us fifty bucks to replace it."

These
last few days I have noticed that Ethan gives me odd looks whenever I speak of Karoline, but until tonight I chose to ignore them. I am afraid of where his insight might lead.

"
She never showed any of these to you?"

I
shake my head, allowing the tears to slide down my cheeks. I draw in a stuttering breath and try to regain control.

"
Never. I found them when she was breaking down. I searched her room, looking for anything that would explain…"

Explain
what? Her insanity? The sudden appearance/disappearance of Glenn Simpson? The gradual disappearance of the real Karoline? I'm uncertain about giving him the details. Karoline's incessant scribbling, her mutterings, her days-long absences from the apartment. I grasped at any explanation, finally digging through her trunk, the one she'd buried in her closet years ago. I didn't know what I expected to find, but I definitely did not expect the letters.

A
tense silence keeps us immobile for a minute. When he finally speaks Ethan's melodious tones are measured, controlled. He delivers a concise theory that he's clearly thought about for a while.

"
Anne, you were in an abusive relationship for years. You became a classic abused spouse, submissive and emotionally crippled. This is the most glaring, most manipulative example."

He
stabs the pile of papers once again.

"
I'm not happy about what happened to Karoline, don't get me wrong. But I am glad she's gone from your life."

I
begin to shake. From the terrible honesty. From the terrible lie.

Ethan
doesn't know how complicit I was in shaping my life with my friends. My parents, probably without meaning to, raised me to be a narcissistic Princess, haughty and self-absorbed. They protected me from a world that might've used me. I learned how to use beauty to my own advantage instead.

My
mother gave me lessons in how to remain emotionally distant. I went from that overprotected discipline to Karoline's regime. I never really thought about others' feelings except how the consequences related to me.

Like
how to deal with the writer in tears who was aghast at the way the screenplay had twisted their main character. Or how to manage the man who lay weeping at my feet when I broke up with him. How to avoid an emotional bond with the guy I'd just slept with. How to replace real discourse with intellectual sparring.

I
ignored the fact that my very best friend was disintegrating right in front of me.

From
Parris I have started to learn true friendship. From Ethan, real love. But it took the unraveling of Karoline for me to reach out beyond the nest we created. If Karoline's demons hadn't swallowed her, would I ever have noticed my shallow existence? I don't think I would have.

I
would describe myself as content, self-absorbed, privileged, coddled. I equated these feelings with happiness. I mistook laughter for joy and arguments for conversation. Saw overprotection and control as love.

I
was capable of vicious thoughts, of cold betrayal, of a terrible, final act. Do I still retain that Ice Queen Anne, the one that I was? I must, or surely her voice would have been completely silenced by now. Can a person really change? Or am I a monster hiding under this bandage of love and attention until my wounds heal?

Tears
spill down my face. Ethan encircles me. Rocks me like a broken-hearted child. He kisses my wet cheeks, my blubbering lips.

"
Anne, I love you," he whispers at my ear, nuzzling my neck, kneading my back.

"
I know, but I'm not sure you should," I tell him, anxiety cracking my voice. "You don't really know me."

He
doesn't know the complete me. He can't have glimpsed a fully lovable Anne under the layers of odd behaviors and insincerity. Is he like all the others, assuming beauty and goodness because of the surface perfection? What will he do if he ever discovers what I did, what I was, what I might still be?

"
And I have only just started to learn what that word really means. You've been teaching me, Ethan, but I still can't trust it."

Or
myself. I shake my head, refusing to slip down the mountain into that valley of self-hatred once again. I sit up and hold his eyes with mine, squeeze his hand so he won't stop me from my confession. I must find out.

"
I didn't tell her I'd found the letters. Instead, I followed the trails, at least up to a point. I need you to know everything."

I
stumble on the last word, aware that there is one secret I cannot tell just yet. Perhaps never. There are so many missing pieces of myself that must be replaced. I am a crossword with obscure definitions that lead to empty spaces. I am half and half in skin and mind, not whole of anything.

"
I can't remember the first four years of my life. It's a blank. The only person who ever knew about that was Karoline. I didn't even ask my mother. I assumed that everyone forgets their early childhood. Until Karoline pointed out that mine is far emptier than most. There are no glimpses, no half-remembered scenes. Nothing. But I never wanted to investigate. Clearly, Karoline did."

It
's my turn to stab the letters.

"
After I found these letters, I decided to visit my sister Elizabeth. I took a week off work, told Karoline nothing. Disappeared just as she had begun to do."

Dear Diary,

Today
I want to talk about trust. The dictionary defines it as, "reliance on the character, ability, strength, or truth of someone or something". For years there was complete trust. Total reliance. Unfortunately, it's the truth part that has begun to fall apart. Fucking assholes. What's that song again? When the truth is found to be lies and all the joy within you dies?