“We’re here because Dad found a bigger and better-paying white-collar job—you’d think he was the only investment banker up north the way he carries on—and so we could be closer to my mother, who is clearly crazy and who has on occasion declared her undying love for her only son by nearly strangling me to death. So yes, I am thrilled at the prospect of putting myself within spitting distance for her to try again. And the absolutely mind-blowing conclusion you’ve reached is that I may be having ‘difficulty adjusting since moving to Applegate?’ Really, Sherlock?”
The woman waits placidly until he is done with his spiel before speaking again. “Do you hate your mother, Tarquin?”
The boy looks back at her, and some of the anger leaves his face. “No. I’ve never hated her.”
“Are you afraid of what she might do to you?”“Only because what she does appears to be catching.” A pause. “I killed someone, you know.”
The therapist sounds calm and unworried despite this admission. “Who did you kill?”
“Some boy at school.” “Was he a friend?”
“Only if you’re the kind of masochist that enjoys being beaten up by ‘friends.’”
“I was told by your father that the police investigated what happened to you at your old school. They said there was no possible way that you were responsible for that.”
“Still my fault he’s dead.” The boy shifts. “I really don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“That’s all right. I don’t want you talking about anything that makes you uncomfortable. How about telling me something about your relatives here in Applegate, instead?”
“You mean Callie? She’s great. She and Aunt Linda are the sanest and nicest people I know, which is another reason Dad decided to take the job and move here.”
“I’ve heard she works as a teaching assistant at Perry Hills Elementary.”
“It’s something you’d expect someone like Callie to do. Callie loves kids. At least three times a year they visit us in Maine, despite weather that can freeze your toes off, and she never complains. We’ve always been close, for two people who live several hundred miles away from each other. She’s like the big sister I never had. Callie’s always taken care of me, even back then.”
“How so?”“She gets me out of trouble, for one thing.” “And are you often in trouble?”
“Got a knack for it. When I was six, I decided to eat crayons—I wanted to see if it would, uh, come out the other end in different colors, and my repeated failures made me all the more determined—and she made me barf them all out every time I did, before I could get sick. Another time I nearly sliced off my thumb making dinner, and she got me to a hospital before I was done hyperventilating. Little things like that.” The boy smiles faintly at
the memory. “I always joked that she was born old. She said it’s because one of us had to grow up, and it wasn’t likely to be me. I’d always been a stupid kid. Probably still am.”
The boy pauses again. The woman is quick to pick up on the sudden change in his manner.
“Have you asked her for help recently?” “Not…not recently, no. I decided not to.” “And why not?”
Again he hesitates. His eyes drift back to the painting. Ninetyeight, I count. Ninety-nine. One hundred.
“Because she won’t believe me.”
***
But the young woman has a strong capacity for belief.“They’re kids, Callie,” her friend objects, a woman with short, black hair and a round face, nearly six years older. They are preparing to leave for the day, the school corridors empty of the students who swarmed out only hours before. “Of course they’re going to say they see dead people. Didn’t you watch the movie?”
The teenager is far from amused. “I’m serious, Jen. There’s something strange going on.”
“Sandra’s one of my students, too, remember? She’s always been a little spaced out. I don’t think she’s been weaned off imaginary friends yet. There’s one of those in every class.”
“No. I mean, yes, she’s a little unusual, but I meant Tarquin.”
“Your cousin, the Halloway boy? The one they say has all those tattoos on his arms? Poor kid. The one with the crazy mother? No offense,” she adds quickly, but Callie shakes her head.
“I’ve never met Aunt Yoko. Uncle Doug told me it wasn’t exactly abuse, but he didn’t explain how it wasn’t. It’s not something they like talking about, and Mom always felt we shouldn’t push.”
“He’d say that, of course. Kid’s got a hard enough life without having to advertise to the whole school that his ma’s got several screws loose in the brain department. Have you seen them? The tattoos? He’s always wearing those big shirts so I couldn’t get much of a look. Not that I blame him for wanting to hide them.”
“A few times, and always by accident. There are some small circles, right above his wrists, with very peculiar writing. I…I got chills just by looking at it. You know that cliché about the hairs standing up at the back of your neck? I feel that every time I see those tattoos, and I don’t even know why. I have a feeling there are more of them he isn’t showing.”
“Have you asked Mr. Halloway anything more about them?” “Where would I even begin? ‘If you don’t mind my asking,
Uncle Doug, I’d like to know exactly how many tattoos Aunt Yoko gave Tarquin during her mental breakdown. Oh, no reason, they just scare the bejesus out of me.’”
“I think you’re worrying too much about things that shouldn’t be your problem, family or not. Know what my solution is? A boyfriend. I know this really cute guy a couple of years older than you. His name’s Everett. Works part-time at the gym, planning on
being a rocket scientist, literally. Aerospace engineering major. Has this sort of Jake Gyllenhaal vibe going…”
The blonde makes a face. “I’m serious, Jen. I don’t like this.” “Neither do I, but we don’t get to pick the kids they give us to teach, either, and we still have to like it. If we could, maybe I wouldn’t have to read book reports that start: ‘The Legend of Sleepy Hollow begins when Johnny Depp goes into this weird town and gets chased by some guy with no head.’”
Both women laugh. “I have to go,” the older one says. “Speaking of the hypothetically questionable upbringing of family members, I’m already running late. Jackson’s working ’til eight, so it’s my turn to pick Sean up from daycare. I have no idea how they’re both going to manage things here without me.”
“So you’re really set on going on that cultural studies program?” “Absolutely!” Jen grins, excited. “Practically a month in France, all expenses paid—what’s not to like? Well, most expenses paid. I don’t think any planned shopping trips will count as research. Jackson’s not happy about me not spending the summer here, but he agreed I shouldn’t pass this up. You were accepted, too, weren’t you?”“I was—but I haven’t decided on a country yet. Spain, Australia, India…they all sound tempting. I just feel a little guilty about leaving here before the school term officially ends.”