“It’ll remind me not to be afraid. To take risks. To live the life I actually want instead of the one I think I should have.” I’d gotten the idea from April’s preaching.
Rebecca nodded once. “Already you’re taking more control. Only two weeks in and see how you’ve grown. Tell me your impressions of Wisewood.”
“It’s been wonderful. Everyone is so kind and open here.” I tucked my hands under my legs. “The guests are different than I expected.”
She waited for me to elaborate.
“They’re so sure about leaving their old lives.” I turned to the window—another sunny day. “Most of them don’t feel guilty for leaving their friends and family.”
She put up a hand. “Why should they? Your fellow guests are the ones who have been deserted. Sanderson is here because his parents kicked him out when he needed them most. Ruth left because her entire community ostracized her instead of practicing forgiveness. Debbie came to Wisewood to flee an abusive partner. Neutralizing a threat doesn’t always mean staying to fight. Sometimes it means running for your life.”
I nibbled my lip, considering this.
“Your peers have been rejected by their neighbors, siblings, and parents. Just like you have.”
I whipped back to face her. “How did—”
“I know all about you, Kit.” She leaned toward me. I swallowed. “Everyone in your family has treated you poorly,” she said tenderly.
“That’s not true.”
“Really?” She sat back, eyes full of sympathy. “How about your father?”
I jiggled my leg. “I’d hardly call him family. He started an affair with his coworker when my mom’s depression got bad. He left for good when I was three.” I picked at a scab on the back of my hand—I’d burned myself last week helping Debbie remove a few trays of chicken from the oven. “He calls us on our birthdays and Christmas. My sister talks to him, but I don’t pick up.”
Rebecca played with a silver pendant dangling near her cleavage. She had a small birthmark in the middle of her chest. “And your mother?”
I stiffened. Mom was never the first to let go of a hug. She had taught us how to build a fire and roast marshmallows. She told ghost stories that made us squeal but wouldn’t cause nightmares. She took us camping in the backyard, sleeping with us in the tent. We used to fight over who got the last kiss from her before bed—she’d move back and forth between our little cheeks until we were both asleep, so we never knew who did.
“She was amazing,” was all I could manage.
Rebecca tilted her head, considering me. “I know she was, but she missed out on a lot too, didn’t she? Dance recitals, school plays, and the like?”
My mouth fell open. How did she know?
“She did the best she could.” I clutched Mom’s scarf.
“Was the best she could good enough?” She gazed at the silk around my neck.
“I can’t bad-mouth my mom.”
Rebecca’s violet-gray eyes glittered. “I know this is difficult. The goal of these meetings is to help you achieve fearlessness. As you work the path, you’ll find that the more honest you are with others and especially yourself, the faster you’ll progress. Your mother had weaknesses.”
“We all do.”
“She chose victimhood. She turned away from you when you needed her most.”
“You don’t choose depression. Just like you don’t choose cancer or ALS. She fought hard her entire life.”
“Kit, who got you ready for school in the morning?” Rebecca smiled sadly. “Who put your outfits together and made sure you were fed?”
I bowed my head. “Mom and Nat both did.”
“From what I understand,” she said kindly, “your sister took on the bulk of the responsibility.”
“How do you know all of this about me?” The only people I’d confided in here were April and Georgina. I didn’t think either of them would divulge my secrets, but now I was doubting myself. I hadn’t explicitly asked them not to share my stories about Mom—but come on, that was common sense. This stuff was personal.
“Does it matter?”
“I told my friends those stories in confidence.”
She leaned in again. The pendant swung across her breasts. “You should be careful who you call a friend. And even more careful about who you trust. How well do you know any of these people?”
I flinched. April hadn’t said a word about her loved one’s drowning since the transference exercise, and I didn’t feel right pushing for more details. That class had taken on a sacramental quality—what was shared in the trailer stayed in the trailer. Still, though we hadn’t discussed April’s accusation, the three of us had discovered a lot of common ground in two weeks. April’s parents had also divorced when she was young. Georgina had been caught shoplifting as a teenager, same as me. They both wished their first times had been with someone different. I did too. I stared at my feet. I thought we were friends.