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“Of course it does. What happened to youwasabnormal. But one of the things I love about you is how you haven’t let it define you. You’ve moved on.”
Jeff’s told me this before. Quite a few times, in fact. After so many repetitions, I’ve actually started to believe it.
“I know,” I say. “I have.”
“Which is the only healthy thing you can do. That’s the past. This is the present. And I’d like to think that the present makes you happy.”
Jeff smiles just then. He has the smile of a movie star. Cinema-Scope wide and Technicolor bright. It’s what first drew me to him when we met at a work event so dull I felt the need to get tipsy and flirty.
Let me guess, I told him.You’re a toothpaste model.
Guilty as charged.
What brand? Maybe I’ll start using it.
Aquafresh. But I’m aiming for the big-time—Crest.
I laughed, even though it wasn’t all that funny. There was somethingendearing about his eagerness to please. He reminded me of a golden retriever, soft and loyal and safe. Even though I didn’t yet know his name, I clasped his hand. I haven’t really let go of it since.
Between Pine Cottage and Jeff, my social life was quiet to the point of nonexistence. Once I was deemed well enough to return to school, I didn’t go back to my old college, where I knew I’d be haunted by memories of Janelle and the others. Instead, I transferred to a school slightly closer to home, spending three years living alone in a dorm room designed for two.
My reputation preceded me, of course. People knew exactly who I was and what I had gone through. But I kept my head down, stayed quiet, took my daily Xanax and grape soda. I was friendly but friendless. Approachable yet purposefully aloof. I saw no point in getting too close with anyone.
Once a week, I attended a group therapy session in which a grab bag of afflictions was dealt with. Those of us who attended became sort of friends. Not close, exactly, but trusted enough to call when one of us was too anxious to go to the movies alone.
Even then, I had a hard time relating to these vulnerable girls who had endured rape, physical abuse, disfiguring car accidents. Their trauma was far different from my own. None of them knew what it felt like to have their closest friends snatched away in a single instant. They didn’t understand how awful it was to not remember the worst night of your life. I got the sense my lack of memories made them jealous. That they too wanted only to forget. As if forgetting were somehow easier than remembering.
While at school, I attracted an interchangeable string of skinny, sensitive boys who wanted to unlock the mysteries of the shy, quiet girl who kept everyone at arm’s length. I indulged them, to a degree. Awkward study dates. Coffeehouse chats where I amused myself by counting the ways they avoided bringing up Pine Cottage. Maybe a teasing kiss good night if I was feeling especially lonely.
Secretly, I preferred the jockish types found solely at frat parties and raucous keggers. You know the type. Big arms. Beefy pecs and slight beer gut. Guys who don’t care about your scars. Who are incapable of being gentle. Who are all too happy to tirelessly fuck, piston-like,and definitely not upset when you slip out afterward without giving them your number.
After those encounters, I’d leave feeling sore and chafed and oddly invigorated. There’s something energizing about getting what you want, even if that something is shame.
But Jeff is different. He’s perfectly normal. Polo by Ralph Lauren normal. We dated an entire month before I dared bring up Pine Cottage. He still thought I was Quincy Carpenter, marketing grunt about to start a baking blog. He had no idea I was actually Quincy Carpenter, massacre survivor.
To his credit, he took it better than I expected. He said all the right things, ending with,I firmly believe it’s possible for people not to be harnessed to bad things from their past. People can recover. They can move on. You certainly have.
That’s when I knew he was a keeper.
“So how was Chicago?” I ask.
From the half shrug Jeff gives me, I can tell it didn’t go well.
“I didn’t get the information I was hoping for,” he says. “Actually, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“And I’d rather not talk about Lisa.”
Jeff stands, struck with an idea. “Then we should go out. We should get dressed up, go someplace fancy, and drown our sorrows in too much food and booze. You game?”
I shake my head and stretch catlike across the sofa. “I just don’t have it in me tonight. But you know what I’d really like?”
“Wine from a box,” Jeff says.
“And?”
“Takeout pad thai.”
I muster a smile. “You know me so well.”