Circle the Soul Softly (15 page)

But something stops me, some unfamiliar little voice I don't recognize, arriving from outside my brain and interrupting my thought process. My soul speaking? I have no idea, and right now, I don't care. Circles and souls make as much sense as anything else.

THIRTY-NINE

It's weird enough to know your mom is getting married. But when you actually walk down the aisle as maid of honor, and your brother escorts her and gives her away—then you enter the land of Truly Frickin' Strange.

The ceremony's in a tiny glass-enclosed chapel not too far from Bob's Beach House, thrust over the ocean and framed on the mountainside by ancient eucalyptus trees. Not too many guests are invited—a girlfriend of Mom's, Steve and his parents. The few cousins left in Mom's family are people we barely know; invitations were sent, but only gifts arrived. Robert has several friends, but no family present, either; his daughters do not show up. I ask David, and Michael brings his new girlfriend, Paris.

I do the step-touch thing down the little aisle and stand over to one side. Robert enters from behind the altar as my mom appears in the doorway. Corny as it sounds, she glows. Outlined by the sky and the ocean, she stands posed like a ballet dancer as she takes Michael's arm; they float toward us.

I'm split in two: loving the absolute adoration on Robert's face when he looks at my mother and the little trace of tears in my mom's eyes, and obsessed with poring over my last conversation with Michael. All pieces of that same huge puzzle.

Two people preside over the ceremony. A white-haired woman priest with an incredibly gentle, melodious voice, talks about the vows that souls take in the sight of God. How two people come together and love each other so much they want their love witnessed by their family and friends. I sneak a peek at David—his eyes are glistening. I check Michael in his place opposite me—his eyes are shuttered.

In his turn, the male priest reads the vows that Mom and Robert wrote. They include the honor and cherish in sickness and health stuff, and a part about us—Robert's idea. The male priest reads it out loud; Robert repeats it to our mom.

“I promise to respect and to care for your children, Michael and Kaitlyn, to honor their lives, to show them all the love I am capable of giving, to shelter them whenever possible, and to try to have the wisdom to help them to grow.”

Once again I find Michael; I want him to share in the tenderness and affection I'm feeling now for Robert, for Mom, and for him. He won't acknowledge me. The handsome young man who escorted his mother has morphed to a dark, melancholy boy. I want to freeze time, go and wrap my arms around him, and tell him everything's going to be all right.

Then it's done. We take every imaginable photo and head back to Bob's Beach House for the reception, where the caterers have spent the morning arranging things exactly the way Mom wants. David and I drive with “the wedding party” in an incredibly outrageous Rolls-Royce limo. David holds my hand like he'll never let it go and beams like a kid arriving at Disneyland. Michael's back in place again; I realize he wasn't remotely conscious of himself during the wedding. Paris slips her arm through his and snuggles close. He makes his “Oh shit, what do I do now” face, I start giggling, Mom glances over and beams at both of us.

Two hours later the celebration has settled. Robert's deep in conversation with one of his friends. Michael and David and Paris are arguing politics up on Michael's balcony, and my mom's standing by herself at the edge of the deck, just out of the sight of the party. I want to go sit with the ocean and ponder the day, but something draws me down to her.

“Hey you mommy,” I say, softly, so I won't startle her.

“Hi, baby.”

“You happy?”

“Yes. I am.” She reaches over and takes my hand.“You?”

“Doing pretty good.” I smile, she turns back out toward the water, with the same look I imagine I get on my face as the ocean calms me every night. Like mother, like daughter?

“Want to take a walk?” she asks.

“Sorry, can't, my mother said if I get the dress dirty —”

“What the hell does she know? Come on. Just keep it out of the—wait, shit, you know what? Get it wet. Go surfing. Catch a fish in it. I don't care. Come on. Let's walk.”

We head up the beach in bare feet, hand in hand, holding up our skirts. We go all the way around the cliff that bulges out and into a little alcove where there's no house overlooking us. I imagine we must appear a tad strange in our fancy gowns, sitting on a sand bluff.

“Can I tell you something?” I ask, noticing how young she seems right now.

“Of course.”

“I like your husband.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He's very cool.”

“Well, I certainly think so.”

“It's still kinda weird, though, isn't it? Being here, and everything.”

She nods.“Very weird. But good.”

“Yeah.” I can feel us both relaxing as we listen to the waves. Then: The old Blurt Technique. “Mom, how long was Daddy sick?”
Will I ever leave well enough alone?

“Four, five years, I guess. Why?”

“I thought it was only a couple of months.”

“No, baby. Much longer.”

“Why didn't I know that?” My voice is turning whiny.

“You were a little girl. You didn't need your whole childhood taken up with cancer.”

“Michael knew. He's not that much older.”
Shut up, Kaitlyn.
Shut UP.

“Michael didn't leave us much choice.”

“It's still not fair.”
Strike two. Why can't I leave this alone?

“I'm sorry, honey. It seemed right at the time. I just wanted to protect you.”

“I wish you had.”

Strike three. We're both out.

How can I be so angry and not know it?

She starts to reply but checks herself. I can see her face working not to cry, and I wish for Stupid Kate to appear. This Being Present thing sucks. I hurt people. I hurt myself. I spit out little barbs I don't even know I feel. I turned my mother's whole life upside down by remembering my father, and now I rub her face in it. On her wedding day.

I'm good.

“Mommy, I'm sorry.” The words come out husky and low, but I know she hears them. She doesn't move, except to gather in her shoulders. We're in tableau on the sand—is it going to be the opening scene or the final one? If she won't turn around—it's curtain, and I won't know what to do.

She sighs.

“Look what I'm doing,” she mutters as she uses the hem of her dress to dab at the makeup streaks on her face. “This dress costs more than I do.”We both smile. Then she stares straight into my eyes and suddenly, there's nothing else in the world except my mother and me.

“I don't know how to fix it, Katie.”

“I know. Me, either.”

“I would give my life to change what happened.”

I can't find any
words.

“I didn't know. I should have. But I didn't.”

I manage a nod.

“I love you,” she whispers. “You're my baby girl.” One of those tears she was holding back finds its way down the side of her cheek.

“I love you, too.”

She kisses my forehead, then puts Mom-arms around me and pulls me close. Stupid Kate waves as she exits. My mother and I sit watching the ocean, me wrapped inside her hug.

FORTY

I have the dream—running down the hallway, just as scared as ever, and
the Monster's getting closer. He laughs as his slimy claws touch me and
even though I know it's my dad—I also know it isn't—and I run faster,
around the corner and straight toward an open window that's never been
there before. I leap before I realize how high it is, but I'm okay, because
I'm flying … except then I start to fall, tumbling over and over myself,
screaming—until that strange little jerk happens that always wakes me up.

A second later someone taps at my door. “Katie? Is everything all right?” It's Robert.

I don't answer because I'm not quite awake. He opens the door slightly and peers in. I notice he's carrying a plate of sliced fruit.“You okay, honey?”

“Uh …” I sound spacey. “Yeah. I had a bad dream, I guess.”

“I hate those.”

“Me, too.”

“Want a grape?” He holds the plate through the doorway, and for some reason it makes me laugh. He smiles back, pushing the door farther open, but staying inside the frame. “We leave in the morning. Mrs. Hoyt's sleeping over; she'll cook and drive you to school and stuff.”

“Good. Thanks.” It takes a second to remember Mrs. Hoyt is the housekeeper.

“And David's welcome to visit.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Not all night. Mrs. Hoyt
will
check.”

I smile at him. “Got it.”

“Good.” He pops a piece of fruit in his mouth. I get the definite feeling he's hanging around to make sure I'm okay. “Well, I guess we're family now.”

“Yep. I guess we are.”

“I hope that's okay with you.”

“Yeah, it is.” Then it really hits me. He's my stepdad now, legally.

“All right then, I'm going to bed. Sleep well, now, and call if you need anything.”

The next morning, “Dad” and I have breakfast on the porch while Mom packs. Michael's sleeping in. We watch the steady parade of locals out walking or jogging, including the anorexic redhead with the two puppies.

“So how are you doing with everything?” Robert asks, out of the blue.

“Okay, I guess.”

He nods but doesn't say anything.

“I haven't had a lot of time to think about it.”

“Would you like to talk to a therapist?” he asks.

“No, thanks.”

“You realize you didn't do anything wrong?”

“Oh yeah. I've been reading up.”

“Excellent, but I still think a therapist …”

I shake my head no.“I'm doing what I need to.”

“Which is?”

“Remembering stuff, talking to Mom.” I reach over for my water and take a sip. Robert's taking the dad-thing a little far. “My father didn't mean to hurt me. Something was wrong with him. He may even have been abused himself.”

“It doesn't matter.” Robert shakes his head.

“What?”

“It doesn't matter whether he ‘meant' it or not. There's no excuse.”

Brick wall.
I can't talk for a minute. “But …”

“No buts, sweetheart.”

“Robert, you're not hearing me. He loved me …”

“That's beside the point.”

“You can't love someone and hurt them too,” I argue,“not on purpose.”

“Happens all the time.”

I don't like where this is going. “Yeah, well, I don't think he knew what he was doing. I think he was very depressed, and—”

“Katie, Katie, you're not hearing me.
It doesn't matter.
He's your father. You're his child—end of story.”

“I don't understand—”

“You understand more than you know. The part you don't get yet is what it means to be an adult.”

I just stare at him.

“It's a basic truth, honey: He was the big person, you were the little one. Whatever happened in his life was never,
ever
reason enough to hurt you. He was supposed to keep you safe.”

FORTY-ONE

“Katie?”

I turn at the sound, missing the edge of picnic table by inches, but
missing
it nevertheless. Layla and Stacey are coming out of the administration building. It's Layla who's spoken. “Omigod. Why are you here? It's summer,” she says.

Stupid Kate volunteers, but the words are already out, sounding smooth and sure. “I flunked geometry, of course. What else? Why are
you
here? You guys graduated, remember?”

“My transcript got screwed up,” Stacey explains, as if we always talk to each other. “I had to get a new one sent.”

“Because we're going to Europe tomorrow,” Layla offers. “With Jake and Henry.”

“Henry?”

“He went to Brentwood,” Stacey says.

Layla points to Stacey and smiles.“Big time Love thang.”

“Oh yeah? Congratulations!”
Where the hell did that come from
and why do I sound like they don't intimidate me anymore?

“Thanks.” A flash of the old bitchy Stacey flickers and all it does is make me remember her journal.

“We gotta go,” Layla says.“You take care, Katie-katie.”

I look over at David and smile. It's one of those incredibly delicious summer nights—nine o'clock and the sun is just now dipping into the horizon. Homework's done. We're walking down the beach. Mom and Robert are back at the Brentwood house, very happy and very married, and Michael's left for Santa Rosa. I've claimed the Mini Mansion, with Mrs. Hoyt, of course, and David comes every night for dinner. He brings his dog, Jesse.

“Why so quiet?” he asks.

“Thinking.”

“Don't think so much.”

I'm in love with David. Completely, totally, and not at all in the way adults seem to think teenagers fall in love. You don't have to be grown to know you've found the right person. He loves me the same. It is a miracle, and I totally know it.

“I'm
thinking about what Carol said,” I tell him. Carol is the medium David goes to see. She's also a “relationship therapist”— two birds, one stone—and I've met with her twice. Robert and Mom think it's great that I'm “dealing with things.”They don't know we just talk about past lives.

“Want to tell?”

“Not yet. It kinda has to settle first.”

“Got it.” He takes my hand and kisses it. “Oh, guess who I saw at Starbucks?”

“No clue.”