Family Inheritance (25 page)

“It took me a long time, but then I realized it was my own insecurities.” Laura sipped
her iced tea. “I had even thought of hiring a private detective. But then,” she paused
as if remembering, “we went to one of his company parties that was filled with beautiful,
young women, and I finally realized that the only woman my husband had eyes for was
me.” She sighed. “A couple of years after James and I married, my mother told me
that my father had cheated on her. I was so paranoid the same would happen to me,
and those demons just about ripped apart my future.”

Silence spread over the women as Helene dealt with the desire to want to ask more
questions. She wanted and needed Laura as a friend—after today, she knew that more
than ever. So, she didn't want to push too deep, too fast.

“Helene? Has Bill had an affair?”

The question jarred Helene's nerves like an electrical shock. “No, of course not.
Not really.”

As Helene stammered, Laura raised her eyebrows and said, “I'm sorry.”

Helene shook her head, trying to dislodge the vice that was pushing at her temples.
“I can't lie about this anymore, Laura. Especially not to myself.” She took a deep
breath as if to give herself strength. “He's had so many affairs I've lost count.”

“Why don't you leave?” Laura asked as she reached out her hand.

The two women sat quietly for a moment, their fingers touching, before Helene answered.
“I don't know. Besides, I don't think he's having them anymore. He knows that if
he does now, I will leave.”

“But you can't let go of what he's done?” Laura brought her hand back to her lap,
and then after a few moments, she took another sip of tea.

“No, I can't. It haunts me . . . but I do love him.”

“Do you talk about it?” Laura's voice was soft.

“Not really.”

“Are you getting counseling?”

Helene quickly sat on the edge of the chair. “We're all getting individual counseling
right now. And we've done some family counseling, but not just Bill and me. I wasn't
ready to deal with those issues.”

“Maybe you are now.”

“Yes, maybe I am.” Calm settled over Helene. “Other than my sisters and my counselor,
you're the first person I've talked to about this.” Helene smiled weakly. “It's nice
not to have that horrible secret hanging over me.”

Chapter 31

Anoka, Minnesota

“Okay, I've had it.” The woman leaned forward with anger blazing in her eyes as she
pointed at Suzanne. “How long have you been in these group sessions now?”

Suzanne sat there speechless. She had no idea what she had done to make Joan so angry
with her. She had been attending group as she was supposed to and listening when
others talked. What else did they want from her? Suzanne was in over her head. Life
had been confusing enough without adding all of these counseling sessions and groups
to the mix. She came here to stop drinking, not deal with other people's anger and
their garbage. She had enough of her own.

The woman jabbed her finger at Suzanne. “I'm talking to you.”

Suzanne squirmed. “I don't know. Over a couple of weeks, I guess.”
What is her problem?
Suzanne scanned the room, looking for an ally or a way to politely leave and take
herself away from Joan's anger.

“You guess?” Joan stood up with her hands on her hips until Liz, the group counselor,
motioned her back into her chair. “You're damn right it's been over a couple of weeks!”
She placed her hands on her knees, leaned forward into them, and raised her voice
while glancing sideways at the counselor. “Two weeks of you sitting there judging
us, not participating.” She sat back against her chair so strongly that it skidded
a few inches on the floor.

“Well, who the hell do you think you are?” Joan yelled. “I want to hear from you!”
She crossed her arms in anger. “It's like you sit there listening to the rest of
us spill our guts and you say nothing. Just like you're some kind of princess or
something.” Her words were coming fast now. “Well, you're in here, aren't you? So,
you've got to be either an addict or an alcoholic. What's your story? You've had
a free ride on us long enough.”

The man sitting across from Suzanne joined in. “I think Joan's right.” His voice
was soft, but his gaze was direct. “I'm tired of it too. I got silent judgment all
my life. I sure as hell don't need it in here.”

Suzanne was being attacked and she didn't know why. Her arms curled around her chest.
Her “fight or flight” responses were kicking into gear. “I'm sorry—”

“I don't want to hear sorry,” Joan cut her off. “I want to hear about you, Suzanne.”

Suzanne glanced at Liz, sitting quietly watching the interactions, then she looked
back at the man and woman who were furious with her and she had no idea why. “Well
. . . uh . . . I had a drinking problem, and things got pretty rough.”

“Pretty rough? What does ‘pretty rough' mean?” another member of the group joined
in.

“Well, I drank every night,” Suzanne stuttered. She was trapped and defenseless,
like an animal in a cage that was being poked and prodded with nowhere to go. Grabbing
the side of the chair, Suzanne gritted her teeth.

“So? We all drank every day, every night, all the time.” Joan was still in attack
mode. “It destroyed me. It destroyed my life!”

Suzanne leaned forward, eyes blazing, and her breath coming quickly. She was tired
of being the victim. Tired of being bullied. “Well, it got rough at work, okay? Besides,
leave me alone!” Her eyes narrowed at Joan then spanned the rest of the group. “Maybe
I don't want to sit here and whine the way you all do. I don't have to dwell in the
past; I just have to look to the future.”

“The past is what put you here, Suzanne,” Joe, another group member added. His voice
was soft and his eyes were kind. “I know it's not easy.” He turned toward the group.
“Hey, go easy on her. You guys have been here almost a month. Give her some space.”

“No, damn it, I won't give her space,” Joan stormed. “I'm going to keep right in
her face.”

Suzanne started to heave a sigh of relief when Liz turned to Joan. “What is it about
Suzanne that makes you so angry?”

Joan swung her whole body toward Liz. “She's smug! She quietly sits there like her
world is intact, and I can't stand it.”

“Why not?” Liz questioned tenderly.

“Because it's not.” Joan's temper was beginning to defuse. “I know it's not. Nobody
with a perfect world ends up here.”

“Joan,” John reminded her, “you thought your world was perfect, remember?”

Joan sat up straight in her chair and her voice once again gained some volume. “Yes,
I remember. Maybe that's why she ticks me off. She reminds me of me, and that pisses
me off.”

Suzanne's hands had started to shake as the group interchange took place. She lowered
her eyes to the floor to try to gain control of the hostility that was building up
inside of her. The voices continued on. They were talking about her as if she wasn't
there and she couldn't hear them.
I can't stand this. I can't! I can't!

“Maybe she's just scared,” John commented.

“And maybe she's not,” Joan spat back at him. “Maybe she's sitting there making fun
of all of us.”

“Maybe,” John began.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Suzanne nearly screamed as she stood up with her fists
clenched at her sides. “Quit talking about me as if I don't exist.”

“Well, you don't exist,” Joan countered. “To this group, you're inanimate. Dead.”
She stood up, glaring at Suzanne. “You don't participate,” Joan fumed. “You don't
share. We don't know anything about you.”

“I'll tell you, damn it! All right? But just quit all this.” Suzanne clenched and
unclenched her fists. “I can't stand it. It's the same way my family was. They'd
talk about me as though I wasn't even there. ‘Suzanne is not very good at being with
people. Suzanne is very shy. No, she's not shy, Suzanne thinks she's better.' The
voices would go on and on, and no one would even look in my direction to see if I
had a comment or was even alive.”

Anger danced within her. “Well, I am alive! I was alive then, and I'm alive
now.
Maybe I don't know how to participate. Maybe I don't know how to talk to you without
sounding like a whiner, and I detest whiners.” She sank back into her chair as Joan
carefully sat down in her own. “My mother was a whiner,” Suzanne continued. “And
I'm not going to be one—do you understand? I'd rather not say anything at all.”

The heat of rage flushed up Suzanne's body. All control and logic had left her mind.
She was not thinking about what she was saying.
These people want to know who I am.
I'll tell them, damn it. They'll find out how awful I am and then they'll leave me
alone.

She leaned forward in her chair, daring anyone to say anything, to interrupt. “I'm
a drunk, okay? I drank every night. I'd get as intoxicated as I could—even sloppy
drunk. Then I'd pick up men. It didn't matter who or even where. I've slept with
more men than I care to count, and I don't remember their faces let alone their names.”
She glared at Joan. “I'm a slut. You got that? A loose woman, a piece of garbage.”
Suzanne's voice was strong and angry. She stared at the group, ready to confront
their hostility. She didn't see any, but her rage was in full swing now.

“Well, I got really drunk one night and ran into the wrong man. He's one of my salesmen.
He took pictures. He's blackmailing me.” She turned to Joan. “I've got to pay his
price to keep it a secret or I'll lose my job. But he doesn't want just money.” Her
voice ended on a sob, and that angered her some more. Once again grabbing on to her
rage, Suzanne turned to Liz. “You wanted to know my crisis? Well, now you've got
it. Now you know I'm a drunk and a slut. Now you can all really shut me out.”

Suddenly, Suzanne stood and screamed, “Now just leave me alone. Get the fuck out
of my life and leave me alone.” She headed toward the door, knocking her chair over
as she went.

“Suzanne!” Joan called, but Suzanne kept marching away.

The sobs seemed to be coming from the very depths of Suzanne's soul as she buried
her head in her pillow and clung to her bed. She was awash in a sea of pain; nothing
made sense. Her whole world was tumbling around her. She felt alone and isolated
as the sobs racked her body.

After what seemed like hours, the sobs started to ease and fatigue settled in. Gentle
hands pulled a blanket up over her. Suzanne turned her head away from the wall. Joan
was sitting quietly by her bed. Suzanne stared at her and whispered, “Go away.”

“No, I'm not going away.” Joan's voice was soft. “You think you're awful and all
alone. Well, you're not either. You have to convince yourself you're not awful, but
I can let you know that you're not alone.” Joan reached out to put her hand on Suzanne's
forehead, but Suzanne flinched and pulled away.

“I used to get hit a lot too,” Joan said. “It seemed like nobody loved me. So, when
I got older, I found love the only way I knew how. I went to bed with guys. By the
time I was fourteen, I had slept with every guy in my class. It's a good thing my
class wasn't really big.” She sadly smiled.

“I really wrecked my body with all the sex I had at such a young age. But by the
time my old man got done with me, it was probably already a mess.”

Suzanne's eyes grew large and she held her breath.

“Yeah,” Joan sneered. “My
father
,” she spit the word as though it was something vile
and foul-tasting, “started messing with me when I was a kid.” She paused for a moment.
“I've talked about all of this in group. Weren't you there?” Then she answered her
own question. “If you're like me, you've probably been blocking everything out anyway.”

Joan touched Suzanne's arm. “That's why you made me so mad. You remind me of me.
And the way I handle things isn't good—shutting everything up inside, and feeling
like I'm awful and weird and strange. And I'm not, Suzanne, and neither are you.
Everybody's got something. I'm discovering that. Nobody is pain-free.” She pulled
the covers up around Suzanne's shoulders and quietly left the room.