The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (111 page)

Dr. Meadows drew a pair of stick figures several inches apart on the blackboard, saying, “This is what a healthy person’s boundaries look like.” Below, she drew a second pair, spaced more closely together, one figure larger than the other. She pointed at the smaller of the two. “That’s you, the codependent. You don’t see yourself as an equal. You allow yourself to be bullied. At the same time, you feel it’s your job to fix what’s wrong with everything and everyone around you: You may even ignore it when you’re ill, or make yourself sick running around trying to please everyone but yourself. A lot of you get injured, too, your heads so crammed with concerns about others you literally don’t look where you’re going.”

A shudder of recognition went through Anna. It was as though the woman were talking directly to her. The time she’d burned her hand snatching the pan off the stove: Hadn’t she been fretting over her mother? And last winter, that flu she’d had that turned into pneumonia because she’d been too busy shuttling back and forth between Monica and her mother to stay in bed.
No wonder I’m so miserable.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw heads nodding in silent acknowledgment. Apparently, she wasn’t alone. And what had all that frenzied effort accomplished? In her case, nothing. Monica was no better off, and she certainly wasn’t. Betty was the only one who benefited, but at what price?

Even Liz seemed to be taking it all in. She’d stopped fidgeting, her gaze fixed on the speaker. At the end, as everyone was shuffling to their feet, she muttered, “Mom’s life story.”

It was true. All those years of putting up with their dad, years that had worn Betty down like shoes treading the same tired ground day after day. How different all their lives might have been if she’d stood up to him instead. “I guess there are some advantages to losing your marbles,” she said dryly. Betty wouldn’t spend the rest of her life agonizing over the choices she’d made.

They’d each been assigned a color group—Anna and Liz were in the Green Group—but as they wandered outside, blinking in the sunlight that had burned off most of the fog, Anna was in no hurry to get to their classroom. They strolled past the smoking area, a gazebo where a handful of die-hard smokers, presumably patients, stood huddled, greedily puffing away. Her gaze was drawn to a spiky-haired kid in a faded denim jacket. He looked vaguely familiar.

Liz nudged her. “Isn’t that—?”

Anna remembered where she knew him from. “Gabe Talbott,” she whispered back. The star of the popular sitcom
Boys Will Be Boys.
Who would it be next, Captain Kangaroo? “I didn’t know he was a—” She bit her tongue; she was in no position to judge.

They walked into their assigned room to find a dozen chairs arranged in a circle. Noting the box of Kleenex strategically placed beside each one, Anna felt her stomach clench.
Please, don’t let me cry.
She always felt like such a fool when she cried in public. No one felt sorry for you when you were fat; you just looked pathetic.

The other members of the Green Group included Mr. and Mrs. Got-Rocks, a poodle-haired older woman and her meek middle-aged son, a shy young woman in a long Indian cotton skirt and Birkenstocks, a man with dark circles under his eyes who could easily have been mistaken for a patient, and three generations of women from the same family, all with the same easy smiles and outgoing manner. They looked the least likely to break down, so it surprised Anna when the youngest, who looked to be about her age, had no sooner settled into her seat than she was reaching for a tissue.

Their group leader was a strikingly attractive man with clipped dark hair graying at the temples and eyes the deep marine of the ocean visible through the window at his back. Anna might have been intimidated, but his expression was so warm as he surveyed the room, she was immediately put at ease.

His badge identified him as Dr. Marcus Raboy, though he introduced himself as Marc. When the woman sniffling into a Kleenex raised her head with a sheepish look, he said in a kind voice, “We’ll be talking about stuff that’s painful. It might cause some feelings to come up, but what goes on in this room stays in this room. Understood?” He looked about the circle, his gaze lingering on Anna. Or was she just imagining it?

Oh, God. Why did he have to be so good-looking? She thought of nice old Dr. Fredericks, their family practitioner when she was little, who’d told elephant jokes and given out lollipops. That would’ve been less distracting. Now all week she’d be concentrating on this Mel Gibson look-alike instead of the business at hand.

They went around the circle, introducing themselves and telling a little bit about why they were there. When it was Anna’s turn, she hesitated, tongue-tied all of a sudden. “I’m Anna … and I’m here for my sister Monica. I guess you could say that things have … gotten out of hand. With her drinking, I mean. I work for her, you see …” She paused, acutely aware of Marc’s gaze on her. “So I’m around her a lot. More than normal, I mean. That is, more than I would be otherwise …” Her voice trailed off, and heat climbed into her cheeks. “So, anyway, that’s why I’m here.”

Liz was next. “I’m not sure why I’m here.” She sat with her legs crossed and her arms tightly folded over her chest, a faint line creasing her brow. “Monica and I were never that close. After she became famous, it was as if she didn’t even know me. Even so, I’d like to see her get sober. If not for her sake, then for Anna’s.”

Marc’s expression was mild and considering. Anna was sure he’d heard tales far worse than any she or Liz could tell. They seemed to have plenty of company in the Drunk and Disorderly Family Members Department. She relaxed a bit. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

They spent the first half hour talking about what they hoped to get out of the week. Then Marc passed out sketch pads and crayons. “I want you each to draw a childhood memory,” he instructed. “But here’s the catch: You have to do it with your left hand.”

It seemed a pointless exercise, but Anna was willing to go along. At first, all she could manage were squiggles, but gradually a little girl all alone in the backseat of a car began to emerge. She looked unhappy—no, more than that, miserable. Anna frowned, catching her lower lip in her teeth. Where had
that
come from? It was so long ago she barely remembered it.

One by one, they shared the stories behind their drawings. Mrs. Got-Rock’s was of a dog on a leash being dragged away from a sobbing little girl. “His name was Teddy,” she said in a voice so soft Anna had to strain to hear. “I’d been begging my parents for a dog, so they finally broke down and gave me one for my birthday. I just loved him. He was so cute, with these big brown eyes and Dumbo ears. The only bad thing was that he peed all over the carpet and chewed up everything in sight. It wasn’t his fault. He was just a puppy. But Mother … well, she wasn’t too happy about it.” Her voice cracked. “The worst of it was they didn’t even tell me. This man came one day and took him away.”

Her husband stared blankly ahead as if to show emotion would be a sign of weakness. His drawing was of a little boy building sand castles on the beach that could have been an ad for Sea & Ski.

The shy woman in the long skirt and Birkenstocks, whose name was Sophie, burst into tears before she could get a word out. Marc told her not to worry; they could talk later on in private. Sophie nodded, hunched over with her head buried in her hands. However traumatic the memory, it wasn’t to be found in her portrait of a smiling family gathered around the dinner table.

Then suddenly all eyes were on Anna. She took a deep breath. Her father had taken them out for root beer floats that day, she began. But on their way downtown she’d done something that made him mad—she couldn’t remember what—so he’d punished her by making her wait in the car.

“What were you feeling?” Marc prodded gently.

“Disappointed, I guess.” It was so long ago. Who remembered?

“Not upset?”

“Well, yes … I suppose so.”

“You must have been angry.”

She shrugged. “I was a pretty easygoing kid.”

“Is that you talking or your parents?”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I’ve heard so many different versions of my childhood that I’m not sure anymore which is mine. Is that normal?”

“Define normal.”

“Normal,” she said with a rueful smile, “is everyone but you.”

He smiled back. “That’s one way of looking at it.” She thought she saw a glint of something in his eyes, and remembered the poster on the wall in the cafeteria with its slogan
FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT
. Did Marc have demons of his own?

They moved on to Liz, with her crude drawing of a baby falling out of a high chair, presumably her. But Anna found she couldn’t concentrate on the story. Instead she thought of Marc, unable to shake the feeling that his empathy came from personal experience. He was married, she could see from the gold band he wore, yet she sensed a loss of some kind. Even odder, she found herself wanting to reach over and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. She blushed at the thought, and wondered if she was on her way to becoming as peculiar as old Miss Finley from church, who talked obsessively about the love of her life who’d been killed in World War II and who, according to Althea Wormley, she’d barely known.

When they broke for lunch, it was with a collective sigh of relief. This was twice as hard as any work they’d ever done. In the cafeteria Anna helped herself to a salad and small bowl of fruit with cottage cheese, while Liz, who could eat anything and not gain an ounce, heaped her plate with lasagna. The weather was mild, so they carried their trays outside and sat at one of the picnic tables on the sheltered patio that faced the lawn. Surprisingly, the fear Anna had felt on the way here seemed to have faded. Maybe it had something to do with Marc, who, in addition to being their group leader, was Monica’s primary therapist. Her sister might have every other man in the universe wrapped around her little finger, but Anna couldn’t imagine Marc falling under her spell. Which meant there was hope that when Monica was sent home in two weeks she’d be considerably humbled and maybe even likable.

Her mind must have wandered because the next thing she knew Liz was waving a hand in front of her face, calling, “Yoo-hoo. Anyone home?”

Anna blinked, and her sister’s face came into focus. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“It’s certainly not what I expected.” Liz looked out over the lawn, where people sat quietly conversing or simply basking in the sun. “I thought it’d be just about Monica, but it’s not, is it? We’re all in this together in a way.”

Anna nodded. “Apples from the same tree.”

“With a few rotten ones mixed in,” Liz replied with a mirthless laugh.

“I’m sorry I didn’t remember about the high chair.” Anna shot her sister an apologetic look.

“It wasn’t
your
fault. You weren’t even there.” Liz sounded annoyed for some reason.

“I know, but—”

Liz turned on her. “Will you cut it out! You’re always so damn nice, I end up feeling like shit.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the one doing all the heavy lifting.”

“You mean with Mom?”

“Among other things.” Her gaze cut away.

Anna surprised herself by saying, “If you feel that way, then maybe it’s time you did your share.”

Liz looked on the verge of defending herself but broke into a sheepish grin instead. “
That’s
more like it.” Then she frowned, muttering, “I’m not as bad as Monica, at least. And let’s not forget I have a child.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Anna sighed.

Now it was Liz’s turn to apologize. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t complain.”

“It’s okay,” Anna said.

“That day with Dad? I remember it as if it were yesterday.” Liz was staring off into the distance, the food growing cold on her plate. “You were supposed to keep an eye on me, and when I wouldn’t quiet down, he took it out on you instead. Do you know how that made me feel?” Liz turned to her, and Anna was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears. “On the way home I threw up all over the backseat.”

Anna had forgotten that part. “Funny, we all grew up under the same roof, but it’s as if we had different childhoods.”

Their attention was drawn to a man and a boy seated side by side on the lawn. The boy was bawling openly, and the man had an arm about his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. Liz quickly averted her gaze. She’d obviously had her fill of family angst for one day. “So what do you think of Marc?” she asked.

Anna thought of the laugh lines that radiated from the corners of his eyes, eyes that had seemed to
see
her where to others she was invisible, good old dependable Anna, like a faithful dog at their feet. She sidestepped the question by asking, “What did
you
think of him?”

“Tall, dark, and handsome.” Liz’s lips curled up in a sly smile.

Anna blushed. “I didn’t mean
that
way.”

“I can’t help it that he’s sexy. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Anna’s blush deepened. “He
is
good-looking.” That much was fact.

“Maybe he’s up for grabs.”

“He’s not.” Anna spoke more sharply than she’d intended, feeling a surprising flash of envy at the thought of Liz’s making a play for him. At the same time, a voice in her head mocked,
Face it, he wouldn’t be interested in you even if he were single.

“What makes you so sure?”

“The ring on his finger. Besides,” she ventured cautiously, “I thought you were seeing someone.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You mean—”

“I was talking about
you
.”

“Me?” Anna squeaked. Okay, the same thought had occurred to her, but she also daydreamed about winning the lottery and waking up one morning magically slim.

“You don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“How pretty you are. You always were, but now that you’re thinner it’s even more …” She searched for the word. “Dramatic.”

“I guess Hollywood discovered the wrong sister.” Anna gave a dry laugh but was secretly pleased. Especially since Liz wasn’t known for giving out false compliments.