Put Me Back Together(32)

But it wasn’t Em.

It was my mother.

“Well, I’m glad to know you can still pick up a phone,” she said as I sat down at my desk, turning to face my books. I knew this was where my mother wanted me to be on a Saturday morning, and somehow, even though she couldn’t see me over the phone, it was always where I put myself when she called.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, trying to sound chipper. Luckily for her I was already in a pretty good mood, so chipper wasn’t too much of a stretch. I almost sounded believable.

“Honey, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for weeks, which is more than enough time for you to come up with a valid excuse for dodging my calls. So let’s hear it.”

There was a television on in the background and the news was on, naturally. My parents only ever turned on the TV to watch the news or the History Channel. Dad had a bizarre interest in the American Civil War that bordered on obsession. It helped that he was a history professor and could chalk it all up to “research.” I recognized the Vancouver local news anchor Leslie Wong’s voice and knew exactly what she would be reporting on. That damn station hadn’t changed news anchors in six years. I detested the sound of her voice. I still heard it in my dreams…

“The babysitter, whose name also can’t be revealed due to her age, testified today that she had never met the boy before that afternoon, and had no idea why he had targeted the Wesley family…”

There was nothing like hearing your lies repeated over and over, broadcast to the world, printed in every newspaper.


It was almost enough to make you commit cold-blooded murder.

“Can you go into another room, please?” I replied tensely.

My mother sighed and I could hear her walking up the stairs, the jingle of her gold bangles as she moved. It was such a familiar sound—a childhood sound—that it almost made me wish I was at home. Almost.

“There, is that far enough?” my mother said. “Really, Katie, you’d think after all these years—”

“It’s not so bad anymore,” I lied. “It’s just lately, because of all the coverage.”

“But the coverage isn’t even about you,” my mother went on. “It’s about Brandon and his punishment. I know we all feel the sentence was too light and it’s frightening to think of him—”

“I’m not frightened,” I said.

“All right, Katie, you’re not frightened. Then what is it, hmm? Your sister says you’ve met a boy and you—”

“She said what?” I cried, slapping my hand down on my desk so hard the cat sprang out of his hiding place in the hamper and scampered for the door. God, Emily had such a big mouth sometimes. I was sure she’d brought up Lucas to avoid questions about her love life. Some sister, throwing me to the wolves.

“Katie, really, calm down. Emily just mentioned it in passing. I’m glad you’ve made a new friend.”

Oh lord. What was it about talking with my mother about guys that made me feel like I was eleven years old again? Just the way she said the word “friend” made me want to cover my ears and yell at her to leave me alone.

And she wasn’t done. “I just worry about you getting into a relationship at this delicate time.”

“How did we go from friend to relationship? That’s quite a leap,” I protested.

“Well, do you want to have a relationship with him?”

I wasn’t about to walk into that trap. I wisely kept quiet.

“I know you must be feeling very emotional right now. I’ve seen it so many times with clients, even years later, some news item surfaces and it all comes rushing back—”

“Well, that’s not happening to me,” I said, looking over at the clock radio I’d permanently unplugged from the wall, and my TV, which I’d never hooked up to cable, so I could only watch DVDs and never accidentally stumble onto the news.

“Katie, you don’t have to pretend with me. Your father and I are here to support you. Dr. Lepore said—”

“You’ve been talking to Dr. Lepore?” This time I tried to keep the outrage out of my voice. I don’t think I was really successful. “God, Mom. He isn’t even my therapist anymore.”

“Still, we wanted to consult him. Just so we’d be ready to address the emotional impact. So we could help you get through this.”

I pulled off my glasses and rubbed at my eyes.

“Emotional impact, Mom? Really?” It was the way she said the words that got to me, as though she was reading from a script.

“You know this blasé attitude isn’t exactly reassuring, Katie. In fact, it’s exactly what Dr. Lepore—”

“Listen, Mom,” I interrupted, because if she mentioned Dr. Lepore one more time I was going to scream obscenities. “I know you’re worried about me. And that’s sweet, it really is. I know you think I’m hiding some deep, dark hurt, and that the trauma of what happened is going to take me down as soon as March twentieth hits, but I’m telling you, I’m really fine. I’m doing well here at school. Kingston is a beautiful town. And Emily’s here to look after me.” I think I heard my mother actually snort when I said this. “I’m doing great. And I’m going to keep doing great. So you can stop worrying about me. Honest.”