Acts of Violet(25)

“Of course.” As if she’d encourage me to lie.

“I mean no offense to you or your profession here, but there’s something about therapy I don’t quite buy. Not in the sense that it doesn’t help people—I’m sure it does—but I’ve always wondered if there was some kind of placebo effect going on. Something that wouldn’t work on me.”

“It sounds like you’re saying you believe you are immune to therapy.”

Soothing voice and quick on the uptake. I can work with this. “Exactly. Like how some people just aren’t ticklish. That’s why I never did this kind of thing before. I never understood how people believe they can talk their problems away. I mean, people talk too much already, and complaining about problems is like the majority of what comes out of their mouths. I’m not saying mental health isn’t important, but it seems like a lot of people are this special combo of clueless and self-obsessed. They’re so tangled in their own hang-ups and triggers, it takes over their lives. Maybe they wouldn’t be so miserable if, I don’t know, they shut up about themselves and thought about other people once in a while.”

Renatta tucks a strand of her black bobbed hair behind her ear. “Do you see being here as an act of selfishness?”

“Kind of? But that’s because I’m not clueless and I don’t want to become self-obsessed. I know what’s wrong with me but I don’t think talking about it is gonna fix anything.”

“And yet, here you are.” Tilting her head, Renatta gives me a searching look.

“Yeah, that’s because of the sleepwalking. It’s something I’ve done on and off throughout my life, but it’s sorta gotten worse.” I tell her about my al fresco nap by the Witkin.

“Are you currently on any medications?”

“Nope.”

“What about stress?”

“Is anybody on the planet not under stress?” It’s tough to keep the petulance out of my voice.

“Yes, but the levels of stress we experience and our coping mechanisms vary greatly. When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned needing to work through some family issues. Could this be causing you undue stress and exacerbating your sleepwalking?”

I let out a put-upon sigh, sounding like teenage Quinn whenever she felt I was being too smothering. “Pretty sure it is, yeah.”

A few jots on the legal pad and Renatta glances up, waiting for me to continue.

Not continue so much as begin. I dig my fingertips into the pillow. Why is it so hard to talk about? Why is she so hard to talk about?

“Just about ten years ago, my sister went missing. The theater I woke up in front of, that’s where she was last seen. The whole thing is so obvious. I don’t know what happened to her, we weren’t on the best terms when she disappeared, and her annual candlelight vigil is coming up. Clearly, my subconscious brain is seeking some kind of impossible closure. It’s not that complicated.”

“It sounds a little complicated.”

“Okay, maybe,” I concede. In fact, my relationship with Violet is such a knotted mess of resentment, I can’t find a single loose thread to pull on in hopes of unraveling this thing. I stare at Renatta’s feet, which are encased in black leather ankle boots. Square-toed. Sensible heel. I don’t trust women who wear trendy, uncomfortable footwear. “I like your boots.”

“Thank you. So, this latest sleepwalking incident … Can you think of something specific that might’ve triggered it?”

“Gosh, let’s see. It could be the billions of flyers plastered all over Willow Glen advertising the vigil—it’s like they printed ten times as many to mark the ten-year anniversary. Then every day there’s an announcement of a new book or TV series or god-knows-what about my sister. And we can’t forget the podcast host hounding me to be on his show, along with other media requests, which I can usually ignore. But what’s harder to ignore are the fake sightings and photos of my sister.” At Renatta’s perplexed look, I add, “Did I mention my sister is Violet Volk?”

“Ah.” Vague recognition at the name. “You did not.” Her face and voice are set to neutral.

“I’m guessing you’ve heard of her?”

“I’m not closely familiar with her work, but I know who she is, yes.” Points to Renatta, for using present tense without my correcting her first.

“Everybody wants to know what it was like to have a famous sister. Is like.” What the hell? Since when am I the one to slip into past tense?

“And what do you tell them?”

“I say I’m proud of her achievements and that I never would’ve been able to face the pressures of stardom with the same grace she did.” I snort. “Sometimes, to be extra cloying, I’ll add that I don’t think of Violet as a celebrity. That she’s still my sister.”

“And what’s the honest answer?”

“Honest answers are few and far between when you have a sister like Violet. I lie to keep the peace. She lies because that’s who she is.”

“What do you lie about?”

My laugh is throaty and dark. “Oh, I’m not gonna take the pin out of that grenade just yet.”

“That’s fine.” A quick scribble of notes and she gives me a sympathetic smile. “So your relationship with Violet was turbulent, she unexpectedly vanished, and now there’s this sudden abundance of attention on your sister. What is that like for you?”