The Bad Daughter(113)
What am I missing? she recalled wondering. What’s wrong with this picture?
The answer to both those questions had been there all along: Cassidy.
All those years of study, the classes she’d taken in aberrant behavior, the many articles she’d read on the subject, only to be fooled by an adolescent girl. A child without a conscience. A twelve-year-old sociopath.
Was Cassidy a bad seed or a product of her environment? Perhaps a combination of the two. Nature versus nurture, the eternal debate.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Robin said out loud. After all, fooling people was what sociopaths did best.
She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and called her L.A. office, recording a new message for her voice mail, informing callers that she would be away for another week, and wondering if anyone would care. Then she checked for messages. There was only one, from four days ago.
“Hi,” the message began. “This is Adeline Sullivan, the client who ran out on you in the middle of our session. I believe I said at the time that I didn’t think we were a good fit, and that might still be true. But the fact is that I took your advice. After a particularly unpleasant evening, I told my husband that I would no longer be inviting his mother over for dinner and that if he wanted to see her, then he could take her grocery shopping and out to lunch. He wasn’t very happy about it, but I have to say—I am! Of course my daughter is still treating me like shit, but I thought maybe we could work on that. If you’d agree to see me again, that is. Anyway, you can let me know. I completely understand if you’d rather not, but I really hope you’ll give me a second chance. I look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye.”
Robin replayed the message to make sure she’d heard it correctly. Then she tucked the phone back into her pocket and left the room, not sure where she was going until she found herself in Cassidy’s bedroom. The snow globe was still on the night table, and Robin reached for it, turning it over in her hands and watching the flakes of fake snow dance gracefully through the clear liquid surrounding the delicate ballerina.
She stood absolutely still for several long seconds before returning the snow globe to the nightstand. Then slowly, deliberately, she lifted her hands into the air, feeling the painful pull on her stitches as her hands came together above her head in a graceful arc, her fingers touching. She closed her eyes and pushed her weight into her toes, lifting her heels off the floor and swaying from side to side, then dancing in slow circles around the room, as invisible flakes of snow cascaded gently around her head. She twirled around the room, her head back, her chin raised, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Inhaling the good energy, exhaling the bad.
Her phone rang.
Robin came to a halt, then waited for the room to stop spinning before reaching into her pocket for her cell. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” said her sister. “I need you to set an extra place for dinner.”
“For Donny?”
“No, for Brad Pitt.”
Robin smiled. “I’ll set another place.”
“Good. Are you all right? You sound out of breath. You’re not having one of your panic attacks, are you?”
“No. I’m good.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Robin said. “I’m sure.”
FOR MY TWO WONDERFUL DAUGHTERS,
SHANNON AND ANNIE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My thanks to my husband, Warren, who after all these years has finally learned how to critique my manuscripts without my wanting to (literally) throw the book at him. Thanks also to my daughter Shannon (please check out her website at shannonmicol.com), for her insightful editorial comments and overall assistance. And, of course, my thanks and gratitude to Larry Mirkin, whose suggestions and support were as invaluable as always.
Normally I would also thank Bev Slopen for her help in the writing of my novel, but this year our schedules didn’t quite mesh. Having said that, I’ll thank her anyway—for being a generous sounding board and a good friend.
Thanks and a hearty “Welcome aboard” to my new editor, Anne Speyer. I’ve had quite a few editors during my career, and it’s sometimes hard learning to trust a new voice. But Anne has been nothing short of amazing. She “gets” me and what I’m trying to do, and I feel very grateful that she’s on my team.
Speaking of teams, I want to thank everyone at WME Entertainment, especially my longtime agent, Tracy Fisher, who, like a fine wine, gets better every year, and her assistants past and present—most recently Alli Dwyer, Drew Factor, and Fiona Smith. I also want to thank everyone in every department—the list gets longer with each book, so please forgive me for not naming you individually as I dread leaving anybody out—at Ballantine in New York and at Doubleday Canada (both of which are divisions of Penguin Random House) for all their hard work and efforts on my behalf, as well as my publishers and translators all over the world. In these days of shrinking audiences and fewer publishing houses, I feel very fortunate indeed. (I’ll miss you, Helga! Take care of yourself.)
Special thanks to Corinne Assayag, who has done and continues to do such an incredible job with my website.
Hugs and kisses to my daughter Annie, her husband, Courtney, and their gorgeous, fabulous children, Hayden and Skylar. Another hug to my sister, Renee (who, I promise, is nothing at all like Melanie), and to Aurora, for continuing to take such good care of me and for making the best cranberry muffins and strawberry-banana-mango smoothies in town.