The Bad Daughter(15)

It was as if she’d never left.

Thank God for the Ativan, she thought. It was the only thing that was keeping her upright.

Melanie dropped her keys onto the side table to the left of the front door and walked toward the staircase in the middle of the center hall. “Landon,” she called out. “Come say hello to your long-lost auntie. Landon,” she called again when he failed to materialize after several seconds. She turned back to Robin. “So, what do you think?”

“Looks the same,” Robin said without looking.

“Well, I made a few changes after Dad moved out. Couldn’t afford to do much, of course. Not that I have any right to complain. He did leave behind all the old furniture.”

Not to mention letting you continue to live rent-free in the home he’s provided for you and your son these past eighteen years.

“Dad and Tara bought all new stuff when they moved. Well, they had to, really. Nothing here was suitable, and Tara wanted to ‘put her own stamp on things,’ as she put it. Guess she’d lived with Mom’s ‘stamp’ long enough. Can’t say I blame her. I’m getting a little tired of it myself. You want something to drink?”

“Maybe a glass of water.”

“I don’t have any of that fancy bottled water you probably like.”

“Tap water’s fine.”

“Well, you know where the kitchen is. Help yourself.” Melanie turned back toward the stairs. “Landon, get down here right now!”

Robin moved slowly past the stained-oak staircase and the downstairs powder room to the eat-in kitchen at the back of the house. She glanced only briefly into the living room to her left and the dining room to her right, refusing to allow enough time for familiar objects to register. She proceeded directly to the sink, ignoring the view of the backyard from the window above it and turning on the cold-water tap while reaching into the cupboard on her right for a glass. She filled one with water and drank it down, then rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher.

“You know that it’s not good to rinse things first,” Melanie said from somewhere behind her. “Leaves a film.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I thought therapists were supposed to know everything.”

“Guess I’m not a very good therapist.”

Melanie shrugged, as if accepting Robin’s appraisal.

“Where’s Landon?” Robin asked. “I thought he was coming down.”

“Apparently not. You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“We usually have dinner around six. That too early for you?”

“Six o’clock sounds good.”

“It won’t be anything fancy. Chili, most likely. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No. Chili sounds great.”

“Well, it’s not great. But Landon likes chili, so it’ll have to do. You want to go upstairs, unpack, get settled?”

Get settled? Are you kidding me? I’ve never felt less settled in my life. “Sure.”

“It’s your old room. Actually, it was Cassidy’s before they moved into the new house. Now it’s yours again. Seems we’ve come full circle.” She looked at Robin, apparently surprised to find her still there. “You don’t need me to show you the way, do you?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Feel free to have a nap before dinner,” Melanie said as Robin was leaving the kitchen.

“Thanks. I just might do that.”

“Good,” said Melanie. “You need it. You look like crap.”





CHAPTER SIX


Robin was asleep the minute her head hit the pillow.

The dreams started almost immediately.

In the first dream, she was walking down Main Street searching for Tillie’s. She was supposed to be meeting her mother and she was already late. But Tillie’s wasn’t in its usual location. Robin ran up and down the street, crossing to the other side and back again, then running into the drugstore and asking the pharmacist behind the counter where the popular shop had moved.

“Take these,” he said. “You’ll find it.”

Suddenly Robin was standing in front of a large window full of silver picture frames and quasi antiques, the name Tillie’s painted across the glass in letters of swirling gold. She entered the store. “If you’re looking for Mommy,” Melanie called from behind an old-fashioned cash register, “you’re out of luck. She just left.”

“Where did she go?”

“She’s in a coma,” Melanie said. “Now go away. Can’t you see I’m busy with a customer?”

The customer turned around.

It was Tara.

She didn’t have a face.

Robin groaned in her sleep and flipped over onto her side as that dream faded and another one took its place.

She was in her office, and the phone was ringing. It was Adeline Sullivan, calling to say she wouldn’t be able to make their next session. She’d shot her husband. “He was cheating on me,” she told Robin.

“All men cheat,” Robin said.

“What do I tell the police? They’re expecting a confession.”

“Tell them you’re autistic,” Robin advised. “Just because you’re autistic doesn’t mean you’re a killer.”