The Bad Daughter(6)

“You okay?” the waitress asked, approaching with a pot of hot coffee.

“I will be,” Robin managed to say, trying to find a spot on the lumpy red vinyl seat that she wouldn’t stick to. “Once I get some of that.”

The waitress poured her a cup. “You need a menu?”

“No. Just the coffee.” Robin reached for the cup, returning her hands to her lap when she realized they were shaking. She glanced toward the counter running along one wall, three of the five stools in front of it occupied by men with heavy-looking tool belts around their waists. A list of the diner’s specialties was written in black paint on the long mirror behind the counter. Sundaes. Blueberry Pancakes. Waffles. Western Omelets. “Do you have any bagels?”

“Sesame seed, poppy seed, cinnamon-raisin,” the waitress rattled off.

Oh, God. “Sesame seed.”

“Toasted?”

Shit. “Yes, please.”

“Buttered?”

Help. “Okay.”

“You sure you’re all right?”

Robin looked up at the woman, who was around fifty and at least that many pounds overweight. She had a sweet bow-shaped mouth and a twinkle in her kind brown eyes. Just smile and tell her you’re fine. “My father’s been shot,” Robin said instead, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

“And his wife, Tara. She was shot, too,” she continued, hearing her voice rise with each sentence. “She used to be my best friend, and my brother’s fiancée. Until she married my father.” A strangled chuckle escaped her mouth. You’re hysterical, she told herself. Stop talking. Stop talking now. “And her daughter, Cassidy. She was shot, too. She’s only twelve.”

The waitress looked stunned. She slid into the seat on the opposite side of the booth, depositing the pot of coffee on the table and reaching across to take one of Robin’s shaking hands in her own. “That’s so awful, honey. Did it happen here? I haven’t heard anything…”

“No. It happened in Red Bluff. I’m on my way there now. As soon as the bus comes.” She glanced toward the terminal. “I live in L.A. There are no flights to Red Bluff anymore because nobody in their right mind wants to go there. There’s a municipal airport, but it hasn’t been used in years. That’s why I have to take the bus.”

“Are you alone?”

“My sister’s meeting me at the bus stop.”

“Well, that’s good,” the waitress said.

“Not really,” Robin said with a smile. “She hates me.” Why am I smiling? Stop smiling!

“I’m sure she doesn’t…”

“Oh, yes, she absolutely does. She thinks I’ve had it so easy all my life. That I’ve had all the breaks. That I got to go away to college while she had to stay in Red Bluff and look after our mother when she was dying. Which isn’t exactly the truth, because even though I had a partial scholarship, I paid for the rest all by myself. My father said a master’s degree in psychology was a waste of time and money and he wasn’t going to contribute to it, which is why it took me so long to finish my degree.” Okay, that’s enough. She’s not interested. You can stop now.

Except she couldn’t stop the words that were already pouring out of her.

“That plus the fact that I was traveling back and forth all the time to see my mother,” Robin continued without pause, her words picking up speed, like a runaway train. “My sister conveniently leaves that out, along with the fact that she had to stay in Red Bluff anyway because of her son. She has a son, Landon. He’s eighteen now. He was named for this actor. He’s dead now. The actor, not Landon. Landon’s autistic. I’m sure she blames me for that, too.” Robin’s smile stretched toward her ears. She began laughing, then crying, then laughing and crying at the same time until she was gasping for air. “Oh, God. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

The waitress was instantly on her feet. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Robin reached out and grabbed the woman’s apron. “No, it’s okay. It’s just a panic attack. I’ll be fine. Honestly. I don’t need an ambulance.”

“I have some Valium in my purse. Would you like a couple?”

“Dear God, yes.”

A minute later, the waitress was back, two small pills in the palm of her hand.

“I think I love you,” Robin said.



* * *



—

At ten o’clock Robin boarded the Greyhound bus for Red Bluff. Any residual feelings of embarrassment she’d had about her mini breakdown at breakfast—I’m a therapist, for God’s sake. I just spilled my guts to a waitress in a diner—had long since disappeared into the pleasant buzz from the Valium, and she slept for most of the more than two-hour journey north along Highway 5. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she whispered into the palm of her hand as the bus drew closer to Red Bluff, located at the base of the snow-covered Cascades, about halfway between Sacramento and the Oregon border, on the banks of the Sacramento River, the largest river in California.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she repeated as the bus made its way down tree-lined Main Street in what was generously referred to as Historic Downtown Red Bluff. If memory served, there were about one hundred and fifty businesses located in the downtown core, all just blocks from the river. Most of the residents lived in the surrounding suburbs—fully a fifth of them below the poverty line—and her father had played a major part in developing its 7.7 square miles.