Leave Me
Subject: Therapy?
I think Dr. Lewis would take issue with the idea that being in therapy = damaged. That said, I will fully acknowledge that I have fucked up. We are a family of fuckups. Except maybe not the kids. They’re fuckups in training.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
Fuckups in training sounds like a band you would’ve championed back in the day.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
I like that. The Fuckups in Training. We’ll take our act on the road and be like the Partridge Family. Oscar can play guitar. Liv can sing.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
Have you heard Liv sing? You and Oscar handle vocals. Liv will be Reuben Kincaid, only much, much scarier.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
Liv manages, Oscar and I handle music? Are you in this lineup?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
I’m not sure. Shirley Partridge was a widow. So one of us has to die. I’m the more obvious candidate.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
That’s not funny, Maribeth.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
I’m sorry. A therapist might say I deflect discomfort with humor.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
Every time the phone rings, I think someone is calling with bad news about you.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
No wonder you never pick up. (Sorry. I could probably use some therapy, too.)
From: [email protected]
Subject: Therapy?
Pretty much everyone in the world could use some therapy, I’m learning.
And, for the record, I pick up on the first ring now.
55
Janice had still not received the report from Allegheny Children’s Home. And after several lessons, Maribeth had still not graduated from the kickboard.
“Some things take time” was Janice’s explanation for both.
Maribeth had no control over when the report would come in, but after several lessons, she felt fairly certain she was ready to swim on her own.
“Practice makes perfect,” Janice said.
“Yes, but sometimes you can overthink things.”
“You’re not the first person I’ve taught to swim, Maribeth.”
“I know, but I’m just getting impatient.”
“Okay. If you think you’re ready, have at it.” She set the kickboard on the pool deck.
“Fine, I will.”
“Okay. I’ll just go do a few laps,” Janice said.
Janice had been forgoing her own swimming to help Maribeth. Maribeth could at least be a little less of an asshole about it. “Have a good swim,” she said belatedly.
“You too,” Janice replied with no apparent hard feelings.
The slow lane was almost empty, which was good. Every time a swimmer came up behind Maribeth, that ancient part of her brain that still feared predators kicked into gear and made her panicky.
She pushed off, with her straight legs, kicking from her hip crease, her rounded arms, her barely lifted face. All the things she’d learned. See Janice? See what a good student I am? About three strokes in, she breathed in when she was meant to breathe out and swallowed a mouthful of water and went sputtering. After a bit of recovery time, she tried again, and it seemed to be going okay until she drifted out of her lane and into the path of an oncoming swimmer. “Watch it!” the swimmer hissed.
“Sorry!” Maribeth overcompensated this time by kicking and stroking so furiously she banged her head into the wall.
She swam back to the other end, pointing her toes so violently her foot cramped. She also got water up her nose. By the time she had completed a lap, she was panting.
As she rested, she caught a glimpse of Janice in the fast lane, slicing through the water with abundant grace.
Maribeth watched her for a few minutes. Then she pulled the kickboard off the deck and got back to work.
56
Todd and Sunita were in a fight. Maribeth could tell straightaway when she met them by the car for their shopping trip. Todd always drove; Sunita always sat in the passenger seat and played radio deejay—Miles’s car had no iPod hookup. But this time, Todd was up front, Sunita was in Maribeth’s seat in the back, and both of them were glowering.
“You’re shotgun tonight, M.B., because Sunny is being a—”
“Because Todd’s having a temper tantrum,” Sunita interrupted.
“You don’t have to come. Me and M.B. can go on our own. We have before. You can find your way to the Asian market. Maybe ask Fritz for a ride.”