The Memory Box (15 page)

I can’t believe we even entertained the thought that my father would come. And to talk to a psychologist, of all people. Surely I must have told Dr. Sullivan my father spoke only in emergencies. My mother, on the other hand, surely jumped at the chance to talk virtually uninterrupted for an hour.

“I think we can start with your mother’s session. She agreed to the disclosure of its contents to you. Whatever I thought would be helpful. I never had a chance to play this for you because, well … you ended your treatment earlier … than expected. It provides background information that may—well, a breakthrough of some kind would be extremely ambitious, but let’s agree it may help.” He pauses and looks at me thoughtfully, searching. “Of course, we can stop at any time, Caroline. As soon as anything makes you the slightest bit uncomfortable.”

Thank you, Mom. Gratitude courses through me. Maybe she did care about me. She’s going to help. I guess I never believed, like some people do, that once people die and leave the world in a physical sense, they remain in a spiritual one and appear, like an angel, to support you in your darkest hour. I do now.

He slips the mini-cassette into the tiny recorder atop his desk and presses the play button with a pudgy index finger. As he waits for it to begin, he leans on the desk and taps the fingers of his left hand in quick succession. They look like breakfast sausages, and they make a dull thud on the leather desktop. I stick a finger between my teeth to stop their rattling, cross my legs, and squeeze my thighs together. I should have gone to the bathroom when I was in the waiting room.

When the voice begins, he sits down heavily in his chair; gushes of air seep from the seams of the cushions.

Dr. Sullivan:
Tell me, Mrs. Spencer; tell me something memorable about Caroline’s childhood. Can you remember a story from her early childhood that you can share with me? Anything at all, it need not be profound or telling, just anything that pops into your head.

Elaine:
Oh, my goodness, Doctor, that’s uh … well, hmm, let’s see, my daughter Caroline, what can I say, she’s …

What the—
hell!
I immediately clutch the wooden armrests and snap my head at Dr. Sullivan.
He’s got to be screwing with me!

He stops the tape. “What’s the matter, Caroline? Are you all right?”

“Who
is
that?
Who’s
speaking on the tape?” My body is straight as an arrow; my voice quivers.

He looks at me with complete confusion. “It’s your mother. Don’t you recognize her voice?”

“
No
. I
don’t—
” The words taste curdled as I speak them. “Because—” I stab a finger at the tape recorder, “that’s not my
mother—m
y
mother’s
British
.”

“Your mother’s British?” He tilts his head in bewilderment.

“
No
.” I shake my head impatiently, “
She’s
not British. Her
voice,
I mean
.
She has an English accent.
A
fake
English accent,” I say through clenched teeth. I’m sick, sick with disgust; how could she do this to me? After all those years of embarrassing us, and then to drop the phony accent on the day she meets with Dr. Sullivan.

“I’m sorry, Caroline. I don’t follow.”

I tell him the infamous story, how it started when she was in her thirties, and all the while I feel like I’ve told him before, or he already knows, or he doesn’t believe me. This sucks. I taste the bile in my stomach. Why would she tell me to come here, knowing she’d betray me like this?
She
didn’t want Dr. Sullivan to think
she
was crazy. A nutcase with an overactive imagination. No. She saved that for me and JD and my father. To humiliate us. She wasn’t going to take the rap for the way I turned out. I breathe heavily through my nose; my nostrils flare, my eyes fix on Dr. Sullivan without seeing him. Suddenly the thought that this guy was ever going to rescue me is fleeing so fast, it already feels like tomorrow.

He gives me a proper sprinkling of “uh-huhs” along with the neck action of a dashboard dog, while my mind races; I can’t endure this. Is he testing me?

“When was the last time you spoke to your mother?”

“She’s—gone, she–died.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. I’m sorry, Caroline.”

“But I can tell you this,” I say as I prop myself at the cliff of my seat, my resolve stiff with fury. “Her accent was as thick as clotted cream until the day she died.”

My mother’s words still cling to the air, polluting Dr. Sullivan’s office, each one veiled in deception.

“This must be very confusing, Caroline—”

He
must
have known about her. I must have told him about the ridiculous British thing. Didn’t he know what this would do to me—hearing her like that? I was already barely hanging on.
What am I supposed to do now?
He was my last hope. How can I trust any of this?

I bolt out of my chair and grab my handbag. “
Confused?
I will not be patronized like this! Confused.
I’ll tell you what I’m feeling
: hoodwinked! Manipulated! I will not subject myself to this duplicitous
crap,”
I holler at him, the blood vessels in my temples bulging
.
“
Are you in on this, too?” I stab my finger at him.

“Did people judge your mother, for this … accent of hers?” He speaks calmly, not reacting whatsoever to my outburst, which incenses me. Calm as a summer breeze. The only thing showing signs of stress are the little white buttons on his blue Brooks Brothers shirt—creating little ellipses, revealing glimpses of his white undershirt.

He’s talking to me as if I’m sipping lemonade with my feet propped on his desk.

“
Yes, you’re goddamn right they judged her, for good reason. It was nuts! Did she ever think how it would affect her kids?”
My face is hot. My chest is seething.

I’m getting the hell out of here. I turn abruptly toward the door, swinging my handbag in an orbit around me, knocking the table lamp to the floor. The sound of the crash is startling, but my nerves are already on overdrive. I pivot back to him, jabbing the air with my finger. “This is a
sham
! I can’t believe I fell for this!” I shout through my tears, “Is this the ‘slightest bit uncomfortable’ you were looking for?
You should be ashamed of yourself!
”

I turn to face the door and put my hand on the knob for stability. I can leave, but I don’t. The only thing standing in the way of escaping this torture and entering the torture on the other side is this thin slab of cracked wood. My head is hung low; I shout at the door just inches from my nose, “I’m
desperate
here. Don’t you know that? Do you get it? I’m desperate!” With clenched eyes I turn back to him, “I trusted you—I need help
.
I don’t know where else to
go
 … or who to … talk to …” I drop my face into trembling hands. “What’s happening to me?” I’ve all but lost the energy and will to leave. “To think my own mother … would do this. It was her idea for me to come here when JD died,” I mutter “I trusted her—”

I lean against the door to support my feeble body. “And you pretended to care … that after all this time … you would be able to help … you were my last hope … what a sap …”

There’s nothing more to say. I’m spent. I can’t hold up my own weight. My knees give in, and my body collapses to the floor. I shrivel up inside myself, weeping.

Dr. Sullivan is sitting next to me on the musty shag carpet. Time has passed. His back rests against the wall, and legs are outstretched. His two Docksiders form the letter ‘‘v.” I sit in the same position. A box of tissues with a crocheted cover, embroidered with “Dr. Sullivan” in forest green, rests between us.

Quietly, he says, “I have absolutely no reason not to believe everything you tell me. You’re my patient, Caroline, and I didn’t invite your mother to speak with me to discredit you. Your mother chose not to share that side of herself, for whatever reason. But that need not concern us.”

I can’t imagine feeling worse. And if I stay, I know I will. But I know I can’t go.

I stand up slowly and look at the door. I pull at the cuffs of my shirtsleeves and clear my throat. I sit back down on the burnt-orange tweed chair with the pale wooden arms, and without looking at Dr. Sullivan, I decide. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Wednesday, September 27, 2006, 7:21 p.m.

Elaine:
Well, Caroline was an intensely loyal sister, you know. She would do anything for JD.

I conjure an image of my mother in my mind. Like a poodle in a dog show. Sitting there on Dr. Sullivan’s couch primped in a skirt suit, panty hose, and navy leather shoes, the ones with a bow at the toe and a slight heel, to “accentuate the calf; a woman with good legs should not keep them hidden in trousers,” fresh lipstick, and her “day jewelry,” like she was coming from somewhere. But she wasn’t coming from somewhere. And she wasn’t going anywhere, either. “There’s no harm in keeping up appearances.”

Elaine:
I think part of her loyalty came from what I always told them:

“Friends will come and go, but sisters are forever.” I did like to pass on some moral fiber whenever I could.

That fiber’s about to come up all over Dr. Sullivan’s rug.

Elaine:
I’m sure the rest stemmed out of her fantasy that she and JD were twins. I don’t know if she told you this story—of course it would be a different version, because even to this day, she asserts that she and JD were twins and that I’ve lied about it all these years.

I turn, wide-eyed, to Dr. Sullivan. My mouth has dropped open, but I quickly close it. He looks over at me; neither of us says anything. He keeps playing the tape, though he makes a note in my file.

Dr. Sullivan:
So the girls are not twins?

Elaine:
Heaven’s, no. They were born one year apart—to the day—which I suppose for some people is mad enough as it is. (Laugh.) Even I was rather shocked when I found out I was pregnant with JD. It was more than shock, really. I suppose you could say I was … not as excited as I should’ve been. Caroline was all of three months old. And she, after all, was an accident herself. Walter and I really didn’t plan on having a family so early; we were newlyweds. Honeymooners, actually.

I can’t believe she’s calling him Walter. She never called him Walter. Nobody did.

Elaine:
I was barely accustomed to being a mum and then—
that
news. But I can assure you, they are certainly not twins. God knows I would’ve gained a lot more weight than twenty-one kilos. That was one thing I promised myself: I was not going to be one of those fatties, eating everything in the cupboard and then taking years to run off the baby fat.

Nevertheless, no matter how many times I explained, or showed Caroline the birth certificates, which she accused me of doctoring, she was adamant, claiming that I’d left JD in the hospital with some such illness for all those months, embarrassed because she was not developing properly, and that finally Walter and I brought JD home at the insistence of the medical staff. It’s really quite a story she’s made up—and at such a young age—she was about four or five when she started telling people this ridiculous tale. Caroline had a very active imagination. She could convince herself of anything.

I even showed her photographs of the day her sister came home from the hospital. It’s clear to see that next to Caroline, who was exactly one, JD was a newborn, all tiny and wrinkled like a peanut.

Dr. Sullivan:
Why do you think Caroline felt so strongly about this?

Elaine:
Oh, I couldn’t tell you, doctor. At first, I just thought it was child’s play. Like an imaginary friend? But, Caroline was obsessed with twins, and it wasn’t a fleeting interest. She’d write school book reports on the subject—you know, over the course of her grade-school education. She must’ve read nearly twenty books about twins, perhaps more.

She had a deep need for JD to be just like her. At first, JD was happy to oblige, you know, when she was quite young. What little girl doesn’t want to be like her big sister? In those days, they wore the same clothes, had the same interests, same friends. I dressed them alike. I thought it was sweet. Everyone thought they were so darling in their matching outfits. But when Caroline started to tell everyone they were twins, I had to put a stop to the matching clothes. It became quite embarrassing for me. She should’ve known better. Sometimes we’d quarrel about it in public.

When JD was young, she went along with it. But then, JD began to come into her own—personality and style and friends—oh, I shouldn’t forget to say, the thing that made all of this more complicated was an illness Caroline had at about five. Midway through kindergarten, she caught pneumonia. She was very sick for several months. We hired a live-in nurse, a student nurse, actually. Walter couldn’t afford a real one. I was just petrified of catching pneumonia. You can die from it, you know.

Dr. Sullivan:
Yes. Unfortunately that’s true.

Elaine:
So, Caroline’s teachers and Walter and I agreed that the right thing to do was to have her repeat kindergarten. In doing so, Caroline and JD were in the same school grade, and they had the same exact birth date. Well, that was enough for Caroline.

Dr. Sullivan:
You started to say something about when JD got to a certain age, she “came into her own personality.” What do you mean by that?

Elaine:
Oh, yes, that’s true. She was in … probably … first grade when it started, at the end of that year, if I remember correctly. She had a friend who was just mad about sports. Suzie something or other. The girl was a tomboy for sure, and let’s just say her choice of clothes reflected that. JD didn’t want to wear dresses anymore. She wanted jeans and trousers and plain, boyish-looking shirts—no flowers or hearts. She never cared too much for the frilly things anyway—it was always Caroline who did. Well, this Suzie girl was a lovely child, but let’s be honest, her clothes were ghastly. At first I thought, there is no way on God’s green earth I will dress my daughter in those clothes, but then, I must say, doctor, I’ve always prided myself with supporting my children’s journey in finding themselves. Believe
me,
I was never expecting them to want to be exactly like
me
. And even if they did, I realized they might not realize it until they were much older. So, I decided to indulge JD and let her explore this new stage of her childhood.

I wouldn’t have imagined Caroline to take it so badly. She was destroyed by JD’s change in tune. She was personally offended, she felt betrayed. She couldn’t understand why her sister wouldn’t want to be just like her. She was doubly horrified that JD would want to be like someone
else
.

That was a difficult period for Caroline, especially because of her weight problem. She was plumping up by the cheese doodle. That was nothing I endorsed, believe me—I put her on a strict diet. She must’ve been sneaking food somehow. Sometimes I’d find her with her mouth rimmed in pink sugar from those
hideous
balls. You know the ones. Cream and sponge cake and food coloring. She’d inhale them before I could even detect what they were. I don’t know how she got her hands on those. They were
not
allowed in our house. You could buy them at the gas station! Poor people ate them for breakfast!

Frankly, I don’t understand fat people. How they can just let themselves go. Of course, Caroline was a child, and I was responsible for her. I told her that I wouldn’t sit by and watch her blow up like some Goodyear blimp. I believe she didn’t have friends because of how big she was. Kids don’t like the chubby girl. Fat people are invisible, you know. Isn’t that the irony of all ironies? The bigger people become, the more invisible they are. I told her, if she didn’t stop gorging herself, she’d never have a single friend. Perhaps that’s why it was crucial for her to hang onto JD.

Dr. Sullivan:
How did Caroline’s reaction manifest?

Elaine:
Well … let’s just say she became … desperate.

I could hear my mother turning the word “desperate” over in her mouth, like a hard candy, thinking that with enough manipulation of the tongue, the edges might soften.

Dr. Sullivan:
What do you mean?

Elaine:
Uh, how can I explain this? … Well … she must have thought to herself, of course she never told me this, mind you, but I did always try to be perceptive about my children. I could see by her behavior that she must have thought, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.” And that’s exactly what Caroline did. At first, it was innocent. She’d dress exactly like JD—no skirts, flowers, headbands—none of those girlie things she was accustomed to wearing. She cleared out her closet and drawers of those things and packed them into bags for the Salvation Army. That was always important to me—to pass on to my children a sense of obligation to help the have-nots. One should teach these things early on in life, don’t you think? Anyway, Caroline now wanted clothes like JD.

Dr. Sullivan:
Would you say Caroline believed she was changing her identity, of sorts?

Elaine:
Well … maybe … I suppose you could explain it that way. But to me, that would mean Caroline would’ve felt she lost something of herself by doing so, and I don’t believe she ever felt that way. I think if you asked Caroline, she believed her identity was being a twin no matter what form it took. It really didn’t matter to her if she was in a dress or in shorts. And I guess, in retrospect, she didn’t have an emotional attachment to any of those things. The real attachment was to her sister. She was a very determined young girl.

You know, that reminds me of the girls’ high school yearbook. You know how everyone is given some sort of title, like “Most likely to …”? Well, JD was voted “Most likely to do the right thing,” and Caroline was voted “Mostly likely to get what she wants.”

Mine was “Most likely to be voted homecoming queen.” Which I was, by the way.

Dr. Sullivan:
Very nice. Congratulations.

Elaine:
Thank you. It was a splendid evening. I remember it like it was yesterday. My gown was sapphire blue. It was said that I looked like Audrey Hepburn. A
young
Audrey Hepburn.

Dr. Sullivan:
Very nice. Very nice.

Elaine:
Anyway, JD’s friendship with the tomboy didn’t last very long. There was a misunderstanding at school—JD was blamed for something she didn’t do, and we all decided it was best for JD to keep her distance from the girl.

Dr. Sullivan:
You said that Caroline became “desperate.” Is that what you meant, when she threw her clothes away?

Elaine:
Gave them to the needy.

Dr. Sullivan:
Oh, yes, of course–my mistake.

Elaine:
Well, there is one thing in particular I was thinking about … but … I’m not sure I need to go into all of this … now …

My mother starts to sound uncomfortable for the first time. I can imagine her crossing her legs and uncrossing them, and re-crossing them. I can almost hear the soft swoosh of her nylons sweeping in opposition as she obsessively picks invisible lint off her suit jacket.

Dr. Sullivan:
Mrs. Spencer, we—you and I, and your husband, of course, want to help Caroline. Holding back information regarding her behavior or state of mind may at first feel protective, but could in fact have the opposite effect.

Elaine
:
Well, I don’t know. Maybe she should tell you this story. It doesn’t seem right for me to be the one. I’m not going—she was not in a good place, you see—and maybe … well, it was, anyway, some of this, I mean. I’m not
perfect,
you know, though I may seem so to others. I … perhaps I … should have paid more attention or something, but I …

Walter and I scraped together everything we had to show them a good life. Certainly better than we ever had, and better than we could really afford, if you must know. I tried to fit in … to … this expected lifestyle … of these people around us. I was unfamiliar with these hoity-toity types. We thought we could fit in, that we could change, and I tried, you
must
know that, you can ask Caroline. It wasn’t always easy for the girls, but I tried. Not Walter. I mean, he’d go along with my ideas sometimes if he thought it would help our standing. But he wasn’t going out on any limb. He just didn’t have the spine—or any other body part, for that matter—for what it took. And, well, I … I couldn’t do it all myself. I couldn’t be everything to everybody. I didn’t even know who
I
was, or what
I
wanted. What if I didn’t want children? I mean, I was so … I don’t know what I’m talking about … I think maybe I should go. I think I’d better leave.

There’s silence for a rather long time—but the tape is still rolling. Neither one of them says anything. The soft buzz continues and what sounds like Dr. Sullivan shifting papers on his desk. The conversation has stopped, yet I don’t hear my mother get up and leave the room. I don’t hear the door open or close; no one is saying “’Bye,” “Have a nice weekend,” “Good luck catchin’ the big one,” or anything. I can only imagine that they are both just sitting there silently. I look over at Dr. Sullivan for some kind of explanation, but his head is tilted upward; he’s staring in front of him at the intersection where the ceiling meets the wall. I turn to see what he’s looking at, but there’s nothing there. He doesn’t shift his attention.

I’m about to say something just as the tape resumes. My mother’s voice starts up again. She hasn’t left.

Elaine:
Of course I want to help her, Dr. Sullivan. It’s just that—(crying begins) that she loved JD so much. Maybe even too much, if that’s possible. That probably sounds crazy to you. The irony of it all is that Caroline thought JD didn’t love her back. She saw JD’s need to be an individual as a personal affront—but JD just wanted to be her own person. It never had anything to do with Caroline. In fact, she loved Caroline more than Caroline would ever believe, but it would never be good enough. JD thought she’d have to prove herself to Caroline for the rest of her life. That Caroline would forever judge her and never believe her allegiance. Caroline is just an incredibly sensitive and needy girl. I just think she’s going to be lost without JD. I’m really … afraid … (crying again)”