U Is For Undertow

“Without proof?”

“She didn’t need proof. She said if that was ‘his truth,’ he could depend on her to keep the faith.”

“Did the family doctor who referred him know what she was up to?”

“In his deposition he admitted he’d never met her. She’d been recommended by another doctor whose opinion he respected. In a way, it was beside the point. You don’t need a doctor’s referral to see a therapist. Just look in the yellow pages and pick anyone you like. Some of them even have little boxes advertising their specialties. Self-esteem issues, crisis counseling, anger management, stress, panic attacks. The list goes on and on. Who among us hasn’t experienced the occasional rage or anxiety?”

“How do you know which therapists are legitimate?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never been in therapy. I’m sure most of them are honest and capable. Some might even be skilled, but sexual abuse is like a siren call. There’s a ton of money to be made.”

“That’s a bit cynical, isn’t it?”

“Not as cynical as you might think. Suppose you go into therapy because your relationships aren’t working out the way you’d hoped. Turns out that’s a symptom of early childhood abuse. Write me a check and come back next week. You don’t remember what was done? That’s called being ‘in denial.’ You’ve repressed the memory because it was all so traumatic and you don’t want to believe something so horrible would happen at the hands of those you love. Pay me for this session and let’s meet again next week so we can get to the root of it. In effect, my parents paid Marty Osborne six thousand dollars to drive a stake into their hearts.”

“They must have been distraught.”

“They were devastated, and I don’t think they ever really got over it. I can barely deal with it myself and I wasn’t one of the accused. After the case was settled, my parents swore they’d put it behind them. They shut the door on the whole ugly episode. They were desperate to believe Michael loved them and everything was okay. Here’s how ‘okay’ it was. A couple of years afterward, my mother died in a drowning accident, and my father dropped dead six months later of an aneurysm. He never got around to changing his will, so after what Michael put us through, he inherited an equal share of their estate.”

“That’s a tough pill to swallow.”

“What choice did I have? I’ve made my peace with it. The money was theirs and they could do with it as they pleased. Maybe that was always my father’s intent, to look after him.”

I could see where she was going. “So you think Michael’s memory of the two guys digging is just more of the same.”

“Basically,” she said. “How did he come up with this story in the first place? Doesn’t that sound suspect to you?”

“I’ll admit I was skeptical at first,” I said. “He says he read a reference to Mary Claire in the paper and it triggered his memory of the whole event.”

“That was years ago. What makes him so sure?”

“He said he saw them on his sixth birthday, July 21, and that’s how he made the association. Your mother left him at Billie Kirkendall’s while she ran errands. He was wandering around the property when he saw them.”

“It sounds bogus to me.”

“It wasn’t his imagination. There was something buried there.”

“Oh, please,” she said. “Michael’s a drama queen. He can’t seem to help himself. Sometimes I think he’s delusional or spaced out on drugs. He’s incapable of telling the truth. It’s not in his nature. He can’t tell the difference between what’s really true and what he imagines.”

That caught my attention. In my brief relationship with him, I could cite my experience in support of her claim. He was evasive, omitting critical information from his account of himself. When I called him on it, he’d corrected himself and filled in the blanks. If I hadn’t, I would have ended up with an erroneous impression. I felt protective nonetheless. I didn’t want to sit and say nothing while his sister trashed him. “I don’t think he fabricated the story. He was six. Maybe he didn’t understand what he’d witnessed, but that doesn’t mean he lied.”

“That’s exactly my point. He takes a simple moment and he embellishes, invents, and exaggerates. Next thing you know, there’s an elaborate conspiracy afoot. He sees two men digging a hole and suddenly it’s about Mary Claire’s murder and her being buried in that grave.”

“You’re implying that he did this deliberately, which I find hard to believe.”

“I’m not telling you this stuff just to hear myself talk. This is how his mind works. You can’t believe a word he says.”

“This comes a little late from my perspective.”

“Don’t kid yourself. You haven’t seen the last of him. It’s never over with him. Have you met any of his friends?”

The shift in subject caught me off guard. “One. A girl named Madaline. He told me she was addicted to heroin…”

“And now she’s clean, but not sober,” Diana interjected, derisively. “Did he mention she’s a lush? Twenty-two years old and she’s on probation for public drunke

“Poor judgment.”

“Very poor. I can’t tell you the money he’s gone through. What scares me is thinking about what’ll happen when he’s emptied all his bank accounts. He’s never really worked. He’s held jobs, but none for long. The money he inherited is the only thing keeping him afloat. Once that’s gone, he’ll end up on my doorstep, begging for help. What’s my choice then? I take him in or he ends up living on the street.”

“You’re not obligated.”

“That’s what my brothers tell me.”

“Why do it then?”

“I guess I feel guilty because he’s such a mess and the rest of us are okay…”

As she went on, I could hear my own story echoed in hers. My grievances, my determination to hang on to everything that seemed unfeeling or unfair. Her complaints were legitimate, but so what? The recital of her woes only made matters worse, keeping the pain alive when it should have been laid to rest.

Diana must have realized I’d clocked out. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I have family issues of my own and they sound just like yours. Different scenario, but the angst is the same. Personally, I’m getting tired of hearing myself whine. And if I’m tired, what about the people around me who have to put up with my shit?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Sure it is. What’s the point in going over and over it? I’ll bet you’ve told the same story a hundred times. Why don’t you give it a rest?”

“If I give it up, Michael wins. Bad behavior triumphs over good yet again. Well, I’m sick of it. After the havoc he’s wreaked, why should I let him off the hook?”

I could feel myself getting irritated. I understood where she was coming from, but the events she’d described were years in the past. Waltzing into my office to unload it all on me was out of line. She’d turned venom into a lifestyle and it wasn’t attractive. On first meeting, I’d been put off by her aggressiveness. Now I was put off by her attempt to rope me into Sutton bashing.

“What hook, Diana? He’s not on the hook except in your mind. He’s living his own life and if he’s screwing up right and left, what’s it to you?”

Her smile was tight. “You say that now, but you’re not done with him. Trust me. You gave him credence which has been in short supply of late. He’ll come back. Some new crisis will emerge, some disturbing turn of events…”