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Eliza was pretty sure that this was a knock on her sister, but she decided not to fight about it. The two hadn’t been alone for a long time, perhaps not since Eliza’s children were born. They had seen more of Vo
It was 9 A.M. and they had been on the road since seven, anticipating a fearful journey past the famous Capital Beltway knot called the Mixing Bowl. Although Eliza knew it only by its reputation, as delineated in the “on the eights” traffic reports on WTOP, she feared it. The Mixing Bowl was like the soulless killer in one of those serial horror films. It rested at times, but it never died. Eliza decided they should leave as early as possible in order to avoid rush hour. To her amazement, traffic in D.C. was quite heavy at seven, but they were going against the flow and sailed through the dreaded Mixing Bowl with such ease that she almost felt a twinge of disappointment. They would reach Richmond well before lunchtime, hours before they could check into their room. They could have left Saturday morning, but visiting hours were relatively early. Eliza, advised by Barbara LaFortuny, had decided it was better to arrive a day early, then make the short trip from Richmond, past a town amusingly known as Disputana and into Waverly, home to Sussex.
Not that Barbara had ever been allowed to visit Walter, she told Eliza. But she knew other men at Sussex I and II, and she was familiar with the procedure. Her voice had sounded wistful, actually, when she spoke of Eliza’s trip. “I’ve never met him. Can you imagine? All these years and I’ve never seen him, face-to-face. Yet I know him as well as I know anyone.”
It had been hard not to ask: “And just how well do you know anyone, Barbara?”
“Did we ever come to Richmond when we were young?” Eliza asked Vo
“I don’t think so. We drove through, on one of my college trips, when I went to check out Duke.”
“I’d forgotten about your college trips, how the whole family went along.”
“That was because both Mother and Father wanted to go, and they couldn’t leave you at home alone.”
“Really? I didn’t remember that part. I thought you insisted they both go, said you needed their input.”
Vo
“So you went through that whole charade and put them through all those trips, your mind made up the entire time?” It was all too easy to imagine Iso doing something similar.
“Why not?”
“Wouldn’t it have been simpler to tell them how you felt?”
“No, it would have been simpler for you. I broke them in, Elizabeth.” Vo
“No, but I didn’t have your grades, your opportunities. I had to have a safety school. A safety-safety, even. I still don’t know how I got into Wesleyan.”
Vo
“What?”
“Oh, seriously, Eliza. You can’t be that naive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your essay. I helped you punch it up, remember? You all but told them what happened to you.”
“I did not.”
“Yes you did.”
“My essay was about A
“And your personal co
“That’s just not true.”
Vo
“I’ve never used it.”
“You’ve never really had to. It’s always there, like…like…some huge dog, sitting at your side. A big dog, that never barks or growls or shows its fangs, but it’s so huge, who would dare? You’ve effectively been spared from criticism for twenty years now. You’re untouchable. Like-to use a reference from your world-Beth in Little Women. So good, so sweet and with that horrible destiny hanging over her head.”
“Spared by whom? Only you, our parents, and Peter know about me. And our grandparents, but they’re gone. No one else can see this dog. If you want to talk about how you feel, have at it. But don’t put it on me.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll own my feelings.” Vo
It was the last bit that stung. Until then, she had been okay.
“I’m a mother and a wife. You probably couldn’t survive a day in my life. In fact, the reason we’re making this trip is because Peter didn’t think you could handle a day in my life.” That was cruel and would only damage the already tenuous bond between her sister and her husband, but Eliza was too angry to fight fair.
“Don’t twist this into some mommy-war argument. You know I’m not that simplistic. You…float through life. You let life happen to you. I think you’re a great mother, and I know you put a lot of energy into what you do. But you live the most reactive life of anyone I know, Eliza. Jesus, if there’s one thing I would have learned from your experience, I think it would be to never let anyone else take control of my life. Instead, you’ve handed yours over. To Peter, to the children. And now you’re giving it back to Walter Bowman.”
“I’m going there because he’s agreed to tell me what he’s never told anyone else. How many girls he killed, where they are.”
Vo