“But I didn’t,” I said. “It wasn’t as if my mother Regina ran after me with a butcher knife screaming.”

“She left you in a shopping mall.”

“My mother Regina was very busy that day.”

“She gave you spoiled meat.”

“My mother Regina wasn’t interested in food, so she didn’t pay attention to those things.”

“She let you play alone in a pool when you were a toddler who couldn’t swim.”

“I didn’t drown, did I? The water, the water …” There was something about water that I didn’t want to think about.

“You were having so many ‘accidents’ that your grandmother took custody of you before you were three. When she died and your mother had to take you back, she locked you in your room after school and on weekends.”

“It was a treat to have time alone with my books. It’s one of the reasons I excelled academically. So you see, it all worked out for the best.”

“You can’t even call her ‘my mother’ or ‘mom.’ Can’t you see that you were as abused, if not more so, than a child who is beaten?”

I smiled patiently and said, “No one has a perfect childhood, but I’m absolutely fine. I went on to a fabulous university. I own property, a loft in fact.”

“You were on the verge of being kicked out of your apartment before you met Oswald.”

“I have fabulous friends and date fabulous men.”

“Your friend Nancy didn’t invite you to be part of her wedding because you couldn’t get along with her husband. As for men, you use your sexuality to get the attention you needed as a child, but you can’t sustain a relationship with any man. The last one was murdered.”

“I realize that looks bad, but it was an individual incident. I have a fabulous career as a ghostwriter.”

“I did some research, Milagro. You haven’t published anything of your own. The only recognition you’ve ever gotten was winning a regional contest for a horror story about a llama.”

“It wasn’t a llama; it was La Llorona, the terrifying weeping woman of Latin American folklore,” I said. One stupid typo—hitting the “replace” button on a spell-check program—had defined my entire literary career. “Lily, I appreciate your eagerness to help, but your profession always assumes that everyone is damaged in some way. I prefer to assume the best about life and people, including myself.”

“Milagro, you’re in complete denial about your current situation and your life. You don’t realize it, but you’re screaming in pain, and I’m here to help you heal and become whole. Won’t you please work with me?”

Lily looked so earnest, and I had nothing better to do until my memory returned, so I said, “If it would make you happy, of course I’ll work with you.”

twelve

Headshrinkers, Blood Drinkers,
Mental Blinkers