see him late at night, after they’re asleep.”
I wondered if Tracy was telling me this with the expectation that I wouldn’t tell her father. Or was she hoping I would?
“You said you needed to talk,” I told her. “What about?”
Suddenly Tracy’s tears began to flow. “Why did Rosemary have to try to get custody of Heather?” Tracy wailed. “Heather didn’t want to go. Why would she? Her friends are here. If she’d had to go live in Tacoma, she wouldn’t have known anybody. It would have been awful for her. Why did she have to go and spoil everything?”
I was struck as much by Tracy’s blaming the victim as I was to hear her referring to her biological mother by her first name, rather than calling her “Mother” or “Mom.” I certainly shared Tracy’s sentiments about Heather’s being plucked out of her comfortable home and settled situation in the Seattle school district in order to be dragged off to the wilds of Tacoma, but since it was now clear that Heather wouldn’t be making that move, how could everything be spoiled? Besides, with Rosemary Peters dead, I somehow felt obliged to defend the poor woman.
“I’ve never been a mother,” I told Tracy, “so I certainly don’t know everything that went on in Rosemary Peters’s life. I’ve been a father, though. I’ll be the first to admit that when my kids were little, I wasn’t much of a dad. I had a lot of the same difficulties your mother had.”
Tracy looked at me. “You did drugs?” she asked.
“My drug of choice was alcohol,” I told her. “I was into booze big-time. For years after Karen and I got divorced and while I was still drinking, Scott and Kelly didn’t have much to do with me. I don’t blame them. And you shouldn’t blame your mother either. Once she ditched the drugs, she probably realized what she had been missing all those years and simply wanted to reestablish a relationship with you two girls. It’s understandable that she’d like to get to know her daughters again. She was hoping to make up for lost time.”
My answer didn’t have much of a beneficial effect. Tracy turned away from me and stared out the window, saying nothing.
“Look,” I said. “What’s happened to your family is terrible. Your mother was never a responsible parent, and that’s too bad—for you and, even more so, for her. But having even a bad parent murdered is an incredible tragedy. It’s not something that goes away. It stays with you forever. When something like this happens, it comes completely out of the blue. It’s so unexpected that it hits you in all kinds of ways. Many of these reactions won’t make sense. Your mother essentially abandoned you to drugs, so maybe you think you shouldn’t feel anything right now, but you’re hurting anyway. And part of you is mad as hell at your mother for dying. That’s a standard reaction, too. It’s like she’s abandoned you all over again. That’s how grief works, Tracy. You’re alive and she’s dead. You’re operating in a storm of warring emotions. Anger is only one of them.”
Tracy took a ragged breath. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered.
“Scared of what?” I asked. “That the same thing will happen to you? That your mother’s killer will come looking for you?”
“No,” Tracy said, shaking her head. “I’m scared he did it.”
“He who?”
“I’m scared my dad did it, Uncle Beau. I’m afraid he’s the one who killed her.”
There it was, out on the table. The admission was shocking enough to take my breath away.
“That’s crazy!” I exclaimed. “Why on earth would you even think such a thing?”
“You don’t know what Dad’s been like lately,” she said. “It’s been like living with a stranger. And you should have seen what happened the other night when that poor guy served the papers about the hearing.”
“What night?”
“Friday. At dinnertime. It was like Dad went crazy or something. I’ve never seen him act that way. And
I wondered if Tracy was telling me this with the expectation that I wouldn’t tell her father. Or was she hoping I would?
“You said you needed to talk,” I told her. “What about?”
Suddenly Tracy’s tears began to flow. “Why did Rosemary have to try to get custody of Heather?” Tracy wailed. “Heather didn’t want to go. Why would she? Her friends are here. If she’d had to go live in Tacoma, she wouldn’t have known anybody. It would have been awful for her. Why did she have to go and spoil everything?”
I was struck as much by Tracy’s blaming the victim as I was to hear her referring to her biological mother by her first name, rather than calling her “Mother” or “Mom.” I certainly shared Tracy’s sentiments about Heather’s being plucked out of her comfortable home and settled situation in the Seattle school district in order to be dragged off to the wilds of Tacoma, but since it was now clear that Heather wouldn’t be making that move, how could everything be spoiled? Besides, with Rosemary Peters dead, I somehow felt obliged to defend the poor woman.
“I’ve never been a mother,” I told Tracy, “so I certainly don’t know everything that went on in Rosemary Peters’s life. I’ve been a father, though. I’ll be the first to admit that when my kids were little, I wasn’t much of a dad. I had a lot of the same difficulties your mother had.”
Tracy looked at me. “You did drugs?” she asked.
“My drug of choice was alcohol,” I told her. “I was into booze big-time. For years after Karen and I got divorced and while I was still drinking, Scott and Kelly didn’t have much to do with me. I don’t blame them. And you shouldn’t blame your mother either. Once she ditched the drugs, she probably realized what she had been missing all those years and simply wanted to reestablish a relationship with you two girls. It’s understandable that she’d like to get to know her daughters again. She was hoping to make up for lost time.”
My answer didn’t have much of a beneficial effect. Tracy turned away from me and stared out the window, saying nothing.
“Look,” I said. “What’s happened to your family is terrible. Your mother was never a responsible parent, and that’s too bad—for you and, even more so, for her. But having even a bad parent murdered is an incredible tragedy. It’s not something that goes away. It stays with you forever. When something like this happens, it comes completely out of the blue. It’s so unexpected that it hits you in all kinds of ways. Many of these reactions won’t make sense. Your mother essentially abandoned you to drugs, so maybe you think you shouldn’t feel anything right now, but you’re hurting anyway. And part of you is mad as hell at your mother for dying. That’s a standard reaction, too. It’s like she’s abandoned you all over again. That’s how grief works, Tracy. You’re alive and she’s dead. You’re operating in a storm of warring emotions. Anger is only one of them.”
Tracy took a ragged breath. “I’m scared, too,” she whispered.
“Scared of what?” I asked. “That the same thing will happen to you? That your mother’s killer will come looking for you?”
“No,” Tracy said, shaking her head. “I’m scared he did it.”
“He who?”
“I’m scared my dad did it, Uncle Beau. I’m afraid he’s the one who killed her.”
There it was, out on the table. The admission was shocking enough to take my breath away.
“That’s crazy!” I exclaimed. “Why on earth would you even think such a thing?”
“You don’t know what Dad’s been like lately,” she said. “It’s been like living with a stranger. And you should have seen what happened the other night when that poor guy served the papers about the hearing.”
“What night?”
“Friday. At dinnertime. It was like Dad went crazy or something. I’ve never seen him act that way. And
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