“The point of Lucy’s being there is to work on herself, not on computer programs.”
I picked up Lucy’s Nikes and thought of the locker room at Quantico, of her being muddy from head to toe and bleeding and burned from running the Yellow Brick Road. She had seemed so happy then, and yet she could not have been.
I felt sick that I had not known of her difficulties earlier. If only I had spent more time with her, maybe none of this would have happened.
“I still think it’s ridiculous. If I had to go to a place like that, they certainly couldn’t stop me from doing my writing. It’s my best therapy. It’s just a shame Lucy doesn’t have something like that because if she did I’m convinced she wouldn’t have so many problems. Why didn’t you pick the Betty Ford Clinic? ”
“I see no reason to send Lucy to the West Coast, and it takes longer to get in.”
“I suppose they would have quite a waiting list.” Dorothy looked thoughtful as she folded a pair of faded jeans.
“Imagine, you might end up spending a month with movie stars. Why, you might end up in love with one of them and next thing you know you’re living in Malibu.”
“Meeting movie stars is not what Lucy needs right now,” I said irritably.
“Well, I just hope you know that she’s not the only one who has to worry about how this looks.”
I stopped what I was doing and stared at her.
“Sometimes I’d like to slap the hell out of you.” Dorothy looked surprised and slightly frightened. I had never shown her the full range of my rage. I had never held up a mirror to her narcissistic, niggling life so she could see herself as I did. Not that she would have, and that, of course, was the problem.
“You’re not the one who has a book about to come out. We’re talking days, and then I’m on tour again. And what am I supposed to say when some interviewer asks about my daughter? How do you think my publisher is going to feel about this?”
I glanced around to see what else needed to go into the suitcase.
“I really don’t give a damn how your publisher feels about this. Frankly, Dorothy, I don’t give a damn how your publisher feels about anything. ”
“This could actually discredit my work,” she went on as if she had not heard me.
“And I will have to tell my publicist so we can figure out the best strategy.”
“You will not breathe a word about Lucy to your publicist.”
“You are getting very violent, Kay.”
“Maybe I am.”
“I suppose that’s an occupational hazard when you cut people up all the livelong day,” she snapped. Lucy would need her own soap because they wouldn’t have what she liked. I went into the bathroom and got her bars of Lazlo mud soap and Chanel as Dorothy’s voice followed me. I went into the bedroom where Lucy was and found her sitting up.
“I didn’t know you were awake.” I kissed her.
“I’m heading out in a few minutes. A car will be coming a little later to get you and your mother.”
“What about the stitches in my head?”
“They can come out in a few more days and someone in the infirmary will take care of it. I’ve already discussed these things with them. They’re very aware of your situation. ”
“My hair hurts.” She made a face as she touched the top of her head.
“You’ve got a little nerve damage. It will go away eventually.”
I drove to the airport through another dreary rain. Leaves covered pavement like soggy cereal, and the temperature had dropped to a raw fifty-two degrees.
I flew to Charlotte first, for it did not seem possible to go anywhere from Richmond without stopping in another city that wasn’t always on the way.
When I arrived in Knoxville many hours later, the weather was the same but colder, and it had gotten dark.
I got a taxi, and the driver, who was local and called himself Cowboy, told me he wrote songs and played piano when he wasn’t in a cab. By the time he got me to the Hyatt, I knew he went to Chicago once a year to please his wife, and that he regularly drove ladies from Johnson City who came here to shop in the malls. I was reminded of the innocence people like me had lost, and I gave Cowboy an especially generous tip. He waited while I checked into my room, then took me to Calhoun’s, which overlooked the Tennessee River and promised the best ribs in the USA.