Charlaine Harris - Shakespeare’s Counselor

“And then I finally recognized that woman last night. Detective Stokes.”

Jack reached over my shoulder to hand Cliff his drink.

“And, Lily, what I want to know is, why me?”

I couldn’t believe I’d heard her correctly. Tamsin Lynd, of all people, was asking the unanswerable. Was this something some victims were just bound to go through, no matter how smart or clearly victimized they were?

That couldn’t be true. And why had she decided to talk to me about it? Because I was Supervictim?

I thought for a minute, but I decided there was no way to get around this but to talk to Tamsin about it.

“Why are you different?” I asked her.

“What do you mean?”

“Would you let us ask that question in counseling group?”

She flushed red. “I see what you mean.”

“Do you think you’re better than us, because you’re being stalked instead of being raped?”

Cliff looked horrified and upset, and his hand moved as if he were going to get my attention to signal to me, but I gave him a quelling look. Tamsin had dragged him along, and Jack was in the room, but this conversation was between me and her.

“Oh, Lily, I hate to see that in myself!” Tamsin was really upset, now. But upset in a more intelligent way.

“Why not you, Tamsin? What makes you superior or invulnerable?”

“I’ve got it, now,” she breathed. “I see that. But I guess what I was thinking, was not that I should be spared because I was superior, but because I’m not. I’m an overweight, nearly middle-aged woman in a crowded and poorly paid profession. There’s nothing remarkable about me. How did I attract the attention of someone so determined?”

“There is plenty special about you, honey,” Cliff said, his voice desperately earnest. “You are the most sweet-natured, kindest-”

“Oh, Cliff.” Tamsin’s face was radiant with pleasure, but deprecating. “You’re the only one who believes that,” she added with a little laugh.

I wasn’t going to sit here and bathe Tamsin in compliments. She was quite right. I liked her-a little-and I appreciated her, but there was nothing exceptional about Tamsin Lynd in my eyes… except her victimization.

“You just got picked by the Claw.” That was as good an explanation as I could come up with.

“The Claw?”

“You know that game they have out in the Wal-Mart entry way? The one where you put in some quarters and the metal claw swings down over a bin of stuffed animals and swoops down at random, and maybe picks one up, maybe not? That’s the Claw.”

“Lily!” Tamsin looked at me with the oddest quizzical, expression. “That’s the most depressing philosophy I’ve ever heard.”

I shrugged. I wasn’t in the Pollyanna business. “The Claw picked you up, Tamsin. So you have a stalker, and Janet doesn’t. I got raped, you didn’t. Saralynn was murdered, Carla wasn’t. The claw passed her over.”

“So you don’t believe a divine plan runs the universe?”

I just laughed. Some plan.

“Don’t you believe that most people are innately good?”

“No.” In fact, I found the fact that some people did believe that to be absolutely incomprehensible.

Tamsin looked really horrified. “You don’t believe that we’re only given the burdens we can handle?”

“Obviously not.”

She tried again. “Do you believe in the eventual punishment of evildoers?”

I shrugged.

“Then how do you go on living?” Tamsin was tearful, but not as personally tearful, as she had been before.

“How do I go on living? A day at a time, like everyone else. A few years ago, it was an hour at a time. For a while, it was minute by minute.”

“What for?”

Cliff looked like he wished he was anywhere but here. But Jack, I saw, was leaning forward to hear what I was saying.

“At first, I just wanted to beat the… ones that attacked me.” I picked my words carefully. I was being as honest as I knew how. “Then, I couldn’t add to my parents’ miseries any more by dying. Though I did think about suicide, often. No more fear, no more scars, no more remembering.

“But after a while, I began to get more involved in trying to make living work. Trying to find a way to make my days, if not my nights, productive and make a pattern to stick to.” I took a drink from my glass of water.

“Is that what you think I should do?”

“I don’t know what you should do,” I said, amazed anyone would ask advice of me. “That’s for you to figure out. You’re a professional at helping people figure out what they should do. I guess that doesn’t really help you right now.”

“No,” she said, her voice soft and weary. “It’s not helping, right now.”

I gave her the only piece of advice, the only philosophy, that I cherished. “You have to live well to defeat whoever’s doing this to you,” I said. “You can’t let them win.”

“Is that the point of living, to not let him win? What about me? When I do I get to live for myself?”

“That is entirely up to you,” I told her. I stood up, so she’d go.

“I thought you, of all people, would have the answers, would have more sympathy.”

“The point is, that doesn’t make any difference.” I looked Tamsin straight in the eyes. “No matter how much sympathy I have for you, it won’t heal you faster or slower. You’re not a victim of cosmic proportions. There are millions of us. That doesn’t make your personal struggle less. That just increases your knowledge of pain in this world.”

“I think,” said Tamsin, as she and Cliff went through the door, “that I should have stayed at home.”

“That depends on what you wanted.” I shut the door behind them. I could see Jack’s face. “What?” I asked, sharp and quick.

“Lily, don’t you think you could have been a little more…”

“Touchy-feely? Warm?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I told her exactly how it is, Jack. I’ve had years to think about this. I don’t know why everyone feels like they’re supposed to be safe all the time.”

Jack raised an eyebrow in a questioning way.

“Think about it,” I said. “No one expected to be safe until this century, if you read a little history. Think of the thousands of years before-years with no law, when the sword ruled. No widespread system of justice; no immunizations against disease. The local lord free to kill the husbands, husbands free to rape and kill their wives. Childbirth often fatal. No antibiotics. It’s only here and now that women are raised believing they’ll be safe. And it serves us false. It’s not true. It dulls our sense of fear, which is what saves our lives.”

Jack looked stunned. “Why have you never told me you feel this way?”

“We’ve just never gotten around to talking about it.”

“How can you even share a bed with me, if you hate men that much?”

“I don’t hate men, Jack.” Just some of them. I despise the rest. “I just don’t believe-no, let me turn that around. I do believe that women should be more self-sufficient and cautious.” That was probably the mildest way I could put it.

Jack opened his mouth to say something else, and I held up my hand. “I know this isn’t fair, but I’ve talked as much as I can for one evening. I feel like I pulled my guts out for inspection. Can we be quiet from now on? We can talk more tomorrow if you want to.”

“Yes, that would be okay,” Jack said. He looked a little dazed. “You sure you want me sharing the bed tonight?”

“I want you in the bed every night,” I said, forcing myself to reveal one more bit of truth.

And for the first time since the miscarriage, that night I gave him proof of that truth. After a long, sweet time, we slept that night back to back, me feeling the comfort of his warm skin through the thin material of my nightgown. I never felt he was turning away from me when our backs touched; we were just attached in a different way.