Lisa Unger - Darkness My Old Friend

“You might be in New York City. You might be in The Hollows. You might be on the moon. But you’ll always be Willow. When you can be happy there , you’ll be happy anywhere.”

Dr. Cooper was smiling as if she were enjoying herself. And Willow found herself smiling, too, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed. After all, New York City was cool. And The Hollows was not . What did that have to do with her?

She finished telling Dr. Cooper about Jolie and Cole, about the graveyard and how they never found what she’d been looking for out there, how Jolie thought she was lying, and how she was grounded forever now.

“You know, I don’t agree with your actions. But I think it’s progress that even though you felt the urge to lie, you stopped yourself,” Dr. Cooper said when Willow was done. “I think you can be proud of that.”

Dr. Cooper knew, too, that the lying had started long before the lie about Rainer. For years Willow had been telling little lies to her friends and her parents about meaningless things. How a cute boy on the subway had winked at her or how she was having recurring nightmares. Once she made up a story about having almost been mugged, how she ran from three thugs on the train when they tried to take her backpack. She didn’t even know why she did it. She liked the thrill of it, the making up of events, coming up with details to make it more real. She liked the reactions she got. It wasn’t so different from what her mother did, was it? Okay, Willow, sure , her mother had said to that. The difference is, I’m not passing my fiction off as truth. If you want to tell stories, write them down .

Dr. Cooper had said in one of their early sessions, “It’s almost like you’re creating a fictional Willow. Willow who boys like. Willow who escapes from muggers. A character. But I think the real Willow is pretty cool-smart, creative, adorable. Maybe you should try to get to know her .”

“Yeah,” Willow had said. “I guess.”

But isn’t that what they always told you? Be yourself? Do your best? How could that be true for everyone? Not everyone was nice and kind, talented, pretty, intelligent. Sometimes your best was not good enough to achieve what you wanted. What happened then? Were you just stuck with yourself, your life just whatever sad product of your “best” effort?

They talked then about her plans to do better in school, to stay focused and not run off.

“When you feel like running, call me,” said Dr. Cooper. “We can talk it through.”

Willow agreed. “But what do I do about Jolie? She’s my only friend, and even if she doesn’t hate me now because she thinks I lied, I’m not allowed to hang out with her anymore.”

The truth was, she wasn’t that upset about it. Everything had an unhinged quality when she was around Jolie, as if they could just go right off the rails.

“Be honest with her. Tell her you’re being punished and that you promised to be more focused on your schoolwork. If she’s a real friend, she’ll understand that.”

Willow almost laughed out loud. Jolie would definitely not understand that. It all sounded so easy in here, in this safe, warm space. It seemed like everything could be talked out and worked out. There were no variables in this room, no wild cards. No heady emotions, no swell of anxiety, no pressure to be something she wasn’t. But it wasn’t like that out there in the real world. Out there the moment could sweep Willow into its current. And all her good intentions and heartfelt promises would be washed away like broken branches in a rushing river.

Jones didn’t like it when Maggie was mad at him, but it wasn’t going to keep him from going about his day. This was one of the things he hated about The Hollows, one of the things he’d always hated. Someone was always watching, itching to pick up the phone and start chattering. Because of Maggie’s conversation with Henry, she knew that he hadn’t gone to his scheduled appointment with Dr. Dahl. Their argument this morning was still ringing in his ears.

“What bothers me the most is that you know how important it is to me that you continue your therapy. I sat right here and told you.” She tapped the dining-room chair for emphasis. “And you just don’t care.”

“I didn’t stop therapy, Maggie,” he said. “I just rescheduled an appointment. You’re overreacting.” It was a lie. He hadn’t rescheduled.

She put her hands on her hips, gave him a flat look. “When? When’s your appointment?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Four.”

She gave him a quick, skeptical glare.

“I have a patient,” she said. She took the cup of coffee on the counter and moved toward the door that connected their house to her office and waiting room.

“I do care,” he called after her. “It’s important to me, too.”

She turned back to look at him. He didn’t like the look on her face-sad, disappointed. He could have handled angry and annoyed. That he was used to; wives were always annoyed with their husbands, weren’t they? Her angry frown might easily melt into a smile or a little laugh. But sad? That was dangerous.

“You know what?” she said. “I’m not sure I believe that. I think if you start getting work like this from the department, you’ll let it swallow you back up. You’ll forget that you have work to do on yourself.”

She was right, of course. He could feel already the blessed relief of being busy with work. All the navel-gazing was getting old. “I thought you wanted me to do this. You said it would be good for me.”

She rolled her eyes at him like he was some kind of moron.

“Not if you use it as an excuse to avoid everything else. And P.S.,” she said. “Dr. Dahl’s office called to ask when you wanted to reschedule the appointment you’d canceled. ”

He didn’t say anything, tried for a sheepish grin. She didn’t melt for him.

“So now we’re lying to each other?” she asked.

But she didn’t wait for an answer. The door closed behind her, and she was gone. She was one to talk about disappearing into work.

He was remembering their encounter as he pulled up to the Holt house. He could see Holt’s truck parked in the drive. The house had an aura of abandonment. Even the For Sale sign in the yard looked hopeless, stranded in a sea of weeds.

He’d already talked to Chuck about the hole in the Hollows Wood. Chuck would need a warrant to bring a team back there, but there wasn’t much to go on. And that would mean officially reopening the Marla Holt case, which he wasn’t ready to do.

Jones suggested that it was private land and if they could get the Grove family to let them dig, that might be the way to go. Just quietly send a couple of guys with shovels back there. If there was nothing there, then no harm done. They hadn’t made a ruckus for no reason. But if there was something, it wouldn’t look as if they’d put convenience before crime solving. Chuck had been skeptical; he couldn’t imagine the Groves cooperating with the Hollows PD.

Jones had pulled one of their cousins from a mine shaft a year back, and the family never forgot a kindness.

“Should I call in a favor?” he’d asked Chuck. Chuck had wanted Jones to talk to Holt first, catch the vibe. Was he a dog with a bone? Or did Jones think the kid was just going to give up and leave town once the estate was settled? In other words: Would this go away?

In an understaffed department, Chuck didn’t want an open cold case cluttering up the board. If Jones were still heading the division, he’d feel the same way. Mainly because that was how Chief Marion Butler ran the department. She liked the board clean, cases solved or closed. She frowned upon reopening cases, unless a wrong could be righted, an injustice reversed.