Jeffery Deaver - Speaking In Tongues

Oh, she could talk to this man for hours! She’d met him only thirty minutes ago and yet he knew her. Knew her better than Tate did-even after all those years of marriage.

“That’s right.”

“But why are you taking the blame? You’re attractive, intelligent, have a mind of your own. If you wanted an independent life, why should you feel bad about that? It seems to me that he's the one to blame for all this. He went into the marriage knowing who you were and tried to change you. And probably in some less-than-honest ways.”

“Less than honest?”

“He appeared supportive, I’ll bet. He probably said, ‘Honey, do whatever you want to do. I’ll be behind it.’”

She was stunned. It was as if Dr. Peters were looking directly into her memories. “Yes, that’s exactly what he’d say.”

“But in fact, what he was doing was the opposite. Little comments, even body language, that’d whittle away at your spirit. He wanted you barefoot and pregnant and wanted you to give up your life, have dinner on the table for him, give him a brood of kids, ignore your ill sister. And he was going to make a name for himself as a prosecutor and to hell with everybody else.” His eyes flickered with pain-her pain. “It was horrible what he did to you. Inexcusable. But I suppose it’s understandable. His character, you know.”

“Character.”

“You know the old expression? ‘A man’s character is his fate.’ That’s your ex-husband. He’s reaping now what he sowed. With Megan running away.”

I wish I could believe that, Bett thought. Please… Tears now. From the wine, from the astonishing comfort she felt, years and years of pain and confusion and loneliness being stripped away. “I She caught her breath. “He’d sit down and talk to me and say that he loved me and what could he do for me-”

“Tricks,” Dr. Peters said quickly. “All tricks.”

“I couldn’t argue with him. He had an answer for everything.”

“He’s smooth, isn’t he? A slick talker. Megan told me that.”

“Oh, you better believe it. I couldn’t win against him. Not at words. Never. I always came away feeling, I don’t know, violated, I guess.”

“Bett, most women would’ve put up with that. They would’ve stayed and stayed and destroyed themselves. And their children. But you had the courage to do something about it. To strike out on your own.”

“But Megan… she’s suffered.

“Suffered?” He laughed. “Because of him, yes. Not because of you. You’ve done a miraculous job with her. Here’s to you.” He tapped her glass and they drank. The room was swimming. She realized he’d moved very close to her and she enjoyed the proximity.

“A miraculous job?” Bett shook her head, felt her eyes swimming with tears. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

Dr. Peters said firmly, “Why, if every mother cared for her children the way you care for Megan I’d be out of business.”

“Do you really think that?” she asked in a choked voice. The tears were coming fast now But she wasn’t the least embarrassed. Not in front of this man. She could tell him anything, she could do anything. He’d understand, he’d forgive, he’d comfort. She said wistfully, “Too bad Megan doesn’t think so.”

“Oh, but she does.” He frowned in confusion.

“No, no… there’s a letter…“ She glanced toward her purse, where the girl’s horrible note sat like a puddle of cold blood.

“The detective told me about it. That’s the main reason why I wanted to see you. Alone, without your husband here.” He took the wineglass from her and set it on the table. Then he sat forward, took her hands in his. Looked at her until she was gazing into his dark eyes, nearly hypnotized. “Listen to me. Listen carefully. She didn’t mean what she wrote you.”

“She-”

“She. Didn’t. Mean. It. Do you hear what I’m saying?”

Bett was shaking with sobs. “But what she wrote, it was so terrible…

“No,” he said in a firm whisper. “No.” He was completely focused on her. She thought of the other men in her life with whom she’d had serious talks. Tate was often elsewhere-thinking of cases or trying to dissect what she was saying. Brad would smother her with an adoring gaze. But Dr. Peters was looking at her as a person.

“Here’s what you have to understand. Your letter doesn’t mean anything.”

Oh, please, she thought, please explain how this happened. Please explain to me why I’m not a witch, please explain how my daughter still loves me. She thought of an expression she’d heard once and believed was true: You’d kill for your mate; but you’d die for your child. Well, I would, she thought. If only Megan knew that she felt that way.

He squeezed her hands. “Your daughter hates your husband. I don’t know what the genesis of that is but it’s a very deeply ingrained feeling.”

Bett felt the impossibility of compressing seventeen years into a few minutes. Her eye went to a board game, Monopoly sitting dusty on the shelf. "There were so many things she wanted from Tate… Megan wanted us to play games together. Tate, her and me. But he never would. And then-”

“It doesn’t matter,” the doctor interrupted. “The fact is that she was the child and he was the parent and he failed her. Megan knows it and she hates him. The anger inside her is astonishing. But it’s only directed at him-I guarantee you that. She loves you so much.”

Shaking with tears. “But the letter…

“You know the Oedipus and Electra principles? The attractions of sons and mothers and daughters and fathers?”

“A little, I guess.”

“In Megan’s subconscious her anger at your ex-husband makes her feel terribly guilty. And directing it only at him is intolerable. With the natural attraction between fathers and daughters she either had to write no letter at all or write you both. She was psychically unable to point her anger only at its true source.”

“Oh, if I could believe that…"

“During our sessions she was always telling me how proud she was of you. How she wants to be like you. How hard a life you’ve had. I promise you, without a doubt, she regrets writing that letter to you. She doesn’t mean it. She’d give anything to take it back.”

Bett lowered her head and put her face in her hands. Why was the room swimming so badly? His arm went around her shoulders.

“You okay?”

She nodded.

“Will she be coming back?” Bett asked.

“I don’t doubt it for a minute. It might be awhile-your husband’s caused some serious damage. But nothing that’s irreparable. Megan knows that she couldn’t ask for a better mother in the world. You’ve done everything right. She loves you and misses you.”

Bett sagged against his chest, felt the muscles in his arms tighten as he held her. Oh, when was the last time she’d felt this good, this easy, this comforted? Years. She felt his hot breath on the top of her head. She smelled a faint aftershave.

“I feel so light-headed.”

Did she say that? Or think it?

She wept and she laughed.

The doctor’s hand went to her forehead. “You’re so hot..

He hugged her harder and his hand slid downward, fingers encircling her neck. An electric chill went through her and then her arms were snaking around him, pulling him to her. Her head was up and she pressed her cheek against his.

No, no, she thought. I can’t be doing this…

But she was thinking these words from a very different place, very remote. And it was impossible for her to release her grip on the man who’d repaired her bleeding soul. He thinks I’m a good mother, he thinks I’m a good mother, he thinks…