Page 43 of The Lake of Lost Girls

“I don’t think you should go back. Not with this going on.” Her voice rose in pitch as her hysteria mounted.

I had been walking on tenterhooks since coming home, waiting—and dreading—this very moment. When Mom’s overprotective tendencies swooped in and threatened to smother me completely.

Mom wasn’t one for the news. She preferred glossy fashion magazines and daytime soap operas. She didn’t typically know about national stories until months later. She and Dad’s conversations usually revolved around Lindsey and me and little else.

“You can’t keep me here,” I said with a note of panic.

Mom’s lovely face darkened. “I most certainly can, Jessica. Especially if I think you’re not safe.”

No, no, no …

“The whole thing has been blown out of proportion. The school believes those girls left on their own. Sure, it looksbad, but it’s not anything to be worried about.” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. “Plus, I can’t exactly get a degree if I’m here, can I? Isn’t that what you want for me? Isn’t that why I’m in school?”

I knew all the right buttons to push when it came to ensuring my mother’s compliance. I had learned long ago how to play the game—and win.

I saw it. The moment she let parental concern go, replacing it with her need for predictable contentment. Mom was big on not rocking the boat.

“You’re right. But if you ever feel like campus isn’t safe, you need to come home immediately.” She folded the newspaper and dropped it in the trash can, the alarming article already forgotten.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked, changing the subject.

Mom lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “Working late. He has an open house across town at six.”

I hadn’t seen much of my father since I’d been home. He was always busy at the real estate agency. He put in long hours and late nights. This was new for him. He had always been a family man, spending as much time as possible with Mom and especially me.

So, why did I feel as if he was busier since I had been home? I got the sense he didn’t want to see me—didn’t want to be around me. And that hurt. Particularly since that’s not how things had ever been before.

Mom stood up and walked around my room, opening my jewelry box, rearranging the pictures on my dresser. Her hands were all over my things, moving them around to suit her taste. My room was as much a reflection of her as it was of me. She forced a dynamic that would never, ever exist between us. We weren’t close. Not in the way she wanted. I couldn’t help that I had never felt that intimacy with her that came so easily in my relationship with Dad. She was horrible at hiding her jealousy.

I loved my mother, but it was an obligatory love. And its shallowness sometimes hurt as much as my father’s deep affection.

“You know, you still haven’t told me your grades. I tried calling the school for a report, but they wouldn’t give them to me.” Mom sounded frustrated and I was mortified by her intrusion. “Your father and I pay for your schooling, we’re entitled to know how you’re doing.” The change in tactics was instantaneous but expected. When she got tired of playing best friend, she tried her hand at strict parent. She switched and discarded her roles so fast it was hard to keep up. She was always trying to find a way into my inner circle. Poking and prodding, looking for weaknesses. She never found them.

“It probably has to do with the wholeI’m an adult thing,” I muttered, shocking both of us.

Mom’s eyes narrowed. “What’s gotten into you lately, Jessica? I don’t think I like this new attitude you’ve come home with. Since when do you keep secrets from your parents?”

We had a silent standoff. Her demanding me to open up and me refusing to do so. At one time I would have given in, at least a little. Fed her scraps to appease her. But I couldn’t be bothered to play the part any longer. I was tired. So, so tired.

“I’m doing fine,” I lied. “All As and Bs.” The truth was I was struggling for the first time in my academic career. I had scraped by with low Cs and a few Ds. And I failed Intro to English. I was looking into auditing a class next semester to try and get enough credits to ensure I could move on to sophomore year. But I couldn’t tell her that. She would yank me out of Southern State so fast my head would spin. And I couldn’t leave. Not now.

“Your father and I will want to see the grades for ourselves,” Mom stated, and I had to suppress a sigh, purposefully not looking at my bookbag where I had put a printout of the very grades my mom was asking about.

“I’ll send them to you when I get back to school.” Another lie. I had no intention of sharing my grades with her and Dad. I needed to hide the grade slip as soon as she left.

“Did you bring home your books so you can study? I haven’t seen you do any work over break.” Mom unzipped mybookbag and I sucked in a breath, waiting for her to find the paper I had stashed away. I practically sagged in relief when she pulled out my school textbooks.

“Good. This will give you something to do this afternoon instead of lazing around.” She patted my cheek. “I only want to see you succeed, darling.”

“Jessie, will you play Barbies with me?” Lindsey came running into the room, her brown hair a mess of tangles. She had what looked like a smudge of ketchup across her cheek from lunch. She launched herself at me and we collapsed onto my bed in a fit of giggles.

“Lindsey-Bug, be careful,” Mom fretted, lifting my little sister off the bed.

“It’s okay. I like being her landing pad,” I laughed, lightly pinching Lindsey’s nose.

“You shouldn’t encourage that kind of behavior, Jessica. She’s likely to hurt herself.” Mom sniffed with an air of disapproval. But she was all sweet smiles when she turned to my baby sister. “Lindsey-Bug, would you like me to make you Mommy’s special hot chocolate?”

Lindsey’s eyes widened and she nodded emphatically. “Yes, Mommy.” Then she held her hand out to me. “Come on, Jessie, have some hot chocolate with me.”

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