Page 56 of Coram House

LB:He was always beating up the smaller kids. And not just hitting them—saying things to them. He liked to see us scared.

AS:What kinds of things?

LB:That he’d tie them to a tree in the graveyard and leave them there. Cover their feet with honey and wait for the ants to eat them off. Stupid stuff. It doesn’t sound that scary now.

AS:What was his relationship like with the sisters?

LB:I don’t think they liked him any better than we did. Except Sister Cecile. But no surprise there. He worshipped her.

AS:What do you mean by that?

LB:Fred would have done anything she asked. [Laugh] God, the way he looked at her. Like she was Jesus Christ made flesh. It was almost funny. She was tiny. Maybe five feet. And he was tall, even back then.

AS:Were there ever allegations of sexual abuse at the time?

LB:[Laugh] Sure. What flavor? I mean, there was Father Foster. Everyone knew about that. Though it was only the boys who had to deal with him. People said there were things going on with the nuns too. And, God knows, no one wanted to be alone with Fred. I don’t know how much was true, but there was lots of talk.

AS:And Sister Cecile?

LB:No, never her. Not sex stuff. Sometimes, I think she might have been the only one out of any of them that actually believed in God.

AS:It sounds like there was a lot to be afraid of. A lot for a child.

LB:[Laugh] And that’s not even counting the ghosts.

AS:Ghosts?

LB:I know it sound ridiculous. Maybe it is. But there was this attic off the girls’ dorm. They used to put us up there as punishment sometimes. I never saw anything myself, but I know girls that did. And one time this girl got sent to the attic and came down with bruises all up and down her arms and neck. I swear to God, they were in the shapes of fingers. We all asked but she never said a single word. Scared silent, if you ask me.

PART 4

16

My hangover isbrutal. I feel shriveled, desiccated—my tongue Velcroed to the roof of my mouth. I didn’t feel that drunk last night. Really, I’d swear I wasn’t drunk at all. Then again, three whiskys on an empty stomach probably wasn’t a great idea. Or maybe it was four.

After a handful of ibuprofen and a blistering shower, I’m almost able to think about food without throwing up. My binder sits on the table, notes and papers spilling out. But as soon as I sit down before it, my mind strays back to last night’s conversation with Parker. The body at the dump, yes, but the rest of it too. It’s all a warm blur until the end, then it’s white-hot humiliation. Why did I run upstairs? What did I think was going to happen? And why on earth did I accept a dinner invitation from the drunk guy who set his car on fire?

Air, I decide. Fresh air will help.

I put on my parka and start walking south, not for any particular reason other than it’s away from the lake. I can’t face that expanse of water. Not this morning. I consider stopping by Stedsan’s unannounced, but what good would it do? He either doesn’t know anything else about Tommy or doesn’t want to help me. Either way it would just piss him off. And my head hurts too much for that.

Instead, I follow the smell of baking and cinnamon into a cafe and order a triple shot of espresso, which burns my stomach like acid. I take the back door out, thinking it will save me a block of walking, but it doesn’t open onto the street at all. Instead, I wander through a maze of alleys that winds among brick warehouses. The windows are cracked and missing half their panes, but the walls are covered in murals. Enormous bees climb up one wall, dripping with glistening honeycombs so real-looking I expect my fingers to come away sticky. On another wall, someone has stamped a field of blue flowers.

Waves of heat pulse out an open door. A man in a metal mask and thick gloves twirls molten glass on a long rod. Behind a window, a woman manipulates clay on a wheel, her dark skin covered up to the elbows in pale mud, so it looks as if they’ve been erased. Through another window, papier-mâché whales hang suspended from the ceiling, each lit up to reveal a skeleton inside.

I feel the thrill of being lost, of crossing into another world nested inside my own like the crystals of a geode hidden inside a dull gray rock. I stop. Ahead of me, a tree made of mirror shards covers a two-story wall. Its branches reflect blue sky and then the white of cloud. It’s unreal, a portal to somewhere else.

Ice on Parker’s eyelashes. Tommy going in the water. A woman’s face covered in blood.

Leave it alone.But it’s a scab I can’t stop picking.

My phone pings. Reality intruding. I unlock it to find a message from Xander.

Still on for tonight? 7pm at Lands End. At the end of Harbor Rd.

I think about canceling, but then I’d just have to reschedule, dread this dinner for another week. Better to get it over with. I write back.

See you there!

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