As Shannon walked across the stage to receive her diploma, she locked eyes with her mother in the audience. At that moment, she thought her mother looked so much like Grandma Regina only a decade before. Shannon nearly stumbled with a sudden fear that she’d lose her mother to Alzheimer’s, just as her mother had lost hers.
I have to stop it, Shannon thought to herself, gripping her diploma tighter.
After the ceremony, Shannon met her family out on the quad, where May sunshine glowed over the caps and gowns around them. Shannon hugged her father, who’d never really understood her pursuit of science nor her pursuit of anything, but who loved her anyway. And then, she hugged her mother again, closing her eyes against an onslaught of tears.
“Congratulations, Shannon,” a voice rang out behind her.
Shannon turned to find Dina there, smiling nervously. Was it a guilty smile?
“Oh. Hey, Dina. Congratulations to you, too,” Shannon said.
“Your roommate! Of course,” her father said brightly. “Congratulations, Dina.”
“Thanks, Mr. Peters,” Dina said. “It’s been wonderful sharing an apartment with Shannon. I’m going to miss her next year.”
“But you’re going to be at Yale,” Shannon said flatly. “We’ll see each other in the lab all the time.”
“You’re going to grad school?” Arietta asked.
“Yes,” Dina said.
“I heard your most recent lab report was really something special,” Shannon said.
Dina gave Shannon a curious look, and her smile hiccupped. “I don’t know about that.”
“I’d love to talk about your discoveries sometime,” Shannon said. “Apparently, they were illuminating.”
“Are you also working toward memory research?” Arietta asked.
“I’d like to,” Dina said. “It’s a difficult field, but so important.” She hesitated, then added, “I was sorry to hear about your mother, Mrs. Peters.”
Arietta bowed her head and thanked her. Fred gave Dina a puzzled look. There was a strange air over everything, one that Shannon wanted to get away from. Luckily, Cole appeared a few minutes later, throwing his arms around Shannon and lifting her.
“We’re grads!” he cried out. “We did it!” Together, they threw their caps into the air. Cole caught his, but Shannon’s fell on the ground at her father’s feet.
Fred chuckled. “Shannon was never very good at sports. Reflexes aren’t her style.”
Isabella and Felicity laughed. Shannon felt her cheeks burn.
7
Present Day
After three days with her daughters at the house, Arietta helped them pack their cars and sent them back on their way. Shannon squeezed her extra hard before she slipped into her car, then rolled down the window and beckoned for Arietta to come closer. Already, Isabelle and Felicity were out of the driveway and on their way to the ferry. Shannon had something else to say.
“I think you should consider therapy, Mom,” she said firmly. “You know what trauma does to a person. You’ve put all this responsibility on yourself, so you should find a way to talk about it. Please.” Shannon let her eyes drop down to her lap.
Arietta told her daughter she was fine. “I have too much to deal with to go to therapy,” she said firmly.
Shannon sighed. “At least hire a nurse a few days a week. Give yourself a break,” she said. “I love Dad. I miss him. I hate this. But I don’t want to lose you in all this, too.” She grimaced, then started her engine.
“Drive safe, honey,” Arietta said. “I love you.”
An hour after her daughters had gone, Arietta lay on her bed, reading and rereading the blackmail letter. They’d told her to send twenty grand by the end of May, which was coming up. What if she continued to ignore the letter? What if she chalked it up to a bad prank? She shoved the letter back into her bedside table and heaved out of bed, knowing that a list of tasks awaited her. She needed to make sure Fred was comfortable. She needed to make sure his body continued despite leaving his mind far behind.
Two days later, Arietta found herself in the office of Dr. Baxter Wallen, a psychiatrist she’d read about online who specialized in death and grieving. Dr. Wallen’s secretary had given her an appointment for three thirty, smack-dab in the middle of the prettiest afternoon Arietta had ever seen. Inside his office, the air-conditioning was on full blast, and she shivered.
“Arietta Peters?” The secretary called her name and led her to an office filled with tones of beige and gray. Arietta sat on the cushioned chair and crossed her ankles. This was her first foray into the world of psychiatry. She hadn’t bothered after her mother’s death, as they’d thought throwing herself deeper into her journalism work was therapy enough.