would get Lydia in
a lot of trouble with Dad. With the lawyers, too, probably, who want me to testify
“untainted” by media chatter. I overheard one of the assistants say,
“If we have to, we can make this blind thing work in our favor.”
I don’t want anyone to take Lydia
away.
“It is possible that you transposed
time,” the doctor says. “That you know the detail of her mother’s
name, how it was spelled, but found it out afterward.”
“Is that common, too?”
Sarcastic.
“Not
un
common.”
He’s checking off all the little crazy
boxes, and I’m making a hundred.
The toe of my boot is furiously knocking
against the table leg. My foot slips and accidentally kicks Oscar, who lets out a cry. I
think that nothing in the past month has felt as awful as this tiny hurt sound from
Oscar. I lean down and bury my face in his fur.
So sorry, so sorry.
Oscar
immediately slaps his tongue on my arm, the first thing he can reach.
“My Very Energetic Mother Just Served
Us Nine Pizzas.” I murmur this into Oscar’s warm body again and again,
calming Oscar. Calming myself.
“Tessie.” Concern. Not smirking
now. He thinks he’s pushed me too far. I titter, and it sounds loony. It’s
weird, because I really feel pretty good today. I just feel bad about kicking Oscar.
I raise my head, and Oscar resettles himself
across my feet. His busy tail whacks like a broom against my leg. He’s fine.
We’re fine.
“It’s a
mnemonic device,” I say. “For remembering the planetary order.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars …
My Very Energetic Mother …”
“I get that. But what does it have to
do with Merry?” He’s sounding really worried.
“Merry thought we should come up with
a code to help me remember the names of the mothers of the other Susans. So I could find
them later. Tell them that their girls were OK, too.”
“And it had something to do …
with the planets?”
“No,” I say impatiently.
“I was repeating the planet thing in the grave, trying to, you know, stay sane.
Not black out. Everything was kind of spinning. I could see the stars and stuff.”
The moon, a tiny, thin smile.
Don’t give up.
“Anyway, it made Merry
think of the idea for a mnemonic device so I wouldn’t forget the names of the
other mothers. So I wouldn’t forget.
N-U-S,
a letter for each mother.
Nasty Used Snot. Or something. I remember
snot
was part of it. But I flipped
the letters around and made a real word.
SUN.
”
I’ve shocked him into silence
again.
“And the other mothers’ names?
What are they?”
“I don’t remember. Yet.”
It pains me to say this out loud. “Just the three letters. Just
SUN.
But
I’m working on it.” Determined. I run through names every night in bed. The
U
’s are the hardest.
Ursula? Uni?
I will not let Merry down.
I will find the mother of every single Susan.
The doctor is twisting his mind around
this.
I’m not such a cliché
anymore.
“There were the bones of two other
girls in the grave, not three,” he says finally, as if logic has anything to do
with this.
Tessa, present day
The three of us barely fit in the famous Dr.
Joanna Seger’s office. It isn’t at all what I expect for a rock star
scientist. The large window showcases a lovely view of the Fort Worth skyline, but Jo
faces the door, welcoming the living. Her desk, a modern black chunk that almost
swallows the whole space, is littered with forensic journals and paper. It reminds me of
Angie’s desktop in the church basement. The kind of desktop where passion is
screwing organization and nobody’s making the bed.
The signature piece rising out of the chaos:
a Goliath computer running $100,000 worth of software. The HD screen displays a roller
coaster of lime green and black bar codes. It’s the rare spot of color except for
the grinning Mexican death masks and the skeleton bride
a lot of trouble with Dad. With the lawyers, too, probably, who want me to testify
“untainted” by media chatter. I overheard one of the assistants say,
“If we have to, we can make this blind thing work in our favor.”
I don’t want anyone to take Lydia
away.
“It is possible that you transposed
time,” the doctor says. “That you know the detail of her mother’s
name, how it was spelled, but found it out afterward.”
“Is that common, too?”
Sarcastic.
“Not
un
common.”
He’s checking off all the little crazy
boxes, and I’m making a hundred.
The toe of my boot is furiously knocking
against the table leg. My foot slips and accidentally kicks Oscar, who lets out a cry. I
think that nothing in the past month has felt as awful as this tiny hurt sound from
Oscar. I lean down and bury my face in his fur.
So sorry, so sorry.
Oscar
immediately slaps his tongue on my arm, the first thing he can reach.
“My Very Energetic Mother Just Served
Us Nine Pizzas.” I murmur this into Oscar’s warm body again and again,
calming Oscar. Calming myself.
“Tessie.” Concern. Not smirking
now. He thinks he’s pushed me too far. I titter, and it sounds loony. It’s
weird, because I really feel pretty good today. I just feel bad about kicking Oscar.
I raise my head, and Oscar resettles himself
across my feet. His busy tail whacks like a broom against my leg. He’s fine.
We’re fine.
“It’s a
mnemonic device,” I say. “For remembering the planetary order.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars …
My Very Energetic Mother …”
“I get that. But what does it have to
do with Merry?” He’s sounding really worried.
“Merry thought we should come up with
a code to help me remember the names of the mothers of the other Susans. So I could find
them later. Tell them that their girls were OK, too.”
“And it had something to do …
with the planets?”
“No,” I say impatiently.
“I was repeating the planet thing in the grave, trying to, you know, stay sane.
Not black out. Everything was kind of spinning. I could see the stars and stuff.”
The moon, a tiny, thin smile.
Don’t give up.
“Anyway, it made Merry
think of the idea for a mnemonic device so I wouldn’t forget the names of the
other mothers. So I wouldn’t forget.
N-U-S,
a letter for each mother.
Nasty Used Snot. Or something. I remember
snot
was part of it. But I flipped
the letters around and made a real word.
SUN.
”
I’ve shocked him into silence
again.
“And the other mothers’ names?
What are they?”
“I don’t remember. Yet.”
It pains me to say this out loud. “Just the three letters. Just
SUN.
But
I’m working on it.” Determined. I run through names every night in bed. The
U
’s are the hardest.
Ursula? Uni?
I will not let Merry down.
I will find the mother of every single Susan.
The doctor is twisting his mind around
this.
I’m not such a cliché
anymore.
“There were the bones of two other
girls in the grave, not three,” he says finally, as if logic has anything to do
with this.
Tessa, present day
The three of us barely fit in the famous Dr.
Joanna Seger’s office. It isn’t at all what I expect for a rock star
scientist. The large window showcases a lovely view of the Fort Worth skyline, but Jo
faces the door, welcoming the living. Her desk, a modern black chunk that almost
swallows the whole space, is littered with forensic journals and paper. It reminds me of
Angie’s desktop in the church basement. The kind of desktop where passion is
screwing organization and nobody’s making the bed.
The signature piece rising out of the chaos:
a Goliath computer running $100,000 worth of software. The HD screen displays a roller
coaster of lime green and black bar codes. It’s the rare spot of color except for
the grinning Mexican death masks and the skeleton bride
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