Gnosis by Tom Wallace Page A

psyche. Of course, Laurie knew, the exterior oftentimes lies in order to protect an individual by hiding the pain and hurt within. She wouldn’t know that until she spoke with Angie. But simply based on a first impression, Angie was a far cry from the pathetic woman described by her mother.
    The sliding glass door opened to the kitchen, which was bare except for the antique oak table and six chairs. A stack of papers and several of Angie’s business cards lay scattered on the table. Angie gathered them up, paper-clipped them together, and put them on the counter.
    “Have a seat,” Angie said, pulling a chair away from the table. “Make yourself at home. At the very least, pretend this is your kitchen.”
    “This kitchen is half as big as my entire apartment. I’m not sure I would want a kitchen this big. Too much cleaning involved.”
    “I can assure you the people who purchase this house will never pick up a dust rag. They’ll pay someone to do the cleaning.”
    Laurie laughed. “Well, there’s one thing I have in common with the rich. I would hire someone to do my cleaning if I could afford it. But I can’t, so—”
    “The cleaning doesn’t get done, right?”
    “Right.” Laurie looked out at the swimming pool, then back at Angie. “You’re not at all like how I had you pictured.”
    “How did you have me pictured?”
    “I don’t know. More fragile, maybe. Less confident.”
    Angie seemed puzzled for a few seconds, then her eyes widened. “Ah, now I get it,” she said, shaking her head. “You met my mother. That’s how you got my home number.”
    “We didn’t meet, but I did speak with her on the phone.”
    “And she told you I was a wreck of a human being because of what I saw that night. That I had to see a shrink and had nightmares and cost the family a small fortune and blah, blah, blah. She’s been telling that story for so long I’m sure she actually believes it.”
    “It isn’t true?”
    “Please! Do I look like someone who is a wreck of a human being? I’m very successful at my job, I’ve raised a wonderful daughter, and I live a happy, contented life. Do I wish I made more money and was in involved in a steady relationship with Mr. Right? Sure, I do. But all in all, my life is pretty darn good. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mother dearly, and I have tremendous respect for her, but the truth is, she’s a first-class drama queen.”
    “No shrink, no nightmares?”
    “I had a couple of bad dreams after the incident. So what? I’d had bad dreams before, so to me it was no big deal. Besides, I didn’t necessarily connect those dreams with what I saw that night. As for seeing a shrink, it’s simply not true. My father, God rest his soul, had a close friend who was a counselor at the VA hospital. I’m not sure what credentials he had, if he had any at all, but that’s who I spoke with. He was one of those guys who worked with veterans, especially the ones who had been in combat and had trouble adjusting when they returned home. Anyway, I met with him maybe two times. We talked about that night, what I saw, and how I felt about it. He could tell I wasn’t all that shook up or in need of serious counseling. And that’s what he told my father. The matter was dropped by everyone except my mother, who continues to tell anyone who will listen that I’m damaged goods.”
    “She was also pretty tough on Greg Spurlock.”
    “I know. He’s a bum, a loser, a druggie, treated me like crap. Again with the drama.”
    “You got along with him okay?”
    “Sure. He was a guy I went out with a few times in high school. Nothing serious, by any stretch.”
    “What was he like?”
    “Very cocky, very sure of himself, a daredevil kind of personality. Not all that unusual, I suppose, for someone who came from money.”
    “His family was rich?”
    “Not rich, rich. But very well off. I think his mother’s family had money.”
    “Your mother mentioned drinking and drugs. Any truth to