Petra kept reading. “The Fates were often depicted as cold and unmerciful, but weren’t always deaf to the pleading of others. When Atropos cut the thread of King Admetus, Apollo begged the Fates to undo their work. They promised that if someone took Admetus’s place in the gloomy world of Hades’ domain, he would live.”
I remembered Nan sitting with me, both of us leaning against my headboard, I in my pajamas, she with a well-worn book open before us. Sometimes she didn’t even need the book.
“Cassie? Hello? You still there?”
“I’m still here,” I croaked.
“So you’re probably wondering what this has to do with your mother.”
“Right.” My head was spinning. I tried to focus on the pond, the trees, anything real and concrete to anchor the things swirling in my brain. The memories, the stories, the facts that were adding up way too fast.
“Your mother believed she was a direct descendant of Lachesis, one of the Fates. The one who determines the length of a human life. She had constructed a whole world of facts to fit her beliefs. Dr. Wells only uncovered parts of it, even in their years of therapy. She was certain Georgia’s delusions ran deep. Some of the things she spoke about went way back.”
“Like what?”
Petra paused and I could hear more pages shuffling. “Remember how she said she’d known before when someone was going to die? There was a friend of hers in high school …” I heard Petra flipping pages again, but saved her the time, my whole body numb.
“Roberta.” The reason she’d run away. The bee sting. I could hardly think, unable to believe it hadn’t occurred to me before and unwilling to imagine it was true.
“Right! Roberta Bikakis. How did you know?”
“Just heard her name before, I guess.”
“Yeah. Anyway, she was a friend of your mother’s who died when she was sixteen. Your mother claimed she knew before it happened.” Petra paused. “Your family’s Greek, right?”
“Right.”
“People don’t usually pick these things out of thin air,” Petra said. “There’s always a source of the delusions. Your mom probably drew on the things she heard, or was taught at church.” I could picture Petra shaking her head in a sorry admiration. “Dr. Wells had to research the mythology to understand what Georgia was talking about. Your mother certainly knew her stuff. She constructed a very solid fantasy world.”
If only that were it, I thought. “What else did she … do the notes say about it?”
“Not much,” Petra answered. “Georgia was pretty tight-lipped, only dropping bits and pieces. In one session, Dr. Wells was questioning her about why she felt responsible for your father’s accident and she answered, ‘I am fate.’ That was it. Then it’s another two months before Georgia let the name Lachesis slip. The thing that struck Dr. Wells was how firmly Georgia held to her beliefs. Her facts never changed, never conflicted. Though Dr. Wells never got the full story, she was sure there was a whole construct beneath the surface that Georgia held tight to.”
“Uh-huh.” It came out like a punch in the gut, which was pretty much how I felt.
“The other thing,” Petra continued, “and this is what made me think she got the ideas from something she was taught, was that Georgia mentioned a book.”
There were goose bumps on my arms. “What book?”
“Hold on. I’ve got it in the notes somewhere.” More pages shuffling. “Here it is,” Petra said. “It was late in their sessions, only a month or two before your mom died. Dr. Wells was trying to get her to share more of her beliefs about her ability to predict death.” Petra paused, reading. “… and also about her being a descendant of this Lachesis.
“ ‘How can you be sure of this?’ Dr. Wells says.
“ ‘It’s in the book,’ Georgia answered.
“ ‘What book?’
“Georgia only shook her head.
“ ‘What book, Georgia?’
“ ‘I can’t tell.’
“ ‘Why not?’
“ ‘My mother told me not to.’
“ ‘Was it one of her books?’
“ ‘It’s ours. Meant for us alone, until she’s sixteen.’
“ ‘Until who’s sixteen, Georgia?’
“ ‘I’m not sure I’ll give it to her. I’m supposed to, but I don’t think I will. I wish it hadn’t been given to me.’
“And that’s it,” Petra said.
“That’s it?”
“Yeah. Dr. Wells notes that Georgia was unresponsive to further questions. At first I thought the book might be one of your father’s. He was a history professor, right?”
“Ancient history.” He’d have known the myths, the stories of the gods and godesses. Could have helped a scared sixteen-year-old sort things out, maybe better than her own mother.
“When I reread the notes, though, it seemed pretty clear the book belonged to your grandmother Nan. And Georgia was probably talking about you, right? With the whole ‘until she’s sixteen’?”
“I guess.”
“That’s what Dr. Wells assumed. She tried to bring it up with Georgia at their next session and after that too, but she never got any further. And then … it ended.”
It ended. My mother checked out. Decided it was all too much.
“Was there anything more?” I asked Petra. “Anything about her … ability? Specifics, like what she thought she could do or see?”
“No. You know, Cassandra, your mother was pretty heavily medicated throughout. Dr. Wells tried getting her to talk about the delusions so they could work through them, she tried focusing on the positives—on you—to encourage Georgia to work toward reality, but truthfully there wasn’t a lot of progress in the three or four years she was at Barrow.”
Petra was silent, thoughtful for a minute, then added, “I’m sorry, Cassie. I know this must be hard to hear, even if you never really knew her.”
So much harder than Petra could ever know. “Thanks. For everything, Petra.”
“No problem. Keep your promise, Cass. Stay in touch.”
Chapter 28
I hung around Bering for a day or two after that, but I had no job, no school, didn’t dare go out for fear of seeing the woman with the baby or Lucas or anyone from class.
I desperately wished I could rewind back to the day I decided to visit my parents’ grave and stay safely tucked in the apartment instead. To make things right, though, I’d need to rewind further, back to when I saw the mark on Lucas. Or maybe to the rainy day I followed Mr. McKenzie. But there’s never a way to go back, so I did the only thing I could. Go forward.