"Order is important to you."
Amy waited a moment before answering. "Not order, but coherence and clarity. If I can make myself understood to others, that means I can understand myself. What does this have to do with Karen?" A faint hint of annoyance had crept into her voice.
Goren leaned back and nodded. "You're right." He slammed his palms against the back of his chair and stood. "You're right, so let's talk about Karen." He took up a position leaning against the mirror. "How well did you know her? You two grew up in the same town, she was your cousin. You must have known her at school; she'd come over and babysit you. Like a big sister."
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Her parents knew what my parents were. They never let her near them or me."
"But you saw her at school. She was older, more popular, and you were invisible."
"She was pretty. And she had friends. But I didn't . . . I can't say how popular she was. It never really registered."
Goren's eyes narrowed. "You weren't jealous? Angry that this girl, this relative of yours, had a life you could only imagine? You'd look in windows and wonder what it was like to be in normal family."
"Warmth," she murmured. "I envied the warmth. But I envied everybody." She looked up from her hands, meeting his challenge. "The fact that she was my cousin didn't mean anything to me then. I had nothing to do with her family and I was too . . . consumed by the immediate problems to look for someone else to blame."
"No, that came later," he moved forward and picked up the book. "That's what this is about. The Volcano Next Door, it's a reference to the stereotypical virgin sacrifice in primitive villages. Your brother just used that detective's story to present an argument about the community's awareness and complicity in the . . . terrible things that go on behind closed doors."
Amy nodded. "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to fuck one up."
"Not exactly a revolutionary concept," he began pacing. "But Karen's father, your uncle, you said he knew. He should have acted, should have given you the same life Karen got."
The bitter tug at the corners of Amy's mouth was back. "No. No. He was weak and he should have done something, but Karen's life . . . It wasn't a bed of roses."
Goren stopped. He was standing at the narrow end of the table on Amy's right. He stepped back and leaned over so he could see her face. "She had problems, you said. Problems you were willing to pay to help fix. What do you mean?"
Amy contemplated her hands for a moment before answering. "My mother died when I was 11. That's when my brother took me away. I went to live with him and Claire in Chicago. A year later, when Karen was about 16, she came to stay with us. She had run away and her father, when he heard where she was, agreed to let her stay. He was a good and decent man and he loved her, and he knew he wasn't equipped for her . . . problems. Her parents had divorced and her mother remarried. Her stepfather . . . he molested her. Went to jail for it, and everything, but . . . you know what that does to a person."
"How long did she stay with you?"
"About two months. She ran off with a boyfriend, the one she'd run away from Nebraska because of, and stole some money and jewelry."
Bobby tapped the book on the table. "So . . . did you ever see her after that?"
Amy nodded simply. "She came to New York about three or three and a half years ago, not long after my brother remarried."
"She tried to blackmail him?"
"My brother wouldn't say much about their first conversation, so I don't know. But she did ask for money and he told her that the only thing he'd give her was therapy. She stayed with us for a few days, Alison got her into a treatment program, and Ben was going to pay for it. She stayed at the program for a week, then she ran away again."
"She was an ungrateful bitch, wasn't she?"
Amy did not rise to the bait, but answered evenly. "She was troubled."
Bobby shrugged, then sat back down on the chair beside Amy. "Miss Baldwin, you and your brother were very devoted to each other." She nodded. "In fact, he would look at you like you were the sun coming up in the morning."
Amy waited a moment before answering. "Not order, but coherence and clarity. If I can make myself understood to others, that means I can understand myself. What does this have to do with Karen?" A faint hint of annoyance had crept into her voice.
Goren leaned back and nodded. "You're right." He slammed his palms against the back of his chair and stood. "You're right, so let's talk about Karen." He took up a position leaning against the mirror. "How well did you know her? You two grew up in the same town, she was your cousin. You must have known her at school; she'd come over and babysit you. Like a big sister."
A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Her parents knew what my parents were. They never let her near them or me."
"But you saw her at school. She was older, more popular, and you were invisible."
"She was pretty. And she had friends. But I didn't . . . I can't say how popular she was. It never really registered."
Goren's eyes narrowed. "You weren't jealous? Angry that this girl, this relative of yours, had a life you could only imagine? You'd look in windows and wonder what it was like to be in normal family."
"Warmth," she murmured. "I envied the warmth. But I envied everybody." She looked up from her hands, meeting his challenge. "The fact that she was my cousin didn't mean anything to me then. I had nothing to do with her family and I was too . . . consumed by the immediate problems to look for someone else to blame."
"No, that came later," he moved forward and picked up the book. "That's what this is about. The Volcano Next Door, it's a reference to the stereotypical virgin sacrifice in primitive villages. Your brother just used that detective's story to present an argument about the community's awareness and complicity in the . . . terrible things that go on behind closed doors."
Amy nodded. "If it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a village to fuck one up."
"Not exactly a revolutionary concept," he began pacing. "But Karen's father, your uncle, you said he knew. He should have acted, should have given you the same life Karen got."
The bitter tug at the corners of Amy's mouth was back. "No. No. He was weak and he should have done something, but Karen's life . . . It wasn't a bed of roses."
Goren stopped. He was standing at the narrow end of the table on Amy's right. He stepped back and leaned over so he could see her face. "She had problems, you said. Problems you were willing to pay to help fix. What do you mean?"
Amy contemplated her hands for a moment before answering. "My mother died when I was 11. That's when my brother took me away. I went to live with him and Claire in Chicago. A year later, when Karen was about 16, she came to stay with us. She had run away and her father, when he heard where she was, agreed to let her stay. He was a good and decent man and he loved her, and he knew he wasn't equipped for her . . . problems. Her parents had divorced and her mother remarried. Her stepfather . . . he molested her. Went to jail for it, and everything, but . . . you know what that does to a person."
"How long did she stay with you?"
"About two months. She ran off with a boyfriend, the one she'd run away from Nebraska because of, and stole some money and jewelry."
Bobby tapped the book on the table. "So . . . did you ever see her after that?"
Amy nodded simply. "She came to New York about three or three and a half years ago, not long after my brother remarried."
"She tried to blackmail him?"
"My brother wouldn't say much about their first conversation, so I don't know. But she did ask for money and he told her that the only thing he'd give her was therapy. She stayed with us for a few days, Alison got her into a treatment program, and Ben was going to pay for it. She stayed at the program for a week, then she ran away again."
"She was an ungrateful bitch, wasn't she?"
Amy did not rise to the bait, but answered evenly. "She was troubled."
Bobby shrugged, then sat back down on the chair beside Amy. "Miss Baldwin, you and your brother were very devoted to each other." She nodded. "In fact, he would look at you like you were the sun coming up in the morning."