Twisted Circles (Secret Society 2)

“This is for you.” Wendy set a bag on the bed.

I looked inside and found some of Stella’s clothes that I’d been given by Dr. Thompson. A pair of underwear, grey Foo Fighters T-shirt and washed-up, ripped-up jeans. Wendy placed a toothbrush and toothpaste beside that. I looked up at her.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“We’re trying to keep you out of harm’s way,” Sister Marie responded.

“By drugging and kidnapping me?”

“It was a mashed up ZzzQuil, calm down. You act like you don’t constantly mess up your liver.” That was Wendy.

“The difference is I choose to mess up my liver, Wendy. No one else does it for me.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot some of us actually have free will.”

“What the . . . you can’t hate me for not having grown up in this.” I waved at the room, which was white and bare, with the exception of a cross holding Jesus.

“She’s right,” Sister Marie said. “When you turned eighteen you were given a choice. You chose to stay.”

Wendy looked over at her and nodded. “For the greater good.”

“For the greater good,” Sister Marie responded.

“What’s for the greater good?” I looked between the two of them.

“It’s best you don’t know,” Sister Marie said, standing. She shot Wendy a look before leaving the room. “Make sure she’s ready for tonight.”

“How is it best I don’t know?” I asked once she was gone.

“I don’t agree with her. Shower, get dressed, and I’ll grab us something to eat so we can talk.”

I did as instructed. They had a small bathroom that was obviously shared by a lot, if not all, of the women living here. There were different kinds of soaps and shampoos, and a lot of colorful toothbrushes. I made sure not to mix mine with theirs and made sure I only used the things with Wendy’s name on it. When I picked up the lavender scented shampoo, I froze. She used the same shampoo as Stella and me. As I washed my hair, I tried to think back to how I’d started buying it, but I’d been using it for so long I couldn’t be sure.

When I was finished getting dressed, I sought out Wendy. The house was small, unlike The Manor. It was also loud, unlike The Manor. Over there, the only noise came from the piano when Adam was playing or the guys when they were all having breakfast in the kitchen, which didn’t happen often, since they didn’t stay there every night. I followed the sounds of women laughing until I reached the kitchen, where some were having coffee and others were cooking. Wendy stood when she saw me.

“You can sit here. I made you a bagel and coffee. Is that fine?”

“Sure.” I sat down in the chair she’d just evacuated and kept my eyes on the everything bagel. I wasn’t sure where to look if I didn’t. As I chewed, I looked back up and found the woman across from me staring at me.

“Oh, by the way, this is your mom,” Wendy said, all nonchalant, as if that wasn’t the biggest news of the century—of my life.

“What?” I coughed, slapping my chest as I looked at the woman across from me.

Her hair was covered, as was most of her body, in the black and white nun attire they all wore. She had a round face, was much darker than I was, and had eyes that were almost black. She didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything at all. Just watched me watch her. My heart launched into my throat. I set the bitten bagel in my hand down on the plate and wiped my fingers with the napkin next to it. How many times had I imagined meeting my mother? How many times had I rehearsed what I would say? Too many to count. Now that it was happening, I wasn’t sure what to say or do. I wasn’t sure if it was the same for her or if she just didn’t care. She looked despondent. Distant.

“You’re my mother?” I asked, my voice a whisper when I finally found it.

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I have so many questions.”

“She can’t answer them,” Wendy said. My attention whipped in her direction. “Sister Petra vowed silence.”

“Silence?” My voice shook along with the rest of my body. “I’m seeing her for the first time in twenty years and she vowed silence?”

“We have prayer in five minutes,” Sister Marie said, interrupting us.

I watched as my mother stood up, gave me a small bow that I guessed I was supposed to perceive as an apology, and walked away with the other women. My gaze stayed on her even as she walked out the door. My mother. The birth mother that Karen told me countless times didn’t want to be contacted or found. The one we had arguments about day in and day out when I was a rebellious teenager. I finally saw her, finally met her, and she didn’t even care.