Lies Left Unsaid

Vivian

I couldn't believe the gall of that detective! Who did he think he was? Not, that he was the first person to point a finger at me. I never wanted any of this, but that's not how the neighborhood gossip bitches made it out to be. They spread vicious rumors that I was enjoying the attention; that I was basking in the fame. But what did they know about my grief? No one gives you a handbook for how to behave when your daughter goes missing and there's a media storm surrounding you. I was brought up to look my best and to smile when there is a camera shoved in my face, so why was it so wrong to do that now? Since when is being photogenic a crime? They wanted me to play the part of the distraught mother, but what did that look like? Did they expect me to constantly be in tears or disheveled, walking around in sweat pants all day with a permanent look of distress on my face? I didn't want their pity, nor did I need it. What I needed was a stiff drink. I wished someone would offer me a strong gin and tonic, not their sympathy.

She was beautiful, far more so than I ever was at her age. She got her father's thick hair and his nose, thank God! She also inherited his beautiful singing voice. I was tone deaf, a fact that she never let slip when I sang in the car. "Stop it mom," she would say with a look of disgust. I wonder when she went from adoring me to being repulsed and embarrassed by my every word, every move. She could be ungrateful at times, which is a typical teenage trait I know, but her ungratefulness went deeper. It was almost as if it were filled with hate. I told myself that one day she'd grow out of it, that we'd be the best of friends. I imagined that one day she'd share stories of her college adventures at Yale and I'd take she and her friends out for cocktails once they reached twenty-one, or maybe I'd be the cool mom who would buy them drinks while they were still underage. Of course, none of that will happen now, seeing as she is most likely dead. The media called me "cold and unfeeling" and "rather suspicious" because I expressed a comment that made it seem as if I thought she were dead. But isn't that what they always tell you on those 20/20 and Dateline shows? If the person isn't found within the first 72 hours then you'll most likely never see them again. My lawyer encouraged me to let him do the talking from now on, but I never liked it when men told me what to do. I wasn't "unfeeling." I was rational. But God forbid a mother be rational when her daughter goes missing. No, that was the role of the father, to stay strong and calm, which of course was exactly what Phillip was doing. But as soon as the door closed and the police and reporters were tucked away behind closed shutters, it was back to quiet, cold, Phil. He never spoke to me anymore. He never told me how he was feeling or that he loved me. Of course, all of this was pre-Caitlyn's disappearance. Since then, the distance between us had grown exponentially. I wanted him to hold me, to tell me everything was going to be okay and yet, at the same time, I didn't want any of that. I had become accustomed to our separateness. It made my sense of self stronger. A tragedy like this had the potential to bring a family together or to tear it apart. I knew what direction we were headed, but I refused to give up. If there's one thing wasps are good at, it's maintaining appearances. And that's just what I would do. I would continue to play my role and we would appear like a loving couple, until hopefully, eventually, it would be the truth.