This was the final blow. The child of the narcissist becomes subjected to the same treatment that created her deeply flawed mother, ensuring the creation of another damaged soul.
No one sought treatment without some kind of threat—divorce, detachment from a loved one, unemployment. The thought of giving up the alter ego was too terrifying and, in many cases, had become so much a part of the fabric of that person, it was impossible to even disentangle it from the rest. It was almost always missed by marriage counselors and court shrinks. It could be hidden on a routine psychological profile. Even experienced therapists could miss it and be lured in by the often charismatic personalities of their patients. Some thought it was entirely untreatable.
“Don’t you see!” Abby had pleaded with Leo. “All the signs are there … the way she slept all day, expected Owen to take care of them … how she forced Cass to call her Mrs. Martin after the custody fight … and the story of that necklace…”
Leo had not seen any of this and had begged her not to push the issue. The Bureau had listened to her arguments, but there was nothing to suggest the Tanner girls had been impacted by some rare personality disorder their mother may or may not have.
“They would have ruined you, Abigail. They have money and lawyers, and you have what, a story about a necklace? What does that story even mean?”
Abby had tried to explain what was so obvious to her. “It’s classic behavior for a narcissistic parent. She has to keep all the children loyal and devoted solely to her, so she drives a wedge between the siblings, favors the stronger one, who’s more likely to turn on her. She is ruthless about this because her alter ego is fed primarily by the complete submission of her children.”
Leo had argued back and forth about how these distinctions would label every parent a “narcissist” or a “borderline” or something equally onerous. Maybe Judy Martin was just a shitty mother, or a selfish bitch. That was how they managed to hide from the world. Exactly like that. But he would not be swayed. And without the backup from the lead investigator, the theory had been dismissed.
But she was not wrong.
She heard the echoes now as she entered the Martin house. She was certain of it. A story had unfolded here—a story about Cass, a story about Emma. Judy Martin had a starring role. And maybe Jonathan Martin. Maybe his son, Hunter. And it was more than a little troubling that this story was not among those being told—not by Cass or Judy or even Owen. Cass kept insisting that her mother be present for her interviews. It was as if she didn’t want to talk about the past, to tell the one story that most needed to be told.
Yes. Abby was certain.
The only question that remained in her mind—what did this mean for finding Emma?
SEVEN
Cass
I have always liked the expression “rude awakening.” It’s one of those perfect expressions that says everything about something in very few words.
The first time I heard it was during my parents’ divorce. The woman who talked to us about where we should live said it to me during one of our meetings. I had already told her that I thought we should live with my father, and why I thought that, and she kind of smiled and leaned back in her chair.
She asked me if my father had told me to say those things about Mr. Martin and his son, about how I felt weird around them and about how Hunter looked at Emma. And she asked whether he told me to say things about my mother that were unmotherly. I told her no, and that I had not said these things to my father, ever, so how could he have told me to repeat them? But I could see she didn’t believe me. She told me how it was very common for parents to coach their children during a custody fight and how she sees it all the time. She said it was hard for her to believe me because Mr. Martin was very genuine in his desires to make a nice family for us and because my mother had devoted her entire life to raising us, giving up her career and her life in New York to be a stay-at-home mother.
Mrs. Martin cleaned up very well for the custody fight. She stopped sleeping late and napping and began driving us to school every day. She made us hot food for breakfast and sometimes even did our laundry herself. She came to every event at the school, cheering like a crazy fan, and she made us do our homework the minute we walked in the door. Our house was spotless and orderly. And she and Mr. Martin stopped drinking before five o’clock and going into their bedroom during the day.
I suppose I should have been grateful for this. Our mother was finally acting like the kind of mother we saw when we went to our friends’ houses and the kind of mother our half brother, Witt, had, which is why Witt is one of those people who does not have a scream inside him.
It was hard to imagine Witt having this other, normal life because we never saw him in that life. Before our father and mother got divorced, we saw Witt those ninety-six hours a month when he came to stay with our father for his visitation, and after the divorce, we saw him for ninety-six hours at our father’s new house when we went to visit him. The rest of the time, he was with his mother and we were not a part of that life. But he described it in a way that made sense of things, and it was that sense of things that made it impossible for me to be grateful for our mother’s sudden turnabout during the divorce.
This isn’t normal, Cass, Witt said to me one night when he had come for a weekend visit. It was before the divorce, and our mother had dragged our father out to the club for dinner. The way you and Emma take care of yourselves—it’s not normal. Most kids wake up to breakfast and a ride to school. They come home to dinner and clean clothes and someone hassling them about their homework and turning off the TV or getting off their video games. It’s not like it makes you happy all the time. But here, I always have one eye open. When I go home, I close both eyes at night.