The Shape of Family Read online

  The past year has not been easy. Learning about all that Karina suffered has been nearly unbearable. But Jaya surprised him. She has been stronger than he would have thought—stronger than him, for certain. After Prem died, Keith tried so hard to carry their family and failed. Now he feels, above all, like he is not alone in this crisis. He follows Jaya’s lead these days, because she seems to know how to respond to Karina when he is not sure.

  He has taken on the responsibility of staying on top of the situation in Santa Barbara, communicating with the police and the district attorney’s office about the case. There won’t be a trial after all, since the defendant (Micah, as Karina still refers to him), tied a trash bag around his neck to hang himself in his cell after being arrested. At first, Keith felt cheated by that: losing the opportunity to see the bastard suffer and pay for his crimes. But Jaya has been helping him let go of his anger, and now he can see it’s all best for Karina, enabling her to move forward without the repeated trauma of testifying.

  It took over three months for the police to fully process the Sanctuary as a crime scene, during which they confiscated forty pounds of unlicensed cannabis and discovered one body buried in a shallow grave behind the stables. There was not enough evidence to charge any of the other residents with the crimes that transpired. Karina has tried to track some of them down, insisting they are still her friends, but most seem to have disappeared. There are rumors they have regrouped in a new house under a new leader, somewhere outside Calabasas.

  Once the property was finally vacated, the landlord, Joe Petrosyan, sold it at a bargain price to an overseas buyer who had been looking for just such a piece of land in Rancho Paraiso to build a world-class equestrian facility for her dressage competitors. To protect property values and privacy, the community board quickly voted to change the name of the road on which the Sanctuary was located, so that the group was not only disbanded but written out of history.

  Although Keith had a hard time adjusting to his newly unemployed status, the past year has been a gift in many ways. Primarily, it has been a chance to focus on Karina. He comes over to the house every day, and they feel like a family again in the best possible way. He and Karina took some cooking classes, and they have learned to make more vegetarian meals: lentil stews, tofu curries and cauliflower steaks, which Jaya appreciates with a hearty appetite. But some things haven’t changed: when they order pizza on Friday nights, he and Karina still polish off a whole pepperoni pie between them. It all reminds him—though in a different way—of those early days in London when he and Jaya discovered food together as they learned how to be a couple. Now, it is the three of them, a re-formed unit, learning how to shape themselves around a missing piece without losing themselves to it.

  Keith sold his condo, which had appreciated considerably with Silicon Valley’s growth, and moved into a simpler duplex close to Jaya’s house in Los Altos. These days, he only returns to his place to sleep anyway, and the move has given him greater financial security after paying the SEC penalties he incurred. In the end, neither of his remaining family members derived much benefit from the money he’d worked so hard to amass. Jaya has always believed too much money is corrupting, and Karina was eager for her financial independence. That single illegal trade was driven more by his ego, truthfully, than anything else. And it was that ego that drove a wedge between him and Jaya, even him and Karina—his limited ability to value them for who they were, rather than who they could be. He has come to these realizations painfully, working with the therapist they each see individually and also together as a family. They have all been speaking more honestly than ever before, and sometimes that is shockingly painful—more painful even than the therapy after Prem died. But their honesty is buying them something more valuable than the pain it causes: a way to move forward, a way to forgive each other and themselves, a future as a family rather than just three individuals.

  * * *

  Karina notices the mingling of iridescent colors in the rapid movement of the bird’s wings, not unlike the spill of oil in a rain puddle. The garden she has designed, though it is not yet finished, is already attracting all kinds of curious visitors. She imagines a communion of them, coming to harvest pollen through the upcoming season. It is difficult to believe it will soon be a year since she came back home. Time is passing more fluidly now, but it was painfully slow at the beginning. It took all her strength to relive her experiences at the Sanctuary, baring to the authorities not only how she’d suffered, but the wrongs she’d committed out of faith and loyalty.

  Most of the things she’d told the police about Micah turned out to be lies. His real name was Myron Williams, and there were charges pending against him for operating an E. coli–stricken mushroom farm in Oregon and embezzling from a crystal shop in Vegas. He had never attended Juilliard or even registered for a marathon. He could not have traveled around the world because he had never held a passport. For the past several years throughout Southern California, he had perpetrated a con known as “luxury squatting” by intentionally damaging multimillion-dollar properties to live in them rent-free. It had caused Karina fresh pain to know that nearly everything she had believed about him was untrue, that her judgments and instincts had been so grievously wrong. In contrast to Micah’s claims, the police were, in fact, more intent on halting widespread illegal growers since the legalization of marijuana. Karina felt some consolation in taking responsibility for her actions and working with the police to liberate the friends she left behind. The authorities, in exchange for testimony that enabled them to finally arrest a career criminal, granted her a community service requirement.

  When she first returned from Santa Barbara, Karina had little reason to get out of bed, until the day Mom brought home a rescue dog from the shelter, a four-year-old beagle-retriever mix. They had a few days to decide, Mom said, but as soon as the dog bounded up to Karina, with her gentle eyes and coat the color of gingerbread, she belonged to them. Karina began waking up every morning to walk Ginger, then running with her through the neighborhood, which she now does twice a day. She hasn’t run since the cross-country team in high school, and that familiar burn in her lungs is a welcome discomfort.

  A few weeks after Karina’s parents brought her home, Izzy returned from college. When she learned what had happened, she cancelled her trip to Spain and spent the entire summer at home. She and Karina went to her old barn together every day and helped care for the horses, brushing coats, refilling feed, raking out stalls, going on leisurely rides. Karina plans to move Buddy up to these stables, once the rescue farm where he’s been recovering in Santa Barbara deems him strong enough for transport.

  Karina leaned heavily on Izzy in those early days, confiding all the shameful and embarrassing things she’d carried alone for so long, and her friend did not falter. Izzy’s unconditional support enabled her to then share those truths with her parents: what had happened the day Prem died, the cutting that started soon after, the mistakes she continued to make with Henry, with Micah. Karina called Claire and finally explained to her what had happened that night with Henry. “It may have been my fault too. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I shouldn’t have made myself vulnerable like that.”

  “Karina, don’t,” Claire said. “Stop blaming yourself. I didn’t know, I just assumed you knew what you were doing . . . And maybe Henry just assumed too, because I really don’t think he’s that kind of a guy.” Her voice dropped. “He’s a good guy.”

  The words cut into Karina with their implication, but the pain was not unfamiliar. She and Claire wept together on the phone, both apologizing for the mistakes they’d made and for the withering of their friendship that had followed.

  James came up to visit too, once he heard the news. After the many times Karina had imagined such a scene while they were dating, James finally met her parents over a very normal dinner at their kitchen table. Dad cooked polenta pizza on the grill and Mom made a kale Caesar salad. Afterwards, Karina and James we
nt for a long walk through the neighborhood, where Karina pointed out some of the childhood spots she’d told him about. She didn’t talk much about what had happened at the Sanctuary, but she did divulge how she’d felt after their breakup. “I really trusted you, and you hurt me. Everything just spiraled from there.”

  James stopped, turned to her on the sidewalk, took her hands. “I really am sorry, Karina, for being such a jerk.” Yoga Girl hadn’t lasted long, he told her, only a few months. “But what you and I had was real. You were my first love, Karina, and it’s true, I won’t ever forget that.”

  Karina remembered all that had been good about James and the time they’d been together. He had made her feel special, beautiful. He had encouraged her to go to Ecuador even when it scared her. Though their relationship ended, James showed her what real love felt like, and she is hopeful she can find it again. Her love with Prem will also have a lasting impact—the way he trusted her unconditionally and believed her to be stronger than she felt. Each love she encounters will change her, she has come to see, shaping the person she will become.

  Karina has spent many hours in the past year in therapy, trying to understand what truly happened at the Sanctuary, how she was manipulated into following Micah and his destructive authority. The therapist helped her recognize that the techniques he used on her—love bombing, sensory deprivation, social isolation, breaking her down and building her back up—were all well-known tactics in such groups. She has been working to understand how she was susceptible to Micah and his message, why her life was such a mess even before him. She drew the wrong conclusions from some events in her life, blaming herself for Prem’s death and James’s betrayal. Others, she never spoke about at all, like the night with Henry. But when she looks back now, she sees her strength has always been there, if not always constructive. Sometimes, she has directed that power against herself and it has turned to self-hatred, making her vulnerable to someone like Micah.

  One of the first things Karina did after starting therapy was track down Justin, in an online community for cult survivors. She was relieved to learn he was alive, that Micah hadn’t lied about his departure too. She and Justin speak frequently now, to make sense of what happened to them at the Sanctuary. Sometimes, Justin says he should have stayed longer once he understood what was really happening; perhaps he could have prevented August’s death or the damage inflicted on others. When Karina tells him he can’t blame himself, she is also reassuring herself. Everyone at the Sanctuary was seeking, just as she was. Everyone was looking for a place to belong. Even Micah, if she’s truthful, wasn’t wholly bad. He did some good things for her, taught her some valuable insights about herself. There was some truth in his beliefs and his vision; that was why he spoke to all of them.

  Karina has finally come to realize that the kind of belonging she seeks is already here. She has told her parents every awful thing she’d kept from them for years and, after hearing it all, they have stood by her. They are flawed, all three of them, but they belong to each other.

  For Thanksgiving last year, Karina and her parents joined Stephanie Cortez at her family’s home in Redwood City. It was a celebration like none she’d ever seen. The crowd of fifty or more brought dishes of tamales, posole, stuffing, turkey legs—a fusion of two cultures that harmonized perfectly and tasted delicious.

  “Mashed potatoes with mole should be a thing,” Karina said, sampling the combination for the first time. “Much better than gravy. I’m definitely doing this next year.”

  “What? You’re coming here next year.” Stephanie smiled. “Once you’re on the Cortez guest list, you can’t get off. Besides, I’ve tasted your cooking, remember?”

  “I’m much better now,” Karina protested. “I took a class with my dad.” Stephanie raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Karina grinned. She was looking forward to seeing more of Stephanie over the summer, when she was doing a teaching internship across the bay in Oakland. Stephanie didn’t treat her as if she was fragile or damaged; she treated Karina, as she always had, with the assumption that she was strong and smart and would find her way back.

  “I fell for him too. I thought he was cool and cute, and charming,” Stephanie told her after learning what had happened. “I was a little jealous, truth. It could easily have been me.”

  Karina is not sure this is true, though her therapist has explained that all kinds of people fall prey to the Micahs of the world. “There are more Sanctuaries out there than you can imagine,” she said.

  Karina is taking some courses online to make up for the time she’s missed. If all goes well, she will return to the Santa Barbara campus in the fall and graduate one year after she was supposed to. But she has learned not to plan too far out. Mostly Karina has been working with her therapist toward the goal of entering a swimming pool again one day. She imagines what it will feel like to dip her toes in the water and close her eyes. She practices clearing her mind of the old images and summoning new ones into existence.

  The gray spaceship floats atop the water, Prem’s lean frame balanced on top, his hair tousled and a big smile on his face. He dives under the spaceship and around the back, darting through the water with speed and agility. A long stream of water from the neon green sprayer arcs through the air and nearly reaches her, but not quite. He laughs. “Kiki,” he calls out, waving to her. “Kiki, come in!” As she steps in further, she feels the water level rise to her calves, her waist, her chest. Slowly, she descends the last few inches and glides through the water.

  She is not yet ready to do this, but one day, she will be. Prem will be with her, not haunting, but encouraging her, just as he did at the shores of the ocean. Karina breathes deeply, reclaiming the memory of a boy who loved life, who loved the water, who lived with joy.

  50 | prem

  There are so many ways to die without actually leaving the world: You can cut off a piece of yourself, or your feelings. You can stop doing the things you love, or lose sight of your dreams and goals. You can separate yourself from those who love you, or you can never be willing to find love at all. You can withdraw from the world, or you can go through life without seeking anything bigger than yourself. These may all look like ways of living, but they’re not. They’re ways of dying.

  We are fortunate to get a turn on this rotating planet, however long it is. I had only eight years on the merry-go-round, which means I got to eat the frosting off the cupcake, but next time, I’d like to stay longer. I’ve watched the people I love most in the world endure grief, loneliness and pain. The hardest part is knowing that I changed the shape of my family. We weren’t perfect Before, but we were something strong and beautiful together. They are finding their way now—Mom, Dad and Kiki—finding a new way to take formation without me. I know their peace and happiness comes at a cost: they have to think of me a little less. They have to learn to keep the best parts of me, the parts they can remember with a smile.

  I have been with them ever since that day. They can see me in the sun peeking out from the clouds, in the cool breeze on a hot day, in the feeling they have when they remember me and smile. I am always there. Just like the air, just like the water.

  Acknowledgments

  I was fortunate to have not one but two thoughtful, astute editors who helped guide this novel to its final form. Thank you to Kate Nintzel of William Morrow/HarperCollins and Iris Tupholme of HarperCollins Canada for their personal attention, insights and patience.

  I am grateful to the many people at William Morrow/HarperCollins who helped usher this book into the world and who have championed my work over the past decade, including Liate Stehlik, Jen Hart, Amelia Wood, Kelly Rudolph, Bianca Flores, Vedika Khanna and many others in the publicity, marketing, production, art and sales departments. Thanks to Tessa Woodward for picking my first novel out of the slush pile, and to Carrie Feron for making it a success. I feel fortunate that Mumtaz Mustafa has designed beautiful and artistic covers for each and every one.

  It is a joy to continue working
with the dream team at HarperCollins Canada: Leo MacDonald, Sandra Leef, Michael Guy-Haddock, Cory Beatty, Alan Jones, Noelle Zitzer, Lisa Bettencourt, Natalie Meditsky, Irina Pintea, Karmen Wells and many others, as well as freelance copyeditor Stacey Cameron. Thank you all for your tremendous work and enthusiasm.

  My agent, Ayesha Pande, has been with me from the beginning as a strong champion and trusted adviser, and I am perennially grateful for her wisdom and support. Thanks to the entire Pande Literary team for making everything run smoothly, including Serene Hakim and Theresa Soon-Young Park. I am also indebted to all the foreign agents and publishers who’ve brought my stories to over thirty countries around the world.

  Thank you to the many independent booksellers around the country who embraced and shared my first two novels; a special shout-out to the fabulous staff at Warwick’s of La Jolla and Teresa Lee Rushworth of Vero Beach Book Center. Thank you to all those readers who wrote to me with your thoughts and questions, invited me to your book clubs and shared reviews on your blogs. Without your support, this story would have remained in my imagination.

  My deepest gratitude to Katherine Kirby Dunleavy, who read an early draft of this story and provided much-needed encouragement when I was about to hang it up. She was a careful and astute reader, and always generous with her time and opinions, not to mention her unyielding friendship.

  My writers’ posse—Lori Reisenbichler, Cindy Corpier and Erin Burdette—came out of retirement at exactly the right time to convene for a magical retreat that helped me unlock the ending for which I’d been searching.

  To delve into the world of cults, I read and watched everything I could find, and two experts I consulted were of tremendous value. Paul Morantz is an investigator/attorney, whose memoir, Escape: My Lifelong War Against Cults, details his harrowing experiences as a cult prosecutor. Rick Ross founded the Cult Education Institute and wrote the book Cults Inside Out. Rick was very generous in speaking with me on several occasions, helping me comprehend the mindset of both nascent cult leaders and those who fall prey to their manipulations.