By Karen Uhlmann
Mothers and daughters⎯ their desires, wishes, and insecurities easily bump against each other. There is often conflict between the two, and conflict is a good thing in a novel. Happy families, as Tolstoy pointed out, are boring.
In my forthcoming novel, ‘Intersections’ (out May 6, 2025, She Writes Press), Charlotte and her daughter, Libby, have a complicated relationship made extra messy by the fact that Libby has OCD and is an addict. The novel begins with Charlotte witnessing the hit-and-run killing of a five-year-old girl at an intersection. In her state of shock, Charlotte thinks she sees her Prius fleeing the scene. The only one who could have been driving is Libby who is recently out of rehab. Libby denies that she took the car and then, the night after the accident, overdoses on OxyContin and nearly dies.
Both mental illness and addiction are potentially shattering for both parents and children, and they often go together. Charlotte fears for Libby’s emotional and physical safety. Libby is angry and self-destructive. Charlotte attempts, throughout the novel, to have Libby answer her questions about the accident. Libby refuses, and Charlotte is not forceful because she is afraid of triggering Libby. Trigger is a popular word in addiction speak. Charlotte can be a bit of a wimp. Me, too.
Full disclosure, I do not have a daughter. In some ways, this gave me more freedom to write about Libby. That said, I am the mother of a neurodiverse recovering addict, and while my child is nothing like Libby, I did use my experiences to create her.
I think that most mothers and daughters see ⎯the good and the not-so-good⎯ in each other. We are mirrors. This is another reason I made Charlotte’s child a girl. People compare mothers and daughters. “You look just like your mother.” Or worse, “she will never be as beautiful or smart or….as her mother.” I have sons, and I don’t think people do this as much with fathers and sons.
Charlotte’s job, as a style guru, and her persona are both based on perfection. As hard as it was for her to raise Libby, she refuses to be embarrassed by either her addiction or her mental illness. This is a trait I greatly admire. It’s not easy.
I watched my child flounder while his contemporaries went on to pursue careers. When it became clear he was an addict, I was lucky that he had a therapist who insisted he go to rehab. My son, who was not happy about this, chose a program where people were sent to avoid jail time. It is agonizing to walk, for the first time, through a series of locked doors. And then to know your is being child strip-searched and forced to pee in a cup while being watched by an attendant. Even worse, to turn and leave him.
When released, he remained in another in-patient program for eight months. He resented this and would not follow the rules, never graduating to sober living. I was told not to financially support him when he left against the rehab’s wishes. To “let him sleep under a bridge.” Rehabs are tough. Recovery is tough. As Charlotte says, “addiction is not for sissies.”
Like Charlotte, I am not the kind of mother who would let her child sleep under a bridge or on the street. Parents or partners of addicts are told that their loved ones are manipulative liars. This is sadly true. Charlotte has to navigate Libby’s lies, especially the big one about the accident. I was much luckier.
Despite her persona, Charlotte is far from perfect. Instead of divorcing, she has an affair. She winds up pregnant and does not tell her ex-lover about his baby. She attempts to shield Libby from the consequences of her crime. This crosses the line into moral ambiguity but raises the question of how far a mother will go to protect her child.
I am also far from perfect, and I know that I am frequently, like Charlotte, consumed with fear for my child. Charlotte is terrified that Libby will die from an overdose. I also feared an overdose, but I think we are past that now. Still, I worry about what will happen when I am no longer here. His siblings may have to care for him which is something no parent wants.
I love happy endings. Charlotte and Libby have one.
Libby, although she has committed the unimaginable, does get her act together. Charlotte fights hard for Libby, and when Libby overcomes her addiction, she can see how much her mother cares. It creates a close bond between the two. Libby heals and, with Charlotte’s encouragement, decides to pursue a veterinary degree. Charlotte, now divorced and raising her ex-lover’s baby without his knowledge, discovers she is happy alone with her girls. She learns that she is enough.
I too wish for a happy ending. Who doesn’t?
Karen Uhlmann received her MFA in fiction from Bennington in 2010 and has published short stories and book reviews in Southern Indiana Review, Story, Whitefish Review, and The Common among others. She won the 2016 Rick Bass/Montana Fiction Award, and the 2012 Northern Colorado Writers Award judged by Antonya Nelson. She was recently shortlisted for the Lascaux Prize in Short Fiction and longlisted for a collection of short stories by The Santa Fe Writers Project. A long-time Chicago resident, she now lives in Los Angeles. Learn more about her at her website, and follow Karen on Instagram.
About the book: When suspended police officer Ed Kelly witnesses a fatal hit-and-run, he begins to regularly stake out the intersection hoping to find the car responsible. Charlotte Oakes, a style guru, also witnesses the event that killed a young child, and begins to visit the site of the hit-and-run. While both grapple with the grief of losing an innocent life, Charlotte is hiding a secret from Ed – she believes her daughter is involved in the crime. And as Ed gets closer to the truth, Charlotte must choose between shielding her daughter, or giving her up.
