Before I could go home, there was another hearing, this time to determine who would be my guardian for the next two years.
The judge, the Honorable Joan K. Fuller, asked whether I preferred to live with my mother or my father.
My grandmother, I’d said.
The judge’s orders included these requirements: I would study with a private tutor at Edwina’s home. I would see a psychologist twice a week. Lila and my father would not be allowed to see me more than one day a month. When the judge said this, my father only glanced at his watch, but Lila let out an excruciating cry. It felt like claws ripping me in two halves: before and after.
Three weeks after that awful night, when I could finally go home, Edwina and I headed to the Fairmont, where she’d been staying. She’d chosen it for a particular reason, and when she swiped the key, that particular reason jumped all over me like I was the returning soldier home from the war, which I pretty much was.
“Max. Max, Max, Max.” I buried my face in his fur. I’ve never been so happy to see someone in all my life.
“Ugh, that damn dog,” Edwina said. “What a nuisance.” But I could tell that they’d formed their own bond. She’d brought his old dog bed from home, and she’d chosen a hotel that not only allowed dogs, but also welcomed them, with dog treats and a minibar with a bowl, a blanket, and toys. I’d see Edwina drop her hand and trail her fingers so he’d come by for a pet.
Max—well, he was also traumatized that night. In his panic to get to me, he’d scratched and chewed that garage door so badly, it had to be replaced. His collar had caught on something, and the tags had been ripped right off. I understood his terror. I understood his desire to protect.
“I’ve missed you so much,” I told him.
My phone had been found in the cove where Nicco and I lay, ruined by rain, and held as evidence. Edwina had already bought a replacement and set it up, and when I turned it on, there was all my old stuff, as well as a flood of new texts and voice mails. Meredith, Ellen, and even Meredith’s dad had called. Hoodean, Cora, and Lizzie, too. There were multiple calls from Coach Dave, a message from Ms. Fiori, my art teacher. And Nicco. And Nicco, and Nicco, and Nicco. Frantic calls that night and the next day. Cautious messages in the days after that.
I didn’t return any of the calls. Not then. Not for a long while. I felt ashamed and full of horror that Meredith had to get back on that plane to testify at the coroner’s inquest, and that Nicco had to too. They had to get up on that stand and swear to the truth. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing or even talking to any of them and saying that lie straight to their faces: I didn’t mean to do it. I couldn’t bear to hear what they said or did or felt on that stand, while I was in that white room with the window, being rightly punished. I loved Meredith and her family, but I had broken and lost so much more than the necklace they gave me. And Nicco—well, he’d finally seen the bad person I truly was. I was dirty and dark and guilty, and maybe always had been. It was better if I kept my darkness away from all of them.
Before Edwina and I flew back to Seattle, I had some unfinished business. Lila had already moved into another rental in Sea Cliff, a much smaller and older house, but not far from 716. How she could be anywhere near there, I didn’t know. Those roots, probably.
In the new place, boxes were piled everywhere, since she was still unpacking. Right then, Lila was deeply in debt, though this would change when Peyton Place was released. Of course, it would become a huge hit, especially because of that courtroom scene, where Constance and her daughter, Allison, have a tearful reunion after the murder of the abusive, lecherous Lucas Cross.
The new rental might have been much smaller than the old house, but it still had the same view. You could still see that bridge, and the headlands, and the sea, and I could still smell the ocean. The shipwrecks and fires and quakes that had happened right out there still haunted from her own backyard.
“Baby, thank God!” Lila said. She hugged me. She had my favorite things set out in the kitchen—the Beecher’s macaroni and cheese, those Asian pears I always liked. I wouldn’t be eating any of it, though.
We took our iced tea into the living room and sat on the white couch, surrounded now by tan walls. I could barely sit there, remembering Jake on those same cushions, fuming over the huge bouquet the FBI had sent. Somewhere in those boxes was that smiling, staring doll too. The one passed down from woman to woman in my family. I hoped she never got out.
Lila took my hands and looked deeply into my eyes. “There are just so many words,” she said.
But there were only a few necessary ones.
“I’m here to say good-bye.”
“Good-bye for now. You’ll be here for Christmas, of course.”
No.
I was leaving that place. I didn’t yet understand everything that had happened. I only knew that there’d been a fire and that our lives had been destroyed, though, this time, no one had run out holding only a baby and a photo from a wedding to a cruel man. All of it was gone, and I was glad. Maybe that woman, the one who fled, had been the ghost who kept trying to tell me so many things I needed to know.
Lila held my hands and I looked into her beautiful eyes, and right then I was still confused about why I had helped her, why I had lied for her. I thought it was because that night felt like my fault, and because she was my beautiful and helpless mother, and because Jake had hurt her, and because she needed me. I thought it was because I was trying to give her what no one else ever had, real love and devotion. I thought it was because she’d had it harder than me, so maybe I owed her a debt that I could finally pay and never have to pay again, and because it would be easier for both of us if she didn’t suffer. I thought I’d lied for her because I was her object but she was everyone’s object. Because her beauty and her body were her power, but that wasn’t all I had, or all I was. Because, well, maybe I just plain wanted her to love me.
And while all these things are true, I now know there was another reason: When you’re a toaster and the lever is pushed, you toast.
Edwina and I said good-bye. I asked the driver to take us past 716 Sea Cliff Drive. But I didn’t want to see our old house. I wanted to see the one next door.
After three weeks, more walls had gone up. The place looked more defined. It looked more like the house it would become. A frame—it could be a good thing if it held you rightly and properly. But this one was as hazardous as ever, with high places and no railings. It was still uncovered, exposed to the elements. The rain would still pour in, and the fog would still loop and wind through the beams. All the stuff in there wasn’t entirely sheltered yet.
It had a long way to go before it was done.