She could hear them outside the door. She hadn’t heard that voice in a long time, but it was definitely the Bitch. The Bitch and the Producer. First the Bitch said something, then the Producer. The Bitch, the Producer. Like a game of tennis. The Bitch and the Producer were playing tennis. Helena laughed, and then tried to muffle it with her pillow. They mustn’t hear her.
“What do you mean, you don’t have a key?”
“Well, well. Mrs.… ah … Mrs. Derringer, is it?”
“Yes, it is.” The Bitch did not sound pleased.
“Yes. Well, Mrs. Derringer, I don’t generally make a habit of keeping a key to someone else’s house.”
The knocking started again. “Goddamn it, Avery, open this door. Helena? Are you in there, darling?”
“Now, Mrs. Derringer. I don’t think Avery is in there.”
“What do you mean? Where the hell is that man?”
“As I said over the phone, I don’t keep tabs on my friends. But I can’t say that I’ve seen him lately.”
“Well, Mr. Fox. It is Mr. Fox, isn’t it?” She sounded very cool now. But she could do cool better than anyone. That’s why she was the Bitch; Avery had been right about that. “I don’t want to tax you, but if you could make a very big effort, just this once, and try to remember the last time you did see him.”
“Well, well. I’d have to say it’s been a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?”
“Maybe a month.”
“A month. You must be joking. Where the goddamn hell has he been for a month?”
“Well, now, Mrs. Derringer, I couldn’t rightly say.”
“You couldn’t rightly say.”
“No, I couldn’t.”
“That’s just fine, Mr. Fox. You don’t have to say anything. Here’s what I say: I will find Avery Lewis by myself, and when I do, he will have been up to no good. And I will create the biggest scandal you’ve ever seen and everyone in your town will know that he was doing it on your property. Under your roof. Now, if you do not produce a key to this door right this instant, I will call the police and have them knock it down. I did not travel two thousand miles to be stopped by you or anyone else. Do we understand each other?”
Score one for the Bitch. Helena bit her pillow.
“Well, well, Mrs. Derringer.”
There was a silence, and Helena thought she might have dozed off, but then she heard the Producer start up again.
“Now, I think I did hear that he was auditioning actresses for his film project. I believe he rented a space somewhere for that purpose, that business purpose, you understand. And, well, that’s where he might be.”
“I want the address. And get me that goddamn key.”
“As I said, I don’t have one. But I’ll get the gardener. I think he might be able to help us out here.”
“That is a fine idea, Mr. Fox.”
Then Helena really did drift off. It was the Dilaudid. Or the Demerol. She couldn’t remember which one was on the nightstand. She heard a faint banging, somewhere in her dream, and then a very cool hand on her forehead.
“Darling, oh, Helena.”
Helena opened her eyes. It was her. Was she crying? No, because the Bitch didn’t cry. What did the Bitch ever have to cry about?
“Darling? Can you hear me? It’s Nick. Oh, my poor Helena. I’m getting you out of here.”
Helena was too sleepy to tell her that she didn’t want to go anywhere. Not with her.
“Avery.”
“Don’t worry about anything right now. Please. I’ll take care of everything.”
Helena nodded. She didn’t know why she nodded, she just wanted the talking to stop so she could go back to sleep. She was so tired. She closed her eyes, but she could still hear the tennis.
“Jesus Christ. We need to get a doctor.”
“It’s just the pills, Mrs. Derringer.” The Producer was there, too. “She’ll be fine after she sleeps it off. But, if you’re worried I can call Dr. Hofmann. That’s Helena’s … uh … Mrs. Lewis’s doctor.”
“Are you out of your mind? Look at her. And you’re even crazier if you think I’m letting that quack anywhere near her. Where’s the telephone?”
Helena was back in Tiger House, it was summer and the linen curtains her grandmother had made were fluttering on the landing. Out the window, she could see her mother and father having tea on the lawn across the street with her aunt and uncle. A breeze had lifted her mother’s hat and she was trying to keep it pinned down while holding her teacup in her other hand.
Her shin hurt where Nick had kicked her. She didn’t know why she was the one who had gotten kicked. It was Nick who had been naughty. She had promised Helena a surprise, and then taken her to Main Street, where they were tarring the road. Helena had watched in horror as Nick reached down and pulled a strip of the warm tar off the road and popped it in her mouth. Then Nick had tried to make Helena put some in her own mouth. Helena had refused and Nick had called her a baby. She had thrown a piece of tar at her, staining Helena’s dress. Helena had cried, knowing her mother would be furious, and told Nick she was going to tell. That’s when Nick had kicked her in the shin as hard as she could.
Now Nick was looking for her. But Helena had hidden herself behind the curtains on the landing. She could hear her grandfather downstairs.
“Ah, there you are, you devil child,” Helena heard him say to Nick. “What mischief have you been getting up to?”
“Nothing, Grandfather.”
“Is that tar on your teeth?” She heard her grandfather laugh. “Old Nick. You really are the devil. Well, never mind that. I wanted to show you what I brought back from India. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Helena desperately wanted to see, but was still wary of giving up her hiding place.
“See those tigers? When you and your cousin are old enough, I’ll have dresses made for you both. What do you say to that?”
“I love it,” Helena heard Nick say, a little breathless.
“All right, then. I’m going to the Reading Room for a drink. Don’t tell your grandmother.”
“I won’t, Grandfather.” And then a little louder: “I hate tattletales, more than anything.”
“So do I. Well said.”
Helena waited a little while, until it was quiet again, and then looked over the banister. Nick was standing there in the hall, her head slightly to one side. Helena sucked her cheeks in and out until enough saliva collected on her tongue. She leaned over the banister as far as she could and let the spitball go, watching until it landed with a satisfying pat on her cousin’s head.
When Helena opened her eyes, she could still hear her. But the room was different; it was big. She could tell because the distance from the bed to the wall was vast. And the walls were mint green. There was a nightstand, but her pills weren’t on it, only a glass of water. She wanted to reach for it, her mouth was dry, but she didn’t want them to know she was awake.
“I’ve called Dr. Hofmann. He gave me a list of what she’s been taking, and frankly, Mrs. Derringer, I’m surprised she hasn’t overdosed yet. It’s quite a cocktail.”
“I see. And did this doctor, or whatever he is, say why she was taking these pills?”
“The usual list: anxiety, depression, insomnia, listlessness.”
“All of it?”
“Well, in my opinion, some of the pills may have brought up other symptoms that were then addressed with further prescriptions. I can’t be entirely sure, not having followed her case myself. It appears that she was taking the medication at fairly reasonable doses for a significant period of time, but in the last three years or so she has been taking them at what I would term an abusive level.”
“Goddamn it. If I find her husband I am going to strangle him myself. And that goddamn quack along with him.”
“Yes. In any case, you do understand that she can’t be taken off the medication directly.”
“You can’t possibly be suggesting that she keep taking these pills?”
“That is exactly what I’m suggesting. If we remove the drugs completely, the withdrawal could kill her. Now, I must reiterate my strong feeling that your cousin should be in a hospital. The doses have to be given in a precise and regulated manner, and are best handled by someone with experience. I’m not sure a hotel is really the most suitable place to deal with a situation this grave.”
“I’m not putting Helena into a hospital. I think the doctors in this town have done enough.”
“We are not all monsters, Mrs. Derringer.”
“Dr. Monty recommended you, and I have faith in him. But I can’t say at this point it extends much further than that, as I’m sure you can understand. Now, what do I have to do?”
“As you wish. I have written out a list of the new prescriptions, when they are to be administered and at what dose. I’ll give you the number of a private nurse. This does not mean Mrs. Lewis won’t exhibit symptoms of withdrawal, but they should be controlled. Nightmares, irritability, vomiting, sweating, possibly seizures. These can all be expected. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” The Bitch didn’t sound so cool now. “When will she be able to travel? I want to take her home as soon as possible.”
“Definitely not for a week. Maybe two. Now, let’s start with the phenobarbital. In your cousin’s case, while she seems to have consumed largely opioids, the barbiturates are the most worrying …”
Helena didn’t want to hear any more. She wanted Avery. Where was he? He would never come back, not if the Bitch was around. She had been waiting, waiting, waiting for him. But he hadn’t come back. He said he had found Ruby. But it wasn’t Ruby. It was someone else. She was blond; Ruby had red hair. She remembered telling him that. She couldn’t be Ruby, because Ruby had red hair. And Avery had said he would make her hair red. That was it. He was going to do screen tests. And he had found the Ruby. And he said she had to sleep and when she was feeling strong, she must call the Bitch and get the money. Once and for all. And then he would be back. And now the Bitch was here. Had she called? She couldn’t remember. But if she had the money, where was Avery? Why hadn’t she just given Helena the money? How many times had she begged for the money? The Bitch didn’t care. She took Ed. She had said that Ed needed to go to school. Because he was different. And now Avery had left her because she had failed. She had not gotten the money, and she had let them take Ed, and now Avery didn’t love her.
“Shhh. Darling, it’s all right. I’m here with you. Oh, Helena, don’t cry.”
She didn’t want her; why wouldn’t she go away?
“It’s time to take your medicine. The doctor says it will make you feel better.”
There was the cool water. And then there was darkness.
Elm Street. Through the screen door, Helena could see Nick reading on the back steps.
“I’ve mixed up the days again. It wasn’t the day for meat. I have some canned corn, or at least I think it’s canned corn.”
Nick looked up from her book, arching one of her eyebrows. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
Helena laughed. “Oh, stop it. I know I’m hopeless. But this time I have a good excuse.” She pushed the door open and sat down next to her cousin. “I met someone. At the hardware store. They didn’t have any needles for the record player, by the way. All the metal is going to the troops. Mr. Denby really gave me the stink eye, too, like I was some kind of German spy.”
“Maybe we can sharpen the one we have, somehow. It really is too boring. Canned corn and scratched records.”
“Don’t you want to hear about the man I met?”
“Do I? What’s his problem? Flat feet, or just light in the loafers?”
“Don’t be mean. He works for the Office of War Information, in Hollywood. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Thrilling, darling. Does he have any record needles? Now, that really would be exciting.”
“No, but he’s invited me to dinner. And he thinks I’m beautiful, like Jane Russell.”
“Jane Russell indeed.” Nick looked at her and then laughed. She threw her book on the grass and put her arms around Helena. “You are beautiful. Very. In your own way. But not like that trampy Jane Russell.”
Helena leaned her head against Nick’s. “A date.”
“Yes, a date.”
“I haven’t been on a date since Fen.” Helena lifted her head and looked at her cousin. “Can I ask you a big favor? May I borrow your stockings? I know they’re your last pair.”
“You may have my stockings, darling. My contribution to the war effort. This calls for a celebration. Get out the gin and the jelly glasses and I will go find those damn stockings.”
Helena was already sipping her gin when Nick came back into the kitchen, her mouth turned down in a vaudeville version of sadness.
“Darling, I have some bad news. I think you better come with me.”
Helena followed Nick back into the small, cramped bathroom. On the curtain rod above the bathtub hung an empty hanger. Helena looked at Nick, who pointed solemnly to the bottom of the tub. She peered in at what appeared to be a pile of brown dust.
“It seems the stockings have gone on to a better place,” Nick said.
“Well, for heaven’s sakes.” Helena looked up at her cousin. “They disintegrated? That’s just … tragic.”
“I know.”
“What on earth should we do?”
“Well, I think we should give them a decent burial.”
“It’s only Christian,” Helena said.
“I will prepare the ground, you should choose the procession music, since they were to be yours, darling.” Nick scooped up the dust pile and held it in her skirt.
Helena chose a record and when Nick gave her the nod from the yard, Helena put the worn needle to the vinyl.
She saw Nick throw her head back in laughter when the music floated out the window.
“Oh, Helena, I do love you,” her cousin called to her. “The Moonlight Sonata? Really, you’re too much.”
Helena opened her eyes. For a moment, she thought she was alone.
The room felt so empty. Her palms itched, the soles of her feet itched, she ached. Her pillow was wet through. Had she been crying? Then she smelled cigarette smoke. It made her sick. And she could hear snuffling somewhere behind her.
“Yes, I found him. It was all so sordid, he was shacked up with some tramp in a rat hole in town. You should have seen his face when he opened the door. So goddamn smug, like he was expecting me.” Helena held her breath. The Bitch was talking about Avery. She had to listen very carefully, she couldn’t fall asleep again.
“Hughes, we have to sell the cottage. No, we can’t afford it. He named his price and I accepted. There was nothing to be done for it. She can live off the rest. We’ll still have to pay for the hospital and for Ed’s school.”
Helena felt a peace coming over her; Avery had gotten the money. Now he would come back for her. It was all going to be all right.
“Well, what else can we do? Don’t you think I feel sick about it? I could kill him. The worst is that he got what he wanted in the end. And don’t even get me started on that vile Fox man. The money from my father’s cottage is going straight into his pocket. Remember all that ‘collection’ business? Well, you should have seen all the junk in their house, like a sad little garage sale. Like some goddamn shrine. It was disgusting.”
She was snuffling again.
“I hate myself for abandoning her to him.”
The Bitch and all her pious self-pity, as if she wouldn’t have chewed Helena up and spit her out a long time ago, if it weren’t for Avery.
“Did you make the arrangements? Yes, and what did Dr. Monty say? Hughes, I know Dr. Monty’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot. At least she’ll be in a decent, respectable institution where she can get some help, until she’s strong enough.”
What was she up to now? Avery wouldn’t let them take her away. She mustn’t get upset.
“Well, we can talk about it when I get home. What did the school say? Oh, for heaven’s sakes. It’s just boy antics. You’re too hard on him. Yes, you are. The poor boy was waiting and waiting for someone to pick him up for the holiday and no one came. It’s enough to make anyone want to cause a little trouble.”
Ed, her baby. She was talking about Ed. What holiday? The school holiday. Something about a plane ticket. A plane ticket for Ed. To come home. Was it Thanksgiving already? Oh, she had failed again. How could she be so stupid? But Ed had been cruel to her. He had abandoned her. He had. But it wasn’t his fault. He was her child and she had failed him. It was because of what he had seen. The dead girl. No, that wasn’t right. The dead girl came after. She wanted her pills. Why wouldn’t the Bitch give her another pill?
“Bill’s having a party.” Avery was sitting on the floor of his office, promotional stills of young actresses spread out in front of him. “A party for some very important people. And you know how beautiful Bill thinks you are. So he was wondering whether you might adorn his party. And, well, he’d pay.”
“What do you mean? What does that mean, Avery?” Helena felt very cold.
“No, no, no. Nothing like that,” Avery said, catching her expression. He got up and put his arm around her shoulder. “He just wants you to be there, have a glass of champagne, talk to some of the people. Don’t you know how stunning you are? Don’t you know people would pay just to look at you?”
“I don’t believe that.”
Avery laughed. “You don’t understand Hollywood, my sweet. But that’s what I love about you. Almost fifteen years, and you’re still pure and new.” He put his mouth to hers.
“Mother?”
Helena turned to see her son standing in the doorway. His body almost filled the frame of the low door. When had he gotten so tall? Avery pushed Helena away and looked at her accusingly. “Why is he always looking at us? Why does he have to skulk around doorways?”
“Avery.”
“Ed, what goes on between a man and a woman, two people who are in love, is private. Do you understand that? It is not for you to look at and watch like some Peeping Tom.”
“Avery.” Helena said again, sharply. “Don’t.” She turned to Ed. “I’m sorry, dearest, I hadn’t gotten around to asking him. Avery, Ed wanted me to ask you if he could help with your work. He’s almost thirteen and he wants to help. He knows how hard you work.”
“I’m not a Peeping Tom,” Ed said. “I’m doing research, like you.”
Avery looked hard at Ed. Then he slowly nodded his head as if he had decided something. “All right. You’re turning into a man, I can see that. A man has the right to work and be free and create. I believe that.”
Helena had an unsettled feeling in her stomach. “Avery, I don’t want you showing him the pictures of you-know-what. Please. And Ed, you must also do your schoolwork. I don’t want you locked up in some dark room all day.”
“No, Mouse. If Ed’s a man then I will treat him like one. He’s becoming.”
Ed stood there looking at his father, but Helena couldn’t read his expression. Perhaps this had been a terrible idea, she thought, looking at the two of them and then the room, with its yellowing posters and the disintegrating clothing.
She didn’t want her son to see those gruesome crime-scene photos. But she wanted them to spend more time together, that was true. They had never been close; Avery had always treated their son like he was some kind of irritating appendage of Helena’s. She decided then that she would take Ed to Tiger House again that summer, get him away for a while, away from Avery, let him play tennis and run around with Daisy, so things didn’t get out of hand.
“Now, son, I want to speak to your mother privately,” Avery said. “And don’t think I won’t know if you’re listening.”
When Ed had left, and Avery had waited to make sure he was really gone, he turned to Helena.
“So you’ll go to Bill’s party?”
“Yes. As long as it’s not anything … I don’t know. Anything strange.”
“Unless men wanting to look at a beautiful mouse is strange.”
“Avery …”
“Listen. I want to talk to you about something else, too. Dr. Hofmann called. He said you hadn’t renewed any of your prescriptions lately. He’s worried, and so am I.”
“It’s just, they make me so tired. And Ed’s not a baby anymore. I can’t send him off to play or keep him in his room. He might need me for something. And the pills, it’s like my head doesn’t work right.”
“Ed’s a man now, my love. What was that whole conversation we just had? We both need you rested and well. I’ll take care of Ed.”
“Dearest, I don’t really want to take them anymore. I don’t think I need them. Remember when I was pregnant and afterward? I wasn’t taking them, and I was fine.”
“You’re free to do whatever you want, Helena. You’ve always known that. Just promise me you’ll be on good behavior for that party. If you’re not rested, it will show in your face and Bill will be disappointed. Just think about it.”
Helena nodded. She would take one, maybe, but just for the party. After that she wasn’t taking them anymore. They didn’t make her sleep now anyway, unless she took a lot. And then she felt sick. While she’d known for some time that it was bad, it hadn’t seemed to matter. But now her hands shook and her heart raced in a way that frightened her. And sometimes she couldn’t remember things. She definitely wouldn’t take any when she was at Tiger House. She knew Nick would disapprove, and it would be harder to hide if they were all living under the same roof. If she felt unwell, she would have a whiskey, like everyone else in her family.
“Well, well,” Bill Fox said later that evening, as he opened the heavy, carved door to the villa. “I thought it might be you. So I said to myself: ‘Why don’t I open the door myself and make our Jane Russell feel welcome?’ Nothing like a personal greeting, is there, honey?”
“Hello, Bill.” Helena hated the Producer. He was always promising things to Avery and then changing the terms. But the Demerol was going some way to making her feel less spiteful toward him.
“Now, isn’t that a lovely dress. Hits you in all the right places, of which there are so many.” He winked. “Come on in.”
Helena was wearing a fitted teal sharkskin dress she had made from a pattern book Nick had sent her for Christmas. Her heels echoed on the Batchelder tile as she followed Bill through the vaulted hall out to the terrace.
Men in white tails were serving flutes of champagne on silver trays to the guests—a few actresses Helena had seen with Bill before and a group of older men, who she assumed worked in the business in some capacity or other.
The sun was setting, red behind the hills, and Helena leaned against the wrought-iron rail and breathed in the night air. It was different up here, at the villa. Lighter, airier. So far away from the cramped guesthouse and its drawn curtains, and yet just up the hill. She could smell the perfume from the orchard below. The Anna apples, the Eureka and sweet lemon trees, the Valencia and blood orange.
“Have a glass of champagne, honey,” Bill Fox said, motioning to a waiter. “It is beautiful up here, isn’t it?” He followed Helena’s gaze onto the orchard. “My first wife. She loved fruit trees.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Bill Fox leaned in close, his hand fluttering on her thigh. “Do you love fruit trees, too?”
Helena remembered one night, when she and Avery had been drunk, they had snuck out and stolen some of the fruit. It was only a couple of apples, which hadn’t been ripe anyway. But she remembered wishing Nick was there. It was exactly the kind of escapade Nick would have loved.
“Yes, I like them.” Helena moved a few inches away.
“Well, well. You’re not shy, are you, honey?”
“Bill, why would I be shy? We’ve known each other a long time.”
“That’s right. We’re like family. You and me and Avery. And let’s not forget our dear, departed Ruby. She’s one of the family, too.”
Helena saw one of the young actresses, Vicky or Kiki, or something, staring at them.
“Is that your girlfriend?” She pushed her elbow in Bill Fox’s side.
The Producer turned and looked at the young woman. “My girlfriend? Oh, I think I’m a little old for girlfriends these days. Couldn’t keep track. Besides, the girls keep getting skinnier and skinnier. I like them more like, well, like you, honey. Round, soft.”
Helena reached for another glass of champagne. “Excuse me,” she said. “I have to go powder my nose.”
In the bathroom she washed down another pill with the water glass left out for guests. She wished Avery were with her. She had only been to Bill Fox’s house a handful of times over the years, and never without her husband. She wondered how much Bill Fox was paying him. She hoped it was a lot. She couldn’t believe he had wanted her there. He had always been free with his hands, but never more so with her than anyone else. And he was old now. He had already seemed old when she had first met him, in Ciro’s, with his silver hair. Now he had liver spots on his cheeks and hands like a crone. She shivered. She just had to look pretty and be pleasant and then go home and sleep.
Much later, she found herself alone with Bill Fox on the terrace. Everyone had left, without her noticing, somehow. She had been in conversation with one of the actresses, who was complaining about the casting couch. Her main objection, it seemed, wasn’t about the sex part, but about the fact that she never got dinner afterward. Helena had been nodding and drinking, and drinking some more. Then the girl floated away and it was just her and Bill Fox on the terrace. She knew what the Producer wanted. She had known all night. It didn’t take a genius. He was leaning against the frame of the French doors, smiling at her.
On the way to the guesthouse, Helena tripped on one of the steps and twisted her ankle. Bill Fox caught her elbow.
“Careful, honey,” he whispered.
“Why are we going to my house?” She couldn’t remember.
“You’ll be more comfortable there.”
“Avery,” she said.
“He’s gone out, honey. He’s working, remember?”
She didn’t remember.
In the bedroom, he wanted the light on.
“I want to look at you. I want to see what I’m paying for. I haven’t had to pay since I was sixteen.” He chuckled.
Helena joined in, although she knew the joke wasn’t for her.
The Producer was moving over her, grunting. He was out of breath. He was old. Helena wanted to laugh at the old man who needed a nurse more than a roll in the hay. But she knew he would be angry, and then they wouldn’t get their money. So instead she let him rasp away, while she watched the wall.
“You really are a slut,” he coughed in her ear. “I always knew it.”
He was getting close now, she could tell.
“Mother?”
Helena’s body went stiff as a board. The sound of the Producer and the light and the bed, all swirled like a pool of water going down a drain. No, it wasn’t possible.
“Mother?”
Ed. How could she have forgotten about her son? She pushed the Producer off her, so hard that he fell off the side of the bed, panting and coughing. Helena sat up, covering her breasts with her arm.
Ed was standing in the doorway in his pajamas. She wondered how she could have thought he looked tall. He was just a boy, but his eyes were flat, hard. He looked at her, more as if he was curious than afraid or angry.
“Ed,” she said, but found she had nothing else to say.
Ed looked at the Producer, who was peeking over the side of the mattress now. His clothes were too far away for him to get to without exposing himself.
“Now, son,” he started.
“I’m not your son,” Ed said, impassively. “You shouldn’t be here. My mother isn’t well.”
“I was just … Well, well.” The Producer, too, seemed at a loss.
But Ed didn’t move. He stood there, stock-still, until the old man made a dash for it, grabbing up his clothes and fleeing. Helena would have laughed at his cowardice in the face of a young boy if her heart wasn’t breaking.
“Ed, dearest,” she began, when the Producer was gone. She had covered herself in the bedsheet. She wanted to hold her hand out to him, as some kind of peace offering, but the gesture, just the idea of it, seemed somehow grotesque. “Your father, dearest. He’s been working so hard for so long …” She stopped. She couldn’t explain this to her son.
“I understand,” Ed said. “Research.”
And with that, he left her alone in the lit room.
Helena awoke to the sound of a radio.
“A bus carrying a group of young civil rights activists bound for Birmingham, Alabama, was attacked Tuesday afternoon outside Anniston.”
Her nerves felt like glass, her head was throbbing. But she no longer felt sick to her stomach and she found she could sit up without feeling dizzy. She reached for the pitcher and poured herself some water. It tasted sweet and lemony, and she gulped it down before pouring herself another.
“Helena?”
Helena looked up to see Nick standing in the doorway.
“How are you feeling, darling?”
“My head hurts.”
“Oh, darling, you’re back with us. In the land of the living.” She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t speak for days. I was wondering if we were ever going to hear your voice again.”
Nick tried to take Helena’s hand but she pulled it away.
“What is it?”
“I want to see Avery,” Helena said.
“I see.” Nick looked down, fidgeting with a corner of the sheet. “I don’t think Avery will be coming, darling.”
“You mean you won’t let him come. Does he even know where I am?”
“No, I don’t think he does.” She saw Nick’s face, a mask of soft pity.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want your pity; I want to talk to my husband.”
“Darling, we’re going home. You haven’t been well. We need to get you well and we want you back with us, Hughes and I. I’ve missed you and I don’t want to be without you anymore.”
Helena laughed, a hot, shallow shuddering through her lungs. “You’ve missed me?”
“Yes, Helena, I’ve missed you. I want …”
“You want, you want.” Helena’s skin had begun to itch again and she wanted to tear it off with her nails. “And what about what I want?”
“Helena, for heaven’s sakes. Be reasonable, darling. Do you really want to go back to that awful house and be all alone?”
“I’m not alone. I’m married, if you’ve forgotten.”
Helena watched Nick’s eyes go a shade darker.
“I haven’t forgotten.” Nick’s voice was cold now. “But it looks like your husband may have.”
“Don’t say that.” Helena felt her strength dissipating. “I know he’s not perfect, like your saintly husband. But I want to speak to him.”
“No,” Nick said slowly. “No, I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t let you. Not now, anyway.”
“You can’t keep me prisoner. You can’t stop me from being with Avery.”
“I am not keeping you prisoner. I’m trying to protect you, and I don’t give a goddamn what you say.”
“Oh, I know you don’t. Avery was right all along. You’ve never cared about me, not really. I’m your shadow, there to make you look better, and I can have your scraps, when you’ve finished. But I can never have something of my own. It just kills you, doesn’t it?”
“How can you say that to me?” Nick’s eyes got shiny. “I love you. Don’t you know that?”
“Well, I don’t love you. Not anymore.”
“You’re not well, darling,” Nick said, rising from the bed and crossing the room to the door. “I know you don’t mean that.”
Helena could hear her crying in the other room. And, even though it hurt her a little to know it, she was glad.