I remember asking Daisy about love once, what it felt like, and she said it was like tennis. I think she meant she had the same feeling when she was playing tennis, but for a long time I imagined two players squaring off, each trying to score points against the other. Over the last year or so, as I’ve lain in hospital after hospital, listening to doctors drone and nurses twitter, while they try to fix me, I’ve had a lot of time to think and remember. And now, in this one, with its walls the color of mint ice cream, a different image has been coming to mind. In this one, there is a man, a woman, and a dark staircase. And what happens there is love at its most honest because, just as I have long suspected, it is brutal and sudden, and the damage is permanent.
It was last summer, the summer after I made my visit to Frank Wilcox, and I returned to Tiger House in early June. Daisy and Tyler were still unmarried, a “long engagement,” she called it. “Ty’s just so busy,” she had told me when I asked her about it the Christmas before, and I had allowed myself to be lulled into believing that it might not come off at all. But the wedding was set for August and, by June, there were no signs that a breakup was imminent. So, my mind started turning over the Aunt Nick–Tyler problem again.
On the ferry trip over to the Island, I tried to come up with a solution. I ordered a coffee and took it up on deck to think. It was early afternoon, a Saturday, and the Island Queen was full of day-trippers and hippies. I put on my Ray-Bans so I wouldn’t have to squint, and turned my mind to the task.
Obviously, getting rid of Tyler was the most appealing option. But it was risky. For one thing, he was a man, and pretty strong, which meant I would have to catch him by surprise and things would have a good chance of turning ugly. Secondly, Daisy wanted him. I didn’t understand why, but I understood what it felt like to want something and I didn’t want to take that away from her.
Aunt Nick would be easier to get alone. Some evening, in the dark, on the stringpiece of the yacht club, she might just go over into the harbor. Or perhaps a swimming accident off the dock. Everyone knew that when she drank too much she went for night swims.
But I didn’t want to kill Aunt Nick. It wasn’t because I liked her. Maybe it had something to do with her being such a strong force. Or perhaps it was that, despite all her duplicity, she made our lives more stimulating. I don’t know. All I know is that I found my mind stalling at the thought of it.
I remembered watching her have sex with that musician all those years before. She had wrapped one of her legs around him as he lay on top of her and was stroking his neck softly. But the expression on her face. It was full of hatred, or disgust. Either way, it was so feral that, for a moment, I thought she might tear him apart.
I was thinking about this when a girl next to me leaned over and said: “Excuse me, do you have a light?”
I reached in my pocket. I always kept a lighter on hand for situations like these. I looked at her as I lit her cigarette. She had pale hair and was wearing a big floppy straw hat that cast a shadow over her shoulders. She had freckles.
“Thank you,” she said.
I found her immediately intriguing. She was carrying a map of the Island, the kind they gave out at the tourist office in Woods Hole.
“Is it your first trip to the Island?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. She looked at me from under her hat, a quick look and then away.
“Where are you staying?”
“At a bed-and-breakfast in Oak Bluffs.”
She pretended to be busy with her map, so I didn’t ask her any more questions. Instead, I waited. Then I took my trusty book of poems out of my bag and started flipping through the pages. I felt her look over at me again.
“Oh,” she said after a while, “William Blake.”
“Yes,” I said, looking up.
“I love him. Ginsberg says he’s a prophet.”
I just looked at her.
“Well, that’s what he says, anyway.”
“Why a prophet?” I asked.
She laughed. “I don’t actually know.”
I smiled.
“I’m sorry. I’m bothering you.”
“You’re not bothering me.”
“I’m Penny,” she said.
“Ed.”
“Listen, would you mind watching my bag while I go to the bathroom?” She adjusted her hat so she could see me better.
“I’ll watch your bag,” I said.
I watched her walk off toward the door that led down to the lower deck. Her feet pointed inward. Pigeon toes. I pulled her bag closer to me and, undoing the zipper an inch or so, slipped my hand inside. I felt something silky and pulled it out. It was a scarf with small roses on it, the kind a grandmother would wear. I put it in my blazer pocket for later.
I leaned back and felt the sun on my face. I thought about how many bed-and-breakfasts there might be in Oak Bluffs, and began making a list of the ones I knew offhand. Then I heard the ferry’s horn, signaling our approach to the dock, and realized I still hadn’t come up with any kind of plan for the problem awaiting me at home.
I hear the nurse’s shoes against the linoleum before I actually see her. Swish, swish. Then her face is suddenly looming over me. She smiles when she sees my eyes are open.
“It’s a big day today,” she says, smoothing down my sheet and blanket. “Visiting day.”
She checks my fluids.
“You’re a lucky young man, you know,” she says.
I would laugh if I could.
“Not everyone has a mother like yours. Some of them never have a visitor, not ever. Shame.” She blows air out of her mouth and disappears from my sight line for a moment.
Then I hear her voice from somewhere near the door, disembodied. “But not you. Every Thursday like clockwork.”
We have this conversation every Thursday, like clockwork. At this point, even if I could speak, I probably wouldn’t need to say anything.
Suddenly her face is over mine again, like a balloon.
“Would you like to hear the radio?” She switches it on and leaves the room.
“This is Ten-Ten-WINS. You give us twenty-two minutes, we’ll give you the world.
“Police investigating the murder of a San Francisco Yellow Cab driver several days ago now have evidence that the killer may be the same man responsible for four unsolved murders in the Bay Area over the past year.
“The San Francisco Chronicle has received a letter from someone identifying themselves as the Zodiac along with a piece of bloodstained cloth that appears to have been cut from the latest victim’s shirt. Police are running laboratory tests on the material to see whether it matches the victim’s blood type.
“In a chilling message, the author of the letter taunts police, saying: ‘This is the Zodiac speaking. I am the murderer of the taxi driver over by Washington Street and Maple Street. The S.F. police could have caught me last night if they had searched the park properly.’ The investigation is continuing.”
What a grandstander. They’ve been running this story for months now and I’m kind of surprised they haven’t caught him yet. He isn’t very careful. And frankly, I find him a little tiresome. There doesn’t appear to be any real integrity in his work.
Still, it’s better than staring at the ceiling, I suppose. I wish they would open the window in here. I’d like to smell the air.
Tiger House was quiet when I arrived and I figured they must all be at the beach. I brought my bag upstairs to my bedroom and put my things away. I folded up Penny’s scarf and placed it under my pillow. I was reading the timetable for the bus to Oak Bluffs when I thought I heard a noise coming from Daisy’s room down the hall. I found Daisy pulling things out of her closet and laying them on her bed. All her treasures. The large stuffed animal she had gotten at the West Tisbury fair and some old makeup and comic books. On the floor was a brown cardboard box.
The air smelled fresh, full of the scent from the flowering tree outside her window.
She looked up and saw me, giving a small jump and laying her hand over her heart.
“Oh, Ed,” she said. Then she crossed the room and kissed my cheek. “When did you get here? I would have picked you up at the ferry if I’d known.”
“I took a taxi,” I said. “Where is everyone?”
“I made Mummy take Tyler out on the boat to get him out of my hair, and Daddy’s gone to the Reading Room for cards. And your mother.” She stopped. “Actually I have no idea where your mother is. So, it’s just me and you.”
“Yes,” I said.
Daisy went back into the closet and reappeared with more trinkets.
“What are you doing?”
“Oh, just clearing things out. Making room for Tyler. We’re going to haul out these old twin beds and get a nice new double bed for when we’re married.” She smiled. “Besides, it’s probably time to get rid of this junk.”
I walked over to the bed and looked down at the collection. I remembered how angry she was when I told her I’d found her hiding place. I picked up an old bottle of nail polish. Then I saw the arrowhead I’d given her, lying among the things destined for the cardboard box. My vision blurred a little.
“Still, I do love this room just the way it is.” She looked around. “The old wallpaper and the albizia tree. I’m being silly, but I’m a little sad about changing it.”
“It’s not silly,” I said.
Daisy sighed.
“What are you going to do with your collection?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Throw it out, I guess.”
She went back into the closet before popping her head out again. “Can you believe, in two months, I’ll be an old married lady. Maybe I should invite Peaches to the wedding.”
“So you’re going to do it, then?”
“Do what?”
“What on earth are you talking about? Of course I’m going to marry him.”
I picked up the arrowhead and rubbed it between my fingers. “I don’t think you should,” I said.
She gave me a keen look and sat down on the bed. “Ed, I realize Ty’s not your absolute favorite. But I love him.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Anyway,” she said. “Nothing’s going to change. Not really.”
“I still don’t think you should marry him.”
“Besides the fact that you don’t like him, give me one good reason.” She sounded a little angry now.
It was the moment to come clean. But I wasn’t sure she was ready.
“Well?” she said.
“He loves your mother.”
“Ed, honestly. Are you still banging that old drum?” She laughed.
I looked at her. “Have I ever lied to you?”
As she looked back, her expression changed. I’d seen that change before, when it dawns on someone that what is about to happen is very different from what they expected to happen. “Why would you say something like that to me?” She said it almost in a whisper.
“Because it’s true,” I said. “I’ve seen them.”
“Ed Lewis, you shut your mouth,” she said. But she got up from the bed and went over to the window, running her hand down the screen, and I knew she knew the truth in what I was saying. The thing was, she’d always known it.
After a minute, she turned back toward me. “I really don’t understand,” she said slowly. “I don’t know why you’d want to hurt me like this.”
When I didn’t say anything, she pushed past me and walked out of the room. I looked down at the arrowhead in my hand. I went to drop it in the cardboard box, but the idea of doing that made my hand shake, so I put it in my pocket instead.
As I left the room, I found my mother outside the door. I knew she’d been listening. I could tell.
She was smiling. “Hello, Ed, dearest.”
“Go have a cocktail, Mother,” I said and left her standing there, gaping.
“Look who’s here,” the nurse says. “I told you.”
Then I see my mother’s face. Her eyes are soft. She looks older, older even than last week.
“Hello, dearest,” she says, and brushes the hair off my forehead.
I don’t like it when she touches me.
“How’s he doing?” my mother asks the nurse.
“Oh, just fine,” the nurse says. “The doctor will be in for a chat in a minute.”
Then we’re alone. My mother turns off the radio and pulls a chair up next to me.
“So,” my mother says. “Let’s see. It’s been a busy week. I’ve been helping Carl set up his offices in the house in Oak Bluffs. I told you about that, didn’t I, dearest? I know I’ve told you about Carl. Well, he found a place in Oak Bluffs, where he can set up an office, a sort of outpost, for his church. Carl says that ever since Teddy Kennedy killed that poor girl over in Chappy, the church has realized that there are so many people in need of help on the Island. And they picked him to run it. We met at the hardware store, just like your father. I was going to buy a lightbulb and he was there getting cleaning supplies. But I’ve told you that.”
My mother sighs and gets up. She walks over to the window.
“He’s so committed,” she continues, “and he’s been teaching me so many interesting things about myself, about self-actualizing and how so much of my past and even my past lives have been blocking me from moving on to the next level. I’m going to begin my auditing soon. Oh, Ed, dearest, he’s so intelligent.”
I’ve had to listen to a lot about this Carl fellow since my mother met him in August. Aunt Nick used to call my father a charlatan when she thought we weren’t listening. I wonder what she’d say about my mother’s new beau.
It seems all sorts of strange people have been drawn to the Island because of the Kennedy incident. Reporters, thrill seekers, religious nuts. I heard his speech on the radio, Teddy Kennedy. He said he had wondered, after he left that girl to drown in the car, whether the Kennedy family was really cursed. It reminded me of Daisy, how she thought we had been cursed after we found Elena Nunes. Funnily enough, my mother told me that Teddy Kennedy had even gone to the Hideaway to hole up before realizing he had no choice but to go to the police. I wonder what Sheriff Mello made of that.
My mother is still talking about Carl when the doctor comes in.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Lewis.”
“Dr. Christiansen, hello.” I hear the stiffness in my mother’s voice. She doesn’t like doctors.
“Hello, Ed.” The doctor comes over to the bed. “How are we feeling today?”
I look at him.
He turns back to my mother. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat last week, but I was away at a conference.”
“What I want to know, Dr. Christiansen, is why he’s still not able to speak. You said that once he was here, it would take no time at all.”
“Yes, that still is a bit of a mystery. As I told you when we first spoke, the damage to his T-one and T-two vertebrae should not permanently affect his vocal cords. Of course, the initial trauma, coupled with the fact that he really made no improvements at the last hospital, may mean that they’re weak. It’s just like the situation with his fingers; if he wants to regain strength, he will have to work at it.”
“Are you saying the physical therapy isn’t going well?”
“To be honest, he’s not as responsive as we’d like.”
My mother comes over to me. “Dearest, you really must make an effort.”
She’s right, of course. But it seems pointless; there just hasn’t been anyone I want to talk to.
After Daisy fled her bedroom, I didn’t see her until around supper-time. I looked for her, I even went to the tennis courts, but she wasn’t there.
Aunt Nick and Tyler returned first. Their hair was messy and their faces flushed from the sun.
“What a wind,” Aunt Nick said. “It was really blowing out there.”
Tyler was carrying her boat bag and he touched her bare shoulder lightly as he passed her on his way down to the basement. I saw her flinch. I suspected she didn’t like him doing that in front of me.
“Hello, Ed,” Tyler said.
Aunt Nick gave me a kiss and smoothed her hair down, but her eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “I hope it wasn’t too rough on the ferry,” she said.
“No,” I said. “It wasn’t.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“In her room.”
“And Uncle Hughes isn’t back yet?”
“No,” I said.
“All right. I’m going to shower and change. And then we’ll have cocktails and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.” She started up the stairs.
“Daisy’s not here either,” I said.
“What? Oh.” She stopped and turned. She looked confused.
Aunt Nick’s hand was gripping the banister and I could see her knuckles whiten slightly. “Did she say that?”
“No,” I said. “I could just tell.”
“Well, she is getting married in two months. Jitters, I suppose.” Her voice was light, but her fingers never loosened as she climbed the stairs.
Uncle Hughes returned from the Reading Room a short time later and we were all gathered in the blue sitting room when Daisy came in.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hey there, sweet pea,” Uncle Hughes said. “Where have you been?”
“Just out walking,” Daisy said.
“What’ll it be?”
“Nothing, thanks, Daddy. I’m thirsty. I think I’ll get a glass of water.”
“There’s some lemon water on the bar,” my mother said. She wasn’t drinking and she’d been eyeing me nervously for the past fifteen minutes.
“Thanks.” Daisy walked over and picked up a tumbler.
I watched Aunt Nick watch her, her fingers curled around the stem of her martini glass.
“We saw the good reverend out sailing this afternoon,” Tyler said, smiling. “Loaves and fishes and all that.”
“Did you?” Daisy seemed distracted. “That’s nice.”
Tyler got up and walked over to Daisy. “Are you all right?” He started to put his arm around her but she shrugged it off.
“I’m fine. I just got hot and tired out walking.”
“I went by the tennis courts,” I said.
Daisy looked at me for the first time since she’d come in the room. But she didn’t say anything.
Uncle Hughes also gave me a hard stare. “What were you doing by the tennis courts?”
“Looking for Daisy,” I said.
“Daisy hasn’t been playing tennis,” my mother said. “Why is that, dearest?”
“She’s been busy, planning her wedding, for heaven’s sakes,” Aunt Nick said.
“Will you all please stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Daisy set her glass down hard on the marble top of the bar.
“Daisy’s right,” Uncle Hughes said. “This is supposed to be cocktail hour, not the Spanish Inquisition.”
No one said anything for a while. Then Uncle Hughes turned to Aunt Nick and said: “So what’s for dinner?”
Nervous laughter rippled around the room.
Aunt Nick got up and put her hand in Uncle Hughes’s. “I got some nice flounder from my little fish man.”
Uncle Hughes looked at her and put his other hand on the crown of her head, like a cap. “That sounds perfect.”
Tyler was staring at the two of them, his eyes like metal. Daisy saw his expression and I watched the muscles move in her face. Then she turned away.
“I’m going to change,” she said.
“All right, darling,” Aunt Nick said, but Daisy was already walking out of the room.
Aunt Nick was right; the flounder was delicious. I liked how she left the skin on, so that I could use my fork to peel it back and uncover the white flesh. I even ate part of the skin; it was crispy and salty, and had captured all the flavor of the seasoning.
Aunt Nick talked about the Fourth of July and how she thought a family picnic would be nice. Then Uncle Hughes told a story about hearing German planes bombing London on New Year’s Eve and how he thought they were fireworks. My mother was unusually quiet, and Tyler seemed absorbed by the food.
After dinner, Daisy excused herself abruptly, the legs of her chair making a scraping noise against the wood floor.
“I’m going to see if she’s all right,” Aunt Nick said, after a moment.
Tyler made a move to stand as well, but she turned on him. “You stay here,” she said, her voice low and harsh.
My mother got up and began clearing the table.
“Let me help you,” Uncle Hughes said, and patted my mother on the back.
Tyler and I sat facing each other. I looked at him and he looked at me. I could see it in his face, he knew I knew. My hands itched. I got up quickly from the table, before I did anything rash, and followed in the direction that Aunt Nick and Daisy had gone.
Out on the front porch, I could see Aunt Nick crossing the road and Daisy’s smaller figure beyond, making her way down the front lawn in the darkness. I kept my distance, staying close to the fence on the far side. They were headed toward the boathouse. I went around the other side, past the outdoor shower.
The air on that side of the boathouse was humid from the runoff and I could hear the tap dripping and feel the slushy grass beneath my shoes. My soles made a sucking noise, which wasn’t ideal. At the front of the boathouse I stopped and listened. I could see a light coming from around the corner and realized that Daisy must have lit one of the kerosene lanterns.
She was sitting on the small steps and Nick was sitting next to her, neither one saying anything.
I pulled my head back and leaned against the side, feeling the shingles digging into my shoulder blades.
After a while, I heard Aunt Nick’s voice.
“Darling, what’s the matter?”
Daisy didn’t respond.
“Whatever it is, I think you should tell me. Is it about the wedding?”
“Do you remember,” Daisy said, finally, “when you told me that if there was one thing I could count on, it was that I wouldn’t always be kissing the right person?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“We were sitting right here. And you were stroking my head.”
“Yes.”
“But you were talking about yourself, weren’t you? It wasn’t about me at all.”
“Daisy.”
“No, no. Don’t say anything, Mummy. I can see it, now. It’s always been about you, hasn’t it? Everything. I’m not even real to you. None of us are.”
“You’re real to me, Daisy. I know I haven’t been the best mother. I’m probably not even a very good person. But you’re real to me and I love you. What is this about?”
“God, Mummy. How can you even say that with a straight face?”
“What do you mean? Just say it, Daisy.” Nick’s voice was mineral.
“What do I mean? I mean everything. You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You never have.” Daisy’s words were coming out in little pants, like a winded animal. “All my life, you’ve never been on my side. You’ve been jealous and hard and cold … any little bit of love from Daddy … And since you can’t get that from him, you’ve …”
“I’ve what? I’ve what, Daisy?”
Daisy was silent.
When Aunt Nick spoke again, her voice was softer. “I can’t explain everything to you, darling. I can’t tell you a whole a lifetime of mistakes and missed chances and everything I’ve … I just never wanted to be ordinary. Maybe that’s made me different, harder. But a family, well, it’s complicated. I don’t know what’s brought this on, but I know I’ve hurt you, in so many ways. I know that. And I’m sorry.”
Daisy was quiet, like she was thinking. “You really don’t know what it is?” she said finally. “Are you being honest?”
“Yes,” Aunt Nick said. “I don’t know what I’ve done. Please just say it.”
“I don’t know,” Daisy said, slowly. “I don’t know what I thought.”
“Darling,” Aunt Nick started.
I inched closer again and looked around at them.
Aunt Nick’s hand was on the stairs between the two of them, as if she wanted to touch Daisy, but wasn’t sure. Daisy had her head down and was looking at her feet.
“I don’t know if I’m going crazy, or if you … Maybe it’s the wedding and nerves, I don’t know,” Daisy said. “If it is, then I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said all those things.” She stood up and started to walk away and then stopped. “But just in case, in case it’s not me and he’s right …” She looked out over the harbor. “I want it to stop, Mother. You have to stop.”
Aunt Nick looked at her, shaking her head, a gesture somewhere between confusion and assent.
But I knew she wouldn’t stop, even if she wanted to. She didn’t know how.
Something in my chest felt heavy as I walked back to Tiger House. As I opened the latch on the front gate, I saw my mother standing on the porch. When I approached her, she grabbed my hand. It startled me; she rarely touched me.
“Ed,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you, I wanted to tell you something, about earlier, about Daisy and your Aunt Nick.”
I looked at her. She seemed frightened.
“I heard what you told Daisy, about Tyler. I don’t know if I’ve ever given you the wrong impression. I don’t want you to put yourself in a situation …” She stopped.
I took my hand out of her grasp and patted her shoulder, the way Uncle Hughes had done earlier. “It’s all right, Mother,” I said. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be fine.”
But it didn’t feel fine. The house felt suffocating and I decided to take a walk to clear my head. I went along our stretch of beach for a while, thinking. I knew what had to be done, but for the first time in my life, I felt unprepared. Hesitant, I suppose, and I knew this was a dangerous thing. Like going to Frank Wilcox’s house without casing it first.
I listened to the foghorns. They sounded plaintive. I thought about Daisy, saw her standing there with her hand over her heart, surprised to see me. I thought about how she always called me Ed Lewis, the way she stamped her foot when she was angry. How when we were growing up, she was the only one who really spoke to me, the only one who really noticed me.
I didn’t know how long I’d been out, but when I reached the house I could see Aunt Nick and Uncle Hughes in the sitting room, drinking. They were very close to each other on the sofa, luminous from where I stood on the dark road. Their lamp was the only light left on, which meant everyone else must have already gone to bed.
I hopped the gate and quietly went up the front steps. I was going to go in and take the temperature, but their conversation stopped me.
“What did she say to you?” Uncle Hughes was asking.
“She …” Aunt Nick stopped. “She thinks I’ve done something.”
“What?”
“Hughes. There’s something I have to tell you.”
“For Christ’s sakes, what is it?”
“I’ve been going crazy with it. I don’t want to hurt Daisy, or you, or anyone. I haven’t been honest …”
Uncle Hughes looked at her, and then down at his hands. He was quiet for a while and then he said: “Nick, you don’t have to explain anything to me.”
“You don’t know what it is,” she said, her eyes searching his downcast face.
“Maybe I do; maybe I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. I know you. I know what you’re capable of and what you’re not capable of. And you’re not capable of cruelty.”
“Darling …”
“Nick, I love you,” he said simply. “And I don’t think there’s a goddamn thing you could do or say now that would change that.” He looked up at her. “So, you don’t have to explain anything to me. I already know what I need to.”
“Oh, Hughes.” Aunt Nick put her hand to his face. “You have no idea. I’ve made such a mess of all of us.”
“We’ve all made a mess of all of us,” Uncle Hughes said. “But you’re going to have to trust me at some point.”
“Yes,” she said. She shook her head. “I always thought our life was …” She stopped. “God, I was so wrong. I don’t know if this will make any sense, but something has been happening … there’s been someone, someone I can see myself in. And they’ve shown me just what a coward, what a goddamn little fool I’ve been all this time.” She laughed softly, as if responding to some private, bitter joke. “I guess marriage,” she said, “it’s like cliff jumping. You can’t lose your nerve.”
I didn’t like this conversation. Something in Aunt Nick’s manner, in her voice, was confusing me, like I was missing something important, and it bothered me. I had to stop thinking. I just needed to get all of this over with and be done with it. I took a breath, and went into the house, letting the door bang loudly behind me.
When I went into the sitting room, I saw a freshly made jug of martinis on the bar. That was good. It would make things easier if she was drunk.
“Just out for a walk,” I said. “I wanted to say good night.”
“Good night, Ed,” Uncle Hughes said. He was obviously wondering if I’d been spying on them.
“Good night,” Aunt Nick said. She looked wound up.
I walked over to her and leaned in to kiss her cheek. It was smooth and cool and I could smell her perfume and the vodka on her breath. “Good night, Aunt Nick,” I said. Then I took myself up to my bedroom to wait.
I lay staring at the ceiling. An hour passed, maybe less, before I heard Uncle Hughes coming up. Enough time for the two of them to have finished off the pitcher of martinis. I hoped that Aunt Nick would go for a swim; that would be easiest. I knew that it might not come off tonight, that I might have to wait for the moment to be right. But when I didn’t hear Aunt Nick’s footsteps on the stairs, I got up and began to prepare myself.
I took my shoes out of the plastic bag helpfully provided by the shoeshine man. I stretched it a little with my fingers to make sure it would be large enough. The details were important. This had to be carefully done. It had to look like an accident.
I went down to the second-floor landing and looked out the window. I couldn’t see her, so I kept going. I looked in the sitting room, but it was dark and empty. Then I saw her out on the porch, finishing her drink. She placed her empty glass carefully on the railing and then covered her face with her hands and I could hear her start to cry. I had heard about people crying bitterly. Now I knew what it meant. It sounded like crunching gravel being pushed out of a pipe.
After a while, she wiped her eyes and straightened her back, pin straight. I admired her in a way, just at that moment. But I thought about Daisy and the feeling passed. She picked up her glass and started toward the door. I stepped back into the shadow of the sitting room.
She passed me on the way to the kitchen and I moved quietly back up the stairs, taking them two at a time, to the second floor. The bedroom doors were all shut, like sleeping eyes. I moved to the corner of the landing, where I could stand next to the grandfather clock, unseen. I pulled out the plastic bag and waited.
I would put the bag over her head from behind as she rounded the corner toward her bedroom. When she stopped breathing I would slide her down the stairs. It would make noise, but not a lot, and I would have enough time to get at least to the middle of the next flight of stairs before Uncle Hughes or my mother came out of their bedrooms. It would look like I’d run down to see what was happening. Aunt Nick, too many martinis in her, would have tripped and fallen.
It seemed like hours before she finally started up, a little unsteady on her feet. I could hear my own breathing and tried to make my mind go quiet, like I’d done so many times before. As she passed me in the hall, I came up behind her. But she turned. To this day, I don’t know why she did. She couldn’t have heard me. Still, there we were. Me: lifting the bag in both hands; her: brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it.
I was so close to her now.
“What are you doing, Ed?” For some reason, she whispered this, like we were sharing a secret.
I thought: Now, now. She hasn’t made any noise. But instead, I said: “You. And Tyler.”
Her eyes widened a little then, because she understood. She backed away from me. I started toward her. The situation wasn’t going at all as planned; in fact, it was totally wrong. It was too risky. But I had no choice now but to go ahead with it.
I grabbed her, hooking my arm around her neck and twisting her against my body. She fought, harder than I expected, but then again, I hadn’t counted on a direct confrontation.
Once I had her back to me, I put my hand over her mouth. She was scratching at my arm. With my other hand, I shook out the plastic bag. I could feel the blood pumping through my ears. I could hear her heels scraping on the floor as I dragged her toward the staircase. I felt panic. I had to do it quickly. I pushed her neck down with my elbow so that I would be able to get the bag over her head. She was making wet sucking noises beneath my hand.
Somehow, I managed to get the bag over her head and I tightened the opening around her neck. I could hear her inhaling the plastic. I was almost there.
Then, all at once, there was something around my own neck. A hand. Crushing my windpipe. I had to let go of her. And I knew it was over. I had failed.
I felt Nick fall from my grasp and could hear her coughing somewhere near my feet. The rustle of the bag.
“Nick.” I could hear Uncle Hughes behind me.
I couldn’t see her because my head was tilted back from the pressure, but after a moment I heard her say: “It’s all right.” It was more of a croak, actually.
Uncle Hughes pulled me around to face him. There was no point in fighting him or asking for mercy. I could see it in his face. I thought about Daisy, about showing her where the maid was killed and the arrowhead and the way Elena Nunes tried to tell us her secrets before she died. It was my turn now.
“It’s Tyler,” I said.
Uncle Hughes looked at me, dead in the eye. And then he pushed me down the stairs.
My mother has been reading to me. She does this every week, reads me the current events from the newspaper, as if I’ve gone blind as well as being paralyzed and mute.
She reads to me for about an hour and then it’s time for her to go. Today, I hear about the antiwar demonstrations in Chicago. They had to call in the National Guard and it will evidently cost the city $150,000. The newspapers are referring to it as the “Days of Rage.” This bores me. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard anything interesting for a year. Not since that night.
Then my mother says, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, we’ve had some drama at the house,” and I think maybe my luck is beginning to change.
She puts down her pile of newspaper clippings.
“Well, Daisy was down for the weekend. Did I tell you that? I think I told you last week she was coming. Anyway, guess who shows up? Tyler. He drove all the way from the city, apparently. And, as you know, we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since they broke it off.”
My mother pulls her chair in a little closer. She doesn’t want the nurses to hear about our dirty linen.
“I have no idea how on earth he knew she was there, but there he was, larger than life, sitting out in front of the house in that ridiculous car of his. So, of course, I tell Daisy, and dearest, you’ll never believe what she does. She goes down to the basement and comes up with a bag full of tennis balls and her racquet. I was just breathless with anticipation.”
She’s practically breathless now.
“So, she goes out to the porch and calls his name. And when he looks like he’s about to get out of his car, she reaches into the bag and takes out a ball, and then, oh, so carefully, she drops it and whacks it with all her might at his car. And Lord, she does have good aim, I’ll say that for her.”
I can see tears of laughter welling up in my mother’s eyes.
“Well, then, of course, he starts yelling. But Daisy, she just keeps going, hitting one ball after the other until he finally has no choice but to drive away or have his windshield knocked out. Oh, Ed, I was nearly crying, I was laughing so hard.
“Then she comes into the house and sees me. And I felt a little sorry, because I didn’t want her to think I found her heartbreak funny. I’ve told you how unhappy she was for a long time after he left her, poor little thing. But she just looks at me and says: ‘Well, Aunt Helena. I think that fixed his bacon.’ And then she laughs and says, ‘Hell’s bells,’ in that old way of hers. I must say, dearest, I’ve never loved that girl more.”
As my mother is telling me this, I can feel the muscles in my cheeks pulling and I realize I’m smiling. My mother is wiping her eyes, and she sees me. “Oh. A smile. Well, that’s one for the books.” Then she gathers up her things and kisses my cheek and then I think perhaps I don’t mind hearing the news so much after all.
As I lay there at the bottom of the stairs in the darkness, I could hear them. I must have passed out, but at some point afterward, I was aware of what was going on around me.
“Oh, Hughes,” Aunt Nick was saying, her voice rasping. I imagined that her throat had probably taken quite a beating from where I’d held her. “Oh god.”
I could hear her crying. I felt very cold.
“We have to call an ambulance,” she said.
I could see her then. She was sitting next to me and I think she was touching me, but I couldn’t feel her hand. “Ed? Ed, can you move? Hughes, get a blanket.”
“I think …” But he didn’t say anything else, so he must have gone.
Then, out of the shadow, I saw him lifting something over me and I had the strange thought that I was being buried.
“I don’t think he can hear me,” Aunt Nick said. “Did you call?”
“I called.”
Then I could hear footsteps on the stairs.
Nick whispered: “Jesus, what are we going to tell Helena?”
“Listen to me.” Uncle Hughes spoke very slowly. “He was sleepwalking and he fell down the stairs. We were both in bed and heard something and came out to check. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she said.
I didn’t hear anything for a while but I saw small movements out of the corner of my eye. I blinked.
Finally, I heard Aunt Nick say: “Hughes. Listen to me, I tried to tell you.” Her voice had some kind of urgency to it.
“I know …”
“No, you have to understand. Nothing happened. With Tyler. It’s not like … he just wouldn’t stop. I think he thought that because …”
“Nick, I know.”
I tried to move, but found I couldn’t. There was some pain, but only in my skull. My skull felt like it might cave in. Aunt Nick leaned over me. She used her hand to cradle my head.
“Where’s the goddamn ambulance?” she said.
“It’s on its way.”
Silence. Then: “Hughes?”
“Yes?”
“It’s the strangest thing, but I have this feeling …” I had to strain to hear her now. “Like everything …” She stopped.
“Yes,” Uncle Hughes said. “Everything is.”
And with that, stars burst in my eyes and the whole world went dark.
“Well, it’s a red-letter day for you,” the nurse says. “You have another visitor.”
“Hello, Ed.”
It’s Daisy. I can’t see her yet, but I can hear her. I concentrate on my neck, but it doesn’t move. I almost can’t believe she’s here. She’s only come once before to see me, right at the beginning. I wondered if maybe she knew about the staircase and all the rest of it, and had decided she couldn’t forgive me, as Aunt Nick had predicted.
But she’s standing over me with a smile on her face, so I guess she doesn’t hate me after all. She looks pale, but it’s October and her tan will have faded by now. I look at her and try to make my eyes communicate what my mouth can’t.
“My goodness,” she says. “What are those wriggly eyes for?” She bends down and, placing her hand on the side of my face, kisses me on the mouth. It’s light, like a butterfly wing.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you. I’ve been very sad. But I’m feeling better, now.” Her blond hair is shorter, like a halo. She looks around. “It’s so stuffy in here. Why don’t they open a window?”
She sits down on the chair by my bed.
“So, Ed Lewis, they tell me you’re not speaking to us anymore. What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”
I smile.
“Not good enough,” Daisy says. “I’m not that easy anymore.”
She opens a canvas bag she’s brought with her, and I’m reminded of the story about tennis. “Since I’m sure you’ve already heard my whole sordid history from your mother, and since you don’t plan on talking, I brought some poems along. I thought I might read to you, if you’d like. Unless you’re bored with that?”
I just look at her.
“No? Good.” As she pulls out the book, the nurse comes back in.
“I’m sorry, Miss Derringer, but we normally wash Ed’s hair on Thursdays. After his mother leaves.”
“Oh,” Daisy says. “Well, sure. Maybe I can help.”
“I’m sure he’d love that. Wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, I’m sure he would.” She winks at me.
There’s a whole production while they get me out of bed and into a wheelchair. I’m a little annoyed because it’s time I could be spending with Daisy. Then the nurse wheels me into the bathroom and Daisy follows behind. The nurse attaches a tray around my shoulders and neck, so the water can run off.
“So, I’m just going to get his hair damp and then we can shampoo him,” the nurse says.
I don’t know why I’ve never noticed the nurse’s wrists before, they’re so translucent they’re almost blue. I realize I don’t even know her name. I remind myself to pay more attention to her.
I feel the warm water running over my scalp. I look at Daisy. She smiles. She puts her hand out and the nurse squirts some of the pink soap into her palm. Then Daisy begins massaging my scalp. I can feel her hands, warm, against my head, the tips of her fingers making my skin tingle all the way to my shoulders. Some of the soapsuds slide down my forehead and into my eye. It stings and my right index finger twitches. The doctor is right. I need to make more of an effort.
“I’m sorry,” Daisy says, laughing. “I’m not very good at this, am I? Maybe I’ll let you do it and I’ll read to him.”
She leaves us in the bathroom and returns with the book. “Wallace Stevens,” she says and shows me the cover. “All right, let’s see.” She flips through the book, smiling slightly at something on the page. “Oh, I love this one,” she says. She leans against the wall and begins speaking: “ ‘The houses are haunted / By white night-gowns.’ ”
I listen to the sound of her voice and think it’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. So clear and true and steady. I want to say the words with her. I try to force air up through my throat. Nothing happens.
“ ‘None are green, / Or purple with green rings, / Or green with yellow rings,’ “ she says. “ ‘None of them are strange.’ ”
I try again and this time I manage to make a small gurgle, although no one can hear it because of the water running in the sink. But I can hear it.
“ ‘People are not going / To dream of baboons and periwinkles,’ “ Daisy says.
I look at her. I can hear her.
“ ‘Only, here and there, an old sailor, / Drunk and asleep in his boots, / Catches tigers / In red weather.’ ”
She looks at me. Her eyes are a little shiny, although it may be the steam from the water. I think about love and about all the nightgowns that are not white. I think about Aunt Nick, and Frank Wilcox, and even about Uncle Hughes. I think about Daisy and her book of poems. I think about tigers in red weather. I like that.