Chapter 23

Monday, March 3, 2014

Colleen

I spent Sunday afternoon safe and sound in the condo with Eric and the kids. We ate Pringles and onion dip, plus chocolate chip cookies that Maddie made. It was like old times, only, maybe better because I think, deep down, we were all glad to be under the same roof, and the only storm was outside.

And as promised, the storm was bad. In the middle of the afternoon, we lost power and cell service. After that, we played board games and watched the rain.

This morning the power came on but until a little while ago, the phones were still out. We checked the local news; the schools were open, so the kids went off, and I got ready to head back to Plum Island.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, cell service came on. Immediately, my phone lit up with messages and failed calls. Three calls and three messages from Nate Hensler. Several other calls from numbers I didn’t know. Now I am looking down at the alerts on my phone, shaking.

“What is it?” Eric asks.

I shake my head. “I’m not sure,” I tell him.

I call Nate. He answers immediately. “Good morning, Mrs. Newcomb,” he says. His voice is craggy, worn out.

I say simply, “We had a huge storm here, lost cell service. What’s going on?”

“Mrs. Newcomb,” he says. “I’m so sorry, your sister passed away.”

My knees give out, and I sink onto the couch. “What? How?”

“She overdosed on Fentanyl,” he says.

“But you—you were supposed to talk to her. What happened?”

“I did talk to her,” he says. “I want to explain everything, but it would be better in person. Can you come to New York?”

Eric sits down next to me and puts his hand on my back. “Yes, of course,” I say. “I need to talk to my family. We’ll try to get there tomorrow. I’ll call you when we have a plan.”

I don’t believe it. My bones don’t believe it. Eric turns on his laptop and looks it up. He finds articles confirming that Riley Emery is dead. He starts to read one of them to me, but I can’t listen now. I can’t absorb those words. I look at it over his shoulder, letting terms ping-pong through my brain. Overdose, found in a friend’s home, rushed to hospital, dead on arrival. Like oil poured thick on the surface of skin, it does not sink in but sits atop in a glossy puddle. I long to push it off, but it is not sleek like oil; it is permanent, like glue.

I need to see Alex. I need to see her face, to hug her, I need to make sure she’s all right.

“Thanks,” I say to Eric, stuttering, stumbling, shaking.

“You okay to drive?” he asks.

“I hope so,” I say.

In the car, I try to call Alex, but her phone is off, routing me to voice mail almost before I finish dialing. So I drive; I drive down Route 1A to the edge of Killdeer Road. A large oak tree was felled in the storm right across the road, dragging a power line down with it. A crew of men work a chain saw to dismantle the tree, one limb at a time. I cannot drive past them, so I park my car on the opposite corner of the main road, away from the machines, and walk down the wet, sloshing road to Alex. My walk becomes a run, the bottoms of my jeans get soaked in the drenched road. In a moment I see it behind the high bushes, Alex’s house, strange like an apparition, the house that brought our sister home. But I guess Alex is not our sister anymore. She is only my sister. We girls were three, and now we are one plus one.

I go to her door and knock. Nothing happens, so I knock again. “Alex?” I call. Then I open the door and put my head inside the living room. It feels stark and grainy white in the diffuse morning sunlight. “Sweetie, it’s me. I let myself in.” Finally, Alex comes down the staircase wearing gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She is smiling, but there are rings under her eyes. How do I explain what has happened? This is not right.

“Hi,” she says happily, rubbing her eyes. “Why are you here so early? Did Riley call you?”

“What? Did who—” I say.

“Never mind,” she says. She looks at me with narrow, scrutinizing eyes. “No coffee?”

I shake my head. My eyes are hot. How can she still not know? I haven’t told her. And I realize I don’t want to say it out loud. I wish she would just know. “Alex, there’s something . . .”

“It’s okay, we’ll get coffee later. Colleen!” she says, almost singing. “The craziest thing happened. Riley was here last night. Oh, but you already know that.”

I stand in her living room because there is nowhere to sit. Her words don’t make any sense.

“She was?” I say. Alex nods. “No, Alex, she wasn’t.”

“No, she was. She talked to you, right? She’s coming back this morning so we can go to breakfast. Oh, wait, let me get dressed. We were going to surprise you, but now you’re here, so that’s even better.” She starts toward the stairs. “I guess that was a silly plan. Riley’s in Newburyport, so we should have just met her there. Oh, well. Be right back.” She heads quickly up the stairs before I can say anything.

“Alex, stop,” I say. “Alex!”

“Thirty seconds,” she calls down from her room.

I hear her walking around upstairs; I feel like I should go up there and grab her shoulders and shake her and tell her. But I can’t make myself speak those words. And anyway, she may as well get dressed. It hardly matters. I’ll give her a few more moments of not knowing.

She emerges in a pair of dark jeans and a light-green sweater.

“You look nice,” I say, almost whispering.

“It’s not every day I go out for breakfast with my sisters.” She looks around. “My cell phone died last night. Oh, there it is,” she says, spying it on a box in the corner. “I was going to see if Riley called, but she can’t because my phone is dead.” She goes to the light switch on the wall and pushes it up and down; nothing happens. “And I guess the power’s not back yet. Colleen?”

She says my name so abruptly it surprises me. “Yes?”

She stares at me like she’s just noticing me for the first time that morning. “What’s going on?”

I open my mouth, hoping that the words will just spill out. But they don’t; they won’t come unless I speak them. “Alex,” I say. “Riley’s dead.”