First thing the next morning, I slipped out onto the deck for a look at the river. A pink mist hung just over the water like the opening to a fairy tale. I lingered until the sun burned through the fairy-veil and brought the day’s first breaths of heat, because what I had to face inside the house was more like reality TV.
Once in the kitchen, however, I made a positive discovery: the Cabot household loved its coffee and had every accoutrement imaginable. Some marvelous French blend was already brewed when I got to the kitchen at seven thirty, and I gazed in appreciation at the display of syrups and sugars on the counter and the milks of every fat content in the refrigerator.
I reached for the half-and-half. And then I remembered that I was now an angel.
I rolled my eyes there in the kitchen all alone, but I selected the skim milk and poured it and a single packet of Splenda into my coffee. Then I went in search of Bethany. The nearest TV was probably my best bet.
I sipped from my cup as I passed through the empty breakfast nook and tried to convince myself it tasted good. I could do this. I might even lose a little weight while I stayed here. Go home to Chip all sleek and lovely.
I’d checked my cell phone before I went to sleep the night before; a text message from him said simply: 29 days.
Bethany was curled up in one of the comfy chairs with the tattered piece of cloth around her neck. A bowl of granola sogged on the table beside her, and a video featuring dancing vegetables flickered across the big TV screen.
“Hi,” I said.
She just looked at me.
Okay. Not a morning person. I could relate.
“Whatcha watching?”
“Veggie Tales,” she said into the neck rag. She sat up straighter. “I want to watch the Disney Channel, but I can’t find it.”
“I think we can make that happen,” I said, and silently hoped I’d do better at that than I had with the candy search. Any other kid would have brought that up by now, but I had the strong sense that Bethany was used to disappointment.
I picked up a remote that had more buttons than a professional sound board and punched a few. Roxanne’s red head appeared on the screen.
“Oh, look who it is,” I said.
“I know,” Bethany said. “She’s on every day.”
“She’s going to talk about your mom today. Do you mind if we watch for a minute?”
Bethany shrugged. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to see it either. Maybe it would help me decipher the code everyone around there seemed to talk in.
Roxanne was heavily made up, even for television, and sat in a sleek set with a plain cross hanging behind her and a logo that read Power Praying with Roxanne Clemm. A tape along the bottom of the screen indicated how a person could call in with prayer requests, but today Roxanne was already at the end of what sounded like a tirade against all those who said Sonia Cabot wouldn’t overcome this latest tragedy.
“They’ll see, won’t they?” she said, gazing intently at her television audience. “Sonia Cabot will emerge from this more beautiful than ever. The Lord will remove the scars and restore her to the woman you have come to love, the one whose beauty shows us a glimpse of the face of God.”
I aimed the remote at the TV and jabbed buttons until an animated fish appeared.
“I like Finding Nemo,” Bethany said.
It was definitely better than Power Praying. And I was going to need something stronger than skim milk.
I dumped my mug in the sink and foraged in the refrigerator for that half-and-half. I opted for the whipped cream instead.
When I got to Sonia’s room, Marnie was frantically poking at her BlackBerry while Sonia paced. I busied myself making the bed.
“And I want some kind of worship service this morning,” Sonia said to her. “It’s Sunday, isn’t it? I lose track of time.”
Marnie looked at her warily.
“What?” Sonia said. “Darlin’, just say it.”
“There isn’t anybody here to do a worship service. Everybody left.”
“They’ll be back.” Sonia stopped by the window, hand on the brocade drape. “After that I want to go down to the exercise room.”
Good. And work up a sweat and get dehydrated.
I gave the sheet a yank. “Physical therapy is going to burn plenty of calories.”
“Physical therapy.”
“I called that therapist they recommended at Crozer yesterday. She’s coming Monday.” I chewed momentarily on my lip. “I’m not sure your insurance is going to cover someone coming to the house, since there’s rehab available locally. I don’t know who handles the financials for you—”
“What insurance?”
“Excuse me?”
Sonia reached back to undo her mask. “They dropped me because I left the hospital against Dr. Abernathy’s advice.”
Just when I thought the situation couldn’t get any more complicated.
“This way I can choose whoever I want,” she said cheerfully. “And I want a Christian.”
No doubt the person in question would have to sign an affidavit to that effect.
I punched a pillow into place. “Let’s get your face done so I can see about Bethany.”
“Yvonne can—”
Marnie jerked her face up from her current text message. “Bethany’s going to Sunday school. Francesca’s picking her up.”
“Good,” Sonia said. “That will make her happy.”
It would be the first thing I’d see bring a smile to that child’s face. Besides a Hershey bar. Just how I was going to acquire one was still a question.
A phone rang, and Sonia ignored it.
Marnie looked momentarily puzzled, and then laughed. “Oh my gosh, that’s the landline. Nobody calls on that.”
She reached for the telephone tucked onto a tiny table behind a chair, but Sonia shook her head impatiently.
“Let Lucia get that,” she said. “I want you to start calling people about a service this afternoon.”
So now I was the receptionist too. I made a mental note to add
• disconnect the landline
to my growing list, and snapped a hello into the phone.
“Is this—egad, is this Lucia Marie?”
I closed my eyes and turned toward the window. “Dad?” I whispered.
“It’s you, all right. Your sister never calls me anything but Tony.”
My father coughed juicily and gave me a moment to corral all my responses inside one pen. I hadn’t spoken to him for six months, since my forty-first birthday, when he’d called to tell me that I was officially over-the-hill and that he hoped my downhill slide would be more of a joyride than his had been.
He hadn’t contacted Sonia at the hospital as far as I knew, to Agent Schmacker’s surprise but not to mine. Sonia herself had said she’d not seen him since he relapsed from the rehab she’d paid for. Tony Brocacini might have been a drunk, and maybe he still was, but his strongest suit had always been his pride. I couldn’t imagine him crawling to Sonia’s bedside, begging for forgiveness out of fatherly guilt.
The coughing subsided, and he apologized in the same gruff voice he’d always used with me, whether to ask me to get him a beer or to say he loved me.
“Are you sick?” I said.
“Aaaah—the doctors want me to quit smoking—and don’t go gettin’ all nursey on me. I know those cancer sticks are gonna kill me eventually.”
If the booze didn’t first. Although he didn’t seem drunk. I knew the sounds of under-the-influence well.
“Listen, Lucia Marie, I’m glad I got you.”
I glanced over my shoulder, but Sonia was engrossed in giving Marnie instructions. Still, I kept my voice low.
“Really?” I said. “When I picked up you sounded surprised to hear my voice.”
“That’s because last time I tried to get in touch with your sister I had to go through fifteen levels of that operation she has going there. What the Sam Hill do all those people do, anyway?”
“Ya got me there, Dad. I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
“I should have left well enough alone, because when I did talk to her, she preached me a sermon and hung up.” He coughed again. “She hasn’t given you religion yet, has she?”
I almost laughed. “You make it sound like a disease.”
“It’s more hazardous to your health than my cigarettes, evidently. Tell me the truth, now, Lucia Marie—how is she?”
I tried to look nonchalant as I passed Sonia and Marnie and slipped into the bathroom so I could close the door. I turned on the exhaust fan before I gave him a synopsis of Sonia’s condition.
“I got a glimpse of her on the TV,” he said when I’d wrapped it up. “I was surprised to see her walking around, to tell you the truth. You looked good, by the way.”
I let that go without comment.
“I’m glad you’re there with her. That’s what I called to say. I don’t trust that crowd she’s got working for her. She needs family with her.”
I scrubbed at a dried blob of toothpaste on the counter with my fingernail. “What about you?” I said.
“What about me?”
“You’re her family too.”
“Not according to her.” His gruffness went to a coarser grit. “She told me she only had to answer to her heavenly Father, not me, so I should stop trying to make her feel guilty.” My father emitted a hard laugh that didn’t convince me he was amused. “All I called for was to wish her a happy birthday.”
I wanted to reach through the line with a large piece of cheesecake, my traditional means of comforting the man who at this point made more sense than anybody else I had to talk to.
“That was before, Dad,” I said. “And I could use some help.”
“You think I could help out?”
“For openers, the FBI carted the gardener off.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I’ll talk to her,” I said. “Just hold on.”
I pressed the phone to my breastbone before he could protest and stepped out of the bathroom as Marnie hurried from the room.
“Who’s on the phone?” Sonia said. “If it’s the press, you need to refer them to Marnie.”
“It’s Dad,” I said.
Sonia’s gaze bulleted through the holes in her mask. “He’s been drinking,” she said.
“I don’t think so. He wants to come and help, and I think we should let him.”
“Absolutely not. You can make me take pain medication, but you cannot make me take him.”
“He can—”
“Is he still on the line?”
“Yeah.”
“Give me the phone.” She was close enough to grab it from me and jammed it to her ear.
“Hello, Tony,” she said. “No—I’m fabulous, I’m sure Lucia told you. Now let me tell you.”
I pressed my fingertips to my now throbbing forehead and went for the door.
“No, sorella, you stay. I want you to hear this too.”
She missed the glare I delivered as she lifted her eyes to the ceiling. My father had been telling the truth: a sermonette was in our future.
“Have you come to the Lord since the last time we spoke?” she said. “There is no need to swear. A simple no will do . . . My stand is no different now than it was before. If anything, I am more firm than ever when I say to you that I will open my home and my heart to anyone who repents and is willing to go to the foot of the cross with me.” She put up a hand. “I know you’ve heard this from me before, but it apparently hasn’t sunk in. I will not have you under my roof if you refuse to give your sin to Jesus Christ and let Him heal you.”
I didn’t have to hear my father to get the gist of what he said. Sonia held the phone away from her ear before she spoke into it again.
“Do not come here, Tony,” she said. “Or I will have you removed. I cannot be surrounded by unrepented sin when I am being healed by the Holy Spirit.”
I heard the click. Sonia pressed the receiver to her chest and then handed it to me.
“Bless his heart,” she said. “He could be healed so easily.”
I let the phone drop into its cradle and headed for the door, determined to get out this time before I imploded.
“You understand why I had to do that, don’t you, sorella?” she said.
“I’m going to go get your saline,” I said. “It’s time to do your face.”
By the time I got through Sonia’s morning routine, Francesca pulled into the driveway with Bethany, and I still hadn’t had an opportunity to inform Sonia that Yvonne had ridden off into the sunset and nobody was taking care of her child.
The one moment when I was about to broach the subject, she’d barked at Marnie, “So, were you able to get hold of anyone to come worship with us today?”
The eleven between Marnie’s eyebrows went to an all-time depth.
“What?” Sonia said. “Why are you acting like you’re afraid of me?”
Because you’re acting like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada, I wanted to say.
“I had conversations with several of the volunteers.” Marnie avoided Sonia’s eyes. “And, uh, they all basically told me the same thing.”
“Which was?”
“They’re going with what Egan said and giving you some space.”
Sonia turned toward the bedroom window, and the face that couldn’t move took on a paralyzed anger.
“Get my laptop,” she said. “We are going to blog.”
She was talking to Marnie, but I escaped to the kitchen just in case. I was taking inventory of the pantry when the door from the breezeway opened, and Francesca and Georgia swept in. Boys were suddenly everywhere. There were at least enough for a platoon, but in reality I could count only four. Bethany was the only stationary being in the room.
“We thought Bethany might enjoy a little play date,” Georgia said, as the small males opened the refrigerator and hoisted one in their party up to view the top shelf.
Bethany stared at the floor like she would enjoy nothing less.
“Shall we go up to the playroom?” Francesca said.
She put her hand on the back of Bethany’s head and guided her toward the back staircase while the boys, ranging in age from six to eight, abandoned the open fridge and swarmed ahead of them.
“We heard about Yvonne,” Georgia said, sotto voce, to me as we brought up the rear. “I never thought she was that good anyway. We can help out a bit till you find somebody else.” At the top of the steps she stopped and looked down at me, shaking back her blonde bangs. “This is all Sonia needs right now.”
The boys had already assembled in the playroom and, apparently, ransacked it by the time we got there.
“This is all girlie stuff,” was the verdict.
Ya think?
I wanted to ask Georgia and Francesca if they had ever actually met Bethany. Even I knew you didn’t bring in four trainees for WWE to play with a little girl who didn’t even ask for a glass of water.
Bethany shrank against the doorway and watched with round eyes as Francesca’s twins, who I gathered were Isaac and Jacob, used a Barbie doll for a missile and launched it at the back of the head of Caden, one of Georgia’s. They were both assaulted by the fourth kid, also one of Georgia’s, judging from his blondness and command of the situation. His name sounded like a partner in a prestigious law firm.
I went to Bethany and squatted beside her. “So what do you and your friends want to do?” I said.
She looked at me, blue eyes somber, and said, “They aren’t my friends.”
“Bethany, honey, of course they are,” Francesca said.
To prove it, Isaac—or Jacob—yelled, “Here—catch!” and hurled Barbie in her direction.
Bethany covered her eyes, but she didn’t hightail it down the hall the way I would have. The way I wanted to.
Georgia looked down at me, running the fingers of one hand over the pristinely manicured nails of the other. “We brought a picnic. What do you say we take this party outside?”
“Sweet!”
“Dude, I’m goin’ swimmin’!”
“I’m there!”
As they bowled past us, I wondered why they all sounded like half-grown men instead of little boys.
“Get your swimsuit on, girl,” Georgia said to Bethany before she went after her boys, who were clattering down the stairs, throwing dares at each other.
I personally hadn’t been swimming in years for various reasons, the first one being the swimwear situation. But at least it might be fun for Bethany. I hadn’t seen anybody take her down to the river since I’d been there. At her age I would have at least been catching minnows, bathing suit riding up over my then-small bun cheeks.
I looked down at Bethany. Her buns were anything but small, though that didn’t usually bother your average six-year-old. But something bothered her. The cherub face went as white as anything in my room, and she kneaded her hands like wads of dough.
“You okay?” I said.
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
She took in a big breath and held it as she nodded.
“I found your suit, Bethany,” Francesca sang out from the hallway. “It’s precious.”
“I’ll put it on her,” said Didi, who had also appeared—even on a Sunday. “Ya’ll go on. I set up your picnic in the gazebo. I’ll bring her down.”
Bethany followed her dutifully, and Francesca looked at me.
“Are you coming, honey?” she said. “You probably need to stay with Sonia, don’t you?”
She nodded in that way that practically commanded me to nod with her. And I wanted to. She wore a stark white sarong that no doubt hid a figure-hugging thing designed to show off her tan. Georgia had just exited in a red ensemble that could only be pulled off by someone with legs like the unfortunate Barbie doll. I would rather have peeled skin from my sister’s face any day of the week than subject myself to that.
And then Bethany emerged from her room, wearing two pieces of pink fluff that left her white puffy belly exposed for all the world to point at. She looked like nothing but the Pillsbury Doughboy in a bikini.
“Honey, you’re going to need a little top to put over that,” Francesca said. She concealed her horror with less success than she had the first time she saw Sonia in her mask.
“Right,” I said. “You don’t want to get sunburned.”
“I’ll get one,” Didi said.
“And I’ll take her down with me,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
I looked at both her and Francesca and said, “Oh, yeah, I do.”
Bethany didn’t speak as we waddled our way down to the river. A repast covered the table in the gazebo, complete with balloons, but it remained untouched so far. The boys were already in the water and on the covered dock that jutted out into it and on the large inner tube. They did enough splashing and shrieking and cannonballing for an entire Olympic swim team.
“Doesn’t that look like fun, girl?” Georgia said to Bethany.
Clearly, it didn’t. I saw Bethany swallow.
“You can just play by the edge if you want,” I said.
I felt Francesca and Georgia look at each other, sunglasses hiding their obvious disdain.
“It’s not deep, honey, you know that,” Francesca said.
“Can I have lunch first?” Bethany said.
“Absolutely,” I said.
“You can’t go in the water right after you eat.”
That came from the dripping future attorney who now stood next to us. His skinniness showed every rib.
“I know.” Bethany folded her arms. “You’re not the boss of me.”
“Whatever,” Skinny Boy said.
“Judson Taylor Jansen, come here,” Georgia said to him.
“Aw, man.”
Georgia went to deal with that. I looked down at Bethany, who gazed longingly toward the gazebo.
“Why don’t I bring you a plate down here?” I said.
“Okay,” she said.
I headed for the food, passing a whispered conversation between Georgia and young Judson Taylor Jansen. His side was actually in a sotto voce similar to his mother’s and consisted mainly of “No way!”
The fare was, of course, abundant, but low cal. I put some carrot sticks, a little string cheese, and a handful of reduced-fat Wheat Thins on Bethany’s plate and vowed absolutely to take that child out for a pizza the first chance I got. No wonder Georgia and Francesca’s kids looked just short of malnourished. I was pawing through the Williams-Sonoma picnic basket for something a little more filling when I heard the scream.
I don’t know what I did with the plate. I just hauled myself toward the water, heart up in my lymph glands. It was the same scream I’d heard from Bethany in the hospital and on the front porch the day before—a cry of sheer terror.
As well it should be. Bethany was in the water, out past the posse of boys, flailing and splashing and screeching in a voice that lost volume and gained water.
“Can’t she swim?” I heard one of the women call out.
I didn’t wait to find out. Not even bothering to kick off my sandals, I plunged in and past the boys. Far beyond me, Bethany went under and didn’t come up. I pushed on until the bottom disappeared beneath me. I had to swim. Dear God. Dear God.
Slapping one arm and then the other ahead of me, I made my way out to her. The water was murky, and my heart threatened to come all the way up into my mouth as I called out.
Her head came up, three feet away, and was swallowed up again. She wasn’t screaming anymore.
I tried to kick myself forward, still reaching with arms already turned to lead. One hand hit on something soft, and I grabbed. At once Bethany grabbed back, hands on my arms, my shoulders, the top of my head. I went down with her and took in a mouthful of water. Thoughts spun—she’ll drown us both we’re going to die Dear God—until I snagged onto one that made sense. Let her go. Let her go.
I shoved Bethany away from me and surfaced, gasping. She thrashed again, but I got behind her. Wrapping both arms across her chest, I pressed her to me and shouted, “Stop! Stop fighting! I’ve got you!”
Out of exhaustion she ceased struggling and sagged against me. I churned my legs, trying to tread water, but we were both sinking fast. I didn’t have enough energy left to keep us both afloat. With the last of it, I screamed, “Help!”
“Are you okay?” someone called.
“No! Help me!”
I scissored once more and got up high enough to see Georgia and Francesca at the end of the dock, peering at me, hands shading their sunglasses.
“Are they in trouble?” I heard a male voice shout.
Georgia’s and Francesca’s voices were lost in a splash. In approximately half a lifetime, Sullivan Crisp was on us.
“You want me to take her?” he said.
“Please. Go with Mr. Crisp, Bethany. It’s all right.”
Bethany had gone limp by now, but her eyes were wild. She nodded and let Sullivan wrap an arm around her and sidestroke toward shore. Which left me gasping and heaving to keep my head above the water. My legs were like diving weights. There was no way I could make it back.
And no way I could ask anyone to pull me out.
With a final heave I got myself on top of the water and lay back in a float. I was certain that from the riverbank I resembled a whale separated from its pod, but for once I didn’t care. Bethany was alive.
Above me, the sun sizzled from a sky so seamless it didn’t look real. Beyond me, birds twittered and called and carried on like the boys in their droopy swimsuits. Around me the water was like a womb. I could just sink into it and escape back to nothingness. That sounded far too inviting.
I rolled over and surveyed the shore, where Sullivan Crisp handed Bethany over to Didi, and Georgia and Francesca gathered their boys and their picnic baskets and their beach wraps. The party was over. If I never made it to shore, nobody would notice. But I wanted Bethany to notice. God love her, I wanted her to know somebody gave a rip.
Somehow I got back to the low place at the shore and tried not to breathe like a freight train as I dragged my body out of the water. My gray pants and tunic hung heavily, reminiscent of elephant skin, clinging only in the places I always hid so carefully. I gave Sullivan Crisp that vision as he stepped down to hold a hand out to me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “But I could use a towel.”
He pulled one, miraculously, from around his neck. It was approximately big enough to cover my face. I pretended to dry my cheeks and let it hang in front of my chest, and to his credit, he looked discreetly past me into the water.
“You sure you’re okay?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Good, because I’m not.”
I pulled the towel down to get a better look at him. His hair stuck up in frightened spikes, and his face was the color of porridge.
“Why?” I said. “Is Bethany—did she get hurt?”
“Just her pride, I think. That scared the heck out of me. You’ve got to be pretty shaken up.”
“I’ll live,” I said. “I need to find her.”
I turned to go, only to see Francesca and Georgia hurrying toward me from the gazebo, where the four terrorists sat on benches with their legs swinging. If I could have run, I would have.
“You all right, honey?” Francesca reached out as if to touch my arm and then didn’t.
If she had, I would have bitten her hand off.
“Girl, you just went right in after her.” Georgia bobbed her head at Sullivan. “I was impressed.”
“Me too,” he said, without warmth.
I squeezed the water out of a handful of my tunic.
“You sure you’re all right?” Georgia said.
“I’m fine,” I said firmly, though I still gasped for air and felt my legs giving out. Those legs had to at least carry me away from the two of them, because despite the brilliant smiles and the nodding heads and the assurances that I was brave and selfless, the unspoken message was clear: If you weren’t such a fat pig, you could have saved her yourself.
Then something struck me.
“Why was Bethany out that far?”
The smiles suddenly looked starched.
“She went down to the end of the dock,” Francesca said. “And I guess she slipped and fell in.”
“But why did she go out there?” I said. “She acted like she didn’t even want to go near the water.”
“Look.” Georgia sighed and adjusted her sunglasses and pressed her palms together and looked at Sullivan as if she wished he would just handle this for her, him being the strong male and all that.
“I told Judson to encourage her to come in the water with them,” Georgia said. “Just to be nice.”
Francesca pressed her hand to her chest. “I didn’t know she couldn’t swim. My kids have been in the water since they were six months old.”
“Whatever,” I said. Judson Taylor Jansen Esq. had done more than “encourage” her, and I couldn’t go there. I had to get to Bethany before she did drown, in her own shame.
Again I started up the bank, and there was Sonia, standing above us, mask askew, minus her hat, chin nearly attached to her chest.
“What is going on?” she said. “I heard screaming.”
“It’s all right, honey,” Francesca oozed. “Bethany just went for a little unplanned swim. She’s okay.”
“No, I don’t think she is okay,” I said. “She could have drowned.”
“She what?”
“Lucia, honey, I think you’re exaggerating just a little bit.”
“Not from where I was standing,” Sullivan said.
Sonia looked at him. “What happened, Sully? You tell me.”
Whatever he would have said was lost beneath Francesca’s gasp. I followed her gaze to the gazebo. All four boys were on their knees on the bench, gaping at us. It didn’t take a therapist to determine from the terrified expressions on their faces that they had gotten their first look at the new Sonia.
“Mo-om,” said one of the small twins.
His brother burst into tears. The rest of the mini macho platoon backed away, bravado dissolving as they reached for the mothers who ran to them.
“Sonia, what’s going on?” Sullivan said.
I looked at my sister. She took two staggering steps toward the house.
“It’s the heat,” she said.
“Will you take her?” I said to Sullivan. “I have to see about Bethany.”
I had to get to the little girl who would never be able to go home and forget the hideous lady she’d seen on the riverbank. She had to live with her forever. And nobody was showing her how.
I found Bethany parked, predictably, in front of a video in the Gathering Room, dressed in a dry outfit and eating a peanut butter sandwich. She couldn’t possibly be tasting it. She didn’t look up when I came in.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She took another bite and stared at the screen. I found the remote and clicked it off. Her fine, black eyebrows came together in a frown.
“We’ll turn it back on in a minute,” I said. “I just want to say I’m sorry I made you play with those boys. It wasn’t your fault you fell in the water. I know that.”
She looked at me with her round, blue eyes, and her lips drew up as if she were about to say something. She was so precious at that moment, and I wanted to hug her.
But she went back to the sandwich, downing it in bites far too big for a little-girl mouth. Cheeks stuffed, she gazed at the remote.
“Okay,” I said. “The Disney Channel.”
I clicked the TV on and rose to go. She looked up, swallowing hard.
“Are Judson and them coming back?” she said.
“Do you want them to come back?”
“Not ever,” she said.
“Then they never will, not ever,” I said.
She sighed from somewhere deep in her young soul and turned back to the screen.
Sonia wasn’t the only one who needed help. I went in search of Sullivan Crisp.