Six
Mary stayed in the water until the skin on her fingers began to wrinkle and crease. When she emerged, she did so as a Venus, liquid spilling from her skin and running down her limbs in thin channels under an enormous white moon.
Gathering up her clothes, she padded toward the house, feeling the uneven stone beneath her feet. She began to hum the Temptations’ “Just My Imagination,” which had been Diane’s favorite song. She passed the door to Ron’s office and saw the television’s quick flickering light under the door. She imagined him in there, his back to the bookshelf, his heart pounding in his chest as his hand pressed against the front of his trousers. With her arm sliding up the rail, she took languid steps up the staircase, leaving damp footprints behind her.
She opened the door to her room, and the light from the hallway rushed in. Hannah was lying on her back in bed, her hands palms up, as if she had surrendered something. Mary pulled a T-shirt from her bag and slipped it on, then got into bed beside Hannah. Her wet hair stuck to her neck and soaked her shirt, but her limbs felt loose and light, and the white cotton sheets were cool against her skin. The air conditioner hummed, and Hannah emitted her tiny snores, and as Mary let her fingertips glide up and down Hannah’s forearm, she felt for the first time in a long time that everything might be okay.
Hannah woke before Mary the next morning, wriggling in close to her and waiting until Mary raised her long lean arms above her head and stretched. Mary slung one leg up over the covers, then looked down at Hannah.
“What are we supposed to do here?” asked Hannah, her voice small, her brow two tight lines. In Sandy Bank, days passed without needing to be filled. Here, even Hannah sensed that would take more effort.
“I don’t know,” said Mary, smiling. “I guess we’re just going to see what Gail and Ron have planned.”
Mary helped Hannah get dressed, then did the same, pulling on cutoffs, and then rubbing her legs with baby oil so they shone shimmery slick. They held hands as they took the stairs, listening to the voices already in the kitchen, which came in brief bursts between ponds of silence. The Allens invited us for dinner Thursday. Tim needs a check for the Orlando trip. The sprinkler at the end of the driveway is broken.
When Mary and Hannah entered the room, Ron, who had his newspaper open on the glass-top table in front of him, gave his hands a clap. “There they are!” he said, beaming. He looked at Tim, who was standing in the corner leaning against the wall, eating a bowl of cereal.
“Good morning,” said Mary, smiling as she paused just inside the large room.
“Morning, girls,” answered a tight-lipped Gail, who was at the counter slicing a cantaloupe.
“What do you all have planned for today?” asked Ron, looking from Mary to Gail and back again, his arms crossed over his chest. “Gonna do a little sightseeing? The Seaquarium is always fun.”
“Well,” chuckled Gail, giving her husband a searing glance. “I’d love to take the girls around, but unfortunately I have a lot to do to get ready for the holiday. I was thinking that Mary and Hannah might like to just relax by the pool.” Gail placed her perfect wedges of melon into a glass bowl.
Mary made her expression one of stoic disappointment. “Oh,” she said, with a brave smile. “That’ll be nice.”
Ron regarded her silently for a moment. “Oh, come on now,” he said. “We can’t let you sit around the house all day.” He turned to his wife. “Honey, you do your shopping. I’ll take the girls around.”
Gail smiled, her hand at her neck. “Ron,” she said. “Don’t you have to get to work?”
“Nah . . . ,” he said, with a magnanimous swat. “I just get in the way there anyway.”
Gail looked at Tim. “Well, you can all do something,” she said. “Tim doesn’t have school today.”
Ron forced himself to acknowledge his son. “What do you say, Timmo?” he asked, his sarcasm bleeding into the edges of his words. “You want to get out of the house?”
Tim abruptly deposited his cereal bowl on the table. It sloshed milk onto the glass. “I’m going to Zack’s,” he said, as he rushed out of the kitchen.
And on that day, as Gail drove from the tennis court to lunch with friends, then to the Galleria, she’d check her lipstick in the rearview mirror, only mildly annoyed that Ron had shown such alacrity as a tour guide for the orphaned Chase girls. It was, after all, better than having them alone in the house all day. So while Gail purchased gifts for her husband and son, and even herself, Mary was coyly biting her lip as she snapped pictures of Ron with her Polaroid camera. So Hannah and I can remember our trip.
So it went for the next few days—the accidental meetings of feet and ankles under the table, the playful stretches that exposed a swath of smooth belly. Gail couldn’t really be blamed for not noticing. Mary was so careful, so subtle. As it was the holiday season, Gail had plenty of excuses to get out of the house away from her burdensome houseguests, so Mary’s most overt advances were timed with Gail’s frequent absences. But Mary made no such accommodations for Tim, whom she often caught looking at her as if she were something mesmerizing but terrible.
Ron played his part well, too, lingering after breakfast when he would have typically departed for work, coming home early and offering to take the girls for a ride on the golf cart—all under the guise of being a good host.
“They’re going to want to stay,” Mary heard Gail whine on Christmas Eve; she listened outside Gail and Ron’s bedroom door while they finished wrapping gifts. “You mark my words; they’re living high on the hog here, and this visit is going to end up being longer than a week.”
“Oh, please, Gail,” snapped Ron.
“I just think giving them that kind of gift is going to make things worse!” Gail’s voice whistled like a kettle. “It’s inappropriate!”
“You can tell me what is and what is not appropriate when you earn a fucking dime, Gail!” bellowed Ron. “Because until then, every cent that is spent in this house is mine, and I’m the only one fit to deem what is and isn’t appropriate.”
And on Christmas morning, when Mary and Hannah opened their matching gold lockets, Mary beamed and let her eyes go wet. “Thank you,” she said, her voice a sob-suppressing whisper. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”
Gail gave Mary a tight smile and took a sip of her mimosa, her crossed leg bouncing while Ron beamed. “You’re welcome,” he said.
“Isn’t it pretty, Bunny?” she asked Hannah, who was staring at her own golden oval. “It’s a necklace.”
Mary pulled Hannah’s from the box and draped it over her neck, watching as Hannah brought the locket close to her face for inspection.
“Can someone help me put mine on?” asked Mary, her eyes moving between Gail and Ron.
After a moment, Ron spoke up. “Sure,” he said, in a manner that was intended to mask his eagerness, but Mary saw his pleasure as he started to stand. She walked over and handed him the box with a Bambi smile, then turned and lifted her silky black hair to reveal the curve of her bare neck.
And as Ron fastened the gold clasp, his fingertips brushing her skin, Mary stared across the room at Tim, who appeared to be the one person who might have fully understood just what Mary Chase was playing at. But no one could have been more helpless to stop her.
Ron was in good spirits the rest of the day, his mood having an inverse relationship to his wife’s. They both downed drink after drink, moving from mimosas to Bloody Marys to vodka tonics, but as Ron grew jovial, Gail became dark. She remained perched on a stool in the kitchen for much of the day, watching as her foolish husband openly flirted with her very young cousin. Maybe Gail thought she’d have a serious talk with him about it later. Maybe she thought she’d nip this transgression in the bud and put an end to his nonsense. You’re making a fool of yourself! she’d say. You realize that you’re old enough to be her father? She had no idea how close Ron was to the precipice.
Tim had disappeared to his room as soon as the gifts were opened and only resurfaced briefly for dinner, where he took a few bites of the beef Wellington and scalloped potatoes that his mother had purchased from a local caterer and heated in her professional-quality range. Gail went to bed soon after dinner as well, disgusted and annoyed by her husband’s display but thinking it nothing more than a middle-aged man’s pathetic diversion and taking two sleeping pills that night to tamp it from her mind. Mary put Hannah to bed, and then it was just she and Ron.
He was sitting on the sectional when she came back downstairs, his arm resting on the seatback. Mary’s lip gloss was freshly applied, her hair was brushed, and in her hands was her Polaroid.
“I want to take some more pictures,” she said. “This place is so pretty.”
Ron patted the seat next to him. “Come sit.”
Mary obliged and took the seat next to him. She stretched her long tanned legs out over Gail’s cream leather as she looked about the room. “Gail has such good taste.”
Ron looked down and exhaled at the mention of his wife’s name. “Gail has expensive taste,” he said, and then he looked at Mary, this sugar-sweet young beauty who had never run up his American Express bill, had never insisted on private school for his pussy son, or made him go to couple’s therapy.
Mary sunk down lower into the couch and rolled onto her hip to face him. Then she snapped another photo. “Merry Christmas,” she said, with a giggle, as he leaned forward, rubbing his eyes and blinking against the surprise of the flash.
“Give me that,” he teased, as he groped for the camera, his eyes still closed. Mary tried to hold the camera above her head as he blindly reached for it. Mary let out small playful shrieks and laughed as she maneuvered away from his grabs. But then came the inevitable moment of their tussle when his body found its way on top of hers, their faces inches apart, and she smelled the liquor on his breath. And from the quick flash of doubt that crossed his face, Mary saw that she might lose him, so she adjusted her hips and bit her lips and let out a barely audible little moan. Then she loosely aimed the camera that she still held extended out in her arm to point the lens at Ron and herself. “Say cheese,” she said, with a coy smile, as she hit the button. His mouth fell on hers to the mechanical sound of the print being pushed from the camera.
And though Mary felt reflexive arousal at Ron’s gyrations, she was able to judge his state of mind with near scientific clarity. At that moment, he was thinking of nothing besides being with her. He would have fucked her right there on his wife’s nine-thousand-dollar sofa.
“Come on,” she whispered, her voice baby soft. “Let’s go to your office.” And she twisted out from under him, camera still in hand, and ran giggling to his office as he staggered after her, drunk with want.
Mary put the camera to good use that night, using the nine remaining photos wisely, pretending it was all a playful little game. And when Ron flipped this beautiful girl onto her knees and had her from behind, she was sure that he had never before in his whole life been quite so happy.
Ron fell asleep that night on the leather couch in his office, naked. When he was lightly snoring, Mary extricated herself from his embrace and set to work, gathering up the photos that had been strewn around, then heading up to her and Hannah’s room to pack. She worked silently and quickly, refolding clothing and zipping the bags in the dim room, her hair tangled, her lips feeling raw.
At just before six in the morning, Mary loaded herself up with their luggage and brought it down to the garage, setting it just behind the automatic door. Then she went back up to the bedroom for Hannah. She slid her arms underneath her sister’s sleeping body. Hannah gave a startled intake of breath as she was lifted, then she settled against Mary, her eyes never opening. As Mary hurried down the stairs, Hannah made small noises, as if her consciousness were floating up to the surface.
The cab glided up just as Mary peered through the glass of the garage door. She pressed a button and the door rumbled to life, rising obediently.
Seeing Mary carrying Hannah, the driver had gotten out. “Can you get the bags?” Mary asked him, tilting her head behind her to the luggage that sat on the concrete floor.
The driver just nodded, looking at the beautiful Mary and the sleeping Hannah and the hideous grandeur of the house behind them. And as Mary settled Hannah into her seat, he hauled the three bags into the trunk, got back into the driver’s seat, and with unuttered urgency, sped away from chez Dackard.
“Where are we going?” asked Hannah, whose eyes were now open.
Mary adjusted in her seat, feeling the vinyl stick to her skin. She twisted a finger though a loop of her sister’s hair. “Away.”
Though Mary couldn’t have known it, Gail had already roused, the rumbling of the garage door having woken her. She had seen the bed empty next to her and shuffled down to Ron’s office. Ron, still naked, raised his head when his wife entered the room. It was with a politician’s practicality that he immediately wondered what exactly Gail knew, where exactly Mary was, and how exactly he could explain it all away.
Mary, as it turned out, was at that moment pulling out of Cocoplum Estates, staring at the bright red sunrise that had made its advance in the morning sky.
“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” said Mary, as she angled her head to better see the road, her arm around Hannah.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that there’ll probably be bad weather later.”
From the front seat, the cab driver met Mary’s eye in the rearview mirror. He was a black man who wore a short-sleeve button-down shirt and a baseball cap. If Mary had asked, he would have told her that his name was Terrance.
“You going to the airport?” he asked, his words long and languid.
“No,” said Mary. “The B & M Diner.”
“The B & M?” he asked, questioning.
“Yeah,” replied Mary. “The one by the Herald building.”
The streets were quiet as the cab glided through them; talk radio playing low enough for the words to be indiscernible. As the sisters made their way out of affluence, the buildings tightened and rose, and the sun burned through the early-morning haze. “This is right here,” said Terrance, finally, pulling up to a silver diner on the corner. He watched Mary look at the sign. “They got good steak and eggs.”
Mary paid the fare, and Terrance lifted the Chase girls’ bags out of the trunk, resting them on the sidewalk. “You want some help with those?” he asked, as Mary slung one over each shoulder, lifting the third to her chest.
“I got it. Thanks.”
The Chase girls went inside, taking a booth near the window. Two bags were stuck next to Hannah, the third next to Mary. When the waitress came, Mary ordered Hannah a stack of silver-dollar pancakes and a glass of orange juice.
“Anything else?” asked with waitress, without looking up from her order pad.
“Yeah, I’ll take a coffee,” replied Mary, closing the menu and extending it toward the waitress. “And the steak and eggs.”
“They’re famous here.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“That’ll be right out.”
“It’s okay,” Mary said. “We’re not in a rush.”
After the waitress left, Mary went to the pay phone outside and stared across the street at the large sand-yellow building with enormous words affixed to its exterior. THE MIAMI HERALD. Then she dialed the number that she had committed to memory.
The phone rang several times until the machine picked up. Gail’s smooth, practiced voice came over the tape. You’ve reached the Dackards, please leave a message and we’ll return your call just as soon as possible.
“Hello. This is—”
Mary heard the line being picked up.
“Mary,” he said, his voice steel smooth. And she couldn’t help but smile.
“Good morning, Ron.”
She heard him exhale loudly. “Where are you?”
At that, Gail’s voice burst into the background, her words running together in an indiscernible shriek. Ron put his hand over the receiver. “Shut the fuck up, Gail!”
Only when Gail was quiet did Mary speak again. “Did you have fun last night, Ron?”
She heard Ron try to steady his voice. He was opportunistic enough himself to recognize the trait in others. “I had a lot to drink, Mary.”
“That you did, Ron.” A couple passed, the man was following the woman, shouting at her in Spanish. “Crees que puedes hacerlo mejor que yo?”
“Why don’t you tell me where you are?” he said, with the forced calm of a hostage negotiator. “I can come pick you up and we can work this out.”
Mary’s smile grew broader. “I’m at the B & M Diner,” she said, relishing the pause. “Right by the Miami Herald.” And she would have given anything to see Ron’s face as he finally and fully put the pieces together. “You’re going to meet me here in three hours with ten thousand dollars in cash.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind.” His words were said through locked teeth.
“And if you don’t,” continued Mary, as if he hadn’t spoken, “I’m going to walk across the street and tell the reporters an interesting story about a freshman state senator and his wife’s cousin.” She paused, knowing that Ron was recalling the pictures and the look on his face as he smiled for the camera, cupping the breasts of a very pretty, very young girl.