Model thin and movie-star pretty, Carlyn met and married Buddy, a wealthy trust funder who dabbled in expensive wine and cars. He built them a mansion along the fashionable banks of Montecito’s Cold Spring Creek, and after several rounds of IVF, Carlyn gave birth to twins. Their daughters grew up to be drop-dead gorgeous and local volleyball champs. No drugs for either of those girls. No penchant for teenage depression. They breezed through their high school years and snagged sports scholarships to Stanford.
I flick a crumb from the table and gaze at an elderly woman who wanders in for a cup of tea. She’s wearing a ragged yellow dress with an unraveled hem that dips below her bony knees. The way she pries her change from her wallet makes me think of our destitute guests. I’ve prepared Kai’s ranking as ordered, but I have yet to forward it on. One of the things stopping me is the name that tops the list. As the oldest of our residents, how will Eleanor Kingsley find a new home?
I get angry every time I think of Kai’s directive. He may have found an “out” in the contract, but it’s against everything we stand for. When our guests shelled out deposits topping a million dollars, they were assured of their access to forever care, their lifetime of housing and support even if their finances took a turn. That’s why we’re so damn picky at the time of entry, why we demand healthy guests with even healthier financials. This is a common practice in an industry that bitterly competes for the wealthiest of patrons. The top 10 percent of 1 percenters can go anywhere they choose.
Lost Horizons advertises their own form of forever care. So how they can support Kai and his pathetic decision, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is we promised to care for each and every one of our guests until they take their last breath. Not “we.” “I.” I personally promised everyone I signed up. I looked them straight in the eye. When guests find out we’ve reneged on that key benefit, they’ll never trust management again, let alone trust me. My reputation will be in tatters; my career will end in shambles. Dear God. I take a sip of coffee and work to calm my nerves.
A disheveled woman enters the Klatch dressed in black stretch pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I look away and then do a double take. Carlyn? The woman lifts her hand and waves, and I force a smile and wave back. She makes her purchase and heads for my table with coffee and doughnut in hand. I can’t believe how much older she looks. Has it only been a year?
“Hi there.” I get to my feet and move in for a hug, but Carlyn takes a step back. I return to my seat, smile frozen. “How are you?” I ask, trying my best to mask how awkward I feel.
Carlyn settles into her seat with a tilt of her head and sarcasm narrowing her eyes. “How do you think?” Her blonde hair has gone gray and limp. There are patches of scalp peeking through. Her once sparkling eyes are sunk in shadows, her face bloated with newfound weight.
“I know it’s been a tough year,” I try.
“Tough eighteen months,” she responds, her gaze raking my face.
“Of course. And I’m sorry I haven’t reached out.” I take a sip of my now tepid coffee and begin to chatter away. “I’ve been incredibly busy. Work has been crazy. And of course Adam got married last June.” My voice fades. I’ve hit my first snag. Carlyn is Adam’s godmother. “The wedding was quite small,” I try, “held on a beach in San Diego. They invited only a few of their closest friends and family.” I don’t mention I didn’t attend.
“Text me their address, and I’ll send a card.” Carlyn takes a bite from her cream-filled doughnut, and sugar dust coats her chin. “How about Alice? She doing well?”
“Fantastic.” My tone registers false in my ears. “She’s traveling with a band on the East Coast. Atlas Shrugged. They’re hugely popular. They might even win a Grammy.” Why I said that, I have no idea. It’s not like me to stretch the truth. “How’s Buddy?” I ask, ready to change the subject.
She tilts her head and eyes me curiously. “You must know he left me when the shit hit the fan.”
“Why, no . . .”
“Surprising. It’s all the chatter in Montecito. In fact, he’s moved in with Eileen Van Meter.”
“Arthur Van Meter’s widow?”
“Yep. The former wife of the evil conman himself. Can you imagine their pillow talk? ‘My spouse was the worst criminal ever. No, mine was.’ They’re the perfect pair. In fact, the twins traveled with them to Europe on their summer break. Just one big happy family.”
I nod. Things are worse than I thought. “And where are you living?”
“In a friend’s rental apartment on the lower east side. Dear woman took pity on me. Otherwise, I’d be homeless.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“It is what it is.” A couple of strands of gray hair float to the table, and Carlyn pats her head. “I’ve been losing it,” she says.
“Losing what?”
“My hair. My doctor says it’ll grow back when my life gets back to normal. But I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” She flicks the strands from the table. “And to think I used to worry about covering my roots. What I wouldn’t give for a full head of hair.”
“I’ll bet your doctor’s right,” I offer. “I bet it grows back sooner than you think.”
“Glad you’ve turned into an optimist. Me? I’ve gone the other way.” Carlyn sniffs. “It’s been hard, you know.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can you?”
“But things have a way of working out.”
“Do they?”
What can I say that doesn’t sound false, because false is how I feel. “I’m sorry I haven’t reached out,” I try. “It’s not just the kids. There’s been a lot going on at work.” I drop my voice, trolling for sympathy. “I have a new boss, and he’s young and angling to get rid of me and . . .”
Carlyn lifts a hand and waves it as if she is waving away my words. “Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who’s shunned me.”
“I haven’t shunned you.” I start fiddling with my Fitbit like I’m trying to get the thing to work.
“No?” She picks up a spoon and stirs her coffee. “I’ve been dumped by all my friends. My coworkers. My husband. My daughters.” She looks up. “You do know Buddy and the girls were out of town when it happened.”
“On a ski trip, right?”
“Right. I guess that part was all over the news. The part that wasn’t was that Buddy ordered Yolanda to clean the house while he was away.”
“He did?”
“He’ll never admit it, but yes. Ash from the Thomas Fire had leaked into the house and was wreaking havoc on his sinuses. He told her he wanted it cleaned up, ASAP. So in a way, he’s partly responsible for her death, but he refuses to take any share of the blame. Anyway, that’s a story for another day. Back to the subject at hand. Truth is, I’ve been dumped by almost everyone I know.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“It’s not that I blame you.” She sets down her spoon and examines her ragged nails. “If the tables were turned, I’d probably do the same. I mean, who stays friends with a person accused of manslaughter, especially when there’s an innocent woman involved?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, and she fixes her gaze on mine. “I know what you’re thinking. Yolanda wasn’t a woman. She was a child. All of fifteen. But I swear I thought she was twenty, and she had the papers to prove it. How was I to know her documents were forged?”
I open my mouth to answer, but there’s nothing I can say. It’s true. We all make mistakes. But the night before the mudslide, Carlyn evacuated with her gal pals to the safety of the Fairmont, leaving her housekeeper behind. It’s as if she abandoned the girl on a sinking ship. A terrible thought, but true.
“No one could’ve predicted the mudslide,” she says.
But in fact, they had. With the hillsides newly blackened by fire, an approaching storm triggered mandatory evacuations. The local Office of Emergency Management warned that the forecasted heavy rainfall could inundate the area creeks. And unfortu
nately, they were right. In the early-morning hours of January 9, a catastrophic mudslide swept down from the mountains, devouring everything in its path. Two dozen people died in the slide, including Yolanda Hernandez.
Carlyn shakes her head with a look of disbelief. “I had hoped . . . had believed . . . Yolanda had escaped.”
But she hadn’t. And when Yolanda’s father came looking for his daughter, Carlyn had lied and said she’d dropped the girl at a Red Cross shelter the night before the slide. She kept the lie going after repeated questioning, first by emergency personnel and then by the police. Weeks later, a disaster volunteer found Yolanda’s torso wedged under a pile of boulders at the bottom of the creek. Carlyn was arrested and charged with perjury and manslaughter. Her story made the national headlines for weeks. “Selfish Montecito Housewife Implicated in Teenager’s Tragic Death.”
“Anyway . . .” Carlyn takes a deep breath. “I’m here at my lawyer’s request. I need a few character witnesses. People who can vouch for my integrity at the upcoming trial. And you’ve known me longer than most.”
I fix my gaze on a dusty light fixture, pondering how best to answer. The trial is sure to be in the news, and Kai would learn of my involvement. The bad publicity could seal my fate, another chance to lose my job. “But what would I say?” I ask.
Carlyn’s cheeks turn pink, and her eyes begin to water. “Oh, Ruth. Couldn’t you tell the truth? That I’m a good person. That you’ve known me for decades and I’ve never once done anything wrong?”
“I guess . . . but . . .”
“But what? One moment of thoughtless stupidity is meant to destroy my entire life?”
“Well . . .”
“I was scared, Ruth. Horribly scared. Have you ever felt that way?”
“Of course.”
“Then you’ll help me?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll think about it.”
Carlyn wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I swear, Ruth. I swear to God I had no idea the house would give. And if I didn’t admit the truth at first, what did I truly do wrong? My speaking up wouldn’t have changed the outcome. I didn’t kill Yolanda. I did something stupid. Something selfish. Something I’ll always regret. But who goes through life without making mistakes? Huh? Tell me? I mean, most people get to hide their secrets, while mine got spread around the world.” She reaches out and takes my hand. Her fingers are as cold as ice. “So will you help me . . . please?”
My cell phone chimes, and I glance at it, relieved. “I’m sorry,” I say, withdrawing my hand. “I have to leave. There’s a problem at work.”
Carlyn’s eyes narrow. “Of course there is. You’re such a busy woman.”
“It’s just . . .”
She tugs a business card from her wallet and slaps it on the table. “Leo Silverstein is an old friend and a damn good lawyer. He’s doing his best to help me but needs some community support. Just talk to him, please? Will you do that? Will you please give him a call?”
I pick up the card, avoiding her eyes. “If I can find the time . . .”
“The time?” Carlyn’s shoulders droop. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends.”
“But you’re not going to call him, are you?”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
“Of all people . . .”
“I really have to go.”
Carlyn leans forward, hands gripping the table. Her face has changed. Hardened. It’s like I’m speaking to someone else. “We’re a lot alike, you know.” Her breath smells sour. I lean back.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we both have our secrets. Only yours hasn’t been exposed to the world.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. And if your secret comes to light, you may not go to jail, but you sure as hell will lose what’s left of your friends and family.”
I get to my feet. “I have to go.”
“We’re more alike than you care to admit. Our sin is not about what we said but what we didn’t say.”
I take a few steps back.
“Zach told me,” Carlyn calls out in a loud voice. “What the two of you did. How you kept it a secret. My God, when I think of poor Adam and the guilt resting on his shoulders. No wonder he’s had issues. Who wouldn’t?” She leans back, arms folded. “You think you know someone, and then they disappoint.”
The world around me slows. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“Am I?”
“Zach must’ve been drunk.”
She shakes her head, and several strands of hair drift into her lap. “He wasn’t drunk. He was perfectly sober. In fact, I’ve met with him several times. He’s the only one from our old group to reach out. I’m very thankful for that.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
“Then let me help. He told me your secret over lunch. Said he understood what I was going through. How split-second decisions can change a life. And how keeping them secret can make things worse. Then he shared your secret with me.”
I turn and rush out of the café, my heart slamming against my chest.
Six
Friday, August 30
After pulling into a shady spot in the staff parking lot, I fumble for my cell phone and leave a voice mail. “Call me, Zach. Now!” Opening my car windows, I fume as I wait. How could he? Why would he? I hit redial.
“I swear to God, Zach . . .” I look up to see Ember rushing past my car, a look of horror on her face. A wild-eyed hippie follows, dressed in a tank top and shorts. “Wait!” he cries. “I just want to talk.” The duo disappears into the pool pavilion, and I hang up on Zach and call in a code orange. Then I rush to the enclosure, where protocol dictates I wait for backup. But when I hear raised voices, I head inside to find Ember standing frozen on the empty pool deck, the intruder down on his knees. “Please listen,” he cries, his hands folded as if in prayer.
I weave between the wrought iron furniture surrounding the tranquil turquoise pool. “What’s going on here?” I call. “Ember, are you all right?”
The man gets to his feet and turns to me, muscles bulging. “This is a private conversation. Get out.” I’d be frightened if it weren’t for the tears streaming down his face.
“Ember?” I call. “Do you know this man?”
She nods and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “His name is Bodie. I don’t want him here.”
I do my best to sound tough. “This is private property, Bodie. I don’t know how you got in, but you’re trespassing.”
“I’m not leaving without my Joy.”
Joy? “Security is on their way. Leave now, or they’ll have you arrested.”
The man fists his hands like a boxer, his body throbbing with a threat. “I just want to talk.”
I glance at Ember, and she shakes her head. “She doesn’t want to speak with you,” I say.
“It’s none of your business.”
“Actually, it is my business. I’m in charge here. I’m Ember’s boss.”
“Get out!”
“That’s it.” I lift my cell phone. “Security is on their way, and if you don’t leave the premises immediately, I will call the police.”
Bodie turns to Ember. “Come with me,” he begs. “Please. Just this once. I can’t stand it anymore. We have to talk.”
Ember is trembling so hard her voice vibrates. “I can’t, Bodie. I won’t. You know you’re not allowed near me.”
Bodie grasps at his hair like a crazy man. “I’m clean now; I promise. And I’m so, so sorry.” His voice breaks into sobs. “I can’t live like this. You’ve got to forgive me.”
“All right. I forgive you. Now leave.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’s all I have.”
I feel like I’m in the midst of some tragic Shakespearean play. “Please do what Ember asks,” I say, wanting this incident to end. “Leave before someone gets hurt.”
&nb
sp; “Her name’s not Ember,” Bodie cries. “It’s Joy.” He leaps and grabs Ember, and her body goes limp as if she has melted into his arms.
“Let go of her,” I order.
“Get out of my way.”
“What going on here?” a man calls from behind. I turn to see Ted Barnet, the new security guard who arrived with Finn. He’s short and has the squared-off look of a bulldog that has too many teeth in his mouth. He’s holding a gun. A gun? Since when do we have guns on campus?
“We have an intruder,” I say. “But don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t hurt the asshole unless he doesn’t do what I say.”
Bodie takes a few steps forward, Ember whimpering in his arms. “I’m not going to hurt her. We just need to talk.”
“Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Bodie freezes.
“There won’t be any shooting,” I say.
“Not if this asshole listens to me.”
Bodie holds Ember tight. “I have a right to speak to my wife.”
Wife?
Barnet waves his gun back and forth and fixes his gaze on me. “What is this?” he asks in a shrill voice. “Some kind of lover’s quarrel? He do this before? He the one that messed up her face?”
“I don’t know.” I fix my eyes on Bodie. “If you care for Ember, er . . . Joy, then let her go. If you do, we’ll let you leave quietly. If you don’t, you’ll be arrested.”
“Or shot,” Barnet mutters.
Bodie shakes his head. “I’m not going to leave her.”
“Then you’ll be charged with kidnapping. Is that what you want?”
“Please,” Ember says, beginning to struggle. “Please, Bodie. Let me go.”
Bodie seems to consider her request, his eyes glistening with tears. “All right.” He carefully sets Ember on a lounge chair. “But you’ll talk to me now, won’t you? You’ll return my calls?”
“No, Bodie,” she says in a soft voice. “I want you to leave me alone.”
“Come on,” Barnet says, waving his gun at Bodie. “Get your ass moving, or I swear I’ll shoot.”
“Here. Drink this. A little water will help.” Ember and I have made our way to the memorial garden, where the shade makes the air feel a little cooler. Ember slumps onto the cement bench, looking faded and drained. She reaches for the unopened water bottle I store in my car for emergencies. After taking several sips, she sets it down with a painful smile.
What She Never Said Page 12
