“Just act normal,” Allan said.
A foot in front of the bumper, they parted hands and split up, Deana walking to the passenger door while Allan stepped to the driver’s door. She gripped the handle, thumb on the latch button, ready. Forcing her eyes away from the other car, she looked across the Mustang’s low roof and watched Allan bend over. She heard the rasp of his key entering the lock, the quiet thump of the button popping up. Allan swung his door open.
The other car sprang forward, roaring. Allan’s head snapped toward it. He was bright in the glare of its headlights, hunched over, mouth wide.
“Get in!” Deana yelled. Dropping the blanket, she ducked and peered through the door window. The ceiling light was on. Allan dived at the driver’s seat. The car got his legs, yanked him out. Deana lurched back, numb, as the speeding car ripped off the driver’s door.
It was slow motion.
It was impossible.
It was the door flipping upward, twisting, skidding across the hood of the Mustang with a trail of sparks and the car rushing past with Allan in front, hooked over the bumper, out of sight from his waist down, the rest of him draped across the side of the car, arms flapping loosely overhead.
Brakes screaming, the car had too much speed to stop before the edge of the lot. It bumped over the grass and smashed into a tree. The tree caught Allan in the rump. He was thrown backward from the waist, hair flying, arms flinging out.
The backup lights came on. The car shot backward. Allan rolled loose, hung in the air for a moment in front of the one working headlight, then dropped and tumbled.
Deana was numb, frozen. But there was a lucid corner of her mind that somehow took control. She peered through the window of the passenger door as the other car shot backward. Allan’s keys lay on the seat where they must have fallen when he was hit. Though she knew her door was locked, she thumbed the latch button anyway and jerked. The door stayed shut. The other car had stopped slightly ahead of the Mustang. Its door opened.
Deana ran.
She ran for the woods, not looking back.
FOUR
Dad sat at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and puffing on a cigar, while Mom helped Leigh with the dinner dishes. Most of the dishes, after being rinsed, went into the dishwasher. The crystal glasses, however, Leigh didn’t trust to the machine. Those were done by hand, Mom washing them while Leigh dried.
It didn’t take long, because there were no cooking utensils to contend with. The food had been prepared by the chef at the Bayside, delivered and served by two of Leigh’s best waiters, who had since returned to the restaurant.
When the last crystal wine goblet was dry, Leigh suggested after-dinner drinks. Dad, stubbing out his cigar, asked for Scotch and water. Mom wanted Bailey’s. Leigh stayed in the kitchen to prepare the drinks while her parents headed for the living room.
The evening had gone quite well, she thought. Dad and Mom both seemed to be in excellent spirits, as if oblivious to the rather scary fact that Dad was now only a year short of sixty.
Hell, they’re young. Damn young to have a thirty-seven-year-old daughter and a granddaughter who will be starting college in the fall. They’re both in good health. They’ve got plenty to be happy about.
Me, too.
She took her time pouring the drinks.
I’ve got two great parents, a beautiful, intelligent daughter, a thriving restaurant considered the finest place to dine in Tiburon. Not to mention the house. Fabulous house.
So what’s this jittery feeling in my stomach like something’s wrong? Nothing is wrong. Probably just that Deana’s out. It’s impossible to relax completely when she’s gone at night. So much could happen. A breakdown…
Allan seems reliable, though. He’ll take care of her.
That amused Leigh.
Other way around: Deana would be the one to take charge if a problem came up. Nothing will come up. She’ll waltz through the door around one o’clock—after the movies are over.
If they went to the movies at all.
Leigh set the glasses on a silver serving tray. She knew she was a bit tipsy, so she concentrated on holding the tray steady as she carried it past the dining area and down the single step to the living room. Mom was in the stuffed chair, Dad standing by the glass wall staring out at the view. He turned around as Leigh set the tray on a low table in front of the sofa.
“I can’t get over your view,” he said.
“Me, either.” Leigh had lived in this house for eight years and still found herself staring out at it daily.
“That was a lovely dinner,” Mom said.
Leigh handed her a snifter of Irish cream. “Beef Willington is Nelson’s specialty.”
“It’s such a shame that Deana had to leave early.”
Leigh smiled and fought an urge to roll her eyes upward. Mom had to start on that. Well, she could be counted upon to start on something, especially after a few drinks. “Mom, she and Allan canceled a dinner reservation so she could be here.”
“Why would she have a dinner reservation for tonight? Didn’t you tell her…?”
“We originally asked you over for last night, remember? But you and Dad had the club banquet.”
“It still wouldn’t have killed her to stay.”
“She has a life of her own,” Dad said. He took his Scotch and water from the tray and sat on the sofa. Leigh lifted her glass of Chablis off the tray. Holding it carefully, she lowered herself onto the sofa beside Dad. “I’m sure she has better things to do,” he continued, “than spend Friday night with a bunch of old fogeys.”
“We’re hardly old fogeys,” Mom pointed out. “It wouldn’t have killed her to spend one evening with her family.”
“She sees you all the time,” Leigh said. “It’s not as if you live in Timbuktu.”
“Wherever the hell that is,” Dad said. Smiling, he took a drink.
“What do you know about this Allan?” Mom asked.
“She’s been going with him for a couple of months. She met him in drama class.”
“He’s an actor?”
“I think he intends to be an attorney.”
“Great,” Dad said. “We could use a lawyer in the family. You know what they say—every family needs a lawyer, a doctor, and a plumber.” He grinned. “And a restaurateur, of course.”
“He’s hardly part of the family.”
“I don’t know, Helen, they looked pretty serious to me.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“And it is probably no coincidence,” he added, “that they both plan to attend Berkeley in the fall.”
“Berkeley,” Mom muttered. She rolled her eyes upward. “Don’t talk to me about Berkeley.”
“I don’t think it’s the same as when I was there,” Leigh told her.
“Well, thank God for that.”
Dad settled back against the cushion and crossed his legs. He looked at Leigh. “You turned out pretty well for a radical hippie chick.”
“Let’s drop this subject,” Mom said. “Uhhh. The absolute hell you put us through. Do you have any idea of the hell you put us through?”
Leigh sighed. She didn’t need this. “It was a long time ago,” she said.
“Your senior year in high school. That’s when it all started. You were just Deana’s age. She’s such a fine young lady. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
“We’re all pretty lucky,” Dad said. He patted Leigh’s knee and gave her one of those looks that said, Sorry about this. You know how Mom gets.
“How do you think you’d feel if Deana came home one fine day, dressed up like one of those ‘punks’ you see on the street corners in the city? How would that make you feel if her lovely hair was all chopped off and spiky like a bed of nails, and green? Or orange! Or maybe she comes home with a Mohawk, looking like Mr. T!”
Leigh couldn’t hold back her smile.
“You’d be smiling out of the other side of your face, young lady. Suppose she had a safety pin
in her cheek?”
“I never did any of that,” Leigh told her.
“Only because it didn’t happen to be ‘in’ at the time.”
“What movies did they go to?” Dad asked.
“I’m not sure. A double feature in San Anselmo, I think.”
“We went to see—”
“You should’ve seen yourself,” Mom interrupted. “You looked like one of those Manson girls.”
“Mom.”
“Helen.”
“God only knows what might’ve become of you if we hadn’t shipped you off to Uncle Mike’s.” A pause. “And then look what happened.”
Leigh felt as if an icicle had been thrust into her belly.
“Damn it, Helen!” Dad snapped.
“Well, it’s the truth. You know it’s the truth.” Her eyes watered up. Her lower lip began to tremble. “Don’t raise your voice at me,” she said with a tremor.
“You push it and push it. We’re supposed to be here for a good time. The last thing Leigh needs is to have that summer thrown into her face.”
Mom took a drink of Bailey’s. She stared into the snifter, weeping quietly. “I was…just trying to make a point.”
Leigh got up from the sofa. Crouching next to her mother, she said, “Hey, it’s all right.” She had a lump in her throat, tears in her own eyes. She stroked her mother’s hair. “That was so long ago. Everything’s fine now, isn’t it?”
“You put us through such hell.”
“I was pretty much of a creep there for a while. But now is what counts. The present. I’m not so bad now, am I?”
“Oh, honey,” she said, sobbing. “I love you.” She pulled Leigh’s head down and kissed her. Leigh stayed at her side while she took out Kleenex and wiped her eyes and nose. Her mascara was smeared, making her look a little weird, somehow reminding Leigh of Bette Davis in Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte, though Mom didn’t look nearly as old or weird as Charlotte. “The beef Willington was absolutely delicious,” she finally said, signaling her recovery.
“It’s Nelson’s specialty,” Leigh said. Hadn’t they been through this before? She didn’t mind. “You two really should come to the Bayview more often,” she said, returning to the sofa and picking up her wine.
“We don’t like to take advantage,” Dad said, looking vastly relieved. His eyes were red. He, too, must have been weeping.
“You’re not taking enough advantage,” Leigh told him.
“You’d see us there more often if you’d let us pay for our meals occasionally.”
“If that’s what it takes,” she said.
Some of the tension remained, and they soon got up to leave.
“I wish we could stick around till Deana gets back,” Dad said, “but that might be a while, and I’ve got eighteen holes waiting for me in the morning.”
They walked toward the door.
“Why don’t you and Deana come over next week,” Mom suggested. “We’ll barbecue, and the pool’s nice and warm with all this hot weather we’ve been having.”
“That sounds nice.”
“And tell Deana to bring her friend.”
“All right.”
“We really didn’t get much of a chance to visit with her tonight.”
“I know. I’m sorry about that.”
“You should bring a friend too.”
Let’s not start on that, Leigh thought. The one touchy subject that had fortunately been avoided until now.
“Really, darling, you’re thirty-seven and—”
“We’d better be on our way,” Dad interrupted. He hugged Leigh and kissed her cheek. “I had a wonderful time, sweety. Thanks so much for the dinner and presents. And give our love to Deana.”
“I will. Happy birthday, Dad.” He patted her rump and turned away to open the door.
“Next Saturday, all right?” Mom asked.
“You’re on.”
They hugged and kissed.
Leigh followed them out to the driveway, waited there while they climbed into their Mercedes, and waved as Dad backed the car up the steep driveway.
Inside, she shut the door, leaned back against it, and sighed.
Over.
At least Deana hadn’t been around to witness Mom’s tantrum.
She gathered up the glasses, took them into the kitchen, and rinsed out the milky residue of Mom’s Irish cream. She would wash them in the morning.
She had the house to herself. It felt good. If only she could get rid of that nervous feeling about Deana. From several years of experience, however, she knew that wouldn’t go away until Deana returned.
She looked at the clock. Not even ten-thirty. The first movie was probably just ending. Deana probably wouldn’t be home till one. A long wait.
So make the most of it.
Out on the deck, shivering as the breeze found its way through her gown, Leigh twisted a knob to heat the water in her redwood hot tub. She hurried back inside and walked down the long hallway to her bedroom at the far end of the house. There, she slipped out of her clothes and put on a soft, bulky bathrobe.
There was a greasy stain on the breast of her gown from a glob of Hollandaise that had dripped off an asparagus spear. She took the gown into the bathroom and scrubbed at the spot with hot water. She threw it over a bedroom chair. It would have to go to the cleaners. She tossed her undergarments into the hamper. She lined up her shoes on the closet floor. No hurry. She wanted the water in the redwood tub to be good and hot before she ventured out again.
Dropping onto her bed, she checked TV Guide. One of the local channels would be showing a repeat of an old Saturday Night Live show at 11:00. She remembered watching one of the current SNLs with Deana a couple of weeks ago. Deana had found humor in strange places.
Generation gap.
She thought about her mother.
Mom’s right. I’m damn lucky Deana hasn’t gone freaky, the way I went when I was her age.
Pretty harmless stuff, though.
Except for that sit-in. That’s what got to them, the idea that their wonderful daughter almost got herself thrown in the slammer. That’s what did it. That’s why they sent you to Uncle Mike’s…
Her stomach knotted cold.
Quickly, she rolled off the bed and took a towel from the closet. She hurried down the hall.
Don’t think about it.
Do not.
I’ll watch the TV when I come in. A toss-up between a Cagney & Lacey rerun. Or Titanic. Again. Or…anything that takes my mind off what Deana is up to right now.
Leigh left the foyer light on, then made a circuit of the kitchen, dining area, and living room, turning off all the lights. Stepping outside, she slid the glass door shut behind her. She flicked a switch to start the bubbles, climbed the three stairs beside her tub, and dropped her towel onto the platform. She took off her robe. Gritted her teeth at the feel of the breeze.
Quickly, she stepped over the side of the tub. The warm water wrapped her leg to the knee. Not bad, but it would get better as the heat increased. She lifted her other foot over the edge, stood on the submerged seat, then stepped off and crouched, covering herself to the shoulders, sighing with relief as the water eased her chill. For a while, she didn’t move. The water swirled, its warm currents caressing her like gentle, exploring hands.
Then she glided forward, stretching over the front rim and peering over the top, higher than the deck railing, so she had an unobstructed view.
Below, most of the houses at the foot of the hill were lighted. A lone car circled the cul-de-sac and pulled into the Stevensons’ driveway. Off to the left, a car crept up Avenida Mira Flores, turned toward her, and dipped down the slope. Much too early to be Allan’s car. Over the tops of the hills, she could see a piece of Belvedere Island rising out of the bay, dark except for a few specks of light from streetlamps, house windows, and cars.
Beyond Belvedere, far off in the distance, the northern end of the Golden Gate was visible—red lights on top of its tower, cab
les sloping down. The bridge was often shrouded in fog, but not tonight. Nor was there fog sneaking over the tops of the hills beyond Sausalito. Too bad. The fog was always so lovely in the moonlight, glowing like a thick mat of snow and always moving, always changing. She watched the headlights of cars on Waldo Grade, then lowered her eyes to the lights of Sausalito.
Leigh rarely went to Sausalito anymore. It was no longer a town, it was a traffic jam. She shook her head, remembering how she used to love that place. Back in her high school days. A century ago. God, the hours she used to spend there, wandering around. It had street people then, not just tourists. It had the Charles Van Damm: The ancient, beached stern-wheeler was a coffeehouse in those days, and she used to sit in the smoky darkness far into the night, listening to the singers. The guy with the twelve-string who did “The Wheel of Necessity.” Leigh sighed. She hadn’t heard that song in about twenty years.
Staring out at the swath of Sausalito lights, she could hear it in her head—the pounding thrum of guitar chords, the raspy, plaintive voice of the singer. What had become of him? What was his name—Ron? He was the best. “The Wheel of Necessity.” She’d forgotten all about that song. It must have been Mom’s talk about the early days that helped stir her memory.
Ah, the water felt good. Releasing the tub’s edge, she eased backward to the far side. The bench rubbed her rump. She sat low, stretched out her legs, and let the roiling water lift them. She held on to the edge of the seat to keep herself from drifting up. The water was very hot now, wisps of steam rising off its surface.
She closed her eyes.
“The House of the Rising Sun”—that was another one the guy used to sing. Sometimes, she hadn’t been able to force herself to leave. On a couple of occasions, she didn’t get home until almost two o’clock. No wonder she drove her parents crazy. If Deana ever stayed out that late…
She wondered what Deana and Allan were up to. If they really stayed for both shows, they would have to drive straight back here to arrive by one o’clock. Deana had said she would be back by one, and she was reliable that way.
The Lake Page 3
