by Ingrid Thoft
“You want some lunch?” Patty asked as she gathered the boys out of the pool.
“How about a burger and some fries? Thanks. I just need to check my messages.”
Her nephew Chandler stood next to her, dripping water on her shoes.
“Does it smell yet?” He gestured at her cast.
Fina gave him a searching look. “Does that really happen?”
“It does when you shove a piece of cheese down it,” Patty offered as she burrowed in her bag for hats for the boys.
“Note to self: Don’t keep cheese in cast,” Fina said. Chandler beamed.
Haley threw on a T-shirt and followed Patty and the boys over to an empty table. Fina sat down on the chaise and checked her messages.
She was staring into space when Dr. Murray interrupted her reverie.
“You never look like you’re relaxing when I see you here, Fina. In fact, you look tense.”
Dr. Murray was wearing swim trunks and a golf shirt. In one hand, he carried a navy blue canvas bag, and in the other, a biography of Mark Twain.
“It’s that obvious?”
“To the trained eye,” Dr. Murray said and smiled.
“Has your daughter had her baby yet?”
“No, although she’d like to. She’s entered the home stretch and just can’t get comfortable.”
“Does she know what she’s having?”
“A girl.”
“Nice.” Fina stood up so she could be eye level with Dr. Murray. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“It’s of a professional nature.”
Dr. Murray nodded.
“What makes one teenage girl toe the line and another get into trouble? Aside from the obvious: personality, parenting, that kind of thing.”
Dr. Murray shrugged his shoulders. “Well, the obvious accounts for a lot. If we could identify the less obvious factors, maybe we could do a better job of steering kids away from trouble.”
“Right, of course. I was just thinking about the extreme end of the spectrum: excessive drugs and drinking, risky sexual behavior.”
“There are the usual things, like a genetic predisposition to addiction, a need for attention, thrill-seeking, lack of self-esteem.”
“And girls who work in the sex industry?”
Dr. Murray glanced around. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to speak with me in my office about this?”
“I don’t have time, but please, bill me.”
“I’m not worried about my fee. I’m worried about giving you incomplete or misguided information.”
“I’m not going to sue you. I promise.”
He chewed on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Well, young women who work in the sex industry—and keep in mind this isn’t my specialty—generally suffer from all the issues I mentioned, but there’s another similarity in their experiences.”
“Which is?”
“Childhood abuse. Specifically, sexual abuse.”
Fina reached into her cast and scratched the area around her thumb. She was intent on the task as she waited for the lump in her throat to subside. Dr. Murray stood quietly. Fina looked over at the door leading to the kitchen. The waitstaff hustled in and out in their white polo shirts and khaki shorts, rushing to bring chicken fingers and fries to those to the manor born.
“But wouldn’t there be a lot more hookers if every abuse victim became one?”
“Ah, but I’m not suggesting that every abuse victim works in the sex trade. I’m suggesting, as the research has indicated, that of the women working in the sex trade, a high percentage of them were victims of childhood abuse—sexual abuse.”
“I understand.”
Dr. Murray followed Fina’s gaze across the pool to the eating area. “The most critical thing for any abuse victim is to get counseling. Good counseling. It can make a significant difference.”
Fina nodded slowly.
“If you ever find yourself in need of such a resource, I would be happy to provide a referral.”
“I appreciate that,” Fina said. She waved at Patty, who was trying to get her attention. “Hope that baby comes soon.”
Dr. Murray patted her shoulder. “Me too. I can’t wait to meet her.”
Fina joined the group at the table and tried not to stare at Haley throughout lunch. The boys provided a welcome distraction, and Patty maintained a running commentary about a potential kitchen renovation. She glanced nervously at Fina, who ate her burger and fries seemingly in a trance. After everyone had finished, Fina grabbed a can of diet soda for the road and followed them back to their chairs.
“Are you doing okay?” Fina asked Haley as her niece settled back into her chaise.
Haley’s eyes looked blank. “Yeah.”
Fina leaned down and gave her a hug. “You’re safe now. From everything,” she whispered in Haley’s ear.
Haley’s eyes watered. Fina gave Patty a quick squeeze, waved to the boys, and hit the road.
Fina pulled up to Risa’s house wondering how she got there, but at the same time, not surprised that she had. Sometimes she had to trust that her unconscious mind had a better grip than her conscious mind.
Risa’s lawn was lush and green despite the heat, as were those of the neighbors. Come five A.M., the street probably twinkled with the mist of inground sprinkler systems.
Fina climbed the steps and knocked. After a minute, Risa appeared in the front hallway and opened the door.
“I’m surprised to see you,” she told Fina, and gave her a hug.
“Really?”
“Since your brother’s arrest, I assumed that we were on opposite sides.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that. Do you have a few minutes?”
Risa opened the door wider, and Fina followed her to the kitchen. The air in the house was cool and fragrant.
“It feels good in here,” Fina said.
“Central AC. We put it in when we did the renovation. It’s a godsend, especially during these freak heat spells.”
Fina sat down at the kitchen island and watched Risa wash her hands in the large farmhouse-style sink.
“I just tried a new recipe,” Risa said. “Want some pie?”
“Always. What kind?”
“I have apricot raspberry and banoffee, which is bananas and toffee. I’m trying to decide which to serve at a luncheon. The apricot raspberry is lighter, more seasonal, but the ladies do love their sweets.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“I’ll give you a little of both.”
Risa reached into a cabinet and pulled out two dessert plates onto which she doled out wedges from both pies and scoops of ice cream. “Raspberry iced tea?” She held up a glass in Fina’s direction.
“Yes, thanks.”
The ice cream pooled into the side of the apricot raspberry slice, and Fina broke through the sugared crust with her fork. She washed down the bite with tea, and then scooped up a forkful of whipped cream, bananas, and toffee. Risa took the seat next to her and broke off a piece of crust from her slice of fruit pie. They ate in silence.
“That toffee is sweet,” Risa said after a couple of minutes.
“Sweet, but delicious. It gets my vote. The apricot raspberry is yummy, too, but I always feel like a fruit dessert is a bait and switch.”
Risa considered the opinion and then ate another bite of the apricot raspberry. She set down her fork. “So.”
“So,” Fina said.
“So Rand was arrested.”
“He was. I still don’t think he did it. In fact, I’m gathering evidence that he didn’t.”
Risa raised an eyebrow.
“But I’m not here about that, actually.” Fina speared a banana slice and dredged it through the toffee. “Did you have any sense of th
e family dynamics with the three of them? Melanie, Rand, and Haley?”
“Why don’t you ask them? Rand and Haley, I mean.”
Fina studied the ice in her drink. “I’m asking lots of questions, but I’m interested in another perspective. You spent time with all of them, and you always have an opinion.”
Risa smirked. “Yes, I suppose I do. Well.” She popped a wedge of apricot into her mouth and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “I think they were functionally dysfunctional.”
“Which means?”
“Which means from the outside they looked highly functional, and they did function—everybody went to work and school and had a social life, et cetera—but the way they interacted wasn’t especially healthy. Not that I’m an expert.”
“No, but you and Marty seem happy, and your kids aren’t train wrecks.”
“This is true. Everything with those three was always an extreme; either they were fighting or buying diamonds or grounding Haley or letting her run wild. A couple more kids would have helped. Spread out the drama.”
“Or increased it,” Fina commented. “Had it been worse recently?”
“Haley seemed more distant.” Risa thought for a moment. “Distant from Melanie and pissed at Rand.”
Fina drained her glass of iced tea and pressed her fingertip on a flake of crust on her plate.
“But,” Risa said, sighing, “she’s also his little girl.”
Fina shuddered. Risa tipped her head in a questioning way. “Just got a chill from the AC,” Fina said.
“You done?” Risa asked. She took Fina’s plate and glass and rinsed them in the sink with her own. “If I’ve learned anything as I’ve gotten older, it’s that you never know what’s going on in someone else’s marriage or family.”
“Right.”
“And what may seem dysfunctional to one person may be standard operating procedure to another.”
“But they didn’t seem happy to you?”
“Who knows? It wouldn’t make me happy, that’s for sure. Marty may seem like a big bore to the rest of the world, but there’s a lot to be said for dependability.”
Marty did seem like a boring, albeit good, guy. Maybe as Fina aged, a man like that would appeal to her. Probably not.
“Thanks for talking to me and for the pie. I’ll be in touch.”
Risa followed Fina to the front door and leaned her hip against the frame.
“Be careful, Fina.”
“I am,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked down the stairs.
“I don’t mean your physical safety. I mean be careful poking around. You might not like what you stir up.”
“I rarely do, Risa.”
Fina got back in her car and took a swig of diet soda from the can in the cup holder. The toffee had left a sweet film on her tongue. The drink was tepid, but it washed the cloying flavor out of her mouth.
She was getting fatter and unhappier as the day progressed.
Milloy met her back at Nanny’s, and she told him everything she’d learned in the last twenty-four hours, with the exception of her suspicions about her brother. She couldn’t say that out loud. Not yet.
He reached over and took her hand. “I don’t know what to say.”
“About which part?”
“Haley, specifically. I can’t believe she’s been working for Bev.”
“Do you realize how fucked up that is? She should still be a virgin!”
Milloy looked bemused. “Were you at fifteen?”
“This isn’t about me, and I certainly wasn’t trading sex for money.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I think—” The phone interrupted her. “What’s up, Emma?” she asked.
Milloy grabbed the Globe that was sitting on the coffee table and glanced at the sports section while Fina caught up with Emma. The Sox were well into their June swoon. Milloy liked attending the occasional game at Fenway, but couldn’t commit to 162 games of ardent devotion. All those guys who were sports fans and claimed they weren’t ready to commit to a woman were full of it. They didn’t have commitment issues, they had woman issues.
Fina hung up and looked at Milloy.
“Emma says that the Ronald Costas who owns Ridleys is Vanessa Lamont’s father.”
Milloy tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “I don’t understand. What beef does Lamont have with you?”
“I have no idea.” Fina stood and wandered over to the window. There were clouds gathering in the west, suggesting a thunderstorm might develop. Sometimes, a storm would break the heat, but recently, it had merely been an emphatic reminder of the humidity that cloaked the city.
“This is just getting worse,” Fina said, leaning her shoulder against the window frame. “I can’t believe that Mark is involved somehow.”
“He is a criminal.”
“I know he’s a criminal, but I don’t expect him to commit felonies against me and my family! I thought we were on the same side.”
“Mark Lamont is on Mark Lamont’s side.”
“What the fuck is he thinking, running me off the road?”
“You need to put an end to it.”
“I know.”
Fina called Dennis and warned him that Joe Winthrop would make a move soon. Dennis had to attend to a family matter, so he’d enlisted Frank as his replacement. Fina was torn; there was no better backup than Frank, but she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him. She pushed the thought aside and left a third message for Mark Lamont.
“Mark, I’ve got some information, and I think I’m just going to hand it over to the cops; I’m not getting anywhere with it. Maybe I’ll stop by the new house, see if you’re around,” she said before ending the call.
“You think he’s going to bite?” Milloy asked as Fina sank down next to him on the couch.
“Probably. He’s going to lose patience with me eventually.”
“With you?” Milloy shook his head and massaged her neck. “Who could ever lose patience with you?”
At eight thirty P.M., Joe Winthrop was still holed up in his apartment. Milloy had left hours earlier to rub down some privileged women on Beacon Hill, and Fina had spent the ensuing hours pacing and annoying her various contacts.
The time had come to act.
She took the elevator down to the garage, wrapped her good hand around her gun as was her standard procedure these days, and got in her car. She didn’t have a plan, as usual, but she was sitting on enough anger and bewilderment to fuel any ideas that might spring to mind.
Speeding west on the Pike, she decided to make good on her promise to pay Mark a visit. He could ignore her phone calls, but that wouldn’t make her go away.
When she pulled up to the new house on Forest Road, the driveway was occupied by a dumpster and stacks of building supplies. Fina peeked in the front window, but didn’t see any furniture visible. As she walked around the back of the house, she noticed light coming from the lower floor. She knocked gently on the sliding glass door, and tried to open it when there was no response.
It was unlocked. Fina slowly slid it open and stepped into the space. This was the family room she had toured a couple of weeks earlier, and progress had been made in the construction. Small spotlights threw circles of light onto a blank wall. The floor was covered in a deep pile rug, and speaker wires hung from a number of locations around the room. A large blank space over the fireplace also spouted wires, and Fina guessed it was all part of the flat-screen/surround sound entertainment system. She seemed to remember that there was a separate screening room a few doors down, but you could never have too many screens, right?
Fina tiptoed past the kitchen, changing room, hair salon, and then slowly approached a door from which more light emanated.
“Ma
rk?” she called softly.
No response.
She peeked around the door frame. The room was empty save for two washer and dryer sets boasting shiny silver fronts and digital readouts. She stepped across the hall to the exercise room and took stock of the equipment reflected in the mirrors. There was a treadmill and elliptical machine, a large multipurpose weight machine, and rows of neatly stacked free weights.
Fina’s phone rang, and she hurried to silence it. She was slipping it back into her bag when a movement caught her eye in the mirror. She started to turn, but before she could, something brushed against her face and then tightened around her neck. In the faint light spilling in from the laundry room, Fina could see a man behind her, but she couldn’t see his face. There wasn’t enough light, and her vision quickly became blurred and jumpy from the lack of air.
She couldn’t breathe. She clawed at her throat, but whatever he was using dug deeply into her flesh, and she couldn’t get purchase on it. Fina kicked her feet back, but failed to make contact. Without letting up on the tension, the man pushed his leg into the back of her knees, forcing Fina onto the weight bench, and pressed down on her with his body weight. The odds were not in her favor.
She might have a shot—one shot—at breaking free. She let go of her neck with her casted hand and swung her arm backward into his kidney. He grunted and flinched. Fina stuck the fingers of her good hand between the ligature and her neck. She summoned all her strength and struck him once more in the kidney. In the split second when he eased the tension, Fina shoved her cast between the ligature and her neck. Its rough surface scraped her face, and the cast itself was jammed up against her chin, but the shape of the cast provided a small pocket of air between her neck and the implement.
Fina breathed deeply, and oxygen and anger flooded her system. She rocked forward on the weight bench, and her assailant banged his head against the bank of plated weights. He yelped in pain, and she reached behind her and insinuated her hand between the two of them. She reached for his balls and dug her fingernails in, as if trying to pop a balloon. He howled and reared up off of her. Fina rolled off the weight bench and scrambled toward the rack of free weights. She grabbed a ten-pound hand weight and swung it wildly toward him. When it made contact with his mouth, a crunching, crackling noise was punctuated by spurting blood. He looked stunned, then lunged toward her, but Fina already had her gun in hand.
