Still Life

by Joy Fielding

  “Of course I’m not sleeping with her. I hurt my shoulder at the gym. Patsy was just being kind….”

  “Kind of what? Kind of available?”

  “Really, Janine, if you could hear yourself sometimes.”

  “Really, Warren, if you could see yourself sometimes,” Janine countered.

  “What exactly did you see that was so awful?”

  “Whatever it was, it was the second time I saw it. And I don’t like it one bit. And more important, Casey wouldn’t like it.”

  “Casey wouldn’t have liked my sleeping with you either, but that didn’t concern you a whole lot at the time.”

  What?

  Silence. Then, “This is neither the time nor the place to talk about that.”

  “Maybe it is.”

  Janine closed the bedroom door, took an audible breath. “What happened between us happened a long time ago.”

  “Less than a year,” Warren corrected.

  What? No, this can’t be. I’m having a nightmare. It’s the drugs the doctor gave me. I’m hallucinating again. None of this is happening.

  “It should never have happened,” Janine said.

  “Maybe not, but it did.”

  I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it.

  What’s so hard to believe? Casey asked herself. If she could believe her husband capable of murder, surely he was capable of betraying her with one of her closest friends.

  It wasn’t Warren’s betrayal she was having such a hard time processing, she realized. It was Janine’s.

  “Look. I’m not proud of what I did,” Janine said. “I was going through a hard time, what with Casey opting out of our partnership. I was angry, I was spiteful, I let myself be seduced….”

  “As I recall, it was you who did the seducing,” Warren corrected again.

  “I was flirting. I didn’t think you’d take me up on it.”

  “You’re fooling yourself, Janine.”

  “Maybe. You fooled Casey, that’s for sure.”

  “I love Casey.”

  “You have an interesting way of showing it.”

  “I’m showing it now.”

  “A little late, isn’t it?”

  “I guess that’s a guilt we’ll both have to live with.”

  “You seem to be living with it rather well.”

  “I can’t change the past,” Warren said. “What happened happened. It’s over. It’s time to move on.”

  “Move on to the next in line?”

  “It beats doing penance in Middlemarch.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  “It’s not that complicated.”

  “You’re unbelievable.”

  “You’re jealous.”

  “I assure you that jealous is the last thing I am.”

  “Then why are we having this conversation?”

  Janine took a deep breath. “We’re having this conversation because what I am is sick at heart. Sick over the fact that I betrayed my best friend on earth with her lowlife scum of a husband, sick that her husband isn’t the man she thought he was, sick that she’s the one in a coma when I’m the one who deserves to be.”

  “Oh, please, Janine. Give it up. Nobility doesn’t become you.”

  “And most of all,” Janine continued, ignoring Warren’s interruption, “I’m sick that you have so little decency that you could carry on with another woman while your wife is lying there right in front of you.”

  “Bullshit,” Warren said coldly. “The only thing bothering you is that that woman is no longer you.”

  “I want her out of here, Warren. I want her out of here this afternoon.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I want Nurse Patsy gone.”

  “Pardon me, but I don’t think that’s your decision to make.”

  “Either she goes, or I swear I’ll tell everyone all about us. And that includes Detective Spinetti.”

  “Now why on earth would you consider doing a stupid thing like that?”

  “Because it’s all I can do for Casey now.”

  “And you think she’ll thank you for it? Assuming, of course, that she wakes up.”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. But I do know that if she stands any chance of waking up at all, she needs the very best of care, and frankly, I don’t think Patsy is the one to give it to her.”

  There was a silence of several long seconds. “You might be right about that,” Warren said finally.

  “I am right.”

  “And I’m not stupid. Or callous. I may not have always been the best husband to Casey, but whether you believe it or not, I do love my wife, and I want what’s best for her.”

  “Meaning?” Janine persisted.

  “I’ll tell Patsy her services are no longer required.”

  “When?”

  “Right after you leave,” he said pointedly. “Oh, and Janine,” he continued, as Casey heard Janine gathering up her things and walking to the door.

  “Yes?”

  “I think we could use a time-out. Call the next time you decide to drop by. I’ll arrange to be elsewhere.”

  Janine said nothing as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Casey imagined Warren saying to Patsy sometime later. “It’s just not working out.”

  “What do you mean?” she heard Patsy answer back.

  “It’s nothing you’ve done. You’ve been wonderful. It’s just that I underestimated the amount of care Casey would require.”

  “We could hire someone to give me a hand. I could call Donna….”

  “Casey needs an RN, someone with more experience….”

  “I could still help out.”

  “It won’t work.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought we …”

  “That’s just the point,” Casey could almost hear Warren whisper. “There is no ‘we.’ There can’t be a ‘we.’”

  “If this is because of Janine, because of what she thinks she saw …”

  “Janine’s a very astute woman, Patsy. She doesn’t see things that aren’t there.”

  “I’m so sorry….”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. You’re lovely. That’s the problem in a nutshell. You’re beautiful and sweet and kind and thoughtful, and I find myself being drawn to you in ways I never expected. And I can’t afford to let that happen. Not yet,” Casey imagined him adding, holding out the carrot, perhaps even allowing a hint of tears to cloud his eyes. “Maybe later. Should circumstances change …”

  Or something like that, Casey thought now, hearing Patsy sniffling as she carried her suitcase from her room to the top of the stairs. Something to give the young woman hope, a reason not to be angry he was firing her without notice or cause.

  “I want you to take this,” Warren said from just outside Casey’s bedroom door.

  “What is it?”

  “Just a little something to tide you over until you find another position.”

  “No, please. I couldn’t.”

  “It’s only fair.”

  “It’s more than fair. It’s way too much money. I can’t.”

  “You can and you will. Please. I want you to have it.”

  Oh, take it. It’s my money anyway. And I’ll be dead in a few days.

  “Is it all right if I say good-bye to Casey?”

  “Of course. Take as long as you like.”

  Casey pictured Warren picking up Patsy’s suitcase and carrying it down the stairs as Patsy entered the room and positioned herself at the foot of Casey’s bed. She felt Patsy’s eyes burrow into her brain. “Bitch,” she said.

  And then she was gone.

  “Well, that worked out rather well, all things considered,” Warren was saying minutes later, pulling up a chair and making himself comfortable. “Mrs. Singer’s gone for the weekend, Patsy’s out of the picture, Gail’s out of town, and I don’t have to worry about Janine for at least a few days. So
it looks like it’s all systems go for Sunday. That’s the day after tomorrow, in case you’re keeping track.”

  The day after tomorrow, Casey repeated. Where was Drew? She had one day left to get through to her.

  “I’ve arranged for a private nurse to come in tomorrow, and the doctor’s going to drop by later to give you your shot. So you won’t get too frisky when Drew comes to visit,” Warren said, as if her thoughts were printed across her forehead. “So, let’s just try to relax, shall we?” he said, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips, kissing the inside of her palm. “It’ll all be over soon.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  She dreamed she was in the passenger seat of a twin-engine Cessna when it crashed into a wall of turbulence and spun out of control, propelling its passengers into the thin, cold air, as if they’d been shot from a cannon.

  “Daddy!” Casey screamed, as she watched her mother somersault through the sky in her pink chiffon gown, a drunken Alice disappearing into the rabbit hole below.

  “Try to relax, golden girl,” her father’s voice urged from behind an ash-colored cloud. “Grab my hand.”

  Casey stretched her arm as far as it would reach, her fingers waving frantically in the void for her father’s reassuring grasp. They touched nothing, latched onto no one. Her father wasn’t there, she realized. He never had been.

  He couldn’t save her.

  Nobody could.

  Casey lay in her bed, slowly drifting back into consciousness. Even through the wooziness that occupied her head like an expanding sponge, she understood that although she was no longer plummeting through the air to her doom, she was no less at risk. She was going to die, she realized, trying to imagine how her parents must have felt the afternoon their plane had plunged into Chesapeake Bay.

  She’d never really thought about it before, she realized, never permitted herself the necessary introspection to board that doomed plane, to feel what her parents must have felt, to think what they surely thought as the plane careened wildly through the sky before disappearing into the sea. Had her mother been flailing about helplessly and crying with fear? Had she been berating her husband, lashing out at him in a panic-fueled fury, or had she tried to embrace him, to hold him in her arms one last time, even as the waves rose up, like a crazed chorus, to welcome them? Had her mother even been conscious? Or had she passed out early in the flight from a surfeit of alcohol and fatigue, her head lolling obliviously from side to side as Casey’s father fought frantically with the controls? Had he been too drunk to fully comprehend the danger they were in? In his last seconds, had he thought about his daughters at all? Had either of them?

  Did it matter? Casey thought now.

  Did anything?

  Had she ever really meant anything to anyone?

  Her father had loved her only as a reflection of his own accomplishments. Her mother had been too self-absorbed to share that love with anyone else. Her sister’s love had always been tempered by equal measures of resentment. And Warren? He loved her money, Casey thought ruefully.

  And then there was Janine. Her former roommate and business partner, supposedly one of her closest friends. Yes, they’d had many disagreements over the years. Yes, they’d argued and fought and occasionally said things they’d regretted. But never had Casey imagined the scope of Janine’s anger, never had she appreciated the lengths to which Janine would go to get back at her.

  And yet, as shocked and disappointed as she was, Casey realized she wasn’t angry with Janine. Her friend had simply made the same mistake Casey had: Warren. God knew she was sorry. And anyone who could atone for her sins by reading Middlemarch out loud day after day, week after week, deserved not only compassion but a second chance.

  Too bad she wouldn’t be here to give it, Casey thought, those thoughts transferring to Gail. Gail, the one person who’d always been there, who’d loved her unconditionally since childhood. She was somewhere in Martha’s Vineyard with the new man in her life, and she’d be devastated to learn of Casey’s death when she returned.

  I’m sorry, Gail, she said now.

  I’m sorry for everything, she cried silently, trying to project two days ahead, to imagine how it would feel to have someone put a pillow over her nose and mouth until she stopped breathing. Would she gasp for air and fight for breath? Would it take a long time for her to die or would death be mercifully quick? Would there be an angel waiting to greet her? What would death be like?

  Could it be any worse than this?

  And yet, despite the horror of the past few months, despite the revelations and the lies and the betrayals, despite the loss of her vision and her speech and her mobility and everything that made her who she was, Casey realized she wasn’t ready to die.

  Not now. Not when she was so close to recovering all she’d lost.

  Certainly not without a fight.

  Sure, some fight, she thought in the next instant, as a wave of dizziness washed over her, the result of the powerful drugs in her system. Not exactly a fair fight.

  “What’s the point of fighting if you’re going to fight fair?” she heard her father ask, his too-big laugh trailing after him as he strode into the room to peer out the window overlooking the backyard.

  “Daddy, hi,” Casey told him, pushing herself up in bed.

  “What are you doing still in bed?” He pivoted around on his heels and stared at Casey with disapproval.

  “I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Nonsense. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Mind over matter, Casey. Just put one foot in front of the other. See where it takes you.”

  “But I can’t see.”

  “Then open your eyes,” her father said simply, before disappearing into the night.

  Casey opened her eyes.

  The first thing she saw was the light of the moon coming in through the window at which her father had been standing.

  She blinked once, twice, a third time.

  Each time the light grew stronger.

  Okay, try not to get too excited, she warned herself. You’re obviously still dreaming.

  Except it didn’t feel like a dream.

  You’re hallucinating.

  Hallucinations felt more real than dreams.

  Except this didn’t feel like any of her previous hallucinations.

  It’s the drugs. They’re playing tricks on your mind. You’re woozy. You’re dizzy.

  Not that dizzy. Not that woozy.

  I can see, she thought, blinking again.

  The powerful blink.

  Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing. It’s dark. It’s the middle of the night. You’re just imagining the curve of the moon peeking in the large bay window. You can’t really make out the lilac-colored drapery open to either side of it or the floral tub chairs in front of it. You can’t see the striped chair beside the bed or the large flat-screen TV on the opposite wall, flanked by paintings of orchids and daffodils. You can’t see the fireplace or the bed you’re lying in, its crisp white sheets visible even in the dark. You can’t see the mauve blanket lying at your feet, can’t see the indent of your toes wiggling beneath it.

  I can’t. It’s impossible.

  Casey’s eyes moved frantically inside their sockets as they shot from side to side, then up and down, then back and forth. I can see, she understood, elation spreading through her body like a fire through dry wood.

  Don’t get too excited. This has happened before. It’s the drugs. Any minute now, you’ll wake up.

  “Relax, Casey,” she heard Warren say. “It’ll all be over soon.”

  No. Not now. Not when I’m so close. She lay in her bed, feeling her breath grow increasingly ragged, and staring up at the round overhead light fixture in the middle of the large expanse of ceiling, trying to calm herself down.

  I will get out of this. I will. I will.

  She heard Warren’s footsteps in the hall and knew he was coming to check on her. She
told herself to close her eyes, that even in the dim light, Warren would spot immediately that she could see, and that she couldn’t afford to take that chance. And yet, she couldn’t close them, so terrified was she that once she did, her sight would vanish again, and that when she reopened them, all would be blackness, as it had been before.

  Warren stepped into the room.

  Casey took a deep breath, uttered a silent prayer, and closed her eyes.

  “Hi, sweetheart. How’re you doing?” He perched on the side of the bed, and Casey could smell the liquor on his breath. “I was having trouble sleeping again, so I thought I’d come in and see what you were up to. Seems I’m missing our little chats already.” He rubbed her leg. “Your breathing seems a little labored. What’s with that? You’re not going to die on me, are you?” He laughed. “I mean, wouldn’t that be ironic? You up and dying all on your own, after everything you’ve put me through these last months.” Casey felt him shaking his head. “That’d really be something, wouldn’t it? Although if that’s what’s happening, I’d appreciate it if you could hold off till the morning when the nurse gets here. Think you could wait till then? Maybe till I’m out of the house? That way, nobody can harbor any suspicions about me or accuse me of doing anything unseemly.” He got up, walked toward the window. “There’s almost a full moon. It’s pretty spectacular. What is it they say about full moons? That they bring out the beast in people?” This time his laugh was more of a shrug. “Did you know it’s a fact that more crimes are committed during a full moon than at any other time of the month? Interesting, isn’t it? Nobody’s ever been able to explain exactly why that is.

  “So, your sister called earlier,” he continued after a pause. “She was thinking of stopping by tomorrow with Lola. I told her that would be terrific, that maybe I’d send out for pizza and we’d have a picnic in the backyard. She thought that was great, and you know what? So do I. I mean, why waste time and energy fighting when we all know I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He laughed again, a boisterous “hah!” that bounced off the walls to slam against the side of Casey’s head like an errant rubber ball. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the situation with Drew, and I suddenly realized it’s very simple, and I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Probably I was just so pissed off at everything. But now I see that Drew’s like this sad little puppy who just wants to be loved, but everybody’s always kicking her to the curb. So instead of joining the crowd, instead of treating her like a Gucci-clad piece of shit, the way she’s used to being treated by the men in her life, I’ve decided to treat her like a princess in one of Lola’s fairy tales. I’m going to shine up my armor, ride in on my white horse, and sweep her off her feet.