by Ann McMan
“Yeah. Only five. I remember her, though. She always smelled like lilacs, and she was a really good cook, like you. Only not as fancy.”
“I know you miss her a lot. I’m sorry you didn’t have more time with her.”
“Me, too. Everything changed when she left. Papa got . . .” Dorothy hedged. “Angrier. I think he blamed me for making her leave.”
Celine was treading carefully. It was unusual for Dorothy to be this self-revealing. She didn’t want to ask too many questions or scare her back into her customary silence.
“I don’t think you could’ve done anything to make her leave, Dorothy. Adults do things for all kinds of reasons. I’m sure it would make her sad if she knew you thought that.”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Dorothy was plucking at a loose thread on her bedspread. “He said she didn’t want me anymore, so she ran away from us.”
Celine bit her lip to keep from expressing the rage she felt welling up inside.
How could any parent say that to a child?
“I didn’t know your mother, but from what you’ve told me about her, that doesn’t sound like something she’d ever do. I’m sure she loved you very much. It would be difficult not to.”
Dorothy raised her eyes to Celine’s face. “I tried to learn how to be good enough, so I wouldn’t upset him. Sometimes, it worked, but not always.”
Celine recalled the day Dorothy had allowed her to examine the welts on her back. The recollection made her half sick.
“Was that when he’d hurt you?”
Dorothy nodded.
Celine wanted to ask a follow-up question that had been haunting her, but was afraid it would push Dorothy back into hiding.
So she stayed silent.
After a minute or two, Dorothy continued her halting narrative.
“It was only when he’d been drinking that he’d do . . . other things.” She stole a furtive glance at Celine. “I never told anybody about it.”
“Dorothy?” Celine waited until Dorothy looked back at her. “Did your father rape you?”
Dorothy dropped her eyes. “Sometimes. He’d be in a rage and would always tell me it was my fault—that I made him do it. But I never wanted that . . .” Her eyes met Celine’s. “I promise I never did.”
“Oh, honey. I believe you.” She hastily wiped at her eyes. “Hear me, Dorothy: I believe you.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Heller. I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No. No, Dorothy. You were absolutely right to tell me. I promise I’m not upset with you—and I’m not afraid to know about this. I’m just so sad and sorry he did this to you—all of it. Listen to me, please: this never should have happened to you—not ever. It wasn’t right.”
Dorothy tried to smile, but didn’t quite succeed. “Now you sound like Buddy.”
“Buddy understands a lot more than we do.”
“I know. I always feel like he knows everything.”
More than anything, Celine wanted to wrap her arms around the girl—to hold her close and promise that nothing like this would ever happen to her again. But Dorothy had clear boundaries—ones that probably had taken most of her short life to develop, and Celine needed to respect them.
“Would it be okay if I came over there and sat beside you—just for a little bit?”
Dorothy nodded permission. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m really okay, I promise.”
“I know you are.” Celine got up and carefully closed the space between their beds so she could sit down beside her. “It’s me who needs to be close to you right now. Is that okay?”
Dorothy didn’t reply, but she seemed to understand the subtle shift in their dynamic.
Celine was careful not to touch the girl, but Dorothy immediately leaned into her.
They sat that way until a knock at their door advertised the arrival of their late supper.
◊ ◊ ◊
“If we drink any more of that, we’ll be awake all night.”
Lizzy had refilled her own coffee cup, and was offering more to Avi.
“What difference does it make?” she said. “I’ll be awake all night, regardless.”
“Good point.” Avi held out her mug. “Top me off.”
After their unrestrained encounter in the makeshift closet library, they agreed that it was probably a good idea to sit down and see if calmer heads could prevail. For her part, Lizzy had been tempted to flee and not look back on how insupportable her behavior had been. But Avi, being Avi, had the wherewithal to insist they needed to sit down—right then—and talk through what had occurred.
What had occurred? Even now, after two cups of coffee, Lizzy had no framework to understand it. Her . . . unbridled assault on Avi wasn’t like anything she’d ever done before. She didn’t recognize herself. And she was mortified that, if it had been left up to her, she’d have kept right on going.
It had been Avi who’d come to her senses first. And that only happened after they’d stumbled back against one of the unsecured shelf units, and a book had toppled off and hit Avi square on the head.
They were sitting in Lizzy’s office, and Avi continued to absently rub a hand over the spot.
“Are you sure you don’t need some ice for that?” Lizzy asked.
“No.” Avi dropped her hand. “It really doesn’t hurt, I promise. I just keep thinking about the irony.”
It had been the Anna Freud book that had fallen and struck her. Avi had carried it with them to Lizzy’s office like some kind of talisman. It sat on the small table between their chairs.
“What the hell was that?” she asked.
“Which part?” Lizzy was pretty confused about every aspect of what had transpired between them.
“Yes. Exactly my point.”
“I honestly don’t know what came over me.” Lizzy made the mistake of meeting Avi’s eyes, and her determination folded like a cheap lawn chair. “That’s a lie,” she confessed. “I knew what I was doing. I’m mortified . . .”
“Why are you mortified for giving in to an honest impulse?”
“Precisely because it was an impulse. Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be an authority on impulse control?”
“That depends.”
“Oh, come on.” Lizzy rejected Avi’s hedge. “Depends on what?”
“In this case, it depends on how powerful my own impulses are. I’m still human.”
Lizzy had no response to that admission.
“Believe me,” Avi continued, “if the esteemed Dr. Freud hadn’t smacked me upside the head, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now, calmly discussing this like we’re on the set of some talk show.”
“It’d have to be Springer or Maury Povich.”
“Are you always so dour?”
“Only when I act like a shameless floozy.”
“Floozy?” Avi deliberated. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I see you noted no objection to the ‘shameless’ idea.”
“Look. It happened. We both participated. I am guilty of egging you on. In fact, I have to take the hit for behaving inappropriately toward you almost since we met. So there’s plenty of culpability to spread around here—more than enough to weave two hair shirts.”
“Ordinarily, I wouldn’t be this . . . flummoxed. But I’m barely out of my relationship with Tom. And even if that weren’t the case, you’d still be a . . .” Lizzy didn’t complete her sentence.
“A woman?” Avi suggested.
“I’m sorry.” Lizzy raised a hand to rub her forehead. “I’m not handling this very well. It isn’t about that . . . not really. I mean, I’ve never spared a single thought about any of this before. It’s always been perfectly natural to me. It’s just never been about me.” She dropped her hand. “Until now.”
“Sometimes attractions between people just happen—like a straightforward hormonal or chemical response. They don’t always have to imply anything greater than that.”
&nbs
p; “Is that what you think this is?”
“For me, you mean?”
Lizzy nodded.
Avi drummed her fingers against the side of her mug.
Lizzy answered her own question. “I didn’t think so.”
“But that doesn’t mean it has to signify anything greater for you, Lizzy. This isn’t some kind of ‘you break it, you bought it’ retail rule. You get to take the time you need to decide where this belongs in your own self-understanding. And my job is to give you the space to do that without interference.”
“It must suck to have to be so reasonable all the time.”
“You have no idea.” Avi looked like she meant it.
“All right.” Lizzy took a slow, deep breath. “Thank you for this, Avi.” She set her coffee mug down. “I may as well head for home so I can get started on yet another sleepless night.”
“I’ll be right on your heels in that relay race.”
Lizzy got up and collected her bag and keys. “Will you lock up?”
“Sure. I’m gonna hang here a bit longer.” She snagged the book from the table beside her chair. “Dr. Freud and I have some unfinished business.”
“See you tomorrow?”
Avi smiled. “Count on it.”
Lizzy paused just outside the door. “There is one part of this whole process that really does suck.”
“What’s that?”
Lizzy sighed. “You’re a great kisser.”
She left before Avi had a chance to reply.
◊ ◊ ◊
Syd had no idea where Maddie went after their argument. She’d been shocked when she heard the Jeep start up and slowly leave the property. Watching the glow of her taillights disappear behind the pond filled her with fear and regret.
How had she allowed things to get so out of hand? It wasn’t what they did. They’d never had an argument like that before. And Syd had never stormed out of a room that way, either—not even when she’d discovered the truth about her ex-husband’s latest infidelity.
She was ashamed of her behavior.
And she continued to be heartsick and disappointed by Maddie’s stubborn resistance to even try to engage with any aspect of the wedding planning. She thought they’d reached an understanding about all of this the last time they’d locked horns about the scope of the wedding. Maddie had really seemed to accept how important staging the perfect event was to her—how much Syd wanted it to atone for her first mistake, marrying Jeff.
But tonight, Maddie had retreated to her earlier posture of casting aspersions on all of it. She hadn’t minced words, either.
Bridezilla, she’d called Syd.
That was the thing that stung her so badly and had pushed her over the edge.
But she still wished she hadn’t stormed out like that. How many times had she lectured Henry about never walking away in anger?
Too many times to count.
And where had Maddie gone at this hour? It wasn’t like her just to leave like that. Maddie never walked away from a fight. Syd had fully expected she would follow her upstairs so they could talk it through.
Maddie always wanted to talk things through. It was a hallmark of their relationship.
Until tonight.
She picked up her cell phone for the twentieth time and thought about texting her: Where are you? When are you coming home?
But she didn’t.
Whatever had driven Maddie to leave was something Syd knew she needed space to figure out. Even though not knowing where she’d gone—and if she’d be coming back—was eating her alive. She couldn’t imagine her life without Maddie. Not now. It would be impossible. The two of them were meant to be together. How was it her father characterized them?
Like Ferrante & Teicher.
Her father was such a nerd.
They actually were a lot more like . . . Wallace & Gromit.
She smiled. Sans the penguin . . .
At least she could still find something to smile about. That had to mean they’d be able to work this out and find some kind of common ground. Didn’t it?
But first, Maddie needed to come home.
She checked the clock over their bedroom fireplace for the zillionth time. Maddie had been gone for nearly two hours now. Syd was beginning to panic. What if she didn’t come back tonight? What would she tell Henry in the morning? And how would she ever live with herself for driving her away?
She finally decided to head back downstairs and make some hot tea. She didn’t really want it, but at least it would give her something to do. She’d just finished filling the kettle with water and putting it on to boil when she heard the sound of a car outside.
Thank god, thank god . . .
She didn’t know whether to go outside to meet her, or to wait for her to come into the house.
She didn’t have long to deliberate. She heard Maddie on the porch outside, and the kitchen door opened. Maddie looked surprised when she saw Syd standing beside the stove.
“I was afraid you’d already gone to bed,” she said awkwardly. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”
“It’s okay,” Syd lied. “I’m just happy you’re back.”
Maddie took a cautious step toward her and Syd quit pretending and rushed into her arms.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she muttered into Maddie’s chest.
Maddie held her tight and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, too. I acted like an ass.”
“We both did.” Syd raised her head and Maddie kissed her. “I never should’ve stormed off like that. It was wrong and I regret it.”
“I regret that I drove you to it.” Maddie kissed her again. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay? I don’t like it.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Syd, it matters to me that you know how much I want to marry you. And I swear to you that I’ll never say another word about any arrangements you want to make. I promise.”
“I know you do. I’ve never doubted that for an instant. I was just angry and disappointed and I overreacted. I promise we can scale it all back . . . it’s your wedding as much as mine. I know we can find some common ground.”
“I’d really like that. And I pledge to take things more seriously, too. I even started working on a mental list of invitees, so I can fill out my pitiful half of the guest list.”
“Did you really?”
Maddie nodded. “Pete and Rosebud count, right?”
Syd socked her on the arm. “Asshole.”
“True. But I’m your asshole.”
Syd moved in for another kiss. “You certainly are.”
The teakettle started whistling and Syd grudgingly extracted herself from their embrace so she could take it off the heat. “Do you want some tea?”
“Why not? Maybe it will help me sleep.”
“There are other remedies for that.”
“Tease. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”
“Who says I don’t intend to keep it?” Syd fixed their cups of tea. “We can drink this upstairs.”
“Hold that thought.” Maddie held up an index finger. “I got you something, but I left it on the porch.”
Syd was intrigued. She waited while Maddie went back out to the porch to fetch her present. When Maddie returned, she was carrying the biggest bunch of white Peruvian lilies Syd had ever seen. There had to be three dozen of them.
“Where on earth did you get those at this hour?” Syd took the bouquet from her. “They’re gorgeous.”
The flowers were exquisite. Most of the buds on the long stalks weren’t open yet, but they all smelled wonderfully like spring.
“Let me put it this way,” Maddie explained. “If ever you’re tempted to doubt the depth of my love for you, or my commitment to this wedding, I want you to remember this night—and the five Walmart stores in four counties I had to scour to find all of these.”
Syd hugged the bouquet to her chest. “Dear god, I love you.”
“You’d be
tter,” Maddie warned. “I used your Visa card to pay for these.”
Chapter Nine
Recorded Interview
Preliminary Inquest Investigation
Death of Mayor Gerald Watson
“My name is Nadine Odell. Raymond is my husband. He didn’t do anything to provoke that man. Watson was there with his goons, trying to make trouble about some shrubs we had growing beside the entrance to our café. It was the kind of ridiculous mess that man created all the time. He wasn’t happy unless he was stirring up trouble for somebody else. He was demanding that we cut the shrubs down, and Raymond was arguing with him. That’s when Watson called me an offensive name and Raymond, doing what any decent husband would do, slugged him. This all happened a long time ago. It’s ancient history. You can ask Sheriff Martin about it. Watson even dropped the damn charges.”
I can’t believe they’re bringing that mess up. Why do they even know about it? We didn’t have any worse trouble with that pitiful man than any other business owner in town.
“I do work with Michael Robertson from time to time, over at his inn. In turn, he helps me out at the café on busy nights. I’ve been doing that for more than a year now. That’s how we ended up collaborating on a lot of the food for the annual town picnic at the river.”
I wonder if they found out about that blue Rust-Oleum? I never should’ve let myself get so mad at that man. It wasn’t Christian. David was the only one who knew I spray-painted those nasty words on Watson’s damn car. And I know they haven’t talked with him yet . . .
“I was there when the mayor pushed David Jenkins into that table full of desserts. Half the town saw it. It was ridiculous. David wasn’t doing anything wrong—and he for sure wasn’t hurting the mayor’s little girl. Those two were friends. Watson was off his rocker.”
I think maybe Michael is right: they seem too interested in David. Dear lord, I hope that boy has enough sense to have a good alibi to explain where he went.
“No, sir. I don’t know where he went. After Watson dragged his daughter off, David and Michael left the vendor area. I didn’t see either of them again for a while after that. I don’t know how long it was, either, because I was too busy trying to clean up the mess that sad excuse for a mayor made.”
