Heike looked at Dolan and then back to Rita.
— No one wants to blame you, Heike said. I only want to know what you saw.
— When you went upstairs, Dolan said. The kid was already gone?
— I came downstairs and Mr. Lerner was there, and a cop with him. He was in a state, asking me if his wife had come home, and when I said I didn’t know, he took me by the arm and shook me so that I got scared and didn’t say nothing else. I didn’t want to upset him more. And then the lady came in after that. I saw her walking down the drive.
Dolan turned to where Heike stood, leaning hard on the back of her chair.
— But you see? It’s possible, then, that he came in while she was in the kitchen. So maybe she didn’t notice. He could have gone upstairs while she was drinking her tea.
Heike shook her head.
— She never saw him come in.
— Or maybe we’ve got the timing wrong. Maybe he came in while she was sleeping, and went out again.
— I know you want me to believe this.
— Nothing else makes sense.
Miriam dropped down and set her hands on Rita’s knees. The girl flinched.
— I’m not gonna hit you, she said. But you gotta tell the lady what happened to her little boy.
Rita lifted her head to look at her sister, and then hard at Heike.
— You tell her I never saw him, she said. There was never any little boy there that night.
HEIKE SPENT THE NEXT DAY ALONE in the house—stewing, Dolan said—while he drove off to handle the sale of a radio station in Syracuse. She mostly found herself perched on the high stool in his office, trying to tinker at his story about the third-grade teacher. Her stomach turning in on itself: the meeting with Rita felt like a dead end and had left Heike secretly frantic. Dolan had suggested she come along with him. Syracuse, he said, was a very optimistic locale. She told him she preferred to stew.
Now and then she looked up, or over her shoulder at the bookcase. Glad of the bright sun flooding the room, nothing hidden in daylight. At one point, a noise at the door surprised her: Mrs. Hammond, with a tray of coffee and sandwiches, although she hadn’t looked for the housekeeper or asked her for anything.
— Mr. Dolan said I should never let you starve.
The sandwiches were cheese and tomato, or salmon and lettuce with mayonnaise. Mrs. Hammond set up a folding table next to Heike with a snap of one wrist and set the tray square on its surface.
— You’re certainly attached to that figurine, she said.
Heike reached out to touch the shepherdess. She had it balanced against the lip of the angled desktop, safe from falling.
— I don’t have many things from my home. From my childhood. So perhaps I find it comforting. She covered it with her hand as though it needed protection and turned to face Mrs. Hammond more fully. I suppose it also makes me think of my son, she said.
— Ah.
There were a few linen napkins, and the coffee with cream, and Heike had to ask her to take the cream away and bring some milk instead. When she came back, Mrs. Hammond said she’d known a woman who lost her son, swimming in the Owasco River. They’d been collecting stones, she said, and the woman found a ring. Something someone had lost: a ruby in it, and a row of tiny diamonds. All still there, even with the river current washing at them. The same day she found the ring, her son was swept away.
It was springtime and she should never have let him play like that, Mrs. Hammond said, so close to high water. She said:
— Nothing’s so haunted as a wedding ring.
They never found his body. The woman fell to weeping every hour. Two weeks later, she slid the ring onto her finger and went back down to the Owasco and hurled herself into the current. And wouldn’t you know, they found her boy the next morning.
— He was drowned, of course, Mrs. Hammond said. And his mother as well.
— My son is not dead, Heike said.
— Of course not, ma’am. And I’m not saying to put yourself in harm’s way. But I wonder if you don’t have something you could return, she said. A fair trade?
She stood by and watched Heike eat a sandwich, the salmon too dry and sticking in her throat. When it was time to clear away, the housekeeper told her there’d been a man around earlier in the afternoon. Perhaps Heike had heard him at the door? Didn’t want to take no for an answer.
Heike set the food down and drew back in her seat.
— I sent him away. Took some convincing. When Mr. Dolan’s not at home, I don’t let anyone in the house. She folded up the table and hefted it under one arm. At the door she paused, and turned back to Heike: I expect he’ll be around again. He said Mr. Dolan has something of his. Something that belongs to him. He seems very anxious to get it back.
16.
Heike was sitting out in a lawn chair when Arden arrived. She had her back to the house and did not turn and look over her shoulder right away, her legs slung sideways over the arm of the chair and kicking a kind of rhythm as she looked out at the lake.
The housekeeper made no announcement. There was the murmur of voices and then Arden in her striped sundress, already coming down the lawn. She was heavily burdened and it made the walking precarious: a mud-coloured carpetbag held out in front, one hand wrapped around the bag’s handle and the other supporting it from underneath.
— Look at you, slumming it in boys’ clothes.
Heike kissed her cheeks. The effect was more unbridled than familial: Even for a European, Arden said. She squeezed Heike’s arm and set the bag on the seat of the lawn chair.
— I got you a few things. It wasn’t any picnic, but I managed.
Heike glanced down at the bag.
— You were in the house.
This came out broken—almost, but not quite, a demand.
Arden looked around for any other person, but the lawn was flat and empty. Mrs. Hammond had not followed her outside.
— I didn’t even see him. He’s got a new maid, and that’s who let me in. She looked around a second time. I keep expecting him to show up, banging at my door. I’m half-nervous all the time.
Heike took a breath.
— But no Daniel?
Arden shook her head, so tight and quick it was almost a twitch.
— I wish I’d found him for you.
The sky was both grey and bright. A sky that makes you squint. Heike thought of Daniel hiding on the stairs the night Arden and John had been over, the first night they’d come here to Dolan’s house; Dani’s fingers gripping the spindles of the banister, the whites of his knuckles. Arden would not know where to look for him. Heike could imagine him in all his best hiding places, stealing sugar cubes to suck on in the low cupboard under the kitchen sink, crouched in the bean teepee out back, flat on his belly under the bed upstairs.
When she looked up again, she had recovered herself, although perhaps not fully. She reached for Arden’s hand:
— I’m glad you’re here.
She was used to forcing a kind of smile if she had to break a silence.
It wasn’t only boys’ clothes she’d been wearing, she said. She smoothed her trousers: the raw line of fringe had fallen down where Dolan had sawed off the pant legs, and now she bent to cuff it back again, leaving the edges crisp and purposeful, and stuck a leg out to admire her own work. She said he’d gone to a meeting in Syracuse and brought her back a trunkful of frocks, and they were all the wrong size.
— They never know what to buy, Arden said.
— I haven’t had clean underwear.
— I just tried to grab an armful of anything. Gloves. A slip. She paused. But no hat; there wasn’t any room for a hat in that bag.
— I’m hardly having tea and sandwiches at the club.
Heike’s purse sat on the chair, and the carpetbag next to it, like a bloated twin. She sprang the latch with a finger.
Then:
— He was here, you know. Banging on this door.
— What,
Eric?
— Looking for me, I guess. She pulled a brassiere out of the bag and turned her back to wrangle it on under her shirt, an attempt at modesty, pulling only one arm at a time out of its sleeve. Mrs. Hammond sent him away, she said. The housekeeper.
Arden stepped in instinctively to shield her from any prying eyes, the way girls do when they’re getting changed under a towel at the beach.
— Ugly. Or so I imagine. Was it?
— Maybe it’s nothing, Heike said.
She gave a dismissive shrug, but it came off wrong somehow. She had a wary look.
— No. No, you’re right. Now he knows you’re here.
Heike flipped the shirt up, exposing the little curve where her belly dipped into the waistband of the trousers. She wrapped her arms around her back to fasten the bra and then pulled the shirt down against her hips again.
— I can’t hide out here forever.
— Finesse, Arden said. She reached forward and straightened the bottom edge of Heike’s shirt with a little tug on each side. He’s making you anxious on purpose. He has to think he’s winning. He has to think he’s the one in charge.
Heike looked over at the greenhouse. She felt for a moment that if she tried hard enough, she would see Daniel inside, the outline of his small body in shadow on the glass.
— Sometimes I feel I made a terrible mistake. Running away.
— You didn’t run away. Don’t say it like that. You needed to clear your head. There was a pause, and Arden tried to catch her eye: Are you going back, then?
It was a tentative question.
Heike took a few steps toward the water. The shadow in the greenhouse, Daniel-sized, was gone. Some tall plant that had caught the light somehow, or else she’d just imagined it, some other reality in which it was this lawn where Dani played, that stretch of beach where he dug with his spade and pail, this lake where he learned to kick his legs like an egg-beater to stay afloat.
Arden followed her gaze.
— It’s a big place if you take all the party out of it.
Heike said it was remarkably quiet. She came back to where Arden was waiting.
— I rather enjoy my country-mouse life. In another world, it would be quite perfect.
— I guess he can’t very well throw a shindig with you camping out in his cast-offs. Dolan, I mean. She rocked in her pose, off-balance, her driving shoes and the soft lawn working at cross-purposes. Maybe it’s a good thing I never landed that society column. Is this a liaison or an intrigue, do you think? For the copy.
— An affaire de coeur, Heike said. But not an affair-de-column. She dropped her purse into the carpetbag and clicked the latch.
Arden shook her head in a vague way.
— Successful men always have affairs, she said. One just never thinks about the women, who the women are. She broke out of her reverie, suddenly contrite: I don’t mean you! Of course it’s alright for you. You get all kinds of leeway, on account of being European.
Heike took hold of her chair and folded it up tight, the legs and back clapping into place.
— You were wrong about him, you know.
There was a rim of shade around the perimeter of the willows where a couple of similar chairs stood waiting. She led Arden in that direction and snapped her own seat back into shape in the new spot. She did not sit down, but motioned for Arden to take it instead.
— In what way?
— About the prizefighter.
— Oh, that. Some people say it was a jazz musician. A trumpet? Or a maybe a clarinet. She reached up and adjusted her hat. The sky was overcast, but now and then a streak of sunlight came shining through the clouds. Arden stepped farther under the branches. I suppose the truth is much more banal. His accountant or something. Someone with steady money and a flyweight imagination.
Heike blinked at that for a moment and then left it there. She said the version with the prizefighter was a good story. Arden nodded.
— Where is he now?
The door to the greenhouse stood half open, and Heike gestured to it.
— Tending his greens, Arden said, almost to herself. Her face grew meditative. You’re his mistress. Like in a book.
Heike drew a little taller, but she looked away before answering.
— He can’t very well throw a shindig, she said.
A KIND OF WILD CLATTER came from the house, and both women turned to face it. For a second or two the porch stood wide and empty, and then the back door flapped open and two dogs rushed out and onto the grass, in dangerous proximity to where Heike and Arden stood talking. Sheepdogs, their bangs in their eyes. The dogs were barking and rushing around in overlapping circles, and Mrs. Hammond stood at the back door, holding a broom across her body with two tight fists, like a fighter. It was a defensive position. Another dog appeared at her feet, an elderly terrier. The small dog made its way between her legs and lowered itself to a respectable seat at the top of the porch stairs. On the lawn, the sheepdogs had begun to tighten their circle. Heike stepped in toward Arden despite herself.
It was Paulsen who’d brought them. Renny Paulsen: the man from the party. Heike could see him now, shooing the housekeeper away from the door. He had the bar cart out in front of him, and the glasses stacked on it jangled as the cart made its little hop over the threshold. He made no effort to call the dogs in but rolled the bar up against the porch railing and added a few ice cubes to a glass.
— Blondie! He raised the glass in Heike’s direction. You still hanging around? Didn’t anyone tell you the party’s over?
Dolan surfaced from the greenhouse and started toward the house. In his left hand he held a pair of pruning shears. Seeing Arden, he snipped them in the air.
— Hello, he said. I am the gardener.
The dogs ran down the lawn to greet him, and he stopped a moment and swung his arm overhead, as though he were pitching a fast one over home plate. There was a race, and the dogs splashed down into the water, snapping at the lake’s surface for the mysterious ball.
Dolan gestured to the unused lawn chairs, offering them with a hand to Arden.
— Madam.
Heike swatted at his hand.
— This is Arden, of course.
— The famous Arden!
— Don’t be so ridiculous. Of course you’ve met her before.
Arden put out her own hand and allowed herself to be guided into the chair.
— The famous playwright!
— Gardener, Dolan said. You’ve got me all wrong.
— Career change, Arden said.
— It’s a natural mistake. I’ve had me all wrong for years.
Paulsen came strolling down toward them with his glass in one hand. He was wearing a tuxedo with a silver smoking jacket and no flower of any kind in his buttonhole.
— You wouldn’t believe the week I’ve had. He said this to no one in particular and looked down to the lake and the wet dogs somewhat fearfully.
Heike remembered her purse where she’d left it in the sun and turned back to get it, the cuff of her pantleg unrolling again and falling against her ankle. Paulsen said:
— You’re the kid from the clambake, right? He looked her up and down: Honey, it’s possible you’ve had a worse week than even me.
She dropped into her seat. Dolan pulled his own chair closer.
— Three’s all I got, old man.
— Sitting is terrible for the back, Paulsen said. I’d rather stand. All I do is sit. Would you believe I just got back from the city? I had my driver bring me directly to you. Francis, I said. Francis, I need a drink and my friend Dolan is sure to have one.
— Lucky us, Dolan said. Especially Blondie here.
— Drove all night, Paulsen said. What a night. I went down for Pitch Week, with that redhead you had at the party here. You remember her? In the polka dots. I thought she was some kinda chorus girl, but lo and behold she’s the real thing. I’ve never seen so many deals. Amazing. Then, last night, I’m getting ready for one
last blitz, and there she is rolling all over the floor. Says the room is full of bugs.
Arden tugged at her earring.
— You mean like Russian bugs? What was she, paranoid?
Paulsen wheeled around to look at her square on.
— Nah! Bug-bugs. Ants or something.
— What hotel were you at? She made a face.
— Kid, you’re not listening. There were no bugs. What kinda bugs are gonna be in the room at the Ritz? She’s rolling all over the floor, trying to sweep the creeps off her arms. I said what you said. I said, Baby, what bugs? He waved an arm as if dismissing women altogether and turned back to Dolan: Just another dope fiend, can you believe it? Where do I find them? Popping pills the whole week. I never noticed.
Dolan gave a long, slow nod, and it was just what Paulsen had come for.
— But she ran out, Dolan said. She ran out and she got the shakes.
— Shaking it all over the floor at the Ritz! I didn’t even pack a bag; I just called the desk and told them to send me my car.
— Did you have the dogs at the Ritz? Heike said.
Paulsen looked at her and he was pained.
— Of course not. I got the dogs from my lawyer’s place. Dolan, I’m done with the city. Find me a property out here, and I’ll be a country gentleman. No more hotels. No more glitzy dames.
Dolan went to pat Heike’s hand but found her chair just far enough away that he couldn’t reach. He turned back to Paulsen instead:
— Go on and tell Hammy you’re staying a few days, he said. Get her to give you a room and some eggs on a tray. Wash your hair, why don’t you?
He waited while Paulsen trundled up the lawn to the house in his silver jacket, then yelled after him.
— For God’s sake, don’t let those dogs back in the house!
THE TWO WET DOGS ran up from the lake too late to slip in the door behind Paulsen and stood whining at the screen for a few minutes before giving up. They shook out and paced along the porch, lifting a nose to cruise the edge of the table for scraps, then flopped near to where the terrier still sat, august and arthritic.
Arden leaned forward as if she was going to say something, but only coiled a piece of hair around her finger and then let it spring back.
Hysteria Page 24
