What if she hadn’t? God, Will was three and a half, and still needed so much attention. Look at what her hour’s lapse had done. If she’d actually had a baby—God, twenty-four hours a day, for years, all alone. Well, Mom might try to help, but that wouldn’t be fair. Ginny couldn’t bear to think of disgracing her like that. And Buck—she couldn’t imagine Buck with a baby. In her romantic visions she had occasionally pictured him playing with a child, but she knew that in reality he’d get bored fast. Go off with his buddies. Get stoned. Luded out.
And Ginny? After only three days of it, she’d luded out.
She had betrayed her own brother.
She had betrayed herself.
Well, yes, but remember, she had problems. Real problems! Being accused of murder was a real problem. So was being trapped in a house, the only protector of a sick three-and-a-half-year-old boy. She was only sixteen, for God’s sake! How could Maggie expect her to do it? There was no way out, and no one to help, and no end in sight. It was unfair. It was tragically unfair to little Will. It was—
Jesus.
Jesus, that was the point, wasn’t it? That was the goddamn point.
XX
She still wasn’t answering the phone.
Nick replaced the receiver slowly and straightened his handlebar mustache. It had to be the backyard. She’d said nothing about Will getting worse, and he’d sounded okay this morning. Ginny had sounded fine too—just the right degree of frazzle, coping well but not trying to pretend there were no problems. They must be out back.
The stage manager was calling places for the beginning of the show.
But it was still his watch. Maggie wouldn’t be calling them till late afternoon. Hastily, Nick dialed again and left a message with the secretary of Ellen Winfield-Greer, Esq., to please check on the O’Connor kids.
He went on with his mustache slightly askew.
“Hey, Ginny!”
“Yeah?”
“I gotta pee.”
“Oh, dear.” Ginny turned her attention to this new problem. “Well, we’ll just have to manage it here. First the belt.” She unbuckled the one that held their legs. Her fingers were working better now, though still awkward with post-lude sluggishness. She stowed the belt carefully around her own neck, and then removed the one that circled their two waists, holding Will tightly with one arm.
“Okay, Will. Now I’ll unfasten your snaps. You stand up very carefully and pee on the roof down there.”
He looked around at her, brown eyes wide. “On theroof?”
“Yes. It’s okay because this is an emergency.”
“Mergency.” He was impressed by the solemnity of the word.
Ginny braced herself and, holding him tight, helped him face sideways on the broad branch. He did pretty well, only dribbling a little on her knee at the very end. They got his clothes up again and he sat down.
“Good job, Will,” she said, slipping the belt around their two middles. “Here, you buckle this one.”
“I want to go down.”
“Yes, I do too. But we have to wait for help.”
“Can’t you help?”
“I can help keep you warm. But we need a ladder to get down.”
He buckled the belt while he considered. Then he said, “The ladder fell down.”
“Yes. That’s the problem.” Well, one of the problems. She pulled the third belt around their legs again. God, but her butt was getting sore. The branch was wide, but not wide enough. And it was very hard.
“I want a snack,” announced Will.
Oh, God. If he started whining again it would be hell. But no matter, she was responsible for him, and would keep him safe. Whether he liked it or not. Whether she liked it or not.
“We have to wait,” she said. “Why don’t I tell you the story of Kakiy?”
“Is there a story?” He was immediately distracted from his woes.
“Of course!” she said. She began a story of a little kitten whose mother belonged to a beautiful ballet dancer. Will listened, intrigued, as the fictional Kakiy visited Moscow and Paris and Oz and Wonderland and finally Washington, D.C., where he went to live with Ginny. Will was so delighted when Ginny came into the story that she had to embroider the narrative with lots of details about Kakiy’s life in her room. But he became troubled that an old woman who lived in the house didn’t like Kakiy.
“Was she a wicked stepmother?” he asked.
“No, no! The stepmother wasn’t wicked. She was wonderful. This was another old woman. She wasn’t really wicked either, I guess. But some people don’t like cats because sometimes they walk on the table, or their hair gets onto the furniture. Or they make people sneeze. Or they climb trees when they shouldn’t.”
“I like Kakiy anyway,” decided Will.
“Yes, so do I.” She went on with the story. Eventually the feline hero went to New York and rode on the subway.
“He was coming here!” crowed Will.
“You have to wait. That part comes a little later,” admonished Ginny. “In this part of the story, Kakiy isn’t very happy. The subway was louder than anything he had ever heard before.” She continued, drawing it out; but eventually, when Kakiy went out into a tree and his friend Will tried to get him, there was no more to tell.
“Is that the end?” he asked.
“Oh, no, of course not. But that’s all we know so far. We’ll find out the rest later.”
“Let’s go in and have a snack.”
Ginny eyed the branch she had used to get into the tree, and was amazed that she had managed. Right now, less sluggish but more sensible, she wouldn’t dare. “We still have to wait a little more, Will.”
He whimpered, and this time wouldn’t stop. For twenty minutes, despite her best efforts, he refused to be consoled. Ginny finally began to sing some of the Italian lullabies Mom used to sing to her, not because they soothed Will—they didn’t—but because she herself felt calmer. God, she missed Mom.
“What are you doing?” A little voice interrupted them.
“Sarah!” Ginny, delighted, looked down at Will’s window. Sarah, still in her outdoor jacket, was holding Kakiy and observing them in some puzzlement.
Will started to complain because Sarah had Kakiy, but Ginny hushed him firmly. “We’re trying to figure out how to get down,” she said.
“Where’s the ladder?”
“It fell down,” volunteered Will.
“Shall I go get it?”
“Can you?” asked Ginny, amazed.
“Oh, sure!” Before Ginny could inquire further, the little girl disappeared from the window. After a time there was scuffling under them, on the back porch. “Hey, there’s a mat here!” said Sarah’s voice. “But no ladder.”
“I bet it’s under the mat,” called Ginny. Sarah was very small. Could she manage the mat?
After a while her voice came up again. Ginny said, “Will, shh. Sarah is trying to tell us something. What, Sarah?”
“I found it. I’m pulling it out.”
“Terrific!” Ginny tried to imagine the little girl with a ladder, struggling to get it from under the mat. It made her lose heart again. Sarah was too small. It would have been better to tell her to phone Ellen. Ellen, no doubt, would call the police. So much for all their elaborate plans. But Ginny would face that when it came. This mess was all her fault, she’d take the consequences. She’d run away again, or something. Somehow she’d keep Mom from finding out.
“Sarah? Maybe you should call Ellen,” she called.
There was no answer. Will continued to whimper and squirm. He had been very good for a long time, and she couldn’t blame him now. Hell, she’d be squirming herself, if she could.
“Sarah?”
No answer. Maybe Sarah had locked herself out, or had forgotten them and gone off to play with a friend, or had fallen and hurt herself. Ginny felt desolate.
“Here it is,” said Sarah, appearing at Will’s window.
“Where?” Was the little gir
l teasing them? Then Ginny saw it. “Oh!”
The ladder was a sturdy pair of chains with aluminum rungs strung between, and big hooks at one end. There was no way that small Sarah could throw it to her.
“Sarah, do you know where there’s some heavy string?”
“Yes. In the kitchen drawer.”
“Can you tie a tight knot?”
“Sure. Except sometimes I get mixed up with the bow.”
“That’s okay, we won’t need a bow. Just a knot. Bring the string to the window and bring Will’s frog. The beanbag frog.”
“How come?” asked Sarah, the ever-curious.
“It’s a secret plot,” said Ginny portentously.
That was answer enough. The little girl skipped away and then reappeared with a thick ball of string. “Here it is!”
“Hey, terrific! Now the first thing you do for this secret plot is unwind lots and lots of string.”
Sarah did so, with gusto. “Is that enough?”
“Yes.” Ginny hoped she hadn’t tangled it too much in her enthusiasm. “Now cut it off.”
“The scissors are put away. So I’ll chew it,” decided Sarah.
She was right. Protective Maggie kept scissors, knives, and poisons locked up in a high cabinet. Nothing was in reach. Except for Ginny’s ludes. Ginny shivered suddenly, wondering what would have happened if Will had found her stash.
Sarah was still chewing. Finally, she accomplished the task.
“Good girl! Now tie one end around the frog. Very tight. And the other end around the ladder, very tight.”
Sarah busied herself at her task. Will was grumbling, “Not the frog!”
“Okay, all done!” said Sarah.
“Good. Now, throw me the frog.”
“Not the frog!” whined Will. Fortunately, Sarah ignored him and threw the little green beanbag at Ginny. Ginny missed. Because of the belts, and Will, and general sluggishness, she couldn’t reach out very far.
“Sorry, Sarah. Pull him back and try again, okay?” she said encouragingly.
On the fifth try, Ginny caught the frog. She tied the string around the branch, carefully working around the wriggling Will.
“It’s all right, Will,” she explained. “This is the next part of the story of Kakiy. The frog comes to help his friend Will. And now you can help. You pull on the string. Sarah, you help the ladder along slowly, so it won’t get stuck in the window, okay?”
Together, they hauled the ladder close. Ginny inspected it and saw how the hooks could be placed safely around the branch.
“Where does it go, Will?”
“There.” He pointed to a spot a little further along the branch. Parallel scuff marks on the bark showed the location. “But I wanted it there so I could get Kakiy.” He indicated the branch above.
“So you moved it?”
“And it fell.”
“I see. Well, Kakiy usually gets back in without any help. So don’t try to help him again, okay?” She was tying the string onto the first rung of the ladder and up to the branch to be sure they could get it back if they dropped it again. Then she undid the belts and, very carefully, they slid forward along the branch to the correct spot. Together, they put it in place.
“I guess it’s okay now, Will,” said Ginny, testing it. “Be careful!” But he was eager, and far better coordinated than she. He swarmed down the ladder to the roof and then quickly up the shingles to the window. Ginny followed more slowly, her numbed legs still hard to control, and went up the roof slope on all fours, carefully. She clambered in, closed the sash, and collapsed onto Will’s bed.
“No!” shrieked Will from downstairs. “My turn!”
Ginny roused herself again and hurried to rescue Kakiy from death by hugging, to dole out food, to make peace, and to praise them both for their excellent help in the emergency.
“I had to pee on the roof,” boasted Will.
“On theroof?” Sarah was fascinated. Clearly that was going to be the highlight of the episode for the children.
There were three calls. Ellen said, “Hi. I just got out of a meeting and found a message to check on you guys. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, thanks.” How had she known? Well, the important thing now was to keep her from calling the cops. Ginny said, “Since you called, we could use some more milk and peanut butter.”
“The staples. Listen, I’ll bring you some take-out lasagne too. You must be pretty tired of sandwiches.”
“Oh, sandwiches are okay. Easy to fix.”
“All you have to do with this is warm it up. Oh, you were raised Italian, weren’t you? Is that the problem? Well, listen, I’m not talking about frozen stuff. You’re in Brooklyn now, and I’m going to bring you the real article baked today by real Italians.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Ginny admitted, suddenly ravenous.
“Okay. See you soon.”
The next was from Nick. “Hey, where were you the last couple of hours? Outside?”
“Uh—yeah. Outside.”
“Is Will feeling better then?”
“Yes. He’s a lot better. Still looks scabby, but he’s acting normal again.”
“Probably running you in circles. I can hear him in the background now telling Sarah something about a roof.”
“Yes, uh, Kakiy went out the window for a little while. I was just getting ready to fix them all a snack.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then. Want to get my spirit gum off.” He sounded very relieved.
The important call came a few minutes later. Ginny asked first, “Are they coming to arrest me yet?”
“No, but things aren’t looking very good for Buck. Or his mother,” said Maggie.
“His mother? Rummy Rosamond?”
“It ain’t just rum, kiddo.”
“Yeah. I suspected that.”
“I think she’s his connection, Ginny.”
“His mother? His ownmother?”
“Yeah. Buck found her stash and raids it. Of course she can’t complain to anyone. I think she gets it after hours from Dr. Landon’s office. She used to be his assistant, so she knows the code. Hangs around pretending to be jealous, then lets herself in, helps herself, and doctors the books.”
“God. I’m not really surprised. But listen, I’ve got an important question.” She handed bananas to the children. Bananas would keep them busy quite a while.
“Fire away,” said Maggie.
“Before I was born. Did you think about keeping me?”
There was a pause. Then Maggie said, “Ginny, can we talk about that later? I don’t know how to answer so that you’ll understand. I’ve been thinking about Mr. Spencer. See, if he noticed that Buck was—”
Ginny refused to be deflected. “Yeah, but listen. Did your parents say you couldn’t keep me? They’d disown you or something?”
“No, no. They said it was up to me. They’d back me up whatever I decided to do. But you see, I knew it was my responsibility. Not theirs. They both had lives to lead, important work to do. I wasn’t about to mess up any more lives than I already had. It was my problem and my kid, so it was up to me to decide.”
“So you did consider keeping me.”
Silence.
“Why did you change your mind?” Ginny persisted. The children were engrossed in unzipping their bananas.
“Who says I changed it?”
“Maggie, I know you better now. Why did you change your mind?”
“My mother found me a—look, we’ll talk later, okay?”
“Tell me, damn it!”
Silence.
“Maggie, you said your mother found you a summer job. Please, you promised the truth.”
“It was full-time for six weeks,” Maggie said reluctantly. “For a couple who were going away to Europe. Housekeeping and stuff while they were gone.”
“They had a kid, I bet.”
Another pause. Then Maggie said in a weary voice, “Two toddlers.”
Bull’s-eye. Ginny’s heart
was singing. “So your mother the mayor prescribed a summer of toddlers! But before that, you were going to keep me!”
“All right, damn it, yes! I was absolutely determined to keep you! You were going to be my own little baby and friend, and no one else was going to have you! I refused to think about any other way. I made great plans. Noble Maggie and noble baby in rose-covered cottage. You were going to college with me, in a backpack. Never mind that they wouldn’t even have let me back into high school. And then I was going to find a glamorous high-paying job with a sympathetic boss, and you’d never cry, you’d sleep peacefully by my desk while I made pots of money.”
“And when I learned how to crawl? And walk? And climb trees?”
“Oh, they were great plans.” Maggie sounded very sad.
Ginny wanted to dance and cheer. But first she had things to explain. She said, “That summer, Maggie, did the kids do anything really scary?”
“Occasionally. Kids do.” Then, suspiciously, “Such as what?”
“Such as climbing into a tree after a cat and then dropping the ladder by mistake. Stranding themselves.”
A noise came over the line.
“What?” asked Ginny.
“French. Not for beginners. It was Will, right? Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. We’re all fine.”
“Damn, I meant to take that ladder down before I left! What did you do?”
“I, uh, climbed out to him. We sort of kept each other’s spirits up until Sarah came home and got the ladder to us.”
“Sarah? Why didn’t you take the ladder with you when you climbed out?”
Ginny hedged. “Okay, Maggie, listen. Right now I’m about five years older than I was this morning, okay? I swear that they’ll be one hundred percent safe as long as I’m here. This very minute I can see them both eating bananas. They’re singing a mushy-mouthed version of ‘Five Fools in a Barrow.’ Everything is fine. So don’t—”
“Ginny!” squawked Maggie. “What dumb thing did you do?”
Ginny still couldn’t quite say it. Couldn’t quite admit that she was as rotten as Rummy Rosamond. “Well, I was so tired of everything, the cleaning up and whining and not knowing who I am, and he was settling down for his nap very nicely, and—”
Bad Blood (Maggie Ryan Book 8) Page 25
