“He isn’t speaking at this point. But he concurred with everything Mr. Havilland and his son had represented.”
“He’s exhausted,” I said. “He’s confused.”
“Right now your son is a very troubled boy,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll want to consult a therapist not only about the underlying issues surrounding his anger but what is likely to be his ongoing sense of guilt and shame concerning this event. The thing to remember is that he’s just a child. We all recognize that.”
Later, there might be more questions, but for the moment there was no further reason to stay around. I’d heard that Estella was getting a ride to the hospital with a friend of hers, but there wasn’t much I could do for her. She’d have her family around, and even if I spoke Spanish, what could I say? The doctors were waiting for the results of a bunch of tests they’d done on Carmen, who was still in the intensive care unit, not yet having regained consciousness.
Until now, I had not had the time or space to consider this, but now I did: In all the time that transpired between our arrival at the hospital and now—at least eight hours—neither Swift nor Cooper nor Ava had exchanged a word with me or my son. Wherever they were now—at their house on the lake, taking a shower and putting on fresh clothes, or in a car headed back to Folger Lane—they had disappeared without any acknowledgment of me or Ollie.
And what now? I had no idea how we’d get home, even though this was the least of my worries at the moment.
When I tried to think of who to call—a person willing to drive more than four hours to pick up a desperate woman and a messed-up child at Lake Tahoe on a Sunday afternoon—it struck me how, taking Swift and Ava out of the equation, there was nobody.
“Think of me as the person to call in the case of an emergency,” Ava had told me that day, and she’d written her name down on the card I kept in my wallet. This no longer applied.
Once it would have been Alice, but I’d burned that bridge when I abandoned our friendship in favor of my two more glamorous friends.
Then there was Elliot.
He picked up the phone on the first ring. He was home, of course, as he usually was, even on sunny days. I could hear a movie playing in the background. I pictured him sitting on his old corduroy couch in his baggy pants, with the blinds shut to keep the light out, watching The Lady Vanishes for the hundredth time. Or High Noon.
A wave of love washed over me. Love and regret.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you hung up right now,” I said when he answered the phone. No need to say who it was calling. He’d know.
“I wouldn’t ever hang up on you, Helen,” he said.
“I’m in a tough place,” I said. “Ollie and me both. I was wondering if you could come get us.”
66.
He arrived a little before sunset, with an apple for me and a bag of peanuts for Ollie.
“You’re probably hungry for some real food,” he said, lifting Ollie into his arms. It surprised me that my son showed no resistance. “But I figured this would tide you over.”
It wasn’t cold, but he had brought a blanket and a pillow for Ollie. “You can tell me about it if you feel like it,” he said to me after he set Ollie down in the backseat. “Or not.”
But Ollie was there. And where to begin? The truth was, I didn’t even know what had happened—only that it was terrible and the whole world looked different now.
“You were right,” I said.
“Right?”
“About my friends. The people I thought were my friends.”
“If you think it makes me glad to hear that, you’re wrong,” he told me. “I’m just sorry you got hurt.”
We drove in silence after that. After a while, Ollie fell asleep in the back. I still didn’t want to chance saying anything he might hear, so I kept to safe topics.
“It’s good to see you,” I said. “How have you been?”
“Oh, Helen,” he said. “How am I supposed to answer that?”
It was dark when Ollie woke up, an hour or two down the highway. Elliot asked if he was hungry and he shook his head.
“I think I’ll pull into this diner I know, anyway,” he said. “You can get something, too, if you change your mind.”
It turned out Ollie was ravenous. He finished off two chicken tacos and a bowl of chocolate pudding, and when that was done he asked Elliot if he could have one more taco. I realized it had probably been a very long time since anyone had given him anything to eat. He had a glass of milk, and then another one.
“I guess the last time you ate was probably lunch with Swift,” I said to him.
He shook his head. “We were going to have lunch after the boat ride. Only then all the other stuff happened.”
“So, you went out on the boat in the morning?” I asked him. “Before lunchtime, even?”
“I was excited,” Ollie said. “The minute we got to the lake Swift and me took the Donzi out.”
“But it was still dark when you left home. You would have gotten to Lake Tahoe pretty early,” I said, doing the math in my head. Ten o’clock, maybe. If they stopped for breakfast, eleven at the latest.
“We didn’t stop for breakfast. Monkey Man and me had a banana in the car on the way to the lake.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You mean you spent all morning driving the boat around the lake? And the afternoon too?” I was confused. It had been almost six when the 911 call came in from Swift’s boat.
Oliver was looking uncomfortable now. He started playing with the saltshaker, pouring little piles of salt on the diner table and driving the pepper shaker through them. It was the kind of thing he used to do when he was four or five—the kind of thing he’d done during his guardian ad litem interviews—and the fact that he was doing it now signaled that Ollie had reached his limit with the current conversation, for the time being, anyway.
Once we were back on the road, I couldn’t stop thinking about what Ollie had said—that he and Swift had taken the boat out before lunchtime. It didn’t make sense. I knew he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, but I was still trying to understand. I started in again.
“I don’t get it, Ollie,” I said. “It was still morning when you and Monkey Man got to the lake. But the emergency rescue guys said it was six o’clock when they got the call about the accident. What were you and Monkey Man doing all day? You had to have been driving for hours and hours.”
Up until now, Ollie hadn’t said anything about his day with Swift or their time together at the lake. But suddenly the words exploded out of him.
“We only drove the boat a couple of minutes,” Ollie said. “Then we crashed, and after that we didn’t drive anymore.”
“But it was starting to get dark when the rescue guys got there.”
Elliot and I enchanged glances. From where I sat in the front, I could see Ollie, in the seat behind us, examining the tread on his sneaker.
“I hate that boat,” Ollie said, yelling now. “I never want to ride on any more boats.”
He put his hands on his ears. He started to sing. Not real singing. Just yelling out notes. Blah blah blah blah blah.
“I know you don’t want to talk about this, Ollie,” I said. “But I need to know. What went on all that time, between going out on the boat and when the rescue guys showed up?”
I had been looking at my son’s face in the rearview mirror, but now I turned around to face him, belted into a corner of the backseat of Elliot’s car, huddled under the blanket. “What were you doing all that time?” I said.
Ollie put his hands over his ears. “I wish I never went on that dumb boat ride,” he said. “That’s when everything went crazy.”
“You can tell me what happened,” I said. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“She just kept lying there,” he said, so softly I could just barely hear. “Her eyes were open and there was blood coming out of her.” Finally, then, he started to cry.
Elliot pulled over by the side of the h
ighway. I got out of the front seat and into the back, where I could put my arms around my son and hold him.
It was a couple of minutes before Oliver calmed down enough to speak again, and when he did, his voice was different, a whisper. Almost as if he was afraid someone other than the two of us might hear.
“Monkey Man said we needed to rest,” Ollie began. “Cooper was throwing up, and doing all this stupid stuff like singing ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall,’ only he kept getting the numbers wrong. He said twenty-seven bottles. Then he said forty-two bottles. Then he was back to ninety-nine again. He sounded crazy.”
“What about Monkey Man?” I asked him. “What was he doing?”
“Monkey Man was making Cooper drink all this water. Monkey Man kept telling him to drink more water and rest.”
“You mean, you were taking a rest before the crash happened? Cooper was drinking this water and you were having your rest, and then the crash happened?”
Ollie shook his head. “The crash happened first. We were supposed to rest after. We rested a long time. Monkey Man kept saying we had to wait for the girl to wake up, only she didn’t. She was looking funny, and she wasn’t moving, and Monkey Man kept making Cooper drink more water, but he was acting like an idiot.”
I looked at Elliot. He didn’t know the story yet—neither did I, really—but he had gathered enough to know this was a far cry from Swift’s version.
“I was really hungry. I fell asleep. After a long time, Cooper wasn’t acting crazy any more and Monkey Man said we could call some people to come get us.”
Once again, I looked over at Elliot. He wasn’t the type to take his eyes off the road, but his face said everything.
“The girl still didn’t wake up. She still looked funny.”
“Did you tell this to the police?” I asked Ollie. “The part about taking the rest, and the girl? The part about drinking all the water?”
Ollie shook his head. He was studying a piece of thread on the blanket, twirling it between his fingers. “Monkey Man said not to tell that part,” he said. “He said everything would get messed up if I told.”
From where he sat next to me, Elliot reached over to take my hand. “It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Thank God he let you know.”
I knew that tomorrow I’d have to call Officer Reynolds and tell him there was more he needed to know. As hard as this would be, I’d need to bring my son back to Lake Tahoe to speak with the police again. This time, Swift wouldn’t be in the next room. Not then, or—I knew now—ever again.
67.
When we got back to my apartment, I asked Elliot if he’d like to come upstairs with us, but he shook his head. “You need to take care of Oliver,” he said, and he was correct about that, of course. We’d talk later.
Although Ollie had slept most of the way back in the car, the first thing he wanted to do once we got home was to go lie down in my bed. Five minutes later, he was asleep.
I looked around the apartment. For a long time, all I’d done in this place was sleep. There was no food in the refrigerator, and in the cupboards nothing but a couple of bags of popping corn and a bottle of canola oil. My whole life, for almost a year, had been lived on Folger Lane. No more of that now.
I placed a call to the hospital up at Lake Tahoe to ask about Carmen. Because I wasn’t family, no one could tell me anything. I wished I had Estella’s number. Though if I had, what would I say? I remembered how she was that day in Ava’s closet, folding laundry, telling me her dreams for her daughter. Mi corazón.
I thought about my camera. I had left it at the party when I ran out to Bobby’s car after hearing the news of the accident. At some point I’d need to go back and get it.
From the other room, I could hear the sound of Ollie’s breathing—steadier now than it had been at the police station. Whatever dark and troubling images swirled around in his brain, he seemed to have calmed down, finally.
As much as I resisted it, I knew I would have to call Dwight. I’d promised to have Ollie back in Walnut Creek by bedtime, and there was no way this was possible now. I needed to keep our son with me longer. Evidently the police had already reached Dwight and told him enough that he felt obliged to share with them the story of my DUI. But I didn’t have the luxury of being angry with him about that. We had to talk about what had happened. Though I had not yet figured out what I would say to him or to our son.
Sometimes people really disappoint you. Even grown-ups. Especially grown-ups, maybe. There can be a person you love a whole lot, and you think you can trust him and still he lets you down. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ever love anyone. You just need to be careful who you love.
None of this was what I would have wanted to tell my eight-year-old. Only now I had to.
My doorbell rang. I figured it had to be Elliot—and as bad as things were, I felt a certain lifting of my heart that he’d come back. But when I opened the door, Marty Matthias was there, in golf clothes—bright yellow shirt and bright green pants, but carrying a briefcase. How did he even know where I lived?
He stepped in. “Nice place,” he said, though we both knew it wasn’t. He set his briefcase down. “Cute.
“I got a call from our friend Swift this morning,” he told me. “He wanted to let me know we should go ahead and file those papers to reopen your motion for custody of your son.”
My custody case. Now?
The detective Swift had hired a while back to investigate my ex-husband—all news to me—had evidently come up with some incriminating information. “Seems your ex-hubby lost his job. He hasn’t been keeping up on his mortgage payments for quite some time now,” Marty said. “He’s on the brink of foreclosure.”
Foreclosure. I was having a hard time focusing.
“But it gets better,” said Marty. (Marty, the attorney Swift had described to me once as capable of biting off a person’s ear, if they ever threatened his client. Meaning Swift.) “Seems the guy has a little problem with anger management. A while back the wife placed a domestic violence call to the authorities in Walnut Creek. She didn’t press charges, but it’s on the books.”
That Dwight had anger issues was not a surprise, of course. Only the part about Cheri reporting him. “You need to keep your voice down, Marty,” I said. “My son’s asleep in the next room.”
“Gotcha,” he said. “Isn’t it something, when you finally get them down for their nap? And you can live a little?”
I just looked at him.
“So things are looking very good for you, Helen,” Marty continued. “If we take this stuff to court, I’m confident we’ll get your kid back where he belongs. Though my guess is we won’t ever have to even put any of this in front of a judge. Once the ex hears what you’ve got on him, he’s likely to give us what we want pretty quick. Particularly given the guy won’t have money for attorney’s fees. Unlike you.”
It was a strange thing. For almost three years now, all I’d really cared about was getting my son back, being able to have a life with him again. Now here was this lawyer telling me it was going to happen—soon, probably. And all I felt was numb.
“Swift has already taken care of the detective,” Marty went on. “As you know, the Havillands are very generous people.”
We were still standing in the foyer of my apartment. I had not invited Marty in to sit down. As little as I understood about what was going on, I knew this was not a simple friendly visit.
“Now of course there will need to be a significant retainer for ongoing legal services.”
A retainer.
“I’m guessing we can take care of this matter for under thirty K,” he said. “Not that you have to worry about any of this. Swift is happy to cover the full amount.
“We just need to be sure, before we move forward here, that we’re all on the same page concerning the events at Lake Tahoe this weekend. With your son.”
I didn’t say anything. I knew Marty would let me know exactly what he wanted.
“It would be unfortunate if any discrepancy were to arise concerning the details of the accident,” Marty said. “Not that any of us anticipates this. But given how confused young children can be about things, I wanted to clarify. You can understand that it would not be possible for our friend to make such a generous offer to you if there were any question that you or your son might offer an account of what took place the other day that could conflict with that of Swift and his son. And of course, they were the ones who were actually present.”
“So was Ollie,” I said. “He’s very upset.”
“Kids get all kinds of crazy ideas, don’t they?” Marty said. “It’s so great, their big imaginations. Not that they’ve got any proof to back up the stories they tell. But you got to hand it to them. They sure can be entertaining. And I gather you’re quite a storyteller yourself, by the way. Swift was just telling me about some of the wild yarns you yourself have spun on occasion.”
“I wouldn’t ever lie under oath, if that’s what you were suggesting,” I told him.
“Of course not.”
Marty seemed to be heading for the door then, but he turned around. He had picked up one of Ollie’s stuffed animals. Now he was taking his time, studying the toy. “Ava tells me you had a little slip with your drinking problem recently,” he said. “But I see no reason to worry about that. The Havillands are the only ones who know. We certainly wouldn’t want that information getting out.”
“Ava told you that?” I said.
“One thing to know about me and the Havillands, honey,” said Marty. “They tell me everything.”
68.
I didn’t call Officer Reynolds the next morning. I did call my ex-husband, who had heard from the police that there had been an accident in which our son had been involved. Perhaps for the reasons Marty Matthias had now revealed to me, Dwight offered no resistance when I told him I felt I should keep Oliver with me for another day or two, rather than bringing him back to Walnut Creek that night. If, in fact, Dwight was now faced with losing his house, this might have explained how distracted he seemed when I tried to fill him in on what I knew.
Under the Influence Page 25
