She caught the three o’clock flight back to the island. The San Juan Airlines planes were tiny, the ride over in a matter of minutes, and Maggie was glad to pay for the convenience of being able to go back and forth with ease. What would have taken several hours with the ferry and a commute on the mainland took just minutes by air.
She was dropped off at the house by Bob’s Taxi and Tours. Ellen and the children were out. Slightly relieved, Maggie took the opportunity to shower and change her clothes. She was making an espresso when the doorbell rang. Surprised by the unexpected visitor, Maggie answered it.
A giant of a man stood on the stoop. He was young, early twenties, Maggie guessed, and dressed in a policeman’s uniform. A shock of bright-red hair stood up from his head, giving him a startled look.
“Can I help you?” Maggie asked through the screen door, and he blushed a fiery red, matching his hair.
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. Officer Benjamin Burns of the San Juan County Sheriff’s Office. Is this the home of Lena Firelli?”
“Yes,” Maggie answered cautiously. “What is this about?” She tensed, every nerve on high alert for whatever came next. They could not handle any more bad news or drama.
Officer Burns cleared his throat. “I’m just finishing up some paperwork on the case”—his eyes drifted to the notepad in his hand—“and I wonder if I could ask you some questions about Mrs. Firelli.” He held up the notepad by way of explanation.
“The case?” Maggie asked, puzzled.
He nodded. “Mrs. Firelli’s car crash yesterday. Just filling out the forms. It’s standard procedure,” he explained, peering at her through the screen door. Maggie relaxed a little, reassured there was no new crisis. She opened the door and motioned him in, pointing toward the front parlor.
“Can I get you some coffee?” she offered.
“Oh, thank you, ma’am. That’s mighty nice of you, but I’m okay. I just have a few questions for you.” He perched awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, focusing hard for a moment on his notepad. He cleared his throat, darting a look at Maggie.
“Are you, uh, a relative of Mrs. Firelli’s?” He fished a pen from his pocket and clicked it open.
“No, a close friend. She’s like . . .” Maggie paused, swallowing hard, steadying her voice. “She’s like a sister to me.” She sat down on the foot of the chaise lounge, waiting for his next question.
He nodded and made a notation. “I was, uh, the one who responded to the call about the crash,” he said after a moment.
“Oh,” Maggie said, suddenly realizing she’d never thought to ask about the other people involved in the accident. “Was anyone else hurt? How is the other driver?”
“Other driver, ma’am?” Officer Burns asked quizzically, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. “Mrs. Firelli was the only driver involved in the incident. She hit a concrete retaining wall going fifty miles an hour. If it hadn’t been for her airbag deploying . . .”
Maggie was shocked. She had just assumed the accident was caused by another driver swerving across the center line or pulling out carelessly and T-boning Lena’s Volvo. Lena was a cautious driver. She stopped twice at stop signs, once at the line and once where she could actually see oncoming traffic. Lena going fifty miles an hour on the island roads and losing control of her car was a bizarre and incongruous thought.
“What caused the accident? Do you know?” Maggie asked. Perhaps it had been the rain. Or an animal crossing the road. The island was teeming with wildlife, from black-tailed deer to red foxes, not to mention the usual array of raccoons, birds, and other small creatures.
“Well, ma’am, that’s the strange thing. There isn’t any sign of a cause. No obvious debris in the road, no dead critters, no curves where she hit the wall. The pavement was a little wet but nothing unusual. It’s just a long, straight stretch of road alongside the water. And, ma’am”—Officer Burns glanced quickly around the room, lowering his voice although they were alone—“the thing is, there weren’t any tire marks.”
Seeing Maggie’s look of incomprehension, he explained, “She didn’t even hit her brakes.”
Maggie stared at him, a sudden suspicion making her skin prickle with gooseflesh. It couldn’t be. She darted a glance at the officer as he scribbled notes, the suspicion crystallizing into a coherent thought. Could Lena have done it on purpose? Had the strain been too much for her, first Marco and then the truth about their financial situation causing her to finally snap?
Maggie shook her head. How could she even think such a thing about Lena, who loved her children more than life itself? But she remembered Lena’s voice, flat and final, in the bedroom the morning after she had broken the jam jars. “I don’t know if I can do it, Maggie. I don’t know if I can live without him. I don’t think I want to.”
“Ma’am.” Officer Burns cleared his throat and peered at her earnestly. “I know Mrs. Firelli lost her husband recently. Do you know if she was taking any medication at the time of the crash? Did she seem to be in her right mind the last time you saw her?” He asked the final question hesitantly. “Do you think Mrs. Firelli might have wanted to . . . to end her own life?”
Maggie didn’t answer for a moment, staring past the young officer out the window to the wide expanse of front lawn, trying to collect her thoughts. Had Lena been taking any medication? Maggie had no idea. She would need to check the medicine cabinet in Lena’s bathroom. Was it possible that she had intended to end her life? What should she say? She didn’t know anything for sure, certainly not the truth.
“I don’t know about any medications,” she said finally. “But no,” she said, shaking her head, speaking with more conviction than she felt. “No, Lena wouldn’t have done this on purpose. She wouldn’t have left her children. It must have been an accident.”
Officer Burns nodded and clicked his pen closed. “Well, then I’ll be filling out the report, assuming she was going too fast, lost control of the vehicle, and didn’t have time to apply the brakes. I do wish Mrs. Firelli a speedy recovery.”
Maggie nodded. “Thank you, Officer.”
After he left, Maggie stood at the door watching the taillights of the police cruiser wink down the drive. Officer Burns’s visit had left her feeling distinctly unsettled. She turned and went up the stairs to Lena and Marco’s bedroom. As she rifled through Lena’s nightstand drawer, at first glance it contained nothing of interest, just a crumpled handkerchief, a lemon verbena–scented hand lotion from L’Occitane, and the newest issue of Real Simple magazine. Maggie almost shut the drawer, intending to try the bathroom medicine cabinet, but at the last moment she swiped her hand across the back of the drawer.
A plastic bottle was in one corner. She pulled it out, frowning as she read the label. It was a prescription for an antianxiety medication in Lena’s name, filled the day after Marco died. She opened the container and counted out the little white pills. Five were missing. Maggie stared at the pills in her hand. Was this part of the puzzle? Maggie knew sometimes medication like this could have the opposite of its intended effect. Had Lena been under the influence of some medication that had altered her behavior? There was no way of knowing when Lena had taken the pills or how many she had taken. Perhaps they had contributed to the crash, perhaps not. Lena’s accident could easily have been just that, an accident, caused by a moment’s lapse in concentration, a slip of the wheel at the exact wrong time.
But still, as Maggie slid the pills back into their container and stored them on the highest shelf in the bathroom medicine cabinet, well out of reach of the children, she couldn’t help but wonder. Had Lena deliberately caused this catastrophic event? In the depths of sorrow, faced with the enormity of loss, with the prospect of crushing debt and a life devoid of Marco, under the influence of medication and in a moment of desperation, had Lena turned the steering wheel, put her foot on the gas, and hoped never to wake up?
Over a hasty late dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, Maggie and Ellen explained to the children as
gently as they could about Lena’s condition, trying to be both honest and reassuring. It didn’t go well. Gabby burst into tears and ran to her room. Jonah got up from the table without a word and disappeared outside, leaving his dinner almost untouched. Only Luca stayed at the table, methodically finishing both his plate of macaroni and Jonah’s with a determined look on his face.
Ellen went to check on Gabby. Maggie thought about going after Jonah but decided against it. He could probably use some space. When he was done eating, Luca followed Gabby and Ellen up the stairs. Maggie ate a few more bites but found her appetite was gone. So she busied herself clearing the table and washing the dishes, routine tasks that lent a veneer of normalcy to the evening.
A half hour after she’d gone upstairs, Ellen returned. “I’ve given Gabby a bath and put her in her pajamas, poor mite. She’s looking at books in her bed, and I told her I’d be up to tuck her in after a minute. Luca’s brushed his teeth and he’s in bed now too.” Ellen looked exhausted.
“Let me tuck her in,” Maggie urged. “You take a rest. It’s been a hard day.”
“Well, it hasn’t been a picnic for you either,” Ellen protested.
“Yes, but I spent the morning waiting at the hospital, not taking care of the kids. Let me do this,” Maggie urged her.
Ellen wavered, looking tempted. “I should call Ernie and give him an update,” she admitted. She had called her husband after Lena’s accident but had not yet had a chance to tell him what the doctor had said that morning.
It took only a moment more of persuasion before she was convinced. Maggie sent her off to her room. “But come get me when you’re through with the children so we can have a chat. I’ll call Ernie and then put my feet up for a minute,” Ellen said as she left, cell phone in one hand.
Maggie wiped down the counters and put the kitchen in order. She was about to head upstairs when the French doors leading to the back deck opened and Jonah slipped inside. He went up the stairs without a word. A minute later she heard water running in the bathroom.
In Gabby’s room, Maggie knelt beside the small white bed. Gabby handed her the book she’d been looking at, a story of a piglet who dreamed of being a ballerina. Maggie put the book on top of a stack by the bed.
“Aunt Maggie, Aunt Ellen said Mommy hit her head and her brain went to sleep so it could get better.” Her little mouth was pinched with worry. Maggie tucked the Disney princess sheets and appliquéd, petal-pink bedspread around Gabby and snuggled her stuffed rabbit, Bun Bun, close to her pillow.
“Yes, sweetie, that’s exactly what happened. We don’t know how long your mommy has to sleep, but her brain is resting so it can get better and help her wake up.”
Gabby considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, Aunt Maggie.” She stroked Bun Bun’s worn head. “Maybe tomorrow Mommy will wake up.”
“I hope so,” Maggie murmured, pressing a kiss onto the soft spiral curls at the crown of Gabby’s head. Her hair smelled like bubble gum–scented shampoo. Maggie switched on the Beauty and the Beast nightlight and crept from the room, heading down the hall to the room the boys shared.
Jonah was lying in bed, awash in a faint green light from the Superman nightlight in the corner. Head pillowed on his arms, he stared unseeingly at the ceiling. Luca wheezed gently in the bed across the room, already asleep.
“Hey,” Maggie whispered, kneeling by Jonah’s bed. He turned. In the faint light his eyes looked so grave, too old and burdened for someone his age. She smiled tentatively, but he simply looked at her, his face expressionless.
“Is my mom going to die?” he asked finally, softly.
Maggie glanced over at Luca’s slumbering form, a small mound beneath dinosaurs-of-the-world cotton sheets, and pitched her voice low. “I don’t think so,” she answered honestly.
“But you don’t know for sure?” he asked, giving her an assessing look.
“Not for sure, but most people wake up from comas. She’s in a coma because her brain has been hurt, and a coma is like a nap to give the brain rest and a chance to heal. Your mom’s brain is trying to get better.”
“I know. I sneaked into Aunt Ellen’s room and looked it up on the internet. But Mom could still wake up and not remember anything, right? She could not remember how to walk and stuff. She could wake up and not remember us.” His voice was tight.
He was scared, she realized. Of course he was scared. He’d lost one parent while he watched, and now this was happening so soon after. It was too awful to believe. She remembered what it felt like to lose her mother, the sensation of being adrift in the world, the hollow ache that throbbed in the soft space between her collarbones, right below her throat.
“Oh, Jonah.” She squeezed his arm, trying to comfort him but feeling clumsy in the gesture. He didn’t respond. “The doctors are doing everything they can, and we are too. We’ll get through this. It’ll be okay.”
“But you have to go back to your job,” he said, his voice quavering just a little. He sounded so young. “I mean, you can’t stay here forever. You only come for a month, and then you have to go back to work. What happens if Mom isn’t awake by then?” She could hear the uncertainty in his tone, the fear that everything familiar was suddenly being taken away.
Maggie winced, thinking of the Regent Fellowship. She hadn’t had a chance to talk with Lena, and she knew now there was no way she could jaunt off to Chicago right away and start preparing her entry. The Regent would have to wait. Everything would have to wait until they saw what happened with Lena. She swallowed hard, tamping down the bitter taste of disappointment. There was still time. She would just have to delay a little longer. She couldn’t allow herself to think about less hopeful outcomes, not yet. It was too painful to contemplate. She could do only what lay in front of her, what she knew she needed to do at this moment.
“I’ll take care of you. I’m not going anywhere until your mom is okay,” she whispered, her voice calm and sure, hoping against hope that she hadn’t just made a promise she wouldn’t be able to keep.
“Well, this is a fine kettle of fish,” Ellen said wearily, settling into a chair opposite Maggie at the dining room table. An open bottle of red wine sat between them, a half-full glass in front of each woman. It was a good vintage—a five-year-old Cave de Tain Hermitage Syrah. Marco had been an avid wine connoisseur and had kept a well-stocked wine cave in New York. Here on the island the options were more limited, but he had still managed to keep a small but selective collection on hand. Maggie moved her goblet in a slow circle, watching the wine swirl against the glass, so deep a red it looked black. She sniffed it as Marco had taught her to do so many years before, then tasted it. Oak aged. Peppery notes over ripe fruit. She had known nothing about wine until Marco taught her.
Maggie set down her glass and leaned back in the dining room chair. She took a deep breath and scrubbed her hands over her hair, smoothing back a few flyaway curls, trying to order her thoughts, unsure how to proceed. She felt as though she were in some alternative reality where the world had tipped on its axis, spilling all the good and predictable patterns of life out into the vast nothing of the universe, leaving only chaos and destruction in its wake. Surely she would awaken tomorrow somewhere sane and normal—Jamaica or Jakarta or even Chicago—and realize the world was as she had left it, moving along at a predictable speed, everything still as it should be. Anything but this. This was madness. She took another large swallow of wine, trying to brace herself. “So what do we do now?” she asked.
“Well, goodness. I don’t know. We just have to keep going. What else can we do?” Ellen sighed heavily, brushing a strand of silvery-blonde hair back from her brow. A cool, moist breeze was trickling through the open windows, and she pulled her cardigan closer, buttoning the middle button. “We’ve got three scared children up there. Somebody’s got to take care of them until we see what happens.” She picked up her wine glass, sniffed the contents, and set it back down.
Maggie didn’t ask the obvious
question that followed that train of thought. What would happen if Lena didn’t wake up? She couldn’t bring herself to go there, not yet.
Ellen met Maggie’s eyes as though discerning her thoughts. “Let’s take it one step at a time,” she said, her practicality comforting. “How long before you have to be back at your job?”
Maggie hesitated. “I’ve taken an indefinite leave of absence, but I have to get back at some point soon.” She didn’t mention the Regent Fellowship, although she was now on borrowed time. She needed to get back as soon as possible, but she couldn’t leave immediately. It was unthinkable. Perhaps if Lena woke up soon, if there was no brain damage. But she couldn’t dwell on all the possibilities, not tonight. They just had to put one foot in front of the other.
“I called Ernie and told him I’ll be staying longer than we thought.” Ellen sighed again and straightened her shoulders. “After thirty-nine years of marriage, that man still cannot use the clothes dryer or the stove top, but he’ll be fine for a few more weeks. I keep the freezer stocked with homemade meals for us anyway, so he can just heat those up in the microwave. And Stephanie will keep an eye on him.”
Maggie looked at Ellen, vaguely surprised, realizing for the first time that the older woman would have to sacrifice to stay here too. She sometimes forgot Ellen had not always been there on the island, washing dishes and making meals and keeping the household running smoothly. “Are you really okay to stay longer?” Maggie asked. She had simply assumed Ellen would stay, but it felt presumptuous now not to at least ask. If she didn’t stay . . . Maggie could not imagine doing all that needed to be done by herself. She was ill-equipped to handle a household and the children without help.
“Of course,” Ellen said. “They’re family.” She frowned. “I know my brother, Dick, and Ingrid can’t help. Ever since Ingrid had her back surgery, she can’t travel. And Dick is too tied up with his practice to come out. Besides, truth be told, neither of them is exactly comforting or practical anyway. They’re about as helpful as poodles in a pigsty. What Lena knows about running a household, canning, cooking, baking, and sewing, she learned from me. I used to spend quite a bit of time at their house when Lena was younger. Her mother’s health was always a little poor, and I helped out when I could.”
Ascension of Larks Page 13
