“Her husband said she was fine,” Britt said, hoping to provoke a reaction.
She was instantly rewarded. Dr. Farrar scowled. “Fine? Alec Lynch thought she was fine? She could scarcely function.” She shook her head. “That sounds like him. He probably didn’t notice it. Who am I kidding? He probably caused it. She could have fallen dead at his feet and he would have stepped right over her.”
“Is he that bad?” Britt asked.
“Look, I’m the wrong person to ask,” said Dr. Farrar, struggling to regain her detached demeanor. “Alec Lynch and I do not see the world in the same way. But their marital problems were none of my business.”
Britt nodded. “No, of course not. Okay. Well, I can’t help but wonder.”
“Will you be staying with Zoe awhile, Miss Andersen?” asked Dr. Farrar.
“A little while,” said Britt.
“She needs your help right now,” said Dr. Farrar. The woman doctor had a piercing gaze that made Britt feel pinned, like a prize butterfly. “You know what I’m saying. The child has lost her mother. Is she seeing a therapist?”
“Apparently, she’s seeing a counselor at school,” said Britt.
“She may need more than just a well-meaning guidance counselor,” said Dr. Farrar.
“I thought the same thing, but her father seems satisfied with what the counselor is doing,” said Britt.
Dr. Farrar snorted. “He probably doesn’t want to have to pay for a professional’s fees. You can tell him that the insurance will cover it. Maybe he’ll be convinced to put Zoe’s interests first,” she said.
“I’ll mention it to him again,” said Britt.
“There’s a police investigation going on,” the doctor continued, “and I feel sure that it will be very hard on Zoe. She’s at a very precarious time in her life.”
“I know,” said Britt.
“You need to keep a close eve on her. If you see any indication that she’s high or spaced out, I want you to call me.”
“Believe me, I will,” Britt said. “She’s important to me.”
“Don’t desert her,” said the doctor, picking up a folder and beginning to make notations in it, as if to indicate that it was time for Britt to leave. “She has no one else.”
Chapter Thirteen
After a stop to buy vitamins, Britt and Zoe returned to the house. All the way home, Britt was distracted, thinking about what she had learned. Zoe had taken her mothers drugs on the night of the fire. Greta was depressed. Greta had hired a private detective. Did she believe that her husband was having an affair? What could be more depressing than that? One thing seemed certain. This happy family image had been a facade.
Britt glanced at the clock. It was nearly three o’clock. She had missed lunch, and she was pretty sure that Zoe had also. “Are you hungry?” Britt asked as she and Zoe took off their coats and hung them up. “Did you eat lunch? I could make you a grilled cheese sandwich.”
“No, I’m not hungry,” said Zoe listlessly.
“Zoe, remember what the doctor said.”
“Oh, all right,” said Zoe. She trudged down the hall to the kitchen and flopped down in one of the kitchen chairs. Britt began hunting around for a frying pan. She had noticed bread and cheese in the refrigerator this morning.
“Are you a good cook?” Zoe asked, as Britt put the sandwich together and turned on the gas.
Britt grimaced and shook her head. “I’m terrible,” she said. “But I do know how to make grilled cheese.”
“Even I know how to make grilled cheese,” said Zoe.
Britt shrugged, and found a plate for the sandwich. Zoe pulled off the crust and nibbled at the edges, but she did continue eating. “You feeling better?” Britt asked.
Zoe nodded. “I feel pretty good. Maybe Dad will let me go to Kayley’s tonight after all. She invited me.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Britt doubtfully.
“The Dietzs’ house is my second home,” Zoe informed her.
Britt nodded. As she studied Zoe she kept on thinking about her conversation with Dr. Farrar. Finally, she said, “Zoe, Dr. Farrar told me that your mom was depressed and she gave her some medication to help her feel better.”
“My mom was okay,” Zoe insisted.
“But she did take a prescription. A tranquilizer.”
Zoe placed the sandwich down on the plate and looked up at Britt. “So?” she said. “Lots of grown-ups take those.”
Britt gazed at her. “I was just wondering if you might have taken some of your mom’s medication. Just to see what it felt like.”
Zoe stared at her with a hurt, insulted expression in her eyes. “No,” she said.
She seemed so genuinely affronted by the question that Britt was surprised to find herself wondering, for a moment, if the doctor had been mistaken. “It’s just that Dr. Farrar said…” Britt tried to explain.
“How could I take my mom’s medication? All my mom’s stuff is gone. Burned up in the fire.”
“That’s true,” Britt admitted, realizing that Zoe was right. She couldn’t have taken anything of Greta’s. Today’s fainting was just what it looked like—the result of exhaustion and being run-down.
“And besides. I don’t do drugs. Why do you both think I do drugs?” said Zoe, shoving the plate away.
“We don’t,” said Britt. “I don’t. It’s not that.”
“Well, you just said that,” Zoe muttered.
“Zoe, listen…” Britt hesitated. “The very last thing in the world that I want to do is make you feel bad. I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world. But Dr. Farrar told me that after the fire, when you were in the hospital, she found drugs in your system.”
“Well, she’s wrong.”
“But why would she lie about that?” Britt asked.
“I don’t know,” Zoe cried. “How come you think I would lie about it? If you weren’t going to believe me, why did you ask me?”
“You’re right,” said Britt softly, her cheeks hot with shame at being chastised by a child. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, Zoe.”
Zoe sat silently, avoiding her gaze.
Leave her alone, Britt thought. Why try to force her to admit it? Maybe the situation at home had been so intolerable that Zoe was just looking for something, anything to escape. Kids did crazy things when they were sad and upset. She recalled some reckless experimentation of her own in her teenage years, haunted as she was by her mother’s desertion. She remembered, even now, how angry she’d always felt. Zoe doesn’t need you to lecture her. She needs to be able to trust you. This was no way to go about it. “I shouldn’t have repeated that, Zoe.” Britt reached out, and put a hand gently over Zoe’s fist, which was clenched on the tabletop. Britt’s heart twisted inside her at the sight of Zoe’s obvious distress.
Zoe jerked her fist away. “That’s right,” she said, but her voice quavered, and her eyes glistened.
“Maybe you should lie down,” said Britt.
“I’m not tired,” Zoe protested, pushing back from the table.
Following Zoe out of the kitchen, Britt noticed the shopping bag from the bookstore sitting on a table in the hall. “Hey, how about this?” said Britt. “Why don’t I read to you from one of these new books?”
“Read to me? I know how to read, Aunt Britt. I’m eleven, remember?” said Zoe.
“I know,” said Britt. “But sometimes, when you’re not feeling well… I thought maybe you could stretch out on the sofa,” she said.
Zoe was still glaring straight ahead, unwilling to forgive Britt so readily.
“Zoe, I know these books probably seem corny to you, but I thought you might find them land of comforting in a way. And I’d really like to try to make you feel better. If I start reading and you get bored you can just say so. I won’t be offended. I promise.”
Zoe hesitated. “Well,” she said with a frown, “okay. I guess that would be okay.”
Britt felt triumphant. “Okay, great,” she
said. “Let’s go in the living room.”
They sat down side by side on the couch, and Britt put the Indian blanket over Zoe’s legs. Then she rummaged in the bag and pulled out Little Women. “Let’s try this one,” she said.
As Britt opened the book, she gazed for a minute at Zoe, who looked like a little child sitting there, huddled under the blanket. But Zoe was old enough to have dipped into her mothers tranquilizers. Children could keep their secrets so carefully hidden. You would never know by looking at them. Britt opened the book and cleared her throat. “Of course, if you have homework to do, I don’t want to keep you from it,” she said.
“Just a little homework,” said Zoe. “I can do it later.”
“Okay,” said Britt. “Then let’s give this a try.” She opened the book to the first page and began to read.
Zoe closed her eyes, and rested her head against the back of the sofa, and Britt wasn’t sure if she was even listening, but when she finished chapter one, Zoe said, “Keep going.”
Somewhere in the middle of chapter three Britt heard Alec Lynch’s heavy tread on the front steps. Then the front door opened. Zoe interrupted Britt’s reading in midsentence, jumping up from the couch and running to embrace her father as he came into view.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Aunt Britt is reading to me. She bought me some books.”
Alec stared at Britt. He was unsmiling, his skin liverish from the cold.
“The school nurse called me,” Britt said. “I had to take Zoe to the doctor.”
“Lauren just told me that she called the dealership. That’s why I came home early. What’s the matter?” he said, searching Zoe’s pale face with a worried gaze.
“I fainted,” Zoe said. “Hit my head. I’m a big klutz.”
“I tried to reach you at the dealership,” said Britt, “but one of your salesmen told me you were out.”
Alec ignored Britt and searched his daughter’s face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m okay,” said Zoe.
Alec looked questioningly at Britt.
Britt sighed. “Dr. Farrar says she’s fine. Just a little run-down.”
“You should get in bed, honey, and rest.”
“Everybody tells me to rest. I was resting,” Zoe protested. “I had my eyes closed when Aunt Britt was reading.”
Alec tossed off his leather jacket and loosened his tie. “All right, now,” he said. “You get up there and take a real nap. I’ll be right up to check on you.”
“Oh, all right,” said Zoe glumly. She turned back to Britt. “Will you read more later, Aunt Britt?”
“Sure,” said Britt.
“Go on,” Alec said. He watched Zoe shuffle toward the stairs.
Britt slammed the book shut and tossed it on the table. Then she stood up and began to refold the Indian blanket.
“Sorry I missed your call,” he said in a clipped tone. “They must have thought I went out. I was in the back.”
“Really?” Britt asked coldly. “Doing what?”
Alec looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Do you know a lot about the snowmobile business, Britt? If I told you, would you know what I was talking about?”
Britt stared back at him defiantly.
“I didn’t think so,” he said. He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, and began to look through one of the shopping bags on the floor. His gold watch gleamed through the dark hair on his arm. “Look at all this crap,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ve got to start cleaning up around here. I feel like I’m suffocating under all this junk.” He disappeared down the hall. Britt stood uncertainly in the middle of the room, trying to decide how much she dared to say to him.
Alec reentered the room, carrying two black plastic garbage bags. “Here. You want to be helpful? Start throwing stuff out.”
“Dr. Farrar said something else about Zoe today,” she said.
Alec looked up at her, instantly concerned. “What? Is she all right?”
“Dr. Farrar said she had drugs in her system the night of the fire.”
Alec shook his head in disgust. He dumped a shopping bag out on the couch and began to sort through the contents, tossing socks and underwear into the garbage bag.
“Alec?” Britt said.
“It’s bullshit. She’s lying,” he said.
“She had Zoe’s blood tested when she was in the hospital. She said it tested positive for tranquilizers. Why would she lie about it?” Britt cried.
“To get back at me,” he snarled.
“I don’t get it. How does that get back at you?”
“Zoe wouldn’t take drugs,” he said. “You couldn’t cram them down her throat. They get so much antidrug propaganda in school, you can’t get her to take a Tylenol.”
“Well, if she didn’t take them, then how could she have…”
Alec turned on her angrily. “Are you going to talk or are you going to help?”
Britt stared at him. Did he really believe the doctor would lie about such a thing? “Dr. Farrar thinks Zoe should be seeing a psychiatrist, or at least a psychologist. She agrees with me that Zoe needs more help than she’s getting from the school counselor.”
“Oh, she agrees with you, does she? Well, I’ve got news for you. Zoe is going to be fine. I talked to Mrs. Slavin at the school this morning. Zoe likes this woman. She feels comfortable with her.”
“Don’t you think that Dr. Farrar might know a little more about this than you do?”
“She doesn’t know Zoe. Zoe is my child. I’ll make the decisions about Zoe.” He turned his back on Britt and surveyed the mess in the living room. “I should give all this crap to Goodwill,” Alec sighed.
Why would he ignore this? Britt thought. Why would any father ignore such information? Unless he’d known it in the first place. Knew that Zoe was experimenting with drugs.…
The phone rang, and Britt jumped. Alec left the room to answer it.
Britt sat down heavily, the black garbage bag hanging forgotten from her hand. She didn’t believe for a minute that Dr. Farrar was lying about the blood tests. So either Alec was in complete denial or he was covering for Zoe. But why would any parent do that? Turn a blind eye to behavior like that. Behavior that could be deadly if it continued. Unless all this parental concern that he made such a show of was just that… a show. Another part of the elaborate, happy family facade.…
Alec grabbed Britt by the wrist and jerked her to her feet. Britt let out a cry. She could feel her own pulse thudding in his grip.
“You are really a stupid woman,” he said. “Stay out of this. You think you’re helping your sister this way? Where were you when she needed your help?” His eyes were blazing. “Who asked you to come here?”
‘What’s the matter with you?” she cried. “Let go of me this instant.”
“That was Chief Stern. He wanted to know why my wife hired a private detective. He says that you told him.”
Britt stared at him, trying not to be intimidated. “I thought he should know,” she said defiantly.
“Dad?”
Alec dropped Britt’s arm. It was stinging but Britt refused to give him the satisfaction of rubbing it. They both turned and stared at Zoe, who was standing in the doorway in her stocking feet, clutching a stuffed dog to her narrow chest.
‘What’s going on?” Zoe asked.
“Nothing. What are you doing up? I thought you were resting,” Alec demanded.
“I thought I heard somebody fighting,” she said.
“No, no,” said Britt bitterly. “We weren’t fighting.”
“That’s right,” said Alec. “We were just talking.”
“What were you talking about?”
“Zoe,” said Alec angrily. “If I wanted you to know, I’d tell you…”
Edging by Alec, Britt walked over to the closet and pulled out her coat.
“Where are you going, Aunt Britt?” Zoe asked.
Britt avoided meeting Alec’s stony gaze
. “I need to get some air,” she said.
Chapter Fourteen
Britt got in the car and started driving, not caring where. It was only five o’clock, but it was already getting dark. As she ascended the winding roads there was nothing but the glow from an occasional farmhouse or ski chalet to light her way. She crept along, determined to turn around in the next driveway to get herself away from the dangerous twists of the dark road. When the next driveway appeared, she turned in sharply, only to realize, too late, that it was unpaved and muddy, beneath a thin layer of ice. The engine roared, but the car was stuck. Oh God, Britt thought. What am I going to do now? I should never have come this way. Anxiously, she shifted gears, rocking the car back and forth and wondering who she could call for help, when the tires suddenly jerked out of the ruts and she was able to get back onto the blacktop.
Heaving a relieved sigh, she drove back the way she had come, this time heading for the lights of Main Street. She pulled into an empty parking space, sat back in the drivers seat and exhaled in relief. Couples came and went on the sidewalk beneath the fairy lights, their eyes shining, hands entwined. Britt felt her solitude like a weight. Stuck in the mud, she had wondered for a moment who she would call to come and help her. She knew she would not call Alec. The idea of being at his mercy on some lonely road seemed a little frightening to her now. And there was nobody else. Don’t dwell on it, she thought. Get out of the car.
She looked up and down the street. There were restaurants and cafes all along the street but none of them looked inviting to her. Just pick one, she thought.
She walked into Masons Bar and Grille. It was wood paneled and cozy, with a gas fire, a nicked and well-worn mahogany bar and a number of tables, about half of which were full. Even in the candlelight, Britt could distinguish glowing, pink faces, snowflake-patterned sweaters and, unlike any bar she’d ever been to, no obscuring haze of cigarette smoke. These were people who were saving all their lung power for moving fast at high altitudes. A hostess wearing braids and dressed in a turtleneck and a plaid, dirndl skirt that nearly grazed the floor, approached Britt. “Would you like a table?” she asked.
Britt frowned. “Do you serve food at the bar?” she asked.
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