The year She Fell

by Rasley, Alicia

  But then we burst into a light-filled room with windows high along the ceiling and walls painted a soothing blue-green. No doubt this was meant to calm down the angry patrons. Along the wall, near a battleship-gray armored door, was a bank of TV monitors and an empty desk.

  “No guests yet.” Jackson punched a code into the keypad by the door. “But the day is young.” The door opened with a whisper, and Jackson gestured for me to enter.

  I hesitated, gazing into the dim space beyond. “You first.”

  With a grin he pushed through the door, and stood on the other side of the threshold, holding it open for me. “I told you—the cells are empty.”

  He was right, of course. The four little cells were virginal—as clean and shiny as a new car. Even so, the bars gave me a chill.

  Jackson was regarding me with a slight, challenging smile. He opened one cell door, and walked in. I remembered a dozen times when we were teenaged lovers, when he would look at me that way, challenging me to ride his motorcycle, to sneak out with him, to run away . . .

  I responded as I did all those other times. Took him up on it. I stepped across the threshold into the little cell. “Hmm, vinyl tiling. I was expecting concrete floors,” I said, as if I were all-too-familiar with the dreary decorating of most jails.

  “On concrete, it’s too easy for an inmate to bash his cellmate’s head open like a cantaloupe.” Jackson pointed to the cot. “Try the bed. It’s bolted down, but it’s got a five-inch mattress.”

  “Also bolted down,” I observed, gingerly testing it with my hand. It wouldn’t come away from the bed frame. “Don’t tell me. That’s so the inmate can’t use it to smother his cellmate.”

  “You’re catching on. Notice all the video.”

  I looked up to the ceiling outside the bars. Three tiny videocams were poised, one on each cell. I was used to cameras, to say the least, but it gave me a shiver. I supposed they would record anything, even the inmate’s use of the steel toilet in the corner. “Are they recording now?”

  “Nope. So I guess I’m in trouble, huh?”

  It wasn’t quite flirting. But it was enough like it to give me hope. And we were alone, and no one was spying through those little cameras. I could tell—there were no red lights. And, of course, I trusted Jackson to tell me the truth.

  So I sat down on the bed and patted the bare but fortunately pristine mattress beside me. After a pause, he sat down a few inches away. “Ready to move in?”

  “Absolutely. At least it’s finished. My cottage is still in the midst of reconstruction. And my room here in Wakefield— the walls are now maroon. Classy and depressing.”

  “Your mother must have found the graffiti.”

  I remembered it suddenly, that night he climbed up the oak tree and into my window, and with Theresa only a few yards away, we had to made love in absolute silence. At dawn I woke to find him gone, and on the wall a red heart with our initials drawn in permanent marker. I had to move the dresser to hide this evidence of our forbidden love.

  Just the memory quickened me. This was an odd place to mount a seduction. But we were alone now. And we could move the actual act elsewhere.

  I reached out. I felt strong, for a change. I took his hand.

  He looked startled. Not a good sign. I realized that his thoughts hadn’t been going along the same path as mine. But—but I was strong. I didn’t let go.

  And then he smiled and gripped my hand. “It’s good to see you again, Laurie.”

  That was better. I looked down at our clasped hands and took a deep breath. “Me too. I’ve never forgotten.”

  “I know.” He gave my hand a last quick grip and rose. “Let me show you—”

  He was going to get away. “Jack, wait.”

  He turned, his hand on the cell door.

  “I have a favor to ask.”

  Jack hesitated only an instant. “Anything, babe.”

  “Sleep with me.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Here?”

  “No. I mean, later.”

  I have to confess, I expected an immediate affirmative. I remembered those nights. Didn’t he?

  But he was a man now, and wary of surprises. He didn’t say yes. He didn’t say no. He just gripped the iron bar like it would crunch in his hand like a beer can, and said, “Why?”

  I didn’t want to answer. I wanted either to sink through the floor or grab him and have him right there on the bare mattress. Instead, I told him what I’d never told anyone, not my best friends, not my sister, not my agent.

  “So, see, something bad happened. And I . . . I kind of shut down. I just couldn’t let myself . . . trust anyone that way again.” I couldn’t look at him. “Do you know what I mean?”

  He’d been leaning against the closed cell door, but now he stood up straight and came to me. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he took both my hands hard in his. “Laurie, I’m a cop. You know what I’m going to say. If you’ve been hurt the way I think you mean, I got to tell you—you need to report it.”

  “I can’t. It’s been too long. Almost a year. It would be hard to prove even if it had just happened. And you see, it would be the end of my career. It was a man I was dating. Someone—famous.” Real famous. “It’s still a man’s industry, you know. He’d probably find some way out of it, because—well, the way it happened.”

  “What? He used drugs?”

  I didn’t to think about it. “Yes. I don’t remember much. Just . . . the aftermath. But he’d get out of it. And he’d come out the victim, at least among his friends. And he has a lot of friends. Oh, I guess I could play the victim role, you know, go on the talk shows and play it up, but—but I couldn’t. And that’s the only way I could . . . report it and still get work, and then I’d only get disease of the week roles.”

  “You have to remember,” he said carefully, “that it could happen again. Not to you, but to someone else.”

  I didn’t want to hear that. I’d heard enough in my own head the last year. “That’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about—” I couldn’t say it. “Look, I want a life, you know? I’m thirty-five, and I want a child before it’s too late, and that’s not going to happen unless I . . . get over this.”

  He drew back, just slightly, enough to let me know he was wary again. “Laurie, honey, I’d do a lot for you. But I already have a child I can’t have with me all the time, and it’s tearing me apart, and I’m not going to father a child only to give it away.”

  “I didn’t mean that!” For a moment I thought about it. A child with Jackson. But I hastened past that stupid thought. “I just want to get back in the game. To break the ice.”

  He shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

  The heat of humiliation spread over my face. “Jackson, I mean, I haven’t been able to let a man . . . touch me. Since then. I don’t trust anyone.”

  His face hardened. “Laurie, give me his name. I’ll take care of him for you. No one will ever know.”

  “That’s not what I want from you!” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “It’s just when I saw you again, I realized. I trust you. I always did. No matter what’s happened the last twenty years, you I still trust.”

  He smiled slightly. “You ought to. You know I’d never hurt you.”

  Something melted inside of me. That calm certainty of his, the plain old easy rightness of him . . . I wasn’t used to that. No one I knew anymore was like that, so entirely sure of his own values. The realization emboldened me. “Well, I was thinking that maybe you could help me get over this. We were good together, back then.”

  Understanding dawned on his face. Then interest. Then something else. “Laurie, it’s not that I don’t want to. I do.” He added, “I really do. But—”

  When he paused, I said hastily, “Look, I don’t mean that I’m aiming my lasso at you. There’s someone else, not a boyfriend or anyone.” I reminded myself of the man back in the Hamptons. A good man. Not in show business. Stable
and sensible and . . . and I couldn’t quite remember what he looked like. “Just the architect who is remodeling my house. But he’s someone I might want to marry if I can . . . just get over this.” I added, “I’m okay, I really am. I’ve been tested and all that.” I managed a shaky laugh. “And I’m on the pill, though there’s been no real reason for that for a long time.”

  “I’m not worried about that. But—”

  I waited, my heart sinking.

  “But Michelle and I talked last night on the phone, and we’re going to try again. For Carrie’s sake. We think maybe we didn’t try the long-distance relationship long enough. And—”

  Flatly I said, “You’re getting married again.”

  “I’m going down there tomorrow. We’ll talk about it. I don’t know yet. If it works. But—” he pressed the heels of his hands against his temples as if he had a headache. “But I know it won’t work, if I don’t commit myself to the attempt. And that means no one else.”

  “But—” But I wouldn’t tell, I wanted to say. But it’s just for tonight. I would let you go back to her right in the morning. All I want is your sweet body and a few hours of your time.

  But I didn’t say any of that. He looked so honestly anguished about it all. I let that soothe my wounded ego. At least he seemed to want to help me.

  And I wanted him. Even if that desire seemed destined to go unfulfilled, it felt good just to feel again, to want to touch a man . . .

  I didn’t want to tempt him. I didn’t want to tempt me to tempt him. I got up. “Okay. Sorry. Never mind.”

  He let me past him, through the cell door, back out through the armored door. “If it weren’t for this, Laurie, you know—”

  I managed a smile. “I understand. I’m glad you’re still . . . you. Still, you know. Stalwart.”

  He shook his head. “Wish I weren’t.”

  Well, that was humiliating. I managed to walk out of the police station without looking back. Back straight. Head held high. Marie Antoinette going to the guillotine.

  I’m being melodramatic. It wasn’t that bad. But beyond the embarrassment, there was also the disappointment. I really . . . wanted him. It wasn’t just that I could see him as the key to restoring my poor lost desire. I really desired him. All of him. The lean body I remembered so well. The mouth that smiled as it kissed. The simple truth of him. The caring.

  Just as well that I didn’t get all that. Because I’m not sure I would have had as easy a time giving it up as I’d hoped. Just seduce him and go back to Grady ready to commit, I’d told myself. Now, as I walked, head not so high, up the hill to the old house, I thought maybe that would have been a painful exit—more painful than this one.

  And it was good that I’d told him. About what happened. What I’d never told anyone. It was . . . healthy. It would help me recover. He was gratifyingly protective. Such a . . . guy. He wanted to beat the man up. Of course, he didn’t know who it was, but just knowing he was willing to break his own laws to avenge me—well, it helped.

  I just sort of wished he’d break his vows and heal me.

  But it was for the best. No complications now.

  I’d about talked myself into this scenario, that I was better off without his kisses. Then a couple hours later, when I was home, the phone rang, and I heard his voice, and my knees gave out and I had to sit down on the little bench next to the phone table. “Jackson.” My voice came out a whisper.

  But his voice wasn’t soft. It was clipped and professional. His police chief voice. “Laurie, it’s about your mom. She’s okay, but she’s been taken to the hospital.”

  My fingers tightened on the receiver. It was starting. Ellen was right. “What happened?”

  “One of my officers found her sitting in her car over near the caves off 51. The car was safe on the shoulder, but the bumper was right up against the guardrail. No damage, and he didn’t see any sign she was injured. But she was just sitting there, like she was dazed. So he called for an ambulance.”

  I managed to thank him, and hung up and immediately called the hospital. The nurse I reached was reassuring—no obvious injury, but still a bit out of it. A night under observation, a check by the neurologist in the morning . . . maybe a CAT scan.

  Mother looked strangely diminished in the big hospital bed, her hair still perfect against the white pillow, but her arms hooked up to IV bottles. She had to be hating what the fluorescent light did to her complexion—if you think I’m vain, at least I came by it honestly—so as soon as I could, I opened the curtains to let in the late afternoon sun. I almost regretted it, because she perked up right away and began issuing orders.

  She wanted out. Failing that, she wanted to check her email. Ellen should go home and return with the newly repaired laptop.

  That had us exchanging glances. Check her email? Ellen muttered as we left that she’d never seen such a rapid descent into email addiction, and she was not going to enable it by bringing her laptop to the hospital.

  I had to agree. Mother should be worried about her prognosis, not her inbox. Besides, the doctor had prescribed a sleeping pill and an early night, and Ellen wouldn’t want to keep her up.

  So we left her seething there in her hospital bed, her fists gripping the coverlet. I glanced back once, then ducked out the door. It was embarrassing how intimidating I found that glare of hers, even at my advanced age, even after decades of defiance, even knowing she was trapped there, tethered to the IV poles.

  Ellen, to her credit, didn’t say I told you so. She didn’t say anything until we were out in the parking lot and she reaching into her bag for her keys. Then she said, “I wonder if it’s about Cathy. All of this. You know, forgetting that the cameo was buried with her and blaming it on Merilee. Bequeathing the house to Cathy’s alma mater.” She aimed the key at the car door and clicked. “Maybe she’s been thinking about Cathy’s death. Wondering about it. Feeling guilty about it.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat. When Ellen and Theresa were both settled, I asked, “But why? It’s not like her to feel any guilt. And, well, it was hardly her fault. Cathy was always doing dangerous things.”

  “Not always as bad as during that last year.” Ellen shoved the car into gear and peeled out of the parking lot like a teenage boy in a Firebird. Her knuckles were white against the tan steering wheel. “Before that, Cathy did crazy things, but she was careful. That last day, she didn’t even have the harness fastened right. She must have been distracted.”

  Or had a death wish. But I didn’t say that aloud. “Well, that happens to the best of us, doesn’t it? One little lapse of concentration, and disaster. But, you know, I can blame a lot on our mother, but she didn’t have anything to do with Cathy’s risk taking. She probably wished Cathy would sit at home and knit.”

  And suddenly I remembered Mother that night at the Emmys. It wasn’t that she embarrassed me. No, she was the perfect Emmy Nomination Mother, gracious and warm and discreet. But I caught her once glancing around at the high-wattage assembly, at all those sleek arrogant young people who can still intimidate me sometimes. I’m among them, but not one of them. I haven’t the requisite fearlessness and, well, narcissism, I guess. (I know I’m self-absorbed, but not in that star way.) And Mother, well, she looked like a robin in a flock of tropical birds, and I saw her falter, just a moment, and realized that however fiercesome she seemed to be back home, however in charge she was there, she really was just a small-town matron, and now she knew it. And I felt a sudden need to protect her from that realization, that self-diminishment, and quickly, foolishly, I came up with an acceptance speech that would focus on her and Daddy. I never got to give it, because the universe doesn’t give awards to those who craft acceptance speeches—or maybe it’s because I didn’t get as many votes as the winner—but I knew something I didn’t want to know about my mother now . . . that she also knew self-doubt, and it was all the more devastating because it was so rare.

  Fortunately, she quickly said something that restored m
y usual sense of displacement. Gazing at one gorgeous starlet, she murmured so that only I could hear, “She looks like Cathy, don’t you think? Only not so strong.”

  Now I looked over at Ellen and said, reluctantly, “Maybe Mother did, well, take pride in Cathy. In her fearlessness. Maybe we all did. And so we didn’t notice when it turned into, I don’t know, recklessness.”

  “You’re not saying she—”

  “ I don’t think anyone who values life above all jumps off cliffs. Even with a harness on.”

  “She called me Cathy.”

  Ellen and I both swiveled our heads to look at Theresa. “What do you mean?” Ellen said, hastily glancing back at the road.

  “Mother. This morning. Before she left. She said, ‘Cathy, don’t forget to close that window upstairs.’“ Theresa paused. “I don’t even look like Cathy.

  And, I said, grimly amused, “The resemblance is slight otherwise too. I can’t see you jumping off a mountain.”

  Theresa bristled at some insult I didn’t make but she heard anyway. “No, I only risked my life treating cholera victims. “

  Ellen, as always, intervened. “I can’t see her blaming herself. Not for Cathy’s death. But it’s not something you get over, losing a child.”

  Theresa said neutrally, “I think she also never got over losing your father.”

  Ellen sighed. “She wasn’t much older than I am now. And she never dated again.”

  “As far as we know,” I said. Ellen gave me a sharp look, but I’d already said too much. Instead of elaborating, I added, “But she did go on with life. She adopted Theresa after Daddy died. And she never . . . faltered. But Cathy’s death—to lose a second loved one too early—”

  Theresa sighed. “I should have stayed here after high school. But I thought she was over it after, what, four years?”

  “And you had a—” I searched for the word. “A vocation. You couldn’t just ignore that.”

  “True vocations last,” Theresa said flatly.

  So much for my attempt at empathy. “Well, no use looking back so many years. Seventeen since Cathy died? More than twenty for Daddy? We did have to get on with our own lives. She’s never asked for our help. Not even now.”