by P J Parrish
He pushed up out of the chair and hobbled toward the door. The bell had rung two more times by the time Louis opened the door.
Rodney stood on the porch, his camel overcoat buttoned all the way up, his gloved hand about to ring the doorbell again. Instead, he slowly removed his sunglasses.
“Good morning,” Rodney said.
“What are you doing here?” Louis asked.
“I’ve come to see Phillip. Is he here?”
“No,” Louis said.
For a second, Louis thought about telling Rodney about the ashes. But it didn’t seem like the right thing to do before Phillip knew.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Rodney asked.
Louis shook his head.
Rodney hesitated, like he wasn’t sure what to do or say. Then he nodded stiffly and turned. Louis started to close the door.
“Wait.”
Rodney had turned back. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at Louis, his face drawn with sadness. Louis waited, his hand on the door.
“I’ve made a mess of most of my life,” Rodney said. “A mess of others’ lives, too, I’m afraid.”
Louis didn’t say a word.
“I was wondering if you might take a drive with me.”
“To where?”
Rodney fought to keep his eyes steady. “Saugatuck.”
CHAPTER 46
Rodney kept the black Jaguar at a steady clip, dodging the eighteen-wheelers and slow Chevys on I-94. Louis sat silent in the passenger seat, his minding racing ahead to Saugatuck.
I’ve made a mess of most of my life. A mess of others’ lives, too, I’m afraid. I was wondering if you might take a drive with me.
To where?
Saugatuck.
Why?
That’s where she is.
Rodney hadn’t said much since they started out. And even though Louis had a million questions he needed to ask, only one seemed important right now.
“What is she like?” he asked finally.
Rodney didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I see her once a week. Sometimes she’s almost normal, like you or me or anyone. Then there are the days I have come to call her otherworld times. And then are the bad days when I can’t see anything behind her eyes at all.” He glanced at Louis. “Do you understand what I mean?”
Louis nodded, looking back out the windshield. The traffic slowed as they neared Jackson. For a long time, neither said anything.
“You despise me, don’t you?” Rodney said.
Louis didn’t answer. He let the silence lengthen before he finally spoke. “Just tell me one thing. Why are you doing this? What, your guilt finally get to you? You expect Phillip to forgive you?”
“No,” Rodney said quietly.
“Then why now after all these years?”
Rodney seemed to be thinking for a moment. “The night they took Claudia away . . . I’ve spent my whole life trying to find ways to forget that night. Did a damn good job until you showed up.”
He glanced at Louis and looked back to the road. “But when you came to the house Monday, something my mother said to you made me remember something. It was like it had always been there in the back of my memory, but like I said, I didn’t really want to remember.”
When Rodney spoke again, his voice had an edge.
“Mother said that when she went upstairs, Claudia wasn’t in her bedroom and that she found her in the bathroom with her wrists slit.”
“So?”
Rodney was shaking his head. “But that wasn’t possible because Mother had locked Claudia in her room and Claudia’s bathroom wasn’t attached to her room. Claudia couldn’t have been in her own bathroom.”
“I don’t follow,” Louis said.
“I think my mother locked Claudia in her bedroom. That’s where I remember Claudia being when the police came, in Mother’s bathroom.”
Rodney was quiet for a moment.
“I saw the bathroom after,” Rodney said. “The maid was there, with her bucket and rag wiping down the walls and the tub, and . . . Mother always hated messes.”
“Rodney—”
“Let me finish. I’m trying to tell you I didn’t see it then but I do now. Claudia didn’t slash her own wrists. Mother cut her.”
Louis looked away.
“She must have drugged her,” Rodney said. “God knows there was always enough Valium in the house. She drugged her, then held her down and cut her.”
Louis remembered what Millie Reuben had said, about Claudia having no memory of cutting herself. She used to cry all night. I never heard someone cry so much.
“I never believed Claudia,” Rodney said softly. “She always said she didn’t cut herself. But I didn’t believe her. I didn’t believe her because I always just thought she was . . . damaged.”
“Damaged?” Louis said.
“She was the one who found Father.” Rodney glanced at him. “I already told you that, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
For a second, Louis thought about telling Rodney to pull over. He looked too distressed to drive. But Rodney’s hands were steady on the wheel.
“Why did you go through the whole charade of the death and burial? Why not just take your sister out of there?” Louis asked.
“It was mostly because of Phillip. Dr. Seraphin had red-flagged Claudia’s file to prevent anyone from visiting her.”
“Why?”
“Because of the baby. Seraphin was afraid if Phillip saw Claudia, he would figure things out. When Phillip came back to see Claudia, Seraphin panicked and told Phillip she had died. Right after that, she called me and said I had to get Claudia out of there.”
“Why bury the rocks?”
“Seraphin said we needed something Phillip could see, something real. So she gave him a grave to visit.”
“How’d she get away with it?”
“She had the power, especially in E Building, because no one really cared what went on there. She told everyone Claudia had had died of the flu. She had patients do the burial.”
“And you went along with all this.”
“I wasn’t going to let Mother put Claudia in another one of those places. So I took her to Saugatuck. Mother never went there so she never knew. She still doesn’t.”
“You can’t keep her to yourself anymore,” Louis said.
Rodney nodded. “I know.”
Most of Saugatuck’s shops and restaurants were shuttered for the winter. There were only a few old boats left in the harbor, and on the street, snowdrifts were heaped against listing fences normally meant to hold back the sands.
Rodney headed away from town on the road that rimmed Lake Michigan. No cars. No people. The beautiful homes overlooking the lake were shuttered, their lawns covered with pristine blankets of white. Far off across the huge gray expanse of Lake Michigan, a freighter sat poised like a toy against the blue wall of sky.
The Jaguar slowed. Louis looked up at the house. He remembered Phillip’s description of the house as an old stone fortress. But it was really a modest place compared to its neighbors, outdated and softened by the embrace of a veranda. The driveway was freshly plowed and there was a green car parked by the front door.
Rodney pulled in behind it and turned off the engine. “This was our old summer house. Claudia and I both loved this place. I think this was the only place we were happy when we were kids.”
“Rodney, do you know where Claudia’s child is?” Louis asked.
“I wish the hell I did,” Rodney said softly.
He sat staring at the stone house for a moment, then opened the car door. Louis followed him up onto the porch. Rodney unlocked the front door and they went in.
A black woman with a lilting accent greeted Rodney by name and took their coats. Rodney introduced her as Enid Lewis, a nurse who had been taking care of Claudia for the last fifteen years.
“How is she today, Enid?” Rodney asked.
“Good. We’re playing poker.”
&nbs
p; “Poker?”
“I taught her. We play for shells. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
Enid led them deeper into the house. Louis had a sense of old slip-covered chairs, overflowing bookcases, and walls of framed photographs. They passed through a living room with a stone fireplace. There was a model of a clipper ship on the mantel surrounded by shells and twisting pieces of driftwood. The placed smelled of pine furniture polish and something good cooking.
The wood floor creaked as they made their way to a room in the back of the house. The sun streamed in from a wall of windows falling on old white wicker furniture softened with blue cushions.
She was sitting at a table in the corner. Her head was down as she shuffled cards and the sun fell on her long pale hair.
“Claudia, your brother’s here,” Enid said, going forward.
Her head came up and Louis saw her face.
He knew she was in her fifties now, and those years were there in the lines in her face, the softening of her jaw, and the silvery streaks in her hair. Other things were there, too, in the faraway gaze of her eyes and the odd, broken-bird angle at which she held her head. But then her eyes found Rodney and she smiled and suddenly Louis saw everything that Phillip had seen thirty-five years ago.
Rodney went to her and bent to kiss her cheek.
“Did you bring me cherries?” she asked.
“I told you, Claudie, they’re not in season yet. Soon,” Rodney said gently.
“Ah . . . winter. I forgot,” she said.
Rodney turned and gestured to Louis. “I’ve brought a friend.”
Caramel-brown eyes. “Hello,” she said.
Louis came forward. “Hello, Claudia. I’m Louis.”
“Are you a friend of my brother?” she asked. Her love for Rodney was there in every part of her face.
“Yes,” Louis said. He nodded toward the chair opposite her. “Can I sit down?”
“Only if you let me win.” She smiled up at Enid, who was hovering near the windows.
“Be careful. She cheats,” Enid said.
Louis sat down. Claudia starting dealing the cards. Her moves were deliberate and slow. Louis picked up his five cards.
“You forgot to ante,” Claudia said.
“Sorry.” Louis moved a shell to the middle of the wicker table.
Claudia fanned her cards and looked over at Louis. “Go ahead,” she said.
Louis didn’t even look at his cards before he moved two shells to the center. Claudia did the same and looked at him expectantly.
“How many?”
“What?”
“Cards,” she said eagerly.
“Oh . . . two,” Louis said, setting two cards down. He picked up the new cards she dealt.
“I’ll take five,” she said. She took five cards but didn’t lay any down.
“Claudia, can I ask you some questions?” Louis began.
She nodded, intent on trying to fan all the cards.
“I have a friend who knows you,” Louis said. “Do you remember someone named Phillip?”
She looked up. “Phillip,” she said softly.
“Do you remember him?”
A cloud passed over her face. “Gold leaves,” she said.
Louis glanced over at Rodney, who lowered his head.
“Gold leaves . . . silver ring,” Claudia said. “Phillip gave me a silver ring.” She looked up at Enid. “What happened to that ring?”
“I don’t know, dear,” Enid said.
Claudia’s gaze drifted to the window. Louis wasn’t going to press it, but suddenly Claudia began to hum. Then the words came and she sang softly.
“A boy and girl, they can kiss good-bye,
and run down the hillside together.
But a man and woman, their hearts can cry
forever and ever
Though oceans may sever.
True be my true love . . .”
She smiled at Louis. “We danced.”
Louis nodded. “I know. Phillip told me.”
“Phillip is here?”
“No,” Louis said. “Would you like to see him sometime?”
“Oh yes.”
Louis looked up at Rodney. He had his eyes shut. Enid was watching Claudia carefully. When Louis looked back at Claudia, her eyes had gone blank. Then she went back to arranging the cards. Her hands were small and she was having trouble holding all the cards. Louis caught a glimpse of a white scar on her left wrist.
“I think it was your turn,” Claudia said.
Louis pushed two more shells to the middle of the table. She did the same.
“You’re supposed to lay your cards down now,” she said.
Louis fanned them out. He had a pair of jacks.
Claudia smiled and set her ten cards down. “Two pair,” she said. She gathered in the shells.
“Claudia, do you remember a baby?” Louis asked.
“Baby?” She was picking up the cards and didn’t look up.
“Yes. You went to the hospital. Do you remember a baby?”
Her expression was suddenly harder, but Louis couldn’t tell if it was from a memory or because she was concentrating on shuffling the cards.
“I heard it crying,” she said, her delicate fingers struggling with the cards. “The baby was crying. I heard it but I never saw it.”
Her eyes shot up to Louis. “They took it away. Where is the baby?”
Louis hesitated. “Someone is loving it,” he said.
She nodded slowly.
Enid was hovering and Louis motioned her back with his eyes.
Claudia let the cards fall to the table. She covered her face with her hands. “The second one hurt,” she whispered.
“What?” Louis said.
“The baby. The second one hurt so bad.”
Louis heard the sharp intake of Rodney’s breath, but he kept his eyes locked on Claudia.
“Claudia,” Louis said gently, “do you remember being in the hospital?”
Her hands remained on her face but she nodded.
“Do you remember anything that happened to you there?”
“A dark room,” Claudia said. “And a doctor with hands like ice.”
Seraphin, Louis thought. “Do you remember a man?” he pressed.
“That’s enough,” Rodney said, stepping forward.
Claudia’s hands fell. Her eyes were dry but anxious. “A man?” She shook her head.
Thank God. Seraphin had doped her up enough so she couldn’t remember Ives. Only Millie carried that nightmare.
Millie . . .
“Claudia, do you remember Millie?”
“Millie? Millie? We ran to the apple orchard.” Claudia’s face softened. “Millie was my friend.”
Louis was relieved to see the distress draining from Claudia’s face.
“Would you like to see Millie maybe?” he asked.
She nodded, smiling. Then she looked down, seemingly noticing the cards for the first time. “Do you want to play again?” she asked.
Louis looked up at Rodney. His face was ashen. He turned away. Louis moved a shell to the middle of the table.
“Your deal,” he said.
Claudia’s smile widened and she gathered up the cards. Enid came forward to pick up the ones that had fallen on the floor.
Louis leaned back in his chair, watching Enid’s gentle ministrations. He was watching Claudia, too, wondering how someone could have so much taken away—a lover, a baby, a life—and still endure. He was watching her and thinking about being in the tunnel and listening to that woman scream as she died. He was watching Claudia and thinking how envious he was of the peace he saw in her face.
She was dealing again. This time she gave herself two cards and dealt him ten. She set the rest of the deck in the middle of the table.
“Your move, Louis,” she said.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said.
“It’s easy,” she said. “You hang on to the ones you want
to keep and throw away all the rest.”
The caramel-colored eyes held his for a moment. Louis started laying down his cards.
CHAPTER 47
It was late when Phillip returned home from Brighton. Frances had come with him. There had been no chance to talk to him alone until Frances had gone to bed. Louis waited until Phillip went outside for a smoke and followed him.
The moment seemed right. He told him about Claudia.
Phillip listened quietly, then asked one question. When can I see her?
We’ll go first thing tomorrow, Phil.
It had been an emotional morning. Phil had waited until breakfast to tell Frances. Louis slipped off to the living room, wanting to listen, knowing he shouldn’t. But he had watched.
They were seated at the kitchen table, Phil’s hand over Frances’s. Louis saw Frances’s shoulders stiffen, then slump forward as Phil spoke. A few seconds later, she rose quickly from her chair and left the room, walking by Louis, jaw set, tears in her eyes.
But she had been at the front door when they left. Phillip was too lost in what lay ahead to see the look on his wife’s face as they pulled out of the drive, but Louis could see it. She was scared.
They needed to make a side trip on the way to Saugatuck, Louis told Phillip. Just before leaving the house, Alice had called, asking Louis to come out to say good-bye. She told him she and Charlie would be at the hospital where she was packing up her office. Louis had tried to brush it off, saying it was a long drive, knowing Phillip was anxious to get to Saugatuck, but then Charlie came on the phone.
I have a Christmas present for you, Mr. Kincaid.
Louis told Charlie he would be there about ten. On the way, they had passed a mall and Louis had the thought he should take Charlie a present, too, and he had just the right one in mind.
Louis found a music store and was halfway to the checkout with Iron Butterfly’s In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida tape when it occurred to him Charlie didn’t need, or probably want, the real version.
Louis put the Iron Butterfly back and wandered to the classical section. It was right in front: Felix Mendelssohn’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the complete score from the ballet. Louis added a Walkman and three sets of batteries and paid five dollars to have it wrapped.
