Time After Time

by Stockenberg, Antoinette

  She heard a scream of pain — a broken nose, at the least — and then a hand reached out and caught her arm as she tried to escape with her child.

  "Run, Susy! Get Jack!" she cried.

  Wide-eyed, Susy did as she was told and took off while Liz struggled with yet another assailant in her life. This time, the encounter was brief and far more violent on her part than his: she pushed, she fought, she scratched, she screamed. She was a wild thing, enraged and furious and protective.

  It wasn't long before David Penny, blood still streaming from his nose, broke away and fled from the trailer into the night, leaving his carpenter's tools behind him. Liz ran out after him, terrified that he'd find Susy and make her his hostage. It was only when she saw Jack running in her direction that she knew Susy must be safe.

  That was when she stopped to think: Was it possible that David got caught using the wrong bathroom and was just trying to tiptoe past them?

  No. It was not.

  Jack arrived in a state of breathless alarm. "Are you okay?"

  When she nodded, he said, "Did you see who it was?"

  Liz, winded herself, had no words for him. She pointed to the carpenter's tool caddy on the ground.

  "That's Penny's toolbox," Jack said. "What're his tools—?"

  "That's — who it was: David Penny."

  "God damn," said Jack in a black, black voice. "That's who it was."

  "Unless he was perfectly innocent and I've just broken his nose by mistake—"

  "No," Jack said with a sense of finality. "He's the one. Of course he is. It all fits."

  "What fits?" she said, her fear easing nicely into a fit of anger. "Will you please tell me what—?"

  Susy came running up at that moment with Deirdre and Caroline right behind and Cornelius bringing up the rear. Liz dropped down nose to nose with her daughter and said, "All a big silly mistake, honey. The man was in the wrong bathroom, and when I bumped him with the door, he got a little upset. But we worked it all out. Now you just wait here with Deirdre. I have to talk to Mr. Eastman. I'll only be a minute."

  She walked a little away from the group; Jack followed.

  "What the hell's going on?" she asked in an undertone. "Why would David Penny want to bring down the yard? He quit here on his own; Netta told me that, on the day of the picnic. Besides, you throw him work whenever you can. What would he have against you?"

  "My father, that's what," Jack said bitterly. "After David got a job here, he brought in Cynthia when he heard we had an opening for a secretary. Right after that, he quit, hoping to free-lance. But the timing was bad; he couldn't find work. So they needed Cynthia's job more than ever."

  "And your father—?"

  "—couldn't pass her up," Jack said, his voice filled with disgust. "Cynthia didn't say anything for a while, but eventually my father made the job unbearable for her; she told her husband about it. David came here in a jealous rage. We cooled things down with a lot of reassurances — my father was getting out of the business by then, anyway — and a healthy raise for Cynthia."

  "Why didn't Cynthia bring a lawsuit instead?" said Liz, surprised. "Isn't that how it's usually done?"

  "They needed the medical that came with her job," Jack said without irony. "Also, my father had evidence of employee theft by David and — I hate to admit this — was willing to use it. Anyway, we had an uneasy truce going. I thought. Obviously I thought wrong."

  Liz remembered Cynthia's state of distress earlier. "Did your father try to start something up with her this afternoon? Is that why David was here tonight?"

  "Who knows?" Jack said wearily. "From what Cynthia told me, it didn't sound like it, frankly. But David walked in on them and must've thought so. Ah, Christ, I'm sick of all this!''

  He glanced again at the droopy huddle of people a few feet away and said to Liz, "I'm sorry you got caught in the cross fire; and look, don't worry about any of it. I'll take care of David. I'll take care of my father and the others. I'll—"

  "Am I going to be in trouble over this?" she asked, suddenly aware that she was the one who'd done all the actual assaulting.

  "No. David has no proof, any more than we do. David's the one I'm going to—"

  "Jack!" cried Deirdre.

  Jack and Liz turned to see Deirdre helping Cornelius stagger over to a small pile of blocking timbers and sit down on them.

  Everyone gathered around him. Cornelius said thickly, "It feels like someone's ... sitting on my chest."

  It never ends, Liz thought, shocked, as she circled Susy with one arm. "Should I call an—?"

  "No," said Jack, making a decision on the spot. "I can get him there in five minutes. Don't move, Dad," he ordered his father, who didn't argue this time. "I'll get the car." He turned to Liz. "You can get home okay?"

  "Of course," she said. "Go!"

  Jack ran and got his car, and they helped Cornelius into it. Liz saw Jack punching a number into his phone as he pulled away. Then she and Deirdre, obviously feeling vulnerable despite the presence of a security guard at the entry gate, got into their respective cars and drove their respective charges home.

  ****

  As it turned out, the proof against David Penny came at dawn.

  That was when a half-million-dollar sailboat, propped up on boat stands while it awaited work at Jack's shipyard, fell over onto the asphalt, crushing in its starboard side. Besides the hull damage, the boat's extensive, sophisticated electronics got zapped into oblivion when the boat's aluminum mast, crashing through a power line on its way down, caused a massive power surge.

  Liz found out about it because, like a fair number of Newporters, she woke up to discover her power was out. After it was restored, she heard a report on the radio that said the sailboat, buffeted by high winds all night, had wriggled its boat stands loose and had fallen over.

  Sure, she thought. With a little help from a friend. But how would Jack ever prove it?

  Truly, the night before had been the night from hell. Her mind refused to dwell on any of it for the simple reason that there was too much to dwell on. She felt just like the electronics on the sabotaged sailboat: zapped into oblivion.

  She poured the last of the coffee into the last of the clean mugs and dragged herself over to the kitchen table, waiting for the caffeine to jump-start her brain. Despite her exhaustion and maybe because of it, she found herself mesmerized by the beauty of the view through her kitchen screens. The nor'easter had roared through, leaving a crystal-clear morning in its wake.

  Fall was on the way. Everything about the scene in front of her suggested it — from the bright pink impatiens that were making their final headlong spurt to eternity, to the gang of finches fighting over the sunflower seeds, trying to fatten up for hard times ahead.

  It seemed too soon. She wasn't ready. She eyed the scattering of dried leaves on the lawn with dismay. Once Fall came to Newport, the rich went south. Maybe for a month, maybe for the season. But they didn't stay north. They didn't stick around to work things out.

  Snowbirds. Newport had a lot of them.

  The phone rang. Liz answered it, as always, with her heart in her throat until she learned, as usual, that it wasn't Jack.

  This time it was Tori. "That was really tough luck about the boat falling over," she said. "Naturally you've heard."

  "On the radio," Liz said dully. "Not from Jack."

  "Uh-oh. So you haven't seen him since ... you know. Since the restaurant?"

  Liz laughed a weary, ironic laugh. "Oh, I saw him, all right. We went out on the Déjà Vu for an evening cruise yesterday."

  "Wow! That's great. So it doesn't matter to him. I told you it wouldn't. That's great, Liz. I'm so happy for you both."

  "Your happiness is somewhat premature," Liz said in the same flat voice. "It wasn't that kind of cruise." She gave Victoria a brief summary of the nonstop run of horrors they'd all been through.

  By the time she finished, it was a much more sober and subdued Victoria who said, "Is Susy oka
y with all of it?"

  "Susy was amazing. I'm much more worried about Caroline. She didn't handle the storm well, and later she must have realized that there was something badly wrong with her father. As far as I can tell, the girl has absolutely no one she can count on now. No one at all."

  "There's her mother."

  "Wherever she is." Liz sighed and said, "Any tally on ticket sales? Tell me we've sold more than eleven."

  "Okay. We've sold more than eleven. Two more than eleven."

  "My god. Well, this is just perfect. What're we going to—? Oh! Tori, let me call you back. I see Jack out there. I want to find out how his father is."

  Liz hung up and went flying out her back door before Jack got out of shouting distance; she knew by now not to expect him to stroll too close to the chain-link fence.

  Respecting my privacy, no doubt, she told herself with a grimly ironic smile.

  She flagged him down with a whistle and a wave of her arms, and he came over, with Snowball bouncing along behind him. He was wearing the same clothes he had had on the night before. It didn't bode well.

  "How is he?" Liz said through the fence.

  Jack looked terrible. His eyes were rimmed and bloodshot; his voice was taut with fatigue as he said, "Doing okay. It was a heart attack. They're doing some tests on him now. They seem guardedly optimistic. He'll have to stop smoking, of course. But he's always watched his weight, and he's fairly regular in his exercise."

  "That's good news, then," Liz said — especially considering that Jack looked as if his father had just died. "Will your mother cut her stay in Italy short?" she ventured to ask.

  The look of pain on Jack's face etched itself more deeply. "Hard to say. Before this, she'd pretty much made up her mind not to come back to him at all. But besides everything else, now we've had some other news — bad news — for Caroline, anyway. Her mother — Stacey Stonebridge, you never met her — is dead."

  "What?"

  "Three days ago. Pills and alcohol. They've only just found her. Apparently she checked herself out of that clinic and ... it's just incredible, that's all. It's not surprising, really; just ... incredible."

  "But what about Caroline? What about Bradley?" Liz asked, overwhelmed with sympathy for the children. She wrapped her fingers around the chain links of the fence, like some internee in a camp. She felt so separated from Jack, from his problems; so powerless to help.

  Jack shook his head, obviously not sure himself what would happen. "The kids have an aunt — Stacey's sister — in Phoenix. She's the one who called. She sounds a little flaky, but maybe I was misreading her over the phone. I'm flying out there with Caroline today. There'll be a memorial service in a couple of days."

  "But ... what about your father?" asked Liz, unable to comprehend it all. "Does he know? Will you be able to leave him?"

  "He knows. As for leaving him — I'm not about to stick Caroline on a plane with a note pinned to her collar. That's why my mother becomes so—" He sighed and said, "Netta's a better nurse than I am, anyway."

  "And ... David Penny?" Selfish, she may have sounded; but she had to know about David Penny. He might well have a score to settle with her.

  An echo of an ironic smile played on Jack's lips and then died away. "There, at least, we have closure. Cynthia took him to the emergency room sometime before dawn. The police were there on another matter; David saw them, panicked, and tried to bolt. After that, with Cynthia's prodding, he confessed to everything — even the ants were his inspiration. But it came too late to save the boat from falling over. You know about the boat?"

  Her smile was a pale echo of his own. "Everyone in your power grid knows about the boat."

  He nodded. "The electricity. I forgot."

  It wasn't surprising. He did look shell-shocked. Liz wanted desperately to put her arms around him, to comfort him. But he wasn't making any effort to scale the fence; and though she would've done it gladly if he'd asked her to — he wasn't asking her to.

  "You haven't been to bed," she said in a gentle, beaten voice.

  He snorted and said tiredly, "Bed? I'm not sure I'll ever be in one again."

  If the moment hadn't been so sad; if their relationship hadn't been so far along; if the fence between them hadn't been so high and wide and deep — she might've come back with a quip and a promise. Oh, you'll be in a bed, all right, she might've said with a saucy smile. Trust me.

  But this was not the moment, and theirs was not the relationship.

  "Well ...." Jack plunged his hands into his pockets and shrugged haplessly, then turned and stared for a long, strained moment at his ancestral home, brooding and dark under its canopy of ancient trees. "I guess I'll go tell Caroline."

  "I'm so sorry, Jack," Liz said, still holding on to the fence.

  She wanted, despite everything, to say, "But what about us? What about us?" But she might just as well have bayed at the moon.

  He smiled in bleak acknowledgment and walked a few steps away. Then, on an impulse, he turned back and said, "You were great in the storm last night. If you hadn't been there, I hate to think what might've happened."

  She knew it was a high compliment, coming from him. She flushed all over with pleasure and said, "Then it's true what they say?"

  He gave her a puzzled look. "What's true?"

  "That gentlemen prefer Hanes?"

  He laughed out loud at that, and shook his head in despair, and smiled, and laughed more softly.

  "Good-bye, Liz," he whispered, and then he walked away.

  Chapter 24

  For a while Liz considered the disasters to be plain bad luck.

  "But bad luck," she told Victoria, "is when you're walking down a street minding your own business and a flower pot falls on your head. These tragedies are beyond bad luck. These are—"

  "—retribution," said Tori. "For the sins of the great-great-grandfather." She punched in the next phone number on her list. While she let the phone ring, she added, "How is the great-great-grandfather, by the way? Have you had any sense of him being around?"

  Liz shook her head. "Nothing. Maybe he flew off to Phoenix with Jack and Caroline."

  "You do like your little jokes, don't—ah, good morning! Is this Mrs. Vauquiez? Hello; my name is Victoria, and I'm calling on behalf of Anne's Place, the home for battered women here in Newport? I'd like to personally invite you to a benefit that promises to be a magical evening to all who—"

  Victoria winced and looked at Liz. "Hung up." She made a note next to the name on the list and punched in the next number. "Good morning! Is this Ms. Viera? Hello; my name is Victoria, and I'm calling on behalf of Anne's Place. . ."

  Liz watched with deepening dismay as Victoria worked her way through the V's. Ticket sales so far had been dismal, despite the posters, the mailing, the radio announcements, and the lovely write-up in the paper. Obviously there were too many worthy causes running after too few subscribers. She was right: they should've waited for Halloween to hold the event.

  But then they would've missed the snowbirds. And without Meredith Kinney, one of the richest snowbirds in town, there would be no three-hundred-dollar-a-plate dinner. It was as simple as that. Not only was Meredith the honorary chairwoman — not only had she already gotten commitments from over two dozen dinner guests — but she'd completely taken over running that part of the benefit herself. There was nothing honorary about her; she was a full-fledged working chairperson.

  Which was just fine with Liz. She had neither the time, the experience, nor the heart to design an intimate, glittering dinner in Jack's house for Jack's friends. It would've been awkward at best, painful at worst. This way she could stay outside, under the tent with the rest of the common folk, and concentrate on managing the second half of the fund-raiser. And if inside East Gate the entrée wound up overcooked or the floral arrangements too big to see around — it would be Meredith's fault, not hers.

  Liz's job was to sell two hundred tickets. So far they'd sold thirty-one. A hundred and si
xty-nine to go.

  Victoria hung up again and spun around in her desk chair to face Liz. "Sold! Two tickets!" she said, interrupting the meandering gloom of Liz's thoughts.

  Liz perked up. "For sure? Or: She'll think about it?"

  "She's sending the check today. The benefit falls on her anniversary, and Mrs. Young thinks this'll be a memorable way to celebrate."

  "Young? Oh, God; you're on the Y's already?"

  Victoria laughed and gathered up a handful of her long red corkscrew curls for binding in a comb.

  "Cheer up," she said. "I still have four more Youngs to go.

  "But there are no Z's! I thought we'd get well over a hundred sales from the list. Can you believe this? Meredith Kinney probably made thirty phone calls in one day and hauled in nine thousand dollars' worth of contributions, while we—

  Victoria gave her a sheepish look. "Actually, Meredith didn't even have to make thirty calls: I bought some tickets myself. Oh, don't look at me like I'm some traitor, Liz. The buzz around Newport is that it's a very exclusive event. Everyone knows Jack Eastman doesn't entertain."

  Liz said with lofty irony, "I don't blame you at all, Tori. But after you've dined in regal splendor, I do hope you'll join the rest of us under the tent for the cocktail reception. All thirty-four of us. I shouldn't be hard to find: I'll be the one clutching a hundred and sixty-nine unsold tickets in my hand."

  "Don't be silly; we'll sell them," Tori said with her usual breeziness.

  "You're damned right we will," said Liz, grimly determined now. "I'll put 'em on Visa if I have to and hand them out free on Thames Street. Meredith Kinney, bless her well-born soul, is not going to outperform me at this event."

  She got up from her desk and walked over to one of the multi-paned windows of her office, housed in a colonial building overlooking Washington Square. The octagonal fountain in the small grassy oasis that separated the Broadway district from the waterfront shops was bubbling cheerfully away, but for once Liz took no pleasure in the sight.

  Her mind was picturing a full dining room and an empty tent.

  "Dammit," she said in a soft, heartfelt curse. "I'm not going to fail at this. I need an angle, that's all. I need something to bring them in — someone to bring them in. I need a celebrity. I need royalty. I need ... Princess Diana. That's who I need," she said, almost wistfully.