Laurel glanced at Geneva, who shrugged in an “I’ve got no clue” way.
Before the man could say more, a click heralded the slow opening of the van’s rear passenger door. A lift folded out. Laurel glimpsed the wheel of a wheelchair before Ray blocked her view by bounding forward to maneuver the chair and its occupant onto the lift. A mechanical whir accompanied the lift’s descent.
An upwelling of tension gripped Laurel. Blood thrummed loudly in her ears. Anticipation twined with something very like dread. No, that was silly. There was nothing to dread. She tried to find another name for the emotion as the wheelchair and its occupant sank to the ground and Ray maneuvered it off the lift.
“I can’t believe you didn’t even tell them my name,” he said in a mock-disappointed voice.
A silvery laugh answered him and brought an involuntary smile to Laurel’s face. The laugh was the same as before, the happy trill that had brought heads around at orientation that first day at Grissom. “Loverboy, I didn’t even tell them you existed. I wanted you to be a surprise, a wonderful surprise.”
Evangeline propelled the wheelchair toward them, rocking forward when it stuttered over the gravel. Ray moved to help her, but she waved him away. Her face was thinner than Laurel remembered, but the hazel eyes still sparkled. Lines on her forehead suggested it was frequently furrowed with pain or worry, but they were the only sign of aging or her trauma—other than the wheelchair, of course. Her light brown hair, untouched by gray, was piled messily atop her head and the sun warmed the cognac-colored highlights. Her shoulders and arms, bared by a sleeveless blouse, were tan and muscled, and a light blanket covered her lap and legs. Gladness lanced through Laurel at the sight of her college roommate, quickly followed by anger, guilt, and disquiet. She’d been both looking forward to and semi-apprehensive about this encounter, unsure of how she’d react, and she couldn’t sort out her feelings. Part of her felt the way she used to at the start of each new school year, excited to see Evangeline again and catch up after the summer. Part of her felt there was too much water under the bridge, too much suspicion and history and pain lurking under that bridge, like the trolls from a children’s book.
Evangeline clapped her hands together near her chin. “Oh, it’s so good to see all of you again. I’m so very, very grateful we could all be together to celebrate my engagement.”
Ray put a hand on her shoulder and she nursed it to her cheek. “You’ve already met, but this is my dearest Ray.” She tilted her head up toward him, and he bent to kiss her lips lightly.
For a moment, the rest of them were still, held in check by surprise, the constraint of ten years apart, or … something else. Laurel’s skin prickled. She got an impression of resentment or dismay and looked around to spot the source, but she couldn’t sort it out before everyone surged forward, surrounding Evangeline, congratulating her, saying how good it was to see everyone after such a long time. No mention of Evangeline’s non-functioning legs or how she came to be paralyzed. Laurel’s gaze lifted briefly to that fifth-floor balcony, and then she leaned forward to hug her friend, getting a whiff of Opium from Evangeline’s hair.
“I’m not the only one with something to celebrate,” Evangeline said. “You’re going to be a judge. Judge Muir. It has a good ring. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Gravel crunched under the wheelchair as Evangeline powered it forward. Ray leaped to help, but she suggested he get their suitcases and move the van out of the way. When he pulled the bags out of the van and drove off, Evangeline looked around with a melancholy smile. “It’s going to be a nursing home, you know. I went to the town hall meetings to lobby against the zoning change, but the fix was in. Remember when I thought I was going to buy it and run the B and B? I had such plans!”
Was she kidding? Of course they all remembered. Laurel scanned the others’ faces as they fell silent. Geneva’s face was blank, and Dawn’s half-hidden by a curtain of hair as she looked down and dug a hole in the gravel with the toe of her shoe. Only Ellie looked saddened by the memory, murmuring, “Of course we do.”
How could they not remember when Evangeline had made such a big deal of it that last weekend, announcing that she’d come into some money and was buying Cygne. She’d orchestrated the whole evening, insisting they dress up, arranging for a fancy dinner and special cocktails—“sidecars,” made with a special French brandy to celebrate the house’s French origins, she said. She’d looked spectacular in a blue chiffon dress with a beaded bodice and a vaguely 1920s vibe to it. Her eyes had sparkled brighter than the chandelier’s crystals. She’d been delighted by their surprise and clapped her hands. “It’s been my dream forever,” she’d reminded them, flitting about the room, hugging Ellie, squeezing Geneva’s hand, inviting them all to be delighted with her. “Forever.”
Congratulating Evangeline with a hug, Laurel had caught sight of Mr. Abbott over Evangeline’s shoulder. Dressed in the dark pants and white shirt he used for serving at table, the man had been standing in the dining room doorway, expressionless. The sidecar glass he was holding tilted, and the liquid leaked down his hand and soaked into his white sleeve. Hours later, Evangeline lay on the ground beneath her balcony, paralyzed from the waist down.
Of course, they hadn’t known that then, Laurel remembered as they traipsed around the house to eat lunch on the patio in the back at Mrs. Abbott’s invitation. At first she’d feared Evangeline was dead—all that blood, and she’d lain so still—but there’d been a pulse and the ambulance had arrived quickly. They had all scattered back across the country once the police said they could leave, but they’d kept in touch for a while, trading news of Evangeline’s operations, her therapy sessions, the diagnosis that meant she’d be in a wheelchair forever. Once it became clear her paralysis was permanent, Evangeline had refused to talk to any of them for two years, so they’d relied on stilted conversations with her mother for updates. Her impending purchase of Cygne had faded away without fanfare, since the old mansion with its multiple staircases wasn’t wheelchair-friendly and all her money was going toward hospital bills.
Ironic, Laurel thought, that the place was going to be overrun with wheelchairs and walkers now. She cast a look at Evangeline’s profile, wondering how she felt about it, if returning to Cygne reminded her of what might have been, of how differently her life might have turned out. Then she snorted gently. Of course it did. Why had Evangeline gathered them here again? Why now? She watched Ray, who had reappeared after parking the van, plant a kiss atop his fiancée’s head as he maneuvered the wheelchair over the rough ground.
Geneva inched close and whispered in her ear. “You’d think this would be the last place she’d want to have an engagement party, wouldn’t you?”
Laurel shrugged. “Maybe she’s exorcising old ghosts.”
Geneva’s “hmph” said she was unconvinced. “That sounds more like Dawn. And who is this Ray, anyway? I’d swear Vangie never mentioned him.”
“Do you talk often?” Guilt tugged at Laurel that she’d totally let go of her relationship with Evangeline. It had been at least three years since they’d talked, maybe longer. Semi-annual emails and Christmas cards didn’t count.
“Every few months. She never mentioned Ray or this party, for that matter. My invitation for the weekend came out of the blue.” She winced.
“You okay?”
“Just the baby kicking.” Geneva patted her belly. “She’s a lively one.”
“I’ve been thinking about having a baby.” The words spilled out before Laurel could dam them back. She immediately wanted to recall them. She hadn’t told anyone. Not her mom, not her coworkers, not her friends in Denver. She’d been quietly researching her options, not sure she was brave enough to go through with it, not sure that a pregnant single woman wielding a gavel would go over well with the Denver judicial establishment.
“I didn’t know you were involved with someone
!” Geneva exclaimed, bringing Dawn’s head around.
Laurel shushed her with a look and said quietly, “I’m not.”
Geneva caught on immediately. “Well, I think you should go for it, if that’s what you want. No reason you shouldn’t. Being a single mom is hard—just ask my grandmother—but if anyone can do it, you can.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “Look at me—giving advice before I’ve even spent two seconds with my own baby. Talk to me in a couple months and I may be singing a completely different tune. I may be telling you to save your sanity and your money. You don’t want to know how much Geonwoo and I have spent baby-proofing the house. Historic fixer-upper homes were not made for babies. It’s a wonder any of our ancestors survived to adulthood. Are you thinking about in vitro?”
Something relaxed inside Laurel at her friend’s casual acceptance of her plans. She wasn’t crazy or irresponsible for wanting to have a baby alone. “I’ve looked into it.”
“I want to hear all about it,” Geneva said as she joined the others at the pre-set table. “Don’t you dare leave this weekend without filling me in on every detail. Promise?”
“Promise.” Laurel smiled and pulled out a chair between Ellie and Ray. Maybe this weekend was a good idea after all.
Seven
After lunch, Ray announced he was going to explore the castle and Evangeline waved him away good-naturedly. She leaned back in her wheelchair, lifting her face to the sun, and shut her eyes. Geneva said she needed a nap and Laurel disappeared for a run. No wonder Laurel was still so slender and fit-looking, Ellie thought. Her great figure would be wasted under a judge’s robe.
“Do you still dance, Dawn?” she asked, and then wondered if she was being insensitive to Evangeline. Her friend didn’t open her eyes, and Ellie relaxed. “I remember you used to take dance classes.”
“Not for years, unless you count the occasional zumba class. I do a little yoga, a little walking. ‘Little’ being the operative word.” Dawn’s finger drew swirls in the condensation on her tea glass. “I keep saying I’ll do more, that I’ll lose five pounds, but when push comes to shove … ” She shrugged. “Blame my Italian genes.”
“For what?” Evangeline had opened her eyes and was leaning forward. “For that gorgeous hair? I always wanted hair like yours—thick and curly. Mine is too wispy.” She spun the chair around. “Why don’t we go into the sunroom and catch up?” She was already wheeling herself in that direction by the time Dawn and Ellie pushed their chairs back and rose.
Ellie blinked in the dimness of the sunroom and took off her shoes, appreciating the tile’s coolness under her feet. She settled onto a rattan armchair and tucked her feet up so she was sitting “criss-cross applesauce,” as the boys’ kindergarten teacher called it. Back in the day they’d said “Indian style,” but that wasn’t PC anymore.
“I’ll go get another pitcher of tea,” Dawn said, exiting toward the kitchen.
“Do you need anything? Can I get you anything?” Ellie asked Evangeline, uncomfortable with her disability and not knowing if she was being helpful or insensitive.
“I’m fine, Ellie. Relax. I’m handicapped, not helpless. Tell me about how the boys are doing at college. Scott says Aidan’s at Purdue and Shane’s at Alabama, or do I have that backwards?”
Time slowed. Ellie felt as if everything in the room was mired in transparent molasses, moving in slow motion. Evangeline’s eyelids descended, oh so slowly, in a blink, and then rose again as she brushed a fly away from her face with an endlessly graceful flick of her wrist. Evangeline’s lips were moving, but no sound registered over the thrumming in Ellie’s ears.
Her lips were numb and her tongue as thick as after a tooth filling. “You talk to Scott?” She finally got the words out. Scott had never said a word about being in touch with Evangeline since their college days. Had they been communicating all these years, or was it a more recent connection? Was it coincidence that Evangeline had lured her into this of all possible rooms to drop her bombshell?
“Now and then.” Evangeline smiled innocently. “Oh, thanks, Dawn.”
Ellie swiveled to see Dawn approaching with a tray holding three glasses and a pitcher. It rocked as she lowered it to the coffee table, and Ellie grabbed for a glass that was tipping. She missed, and it toppled to the floor and smashed on the tile. Glass shards exploded outward. “Damn,” she said, too loudly.
Evangeline wheeled her chair back from the spreading lake of tea. “It’s no big deal.”
“I’ll get—” Dawn started, but Ellie cut her off. “No, it’s my mess. I’ll get some paper towels. Sorry.” She stood, forgetting she was barefoot, and pain bit into her heel. “Ungh.” She raised her right foot to see a one-inch triangle of glass lodged in her heel. Wincing, she jerked it out and blood dripped to the floor.
“Oh my God, Ellie. You’re bleeding.” Dawn started toward her, but Ellie held her off with an outthrust hand.
“Yes, I noticed,” she snapped. “Sorry. I’m fine. I’ll get a Band-Aid.” Wanting only to get away from the whiff of deceit Evangeline had introduced, and the room where she’d walked in on Evangeline and Scott going at it like horny rabbits, she picked up her sandals and hobbled out, leaving blood splotches at eighteen-inch intervals.
She didn’t really feel the pain until she reached the powder room off the foyer; then, her heel began to sting and throb. Finding paper towels under the vanity cabinet, she folded one into a pad, lifted her foot onto the marble counter, and applied pressure to stop the bleeding. She caught a glimpse of herself in the gilded mirror and was surprised to see she looked just like always. Her face was a little pinker, maybe, but that could as easily be from the sun during their patio lunch as her conversation with Evangeline. If she’d had her cell phone on her, she would have called Scott on the spot, but it was in her room. Just as well. She needed to think about what she would say, and how she would ask him if it was true that he was carrying on a relationship of any sort with Evangeline Paul, no matter how platonic or incidental. She took another moment to compose herself and hobble-hopped to the kitchen to hit Mrs. Abbott up for a Band-Aid.
By the time she returned to the sunroom with her heel bandaged and paper towels in hand, Dawn had picked up all the glass bits and stacked them atop a magazine. The two women sat facing each other, Dawn on the rattan loveseat with her arms crossed over her chest, and Evangeline leaning forward in her wheelchair as if trying to convince Dawn of something. Ellie wondered if she was imagining the tension in the air. They looked toward her when her sandal slapped against the tile.
“I’m fine,” she said, forestalling their enquiries. She lifted her sandaled foot so they could see her foot was properly bandaged. “It’s what I deserve for being such a klutz.” She stooped to sop up the tea, dropping drenched paper towels into the bowl she’d filched from the kitchen.
“Dawn was telling me about her art,” Evangeline said brightly. “She’s going to start teaching.”
Ellie cocked her head to look up at Dawn. “That’s great, Dawn. Kids or adults?”
“Adults.” Dawn tugged on her earlobe. “It’s not for sure yet. I’ve been working on new pieces and I haven’t had time to finalize things with the art center.”
“It sounds like fun.” Ellie straightened, plopped the last paper towel in the bowl, ripped off another one to dry her hands, and sat. “I need to find something like that to fill my time now that the boys are gone. A new hobby.”
“My art is not a hobby.”
Dawn is too freakin’ sensitive. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know it’s not. I meant that I need to find something worthwhile to do with my time now, something as meaningful to me as your art is to you.”
“Nice recover,” Evangeline said.
Ellie glared at her. “It’s not a—”
“Whatever happened to my paintings?” Dawn interrupted. “The ones you bought for Cygne. When the sale
fell through, what did you do with the paintings?”
Ellie’s brows rose slightly at the tremor in Dawn’s voice. She sounded more like she was asking about the fate of a kidnapped child than about some paintings. Evangeline, strangely, seemed pleased with the question.
“My favorite, the one with the teal and turquoise streaks on the—”
“I know the one.”
“Of course you do. Anyway, it’s hanging in my living room. It really makes the room. Everyone who visits comments on it.”
Dawn did not look appeased. “What about the others?”
After the briefest of hesitations, Evangeline said hastily, “Well, they’re in a storage unit for now. I don’t have room … Anyway, when Ray and I get married, I’m sure we’ll find a place for them. I still think they’re brilliant, just brilliant.”
Dawn’s mouth drooped.
“Could I buy one of them from you, Evangeline?” Ellie heard herself say. Scott hated abstracts and their budget was stretched with both boys in college, but Dawn looked so dejected, and the words popped out before she thought about it. “Or”—she looked at Dawn—“do you have any new work that’s for sale?”
Dawn jumped up in a flurry of flying hair and snapping eyes. “I don’t need any pity purchases,” she ground out between clenched teeth.
“I didn’t mean—” Ellie started, but Dawn was out of the room almost before she’d started talking. Ellie exchanged glances with Evangeline. “I didn’t mean—”
“Of course not. She’s oversensitive, always has been,” Evangeline said soothingly.
That was so close to what Ellie had been thinking moments before, she should have felt vindicated; however, the image of Dawn’s furious and hurt face haunted her. “I need to catch her.” She hurried after Dawn, foot throbbing, leaving Evangeline alone in the sun-splashed room.
There was a dinner planned for that evening. They weren’t getting too dressed up, and Laurel was certain there wouldn’t be sidecar cocktails, but even so, it felt too much like the last time. Don’t be silly, she told herself, kicking off her shoes in her room. We have to eat, after all. Pounding hammers and a saw’s shriek from the upper floors made it sound as if a giant were ripping the roof off the old castle. She changed into workout gear, eager to escape for a quiet, solitary run.
That Last Weekend Page 6
