She recoiled. “How can you ask me that?”
“I’m sorry. I’m still—” In his gaze she saw that his night had been miserable, as well. “Struggling to catch up. I just meant that she makes your life very difficult.”
“She’s tougher on herself.”
As if she were a bright student who’d given the right answer, Malcolm nodded. “She strikes out at you because she doesn’t believe she can ever measure up.”
“To what?”
“To you. Who you are, what you demand.”
“I don’t—” But she did. She had. She’d expected Ria to understand how much better her childhood was than Cleo’s had been. To pull herself together as Cleo always had.
In that instant, a memory surfaced, one she hadn’t had in years. Ladies’ lunch. Victoria, second grade, perhaps, in a green-and-white dress to match her own. So eager to go, so afraid Betsey would be included, that she bumped a table and nearly knocked over a lamp in her haste to leave.
Then off to eat tiny sandwiches and drink tea from terrifyingly thin cups. We’ll paint the town red, sweetheart. Victoria had laughed. All the buildings will be red, Mommy?
Malcolm with a very disappointed Betsey kissing them both goodbye. You’re as beautiful as your mother, he’d said. Victoria, blinking. I don’t think so, Daddy. Mommy’s perfect.
Cleo’s shoulders sank as she remembered that earnest child who’d tried so hard—until the point came when she gave up. Hardly perfect, honey. She’d been the one who’d let Ria down, more than Ria had ever failed Cleo.
She was compelled to voice her deepest fear. “What if the note is a—” She couldn’t say the word. “Malcolm, what if she hurts herself?” A cold finger of dread scraped its nail across her heart.
She would never forgive herself for losing another child.
Especially this one.
“I thought things were getting better, but I was kidding myself, wasn’t I? I failed her in the worst way possible—me, who was ready to take him away from her, convinced I’m so much better—and she trusts me to nurture her child. How do I live with that, Malcolm? I drove her to this because I couldn’t let go of my grief over David. Just as I pushed you away.” She dropped her head and looked at the floor. “This is all on my shoulders.”
“No, doll, it’s not,” Lola interjected. She seemed years older suddenly. “I bear a part in this, too.”
“The time for recriminations is over, ladies. We must act. Even if we can’t turn to the police because she left willingly, I’ll call in some markers from people I know at the paper. We’ll explore radio, TV, in addition to the private detective.” He clasped Cleo’s hand. “We’ll find her, Snow. Don’t assume for a minute we won’t.”
“At least the note doesn’t sound as if she intends to harm herself, does it?” Cleo’s eyes begged him.
Lola made a small, distressed sound.
He frowned. “What?”
She shook her head, glancing at Cleo.
“Oh, no.” A ball of ice formed in the pit of her stomach. “Has she attempted it before? Tell me, Lola. Has she?”
Lola’s eyes filled with tears. “She has scars on both wrists. She isn’t aware that I saw them while she was asleep, but—”
“Dear God.” Cleo gripped the counter as her knees went weak. They had to think fast. Find her faster.
“Where would she go? Who does she know?” Malcolm asked.
“She doesn’t have any friends. She wouldn’t go to Betsey,” Cleo said.
“What about that Sandor guy?”
“I tried him earlier. What makes you consider him?”
“She mentioned him at the slumber party. Said he was a friend.”
“I’m not sure if I’d call him that.” The vicious confrontation with Ria loomed large. “He brought her home. She was drunk.”
“That bastard—”
“It wouldn’t have been Sandor’s fault, Malcolm. He’s much more the knight-in-shining-armor type. I intended to ask him about it the next day, but before I got a chance, she told me about—”
She could see that he understood instantly.
“She was sick at heart that she spilled it.” Malcolm’s jaw tightened. “Snow, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not important now.”
Malcolm’s expression was part misery, part disbelief. But he didn’t challenge her. “Phone him again. See where he found her.”
She dialed Sandor’s cell phone. “Sandor, thank goodness. I’m sorry to disturb you, but have you seen Ria?”
“What?”
“She’s gone. We can’t figure out where else to check.”
“Perhaps she is only late.”
“No—she took her things.” Her voice trembled. “She left a note.”
“Where is her son?”
“Still here. She wrote that he was better off without her. I’m afraid she—” Cleo swallowed hard. “Might hurt herself.”
When he didn’t respond, her heart sank. “You’ve seen the scars on her wrists, haven’t you? Sandor, I’m terrified for her.”
“Have you contacted the police?”
“They can’t do anything yet. Malcolm is contacting private investigators.”
“He is there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to come?”
Her breathing hitched. “Thank you for asking, but I’ll be fine. Sandor, I need to know what happened the other night.”
He didn’t respond.
“Sandor?”
“Yes?” His tone was reluctant. Distracted.
She frowned. “I said I need to know what happened the other night. Where you found her.”
“I am sorry to say that she was at Joe’s Bar.” His tone wasn’t encouraging.
“I’m aware that she was drunk. Did she mention anything to you that might help us figure out where she’s headed?”
“Cleo, I would rather not—”
She didn’t let him finish. “It doesn’t matter how unpleasant the news is. We can’t afford to overlook anything.”
He exhaled. “I understand. This was not the first time I had found her there.”
Cleo squeezed her eyes shut to block out Malcolm’s worried expression. “Go on.”
“Both times, she was having difficulties with…patrons.”
“Sandor, stop protecting me. Exactly what was happening?”
“I was not sure it was her the first time. She was in the parking lot with a man who—” He paused. “I managed to intervene before it went too far, I believe.”
“Dear God. What about the other night?”
“Suffice it to say that she brought her troubles upon herself. She was very drunk and miserable, and she took…risks. I got her out of there immediately.”
“And?”
“We argued. I do not like what she does to you, though that night I understood her pain. She had had a fight with Betsey, and Betsey had told her that if she loved her child, she should leave and let you have him. Ria was distraught.”
“Dear God.” Malcolm wasn’t going to stand still another minute, she could tell. “Hold on.” Quickly, she filled him in. Her anxiety was reflected on his face. “Where could she have gone, Sandor?”
“You might check David’s grave.”
“His…grave? But she doesn’t—”
“She asked me to take her there, said that she had never seen it because she had been sedated until after the funeral.”
Cleo clutched Malcolm’s tense forearm. “How did she react?”
“She was terrified. She collapsed before she could make it all the way. I took her home then, but something about her manner made me believe she might return.”
“Oh, sweet Lord,” Cleo murmured. “Sandor, if you think of anything else—the slightest scrap that might help us, please call me.”
“Shall I meet you there?”
“I—” Yes. I could use a friend. But she and Malcolm had to do this together, whatever else stood between
them. “No. But thank you, Sandor.”
She replaced the phone. “He thinks she might go to the cemetery. She wanted to see where David was buried, and so he showed her—” Tears threatened. She pressed a hand to her mouth. “He said she fainted before she ever got near.”
She stared at Malcolm in horror. “What have I done?”
He snapped into action. “Lola, I’ll keep you posted. I’ve left my cell number with two private investigators.”
Lola nodded, and gave Cleo a quick hug. “Stop blaming yourself. You didn’t do it alone. We all have parts to play. And don’t worry about Benjy. Cammie and I will keep him occupied until you get back.”
Malcolm grasped Cleo’s hand and led her out the door.
He noted how she detached herself as soon as they were outside and stifled a protest, but he still walked beside her to open the car door as he always had.
Cleo seemed startled, as if having doors held for her was a forgotten luxury. “Thank you.” Once seated, she clasped her hands carefully in her lap.
He rounded the hood. Her politeness made him want to slam a fist into the vehicle. He had to remind himself that critical parts of their situation had not changed, despite the nasty new curve ball life had thrown them.
“Snow—Cleo,” he corrected as he drove. “I’m sure you don’t want to be anywhere near me right now, but—” He paused, not sure what to say.
When she didn’t respond, he cast her a quick look.
She was too pale. Too still.
Pity moved him to lay his hand over hers. “We’ll find her, I swear it. I won’t give up, no matter how much it costs or how long it takes.”
Still no answer.
He squeezed her fingers. “Stop blaming yourself.”
A shudder ran through her. “Who else?” she asked in a haunted tone. “No good mother would ever have withheld herself from her child.”
“You had reason.” Not the least of which was Cleo’s own childhood. She’d had no one to trust. To lean on. Though she’d wanted to love and be loved worse than anyone Malcolm had ever met, she was also more terrified of making herself vulnerable.
“Not good enough.” She stared out the windshield as if she could force the miles to pass. “What if—” Her voice was barely a whisper. “What if we’re too late?”
It was his own worst fear, and he had nothing to combat it for either of them. Ria was filled with self-loathing, he understood better now. If he’d known about those scars—
“We won’t be.” He sounded too harsh, but he needed to believe it as badly as Cleo did.
Cleo, however, had a greater store of experience with life’s brutal realities. He could feel from her that she understood his bluster and the impotence of it.
So he said nothing else.
But he didn’t let go.
Only the warmth of Malcolm’s hand kept Cleo from turning into a block of ice. Her heart was already frozen solid with fear. The miles to the cemetery were endless, yet she was terrified to arrive and find Ria not there.
As they drove through the gates, all her focus was fixed on the far side of the cemetery, wishing away the trees and curves blocking her view.
She wondered how often Malcolm came to this place. She still visited several times each year and never missed David’s birthday, arriving in the hours just as dawn broke, the time of his birth. At first she’d visited on each anniversary of his death, but Sandor had helped her realize, two years ago, that she would never emerge from her grief if she didn’t learn how to celebrate his life instead of battering her sanity against the futility of his death.
“Damn.” Malcolm’s grip went slack in hers.
They were near enough to tell that the grassy space held no visitors. Only the simple gray stone that marked their youngest child’s final resting place.
Cleo wrapped her arms around her middle. Hope gasped for air as guilt’s chokehold tightened.
Suddenly, Malcolm leaned forward against the steering wheel. “Wait—when’s the last time you were here?”
“What?”
“Did you bring flowers recently?”
“I don’t understand—” She glanced at Malcolm, then at the grave finally in view.
Saw the bouquet. “Those aren’t mine.”
“Mine, either. Come on.” He killed the engine and leaped out, pausing only long enough to help her emerge. His strides ate up the ground, so he grabbed hold and pulled her with him.
With every step, Cleo prayed. Please, oh, please—let us find a note, a clue—anything. I’ll do it right this time—just give me another chance.
They ran across the wet grass, hand in hand. Fell to their knees on either side of their son’s grave.
“Daisies,” she said. Once Ria’s favorite flower, back in a distantly remembered past. “She was here, but—”
“Look.” Malcolm pointed with a hand that wasn’t quite steady, then unearthed a paper from beneath the blossoms.
David, it said on the envelope.
He glanced at Cleo. “This is private. She’s lost so much. Do we have the right to read it?”
“I don’t want to hurt her anymore, but we have to find her to help her.”
Malcolm nodded. “I agree.” He slit open the envelope, drew out the sheet inside. Scanned it quickly, and sagged. Proffered it to her.
David, I don’t know how to make it up to anyone—Daddy or Mother or Betsey—and I can’t bring you back, no matter how I wish I could take your place.
I tried to die once, but a friend saved me. I’ve thought about doing it again, but then I imagine how they’d feel, losing another one. About the kind of legacy I’d be leaving Benjy.
I have a son, Benjamin David, and he looks so much like you. He’s good inside, just the way you were.
So I have to do what’s right for him because he’d find out someday if I took the easy way out. It’s bad enough that he’ll learn everything I’ve done anyway. I’m so scared of how he’ll feel.
Before he died, my friend Dog Boy made me promise to square things with Mother and Daddy and Betsey. I tried to tell him it wouldn’t work, but you can’t renege on a deathbed promise. Besides, he saved me when I first ran away and stuck with me when I got pregnant. If not for him, Benjy wouldn’t be alive.
So I came back from California, but I was right, and Dog Boy was wrong. Now I’m doing what Lola says she should have for Mother, what Betsey told me was best for him, even though it feels like dying. I’m offering him a family who can provide the safety and security he deserves. I understand now just what I cost Daddy and Mother when my mistakes took their favorite child. Maybe by giving up mine to them, some of the pain I’ve brought will be healed.
Maybe someday, I can make something of myself and deserve Benjy again. If I do, I’ll come back to see you, I promise.
I never knew why you loved me so much, Davey. I can only hope that wherever you are, you understand that I didn’t deserve your love, but it meant everything to me.
Watch over my baby, please. Daddy and Mother and the others already love him, but everyone can use a guardian angel.
Ria
Devastated, Cleo looked up at Malcolm.
The tightness around his mouth eased. “She’s not going to kill herself.”
Guilt loosened its grip a fraction. “No.” She closed her eyes. “Thank God.”
“Come on, Snow.” He helped her to her feet.
They paused then, side by side, in front of their son’s gravestone.
“Watch over her, too, will you, sweetie?” Cleo asked, brushing her fingers over the stone. “She needs love worse than any of us.”
Malcolm bent and placed his hand beside hers. “We love you, son. We’ll bring her back as soon as we find her.”
Cleo glanced up at him. “Will we?”
“You better believe it. We have two clues: California, and a guy’s name. That’s more than we had before.” He slipped one arm around her shoulders. “Now, let’s go take care of her boy.”
The day passed in a blur. By tacit agreement, both stayed at the house, handling business concerns by phone. A distraught Betsey had been more than willing to handle an extra day at the shop, bringing the little girls to play with Benjy, which made for a perfect distraction. Either Cleo or Malcolm was always with Benjy, a source of delight for him.
To imagine living this way forever was all too seductive. The house felt right with Malcolm in it once more.
But as night fell, both of them were all too cognizant that he must go home.
That his home was not here.
Finally, dinner was over, and the little girls left with their mother. Malcolm tried to say goodbye, but Benjy clung to him, his normally sunny nature turned plaintive and fussy.
As experienced parents, they both understood that with the onset of darkness, his mother’s absence couldn’t be ignored.
“I’m sure Joanna’s expecting you.” Cleo attempted to keep any trace of bitterness from her tone.
A muscle in his jaw flexed. “I don’t want to leave him this way.” He faced her. “Or you.”
A whole world lay within those words.
But his situation hadn’t changed.
Malcolm sighed. “I’ll give him a bath and help you put him to bed.” He left her and ascended the staircase.
Cleo dug nails into the arms crossed over her waist.
When bedtime came, however, Benjy insisted on having both of them present, bookends bracketing the child they were desperate to protect. First Malcolm read a story, then Cleo. Malcolm lifted fat Tyrone to the covers, where he circled three times, then settled against Benjy’s ribs. Benjy curled his body around the dog.
“Nana, I wish my mom was here.” His little voice quavered.
Cleo pressed her lips together and met Malcolm’s anguished gaze. “She will be, sweetie. And she’ll be so happy to see you. I bet she’ll hug you and kiss you until you can hardly stand it.”
The brown eyes he’d inherited from Malcolm searched hers from a tiny, beloved face. “I won’t mind.” Then Benjy yawned. “Gramps, you could spend the night with us. I’ll scoot over so you can share with me.”
Malcolm swallowed hard. “I’m too big, sport, but you just close your eyes now, and tomorrow we’ll have more fun.”
“Would you hold my hand, Gramps? You, too, Nana.”
The House That Love Built Page 17