Brass Ring

by Diane Chamberlain

  “I’m afraid to talk about it,” she whispered.

  Jon gnawed on his lip, thinking that if Randy were sitting this close to her, touching her, she would be more than willing to talk. And if he were Randy, he wouldn’t be afraid to hear what she had to say.

  “Tell me, Claire,” he tried again.

  With her eyes still squeezed shut, she began to talk, quickly, as though once she started she couldn’t get it out fast enough. She told him about Vanessa’s accusations, about how she had sent her sister out to the barn, where she was raped by the sheriff, Zed Patterson. Jon wasn’t certain if he was listening to Vanessa’s memories or Claire’s, but he listened hard. He needed to know exactly where she was in the process of discovering her past.

  “She despises me,” Claire said when she’d finished giving him the account of Vanessa’s visit. “I could see it in her eyes. She’s hated me ever since that day.”

  “Is it true, though?” he asked carefully. “Do you think that what she said happened to her actually did happen? Do you think you meant to set her up?”

  A tremor ran through her body, and she leaned closer to him, clutching his hand in both of hers.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I was starting to remember some of it in the car on the way over here, but I feel like I’m trying to piece together a dream.” She looked at him directly. “I’ve been remembering more and more lately,” she said. It sounded like a confession.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “That’s good.”

  She pressed his hand hard between hers and stared into space. “I know that the sheriff—Zed—was helping my grandfather that summer. Not with the carving, of course, but with the mechanical stuff. Grandpa was sick, I think, and Zed really worked hard. Oh!” She let go of his hand to hold her fists to the sides of her head. “I just parroted Mellie,” she said. “Mellie used to say how hard Zed worked, wasn’t he a great worker, etcetera. Maybe there was something between them.”

  He caught her hands again, holding them once more on her knee. Her fingers felt fragile beneath his. He hoped she would talk on and on and they could sit this way forever.

  “What was he like, this Zed guy?” He wasn’t certain how far to push her. How far would Randy push? “Was there any reason for you or anyone else to suspect he’d be abusive?”

  “Oh, do you know who he is, Jon?” she asked suddenly. “I didn’t realize this, but Vanessa said he’s Walter Patterson, the senator from Pennsylvania.”

  Jon couldn’t mask the shock in his face. “The victims’ assistance guy?”

  “I don’t know about—”

  “Yes, you do. Remember? He was a big supporter when we were trying to get the Americans with Disabilities Act through?”

  “Yes. God, I never realized…I don’t believe…He was a nice man, I thought. My memory’s vague, but I remember him giving me things. A doll, once—a Barbie—which, looking back, seems like kind of an odd gift from a man, but I thought it was great at the time. And he’d tell me I was pretty, but…I think I did feel a little uncomfortable around him. I can’t put a finger on it. I can’t remember. Maybe I was picking up on whatever was going on between him and Mellie. But I do remember the day Vanessa’s talking about. It started coming to me in the car driving over here.” She suddenly froze. “But I don’t want to think about it. I’m afraid to.” She made a sound, a small whimper, like a hurt animal. “Oh, Jon,” she said.

  “What? Tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid to remember, because I think I really did betray her.”

  “I’d like to hear about it,” he said. “From your perspective, not Vanessa’s.”

  “I can’t.”

  Jon shut his own eyes, thinking of the phone call she was so anxious to make. “What does Randy do or say that makes it easy for you to tell him these things?” he asked. The words burned his throat.

  Claire hesitated before she answered. “I don’t know,” she said. “He listens well, I guess. He asks questions.” She glanced at him, a mild accusation in her eyes. “He doesn’t try to change the subject.”

  “I’ll listen very well,” he said. “I promise.” He lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. “Go ahead. What do you remember?”

  She looked out the window as if she could see her story taking shape in the trees and the pond. “It was the night before my father took Vanessa away,” she said. “Zed told me he could use my help in the barn very early the following morning. I can’t remember why I was uncomfortable about it, but I know I was afraid to go. Somehow, on some level, I must have known what he was really after. Although I was only ten. I mean, how did I know that? But I did.” She suddenly furrowed her brow. “Oh, Jon, maybe I’m making this up! Maybe Vanessa’s planted the seed, and now I—”

  He shook his head. “Trust yourself, Claire. Go on. What happened?”

  She drew in a trembling breath, turning her hand so that her fingers were locked with his, and he ran his thumb over the pale band of skin where her ring had been.

  “I was so afraid of having to go out to the barn in the morning that I couldn’t get to sleep that night,” Claire said. “And sometime during the night I must have gotten the idea to send Vanessa. In the morning, just like she said, I woke her up and told her Zed had asked for her to come out and help him.” She leaned away to look at him. “Why did either of us have to go? Why didn’t I simply roll over and go back to sleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe he told me I’d get in trouble if I didn’t help him.”

  “What happened after you told Vanessa to go?”

  “She left, and I remember going downstairs and sitting at the breakfast table with Mellie and my grandparents while she was out in the barn. My grandfather was eating eggs. I remember that because the smell made me sick.” She looked at him. “I was very nervous, Jon. I remember being nervous.”

  He nodded.

  “My grandfather called me ‘Sunshine,’ and I couldn’t even smile at him. Then Mellie or someone asked me where Vanessa was and I told them she was out in the barn helping Sheriff Patterson. I think Mellie said something about what a good little girl Vanessa was, because I felt jealous. Oh!” She nearly smiled. “The honey!”

  “The honey?”

  “I’ve been having this flashback of a jar of honey and I think it’s from that morning. We were eating English muffins, and I was putting honey on mine, letting it dribble from the spoon into all the little holes, and my grandmother told me not to play with it. And that’s when Vanessa walked in the door.”

  Jon was astonished at the workings of her memory. If he hadn’t known better, he would think this tapestry of scenes was nothing more than the creation of a fertile imagination.

  “Mellie said, ‘Good morning, Angel,’ to Vanessa and offered her a muffin,” Claire continued, “but Vanessa said she wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t look at her, Jon.” She let go of his hand to press her fist to her mouth. “I just stared at my muffin, at the way the kitchen light was reflected in the little pools of honey.”

  For a moment, she seemed lost. He waited quietly, finally prompting her. “Claire?”

  “I didn’t like her,” she said softly. “I still don’t. She’s gorgeous. That’s a petty reason, I know, but she was so pushy and forceful and rude in my apartment.”

  He nodded, remembering Vanessa’s cold voice on the phone. “Go back to that day at the farm,” he said. “What happened next?”

  “I think she asked if she could take a nap. Mellie was worried that she was sick and said she’d be up to check on her in a while. I remember wanting to get out of the house so I wouldn’t have to see her or talk to her. I really remember this,” she said, as if surprised by the clarity of her thoughts. “I remember thinking I would do everything I could to avoid being alone with her that day.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I betrayed her. I sent her out to get hurt. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.” She sat back on the couch, t
aking his hand with her, and he had to lean forward a little. “This is the first memory I’ve had where I can feel the emotion attached to it,” she said. “Usually I just remember things in a dry sort of way. This is harder. I don’t like it.”

  He didn’t want her to leave the past. Not yet. Her story didn’t shock or even surprise him. He only wished it went further than it did. “So did you manage to avoid her all day?” he asked.

  She nearly laughed. “I managed to avoid her for the rest of my life,” she said. “The day she went to the barn was the same day my father showed up and dragged her away.” She shook her head, suddenly smiling. “The drawing of the robin,” she said, cryptically. “I was coloring a picture of a robin when he showed up.” She squeezed Jon’s hand, leaning forward. “Things are starting to come together,” she said. “The flashbacks are falling into place. I bet this was it—this thing with Vanessa. This must be what I’ve been hiding from myself all these years.”

  “Maybe,” he said, although he knew better.

  She slipped her feet from her shoes and drew them up on the couch, covering her legs with her long gray skirt. Resting her head on her knees, she shut her eyes. “This sounds terrible,” she said, “but I remember being relieved when my father took her away. I was so afraid of talking to her or seeing her, that I was glad to see her go. With her gone, I could convince myself that nothing bad had happened. I could erase the whole memory. But I was thinking like a child—you know—I wanted that immediate satisfaction of having her gone. It never occurred to me that I might never see her again.”

  “You were a child, Claire,” he said. He dared to lift his free hand to her head, to stroke her hair. Once, twice, three times. “You didn’t intentionally set her up to be abused.” He was playing her game, he thought. Denying any nasty intent, making the bad things go away with a few weak words of reassurance.

  He could hear her breathing, but that was the only sound in the room. Her trembling had subsided, and he knew that soon she would pull her hand away. Damn Randy. Anytime he felt like it, Randy could touch her like this. He could run his fingers through her hair or feel the delicate weight of her hand in his. He could make love to her any time, any way she wanted it.

  Claire lifted her head from her knees and looked at him. The color was back in her cheeks. “I feel better now,” she said.

  He could nearly make out his reflection in her eyes. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you these last few months, Claire,” he said.

  “And I’m sorry I laid all this on you.”

  Jon shook his head. “What do you think will happen to me if you tell me terrible things? Do you think I’m going to crack up? Slit my wrists?”

  She smiled weakly. “I don’t know.”

  “Are you afraid I’ll cry?” He tugged gently on a strand of her hair. “That might happen. I might cry if you tell me about something that hurt you. Would that be so terrible?”

  She lowered her feet to the floor. “It’s a habit, not telling you things that might upset you.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you don’t need to protect me anymore, Claire. You don’t need to keep your sad or angry or otherwise shitty feelings from me. I can handle them now, all right? Give me a chance to be there for you.”

  “That’s what you said in your speech.”

  “My speech?”

  “At G.W. I was there for your keynote speech—the one I was supposed to make with you. But you were really wonderful all by yourself.”

  He smiled, touched and surprised to learn that she’d been there. “But lonely, Claire,” he said. “I was fine, but I was lonely up there on that stage. And that pretty much sums up my life lately. I’m fine— but lonely for you.”

  She smiled at him, then leaned over and hugged him hard. “I miss you too,” she said, standing up, backing away from him, and she left his office quickly, anxious, no doubt, to make her phone call.

  45

  VIENNA

  SITTING BEHIND HER DESK in her old office at the foundation, Claire found she had lost the sense of urgency to call Randy. The cloak of Jon’s comfort was still warm around her shoulders. She’d been too shaken by Vanessa’s visit to curb the flow of what she’d told him, but he had listened well, indeed. Had he always had that ability? Had she simply not given him the chance?

  It was hard to focus on the monumental stack of files on her desk when thoughts of her sister still haunted her. She told herself she had to make a dent in the files before the eleven o’clock staff meeting, and so she was on her lunch break by the time she had a chance to call Randy. She had expected to eat lunch with Jon, as they used to, over the desk in his office. But he had scheduled a lunch meeting with one of their consultants—and without her. He didn’t even invite her to join them, which was probably wise. She didn’t have a good grounding in the project they were discussing, and she doubted she would be able to give the meeting all her concentration.

  Randy was at the restaurant when she called. She could hear the clank of dishes in the background.

  “How are things at the office?” he asked.

  “Looks like everything ran smoothly in my absence.” She drew sloping lines on the notepad in front of her, a string of slender snakes, reverse Ss, across the blue paper. “I’m not running too well, though. My sister stopped by my apartment this morning.”

  “Vanessa? You’re kidding. Is that good or bad?”

  “Well, it shook me up a bit. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”

  “Do you need to talk now?” he asked. “Can you take a break? I could meet you someplace.”

  She felt a rush of tenderness at his concern. “Thanks for offering,” she said. “It can wait.”

  After getting off the phone, she once again attacked the stack of work on her desk. Besides the files, there were memos to be read and forms to be filled out about issues and people she could barely remember.

  So much had changed at the foundation in the last month. She felt like a visitor. The new receptionist at the front desk hadn’t even known who she was when she arrived that morning. At the staff meeting, she’d initially listened to the esoteric chatter with a sense of alienation, and it was obvious that no one knew exactly how to treat her. Jon, though, set the tone with his laid-back, unflappable good humor, including her on decisions, asking the others to fill her in on their various projects. Pat spent a few minutes with her after the meeting, updating her on plans for the retreat, telling her how good it was to have her back. Still, Claire’s sense of disorientation was almost dizzying. It was going to be okay, though. She simply needed to get her sea legs under her again.

  As she pulled into Randy’s town house parking lot that evening, she almost dreaded the recounting of Vanessa’s visit. She no longer felt the need to talk about it. Randy began questioning her as soon as she was in the door. They sat in his dark and cozy living room, and he furrowed his brow and listened closely as she repeated the incident to him. It felt like a mere updating, though. The telling had lost its emotion.

  They went for a walk through his neighborhood before dinner, and she realized with some guilt that Randy had concerns of his own tonight. He’d gotten a call from LuAnne that afternoon. Cary was in trouble at school for beating up a girl. Never mind that the girl had been making fun of one of Cary’s friends, a boy with burn scars on his face and hands. LuAnne wanted Randy to talk to Cary by phone that night. Claire held his hand as they walked, helping him plot his end of the conversation. She offered suggestions as best she could, trying to give him her full attention as he had so often done for her, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Vanessa, in a hotel room not

  ten miles from her. She would have to call her, have to try. Surely their entire link as sisters couldn’t be erased by an error in judgment made when she was ten. She couldn’t discount the severity of that mistake, but wouldn’t both their lives be richer by becoming part of each other’s family?

  After their walk,
she helped Randy make dinner in his white and copper kitchen.

  “I’m a bit bewildered,” Randy said as he took a glass baking dish from one of the cabinets. “How come you’re so calm about your sister’s visit? It sounded extremely upsetting, yet you seem”—he shrugged—”almost complacent.”

  “I was beside myself this morning,” she said, slicing mushrooms for their salad, “but then I told Jon about it. I was late to the office because of Vanessa, and I wanted to call you when I got in because I was such a wreck, but Jon stopped me to ask what was wrong, and I blurted the whole mess out to him. So I guess it doesn’t seem so urgent now.” The mushrooms were white and perfect, and she had sliced far more than they needed.

  Randy’s back was to her as he wrapped sole fillets in parchment. “So how did Jon react?” he asked.

  She scooped the mushroom slices up with her hands and dropped them into the salad bowl. “Very well,” she said. “He surprised me.” She put a bowl of frozen spinach in the microwave and hit the defrost button. “I realized I’ve always kept things from him. Anything that might have upset him. Or upset us. I heard him speak the other day, and—”

  Randy turned to frown at her. “You heard him speak? Where?”

  She’d forgotten that Randy didn’t know about the symposium. It hadn’t felt like deceit on her part at the time, but now the small side trip seemed like a betrayal.

  “I stopped by G.W. on Tuesday,” she said. “Jon and I were supposed to be the keynote speakers at a symposium there. I wanted to see how he’d handle it alone.”

  “Oh.” Randy rested his hand lightly against her back. “I didn’t mean to jump on you.”

  “That’s all right.” Claire slipped the knife into a green pepper. “Anyhow, in his speech, he talked about being overprotective of your loved ones, not wanting them to suffer any more than they already have. He said that by protecting them, you don’t give them room to grow or to learn how to take care of themselves. He was referring to me, I suppose. Or to both of us. We took care of each other extremely well.”