He began reading about Ray Darrow’s upcoming book, For Shame. The title still made Laura cringe, but the author of the article had nothing but words of praise for the book, and Laura listened with a lump in her throat. The piece described Ray as a great humanitarian.
“‘If every politician reads this powerful book,’” Stuart read aloud, “‘much needed social change is sure to follow.’” He paused. “Pretty nice, huh?”
Laura closed her eyes. “I only wish Ray could hear that.”
“It’s his legacy,” Stuart said. “It’s exactly what he would have wanted.”
For a long time after hanging up the phone, Laura lay on her side, eyes wide open, sleep evasive. Reaching out to touch the empty mattress where Ray should have been, the pain of losing him washed over her. He’d been a good husband.
Except for his anger over her father’s last request.
Except for his impatience with Emma.
She shook her head, annoyed at how Heather Davison kept picking away at Ray’s image, and at herself, for beginning to think that Heather might be right.
23
ALISON BECKER CALLED WHILE LAURA AND EMMA WERE EATING breakfast.
“We have to postpone Cory’s party,” Alison said. “She was up all night with some stomach bug.”
“Oh, how miserable,” Laura said, but she wasn’t thinking of Cory as much as she was of Sarah. She’d told Sarah she’d visit today while Emma was at the birthday party. Now, though, Emma was left with no place to go. Most likely Sarah didn’t remember Laura saying she’d come today, but what if she did? The thought of her waiting for her with her walking shoes on was more than Laura could bear.
“Anything I can do to help?” Laura asked Alison.
“No, thanks. Jim went out for ginger ale and saltines, so I think we’re all set.”
Hanging up the phone, Laura took her seat again across from Emma.
“Well, honey, that was Cory’s mom. Cory’s sick today, so she won’t be able to have her birthday party.”
Emma looked out the window in the direction of the Beckers’ house.
“I know you’re disappointed.” How did she know that? How did she know anything her daughter was thinking or feeling? She was in the middle of a colossal guessing game, dividing her time between a small child who refused to communicate and an old woman who couldn’t.
One of the library books she’d been reading suggested linking the Alzheimer’s patient with a child. In many ways, they were at the same level of ability.
“Since you can’t go to Cory’s party,” she said, making a split-second decision, “you can go with me to visit a friend.”
When Sarah opened her apartment door, her eyes fell immediately on Emma.
“You brought Janie with you,” she said, a broad smile on her face.
“Janie?” Laura asked. “No, this is Emma, my daughter. Emma, this is Mrs. Tolley.”
Emma leaned into Laura’s leg, though not with her usual shyness, and she didn’t hesitate to go into the apartment with Laura. She eyed Sarah with curiosity. There had been few elderly women in her life.
Sarah was so focused on Emma as she led her guests into the living room that she walked right into one of the end tables, knocking her late husband’s picture to the floor. Laura picked up the framed photograph and placed it on the table again.
“Will Janie go on our walk with us?” Sarah asked.
“If that’s all right with you,” Laura said. “But her name is Emma. Do you remember me telling you about my daughter, Emma?”
Sarah sat on the edge of the sofa, making herself Emma’s height. “What a beautiful doll!” she said. “What’s her name?”
Emma held the Barbie out to Sarah, who took it on her lap.
“What’s her name, Janie?” she asked again.
“Do you remember that I told you Emma doesn’t speak?” Laura said.
“You stopped talking, Janie?” Sarah seemed almost obstinate in her refusal to call Emma by her name. “Why did you do that, dearest?”
Emma wrinkled her nose and shrugged, leaning restlessly against the arm of the sofa.
“Good,” Laura said to Sarah. “You have your walking shoes on already.” She looked at Emma. “Do you need to use the bathroom before we go for a walk, honey?”
Emma shook her head.
“Well, I do,” Laura said. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Walking toward the bathroom, she noticed the big plastic calendar-clock on the kitchenette wall. The date was set three days ahead, and she took a moment to set it back. Sarah must be pushing the button more often than once a day.
She was washing her hands at the bathroom sink when, through the paper-thin door, she heard Sarah ask, “Are you in school yet, Janie?” Where the heck was this “Janie” stuff coming from? she wondered.
“I’m not Janie!” Emma’s voice rang out clearly. “I’m Emma.”
Laura caught her breath. It had been so long since she’d heard that voice that she’d almost forgotten how it sounded. Low-pitched for such a tiny girl, and loud. And right now, a bit indignant.
She wanted to run out of the bathroom and pull her daughter into her arms, but she didn’t dare break the spell. Pressing her head against the door, she listened as Emma answered Sarah’s questions, even though they were directed to a child with a different name.
“My doll’s name is Barbie,” she said.
“I’m five.”
“I’ll go to kindergarten soon.”
Laura glanced in the bathroom mirror. There were tears in her eyes and her nose was red. She dried her tears with toilet paper and left the bathroom, deciding it would be best if she didn’t treat Emma’s talking as if it were anything out of the ordinary, but rather something she’d expected her to do one of these days.
“Are you ready to go for our walk, Emma?” she asked, waiting for the answer.
But Emma merely took her Barbie back from Sarah and trotted over to the door to wait for them.
On their walk, Sarah was far too preoccupied with Emma to slip into her memories of the past, but no matter what she asked the little girl, Emma was done talking. It hurt Laura to know that her presence was the cause of Emma’s return to silence. She answered most of Sarah’s questions about Emma, and eventually gave up trying to get her to call her by her right name.
“You must know a little girl named Janie,” Laura said.
A faraway look fell over Sarah’s face. “Yes, I knew a Janie,” she said, “but I’m not allowed to talk about her.” She stepped out ahead of her walking companions, and Laura knew that the conversation had come to an end.
She called Dylan that night from the phone in the skylight room, where she lay stretched out on the floor pillows. The night was thick with clouds, but the moon appeared from time to time, peeking through the smoky veil.
“Emma spoke today,” she said.
“You’re kidding!” Dylan said. “Tell me all about it.”
“Well, I had to take her to Sarah’s apartment with me this morning, and while I was in the bathroom, I overheard Sarah asking her—”
She suddenly heard a woman’s voice in the background, calling “Dylan?”
“You have someone there,” she said, chagrined. “I’m interrupting.”
“No, don’t worry about it. Hold on.”
She heard muffled voices and knew he had cupped his hand over the receiver and was talking to the woman who was…his date? His lover?
“Hi,” he said, coming back on the line. “So, you had Emma over at Sarah’s and Sarah was asking her something?”
“Yes. I was in the bathroom and Sarah kept calling Emma ‘Janie’ for some reason, and all of a sudden, Emma said, very indignantly, ‘I’m not Janie!’”
Dylan laughed. “All right, Emma! Then what? Oh, hold on another second.”
She heard the woman’s voice in the background again, her words indistinct, and this time Dylan didn’t bother covering the phone when he answered her. “T
hey’re in the closet,” he said. “Top shelf. The stool’s right inside the door there.” Then to Laura, “Okay. I’m back.”
“I am seriously interrupting you,” Laura said.
“No, you’re not. So, did she keep talking? Is she talking now?”
“No. She stopped when I came out of the bathroom.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That must not feel too good.”
The compassion in his voice surprised her, brought her to the brink of tears yet again. “At least she spoke,” she said. “At least I know she can still do it.”
“Could Sarah have called her by another name in an attempt to get her to speak, do you think? Maybe she knew perfectly well what she was doing, and was just trying to provoke Emma.”
She hadn’t thought of that. “You know, she told me about a mute patient she had when she was a psychiatric nurse. The psychiatrist got her to talk by taunting her.”
“So maybe Sarah was doing the same thing.”
It seemed unlikely. “I don’t know. Sarah’s not that clearheaded.”
“Maybe she’s more clearheaded than you think.” He paused. “I’m going out in a few minutes,” he said, “but when can I see Emma again? If she’ll see me at all after I screamed at her about the guns. Wish I had that morning to do over.”
“How about coming over Monday evening?” she suggested. “Emma and I have a therapy session with Heather in the morning. I’ll be painting the living room in the afternoon, and I’ll probably be a paint-speckled mess by the time you get here, but we could order pizza or—”
“I’ll come over in the afternoon and help you paint,” he said.
“Oh, no! I don’t want you to do that.”
“It’s my day off,” he said. “I’ll be there around one-thirty, okay? You have an extra roller or should I bring one?”
“I have one.”
“See you then.”
After getting off the phone, she poured herself a glass of iced tea and carried it out to the screened porch. She sat down in one of the rockers. The night was very still except for the rhythmic croaking of the frogs that lived along the bank of the lake. She ordinarily found comfort in a quiet evening on the porch, yet tonight it did not calm her.
Dylan was a genuinely kind person, and she was convinced of his sincere interest in Emma. That was all she’d wanted him to be: a kind and attentive man who would take an interest in her daughter. So, why was she so disturbed by the fact that he had a woman at his house? It was absurd. Dylan owed her nothing. He didn’t even remember the night they’d slept together, and he had been clear about his desire to remain unattached. Why couldn’t she simply shrug off the sound of that woman’s voice? What were they doing tonight? She pictured Dylan laughing with the anonymous woman in his living room, or maybe lying in the hammock in his backyard. She pictured them in bed together. Pictured him touching her, making love to her, consciously, not the way he’d made love to Laura so long ago.
So what? She didn’t own him.
She turned her mind to other things, managing to think about Emma’s talking, and Sarah’s fixation on calling her Janie, and what color she would paint the living room. Yet she knew that when she climbed into bed that night, her dreams would be filled with Dylan Geer.
24
“YOUR MIND IS STILL BACK ON THAT PHONE CALL,” BETHANY said on the drive to the theater.
He couldn’t deny it. Emma had spoken! He would have liked to talk with Laura longer, but that would have made them late for the movie.
“Sorry,” he said. “Tell me about work. You said your agent had a big job for you?” Wasn’t that what she’d told him when she arrived at his house? Something about needing to make a decision because the job would interfere with her photography business? He couldn’t remember for certain.
Bethany was quiet. “I don’t want to talk about work, Dylan,” she said. “I want to talk about what’s going on with us. Or maybe the correct statement should be what isn’t going on.”
“I’m not following you.” He kept his eyes on the road, unaccustomed to the accusatory tone in Bethany’s voice.
“Look, I know the rules,” she said. “I know we have no ties to each other. But I’d still like to be treated with some respect.”
“What are you talking about?” He’d always treated her with respect.
“I haven’t heard from you in weeks,” she said. “What am I supposed to think?”
“We’ve been playing telephone tag.” The argument was weak. He could have found the time to call her when he knew she’d be home.
They’d arrived at the theater parking lot, and he pulled into a space and started opening his door.
“No,” she said. “Let’s sit here till we’ve talked this out. Please.”
Letting go of the door handle, he turned to face her. “All right.” Her hair was so black he could barely see it in the darkness, but her eyes were clearly visible and they were filled with questions.
“Be honest with me, Dylan. We’ve both been up-front with each other from the start. We both see other people, and we know it. But we’ve also been special to each other, haven’t we?”
“Yes.” He reached for her hand. “That’s true.”
“So I need to know if someone’s taken my place. I won’t get crazy about it. But I need to know.”
He hesitated for a minute, looking through the windshield toward the marquee of the theater. “Yes,” he said finally, tightening his fingers around her hand. “Someone’s taken your place. And she’s five years old.”
Bethany tilted her head, frowning. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Oh! You mean the little girl in the picture?”
“That’s right.”
“I knew she was your daughter.”
“How did you know?”
“You just needed to take one look at her,” Bethany said. “She has your eyes, your hair, your smile.”
He was smiling now himself. “Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?”
“So, I assume that wasn’t her on the phone. It was her mother, right?”
“Right.”
“And…what is her mother to you?” There was fear in the question. Another person might not pick up on it, but he knew Bethany too well.
“Just her mother.” He tried to sound reassuring. “That’s all. Emma…the little girl…lost her father recently and she hasn’t spoken since then, so her mother called to tell me that Emma spoke today. That’s it.”
“Are you…involved with Emma? I mean, do you see her?”
“Yes.” He let out a sigh. “This is hard to explain, Beth,” he said. “I haven’t been in touch with you, or with anyone really, because I just want to focus on the girl right now. I have five years to make up for. Can you understand that?”
There was a small smile on her perfectly shaped red lips. “Yes,” she said. “And I love you for not being able to turn your back on her. Still…”
“Still?”
“I wish you’d never found out about her.”
The movie was boring to him, although obviously not to Bethany. She couldn’t stop jabbering about it in the van on the way home. He barely knew what she was talking about when she referred to scenes or characters, because he’d let his mind wander to Emma again. He imagined seeing her Monday afternoon, winning her over, somehow erasing that incident with the gun cabinet from her mind. He’d buy a paintbrush her size and let her help him and Laura paint.
By the time they pulled into his driveway, Bethany was snuggled close to him in the van, her silky hair against his chin and her hand stroking the inside of his thigh with an insistent pressure. He was not interested. Not at all. And he was not sure what he was going to do about it.
Stopping the van in front of his garage, he took her hand from his thigh and held it firmly on his knee. “I think we still have some talking to do,” he said.
“Well, I don’t want to talk.” She extracted her hand from his and slipped her fingers inside
his shirt, between the buttons. “I want to make love.”
“I know you do, Beth, but…”
“But what?” She pulled away to study him from a distance. “You’re not yourself tonight, Dylan,” she said. “That was your kind of movie. I picked it especially because I could see you needed to get your mind off things. But it backfired. You seem even more distant from me than before.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. But I’m…going through something. I don’t know how to explain it, even to myself. I never wanted kids, and now I suddenly have one, and I feel an obligation to her. More than that. I think she’s…adorable.” The word sounded bizarre coming from his mouth. “I was sitting there in the movie trying to think of what I could bring her next time I see her, or where I might take her for fun, or how I can make her feel safe enough to talk again. I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe that’s crazy, I don’t know. But it’s what’s happening to me.”
“I don’t think it’s crazy,” Bethany said. “But frankly, I wish it was another woman you were hooked on. I’d know how to fight that. I don’t know how to compete with a five-year-old.”
“You don’t need to compete with her. You just need to be patient with me.”
She sighed, her mouth pursed tightly. “You don’t want me to stay overnight, do you?”
She was beautiful. He could see the swell of her breasts in the moonlight. All week he’d been thinking about sleeping with her tonight, waking up together in the morning the way they used to, laughing and talking and making love again, but right now the memory of her hand on his thigh was more of an irritant. He really was losing it.
“Not tonight, Beth,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She tried to smile but failed. Leaning over, she kissed him on the cheek. “Call me, okay?” she said.
He watched her get out of his van and into her car. After she’d driven down his driveway, her car’s taillights disappearing in the woods, he walked into the house. He was sorry he’d hurt her, yet he felt nothing but relief at being alone with no one to interrupt his thoughts about his daughter.
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