by L. T. Vargus
Charlie felt like she was in a dream. Had she called the police already and forgotten? Then her eyes strayed to the broken window beside the door, and she realized a neighbor had probably heard the gunshot, the breaking glass, and called it in.
The deputies were at the door now, angling their guns and flashlights into the house.
“Charlie?”
She recognized the voice.
“Hey Zoe,” Charlie said, and the simple act of speaking seemed to break her from her trance.
“Are you guys OK?” Zoe asked, holstering her weapon. “Is anyone hurt?”
“No one’s hurt,” Charlie answered, thinking that neither she nor her mother was OK.
“We got a call. Neighbors heard gunshots.” Zoe’s gaze slid over to the broken window. “Did someone try to break in?”
Charlie shook her head.
She tried to decide how to explain everything without upsetting her mother. Nancy had never been violent before, but then she’d always been at least somewhat lucid. Charlie wasn’t sure what to expect when she was in such a delusional state.
She wiped tears from her cheeks and leaned back in such a way that she could catch her mother’s eye.
“OK, Mom.” Her voice sounded hoarse. “It’s time for your appointment.”
“Appointment?”
“Yeah. Don’t you remember? You have an appointment with Dr. Kesselman today.”
“Dr. Kesselman,” Nancy repeated. “I forgot.”
Charlie waited for her to notice that it was dark outside. Long after midnight. Much too late an hour for a doctor’s appointment, but her mother was apparently too far gone to notice.
“That’s OK,” Charlie said, forcing false cheer into her words. “There’s still time to get there, but you have to leave now or you’ll be late.”
“But you’re coming with me, aren’t you, Allie?” Nancy’s grip tightened on her. “I won’t leave you.”
Charlie caught the flicker of surprise that crossed Zoe’s face at hearing Allie’s name.
“I’m going to meet up with you there,” Charlie said, forcing a calmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “You remember Zoe, Mom? My friend from school?”
Nancy begrudgingly let her eyes wander over to Zoe.
“She’s going to give you a ride in the back of her police car. Won’t that be fun?”
“Why can’t you drive me?”
“I have to stay here and clean up.”
Her mother seemed to register for the first time that the window was broken.
“Oh my goodness. I almost shot you!” She clutched Charlie’s hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, Allie. I thought it was someone breaking into the house. I didn’t know it was you. If I’d known—”
“It’s OK,” Charlie interrupted. “I’m OK. You’re OK. I’ll get this all fixed up while you go to your appointment. And then we’ll see each other later. How about that?”
“I guess so,” she said but made no move to release the firm grasp she had on Charlie.
“Come on. I’ll walk you out.”
Charlie hoisted her mother up with her as she rose to her feet, and they walked outside still bunched together. Charlie was worried that as soon as they reached the cruiser, her mother would dig in her heels and refuse to get inside. But she only gave Charlie one final squeeze before climbing in through the door that Zoe held open for her.
With her mother deposited in the back of the cruiser, Charlie went over what had happened with Zoe.
“Holy hell. You’re lucky she’s got such bad aim.”
“It wasn’t bad enough,” Charlie said. “I actually felt the heat of the bullet zipping past my face. It was close.”
“Jesus.” Zoe sighed. “And she’s really convinced you’re Allie?”
“I guess so. She must have quit taking her meds.” Charlie wiped a hand down her face. “It’s my fault. I should have seen it coming. Anytime her routine gets disrupted, even a little, she goes noncompliant. And this whole week has been one giant disruption.”
Zoe frowned.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I can’t even get my dad to take a daily multivitamin.” She sighed. “It’s hard, taking care of our parents. They still see us as kids, I think. They don’t trust us to know what’s best, because they’ve spent most of their lives with the roles reversed.”
Charlie’s eyes roamed over to where her mother was hunkered in the backseat of Zoe’s cruiser. She was only a dark silhouette behind the glass.
“So what’s the drill, exactly? You can do a psychiatric hold for forty-eight hours, right?”
“That’s right. We’ll take her to the hospital. She’ll be screened to determine her mental state, and probably they’ll institute a treatment plan right away. Usually they go with some kind of injection. Everything after that depends on how she responds to the treatment. Sometimes the two days back on meds seem to clear things up, and they consent to further treatment.”
“And if she doesn’t consent?”
“Then you’ll need to do a Kevin’s Law petition, also known as a Petition for Assisted Outpatient Treatment. It’s a court-ordered mandate that the individual seek and comply with ongoing treatment.”
There was a chill in the night air, and Charlie wrapped her arms around herself.
“But hey, don’t worry about that just yet.” Zoe reached out and put an arm on Charlie’s shoulder. “Let’s take this one day—or night—at a time. OK?”
Charlie nodded.
A door opened across the street, and one of the neighbors crept out to see what the ruckus was all about. Glancing around, Charlie noticed lights on in other houses that hadn’t been on when she’d arrived. A curtain flapped next door.
She gestured back at the broken window.
“I guess I’d better start cleaning up.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Zoe said. “Even if it’s just to talk. I mean it.”
“I will,” Charlie said, but she knew she wouldn’t. It wasn’t the Winters’ way to burden others with their problems.
Zoe climbed into the cruiser beside her partner, who Charlie realized hadn’t uttered a word the entire time. She thought maybe she was glad for that. It had made the whole thing seem less official. Like Zoe was only doing her a favor as a friend, versus the truth, which was that she’d had to have her mother hauled away by the police.
The low rumble of the cruiser idling changed pitch as Zoe put the car in gear. The spinning lights on the roof winked out.
A small white hand pressed itself to the window in the backseat. Her mother. Charlie raised a hand and waved, forcing a weak smile to her face.
The car pulled away from the curb, gravel crunching underneath the tires. At the end of the block, the vehicle turned onto a side street and within seconds had disappeared from view.
As soon as it was out of sight, the full weight of the night slammed into Charlie. She turned and looked at the broken glass littering the porch. The gaping hole in the front window.
Charlie sighed and went inside to find a broom and some duct tape.
FORTY-ONE
Charlie double-checked the piece of cardboard she’d taped over the broken window. It didn’t offer much in the way of security, but at least it would keep the cold and the bugs out. That would have to be good enough for now.
She swept the last few bits of broken glass into a dustpan and walked around to the side of the house to dump it in the garbage bin. As she closed the lid, her eyes scanned the street. The lights in neighboring houses that had been on when the police had been here were all out now. The show was over, she supposed. Everyone back to bed.
Back inside, she picked up the rifle. Charlie unloaded it and tucked the rounds into her pocket. She’d have to take the gun with her. There was no way she could trust her mother with it ever again. And while she was at it, she decided to ask Uncle Frank if he knew of any other guns in the house.
It struck her that Allie had been oddly silent giv
en everything that had happened. Then she remembered that Allie never spoke to her here. For some reason, she was always completely silent in their childhood home.
Charlie knew she should leave. She was exhausted. But she was also wired and jittery from the adrenaline that came with almost being shot.
She left the rifle unloaded on the living room sofa and wandered down the hall to her old room. She avoided this place, usually. Hated the way it felt like a tomb. She hadn’t slept in here since Allie had gone missing. When it had first happened, she spent most nights waiting up on the couch, the whole family holding out hope that any moment, Allie would find her way home and come bursting in through the door.
After, when any hope of her return had gone for good, Charlie took to sleeping on the futon in the basement. The bedroom they’d shared since the day they were brought home from the hospital in matching pink hats and striped swaddling blankets was too painful to be in. A reminder of everything she’d lost.
Aside from the odd vacuuming or dusting, nothing had ever been touched in here. Her mother hadn’t allowed that.
Charlie went to the old Sony boom box between their beds. To her surprise, it actually powered on. She wondered if there was a CD inside. Something of Allie’s, since she’d always been fanatical about controlling the music.
Charlie’s thumb found the play button. Was this a mistake? Did she really want to wake this dragon?
She pushed play.
The song started with strange plucking sounds. More ambient than melodic. The bass, guitar, and drums came in together a few seconds later, heavy and grungy. Charlie knew what it was immediately: “You Know You’re Right” by Nirvana. It had been a big hit the year Allie disappeared. Played non-stop on the radio. And when that wasn’t enough, Allie downloaded it and played it a few thousand times more.
Charlie had closed her eyes when the song started, but at the first chorus, her eyelids snapped open. The song had dredged something up. A memory long-buried.
Charlie moved to the closet, ducked inside, and found the removable panel that offered access to the bathtub plumbing on the other side of the wall.
“Jackpot,” she said, pushing the panel aside and revealing Allie’s secret stash.
She removed the goodies one by one. A pack of Marlboro Reds with three cigarettes remaining. A condom. An unopened bottle of Bacardi rum.
The last item made her burst out laughing. It was a copy of Playgirl magazine from 1981 featuring Burt Reynolds on the cover. Allie had thought it was the funniest thing ever when they were sixteen.
Charlie unscrewed the top of the Bacardi and sniffed it. She didn’t think booze went bad, but then she wasn’t really an expert.
She sipped at it, and the sharpness made her cough. When she’d recovered, she took a longer drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread down her throat and into her belly. Fiery and pleasant.
She sat down on the end of her old bed, wishing she had someone to call. Someone who would wrap their arms around her and tell her everything would be OK. Even if it was a lie.
FORTY-TWO
Charlie woke to rays of morning sun streaming in through the curtains of her childhood bedroom. Squinting, she peered out at the now half-empty bottle of Bacardi a few feet away. She’d only intended to have a few sips of rum while she wallowed in her sorrows.
She lurched to her feet. The gala. She’d almost forgotten about it.
Her head throbbed so violently that she had to steady herself on the edge of the bed. Her mouth tasted the way a wet dog smelled, and the room felt like it was lurching like a ship on rough seas.
She forced herself upright, tottered out into the hall, fleeing her mother’s house. She couldn’t miss the gala. She needed to talk to Dutch’s mistress, hungover or not.
The sun tried its best to pierce her brain as she sped back to her apartment, stabbing ice picks of bright light through her eyeballs. Her phone rang, and when she saw Zoe’s name on the screen, her mind flashed back to the previous night.
“How are you holding up?” Zoe asked once Charlie had picked up.
“I guess that depends on how things went at the hospital,” Charlie said.
“Yeah, sorry I didn’t call before. Anytime I work a night shift like that, I end up crashing pretty hard when I get home. I just woke up.”
“Don’t apologize,” Charlie said. “I should be thanking you.”
“All part of the job, ma’am,” Zoe said in an overly folksy accent that made Charlie think of a cop show from the 1960s. “Anyway, things got a little heated at the hospital. She wanted her regular doctor, who wasn’t on call. Eventually they got your mom calmed down enough to give her some meds, and that helped. So she’s compliant for now, and that’s a good sign.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, hoping Zoe was right.
“Nancy’s at the Henry Ford Urgent Care center for the duration of the hold,” Zoe explained. “They usually prefer to keep visitations to a minimum during the forty-eight hours, but I might be able to pull some strings if you think seeing her would help.”
“Honestly, I think visiting right now would make it worse, if anything,” Charlie said.
She wondered if that was the truth or a convenient thing to tell herself. She thanked Zoe again before hanging up.
At home, she took ibuprofen with her coffee and then chugged two glasses of water. By the time she’d finished showering, she was feeling mostly better.
She got out her laptop and did some background research on Meals on Wheels while she forced down a piece of toast with peanut butter and blackberry jam.
“It’s Meals on Wheels,” Allie said. “They take food to old people. It’s not rocket science.”
“I know, but I might have to blend in while I wait for the right moment to approach Vivien Marley. I’d like to at least seem like I know what I’m there for.”
“You’d be better off brushing up on your golf lingo and the latest ways to shelter money in the Caymans. That’s what these rich bastards are going to be talking about. They probably go to so many of these things they can’t keep them straight. They get liquored up at the free bar, write a check, and swap stories about the different positions they employ whilst banging their secretaries,” Allie said. “What you should really be worrying about is getting ready. If you screw around and miss meeting Bobby Flay, I will never forgive you.”
Obnoxious though she may be, Allie was right.
Charlie rushed to her closet. Ripped out the bridesmaid’s dress from her cousin’s wedding and started putting it on. It was a tea-length affair in blush-pink lace with an asymmetrical hem. Based on the photos she’d looked at from last year’s gala, it wouldn’t look out of place.
After dressing and administering a quick lacquer of makeup, she studied her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Brunchy enough?”
“Super brunchy,” Allie said. “Brunchtastic, even.”
Charlie took one last look at herself in the mirror and nodded.
Time to talk to Dutch’s mistress, once and for all.
FORTY-THREE
The Bridgefork Heights Country Club was all dolled up when Charlie arrived. A red carpet stretched from the sidewalk up to the entrance, and a short line of people waited for their turn to pass through the front doors.
Charlie joined the line, forcing herself to breathe slowly and deeply. To stand still and upright. To believe she belonged here.
The line moved quickly. There was a teenage boy at the door taking tickets. Someone’s son or grandson who had gotten roped into ticket duty.
The older couple directly in front of Charlie handed their tickets to the kid, and as they passed through the open doors, Charlie stuck with them.
“Oh, uh… excuse me? Ma’am?” the kid called after her.
Charlie kept going, pretending not to hear, which actually worked a surprising percentage of the time.
The kid was more persiste
nt than she’d anticipated, though. He caught up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.
She whirled around and raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a haughty manner.
“Sorry, miss. It’s just that, uh, I need to get your ticket?” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed.
“Of course,” she said. “I already gave it to you.”
He blinked.
“Um… are you sure? It’s just that, well, I don’t think I got it?”
“Just now, you mean?”
He nodded, looking somewhat relieved.
“Oh, I see your confusion.” Charlie smiled and placed a hand to her chest. “I came in earlier, with my husband. We gave you our tickets then. But I forgot something in my car, you see. I just nipped out for a moment and was coming back just now.”
“Oh… I see,” the kid said, sounding like he only half-believed her.
Charlie went to Plan B. She whipped her head around.
“There he is now,” she said, pretending to see her fantasy husband in the crowd. “Darling!”
She dashed into the throng, still shouting for her darling and waving her hand in the air like an idiot.
From behind her, the kid tried to call her back to the door.
“Wait a minute, miss,” he said. “Ma’am, come back, please!”
She put as much distance between her and the kid as possible, dodging back and forth between the other guests. A server stood nearby wearing a black vest and white gloves and holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Charlie ducked behind him and used the cover to glance back at the door.
The kid was back at his post, collecting tickets. Good. He’d given up on chasing her.
Charlie took a deep breath. The air was thick with a miasma of expensive perfumes and colognes. A toxic cloud of Chanel N°5, Shalimar, and Miss Dior. The collective stench seemed acrid, Charlie thought, like something that would effectively keep insects away.
She was past the first obstacle for the day, at least. Now she needed to find Vivien Marley and wait for just the right moment to corner her.