Morbid wasn’t going to do squat, but how was he supposed to be all bright and cheerful? India’d been bubbly enough for the lot of them when she’d first bounced into the room—not that she’d left that way, but too bad for her. And that night nurse, all smiles while she puffed pillows and stuck thermometers in a person’s mouth. They weren’t the ones having their blood sifted.
Again and again, he heard the voice on the phone whispering, “It’s the alcohol. Examine it.”
Who had called? Who had known?
Whoever it was had saved his life.
A curse skittered around in his head, flashing on his closed lids until he spat it at the room. He felt like the aging star of some stupid melodrama, the old guy they were dumping in favor of the young stud, killed off in this crazy way ’cause the script writers had used up their quota of bullet holes, car wrecks, and heart attacks. Might have even been some do-gooder producer who wanted to send out a warning to the viewers about poisoned alcohol.
Ha, ha. Real funny. The ceiling squiggle changed and tore his thoughts away from that absurdity. What, was he beginning to believe in his own plot?
Who got poisoned from bootleg liquor outside of West Virginia or the Tennessee hills? This was the Carolina coast. Only poor kids who chewed paint chips got lead poisoning, and nobody suffered from mercury poisoning that he’d ever heard of.
Only some crazy fool would dream up something like moonshine as a murder weapon. Had to be a soap opera. Or one of those made-for-television movies chock full of weeping, moaning, hand wringing, and teeth gnashing. Not real life. Not happening to him.
He’d wake up and find it was a dream. The craziest dream he’d ever had.
He turned on one side, with his needle-packed arm extended along the sheet, but he couldn’t get comfortable.
Nope. People didn’t dream all this pain. So he wasn’t asleep.
Who had phoned him? Who had known he even had the stuff? Who, other than India and the person who’d given it to her?
He had to assume the call had come from the supplier. Had India known what she was pouring every night when she’d smiled and handed him his glass?
The million-dollar question. And not really a question, was it?
If she’d drunk it with him, she’d have needles poking into her—or be buried six feet under.
His head swirled with the realization. It had niggled at him. Now it slammed him full in the face. She’d only pretended to drink from that bottle. She—this woman who said she loved him—had known exactly what would happen to anyone seduced by the taste of that clear, sparkling liquor.
She’d tried to murder him. Not that he could prove it, his word against hers, but he knew.
The machine next to his bed beeped. He looked up at the bag. Empty.
A nurse would come soon. One of them always seemed to be creeping in to poke, prod, or sound him out with cold hands or sweaty hands. The skinny ones had cold hands. The fat ones tended to be nicer. He wondered why. His favorite was a big black lady whose laugh bellowed when she opened her mouth. Great sense of humor, and smart. She was the floor supervisor, day shift five days out of seven and sometimes nighttime. She said they were understaffed, so sometimes she just didn’t go home. He warned her she’d be next in bed if she didn’t quit that. Mattie was her name, from farm country just outside Newport. That probably explained it. Good people, those Carteret County locals.
Unless they were trying to poison you.
One thing he knew for sure, if he lived through this hell, you wouldn’t catch him touching a drop of booze again. Not him.
32
Teo
He angled closer to the hole,
To peek, to peer,
And tipping,
Fell.
Teo did what he always did in times like this: he wrote.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as page after page developed. Sophrina, it seemed, was his only faithful companion, a woman in a million.
He sat hunched over, bending in ways he knew weren’t good for his spine, but he needed to focus. He was almost there.
And then he was. The last period on the last line and a The End slapped on the bottom.
He leaned back in his desk chair and reached for the water glass he kept filled at his side. Lifting it, he found bare sips left. Even the gallon jug at his feet seemed to have emptied without him noticing.
He got up to refill both and wobbled. What the…? Where had that come from?
He glanced at his watch. Ah. It was almost five o’clock, and he hadn’t eaten since last night. When had he last showered?
He lifted an arm and sniffed. Not nice. Not nice at all.
He’d better eat something so he wouldn’t collapse in the shower and drown. And so he’d have the energy to get to Tonio’s for dinner and that game of chess.
The refrigerator stared at him, its light bulb glowing against the almost-empty shelves. Pulling out a quart of milk, he noticed the curds had separated out. He held his breath as he emptied the contents down the drain. Dry cereal was obviously out of the question.
There wasn’t much else. Some cheese.
He sliced away mold. So what if he got a little penicillin with his snack? He’d run out of bread sometime in the last day or so, but he found stale crackers in the cupboard.
That and a full glass of water ought to get him from here to the shower and on to Martine’s.
“My very dear friend,” Martine said as the housekeeper ushered Teo into the solarium. “You have been working too hard again, have you not?”
Teo kissed her cheek and leaned over to shake Tonio’s hand. “I finished the book.”
“Ah,” Tonio said. “Tanti auguri.”
“Indeed. Many congratulations. Now do you send this to your editor or must you do more?”
Teo took the seat she offered next to Tonio. “A reread at least. I dashed this one off so quickly that I’ve no idea what it looks like.”
“And your editor?”
“Val doesn’t know yet. She’ll be pleased.” He accepted the glass of sherry Martine offered and raised it to her health.
“Thank you. I drink to yours as well. And to my Tonio’s, though he is doing so much better. You see, he sips his lemon water.”
“I’d rather have a glass of red wine, but I obey.”
Passing a tray of caviar and thinly sliced bread, Martine asked, “Will you travel to the States with the book when it is ready to go?”
“No. E-mail’s faster. No need for me to leave town.”
“I thought perhaps you might wish to visit your niece,” Martine said with the air of one who meant only to make casual conversation. “And perhaps Samantha.”
Teo’s hand stilled, even though he’d known this was coming. “Have you spoken to her?”
Martine sipped delicately and inclined her head. “I am afraid not. You said she might telephone to me here, but I have heard nothing.”
“Ah,” he said. So, she’d cut them off, too. “I think she has taken a vow of silence toward all of us.”
“What is that?” Tonio asked.
“She asked me not to call her again.”
“No…”
The shock in Martine’s voice should have felt comforting, but Teo’s own no had resounded in his head since Samantha had tilted his universe in their last conversation. We were just too soon, Teo. You and I. Too soon. Maybe all we experienced was the romance of a romantic place.
Maybe that’s all it had been for her. But not for him. No way.
“Teo?” Martine said. “Are you unwell, my friend?”
He shook off the melancholy. “Fine. I’m fine.”
He didn’t tell them that he’d spoken to Stefi, too. Stefi, whose brother had called because he was worried about their mother. Oh, Daniel was grateful to have help. They couldn’t have managed without her, Stefi said, but what neither of them got was why the mother who loved to surround herself with beauty had rented an appallingly ugly apartment.
/> Teo set his empty glass on the side table. Wouldn’t he have liked an explanation himself? Why would Samantha do something like that? Weren’t there any nice apartments she could afford?
“Teo, come,” Martine said, when the housekeeper announced that their dinner had been served. “Let us eat and speak of pleasanter things.”
Yes, pleasant things. There must be some of those left on his horizon. Because it looked as if his few Italian friends would be the only ones he could presume upon for companionship—beyond the world of make believe.
Thank God for worlds he could imagine. Thank God.
Teo printed out his manuscript and began reading. He found it jarring, because the chapters he’d crafted just before Samantha had blown into his life—first in her shadow-form and then in the flesh—and the ones he’d written during her stay in Reggio differed so from the latter ones, post-Samantha. His voice had been so breezy, so carefree in the earlier chapters. He could hear the lightness as he read aloud, but he didn’t recognize that writer. Had that been he?
His cell phone jangled Tootie’s particular ringtone. Tootie must have noted his lack of attention to her or her mother. He hadn’t checked in with them in weeks. Really, the façade of cheerfulness was just too hard to maintain.
He answered, pleasantly, he thought.
“Unc, I’m so glad to hear your voice!” she said in that chirpy tone she carried so well.
He closed his eyes, trying to picture her. “And I yours.”
“So, what’s been happening? You’ve been really quiet over there. Have you been traveling?”
“Just writing. I finished at last, and I’m rereading it now.”
“I’m so excited. I can’t wait to read it!”
“It’ll be a while, love, you know that.”
“Yeah. Well, have you talked to Sam recently?”
That question again. Why did he hold the key to Samantha for so many people? Didn’t Tootie work for the woman?
“No,” was all he could manage. No.
“I don’t think she’s doing well, Unc.”
Well, neither was he. But there wasn’t a single thing he could do to fix that for either of them, was there?
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said. Perhaps she’d leave it alone now.
“She hardly comes to the shop. And Rhea—that’s her other manager, the one from Raleigh who’s been helping me so much—said the same thing’s going on for her. I mean, Sam’s just up the road from the Raleigh shop, so you’d think she’d visit it, wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah, well, you would.” He guessed. What did he know about anyone, much less Samantha? “So,” he asked, trying to make it casual, “what’s going on with her friend Jack?”
“I don’t know any more than I did before, because India said Jack doesn’t want callers or visitors. I saw her last week, and she said he’s getting better. But she didn’t look so great herself, so she may be worried.”
“Ah. Well. That’s too bad.”
“You’re thinking Sam might have seen him? That maybe it got her all down again?”
He had, of course. Because how else could he explain her refusal to speak to him? Hadn’t she intimated that she cared for him? Him. Not Jack.
Well, maybe Jack, too.
Fine, he just bet that was Samantha’s problem, no matter what Tootie imagined. Sam had gotten home and found herself all panicky about her lost love—gag—and so she moped. That would be it. Hadn’t she started moping before she even left Reggio?
Double-minded female. Jack was probably really good looking. And he was a sailor. Why would she even be remotely interested in a cripple who hated boats?
Tootie’s voice barged into his thoughts. “I don’t think it’s Jack. I mean, not completely. She couldn’t have seen him. It’s got to be something else.”
“Ah.”
Articulate, wasn’t he?
“When are you coming to see us again?”
“I don’t know. Lots to do before I send this next story off to my editor. And then there’s the next one waiting in the wings.”
“Okay. But call more often, will you? Mom likes to hear from you, too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I talked to David again. He keeps asking questions about Sam, like he’s worried or something. Anyway, I told him she’d come home to take care of her soon-grandbaby and the mother. You should have heard the way his voice squeaked when he repeated the grandmother word. Like it shocked him.” One of her laughs gurgled over the line. “I guess he was thinking about Grandma Lil. You think? I mean, I guess it’s kind of a shock to imagine a friend about to be a grandmother.”
“I guess it is.”
“But he seemed kind of glad she was back in the States. Was he worried?”
Well, yeah, calling David worried was putting it mildly. And look, all for naught. “I think the idea of me seeing another woman probably got to him.”
Tootie’s laugh was a giggle this time. “And an older woman.”
“That, my dear Tootie, was your fault.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not an issue any longer, so no harm done.”
“It isn’t?” she asked. “Are you sure?”
“Tootie, good-bye.”
Her voice drifted to him as he clicked off the phone. “Bye!”
Yeah, he was sure. How could he not be?
Shadows passing in the night. A vision he was allowed to explore, but only superficially. He obviously hadn’t known Sam— Samantha—at all.
33
Samantha
Disasters stuck to her like glue,
And clumped in piles, one by two.
Maybe she made Cindy uncomfortable. Sam glanced over her shoulder at the small figure on the couch—well, small except for the middle part—and tried to imagine having her own mother-in-law hanging around, a woman she barely knew.
She pasted on a smile and asked Cindy if she’d like a cup of herbal tea.
“No, I’d like to get up and go to the movies.”
Ah. Well. “Shall I put on something? Do you get cable?”
“Just the basic channels. For the Internet. Daniel said we couldn’t afford the rest.”
“Well,” Sam said, “I can fix that.”
Cindy brightened. “Really?”
Sam picked up the phone book and started flipping through it. By the time she’d finished chatting with the nice lady at the cable company and had given her credit card number, she’d been promised a service upgrade that very afternoon.
“After they’ve installed the receiver, you’ll be able to watch any movie you’d like,” Sam said. And she’d have Cindy’s eyes off her while she worked around the too-small apartment.
Cleaning someone else’s rooms while that someone watched her every move and chatted on about anything and everything—but nothing of interest—made Sam feel acutely self-conscious. Why did the girl chatter so much?
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
Sam waved away the thanks and got started on the refrigerator, no longer worried that her daughter-in-law might be offended when she tossed out zoological experiments. She’d already tackled the dust bunnies behind the curtains and under the bed.
Maybe Cindy worried that she judged her for getting pregnant in the first place. For trapping Daniel into marriage? As if her son had been an innocent party. Sure. But perhaps Cindy felt guilty.
Well, Sam knew all about guilt. And hadn’t she said all the loving things, done the hugging things when they confronted her with their news? She’d tried to, but maybe she’d been so caught up in her own mess that she’d missed some of the cues.
She pasted on a happy face for Cindy when she next caught the girl’s eye. “Dinner’s in the oven and should be ready about the time Daniel gets home. Can I get you anything more before I leave?”
“Oh, no, thank you so much,” Cindy said. A tad too heartily?
Sam had some work to do there
.
She had work to do everywhere.
She carried a plastic container of leftovers to her drab couch. Her stomach had rebelled as she’d cooked for Cindy, but she knew better than to starve herself. So eat she would. Soon.
She wouldn’t look at the walls. She wouldn’t remember her beautiful cottage. Why had she been in such a rush to rent something just because it was convenient? She’d forgotten how much difference a pleasing environment made. Fine, she was spoiled. She hadn’t stayed in a place this awful since that first off-campus house she’d shared with two other girls. But that had been then, and they’d been young. This place? She could have kicked herself for pooh-poohing her need for light and airy or at least tasteful. Something would have to be done if she had to remain longer than a month or two, like painting the walls and covering this couch with a throw that didn’t make her eyeballs hurt when she looked at it.
She’d done nothing but make poor choices since the day Greg announced he was leaving. Now she was back to wallowing.
Off with that self. On with someone new.
Right. Even that thought seemed ridiculously self-conscious.
When the phone rang, she didn’t answer. She’d already spoken with Rhea and Tootie about the shops, and she couldn’t imagine Daniel or Stefi needing anything that was worth the effort of getting up. Teo was the only other person who had the number here, and she’d told him she wouldn’t be returning to Italy, that she didn’t have the energy to talk to him now—or to see him. It had been a painful conversation, and she didn’t want to repeat it. She remembered his silence after she said good-bye, a silence but no click to show he’d disconnected. She’d listened to that silence until, finally, she’d been the one who hit the End button on the handset.
She took a bite of the lasagna and then two more before shutting the container and returning it to her refrigerator. She tried to read. That failed. A shower then.
She undressed and stood beneath the steady flow of water, remembering those shallow baths and quick showers of Reggio. And then the glorious ones from Venice.
Sailing out of Darkness (Carolina Coast Book 4) Page 23