The House Guests

by Emilie Richards

  “How are you? How are things there?”

  Cassie was warmed by the question. She knew every nuance of her daughter’s voice, and Savannah sounded tentative, as if she didn’t know what note to strike.

  “We’re okay,” she said. “Amber and Will are working a lot. I had another job interview today.”

  “Doing what?”

  “A receptionist. It’s at a realty, and I’d do whatever they needed.”

  “Did they hire you?”

  “They have two more days of interviews lined up. Jobs are hard to find right now, and a lot of people are looking.”

  “They ought to hire you.”

  Cassie wasn’t sure that was a compliment, but she decided to take it as one. “Savannah, I’ve been calling for a reason.” She launched in, afraid Savannah would end the call before Cassie could apologize. “I called to apologize—”

  “No, you were right. I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

  For a moment, Cassie didn’t know what to say. An apology? Her stubborn daughter was always determined to prove she was right, even when she knew she was absolutely wrong.

  “You’re talking about the weekend of the field trip?” Cassie asked.

  “I still can’t tell you where I was, because it involves somebody else. But I should never have pretended I was going on the school thing. And...I shouldn’t have gone anywhere. It was a mistake.”

  Cassie was alarmed. All the traps a teenage girl could fall prey to ran through her mind. “Are you all right? Did something happen while you were gone?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I promise. It was just that I went to help somebody, and, well, it didn’t help. The mistake was that I didn’t think it through the way I should have. I just...did what I thought was right. And I’m not always, you know, right.”

  Cassie dropped to the bed. “Well, none of us are. That’s why it’s good to have other people to talk to.”

  “You wouldn’t have let me go.”

  Cassie was almost certain Savannah was right. “Would that have been worse?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

  “I was angry at you because I was worried.” She decided to be totally honest. “And also because I just felt like you stopped listening, and I hated that you’d lied. Because I’ve always trusted you.”

  “Not always.”

  And there it was. Cassie closed her eyes. “Savannah, your dad and I were a hundred percent wrong not to trust you when you told us what happened at Pfeiffer Grant. Dr. Farthington called last week. The girls who were there that day, including Liza, came forward to say that Gillie had been bullying her. And afterward the administration went back and caught Gillie on video doing just that. They realized how wrong they’d been and how unfair to you. Everyone was scared of Gillie. Liza thought if she lied and didn’t stand up for you, Gillie would leave her alone.”

  There was such a long silence that Cassie was afraid Savannah had hung up. Maybe forever.

  “Gillie didn’t leave her alone, though, did she?” she said at last. “She wouldn’t have. She’s one of those people, like Madeline, who thinks she’s charmed or something.”

  “No, Gillie didn’t leave Liza alone.” She decided to tell the whole truth, because it was possible Savannah would find out anyway. “Liza made a suicide attempt, not a serious one, fortunately. She’s fine, but she’s finally getting help to work through this.”

  “She was scared. And she wanted to fit in. Gillie was like the keeper of the golden gate to popularity at Pfeiffer.”

  Cassie could visualize that.

  “What did they do to her?” Savannah asked. “To Gillie, I mean.”

  “She’s out.”

  “Boy, Dr. Farthington’s going to miss the Robinsons’ donations. I guess it says something good about Pfeiffer that they sent her packing anyway.”

  Cassie was surprised at how maturely her daughter was handling the revelations. “The thing is, it’s nice that it’s been resolved. I’m sure anything negative that appeared on your school record there will be expunged forever. But I wasn’t calling just to tell you about the phone call. I wanted you to know just how bad I feel that I believed the school and not you.”

  Again, a long silence. Finally Savannah cleared her throat. “You wanted to be on my side, didn’t you? But Dad was sure I was lying.”

  Cassie thought about Mark’s final months on earth, and how the huge store of patience he’d had as a husband, father and probably a doctor, had just disintegrated.

  “Your dad was going through a bad patch when that happened, sweetheart.” She used the endearment without thinking. She wished she hadn’t, but Savannah didn’t protest. “I think the way he was feeling, as much as what happened, made it hard for him to look beyond the surface.”

  “What was wrong with him, do you know?”

  “I honestly don’t. I’m trying to figure it out. The fight you heard wasn’t the only one we had. Still, I should have stood up for you. I should have followed my own instincts.”

  “Dad was always sure he was right, and even when he wasn’t, he had a way of making you think his mistake was your fault. So it was hard to take a chance on being wrong.”

  Cassie was surprised. She filed that away to consider later. “I am so happy you’re not furious with me about this, about the whole thing,” Cassie said.

  “I’m not furious. Not at anybody. I’m sorry I’ve been...who I’ve been.”

  “Family makes allowances for mistakes. Sometimes huge mistakes.” She thought about what she’d said. “I mean, I’m kind of family—”

  “Cassie... You are my family.” Savannah sniffed. “I miss you.”

  “Oh, sweetheart, I miss you back. So much!”

  “Can I come home? And it’s not because it’s bad here. Gen and I are getting along and really learning about each other. It’s good I came—it really is. But I don’t want to stay, and she knows it. I think that’s why she didn’t register me for school. She knew I’d go back to Florida if you’d have me. She knows I need to be with you.”

  Cassie was crying now. “Are you sure? I don’t want Gen to be angry.”

  “No, no, she won’t be. We’re going to spend more time together from now on. She’s taking me to Africa this summer. But Gen’s like a big sister or a BFF. And you’re, like, my mom. Can I be your daughter again?”

  Cassie could hardly talk. “That never changed. You’ve got two women who adore you.”

  “Kind of like having a spare, huh?” Savannah was sniffing now and talking through tears.

  “Exactly like that.”

  “I’d like to come home in a week or maybe a little longer. I’d like some more time here. Gen’s taking some days off. We’re driving over to Joshua Tree to do some hiking, but I want to be home to start school again after spring break. I’m going to email my teachers and see if they’ll send work for me to do so I won’t be too far behind. Will that be okay?”

  “Better than okay.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I couldn’t be more sure.”

  “I guess I’d better go. I know it’s late there.” She paused. “Can I call again?”

  “Every single day.”

  “I love you.”

  Cassie remembered their parting phrase at night through all Savannah’s childhood. “I love you right back.”

  “Tell Will and Amber I’m looking forward to seeing them, Mom.” Savannah disconnected.

  Cassie held out her phone and stared at it. Then she clutched it to her chest and began to cry.

  38

  FLETCHER AND VALERIE DORMAN lived in a co-op in a former coconut processing plant in Tribeca, just across from a cozy triangular park. The Dormans’ building had the usual charming eccentricities of any industrial structure converted to living space, and Duane Park had earned its
place in history as the first land purchased for a public park in the city.

  The park was familiar to Cassie, as was the entire geographical area close to the Church Street office. She and Valerie had often perched on a bench there, chatting and eating Nutella croissants from a nearby bakery. Today Cassie had settled for a lemon tart. Nostalgia was best in small doses.

  When she arrived from the airport that morning, she carefully chose this bench, not because trees blocked the cold spring breeze, but because it gave her the best—if not perfect—view of the Dormans’ building. She wanted to start her stakeout early, and despite rush hour traffic, she had still made good time into Manhattan. She hoped Valerie, usually a late riser, hadn’t left for the day.

  If she missed her, Cassie planned to catch Valerie coming back in the afternoon. Ten days had passed since she had decided to make this trip. Now she was hopeful she wouldn’t have to renegotiate tomorrow’s flight back to Tampa. But no matter what, she was prepared to wait. She hoped that after today, she would be finished ambushing the Dormans once and for all.

  She finished the tart and licked her fingers. Just as she was considering a quick walk around the perimeter, she saw a small group of people exiting the building. The last out the door, not traveling south with the others, was Valerie.

  She started toward her. Luckily Valerie stopped and lifted her phone to her ear, stepping out of foot traffic for a conversation. Cassie could imagine her talking to one of her daughters, both adults now and living in different parts of New England.

  Like Cassie, after marriage, Valerie’s career had disappeared into permanent storage, and she had devoted her life to her family. As Cassie crossed the street, she wondered why both of them had so easily dismissed their educations. Had the women’s movement sprinted right past them while they lounged over coffee at a Manhattan sidewalk café, discussing which Pfeiffer committee to volunteer for and who was doing what at their husbands’ workplace?

  By the time Cassie was almost in front of her, Valerie was slipping her phone back into her pocket. Cassie waited silently until she looked up. To her credit Valerie didn’t try to escape. She didn’t even glance from side to side to see if she could.

  “Cassie,” she said, when Cassie stopped just an arm’s length away. “I’d say this is a surprise, only I can tell it’s not a surprise for you.”

  “When you didn’t answer my calls, I realized I was never going to have a conversation with you unless I showed up on your doorstep.”

  “There was a message there.”

  Valerie was an attractive woman, who balanced nature with medical science. Her blond pixie cut was liberally dusted with silver, somewhat prematurely but attractive. With a little help from the cosmetic surgeon she visited regularly, time would be kind to her.

  “I got the message,” Cassie said. “You just underestimated my determination.”

  “I’m on my way somewhere.”

  “Aren’t we all? I’ll walk with you.”

  “I’m not much in the mood for company.”

  “And I’m definitely not in the mood to be pushed aside again.”

  “Cassie, you don’t want to do this.”

  “But here I am anyway.”

  Valerie looked uncertain. She had a leather gym bag slung over one shoulder, and she was dressed for Spin Cycle or Pilates in black yoga pants and a dark red cardigan. Her expression said she’d prefer boot camp to this.

  “I think we can take care of this pretty quickly,” Cassie said, since Valerie didn’t move. “It’s not like either of us wants to catch up on what our kids are doing or the movies we’ve seen. I need to ask you some hard questions about Mark, and you need to answer them as honestly as you’re capable of. You probably already know everything Fletcher told me back in November. I just need you to tell me what he didn’t say.”

  Valerie slumped a little—and not from the weight of the bag. “Did it ever occur to you that we’ve been trying to protect you?”

  “That flashed through my mind early on, but lately I’ve been more inclined to think Church Street is protecting itself.”

  “Truthfully, it’s both.”

  Cassie was encouraged Valerie had admitted that much. “You need to explain how.”

  “You can’t just leave everything the way it is? Is it really helpful to dig up the dead?”

  Cassie winced.

  Valerie winced, too. “It’s an awful expression, isn’t it? I just meant—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  Valerie appeared to weigh her options. “Let’s sit in the park,” she said. “We can grab sandwiches on the way.”

  They walked half a block to a deli, and Cassie grabbed turkey and Brie on a hard roll and a bottle of tropical fruit juice. She shook her head when Valerie tried to pay for her food. Instead she inserted her credit card, then followed Valerie out the door to the park. They took the first available bench.

  “Let’s start with what you know about why Mark left Church Street.” Cassie twisted the cap off her juice and took a swallow. “I heard Fletcher’s version. Let’s hear yours.”

  Valerie answered so quickly Cassie wondered if she had decided to be honest and end this now. “Mark went from being an affable, caring psychiatrist who everybody liked, to one who jumped down throats indiscriminately.”

  “That’s what Fletcher said, too.” Cassie decided to take a side trip. “I’ve heard from other people associated with the practice that Fletcher was the problem, that he was angry at Mark for challenging him. Mark thought Fletch needed to improve his skills and take advantage of advances in the field instead of lagging behind.”

  Valerie looked perplexed, which was not what Cassie had expected. “You know how well thought of Fletcher is professionally. How can you believe that kind of garbage?”

  “What else can I believe or not believe? I’ve been kept in the dark.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Somebody who asked to remain anonymous.”

  “Well, it’s crazy. Ask any of the other doctors.”

  Cassie thought about the girls at Pfeiffer who had sided with a bully against Savannah. “Dr. Farthington called me about ten days ago. She wanted me to know that Savannah was telling the truth about the fight at Pfeiffer last year. The other girls who witnessed it lied because they were afraid to defy Gillie Robinson. They thought she was too powerful and might find a way to hurt them.”

  “You’re trying to draw a parallel between a fight with schoolgirls and what happened at Church Street with Mark?”

  Cassie shrugged. “If the parallel fits...”

  “Let’s go at this a different way.” Valerie opened her sandwich and took a large bite. She had always been a stress eater, and the size of the bite said a lot about their conversation. Cassie waited for her to swallow and continue, but Valerie ate half the sandwich before she wrapped up what was left and dusted crumbs off her yoga pants. “Have you considered why Mark changed so much before he died? Don’t pretend you didn’t notice.”

  “When things aren’t going well at work, even well-adjusted people bring their problems home.”

  “Try to divorce yourself from your theories. How was Mark when he was with you? Because at work he was angry, jumpy, thoughtless, and he was making mistakes.”

  “What kind?”

  “One that would have been tragic if Tom Wallings hadn’t intercepted it before a patient died. Tom was covering for Mark at Riverbend on one of the nights Mark was supposed to stop in to check on a patient and didn’t show up.”

  Cassie stopped her. “You’re saying Mark was missing appointments?”

  “Maybe not an appointment so much as a promise he’d swing by and see how the guy was doing. And he should have, because then he would have realized the new medication he ordered that morning was part of a family of meds that had been abandoned because of
the man’s allergic reaction.”

  “Aren’t there safeguards to make sure that doesn’t happen? Notes in a patient’s records? A nurse or the pharmacist would have seen it.”

  “They should have, but mistakes happen, especially on a busy night, which that one was. When it comes right down to it, Mark, more than anybody, should have known better. He should have looked closer, paged back further. And he didn’t. Because he was preoccupied.”

  Cassie had never heard this story, but who would have recounted it except Mark himself? And by then, Mark wasn’t talking about work.

  Valerie went on. “I don’t think anybody at the hospital ever realized how bad that situation might have been, because Tom did a good job of hiding it. But afterward he went to Fletcher and the others and asked what he should do if anything like that happened again. And that was when people began to talk about what they’d seen and their own concerns about Mark’s behavior.”

  Cassie wished she could push Valerie’s words aside, that she could pretend the story was a carefully considered excuse for the way the other doctors in the practice had treated him. Unfortunately, she believed it. The story fit too well with what she had seen herself.

  “When they discussed this,” she said slowly, carefully, trying to phrase her thoughts in a way that didn’t imply either belief or disbelief, “what was the consensus?”

  When Valerie didn’t answer, Cassie assumed she wasn’t going to. But finally she turned and her eyes met Cassie’s. “There was no consensus, at least that’s not the word Fletcher used. But there was a very real concern that Mark’s weeks in drug treatment hadn’t worked.”

  Cassie stared at her, the way she would have stared at someone who was speaking another language, someone who expected her to answer in the same. “Drug treatment?” she asked at last.

  Valerie closed her eyes a moment. They were filled with unshed tears when she opened them again. “You didn’t know, did you? I told Fletcher you didn’t, but he couldn’t believe it.”

  “Know? Know what? What are you saying?”