by Luanne Rice
On other summer days, she might have heard the screen door opening, seen Nick running water at the sink after his jog. She’d watch him taking a long drink, his body glistening with sweat. She could actually smell it now—not dank and awful, but the scent of the man she loved.
She would push from her mind the suspicion that he was having an affair, or wanted to have one, with one of those women he ran with. They used to be happy. They used to have a great marriage. She looked from Kate to Lulu. These two would never understand. But Beth had.
“Cheating,” she said to Lulu and Kate now. “I never even thought about it before Pete and Nicola. They opened the door to it, such a terrible door. And Beth walked through it, straight to Jed. I would have expected her to be stronger.”
“Scotty!” Lulu said.
“I’m grateful, Scotty,” Kate said. “That she saw you that day; she spent some of her last morning with one of her best friends.”
Scotty’s eyes filled. “She did. I made sure of it. And after Isabel woke up—it was still so early, but God, it was so hot she just couldn’t stay in bed—I called Beth. Isabel and Julie were right there at the table, listening to me talk to her on the phone.”
“When did you go over and find the UPS note?” Kate asked.
“The what?” Scotty asked, distracted by the sound of a car coming up the driveway. She peered down the hill, but it hadn’t rounded the corner yet.
“Never mind. Back to the phone call. What did Beth say when you talked to her?” Kate asked. Scotty understood her friend’s thirst for every memory of her sister. She got that, and she would make sure Kate received what she needed.
“Well, Isabel and Julie were right there next to me, eating their breakfast. I was gazing at them, thinking of how lucky Beth and I were to have daughters. So I said, ‘Sweetheart, I’m here for you. We might disagree about a few things, but you know I love you. And when Sam gets back from camp, we’ll have a mother-daughter day.’”
“And what did Beth say?” Kate asked, thirsty for more.
“That she couldn’t wait. That we could go to Watch Hill and have lemonade at the Olympia Tearoom, and watch Julie ride the carousel, and maybe the older girls too . . .”
“No, she didn’t,” Julie said, crouched by the shed.
“Julie!” Scotty said, shocked to hear her voice. “I thought you were inside with Isabel, getting Sam.”
“Air talk, Mommy. You talked to the air, not a person.”
Scotty tried to laugh, noticing how Kate looked puzzled and Lulu looked suspicious.
“What is ‘air talk,’ Julie?” Kate asked.
“When Mommy talked to no one. On the phone, saying words, but no one to listen. The phone line just ringing and ringing.”
“What are you talking about, Julie?” Scotty asked, grabbing her arm and giving it a shake. “Don’t lie! You know it’s wrong.”
“Not lying!” Julie cried out.
“Just stop this. Be quiet; go find your sister.”
“But, Mommy,” Julie said, tugging on Scotty’s sleeve. “I picked up the phone in your bedroom, Mommy, and you were talking to no one. Sam’s mother not on the phone. No one on the phone. And we weren’t eating breakfast, either. It was lunchtime already.”
“Julie, the adults are having a conversation,” Scotty snapped. “Do you want a time-out?”
“Daddy was gone to the boat. Remember? Mr. Lathrop came to pick up Daddy and they left, and it was after that, lunchtime, you called and talked to the air. Lunchtime, Mommy.”
“Beth wasn’t talking?” Kate asked. “When your mother called her?”
Julie shook her head.
“For Godssakes,” Scotty said. “I came home for breakfast. I called Beth. We had a conversation before the men left, and she was fine.”
“Lunch, not breakfast,” Julie said. “And talk to air, ringing phone, not Mrs. Lathrop.”
“There was no one on the line?” Kate asked, and Scotty felt her gaze burning straight into her.
“Don’t listen to her,” Scotty said.
“It was lunch, tuna fish, not breakfast. That’s when you got back from Mrs. Lathrop. Blood on you here,” Julie said, touching the side of her neck and under her chin. “I told you, Mommy, wash it off, wash it off.”
Scotty didn’t listen to the rest. She saw the way Kate’s face crumpled and turned red, how she lurched toward her, and Scotty turned away. She began to walk, then run, toward the house. She was running just like Nick ran, away from what he didn’t want—in his case her—and she ran away from what she didn’t want: the sight of Kate’s eyes when she realized the blood Julie had seen had been Beth’s, from when Scotty had bashed her head in—when Kate realized what Scotty had done to her sister.
57
Kate was frozen in place, watching Scotty walk into the house. A black car sped up the drive, kicking gravel out behind. Scotty. Beth. White sky. Snow. Beth. Lulu chasing Scotty into the house. Beth. Scotty, no. Scotty. Now this car, this black car, coming fast. Kate couldn’t move, couldn’t feel. She was a statue. A sculpture in Mathilda’s garden. Sculpture. Owl. Beth. Beth.
She stared through the windshield, saw Conor’s eyes. Wild eyes. Staring at her. Conor jumping out of the car, door left open. She saw him running to her now, as fast as anyone has ever run, and the ice broke into a million pieces, and Kate stopped being a statue. She flew at Conor, crying now, grabbing him as hard as she could.
“It was Scotty!” she screamed.
“I know,” Conor said, holding her. “I know, Kate. Where is she now?”
“In the house,” Kate said, sobbing. “And Sam’s in there.”
58
Reid walked through the front door and found Scotty sitting on the marble stairs. Lulu stood beside her. Isabel and Julie huddled together, leaning against a grandfather clock. Everyone was very quiet. Sam was nowhere in sight. He sensed Kate behind him but didn’t turn around. His gaze was on Scotty.
She was wearing a heavy wool coat, and the heat seemed to be getting to her. Beads of sweat appeared on her forehead. She didn’t wipe them away. Reid saw her trying to look behind him; he wanted to block her view of Kate.
“Scotty,” he said. “Do you know why I’m here?”
“A misunderstanding,” she said. “My daughter has a disability. She didn’t know what she was saying. I’m sure if I can just explain.”
“Mom,” Isabel said. “Please just tell them you didn’t do anything.”
“Well, of course I didn’t!” Scotty said.
Reid watched Lulu walk over to Scotty’s daughters, bend down, and whisper something. She put her hands on each girl’s shoulder. Isabel struggled, as if she didn’t want to comply, but within a few seconds, Lulu had led Isabel and Julie into another room of the house.
Now Reid could hear Kate breathing heavily behind him. He didn’t want to look away from Scotty, to make sure she wasn’t holding a weapon, that she couldn’t hurt anyone else, but he threw a quick glance, saw Kate looking pure white, like a ghost with fire in her eyes.
“How could you do it, Scotty?” Kate asked.
“Sweetie, don’t even—” Scotty began.
“You can’t call me that,” Kate said. “Not after what you did.”
“Detective Reid, Kate is really upset right now. It makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s Beth’s birthday. We’re all very emotional. I think it’s best if I take my daughters home . . . ,” Scotty said.
“It’s better you stay right there,” Reid said.
“I actually have to get home to my husband,” Scotty said. “He’ll be expecting me.”
When Reid had run back into the Black Whale and told Tom what Harris had said, and that he was going to drive to Hubbard’s Point to arrest Scotty Waterston, it had been Tom’s idea to check to see where she would be—because it was Beth’s birthday, and it made sense the best friends would be spending it together. So Reid had called Nick, and Nick had told him Scotty and the kids would be joining Kate, Lulu, and Sam
at Mathilda’s to celebrate Beth’s life. He expected they would all be having dinner together.
“I talked to your husband,” Reid said. “He’s the one who told me you’d be here.”
“Well, I’ve had enough of being here,” Scotty said. “This day isn’t turning out to be at all what I’d hoped. Not a very good way to honor Beth.”
“I also talked to your friend Martin,” Reid said.
“He’s not really a friend,” Scotty said, sounding nervous. “Did he say he was?”
“He said you buy him drinks. And tell him the news.”
“I don’t tell him anything,” Scotty said, her gaze darting to Kate. Reid looked, and Kate seemed spellbound—as pale as before, the fire in her eyes still smoldering.
“You told him about Beth,” Reid said.
“Well, he cared,” Scotty said. “She was important to everyone at the soup kitchen. They wanted to hear how the case was progressing.”
“Scotty, he knew an awful lot about things. And I have to admit—I wonder how you knew them,” Reid said.
“Oh, come on,” Scotty said, with another glance at Kate. “Word gets around. People talk! We all want this to get solved, put behind us.”
Kate cleared her throat. She stepped forward so she was standing next to Reid.
“You know what I want?” Kate asked, staring straight at Scotty. “To know what she said when she saw what you were doing to her.”
“Please, Kate . . .”
“And I want to know,” Kate said, her voice low and calm, “why, after you hit her, after you strangled her, why did you do that with her underwear? Wrap it around her neck?”
Reid needed to know the same thing, and he knew he should stop Kate and take Scotty back to headquarters to question her, but Kate took a step closer to Scotty, stood right beside her.
“Those bruises between her legs,” Kate said, her voice rising. “Did you do that to make it look good? To make it seem like a stranger attacked her? Did you do that, Scotty? Was she still alive when you were making it look as if she’d been raped?”
“Kate, no, I swear!” Scotty said. Reid reached behind to grab his handcuffs from his belt.
“You did it,” Kate wept, crouching beside Beth’s best friend. “You did, Scotty, and she knew it. That’s what I hate to think of more than anything. That Beth knew it.”
Reid watched as Scotty reached for Kate’s hand, and Kate let her hold it for a few seconds before she tore herself away.
59
Kate sat in a chair in the library, West-Running Brook and The Lives of the Artists on the pile of books where she had left them months ago, the day she had come to look for the blood hearts. She leaned to better see out the window, making sure she could see Sam walking through the field with Popcorn.
Conor had arrested Scotty, put her in handcuffs, and taken her to the state police barracks in Westbrook. Nick had picked up Isabel and Julie. Pete had been somewhere; Kate hadn’t cared.
“Why did she do it?” Kate had asked.
“She lost her mind,” Lulu said.
“No, there’s a reason. A clear reason—there has to be.”
“Kate, there’s no way this will ever make sense.”
And Lulu was right about that.
“Staging it all,” Kate said. “With Beth’s underwear. Making her look like that . . .”
“To put the blame on someone else?” Lulu asked.
“I don’t know what went through her mind,” Kate had said. “She went crazy.”
“She was drinking more. A lot. And things weren’t going so well with Nick. Maybe they were falling apart. But what did Beth do, to make her do it?”
Kate was watching Sam out the window. Sam had found an old tennis ball and threw it for Popcorn to chase. He retrieved it and bounded back to her.
“Nothing,” Kate had said after a few moments. “There’s nothing she could have done to deserve it.”
“I know,” Lulu had said. “But in Scotty’s mind? What was she thinking?”
Kate didn’t take her eyes off Sam. Now she was petting Popcorn’s head; now she had her arms around his neck. The way she held him, cheek against his fur, reminded Kate of Beth.
“Beth loved two men,” Lulu had said, trying to answer her own question. “Was that it? She cheated on her husband. She refused to tell the men whose baby it was. Everybody but Scotty is a sinner.”
“She was . . . our friend,” Kate had said, fighting waves of fury and hate. “I don’t care why she did it—she killed Beth.”
Lulu had given Kate a little shove, making her push over slightly, squeezing onto the chair beside her. Kate had felt the warmth of Lulu’s arm around her shoulder.
The front door slammed, and Sam walked into the room. She was lit from behind, from sunlight pouring through the tall window. She looked like an angel holding a rabbit. She placed Clementine on Kate’s lap and sat at her feet.
“It was Mrs. Waterston?” she had asked.
Kate nodded, hardly able to see through her tears. What would it be like for Sam, to know her closest friend’s mother had killed Beth?
“It wasn’t Dad,” Sam said, choking as she said the words, tears pouring down her face. “At least it wasn’t him. But oh, Aunt Kate. She was like family to us.” She couldn’t speak for a few seconds. “I can’t stand thinking of Mom knowing it was her. Feeling her best friend kill her.”
Kate stood up to hug Sam. Her niece’s words flowed through her, and for that instant Kate was Beth, imagining how it felt to have the life crushed out of her by someone she had loved her whole life.
“I saw the detective take her away,” Sam said. “She had handcuffs on. Isabel was screaming. Julie was crying.”
Kate nodded. She had seen and heard them too.
“Mom had to visit her father in prison, and now Isabel’s going to have to go there to visit her mother. Will she and I even stay friends?”
Kate hugged her because she didn’t have the answer. She remembered the old phrase: best friends forever. It hadn’t worked out that way.
Outside, tires crunched on the gravel. Kate heard a car door slam. The sound startled Clementine, and she scampered across the room. Sam went to look out the window.
“Who is it?” Lulu asked.
“Detective Reid’s back,” Sam said.
Kate watched Clementine hide beneath the desk chair. She walked over to the desk and reached for The Lives of the Artists. She opened to the last page, saw the heart and all their initials. K, L, S, and B.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway. She didn’t turn around. She heard Pete’s voice greeting Conor. Someday Conor would apologize to him for getting it wrong, or maybe he wouldn’t. She heard Lulu saying they should leave, that it was time to go home. She heard Sam trying to coax Clementine out from her hiding place, but still Kate didn’t turn around. She couldn’t take her eyes off the page where four young girls had once written their initials in blood.
They had been sisters and best friends; they had made promises to each other. There would be no secrets. There would be only love.
“Come on,” Lulu said gently. “It’s time to go.”
Kate stared at the page. She heard low voices behind her.
Leaning down, she kissed B for Beth.
“Kate?” Conor said from the doorway.
Kate stood tall and walked toward the detective. He put his arms around her, and they stood together, rocking back and forth.
“You okay?” he asked, leaning back enough so he could look into her eyes.
She shook her head but felt a small smile deep inside.
He gazed at her as if he could see into her soul, as if he knew what she was thinking: that she could never really lose her sister. She crouched to pick up Clementine. She held her gently in her arms, felt her heart lightly beating through her soft fur.
Then together they had all walked out of the room.
60
May 5
Oh, Kate.
We walk
through the meadow holding hands. Up the slant of the hill we go, until we near the top, up above our grandmother’s house. It is late afternoon, the first Tuesday of May, and golden light washes over the green grass, and the air is warm. Those cold days of November have long passed, and the earth is starting to bloom. My fingers interlock with my sister’s. In her other hand, she carries a small carton with handles and holes for air.
Can you feel me with you? I ask her.
Yes, she says out loud.
I believe she can, although it is hard to know. The unshakable certainty I had last summer, when my body died, has given way to a sense that being definite is an illusion. It doesn’t actually matter. Nothing is solid; nothing is black and white. Love is fluid, and so is peace, without shape or edges, fresh water flowing from the river’s mouth into the sea.
She named her rabbit for my favorite fruit, for the color of the dress I wore the day Lulu and I cut Moonlight from the frame. I once despaired over that act, feeling that if I hadn’t done it, I might have lived. Telling Scotty that I had done it deliberately to hurt my husband had filled her with poison. How could I not respect my husband when she loved hers so much, when he was turning away from her?
Now Scotty is in prison, just like my father. My father desires retribution; he would like to see her die. What happens to Scotty is not my concern. I left her behind on my last day, when she followed me upstairs from the garden, when I pointed out the blank spot on the wall where Moonlight had hung, when she told me she was tired of my life.
Those were her words: “I am sick of your life.”
So she took it from me.
Lulu wasn’t wrong: everyone but Scotty was a sinner.