Don't Cry Now

by Joy Fielding

  “It smells wonderful,” Lauren said.

  “You’re feeling better, I take it,” Bonnie remarked.

  Lauren nodded. “I woke up around ten, and I felt fine. All better.”

  “Well, that’s good anyway,” Bonnie said, avoiding further eye contact with her brother, trying to decide how to handle his presence in her home.

  “Nick got here about an hour ago. He made me a cup of tea.” Lauren held up her empty mug as proof.

  “A regular Julia Child.”

  “Would you like a cup?” Nick asked.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing, Nick?” Bonnie asked, ignoring his offer, unable to contain herself any longer. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

  “Making you dinner,” Nick said simply.

  “I don’t need you to make me dinner.”

  “I wanted to do something for you.”

  “I think you’ve done enough already.”

  “What’s done is done,” Nick said, after a pause. “I can’t change the past.”

  “Nick was telling me about what it’s like to be in jail,” Lauren said.

  Bonnie said nothing, focusing on her brother’s face, still able to make out the young boy hiding behind the man’s features. He’d always had an interesting face, even as a child. The kind of face that was constantly changing, buffeted by moods and circumstance, one minute sweet and kind, the next minute hard and cynical. Lover’s eyes and a killer’s smile. Full of the devil, as their mother used to say. “You look good,” Bonnie conceded finally.

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  Bonnie leaned back against the kitchen counter, grateful for the support. “I understand you have a job.”

  “Yep. I’m in the travel business now. Anywhere you want to go, just give me a call. I’ll get you the best deal in town.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “My dad’s going to Florida the end of next week,” Lauren volunteered. “With Marla Brenzelle.”

  “Really.” It was more commentary than question.

  “There’s some sort of conference in Miami,” Lauren continued. “He’ll be gone almost a week.”

  Bonnie glared at Lauren to be quiet. What was the matter with the girl? She’d barely said two words since her mother’s death, and now there was no shutting her up.

  “Think it’s wise to let your husband trot off to Miami with the likes of Marla Brenzelle?” Nick asked, obviously enjoying Bonnie’s discomfort. “That’s one hot-looking woman.”

  If you like quilts, Bonnie was about to respond, thought better of it. Now was hardly the time or place to get into an argument with her brother over some minor irrelevancy. There were too many important issues that needed to be discussed, pivotal questions that needed to be answered. Exactly what was your relationship to Joan Wheeler? What was your name doing in her address book? Where were you on the day she was murdered? Did you kill her? What were you doing lurking in the school yard hours before someone emptied a pail of blood over the head of my innocent child? Could you be that someone? What are you doing back in my life?

  Yet how could she ask any questions about Joan with Lauren sitting right there? How could she demand answers about her daughter when Pam Goldenberg would be bringing Amanda home any minute? How could she get into any of this now when Diana was coming for dinner? “Jesus Christ,” she muttered. She’d forgotten all about Diana. She hadn’t gone grocery shopping; she didn’t have anything prepared; she hadn’t warned Rod about Diana’s visit.

  “Something wrong?” Nick asked.

  “Just how much spaghetti sauce have you made?” Bonnie asked.

  “Enough for the neighborhood,” came Nick’s immediate response.

  “Good,” Bonnie said, eyes drawn to the front window as Joan’s red Mercedes pulled into the driveway and Sam and Haze bounded up the walk. “Looks like we’ll be needing it.”

  “Do you want to tell me what’s going on here?” Rod asked under his breath, pressing against his wife’s side, indicating the living room filled with people. Diana, looking beautiful in a white sweater and black pants, was holding Amanda on her lap and reading her a story, Sam hovering nearby on the avocado green sofa, watching, and maybe even listening. Lauren sat in one of two coral-and-white-striped wing chairs, Haze balancing precariously on its arm, occasionally leaning over to whisper something in her ear. Nick was temporarily back in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on his self-proclaimed infamous spaghetti.

  “Nick was already here when I got home,” Bonnie explained, pretending to be scratching her nose, talking behind her hand. “He’d already started dinner. And then Sam brought Haze home and asked whether he could stay, and I’d forgotten I’d invited Diana….”

  “How are you holding up?”

  “Surprisingly,” Bonnie confessed, “I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s nice to have a house full of people, and they all seem pretty relaxed, like they’re having a good time. How are you?”

  Rod leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. “Well, it’s not quite the quiet evening alone with my wife I’d been counting on, but I guess I can cope.”

  Bonnie nodded. She was learning not to count on anything these days. Nothing, it appeared, ever proceeded the way it was supposed to. No one could be counted on to behave predictably. Her brother, for example, the golden boy of whom great things were expected, but who instead dropped out of college to wander aimlessly around the country, disappearing into a life of crime, surfacing only when he ran out of money, ending up in prison. What was he doing standing over the hot stove in her kitchen, happily preparing dinner for eight? And Haze, a boy whose disruptive behavior regularly interfered with her teaching, a boy whose tattooed arms angrily advertised his antisocial attitude, who’d threatened her, and skipped her last several classes, obviously saw nothing odd about inviting himself over for dinner.

  And she was enjoying herself, Bonnie marveled, patting Rod’s elbow as she headed for the kitchen, thinking that maybe now might be a good time to catch a few minutes alone with Nick.

  He was chopping an onion as she approached, the knife in his hand moving with careless precision. “Don’t come too close,” he cautioned, not even bothering to turn around, as if he’d been expecting her. “It’ll make you cry.”

  Probably true, Bonnie decided, thinking the onion an apt metaphor for the last few weeks of her life. She kept peeling back layers, only to discover more layers hidden inside. The more secrets she peeled away, the more secrets remained, guarding the skeleton buried at its core. The closer she got to the center, the sharper the onion’s sting, the greater the likelihood of her tears.

  “How well did you know Joan?” Bonnie asked, without further preamble.

  “That’s not what you want to ask me,” Nick said, sprinkling the bits of onion into the sauce, stirring it.

  “It isn’t?”

  “You want to know whether or not I killed her,” he said, his back still to her.

  “Did you?”

  “No.” He swung around, smiled. “See how easy that was?”

  “What’s the connection, Nick? What were your name and number doing in Joan’s address book?”

  “I called her a while back,” Nick admitted, after a pause. “Asked her about looking for a house for me. I won’t be staying with the old man forever, you know.”

  Bonnie shook her head in disbelief. “You’re trying to tell me that you were house hunting, and that you just happened to pick my husband’s ex-wife as your realtor? Is that what you’re seriously trying to tell me? That it was a coincidence?”

  “Of course it wasn’t a coincidence.” A hint of impatience crept into Nick’s voice. “I knew who Joan was when I called her. Maybe I thought it would be fun. Maybe I knew it would get back to you. Maybe I just wanted to find out about how you were doing.”

  “There were easier ways to find out how I was doing.”

  “You made it quite clear you didn’t want anything to do with me,” Nick
reminded her.

  “With good reason,” Bonnie said.

  “Still angry Mom cut you out of her will?” he asked, pointedly.

  Tears sprung immediately to Bonnie’s eyes. Don’t cry now, she told herself. “She didn’t cut me out….”

  “That wasn’t my doing, Bonnie. I had nothing to do with what happened there.”

  “No, you’re never the guilty one, are you, Nick? You’re just an innocent bystander moving from one disaster to another.” Bonnie swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. Damnit, why did she always have to cry when she got emotional?

  “Told you not to get too close.” Nick pulled a tissue from the pocket of his jeans, extended it toward her.

  Reluctantly, Bonnie took it, wiped her eyes, blew her nose.

  “What would you have done with the house anyway?” Nick asked. “You couldn’t wait to get away from that place. Bustin’ your ass to get good grades, working part-time, putting yourself through college, putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the rest of us….”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Isn’t it?” He looked around the kitchen. “And you did it. I mean, look at all you’ve got here. Nice home, good career, successful husband, beautiful little girl.”

  “Stay away from her, Nick.”

  “I think she likes me.”

  “I mean it, Nick.”

  “So do I. I really think she took a shine to me. Imagine, she didn’t even know she had an uncle Nick. Shame on you, Bonnie. How do you think Mom would feel about that?”

  “You have no right to…”

  “No right to what? To speak of the dead? She was my mother too.”

  “It’s your fault she’s dead,” Bonnie said quietly.

  The corners of Nick’s mouth curled into a sad little half smile. “You’re going to blame me for that one too?” he asked.

  Diana’s beautiful face suddenly popped into the doorway, her dark hair falling loosely around her shoulders. “What can I do to help?” she asked, her eyes as blue as the waters of the Caribbean.

  “You can relax and have Rod fix you another drink,” Bonnie said, still patting her eyes with the tissue. “Onions,” she explained.

  “They’re deadly.” Diana stepped forward, took the tissue from Bonnie’s hand, gently patting at some wayward mascara. “That’s better. Now you’re perfect. That’s a great outfit.”

  Bonnie glanced down at the green-and-white-checkered pantsuit she’d been wearing all day. “I look terrible. But thanks for lying.”

  “Hey, I’m a lawyer. I never lie.”

  “You’re a lawyer?” Nick asked. “What’s your specialty?”

  “Mostly corporate and commercial.”

  “Just what I’ve been looking for,” Nick said easily. “I’m trying to put together a few deals. Think you might be interested?”

  “Depends on the deal.”

  “Why don’t I call you when I get things a little more firmed up in my mind?”

  “Why don’t you stick to the task at hand?” Bonnie indicated the spaghetti sauce that was starting to bubble.

  “Right you are,” Nick said, inhaling the rich aroma. “Ladies,” he said, bowing deeply from the waist, “I believe dinner is ready.”

  “So, how long have you guys been friends?” Nick asked Diana, nodding toward Bonnie. They were grouped around the dining room table, Rod at one end, his children at either arm, Bonnie at the other end, Amanda on her left, Diana at her right, Nick and Haze buried in the middle. It was a small room, longer than it was wide, with peach-colored walls that matched the dozen baby roses Diana had brought and Bonnie had placed in the center of the pine table.

  “Our husbands worked together for a while. And I just live around the corner,” Diana said. “This is delicious, by the way.” She dipped her French bread into the sauce.

  “There’s lots more,” Nick said. “I’ll be happy to get you some.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “You just live around the corner?” Sam asked, his interest clearly piqued. He’d barely taken his eyes off Diana all evening.

  “One twenty-eight Brown Street,” Diana said. “But I’m only here weekends now, and sometimes not even then. I have an apartment in the city, and it’s easier and more convenient to just stay put, now that I’m single again.”

  “You could have let Greg have the house,” Rod reminded her.

  “Why should I?” Diana asked. “It was my house.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Part of your divorce settlement from husband number one.”

  “You’ve been married twice?” Lauren asked.

  “Marriage doesn’t seem to agree with me.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Rod argued. “I’d say it’s done pretty well for you.”

  Diana pushed her now-empty plate toward Nick, brought her napkin to her full lips. “I will have some more of this fabulous spaghetti, Nick, if you don’t mind.”

  Nick was instantly on his feet. “Anybody else?”

  “I’d like some more,” Bonnie confessed quietly, handing her plate to Nick, trying not to notice his self-satisfied grin.

  “Me, too,” Lauren said, following Nick into the kitchen.

  “So, you live alone?” Sam asked Diana.

  “Yes, and I love it,” Diana told him. “No one to answer to, no one to cater to, no one to pick up after. I go to bed when I want; I eat when I want; I do what I want. Not that I don’t miss having a man around from time to time,” she qualified. “There are always a few things around the house that need fixing. Stuff that requires a man’s touch.” She smiled toward Sam.

  “I’m pretty good at fixing things,” Sam said, eyes sparkling.

  “Are you?”

  “Yeah, I can pretty much take anything apart and put it together again.”

  “Sam’s really good with his hands,” Haze said with a sneer.

  “Well, maybe we can work something out,” Diana said. “I have a few cupboards where the doors are just barely hanging on, and I’ve been taking showers in the dark for months now because I can’t figure out how to replace the light bulb.”

  “Taking a shower in the dark sounds kind of sexy,” Haze said.

  “Not when you’re alone,” Diana told him.

  “We could fix that,” Haze said.

  Bonnie squirmed in her seat, wondering if there was some way she could kick Diana under the table, stir her toward another line of discussion. Diana was a natural flirt, and a virtual magnet for men of all ages. And Haze had a way of deliberately misinterpreting even the most innocent of remarks.

  “I’d be happy to have a look at the light,” Sam said. “See what I can do.”

  “That would be great,” Diana said. “I’d pay you, of course.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “I insist.”

  Sam shrugged. “Okay. When would you like me to come over?”

  “How about tomorrow?”

  “How about Sunday?” Sam asked instead, as Lauren returned to the room, carrying two plates of spaghetti, Nick right behind her with two more. “I was kind of planning on visiting my grandmother tomorrow.” He shifted uneasily in his seat.

  “Sunday’s fine,” Diana said.

  “You’re going to visit Grandma Langer?” Lauren asked, her voice incredulous.

  “I was thinking about it.”

  “Why? I mean, she probably won’t even know who you are.”

  “She might.” Sam stared toward his lap, clearly uncomfortable with the discussion.

  “Who’s Grandma Langer?” Nick asked.

  “My mother’s mother,” Lauren answered, her eyes clouding over with the sudden threat of tears. “She’s at the Melrose Mental Health Center in Sudbury. Isn’t that where you said, Bonnie?”

  Bonnie nodded, surprised by both Sam’s announcement, and the fact that Lauren had asked her a direct question.

  “Maybe I should go too,” Lauren whispered.

  “Why don
’t I take you guys there?” Bonnie offered, silently preparing a list of reasons to counter the objections she knew were coming—I know the way; I’ve been there before; it might be easier with an adult present—surprised when no objections came.

  “Grandparents are a wonderful thing,” Nick said.

  “I live with my grandparents,” Haze said. “It’s a drag.”

  Nick leaned across the table toward Amanda. “Did you know you have a grandfather, Mandy?”

  Amanda nodded, blond curls bouncing around her chubby cheeks, freckles of spaghetti sauce dotting her chin. “Grandpa Peter and Grandma Sally. They live in New Jersey,” she said proudly.

  “Not your daddy’s parents,” Nick corrected. “I’m talking about your mommy’s daddy.”

  “Nick…” Bonnie warned.

  “You’ve never met him,” Nick continued, “but he doesn’t live very far from here, and his wife makes the best apple pies in the whole world. Do you like apple pie, Mandy?”

  Amanda nodded enthusiastically. “They’re cool!”

  “Cool?”

  “That’s what Sam always says.”

  “Cool, Amanda,” Sam said, laughing. “Give me five.” He stretched the palm of his hand toward Amanda. Amanda giggled and slapped at it with her own.

  Bonnie laughed out loud, marveling at their easy rapport.

  “Maybe you can convince your mother to take you to see your grandfather someday,” Nick continued. “I know he’d love to see you.”

  Bonnie dropped her fork, pushed her plate away from her, her second helping untouched. “I better see about coffee,” she said.

  Bushes of pale pink peonies stretched toward her as Bonnie made her way up the stone walkway of the Melrose Mental Health Center. Except that it wasn’t the Melrose Mental Health Center, she realized, twisting in her bed, the realization that she was dreaming falling softly across her brain, like mosquito netting. She tried to wake herself up, to pull herself away from the Center’s front door, but the door was already opening. It was too late. She had no choice but to step over the threshold.