Don't Cry Now

by Joy Fielding

  “Car’s working all right now, I see,” he said.

  She checked her watch, more than a little embarrassed by how pleased she was to see him, hoping it wasn’t obvious in her face. “What are you doing here?” she asked, noting it was almost five o’clock.

  “I thought I’d drop by and see how you were doing, bring you some chicken soup.” He held up a large bottle of clear liquid.

  Bonnie smoothed her short hair self-consciously and opened the front door, her wary eyes circling the floor, before motioning for him to follow her inside the house. “Hello?” she called, walking directly into the kitchen, taking the bottle of chicken soup from Josh’s hands, placing it on the counter. “Anybody home? Lauren? Amanda?” Bonnie marched back into the front hall, rechecking her watch. “Sam?” Her eyes returned warily to the floor. L’il Abner? she mouthed silently. Where was everyone?

  “They’re at Diana’s,” Josh said from somewhere behind her.

  Bonnie spun around. Too fast. Her head kept spinning. “What?”

  Josh held out a piece of white paper. “They left you a note on the kitchen table. Here.” He extended the piece of paper toward her. Bonnie reached for it, lost her balance, felt her body sway. In the next instant, she was in Josh’s arms, the room dancing around her head.

  “Let me get you some water,” Josh said, leading Bonnie back into the kitchen, propping her up in one of the kitchen chairs, keeping a watchful eye on her as he ran to the sink and poured her a glass of cold water.

  “Haven’t we done this before?” Bonnie asked.

  Josh smiled, pressed the glass to her lips. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

  Bonnie took a long sip. “I saw a doctor this morning. He gave me some pills.”

  “Is it time to take one?”

  Bonnie looked toward her watch, but she could no longer determine which hand was long and which hand was short. They blurred and intertwined, lost between numbers that said nothing to her at all. “Not for another hour,” Bonnie told him, remembering that it had been almost five o’clock just minutes ago. She took another sip of water. “I’ll be okay. I think I just tried to do too much today.” She was exhausted, she realized, desperate to lie down. All that driving. All those memories. Confronting one’s family of origin wasn’t exactly a walk on the beach, she decided, thinking of Rod in Florida, wondering what his children were doing over at Diana’s.

  “What does the note say?” Bonnie asked.

  “Bonnie,” Josh read. “Went to Diana’s to start papering her bathroom. Took Amanda with us. Back by six. Signed Sam and Lauren.” He returned the paper to the table. “Can I fix you a cup of soup?”

  Bonnie smiled. “Thanks. Soup sounds good.”

  In the next second, he was at the counter emptying the contents of the bottle into a pot, stirring it gently as it heated.

  “This is delicious,” Bonnie told him, moments later, savoring the soothing liquid as it snaked its way down her throat.

  “My mother’s secret recipe.”

  “Really?”

  “No. My mother was a lousy cook. And I’m a lousy liar. I bought this at a small deli in Wellesley.”

  “I’m a lousy liar too,” Bonnie told him, so pleased he was here. “Thank you for the soup. It was very kind of you to think about me.”

  He smiled. “Anytime.”

  “I think maybe I should lie down for a while before everyone gets back,” she said, finishing the last spoonful.

  Josh helped her into the living room, watching as she lay down on the sofa. “What time does your husband get home?”

  Bonnie drew her knees up to her chest, burrowed her head into the soft green pillow, closed her eyes. “He’s away this week. At a convention in Miami.”

  “Does he know you’re this sick?”

  “He’ll be home soon.” Bonnie raised her chin just enough so that she could peek out from beneath barely lifted lashes without actually having to open her eyes. She saw Josh fold himself into one of the chairs across from the sofa. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be okay.”

  “I think I should wait until someone gets home. I don’t think you should be alone,” he told her, his tone indicating further protest was useless.

  Thank you, Bonnie said, although no words were spoken, and she was already drifting off to sleep.

  “Mommy!” Amanda squealed, running toward her, just as Bonnie opened her eyes. “We’ve been papering. It was cool.”

  Bonnie propped herself up on the sofa, bringing her feet to the floor, Amanda immediately jumping into her lap. “I can see you’ve been very busy.” Bonnie wiped some white paste from the child’s cheek.

  “It was fun. Sam said I’m a natural.” Amanda giggled.

  “He did, did he?”

  Amanda nodded proudly. “What’s a natural?”

  Bonnie laughed as Sam and Lauren entered the room. Both wore fashionably faded and torn jeans and old T-shirts, their hair tied behind their ears and dotted with white dust. Even the earring in Sam’s nose was flecked with white. “Whose car is in the driveway?” Sam asked.

  “That’s mine,” Josh stated, coming into the room.

  Where had he been? Bonnie wondered, then wondered why he was here at all. Had he really come just to see if she was all right?

  “Hi, Mr. Freeman,” Sam said. “What are you doing here?”

  “Slaving over a hot stove” came the immediate reply. “I thought I’d make you guys some dinner,” he explained. “I didn’t think Bonnie would be up to it, and I make a mean hot dog.”

  “Hot dogs?” Amanda clapped her hands with delight.

  “And baked beans,” Josh added with a wink.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Bonnie told him.

  “Is it time for your pills yet?” he asked.

  “What pills?” Lauren said.

  “Bonnie was at the doctor’s,” Josh explained. “He prescribed some antibiotics. I’ll get them.” He returned to the kitchen before Bonnie could protest.

  “What did the doctor say?” Lauren asked.

  “Not much. He says it might be an inner ear infection.” She shrugged. “Or it might not.”

  “We played dress-up at Diana’s house,” Amanda announced.

  “She got into Diana’s closet,” Lauren said sheepishly. “I tried to stop her.”

  “Diana has pretty things,” Amanda said.

  “Yes,” Bonnie agreed. “But I don’t think she’d appreciate you playing with them. I hope you put everything away exactly where you found it.”

  Amanda pouted prettily, her lips arranging themselves into a large pucker that begged to be kissed.

  “I helped her,” Lauren said.

  The phone rang.

  “Do you want me to answer that?” Josh Freeman called from the kitchen.

  “Please.” Bonnie thought it was probably Rod and wondered what he’d make of the strange male voice answering his telephone.

  “Who the hell is Josh Freeman?” Rod was asking seconds later, as Bonnie took the phone from Josh’s hands, sitting down on a kitchen chair Josh pulled over for her.

  “Sam’s art teacher,” Bonnie whispered. “Remember? He was at Joan’s funeral.”

  “What’s he doing there?”

  “He came by to see how I was feeling. How’s everything in Miami?” she asked, changing the subject, not really sure what Josh Freeman was still doing there.

  “Miami is great. Everything’s going even better than we hoped. The affiliates are crazy about Marla. She has them eating out of the palm of her hand.”

  Josh extended his palm toward her. A single white tablet rested across his long and sturdy lifeline. Bonnie took the pill, popped it inside her mouth, and swallowed it with the glass of water that Josh held in his other hand.

  “How are you feeling?” Rod asked, almost an afterthought.

  “About the same. I went to a doctor. He prescribed some antibiotics.”

  “What doctor?”

  “Dr. Kl
ine.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Someone Diana recommended,” Bonnie lied, thinking it easier than having to tell him about her visit to Dr. Greenspoon. Not that she planned on keeping it a secret. It was just too complicated to get into over the phone.

  “Did you find the snake yet?”

  Bonnie’s eyes automatically shot to her feet. “Not yet.”

  “Well, try not to worry about him. I think he’s history.”

  Bonnie nodded, watching Sam come into the room, grab a soft drink out of the fridge.

  “Bonnie, are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll try not to worry.”

  “Okay, look, I’ve got to run. Marla’s arranged some sort of major meeting with one of the network honchos for seven o’clock, and I’ve got some notes to go over. I’ll call you tomorrow. I miss you,” he added before hanging up.

  “Tomorrow,” Bonnie repeated, returning the phone to its carriage as Josh Freeman brought a plate full of hot dogs to the kitchen table.

  “Dinner’s ready,” he announced as Sam, Lauren, and Amanda arranged themselves eagerly around the table. “Hot dogs for everyone.” He looked at Bonnie. “Chicken soup for you.”

  The phone rang at precisely two twenty-three in the morning. Bonnie jumped up, arms lurching wildly in front of her, as if to protect herself from the sound. It took several seconds for her to understand what was happening, another few seconds to find the phone and bring it to her ear. “Hello?” she said breathlessly into the receiver.

  Nothing.

  “Hello? Damn it, who is this?”

  Still nothing, then a strange click, then nothing again.

  “Hello? Who is this? Is someone there?”

  A dial tone was her only response. Bonnie slammed the phone into the receiver and burst into tears. The one good sleep she’d had in days, undisturbed by nausea or nightmares or wayward twitches, and it had been shattered. Maybe the antibiotics were helping after all, she thought, wiping away her tears and getting out of bed, flipping on the light, doing a quick check of the floor, the windowsill, the curtains.

  She walked into the hall. She might as well make her nightly rounds, she decided, eyes skirting the baseboards as she looked through the shadows into Sam’s room, the snake’s tank illuminated, the two white sacrificial rats curled into little balls on its gravel-strewn bottom. Snakes, and now rats. I can’t believe this is my life, Bonnie thought, continuing down the hall, stopping in front of Amanda’s open door, her heart sinking.

  Hadn’t she cautioned Amanda to keep the door to her room closed until they found L’il Abner? “Remember to close it again if you wake up in the middle of the night and have to go to the bathroom,” she’d warned. And here it was, wide open.

  What could you do? Bonnie wondered, stepping inside her daughter’s room and peering through the darkness. Amanda was a child, not even four years old. She couldn’t be expected to worry about everything. That’s what mothers were for.

  Slowly, Bonnie’s eyes adjusting to the dark, she approached Amanda’s bed, hand resting on the large stuffed kangaroo as she listened to Amanda’s steady breathing. Carefully, Bonnie switched on the Big Bird light beside the bed. The child stirred slightly, but didn’t open her eyes. Bonnie took a quick glance around. There were bears; there were dogs; there were frogs. No snakes, Bonnie saw with relief, switching off the light and returning to the hall.

  Lauren’s door was closed. Bonnie pushed it slightly open and peeked inside, closing it again when she heard Lauren’s delicate snore. Then she returned to her room and crawled back into bed, where she lay awake until morning.

  Josh Freeman called her the following afternoon. “I’m on a break,” he told her. “I just phoned to see how you were doing.”

  “Did you call me last night?” Bonnie asked immediately.

  “Last night? When? You mean, after I left?”

  “I mean last night at exactly twenty-three minutes after two.”

  “Why on earth would I call you at almost two-thirty in the morning?”

  “I’m sorry,” Bonnie apologized. “I’m not thinking very clearly. Of course it wasn’t you.”

  “Someone called you at two-thirty in the morning? What did they say?”

  “They didn’t say anything. They just waited a few minutes, then hung up.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “What for? It’s probably just some crank.”

  “It might be a good idea to keep the police informed anyway,” he advised.

  Bonnie nodded, but said nothing.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Actually, I feel a little stronger today,” Bonnie reported from her bed. “The antibiotics seem to be helping a little.”

  “Need some more chicken soup?”

  “I think you brought me enough to last a week.”

  “How about some company?”

  “Why?” she asked, surprising them both with the question.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  She hesitated. “First, you wouldn’t even talk to me,” she reminded him softly, thinking how much she’d like to see him. “Now you’re bringing me chicken soup and cooking my kids dinner. What’s up?”

  There was a long pause. “I like you,” he answered simply. “And I sensed you could use a friend. I know I could.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Someone’s at my door,” she told him, grateful for the timely interruption. “I better see who it is.”

  “I’ll call you later, if that’s all right.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s all right.”

  The doorbell rang again as Bonnie reached the bottom step. She gathered her housecoat tightly around her. “Just a second,” she called out, her legs wobbly from their sudden exertion. “Who is it?”

  “Everybody’s favorite jailbird,” came the reply.

  Bonnie lay her forehead against the hard wood of the front door. When had she lost control of her life? she wondered. “What do you want, Nick?”

  “I want to see you.”

  “I’m not feeling very well.”

  “So I understand. Let me in. I want to talk to you.”

  Bonnie took a deep breath, then opened the door.

  “My God, what did you do to your hair?” Nick asked, his own dark blond hair neatly trimmed and brushed away from his forehead. He had their mother’s delicate nose, Bonnie realized, standing back and letting him come inside.

  “Did you call me last night?”

  “Last night? No. Was I supposed to?”

  “Someone called here at two twenty-three in the morning,” she told him, walking into the kitchen, taking the bottle of chicken soup from the fridge, pouring some into a pot, and lighting the stove. “Do you want some soup?”

  “You think I called you in the middle of the night? No, I don’t want any soup.”

  “You’ve done it before,” she reminded him.

  “Only because you told Adeline it was important that you reach me.”

  “So it wasn’t you who phoned last night,” she said.

  “No, it wasn’t me.” He pulled up a chair, sat down. “You want to tell me about it?”

  Bonnie shrugged. “There’s nothing to tell. Someone called, then they hung up. End of story.”

  “I understand Rod’s away in Florida,” Nick said after a pause.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. It’s called conversation.”

  “I thought you were implying that Rod might have called.”

  “It never crossed my mind. Why? Do you think it might have been Rod?”

  “Of course not,” Bonnie said quickly. Did she?

  “Look,” Nick told her, “I just came by to see how you were doing. Adeline told me that you dropped by yesterday. I was hoping you’d still be around when I got back from work, but Adeline said you had to leave because you weren’t feeling very well.”

  “What else did sweet Adeline have to say?” />
  “That you and Dad had a good talk.”

  “Is that what Dad said?”

  “You know Dad. He…”

  “…doesn’t say much,” Bonnie said, finishing her brother’s sentence.

  “But I know he felt good about your visit, Bonnie. It was all over his face. Like some long shadow had been lifted.”

  The soup started boiling. Bonnie lifted the pot off the stove, poured the hot soup into a bowl. “You’re sure you don’t want any?”

  “I’ll have a beer, if you’ve got any.”

  Bonnie nodded toward the fridge. “Help yourself.”

  In the next minute, they were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, Bonnie sipping her soup, Nick his beer. Who’d have thought it? Bonnie wondered, amazed by the brain’s continued capacity for surprise.

  “What’s happening with the murder investigation?” Nick asked suddenly.

  The question caught Bonnie off guard and her hand started shaking, the soup in her spoon spilling onto the table. “What?”

  “Careful,” he cautioned. “It’s hot.” He grabbed a napkin from the side counter, wiped up the spill. “I asked if there was anything new with the police investigation.”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  Nick shrugged. “Haven’t read anything in the papers for a while. I was just wondering if you’d heard anything.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like if the police were any closer to finding Joan’s killer.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Bonnie told him, watching his eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them.

  Nick raised the beer bottle to his lips, threw his head back across the top of his spine, sucked the rich brown liquid into his body as if he were inhaling a cigarette. “Nothing like a good cold bottle of beer,” he said.

  “Have you heard anything?” Bonnie asked.

  “Me?” He laughed. “How would I hear anything?”

  “I thought the police might have been back to question you.”

  “Still think I might have killed Joan?”

  “Did you?”

  “No.” He took another sip of his beer. “I have an alibi, remember?”

  “I’m not sure our father qualifies as an unbiased witness.”

  “You were wrong about him before.”