by Nancy Bush
“She had to leave.” Her eyes filled with sudden tears and she started to gently weep.
I froze by the door, uncomfortable at her sadness. Binkster stared at Orchid, then went over to her and licked her leg. Orchid broke into sobs and hugged Binkster who, having offered up her sympathy, grew a bit alarmed at the sudden tight squeezing. She wriggled free and trotted a few steps away. Orchid swiped at her eyes to no avail. “I didn’t…” She hiccupped, still crying. “I didn’t…want it to happen…and she knew it would…”
For lack of any idea how to comfort her, I said soothingly. “I’m sure it’s okay now.”
“That place…that mental place…”
“The sanitarium?” I suddenly tuned in. I had a few questions of my own about Jazz’s mother’s incarceration.
“Yes.”
“You’re talking about Lily?” I wasn’t sure how knowledgeable to appear. I didn’t want to scare her into clamming up.
“Lily,” she breathed. “Nobody wants to talk about her. Nobody wants to talk about either of them. After what happened, being her older sister…it was just a matter of time…” She shook her head, unable to go on.
“Both of your daughters?” I glanced at the door, where Dahlia had left in such a huff earlier.
“Yes…” She bent her head.
I let the moment spin out. I didn’t know what this was all about, but it was terribly sad for her. Whatever it was, it had deep tentacles inside Orchid, pulling at her emotions.
She drew a shaky breath. “And the boys were…they were…hard to control. Percy tried…but…” She started weeping softly.
I sensed something ugly. Some family secret that included all of them. I suddenly didn’t want to know.
Orchid’s blue eyes were swimming with tears. She looked at me as if for salvation. “I want her back.”
Silently, I sat down on the couch beside her and held her hand. She clasped mine with both of hers and cried and cried. She cried herself to sleep, actually, slipping sideways against me. I was squished into the cushions. Almost instantly, she fell asleep, breathing deeply, like a small child.
I stayed until my right leg fell asleep, then gently moved her aside and tiptoed out of the room, Binkster in tow. I found Reyna sweeping in the kitchen. “Orchid’s sleeping on the couch. She’s very sad. I think she’s missing Lily…?”
Reyna nodded. “She is sad often.”
“I’m going to head outside for a few minutes.”
“I will look in on her.”
“Thank you.”
Binks and I practically race-walked to the back door. She was in need of a potty trip, and I was in need of fresh air. I unclipped her leash, then leaned against the back porch, drinking in the warm afternoon air and view over the Willamette. I was pretty sure this was my only day as Orchid’s caretaker and I can’t say I was sorry. No amount of money would convince me to switch careers. You simply couldn’t pay me enough to take care of someone else.
Watching Binks nose around the backyard, I pulled a plastic baggy from my jeans pocket. Normalcy. Thank you, God. I’m pretty sure this was the first time I was glad my dog was about to poop. It kind of put the world in perspective. I followed after her. I’ve become adept at scooping up dog shit with a small plastic bag and finding a waiting receptacle. Binks zigzagged across the back lawn, looking for the “perfect place” to offload her usual diet of dog chow. Low-fat dog chow and egg, in her case.
Binks did her business and I scooped it up with a plastic wrapped hand. Then I left the baggy on the ground for the time being. I would pick it up on the way back inside and either toss it in an outside trash bin or flush the contents down the toilet.
The afternoon sun was surprisingly hot; no chilly little autumn breeze stirring things up. Binkster started panting and I felt like doing the same. In the waving heat devils, the playhouse beckoned, looking mirage-like. I squinted at it. There was something so determinedly cheery in its design and demeanor, even with the encroaching decay, that it creeped me out a little. I sometimes experience this same sensation at theme parks with loud, bubbly music and sculpted, painted creatures wearing nightmarish grins. It’s just too fun. These are places any self-respecting adult should just avoid. That said, I was kind of drawn to the Purcells’ playhouse in spite of myself. With Orchid’s melancholia fresh in my mind, the playhouse seemed a likely place to offer insight into the Purcell youngsters. What had they been like? What had happened that Orchid wished hadn’t? To both daughters. I wondered if I could come out and ask Dahlia without appearing overly nosy. I didn’t bet so, but maybe it was worth a try.
I walked toward the playhouse. Binkster trotted at my heels through the unmown grass.
The flower boxes under the playhouse’s two front windows had not received the same fresh paint as the door. What had once been bright orange was now a faintly pinky color, like that old medicine my grandmother used to put on our cuts before Neosporin came into play. I stood outside the red door and found myself hesitating to cross the threshold. Maybe it was Orchid’s crying. Maybe it was something else. I had to give myself a good talking to in order to make my hand reach for the doorknob.
Binkster brushed my legs and whimpered. I flicked her a look. Her gaze was fixed on the playhouse door, the fur at her neck standing straight up, her skin rippling beneath her pelt.
Gooseflesh broke out on my arms.
Irritated, I said, “Stop that.” The dog had pulled back a safe distance and stood stiffly, one front paw in the air, as if she were about to gingerly step backward, as if she were afraid of disturbing the playhouse occupants. “There’s nobody here,” I told her.
She set her foot down but her skin kept rippling. My uneasiness mounted. Dogs know stuff. Lots of stuff that we don’t. If The Binkster didn’t like the playhouse, neither did I. I could feel something odd and unnerving in the air surrounding it.
I almost turned around. A chicken side of myself, one I listen to whenever it starts clucking, nearly took over. But then the rational side of my brain started asking questions and belittling me. What do you think you’re going to find there? It’s just a little house. It’s empty. It’s been empty for years. What do you care? You’re letting Orchid’s sadness infect your judgment. You’re thirty years old and you’re afraid to set foot inside a child’s playhouse? Is this for real? And you call yourself an information specialist?
I pushed open the door and held my breath. Nothing jumped out at me. No cobweb-covered skeleton grabbed me around the neck. No bat swooped over my head. Calling myself all kinds of names, I looked inside.
The interior was covered with dust. The furniture was child-size. Perfect little replicas of the chairs I’d seen in the Purcell dining room. Perfect little velvet gray couch. Perfect table, set for three, with little china tea cups and teapot, all painted with lovely little violets in a magenta color. The place had the dry scent of disuse. The air was still and dead.
Binkster started growling low in her throat in that odd, hesitating way that sounds a bit like a slow Geiger counter. She would not step a foot across the threshold, though I tried to persuade her. I even lied to her about possible “treats” inside, but she steadfastly kept about two feet back. I knew how she felt. I wanted to run away like a scared girl. But now it had become something of a dare. I mean, come on…all this drama was just dumb.
Ducking down, I entered the door. The front room ceiling was low enough that I had to stoop. Looking around, I slowly sank into a squat. My flip-flop-encased feet looked huge in the space. On the child-size maple buffet there was more of the violet dishware. Some of the plates held plastic fake food. I recognized a wedge of cheese, once orangy-yellow, now kind of a dirty butter color. Various plastic vegetables were scattered around, as if any self-respecting kid would really eat asparagus, broccoli and spinach leaves. Plastic cupcakes, chocolate-colored with little white flower icing, sat to one side. My mouth watered at the sight, which gave me pause. Maybe I should have opted for lunch after all. Woul
d it be gauche to return to the house and ask if afternoon tea was being served? I had an overwhelming desire to return to the kitchen, Reyna and safety.
There was a buzzing sound. A large honeybee was banging itself into one of the pane windows over and over again. The death dance of a drone, kicked out of the nest by the female worker bees. It sank to the sill, stunned, suddenly silent. My skin felt as if insects were walking all over it.
Oh…for…God’s…sake, Jane.
Girding my loins, I squat-walked sideways, giving the bee a wide berth, to the west side of the playhouse, which elled back to form a second room. Around the corner stood a perfect twin bed. A real bed. Adult-size. The coverlet had once been red but now was kind of dusty rose with brownish water spots. A few dead bugs nestled in its folds. It was quilted, the white stitching in the shape of lilies.
In the quiet that seemed to descend I thought I heard childish whispering and the hair on my neck lifted. Outside, Binkster gave a sharp little worried bark.
I ran out of there like my pants were on fire, banging my elbow on the door jamb, catching a thread of my pocket on a nail. Instantly I dragged air deep into my lungs. I was annoyed to feel my limbs tremble.
Binkster’s eyes, always huge, looked like they took over her whole face.
“You trying to scare me?” I demanded.
When I made a move to head back to the main house she bolted ahead of me. I’m ashamed to say I beat her there.
I almost screamed to find someone hovering in the shadows of the back porch. It was James IV, his own eyes widening a bit in fright at my reaction. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“Oh…no…I’m fine.” I was breathing hard.
Binkster squeezed in-between us and stared through my legs in the direction we’d come.
James’s gaze followed hers. “What’s the matter with your dog?” He started a bit to realize Binks was fixated on the playhouse.
“We were just fooling around. Kind of chasing each other.”
“Where were you?”
“Over there.” I waved vaguely in the direction of the cliff. I didn’t want him to know the playhouse had spooked me.
He seemed to want to say something else but kept his silence. Finally, he said, “Well, we’re all home now. I was sent to tell you we’re having a meeting in the main salon in half an hour. We want to talk to you.”
A powwow. Great. “Who’s ‘we’?”
“All of us.”
“Jazz?”
“Um…yeah…he’s coming in a while. But if he isn’t here in time, we want you to join us anyway. Garrett and Satin are here. Dahlia’s just getting back. Roderick’s coming down. Oh, and Cammie’s on her way.”
“Okay.” Like, oh, sure, I really wanted to go to this function. I had a feeling they would be serving up my head on a platter.
He led the way inside, saying, “Can you leave the dog out here?”
“Why don’t I put her in my car.” I was already heading around the side of the house.
The Volvo was parked in the lengthening shadows thrown by the house itself. The sun was sinking, the heat rapidly dissipating. If I cracked the windows, Binks would be perfectly comfortable. Personally I would have liked to have her with me. Someone on my side, so to speak, but I could tell that wasn’t going to fly.
Reyna caught me as I was coming back inside. “Mrs. Orchid wants to see you.”
“I’m supposed to meet the family in half an hour…” Something about her look made me trail off. “I’ll check on Orchid first,” I told her, and she nodded and offered the ghost of a smile.
I braced myself for more crying, but Orchid was pacing around the room when I entered, if pacing is what it could be called. She kind of rocked on her feet, holding on to pieces of furniture for support as she passed by. “There you are,” she said in relief. “I’m worried about these papers. But you don’t want me to sign them.”
“I’m not really the one to ask about this, Mrs. Purcell.”
“Nana.”
“Nana.”
“You think I should call that Neusmeyer fellow?”
I nodded.
“They’re trying to take my money away. They don’t trust me. And they keep blaming me for what happened. I couldn’t help it, could I? I didn’t even know! And Percy wouldn’t want me to be blamed.” Her voice caught a bit.
I really didn’t want her heading into that distraught world again. But I was also in the untenable position of defending the motives of people I didn’t entirely trust myself. I picked my words carefully. “They just want to make sure the money—your money—is being taken care of by the best person.”
“And that’s not me?” She sounded belligerent.
“Do you think it’s you?”
She blinked, surprised that I’d asked. “Well, I don’t know. They want me to sign.” She waved a hand toward the papers. “Should I?” When I didn’t answer, she skewered me with a look that could have cut through steel. “You’re not fooling me with this act. You’re with them on this. I can tell.”
I straightened in my chair. “I’m not with them. They want you to sign that power of attorney, but I’m not—”
“What power of attorney?” she demanded, cutting me off.
“The papers Dahlia brought earlier.” This circular conversation was worrying me. Orchid did appear to have some serious cognitive flaws. She faded in and out, and there was no telling what you were going to get. “If Jerome Neusmeyer’s your lawyer, give him a call.”
“I have to go downstairs to call, and I don’t have the number.” She looked fretful.
“I’ll get it for you. I’m meeting with the family in a few minutes?”
“Garrett.”
I nodded. “And some of your other family members. Jazz, too, I think.”
“And Logan?” She brightened.
I sure hoped not. I lifted my shoulders rather than answering.
“Should I be going with you?” She pressed a hand to one cheek. “Oh, I don’t want to.”
I didn’t figure they wanted her, either, so I said, “Why don’t I ask them?”
“Tell them I’ll be in my room. Will you come right back? As soon as you’re done?”
“Sure.”
She visibly relaxed and sank back into her couch. She was wearing a similar outfit to yesterday’s, this one a cranberry color, and it folded in on itself the same way, making her seem small and squashed.
I headed toward the door.
“Thank you, Eileen,” she said on a contented sigh. “Come right back when you’re done.”
They were all assembled by the time I entered the main salon. Luckily Logan wasn’t there, but then neither was Jazz yet. Garrett and Satin sat on the green and gold divan again; James was in a ladder-backed chair that was straight enough to be a form of torture; Roderick lounged in the fawn wingback, his ankle propped on his opposite knee; Dahlia was in another chair across from him, frowning, looking like she might scoot her chair next to his; Benjamin had arranged himself in the window seat, his limbs loose and tucked like a cat; and Cammie burst in right behind me with a fair-haired girl in tow. This must be Rosalie, I recalled, as I moved to one side. Her face was pulled into a pout and Cammie had to push her forward a few times to get her in far enough to close the door behind them both.
“Damn traffic,” Cammie said darkly, settling on the love seat. Rosalie wriggled from her arms.
Garrett didn’t actually check his watch but I could tell he was annoyed at our tardiness. He said to me, “I thought James said to come right in. That we were having a meeting.”
“He said half an hour. I checked on Orchid first.” I propped my back against a wall, wanting them all in my sights, nobody behind me.
Dahlia waved an impatient hand. “Let’s just get on with it. She hasn’t signed the papers yet. Maybe she won’t. Jane told her not to.”
Their accusatory gazes swept my way. Defensively, I said, “I told her to call her lawyer. Aren’t you sup
posed to have witnesses for those things? Don’t you want it legal? I don’t know what the proper procedure is here, but Jerome Neusmeyer will.”
“You know Neusmeyer?” Garrett snapped.
And how…I’d damn near ralphed up lunch after his breast squeezing. “I understand he’s the family estate lawyer.”
“Do we need him?” Dahlia demanded, gazing at Garrett.
“We need mother to comply. And we don’t need interference.”
Cammie said, “Nana doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“And my dear wife thinks her mother’s faking it,” Roderick put in lazily. He seemed to be enjoying this proceeding as if it were comic art.
“Well, she seems to, half the time,” Dahlia defended.
Cammie looked exasperated. Her eyes followed Rosalie’s progress as she headed toward the window and Benjamin. The little girl wanted to crawl up there with him, but he froze her out with a cold shoulder. Cammie said, “I’m just glad Eileen’s gone. I’m tired of feeling like everybody’s stealing our money.”
“It’s not ours yet, darling,” Roderick pointed out, amused.
“And it won’t ever be, unless we stop Nana from giving it all away! Rosalie, come over here.” Cammie patted the love seat cushion beside her.
“No!” Rosalie’s pout increased.
“Stop bothering Benjamin.” She got to her feet and headed for Rosalie, who started screeching and running away. Cammie caught her on the fly. Rosalie’s limbs flailed and she bucked for all she was worth, but Cammie held her tightly, her mouth grim. Rosalie collapsed into a limp, wailing rag and Cammie settled her on her lap. She made cooing noises and petted Rosalie’s head until the little girl stuck her thumb in her mouth and subsided into hiccups, tiny teardrops standing on her cheeks as if they were glued there. Cammie’s hard gaze softened and she looked down at her daughter with love. A kind of scary love, actually. Something possessive in it that fractured my attention for a moment.
“Can’t we be witnesses?” James asked. “Dahlia, you’re the person we’ve chosen. What’s it called?”
“The agent or attorney in fact.”
“Then, can’t we witness Mom’s signature? Does it have to be someone outside the family?”