Riva almost knocked her coffee over as she swung around, but caught it just before it tipped. She used a napkin from the holder on the table to clean up the spill. Busy at the job, she said, “I would have thought you’d want to see your son.”
“It won’t help him.” The words were serious, almost as if he expected her to be impressed by his excuse.
“Suppose he doesn’t make it? Suppose—”
“Oh, Josh is going to make it; you don’t have to worry about that. Your worry is whether you’ll make it. Or whether I’ll make you.”
“Crude. But I never expected anything else from you.”
“What you expect and what you get are definitely two different things. Anne says you had a little run-in with two men and an Uzi. I’ll bet you never expected that.”
How sure of himself he was. He had hardly lowered his voice. Certainly he thought he could handle anything she threw at him. It made her want to look for the biggest rock she could find.
She said, “It was a surprise, yes. It was nearly as much of one as you finding your runway too close for comfort.”
“So it’s a standoff, right?”
“It might be, except for one detail.”
“Which is?”
“I had nothing to do with your problem at the airport. You’ll have to think who else would like to see you dead.”
“Besides you.”
“Oh, yes, I’m in there among their number. From where I sit, though, it’s quite a crowd.”
He gave her a loose-lipped grin. “There are a lot of people who appreciate me, too.”
“Women, I suppose you mean? I can’t say much for their taste.”
“There was a time when you liked me well enough.”
“You’re kidding yourself. I was overwhelmed by grief and my own sexual urges. It had nothing to do with you.”
“Maybe, if that’s what you want to think. But there was certainly Beth.”
“Who died because of you, not a great recommendation. I wonder how many others have wound up sorry they ever had anything to do with you.”
“There were more who were sorry they didn’t.”
“Like Margaret, who paid later for getting away years ago?”
“Yeah, and one or two others, like that bitch of a civil rights worker. She laughed at me, laughed out loud when I made a pass. She didn’t laugh long, I saw to that. And I saw to it that you kept your mouth shut, too.”
Something clicked in Riva’s mind, but she could not stop long enough to grasp it in the midst of their verbal exchange. “That only proves my point. This may come as a shock, Edison, but you aren’t universally loved. Odd, isn’t it, for a man who wants to be governor?”
“God, what a smart mouth. I’d like to—”
“Excuse me, Candidate,” she said abruptly as she rose to her feet and picked up her purse to tuck it under her arm, leaving her coffee. “I think I’ve heard this part of your speech before.”
“No, you don’t! Not this time.” He shot out a hand to grab her wrist, yanking her back toward him.
She was ready. She gave her wrist a quick twist, breaking his grasp. In a second, she was in the corridor. Safe. Or was she? Behind her, she heard the quick scrape of his footfalls.
The long, highly polished hallway was empty, the only thing in sight a cart of cleaning supplies far down the way. She could scream, but her mind could not accept that she was in real danger in the middle of an enormous medical complex filled with doctors, nurses, technicians, aides, patients, and visitors.
Then it was too late. He tackled her from behind with a hard arm at her waist, then shoved her toward a door marked supply closet. The door swung open and an automatic light came on. She was thrown inside. She had a glimpse of shelves stacked with bundles of paper towels, bed liners, toilet tissue rolls, and neat rows of bottles and spray cans of disinfectant and deodorizer. Then the light was cut off as the door slammed shut, and she was freefalling into darkness.
She lost her purse as she hit the shelves, and red bursts of pain exploded behind her eyelids. She cried out, stunned that Edison would risk so much. Hard hands brushed her in the blackness, closing on handfuls of her dress bodice and twisting in the silk to haul her against him.
She gasped as he closed a hand on her breast. To bring her knee up between his legs was an instantaneous reflex. He shifted away, cursing as he squeezed the tender globe of her breast. Sickness moved inside her. She hit out at him with her fist. She wanted to scream, but there was no time, no breath. She needed it to fight.
He pulled at her, forcing her against him. She clawed for his eyes. He whipped his head away, striking out. The blow caught her across the temple. For a moment there was a blurring, fading sensation. She clutched at the shelves, rattling bottles and cans and sweeping them onto the floor so that they thudded and clanged. Her fingers closed around the cool metal of a spray can.
The top was on it. She needed two hands to twist it off. Bracing her back against the shelf for support, she struck at Edison’s head with it, hammering once, twice. He was cursing in a low and steady monotone, threatening, ridiculing her efforts as he reached for the can. She evaded his grasping fingers, holding the can far over her head.
With a sudden jerk, he pulled her feet from under her. Her hip burned as she scraped along the shelf, then he was upon her on the floor. The can bounded from her hand and went rolling as she struck the floor. She dragged herself after it on her elbows, while Edison plunged onto his knees behind her, wrenching her skirts upward.
For a moment, just a moment, she let him dig his fingers into her flesh as he rubbed the hard lump of himself against her. She scrambled after the spinning, skittering can as he tore at her panty hose. She heard the sheer nylon shredding, felt the give as the hose was peeled away. She caught the can in both hands.
The can top broke free. Instantly, she whipped around, pointed the can where she thought his face would be, and pressed the button. Edison gave a hoarse cry and fell backward. She shoved him, wrenching her legs from under him.
Too slow. He sprang back, grabbing for her hair, sinking his fingers into it and clenching them until it felt as if the strands were being torn from the roots. Then under her she felt her purse.
She fumbled for it, pulled it open, pushed her hand inside. She closed her fingers around the small pistol, which she had tucked inside before she left the house, the one Cosmo had given her. She pulled the pistol out, rammed it into Edison’s belly.
“Stop right there!” she cried.
It was in that instant that the closet door opened. The light came on. Anne was highlighted in the doorway. She seemed to take in the situation at a glance: Riva sprawled with her skirts above her waist, her underclothing torn, and the gun in her hand. Edison crouching over her with his eyes red and tearing and a murderous grimace on his face. In one smooth forward motion, without apparent thought or effort, she stepped into the closet, picked up a metal-handled broom, and swung it in a hard, level blow at her husband’s head.
There was a dull crack. The twisted fury on Edison’s face vanished as his features went blank. He wavered for an instant, then toppled forward like a sack of potatoes.
“Quick, before somebody comes,” Anne said.
Riva was already pushing herself upright and getting to her feet. She shoved the pistol back into the depths of her purse and straightened her clothes, checking for damage. There was comparatively little. She put her hand on Anne’s arm. Her voice husky, she said, “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. In fact, it was my pleasure. Now, could you help me get him out into the hall?”
“Yes, all right. But what are we going to—”
“I think he had a dizzy spell, probably from the effects of the plane crash only just now showing up, don’t you think? He hit his head as he fell.”
“I…yes,” Riva said. “Yes, I see.”
They dragged him out into the open. They had not quite got him into position near the wall when a man in a
lab coat rounded the far corner, coming from the direction of the ICU. Immediately, Anne dropped to her knees, patting Edison’s face, the blows a little harder than necessary.
“Oh, Doctor,” she called. “Help me, please! My husband has passed out!”
TWENTY-ONE
SHE OWED MAGARET AN APOLOGY, Riva thought as she watched the dark highway roll toward her on the drive back to Bonne Vie. She had been sure her sister had refused to go to the police with the story of her assault by Edison out of a need to deny it had happened, so that she could deny her own part in causing it, and also because of fear of what people would say if the tale was made public. It had never occurred to her that Margaret might have been merely protecting her sense of personal privacy. Riva still didn’t know the exact reason why Margaret had refrained. But she knew that she herself would not have called in the authorities if Edison had succeeded in his attack. The last thing she wanted was to have to deal with the police.
Edison’s behavior defied understanding. What made him think he had the right to harass a woman and attempt to force his attentions on her? When had he become so sure of himself that he thought he could get away with it? It was women like Margaret and herself, she supposed, who failed to charge him with his crimes of assault and therefore permitted him to indulge in his egomania, but there had to be some basic fault in his thinking in the first place.
She was not detached enough to follow his mental processes or even to be curious about them for long. She loathed him for the pain and apprehension and weakness he had made her feel. She did not like acknowledging these things. To know that she must face them left her with a disturbing sense of vulnerability.
That he had not succeeded in his attempt was a victory of sorts. She was fiercely glad of it, and grateful to Anne for the part she had played. At the same time, Riva had a terrible need to wipe out those few minutes in the closet, to forget they had ever happened. It was important to her sense of self to do so. She would like to wipe out the past, too, to change it so that she had never known Edison, never fallen prey to him. She couldn’t do that. Even if time itself had not made it impossible, she would not efface those few weeks simply because Erin had resulted from them. She might not be able to acknowledge her as her daughter; still, Erin made what she had gone through worthwhile.
She was bruised, and not just in body. There was an essential part of herself that had been damaged. Even more than the attempt on the river road, this personal attack had undermined her defenses. She wondered if the only way to make it right again wasn’t some form of retaliation, even revenge. There were some who would call it justice if she destroyed him. Was it wrong to take personal vengeance in the name of public good?
Did it really matter?
Edison was right. She could not ruin him without ruining herself. He would bring her down with him. It was fine to bluff and bluster and make threats. The truth was, she was not sure she could carry them out. Once she might have been able to do it, once, before Noel had kissed her. Now she could almost glimpse a faint hope of happiness. It seemed that somehow she and Cosmo’s son might work out their differences, might overcome past misconceptions and build toward something fine and good in the future. But not if Noel knew what she had been, what she had done. He had accepted so much; he could not be expected to swallow that as well. It wasn’t the disgrace of it that she feared so much as the deceit all these years. He was not a man who could easily forgive such a large lie. To have it exposed would, perforce, call into question everything she had ever said, everything ever said about her. That would be insupportable.
Erin, on the front seat beside Riva, did not have much to say. The younger woman was withdrawn, staring out the side window, as if seeing Josh had subdued her normally ebullient spirits. Death was still an abstract at twenty-four; seeing how close it could come was always a shock.
Riva had said nothing to Erin about the incident in the closet. She had repaired her appearance in the restroom before joining the others: brushed her hair, checked that her bruises were covered by her clothing, pulled off her torn panty hose, and thrown them in the trash. There were no outward signs of her inward disquiet. That being so, there was no point in burdening Erin with an account of Edison’s perfidy. Her daughter had enough to upset her. Besides, if the police were not to be called in, there was no reason to mention it at all. The fewer who knew, the better it would be.
“You don’t like Josh, do you?”
Riva swung her head sharply at Erin’s question. In the light from the dashboard, the younger woman’s eyes held accusation, but also a species of suspended judgment.
“Why do you say that?” Riva asked. It was a bid for time, nothing more.
“You didn’t go in to see him. Anyway, it’s what Josh thinks. He told me before he left on this trip with his dad.”
“It wouldn’t have helped Josh for me to see him, since he wouldn’t even have known I was there. Anyway, I like him well enough.”
“Just not well enough to think I should go to Colorado with him.”
“I really don’t see what difference it makes whether I like him or not. It isn’t me he’s coming to Bonne Vie to see.”
“Maybe not, but he admires you, thinks it’s great the way you handle things, business and social situations and all that. He can’t figure out what you have against him, and it bothers him. He wishes you liked him.”
It had never occurred to Riva that Josh was astute enough to pick up on her misgivings about him. How easy it was to hurt people without knowing it or meaning it. She didn’t dislike him, of course; she was just uncomfortable having him around her daughter and reluctant to encourage his visits. But how was she to explain that without getting into things that could never be spoken of?
Choosing her words with care, she said, “Josh is a nice enough young man. It’s just that I would rather you didn’t get too serious about anyone just now.”
“You seemed pretty welcoming to Doug Gorsline.” There was a shadow of resentment in Erin’s tone. It didn’t make Doug Gorsline’s chances sound good.
“Was I? Well, he’s a nice young man, too. Don’t you like him?” The trouble with asking intimate questions was that it gave others the right to ask them in return. It was just as well that Erin discovered that fact early.
“What’s not to like?” the young woman answered with a quick shrug. “He may not be knock’em-dead handsome, but he’s smart and funny and he listens to what you have to say.”
“But you like Josh better?”
“I didn’t say that. It’s a different kind of thing, really. With Josh, it’s as if I’ve known him all my life.”
Greatly daring, Riva suggested, “Like a brother.”
“Sort of,” Erin agreed, “but not quite.”
Riva did not have the nerve just now to go into what that meant. She allowed it to pass.
They were on the river road. They had left the traffic behind for the most part. It was late; the Sunday night church crowd had long gone home to bed, as had everyone who was honest and neither dating nor partying. The air conditioner in the car hummed, an undertone to the muted rumble of the engine. The night was overcast, though the rain had stopped as the storm from the gulf moved farther inland away from them. In the still-damp night beyond the car windows could be heard snatches of sound: the whir of insects, the croak of a frog from some canal, the call of a nocturnal bird. It was peaceful, and there had been so many uneasy nights of late, that Riva began to feel sleepy.
There was a flash of light as the headlamps of a car fast approaching from behind caught her car’s side mirror. The speed of the vehicle, the way it was overtaking them, sent a tremor of alarm through Riva. It was too much of a reminder of what had happened on this stretch of road only two days ago. There was nothing to be afraid of, she tried to tell herself; it was probably just some Romeo heading home after a hectic weekend, anxious to get in a little sack time before the grind began again on Monday morning. Regardless, it seemed Noel was righ
t: she should not have gone out without George, at least, for protection.
The car dimmed its headlights as it drew nearer. Closer it came, and closer still, as if getting ready to pass. Riva held her speed.
Abruptly, the headlights of the car flashed on bright for long seconds. They dimmed again. The car began to slacken speed, dropping back. At a reasonable following distance, it held its place, keeping pace.
Riva increased her speed. The car accelerated also. She slowed. It slowed. At a straight stretch she both slowed and moved as far as possible to the right in an invitation to pass. The following car failed to take advantage of the opportunity.
Coincidence. That was it. Maybe Romeo happened to feel like traveling at the same speed she did or else lived not too far ahead so that passing wasn’t worth the effort. Riva stared into her mirrors, both side and rearview, but could not identify the car as that of one of her neighbors. In fact, the car was so obscured by the glare of its headlights that she could not see it well enough to recognize it. Regardless, it held its position and the miles slid away behind them both.
At last the drive for Bonne Vie appeared. Riva flicked on her turn indicator and slowed. The car behind slowed also. She turned into the drive. The car made the turn behind her.
Riva pressed down on the gas, racing up the drive. Erin clutched the door, turning toward her in amazement. “Aunt Riva, what—”
“Listen to me,” Riva interrupted. “When I stop in front of the door, I want you to jump out and run into the house. Don’t look back. Don’t stop. Just run.”
“Why? Is it those men again?”
“I don’t know. Just do as I say.”
Erin searched her face in the green dashlight. “What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Riva swung the wheel in the turn before the house with a spray of shell and gravel. She jammed on the brakes. Erin threw open the door and ran. By the time Riva had released her seat belt and got out, the younger woman was up the steps and across the gallery. Abraham was waiting up for them, with the front door swung open. Erin plunged inside, then looked back. She stopped and started laughing.
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