“Yes. Take it easy. Don’t drive like an idiot. We don’t need more banged up people. He tripped and fell and hit his head.”
Better than a DUI, thought Lucinda while she threw her notes into her briefcase and locked up the office. She checked her pocket for the Harris buzzer, she’d trained herself to touch the outside of her pants or coat pocket for its curved hardness. Like an amulet for her — or a psychological bulletproof vest — which was silly since it was only a glorified cell phone. But for her it represented a direct connection to Harris, and that was comforting in these last few months. Last week. Very comforting.
She glanced at her watch — eleven fifteen — and knew she’d need to call Harris for an escort. This definitely qualified as late, the campus was practically deserted, and her car was across the large administration parking lot. Plus she’d just met with Bomi. Anyone watching her activity would be having a field day — her meeting Executive Committee members in her office in the middle of the night. She activated the buzzer.
Harris showed in five minutes since he was already prowling the campus, having spied her car in the lot during one of his nightly drive-bys.
“So it works,” Harris said, smiling in the office doorway. No uniform. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d really use it.”
“Yes, the cell works. I tried recording, but wasn’t successful.”
“Recording who?”
“A source who swore me to secrecy. But let’s just say I’m not being paranoid and imaginative.”
“No kidding.”
“You can’t touch him yet, can you? Whoever Orion is?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it. We’re still narrowing down the field. Where to?”
“Tori’s.”
Harris walked Lucinda to her car and escorted her to the Bentleys’ driveway.
“Ok, buzz me when you’re done and I’ll escort you home,” Harris said, glancing in the rearview mirror.”
“It could be very late. Or early, depending on how you view the morning.”
“Call me if it’s still dark.” There was a touching concern in his voice. “We’re open twenty-four/seven.”
Tori met Lucinda at the door. “What’s this, a police escort? Was there trouble?” Tori looked around the yard as if she’d catch sight of someone actually fleeing the scene.
“Just a precaution. Harris’s choice, remember?” Lucinda held up the buzzer. “Where’s Bart? What happened?” Still wearing her coat, Lucinda dashed down the hall, wondering whether Tori had sugarcoated Bart’s condition so as not to alarm her.
“He was drunk,” Martin whispered, catching up to her at the dining room entrance, and led her toward the patio. “Blood alcohol level through the roof. Seems he started with whiskey and finished with beer until Rob at The Deep End cut him off. Thank God he wasn’t driving.”
“Thanks for bringing him here,” Lucinda said. She gave Martin a quick hug and walked into the patio. Martin closed the French doors quietly behind her, smiling as he caught a glimpse of the impressive eagle.
Bart was sitting on a couch eying Skyline, who now occupied a cage taking up most of the eastern half of the patio. She was perched on a huge hunk of a dead tree.
Bart looked up when Lucinda entered and their eyes locked, then Bart’s swiveled away quickly, and he rushed to fill the silence.
“I’m wandering around Newcester looking for Pringle, next thing I know I’m roommates with a Bald Eagle.”
“I hear you were at the hospital too. Are you ok?” Lucinda asked, sitting down next to him. She laid a hand lightly on his thigh. Her heart rate slowed as she shut her eyes for a few seconds.
“Just a bump. Tori’s making a big deal about it. Monster headache.” He smiled weakly. He looked at her hand. The rose gold ring blushed in the lamplight. He didn’t move her hand, but she lifted it up suddenly.
“How’s Janice?”
“History,” Bart said. “Gone.”
“Oh.” Quelling a grin, Lucinda glanced over at Skyline. The huge bird looked like she was trying her wings on for size — opening them out, hopping to a higher branch, folding them up. Finally, dropping down to where she started.
“Gone, gone, gone,” Bart said, more to Skyline than to Lucinda.
They both looked at the eagle. Lucinda’s gaze shifted to her hands, which were trembling. She grabbed the right one with the left one to steady them both and studied Bart’s profile, his gaze fixed on the bird. Her great brown dignity. Her dazzling head and tail.
“Can I ask you to forgive me? Is it too early? I’m sorry for hurting you.”
Skyline squawked out a descending whinny call, startling Lucinda. It was as if her wings had tested out fine and she was moving on to her voice, which was hoarse from lack of use.
Bart looked at Lucinda. “I imagine, knowing you, you’ve probably punished yourself enough. Beat yourself up.”
“Does that mean — ”
He turned to her. “That means I’m a touch less angry than last summer.” He offered her a rare smile.
“Fair enough,” she said.
“You were hard to live with,” he continued, self-righteousness creeping into his voice, which was also getting louder. “Somehow you sucked the life out of me.”
Lucinda felt like she’d been kicked in the stomach. She pushed herself against the back of the couch. But you abandoned me! You were never home! she wanted to scream. Instead, she took a breath. And looked into Skyline’s green-yellow eye to steady herself.
“Maybe you sucked the life out of you,” Lucinda said. She didn’t feel she had the right to say it, but she did anyway. What’s left to lose at this point? She wasn’t fooled by this “Oh! I tripped!” story.
“All those hours you were in oblivion surrounded by a haze of grandiosity. Hell, you haven’t lived with me for almost a year, and now you’re passing out in the street. What if Martin hadn’t found you?”
“Is this how you think you’ll get me back? All this flattery? I tripped and fell, by the way, I didn’t pass out.”
“And why did you trip?”
Bart sat up straighter and jerked his head slightly, flipping his long bangs out of his eyes.
“Look, Cinda. I’ve kept my distance from you because your personality is so strong it pulls me off track. Into isolation. Rejection. I adjusted to your high-powered P-H people, but it costs me. Shit, I’m even working for Pat Weld now. But it’s not me, living here in this ivory tower community with its head in the sand.”
What a horribly mixed metaphor, Lucinda thought. If she didn’t consider his words, the whole outburst felt like a blast from a furnace. Breath of a dragon. Where was the magic we’d had for most of those years? When I was struggling to prove myself. And you were struggling. Period. Did you not know who I was when you married me, or was it that you didn’t like who I became?
“Kieeeeeer, kieeeeer!” Skyline called, an urgent, wet sound, interrupting Lucinda’s thoughts, startling her and Bart. The eagle hopped to the bottom of the cage and drank some water, then glared at Bart.
“And when you moved on after the miscarriages, I felt so cut off from you,” he said. “Cut off from everything.” He looked at his lap. “I don’t know how you stood it. But you just tucked it away and went on asking people for money.”
Lucinda soaked that one in, her expression darkening.
“I did that so I wouldn’t scream and run into the ocean and never come out,” Lucinda said. “You never wanted to talk about it yourself, I recall.”
Bart shuddered.
“Look, Bart. We were both crushed over the babies, big time. We don’t need to compare wounds and scars. On top of that, you’re pissed and annoyed that we live, lived in Plumcliff. That we had to be beholding day and night to everyone associated with P-H, some of whom I know are obnoxious.”
Bart snorted. She didn’t let it stop her.
“That’s the way it is everywhere. Tradeoffs, compromises. But you got your inspiration from that special pla
ce. The farm. The sand, the tough grasses, those brilliant beach plums. The dunes, the boats, the sea. You’ve captured it all, while the whole place burnished you. Opened your eyes. But something is eating you from inside. And I can’t fight it.”
She took a breath and caught tears in her curled fingers, the backs of her hands resting on her thighs. Where was the happiness of the day they moved to the farm? That day of red sugar maples and azure sea around their new home that she and Bart would share? His love that wrapped her in joy? Had she only imagined Bart loved her?
In her mind, that day had been captured like a scene in one of Bart’s best photographs. But really it was only a fraction of a second of life, not anything she could hold onto. Was the point that you only held that life, that love, by grace? That you couldn’t clutch it to yourself to protect it from disappearing in the next rude wind?
Bart laid a hand on her shoulder. The Harris buzzer buzzed, and he released her.
“Oh, shit,” Lucinda said. She yanked the cell off her hip.
“Lucinda. Harris. We’ve bagged a guy prowling around your barn. Name’s Parnell. Or so he claims. Has an Irish ID and green card. Doesn’t know anything about Orion. Claims he was just cutting through the property to the beach. You haven’t posted your property, have you?”
“No.”
“Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately.”
Harris allowed himself a chuckle.
“Anyway. We’re not arresting him if your property isn’t posted. Just a warning this time. Unless you want to press — ”
Would Jay actually try to hurt her?
“Do what you think best, Harris. I don’t think he’d attack me.”
Bart frowned and turned toward Lucinda.
“Think?” Harris queried.
“Ok. I don’t know.”
“We’ll keep a close eye on him.”
“You do that.”
“When do I pick you up?”
Lucinda thought for a few seconds.
“Do me a favor,” she said. There’s an extra key taped to the inside top of the rainspout by the front left corner of the house. Let yourself in and feed my boys dry food from the container on the counter. They will cuss you out, but you have thick skin. I’ll stay here tonight.”
“Excellent. ‘Night.”
“Thanks. ‘Night,” Lucinda said wearily, pressing the off button.
“Prowler on the property,” Lucinda said to Bart’s unstated question. I’m not going to say, “Oh! Save me! My ex-lover is stalking me!” It would crumble what little sand we’d been able to shape into the base of a sand castle tonight. Or maybe all we’ve done is begin to clear away the driftwood of seventeen years off the beach. Or have Bart and I done anything worthwhile tonight?
“What prowler?”
“Some guy. Harris has it under control. Let’s stay over and talk more in the morning, or should I say, later in the morning, when you… .” She paused, no need to pour salt into his soon to be hung-over wound. “When your head feels a little better.”
He looked at her, a sly little smile starting.
“No,” she said. “I wasn’t suggesting that. Tori’s got scads of guest bedrooms.”
* * * * *
Tori, Martin, and Lucinda ate cold cereal and warm toast in the formal dining room. A shaft of sunlight sparkled off of Tori’s crystal orange juice glass, erupting into a flat rainbow on the table. Skyline plucked at a whole brook trout on the porch. Bart slept on in a double bed in a second floor bedroom. Lucinda had slept on the third floor.
“Bald Eagles actually do fine as scavengers. Dead fish. If they come across a deer carcass, it’s a real bonanza — ”
Martin’s eyes shone with enthusiasm at eagle talk. Tori poked Martin playfully on his upper arm with her index finger. “Ah!” he said, grinning at his wife. “Perhaps not the best of breakfast topics. Huh, honey? Sorry, Cinda.”
Lucinda smiled politely, but her heart and head felt swamped. She was worried about what Bomi said last night, what he was digging up. He was starting to confirm her wildest speculations. But she was more worried about Bart, and what he said last night, as she’d glanced at the now empty couch on her way past the patio. Despite Janice’s timely disappearance from his life, Bart was not on the verge of coming home to the farmhouse. And worst of all her ruminations, Bart was oblivious to what drinking was doing to his life. It was why Janice kicked him out, she was sure. But Lucinda knew she’d have to totally let him go if there was any chance of getting him back, of him freely choosing to be with her. Perhaps from a distance he could see whether she still mattered to him. She suddenly realized Martin was talking to her.
“We’re thinking of giving Skyline to an Audubon wildlife sanctuary,” he said. “At least then she’ll have some limited freedom. More than I can give her.”
Tori looked up sharply at him and then smiled.
“Tori’s been on my case about it,” Martin kidded. “But she’s right. Skyline needs to get on with things.” He slathered beach plum jam onto a piece of toast.
“I think you were great for each other, Martin. Needed each other,” Lucinda said. “It’s always hard to let go of something you love. Even a wild thing that you know can’t stay forever.”
The words echoed in her head, and she pushed them away. Lucinda wanted to talk to Bart more after the booze was flushed out of him, but she had to leave by seven at the latest to go home to change clothes before work. She had an early meeting with Aden and an avalanche of calls and projects to move forward.
Tori got it. She put her left hand on top of Lucinda’s right. It felt warm and true. What would she do, Lucinda wondered, without her oldest friend?
“I’ll keep an eye on him while he’s in town, Lucinda. He’s here till Friday,” Martin said, pushing himself away from the table.
“Thanks, Martin. And thank you, Tori, for everything,” Lucinda said, squeezing Tori’s small hand. A hand that could guide massive horses over even more massive jumps, calm the thunder of an overwrought stallion, and lead a timid colt onto a horse trailer.
“You guys are the best. I’ve got to dash. More fires to put out at work,” Lucinda said, rising out of her chair.
Lucinda stopped briefly at home to change into a gray skirt suit with a red shell beneath and to check her answering machine. A message from Aden about a gift he’d be working on for months that just came through. Caller ID indicated that Thea had called but didn’t leave a message. That was odd. She looked out at the barn while the answering machine played and wondered what was up with Jay. Prowling around. He’s the least of my problems, she thought, heading back down the drive to work.
To the right the sun shone boldly over the Atlantic Ocean. As brash as the red sun on the Japanese flag. A maxim her father taught her popped into her head — Red sky at night, sailors’ delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Would it pour?
Tossing off that possibility, she rolled down her window, drove north down the driveway, then turned west, then south. The sun followed her as she made her way down the coast as if she were pulling it along like a balloon. Ferns, apple blossoms, and lilacs offered her their distinct fragrances as she veered away from the coast, then salt, iodine, and wind-borne baking sand scents blew in through the window as she followed the last part of the route that tracked ever more eastward until it brought her to the campus on the cliff over the sea. She passed a fox trotting along a hayfield edge, its scarlet coat brilliant in the sun, a limp rabbit in its jaws. Her spirits lifted higher as she joined the flow of students hurrying to class. She would enjoy any moments of reprieve handed to her.
Do I need Bart? The question flashed through her mind on the steps of Rantoul. Do I need the rising sun, the fire of red fox, the mineral scent of hot sand? McIntosh apples? On the second floor, she was still pondering the answers when her office door popped open from the inside by Harris as she reached for the outside knob.
“Break in,” he said, tilting his shiny
visored cap. “Mornin’.”
“Break in?” she said, incredulous. “What is this, the Watergate Hotel? How come no one told me?”
Aden emerged next. She saw relief in his face at the sight of her.
“I take it this happened after the big Biddle gift came in?” she asked. He nodded.
“I stopped by early to touch base with you about the Biddle gift and found Beverly cursing nonstop. When they heard her coming through the side door, they took off. We sent her home to calm down after we got prints,” Aden said. He took Lucinda’s purse and briefcase while she shrugged out of her suit jacket. The day was heating up.
“They didn’t take your laptop,” Harris said. “But we need fingerprints. Don’t touch it.”
“I already tried to turn it on. They did something funky to it,” Aden said.
“After they siphoned my data off onto a thumb drive, I bet,” Lucinda said. They must have thought it would slow her down, but she had everything synched to her PC, which appeared untouched. She guessed they hadn’t gotten that far before Beverly walked in, not expecting staff to arrive a little before six. They didn’t know Beverly.
Harris glared at Aden. “Ok, let’s get your prints too. And I’ll need yours, Lucinda.”
Lucinda’s in-box had been rifled, and there were a few RaiseSmart donor lists lying on the floor between her desk and the conference table.
“Oh, great,” she said, bending over to retrieve the papers. “Let’s add potential breach of confidential donor information to the list of offenses.” Almost all the donor information was entered into RaiseSmart, but these lists represented her donor priorities and target gift levels, with which she was constantly tinkering.
“Job,” she said, sitting in her executive chair. She interwove her fingers behind her head and leaned back, her lips turning up into a joyless smile of determination.
“Job? We’re talking biblical figures now?” Harris said. “Or is this another Orion-type character?” He whipped out his notepad.
She separated her hands and leaned forward.
“My father told me I’d have my Job period,” Lucinda said. “‘Someday, young lady!’ he warned. ‘We all do. It will feel like gravity no longer exists because so many things crack up and fly away from you. You’ll think it’s a joke. Then you’ll go down on your knees. Then it will get worse.’ I thought, hah! Maybe for you Dad, but not me.”
Halt at X: A North of Boston Novel Page 22