Chapter 38
October 23, 2010
Brighton Falls, Connecticut
“WHERE’S GEORGE?” REGGIE ASKED Lorraine. She’d found her aunt in the upstairs bathroom, rinsing out Vera’s bedpan. Reggie stood in the doorway, her messenger bag strapped across her chest, Stu Berr’s file on Vera and Tara’s note to him inside.
On the drive home, everything made sense: the way George was always there for her, giving her gifts, buying her school supplies. Her mother had always said she and George had been involved once. Maybe Lorraine didn’t know.
“I think he’s working from his office at home today. He said something about driving down to the warehouse in Brattleboro, but I’m not sure if that’s later today or tomorrow.”
“Lorraine, can you give me a minute alone with Mom?”
Her aunt eyed her skeptically. “Of course. I’ve just given her an Ativan. She might be dozy.”
Reggie found her mother cocooned in sheets and blankets, her face pale as a moth. Reggie thought of what Stu had said earlier and tried to imagine Vera a killer. She nearly laughed out loud.
“Hey you,” Reggie said, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch her mother’s shoulder.
“Hay is for horses,” Vera said.
Reggie smiled. “Mares eat oats and does eat oats—”
“And little lambs eat ivy,” Vera finished.
“Mom?”
Vera looked up at her, eyes half open.
“What can you tell me about Stu Berr?”
Vera smiled and started to sing, “If you go out in the woods today, you’re in for a big surprise. If you go out in the woods today, you better go in disguise. For every bear that ever there was, will gather there for certain because, today’s the day the teddy bears have their piiiic-nic.”
Reggie leaned down and whispered in her mother’s ear. “Is Stu Berr Neptune?”
Vera laughed.
“Can you tell me, Mom?”
Vera closed her eyes, started to drift off.
“I have one more rhyme,” Reggie said as she stroked her mother’s cheek, which felt dry and papery. “Georgie porgie, pudding and pie,” she said.
Vera’s eyes opened, but she did not speak.
“Kissed the girls,” said Reggie.
“And made them cry,” her mother said.
“I remember, Mom. Everything you used to say about George. How he loved you, but couldn’t have you. I remember how you used to talk about George and his ducks, you’d tease him all the time, said it wasn’t natural, a grown man spending all his time making those damn wooden ducks.”
Vera smiled. Her lips were dry and chapped.
“Then you asked him once, you said, ‘How come you’ve never made one of those ducks for me, George?’ So a few days later, he gave you a box and you opened it and pulled out this tiny, beautiful carved wooden swan. ‘This isn’t like any duck I’ve ever seen,’ you told him. And he said, ‘Yes it is. It’s the ugly duckling. All her life she thinks she doesn’t fit in; then she grows up and sees that she’s really a beautiful swan.’ ”
Reggie had tears in her eyes as she told this story, remembering the way George had looked at her mother, the way she held the swan so delicately, like it was made of glass. The little wooden swan Reggie had tucked into her memory box all those year ago, after her mother was pronounced dead by the rest of the world.
“George is my father, isn’t he?”
Vera looked down into her sheets like the answer might be there.
“Please, Mom,” Reggie pleaded.
“I’m cold,” Vera said.
“I’ll get you another blanket,” Reggie said, going to the closet.
“If it’s cold here, it’s hot in Argentina,” Vera said.
“Well,” said Reggie, layering another blanket on top of her mother, “I don’t think we’ll be going there any time soon.”
“Oh it’s not far,” Vera said, closing her eyes. “Eva Perón lives there. And they grow the most wonderful pears.”
“Lovely,” Reggie said, tucking in the edges of the blanket, watching her mother drift away.
REGGIE SNEAKED OUT OF the room and across the hall to her bedroom. She took the memory box down from the closet and pulled out the wooden swan, George’s gift to Vera. She ran her fingers over the delicate cross-hatching of feathers, the smooth curve of its long neck. The swan was carved from a softwood—pine, she guessed. Reggie tucked the swan carefully into her messenger bag. She only hoped the papers she had inside would be enough to save Tara. It was the final day and time was running out. She checked her watch for the thousandth time. One hour until Len was due to arrive. Should she wait and go to the station with him? She took out her cell and dialed his number, but it went right to voice mail.
“It’s me,” she said. “Just wondering about your ETA. Call me when you get to town and I’ll give you proper directions.”
He could be anywhere. And every second counted. The sooner she got her information to the police, the greater the chance of finding Tara alive. And if they didn’t believe her, refused to even listen, then she’d call Charlie and find out where Stu kept his boat. She and Len would head down to the shore, find Stu, and tail him until he led them to Tara. It wasn’t the greatest plan, but it was better than nothing.
She tucked the phone into her bag as a chill washed over her, a cool breeze blowing through the window she’d left cracked open. She closed it. Her screwdriver was still sitting on the windowsill. She dropped it into her messenger bag. She’d put it back in the toolbox when she got down to her truck.
“Everything okay?” Lorraine asked when Reggie walked downstairs and into the kitchen.
“Fine. Mom’s sleeping.”
“I think I’ll fix us all some lunch,” Lorraine said.
“None for me, thanks,” Reggie said. “I need to run out and do a couple of things.”
“Surely you have time for a bite to eat.”
Reggie shook her head. “Maybe when I get back.”
Reggie’s cell phone rang. She recognized the Massachusetts area code and answered.
“Hello?”
“Miss Dufrane. This is Sister Dolores of Our House in Worcester. I hear you’ve been trying to reach me.” Her voice was low and quiet, with a slight rasp to it.
“Yes,” Reggie said. “Thanks so much for getting back to me.”
“How is your mother?” Sister Dolores asked.
“She’s doing all right. As all right as can be expected. She’s talked about you quite a bit since coming home. She seems to think very highly of you. I wanted to thank you. For being there for her when we couldn’t.”
“Mmm,” Sister Dolores said understandingly. “I’ve been praying for her. You tell her that, will you?”
“I will. Sister, I was wondering if there was anything more you could tell me about my mother.”
“Such as?”
“How she came to be with you. If she ever said anything about her background.”
Sister Dolores was silent for a few seconds. “Miss Dufrane,” she said at last. “I run a one-hundred-bed facility. I’ve been doing this for over twenty years now. I’ve learned not to pry into people’s business. The people we serve, they haven’t had the happiest lives. If they want me to know what brought them to Our House, they’ll tell me in good time.”
“My mother was there on and off for two years, right? And she obviously thought the world of you. She must have said something.”
“Oh, sure, she said lots of things. She told us her name was Ivana. That she’d been an actress.”
“She never said anything about how she lost her hand? About Neptune?”
“Nothing. Just like I told the detective who showed up here—she never said much about where she’d come from. It was like she’d dropped out of the sky.”
“A detective from Brighton Falls?” Reggie asked. “A young man? Edward Levi?”
“No, no. This was an older man. Very pleasan
t. I’m afraid I couldn’t help him at all, but he didn’t seem to mind, even after driving all that way. Detective Berr, that was his name. I imagine you must know him?”
“Yes,” Reggie managed to say through a tight throat.
“Awfully nice fellow. I wish I could have told him more.”
Chapter 39
June 23, 1985
Brighton Falls, Connecticut
CHARLIE WAS WAITING FOR Reggie in the hallway outside the women’s room door, studying the postcards and snapshots on the walls.
Hello from Reno. Get Your Kicks on Route 66. Greetings from the Roadkill Cafe.
Reggie nearly ran into him.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I was hoping you’d talk to Tara. Tell her to slow it down with Sid.”
Reggie looked behind Charlie, out to the back table where Sid and Tara were making out. Tara was practically sitting in his lap and kissing him. Sid was licking at her mouth like an overly friendly dog. It turned Reggie’s stomach, but she couldn’t stop watching.
“Why should I?”
Sid was groping at Tara’s breast now, and Tara pushed his hand away, said something that made him laugh. Then they went back to kissing.
Charlie looked furious and desperate. “Because. He’s no good for her and you know it.”
“Maybe that’s what she wants,” Reggie said. “Someone who thinks he’s as badass as she wants to be.”
“But Tara’s not really like that,” Charlie whined. “I think she’s really pretty normal. All the fucked-up girl, psychic stuff . . . it’s just acting.”
Reggie was so sick of it all. The things people knew (or thought they knew) about other people. Maybe everyone had a secret life, not just Vera. She suddenly hated all of it. She wanted people to be as see-through as fish tanks, no more murkiness, no misdirection. No lies and bullshit. No secret rooms or lies about being the star of some goddamn play that didn’t even exist.
Most of all, right now, she was sick of the fact that somehow the whole world seemed to be revolving around Tara and her moods and predictions—never mind the fact that her own mother was being held prisoner by a psycho murderer.
“Tara cuts herself, you know,” Reggie said, her voice laced with a venom she hadn’t expected.
“Huh?”
“And burns herself with a lighter. Her arms and legs are a mess of scars. She’s way more fucked up than you think.”
And I am too, she thought.
He stared at her blankly, and she continued. “Trust me, Charlie, she’s not into you. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to change it.”
His eyes blazed. “You don’t know that,” he said. He started to walk away, but Reggie caught him by the arm.
“Charlie”—her voice was soft and pleading as she gently gripped his arm—“I’m sorry.”
Charlie looked at Reggie and opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. He shook her off with a disgusted sigh and hurried back to the table.
Fuck. Now she’d done it. Maybe it was something she’d inherited from her mother—this unique ability to be able to completely screw over the people you care most about.
REGGIE PICKED AT HER gumbo, half listening to the ridiculous conversation Sid and Tara were having. All she wanted in the world was to get out of there, go home, put a pillow over her head, and stay there for days. She wouldn’t get up tomorrow because she knew what would happen when she did: she’d turn on the news and hear that her mother’s body had been found. Cops, reporters, and people from town would gather around Vera’s naked body, shaking their heads, clicking their tongues.
Too bad, too bad. Such a shame. Such a pretty woman.
Did you know she was the Aphrodite Cold Cream girl?
Reggie’s solution, pathetic as it was, was to stay locked in her room, buried in her covers, doing her own version of the little kid’s trick of “If I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.”
“I didn’t say all sausage, just some sausage,” Sid said. “There’s different kinds, you know.”
Charlie threw his cousin a furious glance.
Tara laughed. “I’m thinking little breakfast link, here.”
“Not hardly,” Sid said. “We’re talking King of the Kielbasa.”
Tara snorted. “Eew! I hate kielbasa!”
Sid leaned in and whispered something and Tara snorted again. “Just leave off the sauerkraut,” she guffawed.
Jesus. Didn’t these people get it? Her mother was in some torture chamber with a serial killer, probably eating her last meal of lobster at this very minute. Reggie stirred her gumbo, found a shrimp, and dropped the spoon, disgusted.
She heard her mother’s voice: It’s all about connections. There’s a big web linking all of us together—you and me and the president and the guy who build the goddamn atom bomb. Don’t you feel it?
“Hello? Anybody home there?” Charlie asked, obviously irritated.
“Mmm?” Reggie murmured.
“I asked if you were ready to get out of here,” Charlie said.
“Definitely,” Reggie said, pushing her bowl of gumbo away.
“I don’t think she wants to leave yet,” Tara said, clamping a hand down on Reggie’s arm. “Do you, Reggie?”
Charlie glared at her. “Why is it you always have to be the expert on everything?” he asked. “Now you’re the freaking expert on Reggie?”
“I never said I was an expert,” Tara shot back. “I just thought—”
“Maybe it’s time you start keeping all your goddamned thoughts to yourself. ’Cause I, for one, am really sick and tired of hearing them all the time.”
“Relax, dude,” Sid said.
“Don’t fucking tell me to relax!” Charlie snarled. He was shouting now, and several of the other diners had turned to look their way. “You’re so relaxed you can’t see the road in front of you half the time. And you’re so clueless you think you’ve got yourself a nice piece of ass there, but you have no idea how totally screwed up she is.”
“That’s enough,” Sid said, standing.
“Why don’t you show us your arms, Tara?” Charlie said, standing now, hovering over her. Charlie was breathing hard, almost wheezing.
Tara stared up at him in disbelief. Then she turned and looked at Reggie, dark eyes smoldering, their message clear: you betrayed me.
Reggie held her breath, waited for Tara to turn the tables and tell them all the truth about Reggie: while we’re at it, why don’t we look at Reggie’s legs, too? But she stayed silent, glaring. This was worse than Reggie’s having her secret revealed. It was like having her heart doused in ice water.
Charlie reached for Tara’s sleeve, and she flinched. Sid grabbed Charlie’s wrist, holding it tight. He knocked a glass from the table and it shattered on the floor.
“Problem here, kids?” Reuben asked. He’d moved in swiftly and was now right behind Sid.
“Nah,” Sid said, dropping Charlie’s arm and sitting back down. “No problem at all, right, cuz?”
Charlie sat, too, pulling his hand away from Tara’s arm. He was breathing like a steam train.
“Glad to hear it.” Reuben nodded. “Why don’t you all just finish up your dinners and go on home, then?” He studied them a minute, then turned and walked back to the bar.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sid said, standing and throwing money to cover the bill down on the table.
No one else moved. Tara was glaring at Reggie. Charlie was glaring at Tara. And Reggie was looking at the shards of glass and melting ice cubes on the floor.
“Come on,” Sid said. “Before they kick our asses out.” Reggie stood and Tara and Charlie followed.
THE LIGHTS IN THE parking lot were out. They stood a second, letting their eyes adjust, then moved toward Sid’s car.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll be showing my face in there any time soon,” said Sid.
“It’s your fault,” Tara snapped at Charlie. “If you hadn’t made such a
damn scene in there—”
“Oh sure,” Charlie said. “Blame me. You’ve been slicing and dicing yourself, breaking into dead ladies’ apartments, and now you’re turning into this complete slut. You’re not psychic, Tara. You’re psycho!”
Sid lunged forward, grabbed Charlie’s T-shirt, and put his face right in front of Charlie’s. “That’s enough, Charlie.”
Charlie pushed at Sid’s chest with both hands, sending the older boy toppling backward onto the asphalt.
“Jesus!” Sid yelped, starting to get himself back up off the ground. Charlie lunged at him, and they both went down, rolling around. Sid struggled to get Charlie off him and to duck the hits and kicks.
Tara raced forward, grabbing the back of Charlie’s shirt. “Get off him!” she yelled. Charlie swung back, and Tara lost her balance, falling onto the parking lot. “Asshole!” she yelped. Reggie went to help her up, and Tara jerked away from Reggie. “What the fuck did you do?” she asked. “What did you say to him?”
“I’m sorry,” Reggie said.
Tara shook her head violently. “You’ve ruined everything!” she hissed.
Sid and Charlie were up again, holding on to each other. Charlie was smaller than Sid, but his movements seemed more careful, more directed than Sid’s, who moved like a slow, gangly scarecrow.
Charlie grabbed Sid’s throat, and Sid was trying to pry Charlie’s fingers off.
Tara jumped up and clawed at Charlie’s arms. “Let him go!” She was standing sideways, up against Sid, her left leg behind him.
Reggie stood paralyzed, knowing she should do something, but unsure what it should be. Sid was making horrible choking sounds. Reggie approached Charlie, saw that his arms were bleeding from the scratches Tara was giving him. “Please, Charlie,” Reggie said. “This isn’t who you are.”
Charlie looked at his own hands wrapped around Sid’s neck in disbelief, like they weren’t his at all, then let go. Sid gasped for breath, hands clutching at his crushed throat.
Reggie leaned toward Charlie, touched his bleeding arm. “It’s all my fault,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said those things about Tara. I was just mad . . . jealous, and I . . .” She stumbled over words and knew that if she didn’t say it now, she never would.
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