When he opened the door, he didn’t speak for a long moment as he stared at me. And then he leaned in and hugged me. “Thank you, Rae. Thank you for everything.”
For a moment, I didn’t move, I was so taken aback by the physical contact. Slowly, I raised my hands to pat him on the back. “Is he better?”
Todd drew back and cleared his throat. “He is.”
A rush of relief washed through every cell in my body. “Thank God.”
“Susan told me you donated blood. Thank you.”
“It’s the least I could do. If he ever needs anything, please know I’m here.”
He squeezed my hand. “I will.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course you can see him. The doctors removed his spleen and repaired the internal damage that was causing so much bleeding. He also has a concussion, which worried us and the doctors last night,” he said, releasing a ragged breath. “But he’s proud of his broken arm and the bruise on his face.”
“I’ll try not to make too much of it.”
“Even if you did, I think he likes the attention. And tell your friend Zeb thanks. I appreciated him picking me up at the airport.”
“Zeb picked you up himself?” I asked.
“He did. And he drove me to my house so I could get our other car. Solid guy.”
“He is that.”
He stepped aside and I moved into the room to see Susan sitting at Michael’s bedside. He was indeed battered. His swollen, bruised right eye rocked me for a moment. I couldn’t stop staring as I absorbed the damage. His right arm was in a full cast, locking it into an L.
Susan rose and smiled. “Rae. I’m glad you could make it back.”
Even as I cringed at her weary face, my attention shifted to Michael.
“As you can see,” Susan said, “he’s looking a bit like he went a few rounds with a boxer.” Her tone was light, but I heard the fear still echoing around the words.
I kept my tone even. “What does the other guy look like?”
Michael raised his fingertips to his eyes, a slight grin tipping the edges of swollen lips. “I wanted to post it so my friends could see, but Mom said no.”
I took a step closer to him. “I think she’s right. Some memories don’t need to be shared on the Internet.”
Gingerly, he touched his shiner with a familiarity that suggested he had looked at it a lot. “I guess they’ll just have to wait until I get back to school. My friends are going to be so shocked.”
This nightmare for his parents and me was a grand adventure for him. “I’m sure you’ll be quite the attraction.”
Susan rose from her seat. “Rae, sit here. Visit with Michael.”
I tensed. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“You aren’t,” Todd said.
I lowered myself into the chair, feeling the profound weight of her gesture. They were opening their circle of family and allowing me to join.
“How did it go with the witch bottles?” Michael asked.
“A funny thing about those. They have a big story behind them.” I gave him the rundown of the women who’d made the bottles and the wishes that instead became curses, according to Margaret.
“So, can I see the McDonald bottle sometime?” Michael asked.
“Well, it’s in pieces now.”
“What happened?”
“I went to the warehouse last night straight from the hospital. I wasn’t thinking too clearly and when Margaret suggested the curse could be broken with the bottle . . .”
Susan touched her lips. “Rae, did you break the bottle?”
“Yep. I dropped it right on the concrete floor. I thought Margaret was going to have a heart attack.”
Susan’s shocked expression gave way to amusement. “So, do you think the spell was broken?”
“I don’t know if there ever was a spell. But Michael has turned a corner and that’s good enough for me.”
“Amen,” Todd said.
“Do you really think the McDonalds were cursed?” Michael asked.
“He’s a big reader,” Susan explained. “Loved The Hobbit and Harry Potter.”
“Well,” I said. “I don’t think we’re cursed anymore. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a spell to be broken.”
“What about the third bottle?” Michael asked.
“Lisa broke hers as well.” As angry as I’d been with her last night, I couldn’t hold on to it right now. Like the bottle, the anger slipped away.
“What about her curse?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“You should go see her today and ask her if she feels any different. You sure look different.”
I didn’t hide my surprise. “I look different?”
“Yeah. More relaxed.”
“Michael,” Susan said. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I can be a little stiff, and when I met you, I was pretty nervous.”
His brow knotted into a frown that looked like mine. “That makes two of us.”
“I think your mom was as well,” I offered. I gave Michael life and I would always love him. That would never change. But Susan was his mother.
Susan gently brushed a strand of auburn hair from his pale blue eyes, which mirrored mine. “I think it’s okay to be a little nervous. Means we’re all trying our best.”
“What’s that quote about courage, pal?” Todd asked. “Fear’s fine, but you got to saddle up anyway.”
The boy groaned. “Right, Dad.”
The nurse came into the room carrying a small tray filled with cups holding pills. “Mr. Michael, it looks like you’re having a party.”
I turned, knowing he needed his rest. “He’s quite the entertainer but I’ve got to cut this party short.”
The nurse appeared pleased I’d caught the hint. “You can come back tomorrow.”
“How long will he be in the hospital?” I asked.
“A day or two more,” Susan answered. “But please come back. Maybe you can give us an update on the third bottle.”
“I’d like that,” Michael said.
“Okay, I’ll call your mom tomorrow and figure out a good time.”
Michael grinned, wincing as his bruised lip stretched. “I really want to know.”
“I’ll find out.” I nodded to Susan and Todd. “Thanks.”
“We appreciate everything you’ve done,” Todd said.
I stepped into the hallway and took a few steps before the weight of the moment hit me hard. My body rushed with an array of sensations. Fear. Worry. Happiness. Joy. It was as if the floodgates had opened and long-pent-up waters were flowing freely over me. I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, not fighting or resisting, but simply allowing.
When I opened my eyes, tears fell down my cheeks. I brushed them away, amazed at the feel of the moisture on my fingertips. It had been years of feeling nothing.
A gentle hand touched mine and I saw the nurse who’d been in Michael’s room. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“He’s a tough kid. And he’s going to be fine.”
“I know. It’s just such a relief.”
“That was a good thing you did, giving blood. Your type is rare and hard to keep stocked.”
“Glad to help.”
She leaned in a fraction and lowered her voice. “He looks so much like you.”
A lump formed in my throat. “He has great parents.”
She winked. “All of them.”
When I left the hospital, the air was dry and warm, and the sun was so bright that I dug my sunglasses from my purse. The sun warmed my face and chased away the chill that had lingered for what seemed like forever.
I drove to Prince Street, knowing I nee
ded to see Lisa. We needed to talk about Jennifer. I needed to listen to her and remind myself that she was just a kid at the time of the car accident. No good was to come from beating her up.
I found parking at the top of the hill on Prince Street. As I got out, I savored the view down the cobblestone street. This street had been made from the rocks that, like the hearthstones, had been ballast in the sailing vessels of the 1750s, and I couldn’t help but wonder if some had come from the same place as the hearthstones on the McDonald property.
When I arrived at the house, I saw that the Sale Pending sign had been removed and the house was again for sale. I thought about Samuel and Debra. Had she finally confessed her real secret to him? Had it been more than he could handle?”
I knocked on the door and heard the music inside. Charlie was barking. Parked on the street was Lisa’s battered and muddy SUV. She was home. Why wasn’t she answering?
No doubt she was angry and disappointed with me and willing to let me linger on the porch. I knocked again. Charlie barked louder, with impatience. When she didn’t answer, I turned to leave but was halfway down the steps when I felt what seemed like a tug on my sleeve. There was no one there, but the sensation echoed through my body like an electric shock.
I glanced back up at the red lacquered door and the pineapple brass door knocker. The music throbbed inside the house.
Retracing my steps, I went to the planter by the front door and tipped it back, searching for the key that Amelia always left there. It remained stuck to the bottom of the pot. I dusted off the dirt and opened the front door. Charlie bounded up toward me, barking away.
Rubbing the dog, I could see he was upset. “Lisa?” I called. “It’s Rae. Can we talk?”
The music pulsed, but she didn’t answer. Lisa was annoyed and hurt. That was understandable. But she would have answered me if she were here.
Again, I had the sensation of hands on my back pushing me forward. Inside the hallway, I carefully closed the front door and with Charlie running ahead, I looked to my left and saw the empty wine bottle.
“Oh, Lisa. Tell me you didn’t do this.” The floorboards creaked under my feet as I moved down the hallway, glancing first into the parlor on my right and then the dining room on my left. Each was perfectly neat. Unless they were selling a home or expecting an honored guest, few kept their house so tidy. Most people kept the front rooms presentable, but these rooms had the feeling of having just been cleaned. Did she know the sale had fallen through?
Deeper into the house, I gripped the key, the tension in my gut building as if I expected to find something terrible locked in this house. I pictured Lisa drunk and lying on the floor. I pictured alcohol poisoning. Suicide.
The visions grew darker with each step, but I kept moving. Regardless of what I found, I had to talk to her. Help her.
In the kitchen, the strong scent of coffee greeted me. I saw the coffeemaker on the white marble countertop dripping out the last of a full pot of coffee. Charlie ran up the back staircase and I followed him to Lisa’s bedroom, where I found her lying on the suite’s bathroom floor. The dog ran to her and sat beside her.
I dropped my purse and went to her, turning her on her back. She was breathing.
Eyes closed, she brushed me away, her words an unintelligible mess. Charlie nudged her.
“That’s okay, boy,” I said. “I’ve got this.” I sat her up and opened her eyelids. Her eyes tried to focus but rolled back instead. “Lisa, can you hear me?”
Her head drooped to the side. I rose and went to the sink, taking a decorative hand towel and running it under cold water. Wringing it out, I knelt in front of her and pressed the cold cloth to the back of her neck. She groaned. Tried to push my hand away.
“No,” I said with the force of my mother. “You need to wake up. If I can’t get you up and moving soon, I’m calling 911, Lisa.”
She shook her head. “Go.”
I shifted the cloth to her forehead. “No.” Rising, I remoistened the cloth and again pressed it to the back of her neck and her face. I repeated the process several times before her eyes opened and she looked at me. Her vision didn’t seem to focus, but she was trying to clear her head.
“Time to get you on your feet,” I said.
Lisa shook her head.
I kicked off my heels and, with the dog watching closely, hooked my hands under her arms and braced my legs. I lifted her to her feet and propped her against a wall. She could barely support her own weight, but the fact that I had her on her feet was a step in the right direction.
“Go,” she said.
“Shut up.” I half carried, half dragged her to the small shower and turned on the cold water. She couldn’t stand in the shower alone, so that meant I’d have to get in with her. I deserved this as much as she did.
Drawing in a breath, I pulled her into the shower.
She screamed and arched, but I gripped on to her and forced her to endure the cold stream of water hitting her squarely in her face.
Charlie barked and pawed at the shower entrance.
“Stop!” she gurgled.
Ignoring her and the dog, I held her steady under the cold stream of water. “When you can stand.”
“I can . . . stand.”
Loosening my grip, she immediately slipped, forcing me to catch her and haul her back up to the showerhead. “That’s not standing, Lisa.”
“Go away.”
“Not until you’re sober enough to tell me why you got pissed drunk.”
Eyes ringed with black mascara looked up at me. “I killed Jennifer.”
The frigid water made my teeth chatter as the cold seeped through my clothes and into my bones. “You were a stupid kid. It could have just as easily been the other way around. It’s time to climb down off your cross.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s dead. And I totally ruined your life.”
A month ago I might have agreed. But not now. To change the past would wish away Michael, and I could never do that. “You didn’t ruin my life. We both wallowed in our own self-pity and wasted our lives.”
“Please turn off that water.”
Her voice sounded a little more sober. “Can you stand?”
“Yes. No. But I’m freezing to death.”
“Join the club.” I turned on the warm water, allowing it to flow over us and chase away the chill. Neither of us spoke as we absorbed the heat.
“How much did you drink?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does if you’ve poisoned yourself.”
To prove she was improving, she pushed back her shoulders and leaned into the warm spray. “I’m not going to die. At least not today.”
“Good.”
I shut off the water and reached for a white fluffy towel hanging by the shower. Carefully, I dried her face and her hair. “Open your eyes.”
She looked at me, blue eyes ringed with redness.
“You took terrible.”
“So do you.”
“Can you get out of the shower?”
“Yes.” I held her arm as she stumbled out and wavered for a moment. “I’m going to be sick.”
Water dripping from my head, I helped her to the toilet and held her hair back. When she was finished, I handed her the damp towel and she pressed it to her lips.
“Doesn’t get any prettier than this, Rae.”
“Not exactly the kind of moment one puts in a scrapbook.”
She sat down on the floor, propping her body against the tile as I reached for the other towel and dried off my own face and hair. Charlie came up and licked her face as she gently patted him on the head. Water dripped from my silk blouse, which was a total loss. My dark trousers, now waterlogged, drooped from my waist.
“Why’d you come, Rae?”
“To tell you it’s time for us bot
h to move on. It’s time we set the burden down.”
“You did nothing wrong.”
“I’ve spent the last sixteen years in limbo, too afraid to live or breathe. Given my sister lost her life so young, it feels simply stupid to have wasted so many good years.”
“What about the boy? How is he?”
“Michael is fine. He’s even proud of his bruises and his cast. Boys. I don’t know why it’s so exciting to him. He wanted to post a photo of his black eye online.”
“He’s a kid. Enough said.” She closed her eyes. “I’m so glad he’s okay.”
I squatted so that we were eye level. “I am, too. He’s a great kid. And I wouldn’t wish him away for the world.”
Bloodshot eyes stared back at me. “You wouldn’t make a stupid kid. Maybe a little stiff, but definitely not stupid.”
A smile flickered.
She moistened her lips as if she might get sick again. “Margaret must be freaking out.”
“She was not impressed with our curator skills. But now she knows exactly what’s in her bottles.”
“Better to know than to wonder.” She sniffed and shoved back a lock of wet hair. “Do you think we broke the curse?”
I sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and pushed back my hair. “I don’t know if there ever was a curse.”
Lisa twisted the damp hem of her shirt. “You know, I’ve been hearing her for years.”
“Who?”
“Jennifer,” Lisa said. “She’s always there. Always talking to me. Does it sound crazy?”
“Perhaps it wasn’t her at all. Perhaps it was you, talking to yourself. Your subconscious.”
Lisa shook her head. “I thought so at first. But the more she talked to me, the more she sounded so real.” She closed her eyes. “She could push the right buttons.”
Faint laughter rumbled in my chest. “She was a very opinionated girl.”
“Bossy.”
For a long moment, we sat in silence, each allowing our memories of Jennifer to settle in a more peaceful place in our hearts.
Gently, Lisa rubbed the dog’s head. “She stopped talking to me the moment that bottle broke.”
I stared at the patterned tile floor. “You told your secret, so there was no more reason to carry her or the guilt anymore. Makes perfect sense.”
The View from Prince Street Page 30