Table for five

by Susan Wiggs

  “How’d it go?” Sean asked, holding the door for him.

  “It went. I gave them the facts, released the statement we drew up, told them to respect the family’s privacy, yada yada yada. They’ll make of it what they will. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll report the facts, not the gossip.”

  Overnight, rumors had inevitably swirled up. What was an estranged couple doing together on a remote coastal highway? Was it really an accident or was foul play involved? Red made it his mission to tell the world that this was a tragic accident in every sense of the word, and to suggest otherwise was a vicious insult to the victims’ families.

  “Red!” Charlie ran into the living room, her arms flung out in greeting.

  “There you are, Princess Carlotta.” Red set down his briefcase and scooped her up in his arms.

  “Every time I think about my mom and dad, I cry,” she said. “And I think about them all the time.”

  “Sure you do, sweetheart.” Red’s gruff exterior melted. “They loved you with all their hearts.”

  “That does no good at all if they’re not here with me,” she said.

  “I know, princess. I know. Where are your brother and sister?”

  “Ashley’s in the kitchen with Lily.”

  “Who’s Lily?”

  “My teacher.”

  “She’s Crystal’s friend,” Sean said. “She’s been with the kids ever since this all started.”

  “Cameron is in his room,” Charlie told Red, “listening to his stupid music.”

  “I’ll go round him up,” Sean said, and headed upstairs. He found Cameron lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, lost. He wore headphones, the tiny iPod balanced on his chest like a pacemaker. The expression on his face was surprisingly contented. Music couldn’t save you, Sean thought, but occasionally, just for a time, it could fill the empty spaces inside a person. The headphones emitted a faint tinny sound and Cameron took his time removing them when he noticed Sean.

  “How you doing?” Sean asked.

  “Just swell.”

  “Red’s here. He needs to talk to us all.”

  “What about?”

  “A lot of things.” It was hard to figure out where to begin again. “Funeral arrangements. Some other stuff, too. We need to meet with Logan, Schwab and Fuller to go over what your parents wanted for you.”

  “That’s easy,” said Cameron, utterly serious, hard-eyed. “They wanted—Never mind.”

  “What were you going to say?”

  “Never mind.” Cameron tossed the player onto the bed. “Let’s go see Red.”

  Sean checked his phone for messages. No response from Maura, he noticed. Out of town at her seminar, she couldn’t know what was going on with him, but she sure as hell ought to return her damned calls.

  He swallowed his irritation because he had to. This wasn’t about him and his grief. It was about figuring out what was best for Derek’s kids. If he started letting himself feel his loss in the depths of his soul, he might get sucked so far down into a dark hole that he’d never find his way out. And that would make him useless to these children.

  God, Derek, he thought. How the hell am I supposed to do this?

  He and Cameron went into the living room, where Red, Lily and the girls were waiting. He stood there in the doorway for a second and looked at Lily. She’d been here for the past twenty-four hours, taking care of the kids as best she could. She hadn’t changed her clothes, though she’d found time to duck into the shower, and when he’d passed by the bathroom door, he’d heard her crying in there. He’d paused, picturing her with her face in the spray, sobbing. Now she sat with Ashley on her lap and Charlie snuggled up against her side, and her face was ashen with shock, taut with unexpressed grief. Yet when she looked at Sean, he detected a subtle hostility. She felt proprietary when it came to these kids. Well, hell, so did he.

  Red shook Cameron’s hand, treating him with a kind of dignity that didn’t seem forced. So there were allies. There were small gleanings of grace here and there.

  Sean nodded to Red and took a seat in a leather chair. He picked up a thick folder of forms and brochures.

  “There’s going to be a funeral service for your mom and dad,” he said. “Red and Lily and I will make sure it all gets organized.”

  He sent Lily a questioning look and she offered a barely perceptible nod. “We don’t want you to worry about anything except adjusting to your new situation,” she said.

  “I don’t want to adjust,” Charlie said. “I never want to.”

  “Honey, we don’t have a choice,” Lily said. “I sure wish we did, but we don’t. The funeral is to celebrate their lives. Lots of their friends will come. We have to know if there’s anything special you want at the service, some certain music or a particular reading.”

  “What kind of music? What kind of reading?” asked Charlie with fear in her eyes.

  “Something short, maybe from the Bible or from a book you’ve read, to comfort you. Maybe a special song, too,” Lily said.

  “I don’t like to read,” said Charlie.

  “Usually someone else does the reading.”

  “I like Trumpet of the Swan,” Charlie suggested.

  Cameron snorted. “Not that sort of reading.”

  Lily put her hand on his sleeve to shut him up. It worked. Cameron stared out the window. Charlie studied her pink sneakers.

  “You don’t have to think up something right away,” Sean said. “Tell us later if you think of anything, okay?”

  All three kids were eerily subdued, chastened. Even the baby was quiet and watchful, understanding nothing but sensitive to everyone’s mood. Sean did his best to explain what was going to happen, then said that he and Red had to go out and meet with the people who were going to plan the funeral. It was surreal, the idea of going to a funeral parlor and figuring out how to bury his brother. The urge to run was strong.

  “When will you be back?” asked Charlie.

  For once in his life, he wasn’t free to run away. He tamped down the urge. “Later tonight, after you’re asleep. Lily’s staying with you tonight.”

  “Lily,” said the baby, pointing with authority.

  “I’ll be staying here all week,” Lily said. “The class will have a substitute teacher, and you and Cameron can stay home from school.” She glanced at Cameron. “That is, if you want to.”

  “I don’t mind skipping a week of school,” he said.

  Carrying the baby, Lily went to the door with Red and Sean.

  “You call me if you need anything,” Sean said.

  “I will.”

  Red handed her his card. “Same here. And listen, is there anything you think Crystal would have wanted? You know, for the service.”

  Lily bit her lip. “She loves flowers. All kinds. And pink. Pink’s her favorite color. I’ll let you know about the music later.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Sean.

  As he walked away from the quiet house, Sean wished he could have stayed. He wished he could’ve done anything but the grim business of seeing to the funeral of these kids’ parents. He glanced back to see Lily standing at the door, both arms around the baby like a shield. She had a determined set to her chin, and the breeze plucked at her hair. Sean lifted his hand in a halfhearted wave. She didn’t wave back, but turned and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “I remember meeting her a time or two, back when Crystal and Derek were married,” Red said, noticing Sean’s look. “Don’t know her well, but I bet that pruny uptight attitude isn’t her. She’s hurting. Bad.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not the only one. She’s the least of my worries.”

  Red got in the rental car, which already smelled like his favorite cigars. “Think again, kid. Either get her on your side or prepare yourself for a fight.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe nothing. Now, about the Redwing tournament—”

  “It
’s out.”

  “I know it’s out. Everything’s out until we get through this.”

  Sean hated the thought that flashed through his head. Leave it to Derek to screw up my shot.

  chapter 19

  Saturday

  7:05 p.m.

  When Sean and Red finished their meeting with the funeral director, he came home and there was a changing of the guard. Lily promised she’d return shortly, then stepped out into the cool, damp night. For the first time in hours, she took a deep, unencumbered breath. She couldn’t believe how physically exhausted she felt. What had she done all day but pace and worry?

  As she drove home, a feeling of escape pervaded her senses. She was on her own once again, in charge of her own life. If she chose, she could drive right past the turnoff to her street and head to the next town, to Portland, to the airport.

  The fantasy flared like a brief fire, then was quickly doused by reality. Escape was not an option. She didn’t belong to herself anymore. She belonged to three orphaned children who were even more lost than she was.

  She let herself into the quiet, empty house. Everything was as she’d left it, Bull Durham in the DVD player, a map of Italy spread out on the coffee table, a glass of wine sitting nearby. Slowly and deliberately she folded the map shut.

  While she was throwing a few things in a bag, she was startled by the sound of the door opening and shutting. “Hello?” called a voice.

  “Mom.” Brushing her hands off on her pants, Lily met her mother in the living room. “What are you doing here?”

  Sharon Cutler Robinson offered a thin smile. “I came as soon as I heard.”

  Lily studied her for a moment. Her mother was an infrequent visitor, as distant and cool as the moon. At one time, she had been pretty, perhaps even beautiful; Lily knew from looking at old photographs. Over the years, her mother’s looks had taken on a brittle edge, hardened by unhappiness and a fierce dedication to her job as a product safety manager. Yet her eyes held sympathy, and Lily hugged her briefly, breathing in the familiar scent of Elizabeth Arden cologne.

  “Thanks for coming. Can I get you a cup of tea?”

  “Nothing, thank you. Your father sends his love, by the way. He’s in Saigon.” Terence Robinson was an executive with Nike who spent half his life overseas. Sharon removed her raincoat and hung it by the door. She wore a cloud-soft white angora sweater that should have looked too young on her, but didn’t. “I wanted to find out if you’re all right, and what’s happening with Crystal’s family.”

  Lily’s chest ached as she recounted the past twenty-four hours, yet she spoke in a strangely dispassionate voice. When she was around her mother, she always felt silly being emotional. What’s the point of crying? Mom used to say when she was a kid. It doesn’t change anything.

  What Lily had discovered then was just as true now. It hurt more to keep it in.

  “It’s terrible,” Sharon said when Lily described Sean’s early-morning discovery. “What were they doing all the way out at the coast? What were they thinking?”

  “We’ll never know.”

  “Something drove them out there and made them reckless,” Mom said. “I wonder what it was.”

  Troubling news about their daughter, thought Lily, unable to help herself. “I need to finish packing,” she said, and headed toward the bedroom. The guilt slithered through her chest. She couldn’t stop wondering if things would have turned out differently if she’d broken the news about Charlie with more compassion, or not at all. I want that hour back, she thought, breaking apart inside. I just want that hour back.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Crystal’s house.”

  “I thought you said their uncle was in charge over there.”

  “He is, but he’s a single guy, Mom. He just moved back from the Philippines or Malaysia, somewhere like that. I want to make sure I’m there for the kids.” She felt her mother watching as she folded jeans and socks, tucked in a bag of toiletries. “What?” she asked finally.

  “Be careful you don’t get too attached.”

  Lily stopped in the midst of zipping her suitcase. “What are you talking about?”

  “They belong to their uncle. It’s inevitable.”

  Lily resumed the zipping, but it snagged on a bit of fabric inside and refused to budge. “No one knows what will happen. They’re wards of the state. Temporarily, anyway. Crystal asked me to sign an affidavit agreeing to be the kids’ guardian if anything happened to both her and Derek. I never did sign anything because…well, why would we be in a rush? Now, if Derek’s will contains something that contradicts that—”

  “You’d better hope it does. Don’t fight their uncle on this, Lily. You can’t take on three kids. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone involved.” Her mother stepped forward. “Here, let me get that unstuck for you.” She pushed Lily’s hand aside and backed the zipper up, then pulled it smoothly back on track. “You have to regard the Holloways as you would other children you teach. They’re yours for a time and then you let them go.”

  “This is different. She’s—she was my best friend, Mom, my only close friend. I made a promise to her. That’s not something I can let go of.” Lily put a hand on the bedpost to steady herself, praying she wouldn’t lose it in front of her mother. “Did you know…all day long at odd moments, I’ve thought of Evan.” She instantly regretted saying the name of her brother, so many years gone and unremembered by Lily and her sister. Taking her mother’s hand, she said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up. It’s just that a loss so terrible…my mind is trying to draw comparisons.”

  Her mother took her hand back. “Aren’t things bad enough?” She pivoted away, turning her attention to the closet. Unlike the rest of the room, it was cluttered with shoes and bags, clothes crammed together on mismatched hangers. For some reason, Lily could never seem to keep her closet organized.

  Stupid of her to mention Evan, to remind her mother that she’d once had three children. Born two years after Lily and a year after Violet, Evan was the youngest child. He had died, an event they never spoke of but one that had defined her entire family for all the years that followed.

  “People don’t wear black so much anymore,” Sharon said, inspecting Lily’s clothes, none of which were black. “I think any color is fine so long as it’s respectful.”

  Cameron sat in his mom’s station wagon, which was parked in its usual spot in the driveway, as though his mom was inside talking on the phone and filing her nails. The car had just been delivered to the house, the battery recharged, all ready to be driven again. His mother had golf team driving duty this week. There was a tournament in Hood River, and she’d signed up to drive both ways. Of course. She always did, ever since he was in eighth grade.

  Hell, now he could quit the team altogether. It was what he’d been wanting to do, anyway—to quit, walk away, forget that whole part of his life. Yet even now that they were gone, he felt the weight of their expectations. Cameron’s golf was important to each of his parents, each for wildly different reasons.

  He wished both his parents hadn’t been so important to him. That’s what pissed him off, more than anything.

  The car smelled very faintly of stale cigarette smoke—his mom’s secret vice. In the ashtray was a half-smoked Virginia Slims, stubbed out and broken. The console was littered with spare change, rubber bands and a pad of Post-it notes with a shopping list in his mother’s slanty handwriting. It was weird, seeing something in her writing, and the list seemed so ordinary—Kleenex, baking soda, Tab, paper towels, spaghetti sauce.

  Where the hell was the Mennen deodorant? he wondered in annoyance. He’d told her he was out and needed more. What the hell was wrong with her?

  Maybe she’d left her cigarettes behind. He leaned over and looked in the glove box, but found only the insurance card and registration, maps and other junk. He checked under the visor, finding a pair of sunglasses, a book of matches and a crumpled pink receipt. He started to put i
t back when the heading caught his eye—Riverside Medical Laboratories. It was a verification of Ashley’s blood type.

  Cameron’s gut turned as cold and hard as a block of ice. Sean was appointed guardian because it was assumed he was their closest blood relative. What would happen to her if the truth came out, that he wasn’t related to Ashley at all? Cameron crumpled the report in his fist and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. Then he changed his mind and took it out again. He opened the car door and used a match to light the paper on fire, letting it drift to the ground and burn to a brown autumn leaf. For good measure, he ground it out with the heel of his shoe.

  Scowling, he extracted his wallet from the rear pocket of his jeans. He took out the learner’s permit he’d earned only days after turning fifteen and a half, and got back in the car. He was due to get his license in just a few weeks and wasn’t supposed to drive unsupervised until then, but what the hell. It’s not like his parents would worry themselves to death if he drove away.

  What were they doing, disappearing like that? Why? Didn’t they give a shit that people needed them? What could be so bad between them that they’d drive off together and wreck the car?

  He knew what. He knew. He wasn’t supposed to know but he did.

  “Screw it,” he said, putting his hand on the key in the ignition. But before he turned the key, something weird happened. His right hand froze like a block of ice, and needles of pain pulsed in his fingertips. His heart tried to hammer its way out of his chest and suddenly his face was bathed in sweat. His underarms, too, and since he was out of Mennen, there was no stopping it. He tried to breathe but couldn’t inhale deep enough to feed air to his lungs.

  A heart attack. He was having a freaking heart attack. He was going to die right here at the wheel of a car, thus carrying on the newest Holloway family tradition.

  He scrambled out of the car, desperate to escape. His jacket snagged on the emergency brake lever, holding him fast. He yanked at it, hearing the cloth tear as he pulled free. He staggered onto the driveway and moved away from the car.