by Abby Drake
Or Mrs. McGuire, who arrived at each party on the arm of a different young man and whose husband no one seemed to know much about—like who he was, what he did for a living, or if he existed at all.
Or who could forget Lovely Lydia, as Uncle Edward called the twenty-something-year-old who always accompanied Jacob Hines, who was eighty-something if he were a day, or so Uncle Edward chuckled aloud whenever the couple arrived?
They were imposing characters, slices of Edward’s dramatic life. Amanda wondered if any of them were like Bibiana, the woman who might have made off with her husband’s heart.
She should ask him now while they were alone on this godforsaken lake with no one within shouting distance.
“I had hoped the nonsense with your sister was over and done with,” Jonathan said, interrupting her thoughts, circumventing her intent.
“Carleen? I will never forgive her.”
“Jesus, Amanda. People change.”
“I haven’t changed.”
He laughed. “You? You of all people have changed. You used to be more relaxed. Happier.”
She couldn’t very well tell him she used to have dreams about a husband who was someone and a life that was special. When she’d finally understood the dreams were not going to come true, yes, she’d lost happiness then. Why wouldn’t she? “When we are young we are naïve,” she said.
“You should give your sister a chance. It probably wasn’t easy for her to come here.”
Amanda stared at the water, trying to grasp what he had said. Of all people, Jonathan knew what the family had gone through—he’d been in Amanda’s life then, they’d been planning their wedding, they’d been choosing their crystal, he’d been parlaying her around Princeton as if he’d won the regatta. Didn’t he remember the pain Carleen had caused? Didn’t he remember the damn funeral?
“How quickly you forget,” she said.
“Be realistic, Amanda. Haven’t you ever done anything you regretted?”
She didn’t know if he was talking about Carleen or the slut from Brazil. She pursed her lips, stared into the lake water, and said, “I didn’t kill my parents. Carleen did.”
“God, Amanda. You are so intolerant and unforgiving.”
She whipped her head around. “Intolerant and unforgiving? Is that how you see me? You would rather I ignore it when people in my life—people I trust—betray me?” She was moving precariously close to announcing that she knew about his slut, close to grabbing one of the oars and whacking Jonathan over the head. Instead, she said, “Take me back to the house.”
“No. We’re going to find Edward.”
“Find him or don’t, for all I care. But first, take me to the house. I don’t want to continue this conversation.”
“Stop making so much of it.”
But Amanda shook her head to indicate those were her last words on the subject. If he didn’t comply, she would jump overboard and start swimming, which would not bode well for what was left of her pedi, though her sisters would no doubt be amused.
“They still hate me.” Carleen stood in Ellie’s bedroom, looking out the long window at the party preparations scurrying below. She had used Ellie’s bathroom and planned to wait there until Babe went back to her room. Thankfully, Carleen had tucked her cell phone into her robe pocket and had been able to get through to her husband.
“Maybe they need a little time,” Brian said.
“It’s been twenty years. I’m trying to be nice, but it isn’t working. I shouldn’t have come.” She meandered to Ellie’s bureau. Her eyes surveyed the top: an antique glass-globed lamp, a faux suede jewelry box, a white crocheted runner like the kind Mother had displayed on every side table in every room of their Poughkeepsie house.
“I should have come with you.”
“That wouldn’t have solved anything,” she said. She lightly touched the crocheted piece, then moved to the jewelry box. “They’d only hate me more. It doesn’t help that it looks as if I’m the only one with a normal life.”
“And a handsome husband?”
“Oh, yes. Definitely.” Lifting the lid, Carleen peered inside at a jumble of small, yet classic, earrings, two or three gold bracelets, several simple, yet sparkling, pins.
“More handsome than Wes McCall?”
“I’m sure, though I haven’t seen him yet. I haven’t seen my uncle yet, either.” She poked at the earrings, wondering if they were real or fake. So many of Carleen’s adornments were from QVC; she doubted that Ellie even watched television.
“Your uncle didn’t greet you last night?”
“No. I guess he’d gone to bed.” She scooped up a few items and studied the way the sunlight danced off the facets.
“You have a strange family.”
“Finally, you get it.”
That’s when the door opened and Ellie came into the room, and there stood Carleen, sifting the gold and silver and sparkling jewels through her fingers.
Chapter Eighteen
“Carleen?” Ellie didn’t ask what her sister was doing. It was pretty obvious.
The lid to the jewelry box slammed shut. Carleen moved to block it. “I’ll call you later,” she said into the phone, then clicked it off. “Ellie.”
“Yes,” Ellie replied, her gaze fixed on the dresser. “This is my room.”
“I know that.”
“Why are you here?”
“I came to use your bathroom.”
“There’s one in the hall,” Ellie said, as if Carleen might have forgotten.
“Babe was there.”
“And so you came into my room to . . . ?”
“To use your bathroom.”
Ellie pursed her lips. She wondered if she should ask to search Carleen’s pockets for her jewelry.
Carleen stepped forward. “Ellie,” she said, “I know what you must be thinking. But I was talking to my husband. I was waiting for Babe to finish so we wouldn’t bump into each other again. She still hates me, you know?”
After a long, slow blink, Ellie managed to shift her eyes from the dresser to Carleen.
“I was looking out the window. I walked over to your dresser. I was talking. I wasn’t paying attention. I only looked inside your jewelry box because I, oh, I don’t know, I needed to do something while I was on the phone, I guess. To fidget. You know. This weekend is so surreal to me.”
It could be true, Ellie supposed. But Carleen and innocent never had been two words that had gone well together, no matter what the jury had said. “In case you think otherwise,” Ellie said stiffly, “I have nothing of value. And certainly no jewelry of Mother’s. Everything that was hers is gone now. If you forgot.”
Carleen moved toward the door. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll leave you alone. I know you must want to get ready for the party.”
Ellie glared at her sister. “Edward is missing,” she said, stopping her sister. “I don’t need your shit, because Edward is missing and that’s more important to me than you or what you were doing.”
“What do you mean, ‘Edward is missing’?”
“He’s been gone since yesterday. We’ve sent out search parties, because, after all, we can’t call the police. You, of all people, know why. Now get out of my room and get out of my way.”
Carleen hesitated. “I’m sorry that Edward is missing, Ellie. But it isn’t my fault.”
Ellie glared a moment longer, then hissed, “Just get out of my sight!” Carleen did, and Ellie was too worn out to wonder if she’d ever attacked any of her sisters with so much venom in her heart. She closed her eyes and hung her head. Later, she supposed, she should check inside her jewelry box to see what was there and determine what wasn’t. Later, not now. She did not have the strength to do that right now.
There was only one thing for Carleen to do. Two, if you counted suicide, but she had never felt that desperate, not even back then.
She returned to her room and safely shut the door. She sat down on the old vanity table, where she’d once tu
cked Earl’s photo into the frame of the mirror. But this time, she was thinking about Edward, not Earl.
Edward is missing.
Carleen supposed that somehow her sisters would blame her for that, too.
She wanted to call Brian and ask him to come get her. But she could not ask him to step into this muck.
No, the only thing left for Carleen to do was call a cab—if she could find one in this place. She would make her way back to the city and wait for a bus back to Amherst. Yes, she decided, she needed to leave, the way she’d once done. It was not as if this time she’d end up alone, in a strange town, with only a suitcase, a few hundred dollars, a paid-up tuition, and instructions not to return.
She remembered those first days and weeks. The early morning gagging smell of donuts being baked next door to the brick boardinghouse in Back Bay. The rattle of the “T” as it shuttled her back and forth to classes amid somber faces of students and working people. The drone of sewing machines in the costume factory, second shift. The Cheetos and root beer she had for dinner because the vending machines offered few choices.
Boston had been her penance, the prison for not guilty of manslaughter.
She’d done her time. It would be different now. She had a home to go to now, a loving family, a long-haired spaniel named Puppy.
Yes, Carleen should leave.
Or there was a third choice. She could stay and do what she had planned, whether Uncle Edward surfaced or not.
Ellie stayed standing in the same position in her room for several minutes, trying to make her mind go blank, wishing she had come upstairs later, earlier, any time that would have erased the scene she’d just witnessed.
They were right, Amanda and Babe. They were right not to trust Carleen, to be angry that Edward had invited her. Ellie was such a fool! Such a pushover when it came to her family. They’d been together so few years; had it been wrong to hope for more?
Someone knocked on the door. Softly.
Was it Carleen? Come to return things? The gold bracelet Edward gave Ellie to comfort her the day her divorce became final? The brooch he said had been his mother’s—her grandmother’s? He’d said that because Ellie was the eldest, she should have it. It was so sad, after all, that none of the girls had anything of their mother’s, that everything had been destroyed in the fire. A total loss, she’d heard one of the firefighters say.
The knock came again, followed by a small whisper.
“Ellie?”
It was Babe’s whisper.
Ellie turned and slowly opened the door.
“Henry said you came upstairs to change. I’m all ready. Can I help? I don’t want to bother the caterers, but I need something to do.”
Ellie managed a small smile. She knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell Babe or Amanda about what had happened with Carleen. She must hold it together, for Uncle Edward’s sake. “You look so pretty,” Ellie said. Babe had on a light blue dress that hugged her curves and accentuated her eyes, their mother’s eyes. She’d done her hair up loosely and wore teardrop aquamarine earrings. “All you have to do is mingle with the guests and be the star that you are. I’m sure many of them are hoping you’ll be here.”
“Oh,” Babe said. “I hate that part. It’s easier to be in the spotlight when it’s among total strangers. I guess it’s too much to ask that Edward’s guests will be strangers?”
Ellie shook her head. “Most will remember us from when we were girls.”
“Which is why the party starts at noon and not eight o’clock.”
“They all have white hair. Some have none.”
Babe laughed, then closed her pretty blue eyes. “This is hard, isn’t it? All of us being together? Wondering what’s happened to Uncle Edward?”
“Yes, honey, it’s hard.”
Babe’s eyes flew open and her mouth widened into a grin. “Well, I’ve decided to stay. I figure you and Amanda must be hurting and worried, too. I’m sorry I haven’t come home before now. I only hope I get to see him. I hope he isn’t . . . you know.”
“He’s fine,” Ellie repeated, for the hundredth time.
Babe nodded and brushed a hand across her cheek. “Well, enough of that, anyway. There are other things to talk about. Like what are you going to wear today?”
Ellie supposed she should invite Babe in. If she did, she risked breaking down and telling her about Carleen and the jewelry box. And then she might tell her about Edward’s cancer. Babe had always been easy to talk to. “A simple beige sundress,” she quickly said. “With a little jacket.”
Babe wrinkled her nose. “Sounds boring.”
Ellie giggled. “It is! Just like me!” She didn’t say she’d ordered it from a catalog because the thought of shopping in stores usually triggered an onrush of panic.
Suddenly, Babe pushed past her and was in the room. “Well, as long as I’m here,” she said, “I won’t allow you to look boring! You’re my sister and I love you and I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”
She hadn’t. Ellie smiled.
Then Babe marched to the wardrobe (the big house had so few real closets) and pulled open the doors. A fast shuffle through the hangers only revealed how pathetic, and, yes, boring, Ellie’s clothes really were.
Babe groaned. “Uck. Okay, so it’s a little late for a trip to Rodeo Drive. Let me see the sundress.”
Ellie went into the bathroom, where she’d hung the dress on the back of the door after she’d ironed it Thursday. Thankfully, Carleen hadn’t stolen it. Perhaps she hadn’t found jewelry to match.
After checking the dress, Babe said, “Wait here.” She, of course, wouldn’t know that Ellie wouldn’t risk stepping into the hall, where Carleen surely lurked.
God, Ellie thought. I’m becoming as freaked out about her as my sisters!
She turned her thoughts to the dress and quietly agreed that it was, indeed, boring, with its modestly scooped neckline and square-cut bolero that had been embroidered in threads the same shade of beige. Understated would have been a compliment.
Babe was gone only a minute when she returned, holding up a delicate scarf in soft shades of seafoam, aqua, and sand, laced with twinkling silver and gold. “Throw away the jacket and wear this. It will brighten your face.” She looped the scarf around Ellie’s neck and stepped back to admire.
“Perfect,” she said, turning Ellie to face the mirror. “You look like Mother.”
Ellie smiled. “I always thought you were the one who looked like her the most.”
Babe shook her head. “You look just like her now. Standing here. Wasn’t she about your age when she died?”
Yes, Ellie thought, with a gentle memory. “It was a lifetime ago.”
They were quiet a moment, then Babe asked, “Hey, Ellie, do you know whatever happened to Ray Williams and his family? Like where they went after they left Lake Kasteel?”
Ellie supposed she should have anticipated the question sooner or later. But with everything else going on . . .” Oh, Babe,” she said. “We never socialize.” Avoiding the truth was so much easier right now. “Besides, sometimes it’s best to forget the past.”
Babe nodded, rearranged the scarf, and smiled again. “I know. It doesn’t matter. I was just wondering.”
Ellie forced a return smile and wondered if she could—should—bring herself to tell Babe the rest, that she knew Ray still lived there because his son, Kevin, was their newspaper delivery boy, or that Ray was the environmental manager of the lake association and sent Edward newsletters from time to time, not via e-mail but the old-fashioned, Mount Kasteel way, printed on a sheet of plain paper and tucked in the mailbox. Not to mention that—with all the to-do about Carleen coming and Uncle Edward going—Ellie forgot that Uncle Edward had been oddly insistent on including Ray’s name on the guest list. But Ray hadn’t replied, so Ellie assumed they were “safe.” Now, however, she remembered that Carleen hadn’t replied, either.
Chapter Nineteen
Amanda scrambled from the f
limsy boat without giving Jonathan the satisfaction of a good-bye. She marched onto Uncle Edward’s dock, stopped at the boathouse, and loudly knocked. “Open the door, Heather. Get out here this instant.” Perhaps there were some aspects of her life she still could control, to salvage a few pieces from the ruins.
There was no answer.
Inhaling a stiff, shoulder-raising breath, Amanda knocked again. “I’m coming in,” she barked and pushed open the door. Her vision quickly adjusted to the darkness and to the fact that the boathouse was empty. Amanda let out a low growl and stormed away.
She stalked up the hill, Cole Haan flats in hand, more concerned with damaging the shoes than her pedicure. She could always, after all, repair her toenails herself, unpleasant as that would be. But if she was left without fiscal resources, she was damned if she’d let her wardrobe or her shoes suffer. It would be humiliating enough once word got out that Jonathan had chosen a foreigner over her.
Darting through a swarm of people in white serving jackets, Amanda kept her head down, focused on her mission. Then she heard “Mother!” in her daughter’s voice.
Amanda slowed her pace.
“Did you find Uncle Edward?” Heather asked as she caught up to her.
Amanda did a double take at the young woman, who had, sometime in the last hour, transformed herself back to the Wellesley girl. She was dressed in a clean, pretty skirt and top, and her hair was brushed neatly. The boyfriend, however, was nowhere to be seen. Oh, wait. Was that him standing next to Heather? The handsome boy in khakis and a long-sleeved cotton shirt that covered hideous tattoos?
She looked back to her daughter and blinked. “Heather?” she asked, as if needing an introduction.
“Yes, Mother. Who did you expect?”
Amanda’s spine stiffened. “You look nice. Both of you.” She’d show Jonathan who was intolerant and who was not. “What are you doing?”
“Jarred helped the carnie people reconfigure the dunking booth. They were having trouble with the water.”