by Abby Drake
“Amanda,” Jonathan said, taking her by the elbow. “Calm down.”
It was sort of like telling a rabid raccoon to run along and bother someone else’s trash can. “I said, get—out—of—my—way.”
Well, of course, he didn’t, because Jonathan didn’t do anything she wanted anymore.
“Edward has gone to bed. Whatever you want can wait until morning.”
“No. It can’t.”
Jonathan waved Heather away and moved closer to Amanda, diverting her into the hall, as if he hoped it put them out of earshot from the others.
With her shoulders hunched, Amanda knew this might be a good time to confront her husband, to tell him she knew what he’d been doing late at night in the Village and with whom he’d been doing it. It might be a good time in terms of her on-the-surface rancor, but she was too focused on Edward and the latest injustice he’d employed, pretending to have cancer so he could shake them up. Again.
“He claims he’s dying,” she hissed. “Now get out of my way.”
Jonathan took a step back. “Wait a minute. You can’t announce your uncle is dying, then blow me off. I am your husband.”
Tempted though she was, she did not address the comment about him being blown off. Still, he’d offered an opening she couldn’t resist. “Is that what you are, Jonathan? My husband? Perhaps another time we should discuss your definition of that word. I, for one, wouldn’t think husbands engaged in back-waxing without first informing their wives. Or perhaps they’d rather inform their wives’ attorneys.”
He was so stunned that it was easy to push past him then, to march into the drawing room, past the remaining shards of family, and up to the entrance to the king’s room, which, of course, was locked.
She banged on the door that she had never passed through, never been allowed to enter, even when she’d been a girl. Edward’s domain had always been off limits, its secrets securely hidden from unauthorized eyes.
“Edward!” Amanda shouted. “Open the goddamn door!”
Edward did not come to the door, but Henry did, sneaking through the open slot like a mouse through a basement’s foundation.
“He’s sleeping,” Henry said. “Go away.”
She tried to insinuate herself around him, but he remained stalwart, which was pretty admirable because he was so thin and one good push would have sent him careening. “Henry,” she said, “get out of my way.”
He shook his head. His eyeballs bounced like the ping-pong sport he favored. “No admittance.”
“He can’t be asleep already.”
The next thing she knew, someone was at her elbow again. This time it was Babe. “Amanda-Belle,” Babe said, “let’s go for a walk before the sun sets. We’ll see Uncle Edward in the morning.”
Babe rattled her—she always had, the spoiled, perfect baby of the lot. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Amanda wailed. “Can’t you all just leave me alone?” She pulled her arm away from Babe and paraded from the drawing room, up the immense staircase, where she stomped down the hall to her bedroom and slammed the door with great affect in case anyone was listening.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into my wife,” Jonathan told Carleen after Amanda fled the drawing room.
From where she’d been sitting, Carleen had had an unobstructed view of Amanda’s tirade. “There’s no need to apologize. For one thing, I know my being here has upset her terribly. That, and not knowing what was going on with Edward.”
Jonathan put his face in his hands. “She wasn’t like this when she was young. She wasn’t so . . . angry.”
Carleen didn’t know how to tell Amanda’s husband that, indeed, Amanda-Belle always had been angry—angry that Ellie was older and, ergo, had more authority; angry that Carleen got away with behavior that was so unruly; angry that Babe was sweet, and Amanda was not. Yes, Amanda had been angry.
“You have a nice family,” Carleen said. “I’m sure she can’t be angry about that.”
“She’s angry at me all the time. I have no idea why. A minute ago she lashed out about me having my back waxed or something. Did she say anything to you about it?”
Back-waxing? Good Lord. Her daughters would have cried, Too much information. “Sorry,” Carleen said. “Amanda hasn’t said much to me since I’ve been here.”
“Right. I am ashamed of her for that.”
“Don’t be, Jonathan. I learned the hard way not to judge anyone else. I mean, we never really know what’s going on in their worlds, or in their minds, do we?” She hadn’t intended to criticize him or stick up for her sister. But Carleen had begun to realize how nice it was to have been sheltered from the family drama for so many years. She stood up. “I should see if Ellie can use my help with supper.”
She tapped her pocket to be sure she had her cell phone. Before going to the kitchen, she’d step outside and make a call. She missed Brian and the girls more than she’d ever thought she would; their normalcy was now blissfully inviting. Besides, the time had come to leave. Carleen decided that if she waited around and told her sisters the truth, it would solve nothing. It would only heighten the family-in-chaos and end up hurting them more.
Chapter Thirty-three
Babe could not sit and eat supper with Wes and her family and pretend everything was the same as it had been last night.
After failing to calm Amanda down, she’d gone outside alone to sit on the dock. Sunset on the lake had always been a favorite time for her, when she would sit there and watch the salmon-colored ribbons cloak the water like a soft evening quilt. She’d spent a lot of time on that dock during the three years after the abortion and her parents’ deaths, looking for comfort any way, anywhere she could find it. Maybe, too, she’d been looking for Ray, though his house had been rented and his family had not returned.
“Hey, sister,” Carleen called quietly now. “I came to say good-bye.”
Babe looked up at Carleen, who glowed in the rose-amber evening light. “Good-bye?”
“I’ve decided it’s in everyone’s best interest if I leave early in the morning. I don’t want to cause a scene—I know, how unusual for me—but I thought I should at least tell one person I’ve gone. I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’d pulled one of Uncle Edward’s stunts and was cloistered on Squirrel Island, hoping for attention.”
“Is that what he was doing? Hoping for attention?”
Carleen shrugged. “Aren’t we all?”
Babe dangled her feet into the water and made wide ripple circles with her toes. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Carleen laughed. “I’m sure you’d be the only one. Except maybe Ellie.”
“Ellie’s such a good person.”
“I know. She has all the admirable genetics.” Carleen sat down next to Babe. “Are you going to leave your husband for Ray Williams?”
“No. I’m going to get out of my marriage. It was a ruse, anyway. Wes seems like a nice guy, but . . .”
“But he’s too old for you?”
“For starters, yes. But did you know he found Edward and didn’t tell anyone? That was so wrong.”
“Yeah, that was kind of strange.”
“He did it for himself. To get on Edward’s good side.”
“Well,” Carleen said, “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, kid.”
“Do any of us ever know?”
“Ha! No, probably not.”
Babe kicked her feet again. “You won’t stay until after breakfast? For Edward’s family picture?”
“I didn’t bring anything white.”
“You are a bad girl, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely. Or maybe I somehow knew I still wouldn’t fit in.”
“Carleen, that’s not true. You have as much right to be in the picture as I do. Go into town. I’m sure Uncle Edward would let you use his credit card.”
“I don’t want anything from him.”
“Not your share of his fortune?”
“If that’s what I wanted, I would have come
a long time ago.” She stood up, leaned down, kissed the top of Babe’s head. “I called for a cab,” she said. “The driver will pick me up just after dawn. I’d leave tonight, but there are no more buses from New York to Amherst until tomorrow. Do me a favor, before you tell anyone, give me a head start?”
Babe bit her lip; surprising tears rose in her eyes. She scrambled to her feet and hugged Carleen. “I wish you’d stay.”
Carleen tightened the pink ribbon around her ponytail. She shook her head. “Sorry, kid. I’ll se ya’ at the movies.” With that she moved lightly up the hill toward the house, toward the life that had nothing to do with them.
And Babe felt a hollow ache deep in her heart, the kind she felt when someone died.
Supper was disjointed, to say the least. Attendance at the table was comprised of Amanda’s three children plus Shotgun-turned-Jarred, Amanda’s husband, Babe’s husband, and Henry, who’d emerged from the bedroom with the quiet announcement that Edward was resting comfortably, as if he’d had a complicated surgical procedure.
Amanda, Babe, and Carleen were in their respective rooms: Babe had claimed she was tired, Carleen had a headache, and Amanda was, well, Amanda.
Ellie passed the coleslaw. “So,” she said with as much steadiness as she could muster, “Heather? Boys? Do you have something white you can wear tomorrow?”
“We didn’t get the memo,” Chandler said.
“I have white shorts and a shirt with a silver glitter star on the front.” Heather cut off her brother. “I’m sure my mother’s right, though. It’s probably not appropriate.”
“And I’m sure it will be fine,” Ellie replied, not sure at all, but knowing that discussing clothing and pictures seemed easier than addressing the fact that her sisters were absent or wondering if Edward was pretending to have cancer or if Henry simply wanted them to think he did. “I have an idea, boys,” she quickly said. “Why don’t we go to the mall in Tarrytown? There must be at least one store where we can get you outfitted the way Uncle Edward wants.”
Then Ellie put down her fork and realized going to the mall would require driving. When was the last time she had driven?
She stared at the potato salad on her plate. Her heart began to gallop, her palms started to sweat. Then Amanda’s youngest was on his feet.
“Cool! Can we go now? Can we get fast food instead of this gross junk?”
Jonathan rubbed his neck. “Sorry, kids, but I didn’t come prepared for shopping.”
Ellie stood up. “Shopping’s on me!” she shouted, much more loudly than necessary. “White outfits coming up! My treat!” Her better judgment told her she was being crazy, that she couldn’t leave the grounds, let alone behind a wheel. Her other judgment said, What the hell, you’re going to leave this place anyway, aren’t you? Why not start right now?
“Race you to the Range Rover!” Ellie shouted and launched herself from the table before she could change her mind.
“Have fun,” Jonathan called after the mad dash of bodies from the drawing room. “I’ll tell your mother you’ve gone AWOL.”
Heather and Shotgun decided to go, too, which left the men, minus Edward, to discuss whatever men discussed when women and children weren’t around. Ellie considered asking Heather or her boyfriend to drive, but then she thought, No . . . this is your chance to begin starting over.
Not that it was easy when she started the engine of the eighteen-year-old vehicle and engaged the transmission. Here goes, she thought, bracing herself as she backed down the driveway, wondering if her palpitations were visible to those whose lives she had taken into her unsteady hands, especially Chandler, who sat up front in the passenger seat gripping the dashboard as if he’d boarded a ride at Six Flags.
For some bizarre reason, his agitation calmed Ellie down.
“Something wrong?” she asked the boy as she shifted into first gear and turned onto the road that led to the center of Mount Kasteel. As she remembered, she could pick up the back road there and avoid the highway. No sense taking more chances than necessary.
“Mother once said you don’t drive.”
“Well, clearly Mother was incorrect.” She tried to smile as she spoke, not that he’d notice, with her eyes fixed on the asphalt and her knuckles a whiter shade of pale. She hoped he didn’t ask her to produce a driver’s license: she hadn’t had one since nineteen eighty-seven.
“Mother said you don’t drive because you’re a recluse. That you have issues.” He said it with the degree of snootiness Ellie would have expected from his mother.
“Shut up, Chandler,” Heather said from the backseat.
As much as Ellie wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, as Uncle Edward might have admonished, she tightened her grin and said, “It’s all right, Heather, we all have issues. But Chandler, for the record, I am not a recluse.”
He seemed to grapple with a response. Then, from the corner of her fixated eye, Ellie saw his smirk grow into a grin. “Really? When was the last time you came into Manhattan? Mother says you’re afraid of people. That’s why you won’t leave Uncle Edward. That’s why you stay at the lake. That you pretend it’s because he needs your help, but it’s really because you are scared.”
Ellie pursed her lips. “So that’s what she says about me. Well, that’s very interesting, because you wouldn’t believe the things I say about her.” Without conscious intention, she punched her foot down on the gas pedal and thrust the gearshift into second. The vehicle lurched, seat belts tightened, and, for once in Ellie’s life, she took real control.
“We’re finished,” Babe said to Wes when he finally went upstairs for the night. She had been lying on the bed without rehearsing her lines: she wanted them to come, unscripted, from her heart.
He laughed. “Very funny.” He tugged off his black T-shirt, revealing a belly rimmed by puckery skin that looked like rolled-up plastic wrap. Tossing the shirt onto the floor, he sagged onto the bed. “You can’t leave me now, darling. This will work. You’ll see.”
“No,” she said, “it won’t. You tried to exploit my family for the sake of publicity. You dragged me here under the ruse of getting to know my uncle and my sisters, when all you cared about was what was in it for you. And you took advantage of us by not telling us you’d found Edward, when you knew how worried everyone was.”
“I tried to get your sister to call the police.”
“She had reasons not to.”
“Babe,” he groaned. “Please. I’m tired from entertaining the masses today. And might I remind you that someone had to do it, seeing as how you disappeared? There is such an epidemic of that in this family.”
“I did not disappear. I was with my former lover.” She said that intentionally to hurt his feelings. She would not have done that before this afternoon, before his behavior had proved that his narcissism was greater than his compassion.
He turned onto his side and looked her straight in the eyes. He paused for a moment, as if assembling tears. “God knows, if I could make love to you, I would,” he murmured. “Still, I want you to be happy.”
She wondered if other women would believe the deliberate softening of Wes McCall’s eyes or the fake sincerity that knitted his words. He reached out to touch her. She got up off the bed.
“I mean it,” she said. “We’re through. It’s been fun, but it’s over.”
He closed his eyes. “Okay. Fine. You’re a brat, anyway. Just like your whiney sisters.”
She sucked in a deep breath and lifted her suitcase. Then she left the bedroom, descended the front staircase, and left Kamp Kasteel, heading toward the neighbor’s by way of the path. The full moon was rising, so there would be plenty of light.
Chapter Thirty-four
“We’re finished,” Amanda said to Jonathan as soon as he entered her bedroom, a strong scent of cigars and Edward’s favorite bourbon haloing his body.
“Excuse me?” he asked, because even in crisis, Jonathan was polite. Amanda had taught the boy from Vermont well.
>
“We’re done,” she said, swiveling in her chair, her gaze traveling out the window, where it was now growing dark and there was nothing to see. “Kaput,” she added, “as in divorce court.”
She sensed he must be loosening his tie and examining her for signs of a breakdown.
“Amanda,” he asked, “what are you talking about?”
Her eyes fell to her hands, which were perfectly folded in her lap, hardly creasing the Dior silk. “I know about your whore.”
“My what?”
“Your whore, Jonathan.” She kept her voice quiet, which surprised even her. It was almost as if now that she’d gotten this out, the rest of her problems—her damn debt and her place in society—no longer mattered. “I believe her name is Bibiana. Back-waxer to Broadway Stars.”
It would have been nice if Jonathan answered. It would have been nice if he tried to lie, to defend both his honor and hers by saying she was mistaken, that he loved her deeply and forever, that there was no other woman, never had been, never would be.
It would have been nice, but he stood there, mute.
Amanda sighed. “I suppose you’re going to say I brought it on myself, that I’d become so wrapped up in my charities and in the children that I no longer had time for you. I suppose you can think of a million ways to blame me, but you don’t even know the truth about my life. You don’t even know we are so far in debt that it is about to become very public and very humiliating. Not to mention that your little whore might be disappointed to learn her rich man is as dead broke as the men in her neighborhood in Queens.”
“Amanda,” he said, taking a step forward. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. “I am perfectly fine. Edward is telling people he’s going to die, and who knows, maybe he is. I should be delighted. My share of the estate should pay off our debts. But even if that happens, I’ve realized I’ll still have you, and you’ll still have your whore, and if nothing changes, nothing changes. So chances are it won’t be long before we’re back in the same hole, with no one left to bail us out.”