Antonia's Choice (6 page)

“You don't need caffeine right now, honey,” she said as she planted the mug in front of me. “You need to drink that and tell me what's up with you.”

“I'm just a little distracted.” I pretended to read the tag.

“Distracted? Darlin, you are so far away from here I'm gonna need coordinates to find you. What is goin' on? Is it little Ben?”

“Partly.” I abandoned the tea bag and put both hands on my forehead.

“Don't you try to tell me you just have a headache,” Reggie said. “I've seen you swallow a handful of aspirin and keep goin for five more hours. No little ol' migraine is gonna bring you down.” She folded her arms, head wobbling from side to side. “I think you need to spill it, sugar.”

I did need to spill it, before it ran over onto the floor. And there wasn't anybody right here and right now that I trusted more than Reggie.

I looked up. Her round face was wreathed with concern.

“You all right, honey?” she said.

I shook my head. And then I told her.

Throughout my monologue, her eyes continually widened. By the time I wound down, she could barely blink. She sagged back into my client chair, hands on her cheeks.

“I should've brought myself a cup of that, too,” she said. “Oh, Toni—honey, I am so sorry. Are you 'bout heartbroken?”

“I'm madder than heck! How dare that scumbag drag my sister
down with him? She's not like me—I mean, Sid and the kids are her whole world. I hope she hasn't already had a nervous breakdown in my mother's living room.”

“Then she's been released?”

“I'm sure she has. I've been expecting a call all morning.”

Reggie turned to glare at my closed door, tapping her taupe-colored nails together. “You sure Ginny is getting all your messages to you? You know how she is.”

“How she
was.
She had my coffee ready this morning. She actually
smiled
at me when I gave her a stack of files. Either I'm just completely out of it, or she's had a personality transplant.”

“You know what it is.” Reggie leaned into the desk. “She knows you've switched to part-time here in the office, and she thinks that's her perfect chance to slide right into your job.” She cocked a finely lined eyebrow. “She took Jeffrey coffee this morning, too.”

I could feel my eyes narrowing. “Just let her try.”

“Yeah, but honey, that is not your biggest problem right now.” Reggie got up and padded her way behind my chair and put her hands on either side of my neck, massaging with her fingers. “All right now, darlin,” she said. “This is a huge thing for you and your family. You're gonna need some support, and I'm right here.”

“You're the only one who isn't going to write it up and put it in my personnel file.” I reached up quickly and grabbed one of her hands. “That isn't all of it, of course. You know I value your friendship.”

“Have ya'll found a church here yet?”

I shook my head. “I've been so busy getting settled—and with Ben acting up and all…”

“Huh,” Reggie said.

“What huh?”

“I just don't think you can ever
be
completely settled till you have a church to go to. You wanna come with us Sunday, you and Ben?”

I didn't have a chance to answer. There was a light tap on the door, and Ginny poked her head of disheveled hair in. I knew she spent hours in front of the mirror every day getting that look, but I was convinced she did it with an eggbeater. Today it was stylishly
lopsided, and she'd just done another color job. She was always on a search for the right shade for her tresses. She'd hit on a sort of mahogany hue this time. Given a darker shade of lipstick, she would have been a dead ringer for Grace Slick.

“Phone call for you, Toni,” she said, smiling as if she were greeting a client with a hefty portfolio.

I exchanged glances with Reggie, who put her hand to her mouth.

“It's your little boy's school,” Ginny said.

I could feel the mirth fading from my eyes as I snatched up my receiver. My jaw was already tightening.

“This is Toni Wells,” I said.

“Hi, Miz Wells, this is Debbie Walker, the nurse at Hillsboro School. I have little Ben in my office, and he's running a temp. I think he needs to go home.”

It was the first time they'd had to call me because Ben was ill. He was the only child I knew who had never had an antibiotic. He'd had a few colds and a case of the chicken pox in his five-year-old life, and that was it.

“I'll be right over,” I said.

As I hung up, I realized that both Ginny and Reggie were still there, watching me. Reggie looked anxious. Ginny just looked nosey.

I left instructions for Ginny to notify Jeffrey and accepted a peck on the cheek from Reggie before I took off. I wondered as I drove through a misty rain if Ben was running a fever because he was sick or because he'd gotten so upset before I dropped him off. Of course, that happened every day, but he'd never become ill over it before. “Curse you, Sidney Vyne,” I said to no one. “I already have enough on my plate without having to worry about your mess.”

Ben was curled up on a cot in a tiny room at the back of the school office, his cheeks bright red and his eyes glassy. When I leaned over him, I caught a sweet smell on his breath.

“He's up to 102,” Debbie Walker said at my elbow. “If you can't get it down with Children's Tylenol and a tepid bath, I'd call your pediatrician.”

“I don't have one yet,” I said. “I haven't even had a chance to call around.”

Debbie pursed her lips. I turned back to Ben.

“How ya doin', Pal?” I said.

“I'm sick.” His voice wavered.

“I know. I'm going to take you home and tuck you into your own bed. What do you want to eat?”

“I'm not hungry.”

Debbie put a hand on one sizeable hip. “Don't force food on him. Just a lot of fluids.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Come on, Pal. Let's go.”

I wanted to get out of there before Nurse Nightmare turned me in to the authorities for not knowing whether to starve a fever or feed it or whatever that folksy little saying was. Ben got to his feet and leaned precariously to the left like a sailboat ready to come about.

“I'll carry your backpack,” I said.

“He's going to need a lot of hugs today, aren't you, Ben?” Debbie said—a little pointedly, I thought.

Fortunately, Ben was too sick to go into a fit about not wanting anybody within five feet of him. I wasn't going to test what would happen if I actually did touch him at this point. I just thanked the nurse and hurried him out.

He fell asleep on the way home in the car, and the minute I got him to the couch in the study, which was as far as he wanted to go, he was out like a light again. I was rummaging through the medicine cabinet in the downstairs powder room for some Children's Tylenol when the phone rang. I nearly broke my neck trying to get to it before it woke him up.

It was Mama. Her voice wasn't hysterical the way it had been the night before, but it was so tight it sounded thin, like a rubber band being stretched beyond its capacity.

“They told me at your office that you were home with Ben,” she said. “How is he?”

“He has a fever and he's—”

“They won't release Bobbi.”

I sagged against the counter. “You're not serious.”

“Antonia, I would not be joking about something like this.” The rubber band was about to snap.

“What's the deal?”

“Roberta has been arraigned on charges of ‘child neglect and endangerment.'” Mama's voice broke. “Bobbi would never—”

“Whose children did she supposedly endanger?”

“Her own!”

“They think she actually knew about the studio?”

“They think she helped!”

“There is no way—what evidence do they have?”

“Pictures.”

“I don't understand—”

“I just don't even want to say it!”

“Say
what?”

“A picture of Techla, Toni. Naked. Posing.”

We were quiet. I found myself squeezing the granite edge of the counter.

“Dear God,” I said.

Mama went on, phrases coming to me in snatches. The twins missing their mother. Mama holding them most of the night. Emil sucking his thumb. Techla carrying the phone around, begging to be allowed to call Daddy and tell him she was sorry. I tried to grasp at something that made sense, and found nothing.

“I told her exactly how I felt about her lying about her mother,” Mama was saying.

“Who?” I said.

“Wyndham. She shut herself up in the guest room, and I haven't seen her since.”

The words came out as if she were ripping them from a page. I couldn't assemble them in my head. It was like trying to paste confetti together.

“All right, look,” I said. “Have you talked to Bobbi's lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“So what does he say? Has bail been set?”

“Toni, I don't
know!
It's all I can do to keep myself together for the twins. I didn't even know what questions to ask.” She let out
what could only be called a whimper. My classy, west-end-of-Richmond mother didn't make sounds like that.

“Do you want me to write up a list of questions to ask the attorney?” I said. “You know, better yet, you should talk to Chris.” I was moving onto firmer ground, and I felt my voice going solid. “Do you want me to call him for you? I mean, it's not like we're at each other's throats—”

“I want you to come up here, Toni,” Mama said. “I want you to pack Ben up and come back home and help us get through this. It's a family thing—I want you here.”

I could feel my neck stiffening.

“Mama, I can't just drop everything and come up there to the rescue. I'll do all I can from this end, but—”

“That doesn't help me with these children!”

“Okay, so send Emil down here. He and Ben love each other…” I stopped, shocked by the sound of my own voice. Where on
earth
had
that
come from?

Wherever it had originated, it was going no further, because Mama snapped. Her voice went out of control, like the two broken ends of that rubber band.

“Send Emil down there,” she said. “Break up the family even more—and make your sister feel like she
is
an unfit mother? What are you thinking?”

“Mama, that's all I can do right now. It's probably
more
than I can do. Now do you want me to call Chris or not?”

“No,” Mama said flatly. “No, you just take care of yourself, Toni. That's what you do best.” And she hung up.

I probably would have stood there pounding on the counter until my fist turned black and blue if Ben hadn't called out from the study. His voice, weak and wavy, cried, “Mommy! Make it stop! I don't want it—make it stop!”

By the time I got to the study, he was sitting up, the blanket wrapped around him, but I could tell he was still asleep. His eyes were glazed over, as if he were looking at a far different world than I was seeing, a world that was scaring him into deep, wrenching shudders.

I sat on the couch next to him and pulled him onto my lap. He
pressed himself against me, murmuring “Make it stop” into my chest until the shaking finally faded into fitful tremors. I held him until he was still again.

And then I held him some more. I held him, and I ached.

Drop everything and go up there,
I thought.
Can I do that? I can't do that.

When the phone rang again, I considered not answering it. As it was, I carried Ben with me to the desk and stood there while the answering machine picked up. At the beep, it was Reggie's voice. I'd never been so happy to hear two “honey's” in the same sentence. With Ben still sleeping against my chest, I juggled the receiver to my ear.

“Reggie! Don't hang up!” I said.

“Wasn't plannin' on it. How's Ben?”

“Sick,” I said. “I've never seen him this sick. I think he's hallucinating. You don't happen to have any Children's Tylenol, do you?”

She snickered. “A. J. and I usually use something a little stronger than that—but I can pick some up after work and bring it by.”

Suddenly the thought of someone else in the house with me struck me as the best idea anybody had had all day.

“Come,” I said. “But be forewarned—I need to talk. My mother called.”

“How are things?”

“Worse. Can you stay for supper?”

“I sure can. A. J.'s drivin' tonight. And, honey, I'll bring it, okay? Don't you worry about cookin'.”

I detected the smile in her voice. The thought of me at the stove was probably a little scary to Reggie. My jaw was softening already.

She arrived at five-thirty with a bag full of remedies the pharmacist had suggested—enough to medicate a small village of preschoolers—as well as a package of chicken breasts and all the fixings for hush puppies and corn bread. Ben was still asleep, and I finally tucked him back in on the couch when Reggie got there.

“Look how precious he is,” Reggie said. “Sweet little of mouth.”

I grunted. “It looks sweet now. Wait till he's feeling better.”

But as she went off to take the groceries to the kitchen, I knelt
down next to him and gingerly touched his hot cheek. Salty tears had left a trail, and I had the urge to kiss it away. I hadn't felt that kind of tenderness toward him since he'd started behaving as if I were the enemy—and that was even before Chris and I had split up.

Just a few weeks before, in fact. We'd tried to keep up a front for him and had swept even our controlled confrontations completely out of his earshot. It was one of the reasons I had let him spend some weekends at Bobbi's, so he wouldn't see us hashing things to rubble.