Brass Ring (46 page)

Yes, Claire thought. She’d heard that name before.

“A girl recently accused him of molesting her, but he got off because no one believed her story. I should have come forward to lend some support to her allegation, but I was a coward. Now though—” she let out a sigh. “I run programs for teenagers who were abused when they were younger, and now I’m going to testify on Capitol Hill to try to get funding for those programs. I’m going to come out in the open, for the first time, on all the crap I’ve carried around.”

“What if you’re wrong, though?” Claire asked, alarmed. “Or even if you’re right and all of it did happen to you, do you actually want to dredge it up? Maybe you need to put it behind you.” The old Claire was talking, she thought. How quickly she could regress to that comfortable state of denial.

She wasn’t surprised when her sister shook her head with disdain. “I’m through here,” Vanessa said, walking toward the door.

Claire followed her. “Where are you staying?” she asked. “How can I get in touch with you?”

“I’m at the Omni Shoreham. But I don’t see any point in us talking again. I’ve said all I want to say. I should have said it all years ago.” She stepped outside, then turned to face Claire. “You know, maybe I’m the lucky one after all,” she said. “At least I know who I am and what I did and didn’t do. At least I know I have nothing to feel guilty about or ashamed of.”

Vanessa didn’t give her a chance to respond. Claire watched her sister walk out to the street and get into a waiting cab parked at the curb. Then she locked up her apartment and got into her own car, pulling out onto the road. The temptation to drive to the Fishmonger was strong, but she was already far too late. She would call Randy the instant she got in. She’d ask him to meet her for lunch in the theater. And she wouldn’t think about Vanessa’s visit until she was safely with him.

She sped toward the foundation as though someone were chasing her, as though if she drove fast enough, she could leave the memories behind. But she couldn’t. They were with her, edging in. And when she looked in the sideview mirror, it was filled with green.

WELL, CLAIRE WAS NOT
off to a great start. Jon looked at his watch again and pursed his lips. She’d seemed so sincere about wanting to come back. Had she completely forgotten, or was she simply going to be abysmally late? And how much should he tolerate?

The door to his office suddenly burst open, and Claire stood in front of his desk in her gray skirt and a red sweater. Her face was pale, and she was trembling.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I need one more minute for a phone call.”

He set down his pen. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Fine. I’ll be back in a sec.” She turned to leave.

“Claire, wait.” He wheeled out from behind his desk. “What’s wrong?”

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, and he could see her debating between telling him and racing off to the phone. He felt as if they were both on the edge of a precipice. “What is it?” he asked.

She drew in a long breath. “I just spoke with Vanessa—my sister. She showed up at my apartment.” She pressed her hand over her mouth as though she’d shocked herself with her words, and with a jolt, Jon noticed that she had taken off her ring.

He motioned toward the sofa. “Sit down,” he said.

“No. I need to make a—”

“The phone can wait,” he said, wheeling toward the sofa himself. “Come here.”

She hesitated a moment before sitting down.

“Vanessa called the house for you a few days ago,” he said. “I

gave her your address. I thought she’d write to you, or call you here at the office. I didn’t know she’d show up. I’m sorry. Maybe I should have checked with you first, but—”

“No, that was fine.” She hugged her arms across her chest, shivering, hunching over as if her stomach hurt. “Oh, God,” she said, “I feel so sick.”

“Sweetheart.” Jon wheeled close to her, resting his hand on her knee, and although her body remained stiff and tremulous, she offered no resistance to his touch. “What did she say that’s got you this upset?” he asked.

She shook her head, eyes closed.

“Claire,” he said. “Tell me.”

“I’m afraid to talk about it,” she whispered.

Jon gnawed on his lip, thinking that if Randy were sitting this close to her, touching her, she would be more than willing to talk. And if he were Randy, he wouldn’t be afraid to hear what she had to say.

“Tell me, Claire,” he tried again.

With her eyes still squeezed shut, she began to talk, quickly, as though once she started she couldn’t get it out fast enough. She told him about Vanessa’s accusations, about how she had sent her sister out to the barn, where she was raped by the sheriff, Zed Patterson. Jon wasn’t certain if he was listening to Vanessa’s memories or Claire’s, but he listened hard. He needed to know exactly where she was in the process of discovering her past.

“She despises me,” Claire said when she’d finished giving him the account of Vanessa’s visit. “I could see it in her eyes. She’s hated me ever since that day.”

“Is it true, though?” he asked carefully. “Do you think that what she said happened to her actually did happen? Do you think you meant to set her up?”

A tremor ran through her body, and she leaned closer to him, clutching his hand in both of hers.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I was starting to remember some of it in the car on the way over here, but I feel like I’m trying to piece together a dream.” She looked at him directly. “I’ve been remembering more and more lately,” she said. It sounded like a confession.

“Yes.” He nodded. “That’s good.”

She pressed his hand hard between hers and stared into space. “I know that the sheriff—Zed—was helping my grandfather that summer. Not with the carving, of course, but with the mechanical stuff. Grandpa was sick, I think, and Zed really worked hard. Oh!” She let go of his hand to hold her fists to the sides of her head. “I just parroted Mellie,” she said. “Mellie used to say how hard Zed worked, wasn’t he a great worker, etcetera. Maybe there was something between them.”

He caught her hands again, holding them once more on her knee. Her fingers felt fragile beneath his. He hoped she would talk on and on and they could sit this way forever.

“What was he like, this Zed guy?” He wasn’t certain how far to push her. How far would Randy push? “Was there any reason for you or anyone else to suspect he’d be abusive?”

“Oh, do you know who he is, Jon?” she asked suddenly. “I didn’t realize this, but Vanessa said he’s Walter Patterson, the senator from Pennsylvania.”

Jon couldn’t mask the shock in his face. “The victims’ assistance guy?”

“I don’t know about—”

“Yes, you do. Remember? He was a big supporter when we were trying to get the Americans with Disabilities Act through?”

“Yes. God, I never realized…I don’t believe…He was a nice man, I thought. My memory’s vague, but I remember him giving me things. A doll, once—a Barbie—which, looking back, seems like kind of an odd gift from a man, but I thought it was great at the time. And he’d tell me I was pretty, but…I think I did feel a little uncomfortable around him. I can’t put a finger on it. I can’t remember. Maybe I was picking up on whatever was going on between him and Mellie. But I do remember the day Vanessa’s talking about. It started coming to me in the car driving over here.” She suddenly froze. “But I don’t want to think about it. I’m afraid to.” She made a sound, a small whimper, like a hurt animal. “Oh, Jon,” she said.

“What? Tell me.”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid to remember, because I think I really did betray her.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” he said. “From your perspective, not Vanessa’s.”

“I can’t.”

Jon shut his own eyes, thinking of the phone call she was so anxious to make. “What does Randy do or say that makes it easy for you to tell him these things?” he asked. The words burned his throat.

Claire hesitated before she answered. “I don’t know,” she said. “He listens well, I guess. He asks questions.” She glanced at him, a mild accusation in her eyes. “He doesn’t try to change the subject.”

“I’ll listen very well,” he said. “I promise.” He lifted his hand to brush her hair back from her cheek. “Go ahead. What do you remember?”

She looked out the window as if she could see her story taking shape in the trees and the pond. “It was the night before my father took Vanessa away,” she said. “Zed told me he could use my help in the barn very early the following morning. I can’t remember why I was uncomfortable about it, but I know I was afraid to go. Somehow, on some level, I must have known what he was really after. Although I was only ten. I mean, how did I know that? But I did.” She suddenly furrowed her brow. “Oh, Jon, maybe I’m making this up! Maybe Vanessa’s planted the seed, and now I—”

He shook his head. “Trust yourself, Claire. Go on. What happened?”

She drew in a trembling breath, turning her hand so that her fingers were locked with his, and he ran his thumb over the pale band of skin where her ring had been.

“I was so afraid of having to go out to the barn in the morning that I couldn’t get to sleep that night,” Claire said. “And sometime during the night I must have gotten the idea to send Vanessa. In the morning, just like she said, I woke her up and told her Zed had asked for her to come out and help him.” She leaned away to look at him. “Why did either of us have to go? Why didn’t I simply roll over and go back to sleep?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe he told me I’d get in trouble if I didn’t help him.”

“What happened after you told Vanessa to go?”

“She left, and I remember going downstairs and sitting at the breakfast table with Mellie and my grandparents while she was out in the barn. My grandfather was eating eggs. I remember that because the smell made me sick.” She looked at him. “I was very nervous, Jon. I remember being nervous.”

He nodded.

“My grandfather called me ‘Sunshine,’ and I couldn’t even smile at him. Then Mellie or someone asked me where Vanessa was and I told them she was out in the barn helping Sheriff Patterson. I think Mellie said something about what a good little girl Vanessa was, because I felt jealous. Oh!” She nearly smiled. “The honey!”

“The honey?”

“I’ve been having this flashback of a jar of honey and I think it’s from that morning. We were eating English muffins, and I was putting honey on mine, letting it dribble from the spoon into all the little holes, and my grandmother told me not to play with it. And that’s when Vanessa walked in the door.”

Jon was astonished at the workings of her memory. If he hadn’t known better, he would think this tapestry of scenes was nothing more than the creation of a fertile imagination.

“Mellie said, ‘Good morning, Angel,’ to Vanessa and offered her a muffin,” Claire continued, “but Vanessa said she wasn’t hungry. I couldn’t look at her, Jon.” She let go of his hand to press her fist to her mouth. “I just stared at my muffin, at the way the kitchen light was reflected in the little pools of honey.”

For a moment, she seemed lost. He waited quietly, finally prompting her. “Claire?”

“I didn’t like her,” she said softly. “I still don’t. She’s gorgeous. That’s a petty reason, I know, but she was so pushy and forceful and rude in my apartment.”

He nodded, remembering Vanessa’s cold voice on the phone. “Go back to that day at the farm,” he said. “What happened next?”

“I think she asked if she could take a nap. Mellie was worried that she was sick and said she’d be up to check on her in a while. I remember wanting to get out of the house so I wouldn’t have to see her or talk to her. I really remember this,” she said, as if surprised by the clarity of her thoughts. “I remember thinking I would do everything I could to avoid being alone with her that day.”

“Why?”

“Because I betrayed her. I sent her out to get hurt. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did.” She sat back on the couch, taking his hand with her, and he had to lean forward a little. “This is the first memory I’ve had where I can feel the emotion attached to it,” she said. “Usually I just remember things in a dry sort of way. This is harder. I don’t like it.”

He didn’t want her to leave the past. Not yet. Her story didn’t shock or even surprise him. He only wished it went further than it did. “So did you manage to avoid her all day?” he asked.

She nearly laughed. “I managed to avoid her for the rest of my life,” she said. “The day she went to the barn was the same day my father showed up and dragged her away.” She shook her head, suddenly smiling. “The drawing of the robin,” she said, cryptically. “I was coloring a picture of a robin when he showed up.” She squeezed Jon’s hand, leaning forward. “Things are starting to come together,” she said. “The flashbacks are falling into place. I bet this was it—this thing with Vanessa. This must be what I’ve been hiding from myself all these years.”

“Maybe,” he said, although he knew better.

She slipped her feet from her shoes and drew them up on the couch, covering her legs with her long gray skirt. Resting her head on her knees, she shut her eyes. “This sounds terrible,” she said, “but I remember being relieved when my father took her away. I was so afraid of talking to her or seeing her, that I was glad to see her go. With her gone, I could convince myself that nothing bad had happened. I could erase the whole memory. But I was thinking like a child—you know—I wanted that immediate satisfaction of having her gone. It never occurred to me that I might never see her again.”

“You were a child, Claire,” he said. He dared to lift his free hand to her head, to stroke her hair. Once, twice, three times. “You didn’t intentionally set her up to be abused.” He was playing her game, he thought. Denying any nasty intent, making the bad things go away with a few weak words of reassurance.

He could hear her breathing, but that was the only sound in the room. Her trembling had subsided, and he knew that soon she would pull her hand away.
Damn Randy
. Anytime he felt like it, Randy could touch her like this. He could run his fingers through her hair or feel the delicate weight of her hand in his. He could make love to her any time, any way she wanted it.