Edgewater (32 page)

24

THE PARTY FOR CERTAIN

GIGI HAD BEEN TAKEN STRAIGHT FROM THE POLICE
station to Idlewild General for psychiatric evaluation, where she was promptly admitted for treatment of a host of things—depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder. Mom had been dead for well over a decade, but suddenly it seemed that there was urgency to plan a funeral, and it was up to Susannah and me. There were so many choices: venue, flowers, and if anyone would speak. It made me think of Gigi and the details of her birthday party that she wouldn't have after all—I guess the only party you can be certain of is your own funeral.

Mom's funeral would be small, we decided. Just us, plus Brian and Lennox and the moms, for moral support. More people would increase the odds that someone would tip off the press to the details, and we wanted to keep the press away. Though they were everywhere. If you turned on the news, it
seemed as if Idlewild was the center of the universe. Members of the media, and regular people, too, had camped out in clusters at the bottom of the driveway to Edgewater, by the gates at the Compound, and at the Point. The roadside memorials had grown to gargantuan proportions. In the pictures I'd seen, I could barely make out the driveway to our house under the crush of flowers and candles and pictures and poems.

I was no stranger to stares and gossip, having been the girl in “that house” for so much of my life. But this was a whole different universe of notoriety. I was
famous
; my image was on television and all over the Internet—pictures lifted from my Facebook profile and candid shots from last year's Hillyer yearbook. People I would never know were getting magazines and newspapers delivered. They were reading about me, and saying my name out loud, in between bites of scrambled eggs and loads of laundry.

I'd been hiding out in Lennox's house for days. Allyson Sackler and Meeghan Kandell had been named emergency temporary guardians to Susannah and me, and it was a relief to be taken care of. There was plenty of toilet paper at their house; in fact, each bathroom was stocked with extra rolls, and you never saw the supply diminish, because the minute you put in the replacement roll, a replacement to the replacement appeared under the sink. The food in the fridge was always fresh. The electric bill had been paid, and every last light fixture worked. Susannah had wanted to stay back at Edgewater, which was crazy to me. Why choose Edgewater over a house of order? But of course Edgewater was where her menagerie was. So at night Susannah bunked with me in
the guest suite, and in the morning one of the moms would drive her through the thicket of onlookers so she could visit with all her creatures—including Brian.

The morning of Gigi's birthday, the morning of Mom's funeral, Allyson dropped Susannah at Edgewater early so she could feed the cats. She said she'd shower and get ready over there. Brian would bring her to the cemetery. I hadn't thought ahead to funeral clothes when I'd shoved my jeans, a couple of T-shirts, underwear, and bras into my oversize Goyard bag to head over to Lennox's house, and I didn't have anything to wear to Mom's service. But Lennox procured something from the back of Harper's closet—a gray skirt and matching top. I was glad it wasn't mine, so I wouldn't have to put it back and see it in my closet between a sundress and my barn jacket.

I'd never have to see it again.

When I walked into the kitchen, Allyson was back. She folded up the newspaper she'd been reading at the counter and stuck it into a drawer, presumably to hide it from me. A pointless victory, because there was a desktop computer in the guest room, and I'd already seen a hundred articles about Franklin Copeland's secret accident twelve years earlier, his affair with the woman in the backseat, and the child that relationship had produced: Susannah.

Of everything that had happened, that was the worst thing—that Susannah had to learn the truth of her parentage. I didn't know how it had gotten out. I hadn't told a soul, and through all of Gigi's police interviews, she hadn't mentioned it, which meant she hadn't known or maybe even suspected it. The news outlet that broke that part of the story cited “an
unnamed source close to the family.” Brian was on Susannah to get genetic testing done, to give proof that the rumor was true. It was just a cheek swab, he said. And then she'd be entitled to some of the Copeland inheritance. But Susannah said she didn't care about the money; she never had cared about such things. I'd certainly never get a cheek swab to show anyone I was anything but a hundred percent Susannah's sister, and I had fantasies of tracking the unnamed source down and throttling him.

“How about something to eat before we go?” Meeghan asked me. “Anything you want—a waffle, an omelet?”

I had a feeling if I'd said what I was really in the mood for was a hard-shelled lobster garnished with beluga caviar, she'd dive into the ocean herself and wouldn't come up for air until she'd found them.

“I'm not hungry,” I said.

“You've hardly been eating,” she said. “And I'm a mom, so I know your mom would want you to eat today. Some fruit? Cereal? Milk or no milk, it's up to you.”

“Leave her alone, Meegs,” Lennox said. I offered Lennox a grateful smile, but when I sat down next to her, she nudged her toast slathered with fig jam over toward me. I took the smallest of conciliatory bites, and then I had to chew for about a full minute to get it down.

The phone rang, and Allyson picked it up and checked the caller ID. “Assholes,” she said. She clicked the button to answer, then hung it straight back up. “God, those reporters. I turned the ringer on not two minutes ago, because Craig was supposed to be calling right back.”

“I'm sorry,” I told her.

“What are you apologizing for?”

“They wouldn't bother you if I wasn't staying here.”

“So we'll turn off the ringer again.” Meeghan shot Allyson a look. “It's no big deal.”

“The calls aren't all bad,” Lennox said. “Everyone from Hillyer has called to check in. I saved some of the messages on my cell. I can play them for you, if you'd like.”

I shook my head. Kids from Hillyer, people I'd never even been friends with, were quoted in the articles, too, commenting on everything from what classes I took to how I never invited my family to Visiting Day. Anything to be a part of the story.

“Has Charlie called?” I asked.

“No, I'm sorry. He hasn't.”

“I'm sure the entire Copeland family is thinking about you right now,” Meeghan said. “Especially Charlie. But he has his own grief to deal with, too. Yesterday must've been a particularly hard day for him.”

Yesterday had been Senator Copeland's funeral. Not the public spectacle Julia had been planning. Instead, a dozen family members sailed out a couple of miles on the Atlantic and scattered his ashes. I'd seen pictures on the Internet of that, too, captured by cameramen with telephoto lenses. But no other details were released.

“I don't want you to think for a second that you should be staying anywhere but here,” Allyson told me. She'd come up behind me and squeezed my shoulders. “But we should get going. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said. “I am.”

I SAT IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE MOMS' CAR, BESIDE
Lennox. There weren't any news vans outside the gates to Dream Hollow, but once we made the turn onto Lamb Avenue, there they were, lining both sides of the street.

“Don't run over anyone's toes,” Meeghan said as Allyson maneuvered slowly through the throng.

“I wouldn't mind if you did,” I said.

“Oh, Lorrie,” Allyson said, and I could tell by her voice that she was smiling. “I'd do almost anything to please you right now.”

She drove through the cemetery gates. I spotted Tim Blum's cruiser and Brian's red pickup beside it. He and Susannah got out of the truck and walked toward us. Susannah was in a slate-blue peasant dress. Her hair, which she'd cut herself after the fire, was brushed out and damp at the ends. Brian was in his good jeans, a button-down that looked like he'd rescued it from the bottom of a pile of laundry, and a skinny tie. He was holding Susannah's hand, and I remembered the feeling of Charlie's hand in mine. How strange that I'd lost my mother because of his father; even so, I wanted him with me when we finally buried her.

From a few yards away, I could hear the
click, click, click
of a couple dozen camera shutters, capturing us in staccato movements. We'd been found out, despite our best efforts to keep things private. Tim Blum stood in front of us, as if his one body could shield the six of us from the photographers.

We walked up the driveway together and entered the main building, which was filled with fresh-cut flowers. Like the flowers lining Break Run Road. It seemed a strange tradition, flowers
to honor those who'd died. All I could think about was how they'd be dead soon, too.

A man in a dark blue suit approached us. He introduced himself as the funeral director, Ed Seeley. I nodded; I'd spoken to him on the phone. He led us down a corridor to a room filled with plush couches in pastel colors. There were boxes of tissues on every surface. “I know this is hard,” Ed Seeley said. His mouth was set straight, but there was the warmth of a smile behind his eyes. “I'm going to do what I can to help you through this.”

“The girls appreciate that,” Meeghan said.

“Yes, thank you,” Susannah said.

“No thanks required. I'm just doing my job, and as you requested, we'll have a small graveside service. Your mother will be buried on the far side of the cemetery.”

There'd been no body to recover, as Tim Blum had said. Just the remnants of jewelry she'd been wearing and what were probably fillings from her teeth, or maybe Nigel's. Nigel's own father had died, it turned out, but his extended family had been notified. Across the ocean, perhaps he was being memorialized in some way. The moms had suggested that Susannah and I put the few things that remained in a casket so there'd be some part of Mom to visit.

“It's quite private,” Ed Seeley went on. “You can't see it from the road, and there are oak trees right there, so it gets nice shade.”

“That sounds peaceful,” Allyson said. She squeezed my hand. “I think your mom would've liked that.”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“And which one of you is speaking?” Ed Seeley asked.

“I am,” I said.

That had been another suggestion from the moms. They'd pulled me aside a couple days ago and told me in confidence that they'd written a similar request into their living wills about wanting Harper and Lennox to speak at their funerals one day. Their daughters didn't know about it; the moms didn't want to upset them with thoughts of their eventual death. But when you go through something sad, everyone is more inclined to tell you their own sad stories—even those that haven't happened yet.

I agreed that it was a good idea, and I wrote down funeral words to say:
Perhaps there is a predetermined time for each person's life, and we should be grateful for the time we had.

“I brought pictures,” Susannah told Ed Seeley. “Brian went through the house the other day and found a few. I thought we could display them.”

Brian's backpack was on the floor by his feet, and he leaned over to unzip it. I glanced around the room, at the Pepto-Bismol-colored carpeting and the matching floral couches. It was hard to believe this all was real; I felt distanced from myself, as if I was a girl in a movie. My gaze fell back on Brian, fumbling with his backpack, and I saw something red.

“What the hell?” I said. I stood up to peer closer. Without asking, I reached in for the journal.

“What do you think you're doing?” he said.

“This is my mother's diary.”

“Mom's diary?” Susannah asked. “It didn't burn in the fire?”

“I never went back to check,” I told her.

Now I was angry at myself—how could I have been so
careless? How could I have not checked to make sure that thing was burned to a crisp?

But that paled in comparison to the rage I felt for Brian. I glared at him. “What are you doing with this?”

“I'm not doing anything with it. I found it when I was looking for pictures. I thought you might want to read from it when you give your speech or something.”

“Bullshit,” I said.

“It's all right, Lorrie,” Meeghan said. She'd been sitting on a side chair, pink to match the carpet, but now she stood and gripped my shoulder.

“You're the one who told the press about Susannah. Aren't you, Brian? You're the source. No one else knew.”

“You knew about this before?” Susannah asked me. “You knew all along we were just half sisters?”

“I only found out the day of the fire,” I told her. “And I didn't tell you because it didn't matter. Nothing Mom did or wrote a dozen years ago does anything to change the fact that you're my sister—my whole sister.” I turned to Brian, shaking my head. “God, I knew you were awful. I just didn't know you were this awful.”

Susannah took a deep, shaky breath, and then another. We were all looking at her, even Ed Seeley. “I'm sure there's another explanation,” she said finally, quietly. “Brian would never do that.”

“He has the diary, Susannah.”

“Did you ever think that maybe it was your father?” Brian said. “He knew. Maybe it was his final revenge.”

I startled as if I'd been stung. I knew where my dad was now, because the press had tracked him down. But in the articles I'd read, he'd refused to give them a comment. Not that he was the model of a parental figure; still, I knew instinctively that he wasn't the source. “I could call the
Times
myself and ask for the name of their source in exchange for a quote,” I told Brian.