Garden of Lies (72 page)

The possibility of losing her mother hit her like a blow in the stomach. She couldn’t imagine

life without Mama, her gentleness, even Mama’s rose-colored view of the world, so pleasantly

sheltered and old-fashioned, so different from hers.

[444] Upstairs in the quiet of what had been her parents’ bedroom, Rachel heard only the

ticking of the carriage clock atop the highboy. Slowly, she looked around her. She remembered,

as a child, tiptoeing through this room, with its pastel carpet and polished antique furniture, the

delicate vases and Staffordshire dogs arranged on spindly tables. Holding herself in, not even

breathing too hard, for fear of breaking something. Now she saw how lovely it was. How it

reflected Mama, beautiful, serene, an island apart from the rest of the world.

Nothing bad can happen in this room,
she told herself.

Rachel gazed down at Sylvie, thin and pale under lace-trimmed Porthault sheets. Rachel had

found some Valium in the bathroom medicine cabinet, and given her one. She was almost asleep.

If only Mama weren’t so horribly white. In the soft pink light from the lamp on the nightstand,

Rachel could see the dark, bruised-looking circles under Sylvie’s closed eyelids.

She settled carefully on the edge of the bed, concentrating on the gentle rise and fall of her

mother’s chest.

Rachel thought with a pang of Alma Saucedo, the times she had sat there like this, keeping

vigil. Except that Alma, wasted and almost unrecognizable now, would never wake up.

Mama
is fine,
she told herself.
She’s just tired.
Decorating that house for Nikos, running all

over the place, looking for just the right piece of carpet, the best price for walnut floor tiles. Like

a child, caught up totally in the thrill of something new, not having any idea at all when to slow

down or quit.

Still, just to be on the safe side, she’d insist Mama call her own doctor in the morning. Go in

for a thorough checkup. Mama had probably been putting it off for years.

Suddenly a hand darted out from beneath the coverlet. Cold fingers convulsed about Rachel’s

wrist. Good God. Mama! What—

Sylvie’s eyes were open, fixed on her, wide and glazed as a sleepwalker’s.

Rachel’s heart bumped up into her throat.

“My daughter ... ,” Sylvie whispered, sounding odd, her eyes staring, unfocused. “Where is my

daughter?”

“I’m right here, Mama.” Rachel made her voice brisk, sensible, to disguise how panicked she

felt. Was Mama feeling disoriented, or was it something more?

[445] Then Mama seemed to right herself, her eyes blinking into focus. “Rachel. Yes.” She

smiled, a smile of such deep sadness it was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing to Rachel fully

the secret soul she had before only glimpsed in her mother. “I want you to know. I’ve never

regretted—” She broke off, her eyes drifting shut.

“Regretted what, Mama?”

There was a long silence, and Rachel thought—no, hoped—that Mama was finally asleep. She

had the strangest feeling, like the goosebumps that rose on the back of her neck when she was

walking down a dark street and heard footsteps behind her, that whatever Mama had been about

to tell her, she would be better off not hearing.

Then Sylvie’s eyes fluttered open.

“You,” she spoke softly but distinctly into the rose-shaded darkness. “I’ve never regretted

you.”

Rachel felt oddly relieved. Not a confession, after all, no more than she’d known all along.

“Oh, Mama, don’t you think I know that? I couldn’t ask for a more loving mother.”

The corners of Sylvie’s mouth appeared to turn up ever so slightly, a wisp of a smile. “Oh my

baby ...”

Then Sylvie let her eyes fall shut, and seemed to drift off. Moments later, Rachel heard the

sound of steady, even breathing. Her mother was asleep.

Rachel bent close, and kissed Mama’s cheek. Cool dry skin like silk, a sweet powdery scent.

She waited, vigilant, for several more minutes, until she was certain Mama was fast asleep.

But then, as Rachel was slowly rising to leave, she heard Sylvie mumble something in her

sleep. Rachel froze.

Then she quickly told herself,
I’m imagining what I just heard. I’m tired too. Tired of keeping

my head above water. Tired of David’s threats, and Brian’s distance. Of course I imagined it. Or

perhaps she was just muttering something about one of her flowers.

Why else would Mama call for Rose?

Rachel was lost. And she felt perfectly ridiculous—she, a born New Yorker, lost in Grand

Central! She glanced at her watch. Damn, she’d be late. ...

[446] She hurried back along the cavernous tunnel, which had proved to be yet another dead

end. Then, rounding a bend, she saw it—the Oyster Bar. Relief swept through her as she pushed

her way through the door.

Scanning the large, bustling dining area, she spotted someone who vaguely resembled Mason.

Hastily, she threaded her way past waiters whisking platters heaped with oysters and clams on the

half shell. Outside, the streets were baking, but down in this great room of gleaming wood and

brass, it was blissfully cool and pleasantly fishy-smelling, like a giant sea cave.

As she got closer, she found herself breaking into a grin. Yes, it
was
Mason, and look at him!

Gone, the ponytail and clunky Jesus sandals. His curly brown hair looked neatly trimmed, even if

his sideburns were on the long side. He was wearing a crisp-looking jacket and tie. Was this the

Legal Aid look, or had he gotten tired of being a hippie? It had been so long. They’d exchanged a

few cards at holiday times, and a postcard now and then, but it had to have been more than a

couple of years.

She caught Mason’s eye, and he waved.

Reaching him, she ducked down to kiss his cheek before scooting into the chair opposite him.

“Mason! God, it’s great to see you! Sorry I’m late. My cab got stuck behind a double-parked

moving van, so I walked the last six blocks, and then would you believe it? I got lost here in the

station.” They both laughed, while she settled back, scrutinizing his face. It was thinner now, tiny

lines radiating from the corners of his merry brown eyes. “Lord! It’s been ages. You look

wonderful. But what happened to all the hair?”

“A sacrifice to the great god of capitalism.” Mason heaved a mock sigh. “You know, back in

frontier times there really was a wall on Wall Street, built to keep the Indians out. Well, I’m back

inside the fort now, fighting off corporate raiders.”

“What happened to the downtrodden, and Justice?”

He shrugged, tugging his madras tie loose, leaning back in his chair. “Nothing dramatic ... I

just got real, as they say. Found out most of the people I was trying to help didn’t like me, and I

wasn’t too crazy about them either. One kid put it rather eloquently, I think—this nineteen-year-

old punk, second-time offender, up for breaking and entering—he said, pardon me, but these

were his exact [447] words, ‘You ain’t doin’ this for me, man, you doin’ it for yourself. So you

can go home at night and shit vanilla ice cream.’ ”

“Oh, Mason,
I
know.” Rachel couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s just like that for me sometimes ...

at the clinic.”

“But you’re sticking with it.” Mason raised his glass in a salute. “You always were stubborn as

hell. Say, how about a drink?”

“Sure, but it’s on me. Remember, I’m the one who invited you.” She ordered Campari and

soda. She felt more relaxed, better than she had in a while. “And your family ... how’s the

brood?”

“Oh, you should see Shan ... took to the burbs like a duck to water. She loves it—even the

overflowing septic tank doesn’t faze her. And the kids, well, they’re all over the place, having a

ball. Right now we have one of those inflatable plastic pools set up on the back lawn, and the

three of them splash around in it all day long. We got them a dog, a golden retriever named Drake

—and he loves the water too.”

Rachel smiled at the image of Mason, who used to dunk her in his parents’ pool, now a full-

blown adult, taking out the garbage, mowing the lawn, driving his kids to nursery school. And

she felt a pang of envy. Three kids ... it wasn’t fair. Couldn’t God give her just one?

Now Mason was dropping his eyes, staring into his glass. “Rachel, I heard ... about the

malpractice suit. Jesus, what a crummy break.”

Her Campari came, and she was glad to be distracted. She took her time squeezing the wedge

of lime. She sipped her drink. It tasted like mouthwash to her. Nothing tasted right these days,

even the lousy cigarettes she had begun smoking again. She heard trains rumbling below, and the

noise seemed to vibrate in her stomach.

She felt as if she were up on a tightrope, and any minute she might fall. The easiest thing right

now would be to tip over, unload on Mason. But, she vowed silently, she wasn’t going to do that.

Rachel shrugged. “OB has a higher rate of malpractice suits than any other specialty.”

“Damn, I wish I could do something to help you, Rache. But the firm I’m with now, we’re so

specialized, we don’t know from nothing about that kind of law. But I might be able to

recommend [448] someone, if you’re not satisfied with who you’ve got. Who is your attorney?”

“Rose Santini. With Stendahl and Cooper.”

“Santini, Santini, yeah, I read a little piece about her in the
Law Journal.
Name should be

Houdini, not Santini. You hear about this case of hers, with the Hassidim?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“She was defending a guy, a Hassid, accused of aggravated assault, so she brings in a whole

busload of these guys, black beards and black coats, and Santini asks the plaintiff to pick out her

client. So naturally he picks wrong, and Santini gets a dismissal.”

Rachel felt her spirits lift, and a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Not that her case would

be so easy. But she could imagine Rose pulling off some spectacular sleight of hand like that.

Rose was damn clever ... and she didn’t shrink from taking risks.

But Rose could destroy her, too, and so easily.

In some dark corner of her mind, a voice whispered,
And wouldn’t that be convenient for Rose

then? If she told Brian everything about David, wouldn’t he naturally turn to her, his oldest,

dearest friend, for advice, for comfort even? How perfect, how very cozy.

And yet somehow, Rachel trusted Rose. Working with her so closely, she saw what Brian must

have loved about her, her vulnerability beneath that fiery spiritedness, a warmth and gentleness.

“She is good,” Rachel said. “I like her.” All true ... in spite of Rachel’s fears, jealousy. “There

is one problem, though. She’s Brian’s ex-girlfriend. Small world, huh?”

Mason whistled, silently shaking his head. “That’s a kicker all right. You figure she’s still got

the hots for him?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged, feeling a little sick, and wishing they could change the subject.

“Well, I don’t know, if it was Shan’s ex, I think I’d want to fix it so he’d get sent to the

slammer.”

“I thought you two weren’t the possessive types.”

“Oh yeah, that was great, thinking we were so cool. Until a couple of months after we were

married I found out that Shan and Buzz had gone skinny-dipping out at the pond while I was

picking up a few things in town. She swore it was perfectly innocent, and I believed her, but that

didn’t stop me from seeing red.” He chuckled [449] at himself. “And now look at me, Mr.

Maplewood Drive. I’m beginning to remind myself more and more of the old man.”

“How are your folks? I heard they’re staying with you.”

“Just for a couple of weeks. Then it’s back to Palm Beach. They’re living there full time now.

They sold the house in Harrison after Pop retired. Now he puts in his eighteen holes every day,

and Mom spends her time playing bridge and organizing Hadassah benefits. They’re both brown

as Naugahyde sofas. Shan and I, we fly the kids down to see them as often as we can. Pop can’t

get over our Dylan ... a two-year-old who’s absolutely nuts for peas, spinach, brussels sprouts.

Anything Gold Star freezes, that kid eats.” Mason was shaking his head, but Rachel could see the

pride and love in his face. “How about your mom? How’s she getting along?”

“She’s fine. She’s having an affair.”

Mason’s eyebrows shot up. “No kidding? Well, good for her. She going to get serious with this

guy? Or is she just having a good time?”

“I don’t know. It seems pretty serious, but my mom hasn’t mentioned anything about marriage.

She’s different since Dad died. Not so nervous, and happier, too, I think. And you wouldn’t

believe how she’s taken charge over at the bank. My mama, the big boss! It’s just ... well, it takes

some getting used to. Mason, do you think it’s our parents, really, who’ve changed? Or is it us?

Have
we
changed?”

“Both, I think. But listen, here’s a scary thought. You and I are about the same ages now that

our folks were when you and I were kids dunking each other in the pool.”

“God, has it been that long?”

“Yeah, it has.” He gave a short laugh, and tossed back the rest of his drink. “You know, I even

like driving my station wagon.”

Rachel, feeling oddly tender, reached for his hand. She needed a friend, and he was the oldest