Lacy Eye (21 page)

“You're just saying that because I said you were fat,” Dawn said, then pounded up the stairs to her bedroom and slammed the door.

The sound made Josie run to her mother, and Iris drew her up in the best hug she could manage for a child wrapped in foam rubber. Then she turned to me. “How
could
you?”

“I was going to tell you when I came out last time,” I murmured. “But you were talking about moving to California, and that hurt.”

“But I asked you to come with us!”

“And now you know why I can't.”

“The idea of the two of you in this house together makes me physically sick.” Without even seeming to realize, Iris ate one of the peanut butter cups Josie had opened, then reached for another before swallowing the first. I looked away from the smears around her mouth as she spoke. “It's not safe.”

“Of course it is. We're fine.” My voice trembled.

“Mom, I'm worried about you.”

“There's nothing to worry about.” I paused, hearing Dawn stomp out of her bedroom and into the upstairs bathroom. “It would probably be best if you take Josie and…” I trailed off before saying
leave
, but it was clear Iris got the message. For a moment, it looked as if she might cry, but then she allowed anger to fill that space. She scooped up Josie and muttered, “This isn't over,” as she carried her daughter out to the car.

Only a minute or two passed between their departure and the sound of Dawn clomping back downstairs. She had on a pair of pajamas Joe and I had given her one Christmas, years ago, when she was obsessed with the TV program
The X-Files
. She'd discovered the show when she was in middle school, and promptly began covering the walls of her room with posters related to aliens and the paranormal. “This is foolishness,” Joe said to me one night, when he'd tried to get Dawn's attention during a commercial and she shushed him. “Hanna, we can't let her start believing this stuff.”

“She's just having fun,” I told him. “Shouldn't we be glad she has something to think about, besides how unhappy she is about her eye?” This was only a few months after he'd originally said no to the surgery, so he gave in without too much argument. What I didn't tell Joe (because I knew he'd consider it silly) was that I remembered my own days as a
Star Trek
worshiper, walking around giving the Vulcan salute to everyone, especially my father when I wanted to annoy him. I practiced the salute so much back then that I still find my fingers separating into that formation sometimes, all these years later; my brain trauma may have taken away the ability to add numbers, but the Vulcan salute remains intact.

THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE
was printed across the front of Dawn's pajama top, and there was a small rip in the word
truth
. I expected her to say something about meeting her niece for the first time, but instead, when she plopped down next to me on the couch, she asked, “You don't think what Iris said is true, do you?”

I was startled she would bring it up so abruptly, when we had both been so careful to avoid talking about the attack in any kind of a direct way. “Of course not,” I told her, though as I recall it took everything in me not to look away from her as I said it. “What are you talking about? I know you had nothing to do with that night.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head a little impatiently, as if
that night
were of no interest to her. “I don't mean that. I mean what she said about my eye. It's not really going out again, is it?”

I hesitated without wanting to let her see it. Her eye was indeed
straying again; there was no doubt about it. But I saw that she needed me to tell her it was hardly noticeable, so I did. In my mind, I reasoned that she must know the answer—she looked in the mirror every day—but that for some reason, at that moment, she needed the comfort and relief of hearing from me that it wasn't so bad.

She pushed her hair away from her face, another old gesture that stirred a wave of nostalgia in me, and displayed the smile I hadn't seen in many years; probably I hadn't seen it, in fact, since she became a teenager. It was the smile I remembered most vividly from bath time when she was a child. Up until we rejected her bid for surgery before she began middle school, Dawn's favorite part of the day was after dinner and before bed, when she and I secluded ourselves in the bathroom the girls shared and spent an hour or more together, talking about things that were of no importance and, especially as she got older, about things that were. She was always careful to signal me when she wanted to bring up something more substantive than the sweet but relatively directionless chatter we often exchanged. “Can we have one of our discussions, Mom?” she'd ask, as I laid her pajamas on the bed while the bath water ran. When she was settled in the tub, she began talking, usually about her eyes.

“Why doesn't Daddy want me to get better?” she asked once, and I said, “Oh, honey, he does—it's just that he doesn't believe the operation is the best way to go about it.”

The smile came when she stepped out of the tub, into the towel I held open for her, and looked up at me to say, “You're my favorite mother.”

“I'm your
only
mother,” I'd say, rubbing her wet hair and thinking—for some reason I never figured out—that I shouldn't let her know how good her words made me feel. Looking back, I realize it was superstition: I was afraid that if I showed her how much her love meant to me, she'd decide she didn't want to give it anymore.

Sitting with my coffee the next morning, Dawn still asleep, I was wondering if it was too early to call and apologize to Iris when my own phone rang. It was Peter Cifforelli, telling me that Iris had contacted him to find out what the requirements would be for her to obtain a guardianship.

“Guardianship of who?” I asked, and when Peter didn't answer, I realized what he was saying. “Oh, my God! You can't be serious.”

“She's concerned. She told me what happened at your house last night.”

“What does she think that will accomplish?”

“I don't know. You'd have to ask her. Anyway, I told her you're not nearly far gone enough. I told her to call me when you take your clothes off at Price Chopper or stir your soup with the broom handle, that kind of thing.”

He spoke of it lightly to make me feel better, but I didn't laugh. I thanked him, hung up, and dialed Iris. I could tell she was eating something, and although I had no way of knowing, I assumed it was some of Josie's Halloween candy from the night before. “Peter just called me. What do you think you're doing, asking him a question like that?”

“Mom, calm down.” Of course, this only inflamed me further. “You're not making good decisions for yourself. Your focus needs to be on remembering what happened that night, and getting ready to testify.”

“I
told
you I'm going to!”

There was a pause on the other end before she swallowed. “Gail Nazarian called me. She told me about the cell phone they found on Rud Petty. If you don't look out for yourself, somebody else has to.”

“I don't need you to look out for me, Iris.” I felt tempted to tell her my suspicions about Emmett, but I knew it would only make her more certain that I wasn't in my right mind.

“I think you do.” Another wrapper got ripped open on the other end of the line. “Listen, do you want to come out here and stay with us for a while? Josie would love it. So would I. And you could even come to San Francisco with all of us for Thanksgiving.”

She had to know I would turn her down, and I felt sorry about the distress I heard in her voice. I told her I appreciated her concern, but that I was fine, and as I hung up I heard the sound of her exasperation. I knew I hadn't bought much time between now and whatever she would try next, but at least it was something.

My hands shaking, I rummaged through the junk drawer to find Gail Nazarian's phone number. It was seven thirty in the morning. “Don't you ever sleep?” I asked her when she picked up. Before she could answer, I said, “I don't want you calling my daughter again. She's off-limits to you.”

“You don't get to decide that,” she said.

“Look, I told you about Emmett Furth and the tattoo. I'm doing my best to be able to testify. So why are you making my life so difficult?”

“You won't do us any good if you're not available.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” But I knew what she was saying. “Nothing's going to happen to me.”

At that moment, Dawn stepped into the room, and the sight of her startled me so much that I hung up without saying anything further into the phone.

“Who was that so early?” she asked.

“Nobody. Iris,” I said, feeling flustered because I sensed she'd been listening on the stairs before appearing in the kitchen.

“It didn't sound like her.” Dawn went over to the cupboard and pulled out the Cap'n Crunch, which was all she would ever eat for breakfast despite my efforts to feed her something better.

“Who else would I be talking to at this hour?”

“I don't know.” She ate noisily, and I looked away from the mouthful of cereal and milk. “I hope you don't think you have to keep any secrets from me, Mommy. You know that, right?”

“I'm not keeping any secrets.” But my voice shook, and I knew it was giving me away.

I told her I had to be at work early, though that wasn't true, either. I did my best to ignore the strange, wide grin she gave me as I left the house, trying to figure out when I had begun feeling like a person who had something to hide.

I
t wasn't just the fact that Iris had sought guardianship information that upset me about our call. The mention of Thanks­giving triggered the dismay I'd felt with each of the past two Novembers, when the anniversary looming at the end of the month had caused a fresh spout of grief in me as soon as I felt autumn's chill.

The first year, I'd hoped that Iris and Archie would spend Thanksgiving with me, but the holiday coincided with a big family reunion on his side, and I could see how difficult the conflict was for Iris, so in the end I told her not to worry about it, I'd find something to do, I'd be fine. And I
was
fine, or as close to fine as I could be: I spent the day with my friend Trudie, from Tough Birds, and we didn't make a big deal about it, because I had no inclination to celebrate and because, since she was Brit­ish, the holiday meant nothing to her. We went to one movie in the late morning, ate turkey sandwiches at our favorite deli, then hit another movie in the afternoon. By evening, I had managed to distract myself from the anniversary, my eyes were glazed over from so much food and screen-gazing, and what I ended up being thankful for was the fact that it was then easy to fall asleep. The Thanksgiving after that, we'd done exactly the same thing.

This year, during Dawn's second week home, Trudie took me aside before group began and said she assumed I'd be spending the holiday with my daughter, but if that fell through, she'd be happy to do a movie marathon with me again. I thanked her and told her I probably would have plans, though Dawn and I hadn't even talked about the holiday. The truth was that I had allowed myself to put off thinking about it; I felt paralyzed by the approaching date, and by the memories I did have of the holiday three years before.

A month before the attack, Iris had told Joe and me that she'd be spending Thanksgiving with Archie's family in California. Though I felt disappointed, I knew it was only fair, because some of his relatives hadn't been able to make it to the wedding in the summer. The newlyweds would be guests of honor at a celebratory party out there.

A few days after Iris canceled, Dawn called to tell us she'd been invited to Nashville to meet Rud's parents. At first I felt bereft at the notion that it would only be Joe and me, mainly because it was
always
only Joe and me at the dinner table those days, and it would be hard to make it feel different from any other day.

But shortly after both our daughters notified us they wouldn't be there, Joe came home from work and handed me an envelope. Inside was a reservation confirmation for two nights—Thursday and Friday of Thanksgiving weekend—at a dog-friendly bed-and-breakfast in Vermont. “Oh,” I breathed, recognizing immediately that I could think of no better gift he might have made me at that moment. It was the way he could always surprise me, when I least expected to be surprised—here I'd been figuring that he couldn't have cared less what we did for Thanksgiving, and in the meantime he'd been thinking up something to make us both feel better about the prospect of being separated from our girls on the holiday.

But as it turned out, we never made it to the inn. On Monday of that week, Dawn called and asked if she and Rud could come to our house for the long weekend, after all; plans had fallen through, she said, with his parents in Tennessee. Though she didn't go into detail and seemed not to want me to guess, I hung up with the definite impression that the Petty family had disinvited Rud and his girlfriend guest from their Thanksgiving table. All Dawn murmured to me—nearly in a whisper, as if she didn't really want me to hear—was that in communicating about the visit, Rud and his father had “gotten their wires crossed.” At the trial, of course, I learned the truth, which was that Rud's father, Hal Petty—who was not in fact a cardiac surgeon, but a slaughterhouse supervisor—had just been notified by the Mascoma Savings Bank in Lebanon, New Hampshire, that his son had forged his signature on a loan application. Apparently, it had not been the first time. He told his son not to come home that week, and he threatened to call the police. Somehow Rud convinced him not to do this, but he (and, by extension, Dawn) did not have a place to go for the holiday.

When Joe heard that I had canceled our bed-and-breakfast reservation and told Dawn to bring Rud for the weekend, he walked to the window without saying anything, and I could tell he was angry. “I know I should have asked you first,” I said. “But you were in a meeting, and I didn't want to lose the deposit you put down.”

“It's not about the deposit, Hanna,” he said quietly.

“Then what? Aren't you glad Dawn's coming home?”

“Dawn is one thing. Of course I want to see her. But have you completely forgotten what happened at Iris's wedding? The poisoning of the dog?”

In fact, I
had
forgotten. Or maybe
forgotten
isn't the right word. But when he reminded me, I did experience the familiar sensation of
Oh, that's right
.

“We don't know that for sure,” I told him. “It could have been Emmett. I don't think we have any choice but to give Rud the benefit of the doubt.”

Joe let too long a silence pass between us before he said, “Well, you're going to have to be the nice one. I won't be able to fake it. And don't let him near the dog.”

Dawn and Rud were coming on Wednesday, and planned to stay until Saturday; Joe bought four tickets for a production of
Hamlet
in Schenectady on Friday night. When he told me this, I said, “
Hamlet
? Don't you think that's kind of a downer on a holiday?”

He shrugged. “It's a downer anytime.”

“You know what I mean,” I said, though I couldn't help smiling. “You really think they'll want to go?”

He shrugged again. “I don't really care if they want to go.
I
don't really want to go.” I looked at him, baffled, and waited; I knew enough after so many years that he'd tell me, in his own good time, what he meant. “The show is three hours long. That's three hours we don't have to talk to
him
.”

“Oh, Joe.” That it had come to this—his wanting to just get through the holiday, endure it, with as little discomfort at possible until our daughter and her boyfriend left—made me sadder than I would have been able to articulate. I know it made Joe sad, too, but not enough that he was willing to pretend he liked or trusted Rud, or enjoyed having him in our house.

Dawn and Rud arrived later on Wednesday than they'd told us, which I was beginning to identify as a pattern with them and, when she came home to live, with Dawn alone. Of course, their being late was fine with Joe. I wanted to hold dinner for them, but they hadn't called, and he saw no reason to let our food get cold if they couldn't be considerate enough to let us know they'd be delayed. We ate our share of the lasagna I'd made, and I put the pan back in the oven to keep it warm. Joe suggested watching a movie, but I said we'd only have to interrupt it when they arrived. When they hadn't come by eight o'clock, he persuaded me to pop in the DVD. I could only watch it with half my attention, because I kept expecting to hear a car pull in the driveway at any moment. Since they'd come for Iris's wedding during the summer in Dawn's Nova, I found myself wondering what kind of car Rud had. He only worked in a vet's office, I knew, but Dawn had also told us how well off his family was, so it occurred to me that maybe they had provided him with something expensive and sturdy—a Volvo or an SUV.

When they still hadn't arrived or called by eleven, Joe said he was going to bed. I didn't want them to come home to a sleeping house, but I had to admit that the fact that they hadn't let us know where they were, or when to expect them, was finally annoying me, too—assuming they hadn't had an accident, the prospect of which did worry me some even though it seemed less likely than mere thoughtlessness on their part (
on Rud's part
is how I said it to myself). It took me a while to fall asleep, and I was shocked when I woke up the next morning and realized I hadn't heard anyone come in. Joe was gone from the bed already, and when I pulled aside the curtain, I started when I saw Dawn's Nova parked in its usual place.

I'd slept later than usual. It was almost eight thirty when I went down, having hurriedly thrown on sweatpants and a flannel shirt and run a fast comb through my hair. Dawn and Rud sat at the table holding hands while Joe stood at the stove making eggs and bacon, throwing me a look that said,
It's about time
. Dawn stood to hug me, and I waited for Rud to do the same, but he merely stayed seated and held his face up to receive my kiss on his cheek. Joe watched this with an expression of blatant disbelief. Taking the turkey out of the fridge and beginning to get it ready for roasting, I asked them what time they'd gotten in.

“It was before midnight,” Rud said. “I remember thinking we had to make it by then, or the car might turn into a pumpkin.” He winked at me, but I pretended I didn't see it. I was on the verge of saying that it had to be later than that because I'd been awake until after twelve thirty, listening for them, but decided there was no point.

“I'm guessing you didn't choose that dog at the shelter because of his watchdog genes,” Rud added, as Joe set the eggs down in front of him. “Thanks, Mr. S. I love them runny like that.”

“It's a
she
,” Joe said, looking at me over Rud's head. I knew what he was thinking:
This guy works in a vet's office, he's met the dog before, what kind of a moron is he?
Along with:
My eggs are
not
runny.

Dawn, seeming to sense but not picking up on exactly what was passing between us, hurried to join the conversation. “It's just because she knows us that she didn't bark,” she told Rud. The truth was that it was because Abby knew
Dawn
that she hadn't barked; if Rud had tried to enter the house on his own, surely she would have let us know.

Or would she?
I found myself wondering. She hadn't been quite herself since the day she'd been poisoned. Under the table, Abby put her nose up as if she knew we were talking about her, and Dawn fed her a piece of bacon.

“Your car having trouble again, Rud?” I asked, reaching inside the turkey to dig out the giblets. I hadn't meant it to sound like an accusation, but Dawn took it as one even if Rud didn't.

“What's wrong with our using my car, Mom? Who says it always has to be the man who drives?”

I was surprised by the vehemence of her response. “Of course there's nothing wrong with it, honey. It's just that the Nova isn't the most reliable, that's all. And you're a student, while Rud works full time. So I thought his would probably be in better shape for a longer trip.”

They looked at each other. “Mine's kind of loud,” Rud said, as if that explained anything, and helped himself to the last three slices of bacon.

“Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!” Dawn sent her brightest countenance across the table. “Nobody's said it yet.” She looked up at me for help, and I set the giblets aside, washed my hands, and came to join the rest of them for breakfast.

“Yes. Happy Thanksgiving.” I kissed the top of her head. “I'm glad you guys could come after all. I mean, I'm sorry it didn't work out at your family's, Rud, but it means we get to have you both for the holiday.”

I knew I'd said the wrong thing even before I finished. Rud glared across the table at Dawn, and she said, “What? I didn't tell her anything!”

I rushed to say, “Oh, all I heard is that your parents didn't know you were coming, so they made other plans.” It wasn't exactly what Dawn had said to me on the phone earlier in the week, and it was the best I could come up with in the moment. Luckily, it seemed to be good enough, and Rud softened as he reached for Dawn's hand.

“Sorry, Kitten,” he told her. “Mr. and Mrs. S., thanks for having us on such short notice. I know it isn't easy to just throw together Thanksgiving dinner at the last minute.”

“We're glad you could come,” I assured him, trying to figure out if I'd imagined the fact that I'd heard him start to say “ain't” before he corrected it to “isn't.”

Maybe to make up for the fact that he sensed our misgivings about him, Rud was far more enthusiastic about everything that day than any of it warranted, including the meal. When Dawn asked if he wanted to watch the parade on TV with her, he acted as if it were an opportunity he'd been seeking all his life, settling down next to her on the couch and making a big deal out of every float and badly lip-synched musical act that went by. When Joe saw that I didn't need him as a bolster, he holed up in his study to prepare papers for the Marc Sedgwick embezzlement case, which was scheduled to be adjudicated in January. I would have liked to ask Dawn if she wanted to go for a long walk with me and Abby, but I knew she'd probably invite Rud along, and I felt uncomfortable enough around him, because of what Joe had said about the poison, that I took Abby out by myself as usual, giving her an extra circuit around the brook because she deserved something for the holiday, too.

We sat down to eat at two o'clock. In my own family we'd always said a Swedish grace before supper, but Joe wasn't religious, so we never brought up the girls that way. But as Joe and Dawn and I reached for dishes to begin passing, we saw that Rud had bowed his head, and then he asked permission to say the blessing. I nodded, not letting myself look at Joe. “Dear Lord, thank you for allowing us all to be together on this day we set aside for gratitude,” Rud intoned, and then I couldn't help sneaking a glance at Joe, who rolled his eyes at me. “Thank you for bringing Kitten into my life this year, and for the graciousness shown by the Schutt family in inviting me to their table. May we all properly appreciate what you have made possible in our lives, and humbly offer up our gifts to you, our Lord and Savior. Amen.” He paused an extra moment after speaking, as if saying a final private prayer.