The police, however, treated the matter like the felony it was. They called in a description of the car, as well as what she remembered of her assailant, for intercity broadcast to the police departments of surrounding towns. They summoned detectives and also a photographer who immediately took Polaroids of her bruises, a process that Wendy found intensely embarrassing.
The detectives began dusting for prints. The doorknobs, the path of entry, even the handle on the toilet of the guest bath where he'd grabbed her, all got the treatment.
The detectives interrogated her even more thoroughly, eliciting details she didn't realize she knew. She remembered, in answer to one of their questions, that the man's arms were hairy, for one thing. The recollection of them wrapped around her body was suddenly so vivid that she had to excuse herself and go throw up. But she came back with new determination to have the evil blob thrown in hell: she answered the detectives' questions with as much grim detail as she could call up.
The detectives were sympathetic, which made her want to hug them. They asked her if she had family in the area, and when she answered, "Yes, lots of it," they advised her to call someone. Wendy thanked them politely and said she'd consider it.
As soon as the first police car left, Joshua's
father came over for news.
More humiliation. Wendy could see it—or maybe she just imagined it—in the young CEO's face as he stood in the front doorway: there goes the neighbor
h
ood. She told him that it was a case of mistaken identity—which in a weird way, it was—and that he very definitely should take
Tyler
to the Vineyard as planned.
"I'll be going to the station in the morning to look through mug shots," she explained. "I'm assuming you won't mention any of this to the kids. If by chance they do hear something, please just say that the burglar alarm malfunctioned and that's why the police came."
She could see that he wasn't happy about being drafted as a co-conspirator, but he said reluctantly, "Sure. Just let us know what else we can do."
Wendy thanked him profusely and then went back inside. The detectives were concerned about her. She promised them that she would put the alarm on. "Even if it's only to walk across the lane."
"At the least, lock the door," the older detective said. "It only takes a few seconds to gain access. Anywhere—even if the neighborhood's safe."
"I know; I've read my 'Dear Abby,' " she quipped, trying to sound strong.
The other detective said gently, "The trick is to
listen
to 'Dear Abby.' "
"I have Mace," she offered. "If I can figure out where I put it."
"That would be helpful."
The Mace was a gift from a cousin who now lived on a
farm and had views about cities
.
Wendy
had laughed when she opened the box. It seemed funny at the time.
At last the detectives packed up their equipment and left. Wendy activated the alarm, took off the jeans and top that she'd pulled on over her nightgown, and threw them all in the wash. With the bathroom door locked and her newly found Mace planted not far from her shampoo, she took a quick shower and then pulled back the covers again, this time of the master bed.
And there she lay, eyes wide open, starting at every sound, feeling alone and betrayed and abused. Tears rolled out, but she wiped them away. She was going to have to be stronger than that. This was no big deal, just one of Jim's deals. They never worked out. And Jim was not going to call. Ever. He was leaving her with heartaches all around and—for all she knew—no money, which she didn't want anyway because it was his. Or, soon, the assailant's. Either way
... not for her, she decided with loathing.
One thing had become clear in the murky pond that was her life. She understood, now, why she had been so doggedly determined to believe Jim and not Zack: she had been afraid that she was falling for Zack, and the guilt about it had made her stupid.
Guilt. What a useless, wasted emotion. She lay staring at the ceiling, fearing the past, dreading the future, searching for something that would help her to sleep.
I love you. Does that explain yesterday?
His words had been tolling back and forth through her head and heart all evening long. She had relished them, cherished them, felt sure that she was going to reciprocate them—but she still hadn't been convinced that they explained yesterday.
Now she thought that maybe they did.
****
When his cell phone rang, Zack was in his mother's rocking chair and watching over his sister, asleep on her couch and snug under her tablecloth quilt. Next to her was an assortment of luggage and paper shopping bags, all of them filled. Zina was ready to roll.
Zack had dropped into a catnap himself and wasn't as quick as he should have been in fishing his cell phone out of his front pocket. Zina stirred, then shifted position.
Zack glanced at the kitchen clock: it was three in the morning.
He flipped open the phone to stop the ring, and at the same time whispered, "Shh, shh, go back to sleep, Zee. It's nothing."
He murmured, "Yes?" to acknowledge the call and then stepped softly outside the house to hear what Wendy had to say.
She downplayed what had happened, but as he listened, Zack's soul seemed to crystallize in place. No alarm
... alone in the house
... with a thug twice her size
...
.
"Are you hurt?" he said, practically slurring over the words with concern.
"Mostly my pride," she said ruefully. "I locked the front door but not all the windows when I decided to walk out with Ty's book. He punched out a screen in the guest bathroom window—which, by the way, I never did lock before I went to bed, or he wouldn't have escaped without setting off the alarm. On the other hand," she added with a pained laugh, "did I really want him stuck in the house with me?"
"But are you
hurt!"
"I have a couple of bruises, thoroughly photographed. Mostly I'm shaken up. He was a little on the—"
He heard her voice break as she said, "—horrific side."
"I'll be there in an hour."
"No, Zack," she said, suddenly firm again. "I shouldn't have called, but you're the only one who knows everything. Such excitement; I guess I just had to share."
Her voice was wry and brave, but he wasn't convinced. In any case, it hardly mattered. He had to be there.
"And Zina?" she asked him, going straight to the heart of his dilemma. "How is she?"
"Better. We talked for hours. I definitely got through to her. She understands about Jim; the question is, for how long? I gave her an over-the-counter sleeping pill that I picked up on the way. She hasn't been sleeping, and I think at least part of her problem is exhaustion. You go too long without sleep, you become delusional."
"Like a sailor caught in a storm at sea," Wendy murmured.
She got it completely. It wasn't hard to understand why.
"Right now, she's out like a light," Zack explained. "I think what I'll do is leave a note with her landlady to call me if she sees any urgent movements over there. And I'll get in touch with the shelter, come morning. Zina has friends there; one of them will be wilting to stay with her until I figure out the next step."
There was a pause, and then Wendy said firmly, "I don't want you to come down here, Zack. It was good just to hear your voice. After you get things worked out with Zina
... that's soon enough."
"No. I love you."
"And you love your sister. Which is why I—"
Say it
,
he thought.
Please, just say it.
"Come when you can, Zack—but not before. I'm fine, now," she said softly, and she hung up.
Zack folded his phone and stood in the yard under a fading canopy of stars. It would be light soon, and he'd be able to implement his plan to surround his sister with people who cared for her enough to keep her safely inside.
But just for good measure, he decided to take her car keys with him.
It wouldn't have been so bad if it had happened on the way back, at least. But no-o-o
... the guy had to hit them before they were barely away from the house. Before they were on the highway, even. But that's because Joshua's mother was trying to be so careful that she came to a dead stop, instead of just merging into traffic the way people are supposed to do. Plus, the guy who smacked into them was talking on his cell phone, the cops said. He got an extra ticket for that, Joshua's mother said.
Good.
Joshua's mother was really shook up, even though the bumper was only a little smashed in. None of them even got hurt. (Actually,
Tyler
had twisted his finger because he was goofing off, trying to get the stuck coffee holder in the back unstuck—but no way was he going to tell anyone that.)
"You could have been killed, you could have been killed," she kept telling them all the way back home, and she was actually crying. And Joshua was, like, "Get a
grip,
Mother."
Tyler
was embarrassed for Josh.
His
mother would never have lost it like that.
So they drove back home, and Joshua's mother started calling everyone's moms to come pick them up. Joshua said his birthday was a total disaster, and
Tyler
definitely agreed. He was so bummed out.
They were all in Joshua's room, playing video games
but not really, when Joshua's mother came upstairs.
She said to
Tyler
, "I've called your mother, but she's still not home. Does she have a cell phone?"
Tyler
said yes, but then he couldn't remember the number. It was so embarrassing. "It's a brand-new one," he said, but of course, he still looked like an idiot.
And why couldn't he have his own cell? Just because he lost two of them was no reason. He was supposed to get a new one last week, but then there was all the commotion.
"Well, I'm sure she'll be home soon,"
Joshua's mother
said, but
Tyler
didn't think that she looked sure about anything. "In the meantime, you can just stay here with Josh."
But he didn't want to stay there! He wanted to go to
Martha's Vineyard
.
Tyler
had only been there once, so at least he could
say
he'd been there, but he had been only three years old. His mom had bought him a Black Dog T-shirt; at least, that's what she'd told him. What good was a Black Dog T-shirt if you were only three?
Two of the kids got picked up super-fast: Michael and Jeremy. That left Andrew; his father picked him up a little while later. As for
Tyler
, he would rather have gone home and read his Harry Potter if they weren't going to
Martha's Vineyard
.
It would have been rude, though, to read in front of Joshua, who hated reading, so
Tyler
went downstairs when Josh was in the bathroom and asked if he could wait for his mom at home.
"Absolutely not," Joshua's mother said. "You're staying here."
By then he felt like a prisoner. "Can we go outside, at least?"
"Yes, of course. Just don't you two go wandering off too far."
Josh was a real jock; he had a garage full of mountain bikes. He ran in to tell his mother that they were just going for a ride around the house.
"What did she say?"
Tyler
asked as he rolled out a really cool bike: fifteen speeds, and with a lower top tube that he could just straddle.
"Nothin'. She was on the phone."
They rode around the block a couple of times, and then around the next block, past Michael's house. He came out on his bike, and then they all three decided where to go next.
"Let's go past my house,"
Tyler
suggested. "I'll see if my mom's home yet."
Off they went.
Tyler
was happy to see, as they rounded the corner, that his mother's Taurus was parked in front of the house. She must have just gotten home.
"I should tell her what happened," he told his friends.
"She prob'ly knows by now; my mom prob'ly called her."
"Yeah, but just in case," he told Joshua.
"Well, we're not waiting. Meet us at the beach."
They had already decided that the town beach was technically not "too far." It's just that Josh's mom was a worrier after the accident.
Tyler
waved to his friends and leaned the bike against the stile fence, in a spot that didn't have roses. He was surprised to see that the front door was locked. He rang, but there was no answer. His key was at Joshua's in his backpack, so he went around to the side of the house; there was an extra key hidden there. More amazement: a yellow Civic—
the
yellow Civic; he remembered the plates—was parked practically under the arch that was cut through the ten-foot-tall hedge.