The Girl Who Stopped Swimming (14 page)

“Shut up.”

Laurel almost screamed it, so loud that Thalia obeyed, her eyes widening in surprise. The closest crickets and frogs obeyed, too, and the night went still.

“I’m sorry, Bug,” Thalia said. Her voice had lost all its fierce intensity. She came back to the gazebo’s opening and slid herself in behind the table again. “But that’s what I think. You need to ask Shelby. Directly. You say she’s not talking, but you aren’t asking. You don’t really want to know that the most likely cause of Shelby’s silence is guilt. Because she meant to run away from you, with Molly, and it all went bad.”

“Shut up,” Laurel said again, but her voice was small and lost, and she heard no conviction in it.

“You know I could well be right,” Thalia said. “But I do apologize. I didn’t mean to slap your face with it in a middle of a fight about C-3PO down there.”

Laurel half laughed, an odd, sad little bark of a sound. “You meant to say these awful, awful things in a nice way. I get it.”

“I didn’t mean to say them at all. I thought I’d let
you
tell you,” Thalia said. She tilted her head down toward the board, then lined her fingers up on one side of the planchette. “With this.”

Laurel took one hand out of her lap and set her fingers up in a row of four on the other side. The planchette was dead plastic now. The only energy she felt coming through it was Thalia’s.

“You think you’re haunted, Laurel?” Thalia asked. “The only ghost in this yard is the ghost of my sister. I packed the board, hoping that it would let me talk to you. I thought you would move it and tell yourself these things. But David pissed me off, and I said them myself. Oops. It’s not too late. You should try it. Ask yourself the hard questions, not just about Shelby. Ask the board. Is Laurel happy?”

The planchette jerked, carrying Laurel’s hand with it, moving swiftly and decisively to the black “No” in the corner.

“That was you,” Laurel said, tired and scared and irked all at the same time.

“Maybe,” Thalia said. She tried out her most engaging smile on Laurel. “But maybe that was your spirit horse guide. Or maybe it was you, trying to tell yourself a truth you already know but can’t admit.”

“Every time I’ve seen that planchette move, it was you, Thalia,” Laurel said. “What really happened in my basement?”

“David was making the big sex with a redhead?” Thalia gave Laurel a long assessing gaze and then said, her voice quieter now, “Nothing happened. That’s just it. Nothing ever happens here. He didn’t say one word to me. Like you for the last two years. Don’t tell me that’s not because of him.”

“It couldn’t be because of you, right?” Laurel said. She wanted to say more, but the heat was leaking out of her. She didn’t have the time or energy to settle thirteen-year-old arguments, not when Shelby’s safety was at stake. “I’ll talk to Shel, okay? I will. But not tomorrow. Let’s check these other things. To be sure. Stan Webelow and Bunny. If they didn’t do anything, then I’ll ask Shelby, like you said.”

Thalia nodded, but Laurel wasn’t done yet. “You can’t see into my marriage, Thalia. It’s closed to you. Stop knocking, even.” They each still had a hand resting on the dead plastic of the planchette. “Are we done?”

Thalia pulled her hand away. “I am. I’m going to bed.”

She scooted out from behind the table and walked out of the small ring of candlelight. The dark yard swallowed her. Just over the fence, in Mindy Coe’s yard, Laurel heard a clatter and a muffled curse. It sounded like Mindy’s son, Jeffrey, had stumbled into a piece of lawn furniture. A few seconds later, she heard the splash as he dove into his pool. The sounds of normalcy were right next door, but the wooden fence between that life and her own felt miles thick and unfathomably high.

The crickets had started up again without Laurel noticing; the night buzz was back in full force. Gold light spilled from the house as Thalia slipped inside, then it vanished as she closed the door behind her. Thalia was gone, Jeffrey was underwater, and the rest of the neighborhood was sleeping, but Laurel sensed that she was not alone.

She could feel the beginnings of that tug of energy again. Her fingers still rested on the planchette, and it was drawing something from her.

She knew how the game worked. She had seen Thalia play it with her friends. She should ask a question. Back in high school, Thalia’s friends had asked which boys liked them and who was a slut and who was still a virgin. The spirits always knew because Thalia knew, and Thalia ran the board.

But Thalia wasn’t here now.

Laurel pulled the planchette back to the middle, resting it in the plain space under the curved alphabet. She took a deep breath, and then she set her other hand on the opposite side.

She felt the connection close, like something clicking shut. The planchette came alive under her hands, waiting, but she didn’t know what to ask. She was too tired to formulate a proper question.

Finally, she said quietly, “That night when you died, Molly— I hope to God this is you. Tell me what I need to know about that night. Tell me what I need to know to protect Shelby.”

The planchette was moving before she’d said the last word. She wasn’t moving it. Her fingers rested lightly on it, and the felted pads of its feet skated over the board so quickly that she had to hurry to keep her hands from slipping off.

Six times it moved, to six letters, and then Laurel jerked away her hands.

“That’s not true,” she said.

The board sat dumb, the planchette dead again. She scooted out from behind the table and stood, then picked up the planchette. She dropped it onto the gazebo’s single wooden step, and then she stamped on it. Four times she brought her foot down, until the base was in shards, the needle lost, and the lens had skittered off into the grass. She picked up the board and methodically snapped it in half over her knee. She threw the pieces in the yard and then walked around the gazebo once, blowing out the candles. The ring of light got smaller and smaller, until she was almost in total darkness. The last candle she kept, picking it up by the cool bottom of its pottery base. She used it to light her way back to the house.

She would believe what Thalia had said before she believed what the planchette had spelled. It wasn’t possible or true, and she would never think on it again.

Six letters. She would go upstairs and lie down and close her eyes, and sleep would wipe them from her mind. She would wake up tomorrow innocent of them, unknowing. She could do that. God knew she’d seen Mother do it often enough.

She had asked what she needed to know about that night, to protect Shelby. She meant from Stan Webelow, or from an ugly truth about Bunny, or from Thalia, or even from herself. But this was closer to what that hateful detective had been angling after, pestering at Shelby. It could not be.

Shelby had not been the moving shadow. Shelby had not been out in the night with Molly when she died. Laurel would not let it be so, and she would not ever again think on or remember those six small letters that the planchette had given her.
What do I need to know to protect Shelby?
she had asked.

The planchette had spelled two words for her:

She saw.

CHAPTER 11

M
orning pressed against her closed eyelids, but even with her eyes shut, she could feel the absence of David. He must have already fled the Thalia-infested house for his office, but she wasn’t alone in her bed. A slight weight dented the mattress, and she smelled her sister’s gingery shampoo.

“Are you awake, Miss Possum?” Thalia asked.

“No,” Laurel answered, her voice grainy with sleep.

She cracked an eye and looked at the bedside clock. It was past ten-thirty. Not surprising. Last night she’d crept in beside David’s sleeping body and stared at the ceiling until the crickets had packed it in for the night. Still her eyes hadn’t closed, and after an airless silence, she’d heard the first cheerful twitters of the morning birds. She’d watched the way sunrise shifted the shadows in the room, trying to Cowslip the entire night away, but those two words lingered in her head like small obscenities.

She saw.

If they were true, if Shelby had seen, she would have yelled the house down. She would have waded in and pulled Molly out herself. How could Shelby see Molly in the pool, dead or dying, and slip back inside? Laurel could not fathom Shelby resetting the house alarm, cool as a reptile, then hiding herself in the long curtain or behind the low counter in the kitchen when Laurel had come screaming past. Not possible. So why couldn’t she forget those words?

“Where’s Shelby?” she asked.

“Off with Bet Clemmens,” Thalia said, sounding smug about it.

The depth of Laurel’s immediate relief shamed her. She rolled to face her sister, turning in place because there wasn’t much bed left that Thalia hadn’t draped a long, skinny limb across.

“What do you mean, off with Bet? The park?”

“Bug, I’m a genius,” Thalia said. The smugness was growing. “An evil genius? Perhaps. But we can’t choose our gifts. Did someone have a lunch date with Mother today?”

“Oh, crap,” Laurel said, her hand automatically reaching up to smooth her hair. “I can’t manage it.”

“You don’t have to. I told her you were sleeping the sleep of the mentally deficient. Or maybe I said ‘the emotionally devastated.’ No matter. I asked her if she and Daddy wouldn’t be so sweet as to take the girls to the mall, maybe go to Wendy’s for one of those delightful Asian salads; perhaps they might even spend the night. She was all over it, so I pressed a warm credit card—one of yours, by the way—into her hand and packed them off. Now I can vivisect the Bunny at my leisure.”

“You
are
an evil genius,” Laurel said in shocked admiration.

She’d meant to aim Thalia back at Stan Webelow today; if Stan were to blame, they could leave Molly’s damaged family alone. But now she was willing to give Thalia her head and let her unleash any kind of hell she chose. Laurel would tear Bunny open herself, right down the middle, and go digging in her insides, if that was what it took. She had a day’s reprieve, one day, to find out where blame should fall. The Dufresnes or Stan Webelow, she didn’t care, as long as the truth they uncovered wiped away those little words. When Shelby came home in the morning, Laurel didn’t want to look at her girl the way Detective Moreno had, didn’t want to pry at her, seeking Thalia’s theoretical unhappiness, or worse, a monstrous coldness at her center.

She spoke again to make herself stop thinking. “Lordy, Thalia, Mother didn’t even know Bet was still here.”

“I know,” Thalia said. She threw her hands over her head and arched her back, stretching herself like a long, lolling cat. “Shelby came in trailing Bet Clemmens like a pull toy. Mother positively gaped. It was as if I’d poured sour milk into her Froot Loops. Then she forced this ghastly, gracious smile. I knew she was about to pick up her spoon and choke down every freakin’ fruity, curdled bite.

“You know the weirdest thing? Beyond weird, but this is Mother. When she said she’d take the girls, I think she meant Shelby and Molly. She’s already managed to forget the kid died.”

Some of Thalia’s hair was draped across the pillow, tickling Laurel’s nose. She pushed it away. “You know we’ll both pay later.”

“Oh, yeah,” Thalia said, laughing. “Mother only lets DeLop exist at Christmas, and now I’ve walked her through a big steaming pile of it and sent her off with it stuck to her shoes.”

Laurel sat up and swung her legs down off the bed. “So we’re going to see Bunny today? At her house?”

Thalia didn’t answer immediately, and the pause stretched out so long that Laurel stood up and turned around, looking directly down at her sister. “Thalia?”

Thalia closed her eyes and took a deep breath in through her nose. “Why does your bedspread smell like lavender?” she asked.

“I put sachet in the batting. Quit smelling my bed and tell me what the plan is.”

“I’m the plan, Suzy Homemaker,” Thalia said.

“I don’t know what that means.” Laurel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my new blouse. Three suitcases, and you’re wearing my new blouse?”

“It’s a Bunny costume,” Thalia said. “With this blouse and your casserole and brownies for props, I bet I can get invited down the rabbit hole.”

“You mean
we
can get invited,” Laurel said. “
We,
Thalia.”

Thalia sat up, too, the laziness dropping out of her body. She was suddenly all business. “Not to regress to junior high, Buglet, but may I remind you that Bunny likes me best?”

That was true. Thalia had always been a big hit in Victorianna, mostly because Laurel had asked her to be.

When she and David had first moved in, the homeowners’ association had assigned Trish Deerbold and Mindy Coe to stop by with the traditional muffin basket. Laurel, freshly married, hadn’t started dressing David. It hadn’t yet occurred to her that he wouldn’t mind or even notice if she threw out most of his clothes and replaced them. That day he’d been wearing the big black shiny clodhoppers that Laurel called his grampa shoes and a frayed pair of khaki high-waters he’d probably had since high school. His hair had stood up in wild tufts. He’d wanted to carry in his computer equipment himself, but the movers wouldn’t let him on the truck. Something about insurance. He’d practically yanked himself baldheaded, watching them unload his components. The moment one of his boxes had cleared the ramp, he’d made the movers hand it over until he had them all piled up on the driveway. When Trish and Mindy had arrived, he’d been toting them down to his basement lair one by one. Laurel, nervous and slightly queasy, had to physically step in his path to get him to stop long enough to say hello. He’d hardly spoken three words, but it had been enough for them to hear New Jersey in his accent. Then he’d gone back to muttering and dragging boxes.

Laurel, pregnant, tired from the long move, had meant to say, “Those are for his job. He wants to move them himself,” but she’d accidentally said “hisself,” like Daddy did. She’d blushed and corrected herself.

Mindy had put a friendly hand on her arm. “Pregnancy brain! I remember those days. How far along are you?”

Trish Deerbold had leaned all her weight onto one hip and eased herself back a step, as if bad grammar might be catching. She couldn’t get away fast enough to tell her friends about the new neighbors, the Autistic Yankee and his wife, Illiterate Trash.

After, Laurel had been rolling the word “bitch” around in her mouth, readying to release it the moment Trish Deerbold was out of earshot.

David had spoken first, saying, “Nice neighbors. Do all the muffins have nuts?” with no irony.

So she’d swallowed it and then ended up crying, only for a minute, that night on the phone with her sister. Thalia, who already had plans to come over and see the new house, immediately wanted to escalate. “I’ll black out one of my front teeth and put up pigtails. I can mow your lawn in Daisy Dukes and high-heeled sandals. We’ll see how Trish the Dish likes that,” she’d said.

Laurel had scrubbed at her eyes with her free hand and made a noise halfway between a sob and a giggle. “I almost wish you would. But don’t. I think that other woman could become a real friend, and she’s right next door. Try to blend, okay? You can make people like you when you try.”

“Do you want me to make them like me? Or do you want to make me like them?” Thalia had asked, edgy, but Laurel had been too pregnant and too weepy to suss out double meanings and snipe back. She’d sniffled into the phone, and Thalia had at last said, “You win, Pitiful Pig, but only because you’re breeding. I’ll blend.”

Being Thalia, she’d perversely set out to dazzle the very woman who’d been unkind to Laurel. She’d gone to neighborhood bunko costumed in elegant sandals and a clingy knit dress that made her look like a length of dark ribbon. She’d stationed herself by Trish Deerbold’s elbow and tossed off sotto voce one-liners about every other woman in the room, cruel but accurate and blackly funny. Trish Deerbold and her coven had eaten Thalia up with spoons. Watching Thalia shine them on was like seeing a devious peacock peck and coo its way into the center of a smug flock of fat-breasted pigeons.

Barb Dufresne wasn’t part of what Thalia had dubbed the “Deerbold Bitch Triumvirate.” Barb wasn’t close to anyone, as far as Laurel knew, not unusual for a closet drinker. At neighborhood socials, Barb tended to take her cues from Trish’s set, orbiting them without ever truly being part of them, so she had eaten Thalia up with a spoon, too.

Now Laurel said, “Maybe she used to like you best, Thalia, but she hasn’t seen you in a couple of years.”

Thalia shook her head and said, “Do I think she’s going to take your chicken divan like a ticket and bare her scary soul for me to oogle? Probably not. But if you’re along, she’ll take the food, say thank you, and close the door. It will be yesterday all over again: Stan Webelow, the remix. This is my kind of thing, Bug, and no offense, but you suck at intrigue. Apparently, you didn’t spend a lick of time canoodling with the Ooh-ja, or you’d be too busy putting a divorce lawyer on retainer to get in my way. But if you didn’t learn a damn thing last night, learn it this morning. Go make PTA flyers or a pie, and let me handle this.”

“Don’t start with the David stuff again,” Laurel said. “That’s not going to distract me, and you are not going to see Barb without me. Period.”

Thalia got up on Laurel’s side, rising in front of her. She had over three inches on Laurel, but Laurel held her ground until Thalia said, “Fine. But I can’t wing it with you along. Get dressed, nice, and then you can take me out and feed me Mother’s rightful lunch. I’m picking the place. We’ll eat too many shrimps in butter sauce and plot it out. Every single word you say to Barb, I’ll script in advance. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Laurel said.

“But I’ll make a bet with you, Buglet. In the end, I’ll go see Bunny on my own. You won’t even try to stop me.”

She was still trying to stare Laurel down, but Laurel didn’t even quiver.

“Now you’re taking the sucker bet,” Laurel said. The words were back in her head again.
She saw.
Laurel was ruthless in the wake of them. “Maybe you don’t know everything I know.”

Thalia’s mouth turned down, and she said, “You are brave, little tin soldier. But you may not know everything I know, either.” She sounded faintly sorrowful, but then she seemed to shrug it off. When next she spoke, she was all business. “Get dressed. We leave in thirty minutes.”

Laurel took a shower so hasty it was more like a rinse, and scrambled into a sherbet-colored sundress with darker orange tulips cascading down the skirt. She threw on makeup while Thalia stood outside the bathroom door, pecking at it with her nails and alternately calling out “Bored!” and “Hungry!”

“That’s not actually helping me go faster,” Laurel yelled back.

By the time she came downstairs, Thalia had hooked Laurel’s spare keys out of the phone-desk drawer, and she led the way to Laurel’s Volvo and climbed in on the driver’s side without asking. Laurel had no idea where they were going, so she got in the other side and buckled up.

Thalia turned left out of the neighborhood, driving down past the bluffs. “You’re awfully quiet, Bug,” she said.

“And you’re heartless. You rushed me out so fast I didn’t even get coffee,” Laurel answered.

She didn’t feel like talking. She didn’t feel like lunch, either. She wanted only to make a plan and then execute it. Time was moving forward. Shelby would be home in the morning.

Thalia, for a wonder, actually let it go. She drove in silence until she pulled in to the parking lot of a place called Scampi’s. It was new, and Laurel hadn’t eaten there yet. It was housed inside a beige stucco building with a blue awning and a bulging dome for a roof. It looked like a Middle Eastern temple and seemed out of place on the edge of downtown Pensacola.

Laurel reached for the door handle, but Thalia put a hand on her leg, stopping her. Thalia looked strange, for Thalia. She had an expression on her face that Laurel didn’t recognize, her lips thinning and pressing slightly together, as if she were summing Laurel up.

Thalia said, “I’m not heartless.”

Laurel smiled and said, “I only meant I need caffeine.”

“Let’s skip this,” Thalia said. “I’ll drop you home and go see Barb myself.”

“Go to hell, Thalia,” Laurel said, her tone mild. “Coffee. Shrimps. Plotting. Barb. In that order.”

She got out of the car and walked across the lot, not bothering to see if Thalia was following. By the time she reached the front door, Thalia was beside her. The odd expression was gone, and Thalia opened the door for her with a flourish and a half-bow.

Inside, there was a modern bar off to their right, and ahead, an older woman with a sleek bun stood at a hostess stand. Laurel hardly glanced at them. She was staring up at the dome. The whole ceiling was a mosaic of the ocean floor, with shells and starfish and red crabs scuttling. Mermaids lounged down low, near the walls, and Triton himself coiled on a sea serpent’s tail in the center. On the deep blue walls, bright fish swam, shimmering and quick-looking. Laurel’s feet were planted on a sky-blue floor.

“Holy cats,” she whispered to Thalia.

The hostess was asking Thalia for the name on the reservation, but Thalia said to her, “Oh, I see the rest of our party.” She took Laurel’s elbow and marched her past the stand.