The View from Prince Street (31 page)

When I arrived at the house, I saw that the
Sale Pending
sign had been removed and the house was again for sale. I thought about Samuel and Debra. Had she finally confessed her real secret to him? Had it been more than he could handle?”

I knocked on the door and heard the music inside. Charlie was barking. Parked on the street was Lisa's battered and muddy SUV. She was home. Why wasn't she answering?

No doubt she was angry and disappointed with me and willing to let me linger on the porch. I knocked again. Charlie barked louder, with impatience. When she didn't answer, I turned to leave but was halfway down the steps when I felt what seemed like a tug on my sleeve. There was no one there, but the sensation echoed through my body like an electric shock.

I glanced back up at the red lacquered door and the pineapple brass door knocker. The music throbbed inside the house.

Retracing my steps, I went to the planter by the front door and tipped it back, searching for the key that Amelia always left there. It remained stuck to the bottom of the pot. I dusted off the dirt and opened the front door. Charlie bounded up toward me, barking away.

Rubbing the dog, I could see he was upset. “Lisa?” I called. “It's Rae. Can we talk?”

The music pulsed, but she didn't answer. Lisa was annoyed and hurt. That was understandable. But she would have answered me if she were here.

Again, I had the sensation of hands on my back pushing me forward. Inside the hallway, I carefully closed the front door and with Charlie running ahead, I looked to my left and saw the empty wine bottle.

“Oh, Lisa. Tell me you didn't do this.” The floorboards creaked under my feet as I moved down the hallway, glancing first into the
parlor on my right and then the dining room on my left. Each was perfectly neat. Unless they were selling a home or expecting an honored guest, few kept their house so tidy. Most people kept the front rooms presentable, but these rooms had the feeling of having just been cleaned. Did she know the sale had fallen through?

Deeper into the house, I gripped the key, the tension in my gut building as if I expected to find something terrible locked in this house. I pictured Lisa drunk and lying on the floor. I pictured alcohol poisoning. Suicide.

The visions grew darker with each step, but I kept moving. Regardless of what I found, I had to talk to her. Help her.

In the kitchen, the strong scent of coffee greeted me. I saw the coffeemaker on the white marble countertop dripping out the last of a full pot of coffee. Charlie ran up the back staircase and I followed him to Lisa's bedroom, where I found her lying on the suite's bathroom floor. The dog ran to her and sat beside her.

I dropped my purse and went to her, turning her on her back. She was breathing.

Eyes closed, she brushed me away, her words an unintelligible mess. Charlie nudged her.

“That's okay, boy,” I said. “I've got this.” I sat her up and opened her eyelids. Her eyes tried to focus but rolled back instead. “Lisa, can you hear me?”

Her head drooped to the side. I rose and went to the sink, taking a decorative hand towel and running it under cold water. Wringing it out, I knelt in front of her and pressed the cold cloth to the back of her neck. She groaned. Tried to push my hand away.

“No,” I said with the force of my mother. “You need to wake up. If I can't get you up and moving soon, I'm calling 911, Lisa.”

She shook her head. “Go.”

I shifted the cloth to her forehead. “No.” Rising, I remoistened the cloth and again pressed it to the back of her neck and her face. I
repeated the process several times before her eyes opened and she looked at me. Her vision didn't seem to focus, but she was trying to clear her head.

“Time to get you on your feet,” I said.

Lisa shook her head.

I kicked off my heels and, with the dog watching closely, hooked my hands under her arms and braced my legs. I lifted her to her feet and propped her against a wall. She could barely support her own weight, but the fact that I had her on her feet was a step in the right direction.

“Go,” she said.

“Shut up.” I half carried, half dragged her to the small shower and turned on the cold water. She couldn't stand in the shower alone, so that meant I'd have to get in with her. I deserved this as much as she did.

Drawing in a breath, I pulled her into the shower.

She screamed and arched, but I gripped on to her and forced her to endure the cold stream of water hitting her squarely in her face.

Charlie barked and pawed at the shower entrance.

“Stop!” she gurgled.

Ignoring her and the dog, I held her steady under the cold stream of water. “When you can stand.”

“I can . . . stand.”

Loosening my grip, she immediately slipped, forcing me to catch her and haul her back up to the showerhead. “That's not standing, Lisa.”

“Go away.”

“Not until you're sober enough to tell me why you got pissed drunk.”

Eyes ringed with black mascara looked up at me. “I killed Jennifer.”

The frigid water made my teeth chatter as the cold seeped through my clothes and into my bones. “You were a stupid kid. It could have just as easily been the other way around. It's time to climb down off your cross.”

“It doesn't matter. She's dead. And I totally ruined your life.”

A month ago I might have agreed. But not now. To change the past
would wish away Michael, and I could never do that. “You didn't ruin my life. We both wallowed in our own self-pity and wasted our lives.”

“Please turn off that water.”

Her voice sounded a little more sober. “Can you stand?”

“Yes. No. But I'm freezing to death.”

“Join the club.” I turned on the warm water, allowing it to flow over us and chase away the chill. Neither of us spoke as we absorbed the heat.

“How much did you drink?”

“Doesn't matter.”

“It does if you've poisoned yourself.”

To prove she was improving, she pushed back her shoulders and leaned into the warm spray. “I'm not going to die. At least not today.”

“Good.”

I shut off the water and reached for a white fluffy towel hanging by the shower. Carefully, I dried her face and her hair. “Open your eyes.”

She looked at me, blue eyes ringed with redness.

“You took terrible.”

“So do you.”

“Can you get out of the shower?”

“Yes.” I held her arm as she stumbled out and wavered for a moment. “I'm going to be sick.”

Water dripping from my head, I helped her to the toilet and held her hair back. When she was finished, I handed her the damp towel and she pressed it to her lips.

“Doesn't get any prettier than this, Rae.”

“Not exactly the kind of moment one puts in a scrapbook.”

She sat down on the floor, propping her body against the tile as I reached for the other towel and dried off my own face and hair. Charlie came up and licked her face as she gently patted him on the head. Water dripped from my silk blouse, which was a total loss. My dark trousers, now waterlogged, drooped from my waist.

“Why'd you come, Rae?”

“To tell you it's time for us both to move on. It's time we set the burden down.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I've spent the last sixteen years in limbo, too afraid to live or breathe. Given my sister lost her life so young, it feels simply stupid to have wasted so many good years.”

“What about the boy? How is he?”

“Michael is fine. He's even proud of his bruises and his cast. Boys. I don't know why it's so exciting to him. He wanted to post a photo of his black eye online.”

“He's a kid. Enough said.” She closed her eyes. “I'm so glad he's okay.”

I squatted so that we were eye level. “I am, too. He's a great kid. And I wouldn't wish him away for the world.”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at me. “You wouldn't make a stupid kid. Maybe a little stiff, but definitely not stupid.”

A smile flickered.

She moistened her lips as if she might get sick again. “Margaret must be freaking out.”

“She was not impressed with our curator skills. But now she knows exactly what's in her bottles.”

“Better to know than to wonder.” She sniffed and shoved back a lock of wet hair. “Do you think we broke the curse?”

I sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and pushed back my hair. “I don't know if there ever was a curse.”

Lisa twisted the damp hem of her shirt. “You know, I've been hearing her for years.”

“Who?”

“Jennifer,” Lisa said. “She's always there. Always talking to me. Does it sound crazy?”

“Perhaps it wasn't her at all. Perhaps it was you, talking to yourself. Your subconscious.”

Lisa shook her head. “I thought so at first. But the more she talked to me, the more she sounded so real.” She closed her eyes. “She could push the right buttons.”

Faint laughter rumbled in my chest. “She was a very opinionated girl.”

“Bossy.”

For a long moment, we sat in silence, each allowing our memories of Jennifer to settle in a more peaceful place in our hearts.

Gently, Lisa rubbed the dog's head. “She stopped talking to me the moment that bottle broke.”

I stared at the patterned tile floor. “You told your secret, so there was no more reason to carry her or the guilt anymore. Makes perfect sense.”

“I sure could have used her last night. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wouldn't. Complete silence.”

“Alone with your own thoughts.”

“And look what it did for me. I haven't had a drink in twelve years, and I blew it in an instant.”

“You'll start again.”

“It's not that simple,” Lisa said. “I threw away twelve years.”

“You did no such thing. You had twelve sober years that carried you here to us. That should mean a lot to you and it doesn't mean you have to ruin the rest of your life.”

With a bitter grunt, Lisa said, “It's never that easy.”

I shook my head. “If it were, AA would be a vacation and we'd all want to join.”

“It's always there.”

“And it always will be. Accept it and start putting one foot in front of the other.”

Lisa closed her eyes. “I can't face all those people at AA. And Colin. God, what will he think? We were supposed to go out tonight.”

“If there's ever a group of people that understands where you are now, it's the AA people. And I have a feeling Colin is made of strong
stuff and isn't so easily scared off.” I pushed to my feet. “I'll make you some coffee, get some food into you, and then we'll go to a meeting together. Think of me as your wingman.”

“Right.” She pressed her hand to her mouth. Her coloring remained pale and her hands trembled but her gaze was clearer. “That's a good plan except for one thing.”“What's that?” I asked.

She rose and leaned over the toilet again.

“Sobriety looks pretty good right now, doesn't it, sister?”

Dearest Children,

The time is so near that the line between life and death is paper-thin and I hear the spirits calling me. Patrick rode home today and he kissed me on the cheek. He was injured, but he will survive.

I have no regrets in my life, save one. If I had the strength I would find the witch bottle I made so many years ago and call back my curse. But it is too late for that, so I am tucking all the letters inside this box so that they will survive. I want the world to know the truth—about me and that I am mother to both the Shire and McDonald lines.

Forever,

—F

Rae McDonald

S
ATURDAY
, S
EPTEMBER
3, 1:00
P.M.

T
he AA meeting was not easy for Lisa. I sat beside Charlie as she stood, puffy eyed, trying to slay a tremendous hangover. Her hands shook and she fought off tears.

“My name is Lisa and I'm an alcoholic.” The group welcomed her as she paused and checked her watch. “It's been six hours since my last drink.”

Several people leaned toward her, their eyes softening with an understanding only those in this group would understand.

“I've been carrying a secret for years,” she said. “It's weighed on my heart since day one. I thought I had it safely locked away and could keep it at bay. But yesterday, I released it.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” the leader prompted.

She twisted a tissue in her hands, pulling at the edges. “I bought five bottles of wine at the grocery store and drank two of them. I can't even tell you what kind of wine it was. Red, maybe.”

I could've confirmed they were red because I'd watched the burgundy liquid swirl down the kitchen drain as I ran the tap. For good
measure, I'd rinsed out the bottles and on the way here dropped them in a public trash can. There was no hint of it, not even a smell, left in the house. Lisa watched me do all this, but she'd been numb from guilt and remorse. That was why we were here now. To reset. To start again.

“How did it make you feel?” the leader asked.

“The first sip was amazing. I won't lie.”

“How long did
amazing
last?”

“A minute, maybe two.”

The leader sat back in his chair, his expression suggesting he already knew the answer before he asked. “What came after amazing?”

“Fear, shame, guilt. I quickly stopped tasting the wine.”

“That's common,” he said. “It's a knee-jerk reaction. The need overrides the pleasure of taste. How do you feel about yourself?”

Lisa twisted the tissue. “Weak. Stupid. Foolish.”

“And now that you're here?”

“A little calmer.” She reached in her purse and pulled out her key chain. She removed the twelve-year sobriety chip. “I can't keep this anymore. It's a reminder of my failure.”

“It's a token of what you once accomplished and what you'll have again.”

“I won't see it that way.” She traced her finger over the copper edges. “I can't keep it.”

I held out my hand. “Give it to me. When you hit your next twelve-year mark, I'll give it back to you.”

She looked up at me with watery eyes. “No one knows where they'll be then.”

“I know that I'll be giving this to you,” I said in a steady voice. “I might not be the warmest person, but we both know I won't forget the date or the promise.”

“Thanks, I think. But are you saying I won't remember?” Lisa asked.

“I'm confident you will.”

“There are other chips,” Lisa said.

“Give them all to me. I'll dole them out accordingly. If memory serves, you'll need to return here tomorrow for a twenty-four-hour token.”

She shook her head. “I never collected one of those the last time. It didn't seem like such a big deal at the time.”

The leader smiled. “Do you think it's a big deal now?”

She nodded. “It's huge.”

The leader rose and crossed the room, opening his arms to Lisa. She slowly stepped into his embrace. The other seven people in the room approached and wrapped arms around her. She was starting again. But then again, weren't we all?

•   •   •

In my car, Lisa laid her head back against the seat. Charlie sat in the center of the backseat, still keeping a watchful eye on her. “I feel like I've been hit by a beer truck.”

“Better to feel that than nothing.”

“I haven't even asked you how you're doing?”

“I'm not entirely sure,” I said. “There are moments when I feel like the steady, calm woman I was, and then I feel a rush of feelings. I want to laugh. I want to cry.”

“Sounds human.”

“I don't mind having the feelings, but I would like to control them a bit more.”

Lisa laughed. “Don't we all. Don't we all.”

“I see the house is back on the market.”

“The couple buying it was engaged, but they broke up. The real estate agent wanted to hold them to the contract, but I told her to release them and their deposit. The house needs someone who wants to live in it.”

“It should have no trouble selling.”

“No, it shouldn't. But I'll wait until I get the bid I need to take good care of Amelia as long as possible.”

“I thought she was set financially.”

“Depends on how long she lives,” Lisa said. “She's put a lot of money back into the house.”

I pulled into traffic, but instead of heading back toward Prince Street, I drove toward the Beltway.

“Where are we going?”

“To see Amelia.”

She twisted in her seat and faced me. “Why?”

“I found a letter in the family Bible. It's from Fiona to Mr. Smyth.”

“What does it say?”

“After she left Alexandria, she came back several years later with a new husband, new life, and wanted to see her daughter. She reminded the Smyths of their temporary arrangement and said she now wanted her daughter back.”

“Really?”

“The letter was opened but then resealed and marked in bold handwriting,
Return to Sender
.”

“The Smyths knew she wanted Amelia.”

“They knew and reminded her she had signed a legal agreement that they interpreted as nonnegotiable. She was ordered to stay away.”

“Shit.”

“Amelia needs to be told that Fiona loved her and wanted her back.”

“Agreed.” She laid her head back against the seat rest. “I forgot just how bad a hangover feels.”

“Too bad you can't bottle that feeling and get a taste of it before you get drunk.”

Eyes closed, she said, “Spoken like a nonalcoholic. When the power of the drink is so overwhelming, none of that matters. We're the consummate liars to the world and ourselves. ‘Don't worry, the hangover won't be so bad because you'll have only one drink. Don't worry. Just a sip.'”

“A world without logic must be maddening.”

“I have logic. I just need to hold on to it tightly and actually use it.”

“So are there any more secrets you have to share?” I asked.

A wry grin crossed her lips. “Well, there was this one time when you were fifteen and Jennifer and I short-sheeted your bed.”

“I knew that was you. I knew it.”

She shrugged.

“If that's the worst, then you should manage.”

“Let's hope.”

When we arrived at the nursing home, we checked in and I asked to see Amelia. The duty nurse grimaced. “Amelia's status is degrading rapidly.”

“Why didn't you call me?” Lisa asked.

She checked her computer screen. “According to these notes, we left several messages.”

A sigh shuddered from Lisa as she fished her phone from her purse. The battery was dead. “I forgot to charge it last night.”

“It doesn't matter,” I said. “There was nothing you could have done. Can we see Amelia now?”

“Of course. She's very peaceful.”

“Thanks,” Lisa said.

Amelia's room was bathed in shadows except for a single bedside lamp giving off a faint glow. Lisa sat in the chair beside the bed and laid her hands on Amelia's small, fragile hand. “Amelia, it's Lisa and Rae. We came to see you.”

She didn't respond, her breathing so slight I had to stare hard to see her chest move. The life was seeping from her body and soon would be gone. Charlie moved to the bed, sniffing her hair. Then his ears went back and he sat on the floor beside her.

I took the seat opposite Lisa and pulled the letter from my purse. “Lisa, you need to read this to Amelia.”

“Can she hear?”

“A couple of weeks ago I'd have said no, but I'm beginning to
believe anything is possible. Plus, this is the answer she wanted so badly all these years.”

Lisa unfolded the letter, the yellowed pages crinkling. Placing her hand back on Amelia's, she began to read.

“This needs to go in her baby book,” I said when she'd finished. “It's as much a part of her history as all her other memories.”

Amelia drew in a deep breath and then slowly released it. We sat quietly in the room for well over an hour as Amelia's breathing slowed to a rasp. The color drained from her face and a complete stillness came over her. I called the nurse just after seven, and she came and checked her vitals.

“It won't be long now,” she said.

Lisa and I each held one of Amelia's hands, and minutes before five o'clock she stopped breathing altogether. The doctor pronounced her dead, and after a few more minutes the care center escorted us into another room, where a counselor waited. There were papers to sign. Belongings to be gathered and boxed. In the end, Amelia had so few things with her. The quilt. The lamp on the bedside table.

There was little in this world to hold her, but she'd clung to life until Lisa had read the letter. She finally had the answer she'd sought since she was a small girl.

As we carried the box to my car, neither of us spoke. Even Charlie didn't make a sound. From his slow gait and body posture, he knew Amelia was gone.

“Do you think she heard us?” Lisa asked.

I opened the trunk, loaded the items inside, and shut it. “I'm sure she did.”

“I was so worried about money and what I'd do if she outlived it. I had no idea how I was going to take care of her. And now she's gone. Once the house is sold, I'll have no more ties to Alexandria.”

“That doesn't mean you have to leave. You can talk to Colin about
keeping the house. Surely, with market prices so high, there is equity in the house that you can draw upon without selling it.”

“Maybe. But I don't know if I want to live there.”

“Then live in the apartment Zeb is building on my land. It'll give you all the privacy you need.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“You're right, I don't. But I want to.” A half smile curved the edges of my lips. “Maybe I'll put my matchmaking skills to the test and see if I can find you the perfect mate.”

She laughed, her bloodshot eyes flickering with genuine humor. “Are you trying to chase me away?”

I slid behind the wheel and waited until she and Charlie were inside the car. “If I promise not to set you up, will you stay?”

“Maybe.” She picked an invisible thread from her jeans. “There's a lot I'd like to photograph here.”

“This place is pretty happening.”

She laughed. “Right.”