Unbreathed Memories (8 page)

“You’ll have to ask Daddy about that.”

“Where is your father?”

I nodded toward the basement door. “Playing pool with the kids.”

“I suspect Georgina—” She paused and swallowed. “—or Scott will come to collect them before long.”

“But if they don’t, the children can spend the night with us.” Paul had returned from the utility room and I hugged him from behind, my arms encircling his narrow waist. “As grandparents ourselves now, we need a refresher course in kid control.”

“Absolutely not!” My mother’s voice carried even over the sound of the dishwasher kicking in. “They’ll stay here with us. Look at this place!” She made a broad sweep with her arm. “If we didn’t plan to have everyone over, we wouldn’t have bought a house with so much space.”

As bad an idea as I thought this was, I found it hard to reverse the parent/child roles. I could never outrank my mother. Still thinking that she might be overwhelmed by the rambunctiousness of her grandchildren, I quickly added, “Do you need me to stay?”

Paul swiveled his head in my direction, a pout beginning to materialize on his lower lip. It morphed into a smile as Mother said, “No, we’ll be fine. Georgina needs a rest.”

If she only knew the half of it. I prayed Daddy would tell her everything tonight.

I touched her arm. “Are you sure?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“The boys are pretty lively.”

“It’s a
pleasure
to have them. We lived so far away for so long. I’ve missed watching them grow up.” She stood and pulled her sweater close around her. “I’ll just go look for the sheets.”

Paul stood in the doorway like a guardian angel, watching until my mother was out of sight. “She’s gone upstairs,” he said.

He took a step in my direction, then stopped short when I snapped, “Where’s the damn phone?” After holding it in with my mother, my father, and the kids, my nerves just fell apart.

Paul pointed to a beige telephone mounted on the beige wall between the utility room and the refrigerator, a puzzled look clouding his face. Of course he didn’t know anything about Georgina’s accusations. I punched the auto dial button marked “G&S.” “Let me check with Scott. See what he wants us to do,” I told Paul.

“Need me?” He raised a hopeful eyebrow.

I wanted to tell him all about it then, but shook my head and blew him a conciliatory kiss instead. “Later, love.”

“I’ll just take these down to the basement, then.” Paul gathered up the bags containing Mother’s purchases. “Hold that thought,” he said, and disappeared down the stairway.

After four exasperating rings, I got the answering machine and Georgina’s naturally breathy voice telling me untruthfully that nobody was home. “Scott. I know you’re there. Pick up.” The silence stretched into an endless minute while I breathed quietly into the
recording. “Pick up, dammit!” The line merely hissed and crackled.

I hung up, counted to ten, and dialed again. This time Scott answered on the first ring. “Sorry, Hannah. I was putting Georgina to bed.”

Almost unconsciously, I checked my watch. Six-thirty. Scott was putting his wife to bed like a child. “So, what happened with the police?”

“Oh, God! They questioned her for hours. But she hung in there! Your baby sister hung right in there, Hannah. A regular trouper.”

Yeah, sure
. I could see it now. Flashing those jade-green eyes, seeking Scott’s approval for every lying word. I wondered how well Georgina’s demure damsel-in-distress act had played with the businesslike Sergeant Williams.

Beating around the bush was never an option with my brother-in-law, so I got right to the point. “So, Scott, tell me this: What did Georgina say that made the police think they needed to talk to Daddy?”

“How—?”

Good. I’d caught him off guard
. “They showed up in Annapolis over an hour ago.”

Scott cleared his throat and mumbled something I didn’t understand.

“Scott? Are you there?”

“Sorry.” He sighed heavily. “Seems your father went to a therapy session with Georgina. He had a disagreement with the doctor.”

I was hoping Scott would be more forthcoming about Georgina’s interview than the police had been, so I wasn’t about to make it easy for him. “A disagreement? What about, for Christ’s sake?”

“Her treatment, I suppose. Or maybe her medication.”

Liar
, I thought. Aloud I asked, “What kind of treatment?”

I knew I’d touched a nerve when he snarled, “You know I can’t talk about that!”

“You mean it’s something you can talk about with the police—who the last time I noticed were complete strangers—rather than with your family?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“Then I ask you again, Scott. What kind of treatment?”

He paused before answering. “Diane was urging Georgina to confront her demons head-on.”

“Demons?”

“If Georgina is going to be pulled from the abyss, she has to face what happened to her.”

I hadn’t made it as far as the abyss. I was still stumbling over the demons. And then I made the awful leap. The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Daddy? A demon?”

“So. You know about it.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

“You think Daddy’s a demon?”

“I didn’t say that, Hannah. You did.”

I lost all patience with my brother-in-law. “That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard! How can you believe such crap?” I fumbled for the right words. “Daddy never touched us inappropriately. Never!”

“Well, Diane was certainly right about that!” Scott sounded disgustingly pleased with himself.

“Right about what?”

“She warned Georgina to expect denials.”

“Well, of course I’m denying it! Nothing like that ever happened.”

“Hannah, you realize that by refusing to face this issue head-on, you’re no better than a coconspirator?”

I gasped. “We’re all coconspirators, then. Ruth, Mother, Paul, probably even the paperboy and the Avon lady.” I fell back against the wall, breathless, as if I’d just taken a quick punch to the stomach. Scott was hopeless. If he wanted to label us coconspirators, I had a label for him, too. Enabler.

I took a deep, steadying breath. “I want to talk to Georgina.”

“She can’t come to the phone right now.”

I’ll bet. Another handful of colorful pills had sent her off to la-la land
. I wondered what Scott would do if those prescriptions ever ran out. “Will you have her call me when she wakes up?”

Scott neatly sidestepped my question. “I’ll tell her you called.”

I knew that nothing I said that day was going to change his mind about Daddy, so I tried another tack. “Have you completely forgotten that we have your children?”

“Of course not!”

“What about the children, Scott?”

I could feel a request being formulated in the silence. “Do you think they could spend the night? Georgina’s in no fit state to take care of them right now.”

“How about their father, then?” I asked. “Somebody put you on psychotropic drugs lately?”

“Give me a break, Hannah! I’m looking after your sister and I have a business to run. The business, need I remind you, that pays for all her medical treatment.”

I stared at a jumble of dirty spoons in the kitchen sink and didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be down to pick the children up in the morning,” he said at last.

Scott was slippery. I pushed for specifics. “When, exactly?”

“Uh, around eight; time for Sunday school. Georgina needs to be playing by nine anyway.”

I doubted Georgina would be ready to play the radio or anything else in the morning, let alone a pipe organ. “See that you are. Mom and Dad aren’t as young as they used to be.”

“What? Aren’t the children with you and Paul?” Scott was shouting so loudly I had to pull the receiver away from my ear. What was his problem?

“No. We’re at Mother’s. They’re spending the night here.”

“No way! Not after what Georgina told me. No way they’ll stay in the same house with your father.”

My stomach tightened and I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He really believed it, then. It wasn’t just a husband’s blind, unquestioning support of a disturbed wife. He believed every one of Georgina’s lies. I took two deep breaths and found my voice. “If that’s the way you feel, then I suggest you get in your goddamn car and come pick them up yourself.”

Scott must have had rocks for brains. “Are you sure they can’t stay with you?”

“As you so succinctly put it, Scott, no way. No effing way.” I hung up before he could reply and pressed my forehead against the cool enamel of the kitchen doorframe, wondering when this nightmare would be over.

When I turned around, I was surprised to see Mother standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, juggling a large box marked “Sheets / Twin.”
Oh, God! How much had she overheard?
I hurried to relieve her of the box and set it down on the kitchen table. “You won’t need these tonight, Mom. Scott decided to come get the kids after all.”

The light left her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”

While we waited for Scott, Mother and I arranged towels and sheets in the upstairs linen closet and Paul called for Chinese carryout. After the delivery boy left, it didn’t take long to turn the kitchen table into a disaster area of red and white cartons, paper plates, overturned sauce cups, crumpled-up napkins, and the odd chopstick. At eight o’clock Scott pulled his SUV into the drive and honked. After a strained conversation with Scott in which I determined that Georgina would probably sleep through till morning, we sent the kids scurrying off with kisses and hugs and tummies full of shrimp fried rice. I had managed some hot-and-sour soup, but that was all I had the stomach for. When Mother gave me That Look, I claimed I was still too full of the pizza I had wolfed down at lunch.

By the time Mother and I returned to the kitchen after escorting the children down the drive, Paul was ready to go, holding my coat folded over his arm. With my back to him, I struggled into it while he waved the coat around behind me like a matador, trying to anticipate where I’d put my arms. “Where’s Daddy? I want to tell him good-bye.”

Mom kissed my cheek, handed me my cashmere scarf, then shoved me gently in the direction of the front door. “He’s gone up to his room.” I recognized that wounded expression. Daddy’d probably taken a bottle of scotch up with him. “Look after her, Paul.” Her eyes darted to the food, half-eaten, on my plate. “She needs
to keep up her strength or she’ll be too weak for the surgery.”

His lips brushed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lois, I will.” Paul’s arm snaked around my waist. “And Lois?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a damn fine shopper.”

Mother looked from Paul to me, a half smile brightening her face. “Be forewarned,” she said, shaking an index finger. “It’s in the genes.”

Once we pulled the front door shut behind us, I stood on the porch, sick with dismay. I wanted Paul to bundle me into his arms and get me out of there. I wanted to snuggle against him as he drove me home, and the hell with mandatory seat-belt laws. I wanted a hot bath. A warm bed. But both his car and mine were parked out front.

I must have moaned, because Paul squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll drive,” he said, instantly in tune with my mood. “We’ll come back in the morning to pick up your car.”

I stared up into his eyes. “You are a prince, Mr. Ives.”

He kissed my forehead. “Just an overachieving frog, my dear.”

I thought I could wait until we got home to tell him about Daddy, but once in the car with the key already in the ignition, I reached out to touch Paul’s hand before he could start the engine. “Honey, I need to tell you something.”

He faced me then, his cheeks a sallow yellow in the light from the street lamp overhead. I struggled for the words. I didn’t want to cry, but a combination of worry and anger made my eyes overflow. I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I brushed it away with my fingers.

Paul took my chin in his hand and turned my face gently toward his. “Hannah, something’s been eating you all evening. What is it?”

I sputtered, gasped, then broke down, sobbing against his chest with my cheek resting against the soft flannel of his shirt, smelling freshly of Tide. I told Paul about Daddy’s interview with the police and about Scott’s crazy conspiracy theory.

“God, Hannah. Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse.” We sat there while I blubbered, Paul stroking my hair.

After a few minutes I straightened, wiped my face with an old napkin Paul had scrounged out of the glove compartment, and said, “Take me home.”

Paul started the engine and drove home cautiously, making attentive noises as I ranted. As we waited for the traffic light at the intersection of College and King George, he put a comforting hand on my knee and squeezed gently. In the darkened car, his handsome profile reflected red in the light from the turn signal of the car just ahead of us, blinking to turn left.

Ten minutes later, back at the house, I stood in the entrance hall like a zombie with my coat still on.

Paul unwound the scarf from my neck and unbuttoned my top button. “I’ll see what I can do, Hannah. I’ll talk to Iris Templeton at the Navy clinic. She’s been in the therapy business for ages; I’m sure she’s had to deal with this kind of stuff before.”

“And I’ll talk to Ruth. If there was ever anything funny going on, surely she’d have known about it.” While Paul pawed through the closet looking for a hanger for my coat, I sat on the carpeted steps that led upstairs. “I just can’t get my mind around this! Tell me I’m going to wake up and find out that I’ve been dreaming.”

Much later that night I found my escape. Paul and I made slow, gentle love and I fell asleep in the crook of his arm, dreaming of sunny days and soft breezes and the warm waters of a Caribbean lagoon sliding over my naked body, which, in the way of dreams, was once again perfectly whole.

chapter
6

Ruth had a casual policy about opening up on
Sundays—if you asked her, she’d say “noonish.” I had been cooling my heels outside Mother Earth for ten minutes before she appeared at the intersection of Main and Conduit carrying a bag of bagels from Chick ’n’ Ruth’s deli. I caught sight of her strolling down the street, munching on half a bagel, window-shopping as if she were a tourist with all the time in the world. Under her mohair shawl she wore a natural linen outfit in dark lavender which I thought would be more suitable for May than for January. The slacks flopped loosely around her ankles, casually rumpled, as if she’d been sleeping in them. Knowing Ruth, though, she’d probably paid extra for the wrinkles.