What a Mother Knows (17 page)

Michelle rubbed her bad arm. It had become a habit whenever she felt uncomfortable. “Please don't tell Kenny.”

“I don't keep secrets from my husband.” A shaft of errant sun through the skylight struck the sparkling
F
on the temple of Cathy's new sunglasses.

“So you'll tell him what you paid for the Fendi sunglasses?”

“They're knock-offs,” Cathy said, avoiding her gaze.

“I may be a bit fuzzy, my friend, but I remember the difference between Swarovski crystal and glass beads. At least three hundred dollars.”

Cathy shifted the minivan into gear and headed home. “Like the fine for taking a minor to a bar. A dive bar, no less.”

Michelle looked at Cathy. “How do you know about that?”

“Boys will be boys, Michelle. Tyler bragged to Cody about playing detective, and now Cody thinks you're a cool mom. If Kenny finds out the case is compromised, he'll be livid. And it won't help you to be hanging around with that tacky divorcée neighbor of yours who struts around with her tits hanging out. Your reputation matters.”

Michelle had to let the attack on Julie slide. “Why do you think I asked you for a ride? I didn't want to involve Tyler any more than I needed to.”

“Michelle, it's common sense to avoid talking to someone who is suing you.”

“That's her ex's doing.”

“I don't care. She could use this little visit as proof that you feel responsible!”

“Cathy, if Cody died in my car, wouldn't you want to know that I was truly, eternally sorry?”

“Sure,” Cathy said. “Then I'd strangle you.”

Michelle shivered and let it go. She tried to recall the rest of the lyrics to that song on the postcard. Cathy interrupted. “So what did Noah's mother say?”

Michelle tried to push the postcard out of her mind for a moment. “She told me about her son. She did say he helped the baseball team for community service. Do you know anything about that?”

“I meant what did she say about the case?”

“Not much.”

“Good,” Cathy said. “Because I've made a decision. I'm not going to tell my husband about this.”

“I thought you didn't keep secrets.”

“These aren't secrets, Michelle, just extra details he doesn't need to worry about. He's got enough on his plate. And I don't mean Hamburger Helper. We'll just keep this little trip—and the price of my sunglasses—between us.” She pulled the glasses off her head and shook them at Michelle. “But do not make contact with Noah's mother again unless your lawyer is present. Do you understand?”

Michelle didn't answer. She needed to ask Dr. Braunstein about the postcard.

“I'm serious. Promise you won't breathe word of this to anyone, ever! You could have a mistrial. I won't let Kenny start over. And since you're as broke as we are, you'll get some court-appointed attorney, some green kid who crammed for the bar exam listening to Roadhouse on his iPod. So, if anyone asks, we were out grocery shopping today—which we are, because I need some Chardonnay. Promise?”

Michelle nodded. Cathy had a point. Besides, Michelle could only make things worse by telling Dr. Braunstein she'd seen the postcard while searching through her drawer. Michelle raised her right hand, a tiny bit. The effort burned. “I promise.”

Cathy eyed her arm. “Crap. I was going to ask you to stop physical therapy, too, but it looks like you've had a breakthrough.”

Something clicked in Michelle's mind. “Break on Through,” that was the song. Doors lyrics. Noah expressed himself in Doors lyrics and Nikki had picked up the habit. Michelle closed her eyes to remember the words.

At the next light, Cathy called in an excuse for missing the school meeting.

Michelle got out her new phone and turned toward the passenger window to try the voice command feature. She whispered the song title.

“Excuse me?” Cathy asked.

“Nothing,” Michelle said, reading the rest of the lyrics on the screen.

Tried to run, tried to hide.

Break on through to the other side.

Everybody loves my baby.

The “other side” surely meant death, Michelle surmised. If this was meant as a condolence card, the song was a good choice. Wings of panic fluttered in Michelle's chest. Nikki didn't know about Elyse's history, but she'd studied
Romeo
and
Juliet
in English class, and Juliet was only thirteen when she'd killed herself.

Michelle read the lyrics again and relaxed at the last line. Everybody did love Dr. Braunstein's baby; according to Tyler, Noah had fans around the world. Why else would Victor be making a documentary? Nikki sent the card to Noah's mother, confessing that she loved him, too. That would mean more to Noah's mother than adulation from strangers. And it explained why Dr. Braunstein saved the postcard.

Michelle looked at the traffic. So many people! She was grateful that Nikki wasn't famous, that not everybody loved her baby. Drew and Tyler and Elyse did. But no one loved Nikki as much as Michelle. Every cell in her body ached with it. She didn't need to ask Dr. Braunstein about the postcard. The important thing was that it was written by her daughter. And at some point in the last eighteen months, Nikki had been in Maui.

Cathy hung up the phone and drove toward the grocery store.

“They really are stunning glasses,” Michelle said.

“So we have a deal?” Cathy asked.

“Of course,” Michelle said warmly. Cathy had given her the perfect alibi. Michelle would cooperate fully. She would smile and shop and go home.

Then she would go to Hawaii.

A landscaper's truck was parked at the curb when Cathy dropped Michelle off at home. She tightened her grip on the grocery bag and tiptoed around the muddy clumps of weeds splattered on the driveway next to the fresh-tilled soil. But something else was different. By the time she smelled the fertilizer around the pruned roses lining the porch, she knew: the picket fence was gone.

Pounding noise came from around back. Michelle headed around the side of the house, where the faint marks of graffiti could still be seen beneath a coat of fresh paint. She held her breath past the trash cans and Bella's travel crate, then circled around back. Across the muddy yard, workmen were tearing down the rickety trellis. Someone coughed. Michelle saw Tyler's open window. “Tyler? You getting sick?”

She shrugged off the silence and congratulated herself for splurging on the chicken soup cans with easy pull-off tabs, then headed back to the front porch. The door had been sanded in stripes. She balanced the bag on her knee, turned the knob, and nudged the door open with her hip. It swung open so quickly that her heel caught on the threshold. Michelle lost her balance and fell, her groceries spilling across plastic sheeting on the floor.

Footsteps pounded in the hallway, then Tyler appeared, his laptop still open in his arms. He helped her up. “You okay?”

She nodded. “Nice to see we're getting the house in shape.”

“Painters, too. There were six men until an hour ago—and the guys outside only stopped for a few minutes when it rained.”

“You were home all day? But I left you the car to go to the pier.”

“I couldn't find the keys and Cody's truck is in the shop.” He spotted the keys on the floor by an apple.

“Oops,” Michelle said. “Guess they were in my purse when I left. Sorry.”

“It's cool, the Internet guy finally came.”

Michelle picked up a soup can and carried it to the kitchen. The sink was full of dishes from Tyler's day at home. Before she could complain, he picked up a small blue plastic plate decorated with a baseball and large
D
. “Look, I found my Dodgers plate,” he said.

Michelle smiled, remembering. “You used to refuse to eat from anything else.”

“Crazy, huh?” He pulled his inhaler from his back pocket, shook it and pressed it to his lips.

“We should get you out of here with all this dust,” Michelle said.

Tyler put up his palm for her to wait. When he exhaled, his words came out in a rush. “I could stay at Cody's. His mom's making lasagna.”

“His mother has already been generous today. I was thinking of a hotel.”

“Cool. I heard the Hilton Courtyard across from the Commons has Wi-Fi and a breakfast buffet. All you can eat,” he added, picking up another can.

“Sounds yummy, but I was thinking of somewhere more special. Like Hawaii.”

“Yeah, right.” Tyler laughed and crossed the hall to retrieve a cereal box. “What's with the Lucky Charms? You used to only buy whole grain.”

“Couldn't resist,” Michelle said. “Why don't you put the rest of these things in the kitchen while I talk to your dad? Can I use your phone to call him?”

“To invite him to Hawaii? Don't bother.”

“Why not?” Michelle asked. “I bet he could use a vacation.”

Tyler shook his head. A pained look crossed his face.

“What's wrong, Tyler?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Look, if your father can't get away, we'll go without him. Phone, please?”

“Is your battery dead?” he asked.

“No, but he doesn't always pick up for me.”

Tyler stood still for a moment. “I don't want to get in the middle of this.”

“It's not a fight, honey. Your father is probably just sick of bad news. But this is good news, I promise.”

Tyler reluctantly handed over his phone. Michelle kissed his cheek, took the phone to her bedroom, and kicked off her heels.

“Yo, dude,” Drew said. Horns honked in the background.

“Mama dude here,” Michelle said. “I have a question.”

“Can it wait?”

“It's not about our argument when I was at the DMV.” She heard him shush the people around him. A crowd of people. “Are you shooting?”

“No, just wrapped. Want to say hello? You remember my assistant, Travis?”

Before she could complain, the phone changed hands and another man's voice boomed across the country. “Hi, Michelle, how the hell are you?”

“Great,” Michelle said. And for the first time in a long time, it almost felt true.

“Here's Sasha,” Travis said. There was chatter as he handed the phone off.

“Sasha!” Michelle forgot everything for the split second she heard her friend's voice say hello. Even if Sasha was mostly a work friend, production crews spent so many hours together they felt like family. And she missed the social whirl. “Don't be mad, but someone else did my hair. Thanks for your card, by the way.”

“It's the least I could do,” Sasha said.

Michelle smiled and went to the window. The workmen were leaving, joking with each other in Spanish. It was good to have friends. “I miss you! Are you still knitting?”

“Yes,” Sasha said. “But everyone I know has a scarf now, so I've moved on to blankets.”

Michelle laughed. “I'm jealous. My doctor said to hang up my needles for good.”

“You could crochet—that only takes one hand.”

“So I've heard. Can you teach me?” Michelle asked.

“Are you coming to New York?”

“Not if I can help it. I hate cold weather. I'm thinking about Hawaii, though.”

“Hawaii?” Sasha asked.

The phone rustled as Drew got back on the line. “What's this about Hawaii?”

“That was so rude, Drew! At least tell Sasha I said good-bye.” She heard him mumble something, but she didn't care what it was. She was impatient, bursting with the news. Finally, she heard his breath on the line. “Drew, she was there!”

“Who?” Drew's voice echoed.

She looked at the phone as if he was crazy—or drunk, if they'd just wrapped. His voice did have a slight slur. If only she could see his face, she would know for sure. “Who do you think?”

“No way. Kenny says the car company has detectives looking for her. Professionals.”

“Exactly—she's just a job to them. Anyway, it's a place to start.”

“How do you know she was there?” Drew shushed people in the background, then a door shut three thousand miles away and all was quiet. He was about to grill her. “Michelle?”

She remembered her promise to Cathy. Shoot. She needed to come up with something fast. Think, think, think. She saw Nikki's self-portrait on top of the stack of photos printed from the memory card. “Mother's intuition?”

She bristled at the sound of his laugh. Even if it wasn't true this time, she believed in that sense of knowing, as sure as the leaden weight of her heart. When Tyler passed by with his laptop, she had a better idea. “It was posted on the band website.”

“There've been sightings as far as China, honey. But she doesn't have a passport. And no one has claimed the reward.”

“There's a reward?” Michelle asked.

“From one of the lawyers who wants her to testify. You didn't see it posted on the website?”

“Tyler's hogging the computer.” That part was true, anyway.

“Are you in bed?” Drew asked.

“Yes,” she said, leaning back on the bedspread. “I'm lying down. I understand if you have work, but why punish Tyler? He can be my chaperone.”

“He's already missed a week of school,” Drew said. “If you're weak enough to need a chaperone, you shouldn't be going at all.”

“I was kidding about that—I need my family. You included. We'll do that snorkel trip to Turtle Town. Remember how much fun that was?”

Drew was quiet for a moment. She heard someone call his name, but he didn't answer. “I'm working, remember? And what about your physical therapy? I thought that was a big deal.”

“Not as big as this.”

“How are you going to pay for it?”

Michelle sat up. The floor was pockmarked with dirt from the landscaping that had stuck to her pumps. She'd thought the landscaping meant he had a new source of money, but apparently he'd simply gone further in debt. But soon the house would look perfect again. Even her mother would be impressed. Her mother! “I'll exchange the plane ticket my mother sent.”

“Send Tyler home.”

“What do you mean, send him home? This is his home.”

“He needs to get back Saturday to study for midterms. If his grades drop, he'll lose his scholarship.”

“He won't need one if he stays here and goes to public school. I can apologize to the dean.”

“For what? No, don't tell me. It's not going to happen. I won't let him be dragged into this mess again and have to deal with all the paparazzi.”

Finally, something that made sense, Michelle thought. Drew was protecting their son. “Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?”

“Other things were more important.” He swallowed noisily, a slug of beer. “You almost died, Michelle. You're supposed to be resting.”

“Actually, Wes—Dr. Palmer—said activity would be good for me.”

“He didn't mean Hawaii,” Drew said. “Take a few walks around the block. We'll see you during spring break.”

“Stop telling me what to do! I have to find Nikki. I have to tell her I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Drew asked.

Michelle felt a familiar catch in her throat. “For whatever made her run away.”

“You can't change what happened, Michelle. And finding her won't make you a better mother.”

“Go to hell.”

“Too late,” Drew said softly. “Already there.”

Michelle hung up. She looked out the window at the moonlight. The yard was barren of grass.

A few minutes later, Tyler leaned in. “Mom? I tried to walk Bella, but some clown took a picture.”

“That's it. Put her out back and get your toothbrush.” Michelle shoved open the closet and found the suitcase from the hospital. She put the photos in first, then clothes for an overnight stay. When she opened the drawer of her vanity table, she saw the ticket from Elyse. She had meant to mail it back, but like Drew said, “Other things were more important.” She needed her glasses from her purse to read it, so she pinned it under her arm and rolled the suitcase down the hall. Tyler was locking the back door.

“Can you read this?” Michelle gave him the ticket.

“What part? The flight number or the nonrefundable-nontransferable part?”

Michelle snatched the useless ticket back and shoved it in the drawer of the hall table. One last-minute round-trip flight to Maui seemed doable, but two would cost a fortune. She looked at the family portrait hanging above it.

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“You have to go back to school.” She blinked back tears and put up her arm for a hug. Her right arm tried to follow. Fire shot through it, but that was far less painful than the burn in her chest. Tyler hugged her back, engulfing her with warmth. “Why didn't you tell me you have to leave?”

“I dunno,” Tyler said. “Everything is so complicated now. I hate it.”

Michelle nodded. Things were as far beyond Tyler's control as they were hers. They went back to the kitchen to put the last groceries away. The orchid on the dinette was down to one blossom. She pinched a dead petal from the dirt. She decided to enjoy every moment—and to make sure he did, too. She could take him on the roller coaster at the Santa Monica Pier and to see the Van Goghs at the Getty Museum. Maybe he'd like the vintage stores on Melrose Avenue where Nikki shopped at his age.

“Is there anything special you'd like to do?”

“Sort of. The fan site says Roadhouse is filming in Hollywood tomorrow.”

“Then, by all means, let's stop by,” Michelle said. Victor had mentioned Henson Studios, the stage Michelle booked for the original video. He could beg for the memory card all he wanted—she didn't have it. And she certainly wouldn't tell him about the photos. But she needed money, so she could sell him the T-shirt for authenticity. It wasn't worth enough for a ticket to Hawaii, but she could sure spoil Tyler for a day or two.

“Can I invite Cody?”

Michelle nodded, hiding her disappointment at having to share him. When she pulled the keys from her purse, a scrap of paper came out with them. It was the bottom half of the photo she left for Dr. Braunstein: Noah's legs astride the Harley. That had to be worth more than a ruined T-shirt.

“Did you say Cody has a truck?”

“A pickup,” Tyler said, pulling her suitcase through the kitchen.

“Perfect,” Michelle said. “Let's go find that hotel with free Wi-Fi.”

Tyler opened the door to the garage, and Michelle leaned in to turn on the light. The Harley was parked beyond the Volvo against the wall.

“Can we get the breakfast buffet?” Tyler asked.

Michelle smiled. “All you can eat.”