Maternal instinct, p.28
Maternal Instinct, page 28
SIXTY-SIX
Althea was so tired. So tired. She had been asleep, she thought. Looking at the illuminated face of the digital clock on her nightstand, that and the battery candle casting all the light there was in the room. The clock said eleven p.m. So she must have been asleep. There seemed to have been a dream, too, something about looking for Ruth but Ruth evading her. Because she had lost her head and was too embarrassed to be seen. Ruth had lost her head, that is. Not Althea. She reached a hand up to check and found her head, still attached to her neck.
Well, that was reassuring.
But then her body felt constrained somehow, not like she usually felt under the covers. Her hand passed over her chest. That was it. She was still dressed. Elastic pants and buttoned blouse. She couldn’t remember exactly what she had worn the day before, but this was something like it. She had never gone to bed in her day clothes before.
What was it that had happened?
Althea pushed herself to sit up. Someone had put her in bed and covered her with a sheet. Had they crossed her arms in corpse-like fashion? Not quite awake, she stared into the darkness of the room.
Heard a rustle, some swish of fabric against fabric. Or claws.
‘Ruth? C’mere, kitty kitty.’
Nothing.
Althea squinted her eyes at the spot from where the swishing sound had come, across the room where her armchair sat. Was there a form in it? Something like a head that rose from the back of the chair?
Could Grace have worried about her for once, and was keeping watch over her?
‘Grace?’ she ventured.
And heard, ‘No.’
More hesitant, for he never appeared unsummoned, she said, quietly, ‘Robert?’
It took him much longer than usual to respond, and then, with uncharacteristic brevity, ‘Yes.’
That didn’t feel right. There was no pleasant silk across her brain. Althea heard herself make a loud chirping sound, and then stopped, scarcely daring to make the sound of a breath.
‘Why are you …?’ Althea began to hate the sound of her own voice, that old woman tremor that she never had before.
A few more words from the dark smudge across the room, sounding calm yet somehow cold, too. A deep voice that was and wasn’t Robert, Robert really dead. ‘Can’t you guess?’
The memory of events just a few hours ago began to piece together the grogginess that still folded through her with the dash of her pumping heart. Being put to bed like this. A never-before argument with Robert. The photograph that shocked and then disappeared. The conversation with that neighbor whose name she couldn’t remember. Joan.
Not breathing, not blinking, her beating heart was all there was, and it was making up for the deathly stillness of the rest of her body. Althea summoned her lungs to push some air past her vocal chords, but couldn’t get out the whole name, more of a ‘Je Je.’
The dark smudge in the chair must have heard what she was trying to say.
‘That’s right. I’m finally here about Joan.’
‘You, you know.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you hate me?’
‘Of course. How could I not after what you did?’
‘I didn’t do anything! What did I do?’
‘You never told me why Joan left, what you had to do with it. You let me think she had been kidnapped, was out there somewhere, needing me.’
‘It was for you. To see the world instead of staying here, mourning her. It was the only way you would go, you didn’t like to travel. We had such wonderful times.’
‘No, we did not. You wanted me to search for her so you could run around Europe.’
‘Yes! No!’
‘I loved Joan, Althea. And you hated that, but you used it to get your way. Could you really think I was enjoying myself?’
‘It was the only way. You always wanted everything your way. But you think—’
‘—that Joan is still alive. I know she’s dead. And the Robert you’ve made up? He doesn’t exist. I’ve been watching you and I saw you hurt someone and I won’t let you hurt anyone ever again.’
Althea was confused now, and tried to remember who was sitting in the chair. She tried to call out ‘Grace’ but, as in a nightmare, only the air without sound came from her throat.
The figure, whoever it was, rose. Althea was certain it was coming after her and no longer thought it was a spirit. She screamed (did she scream?), pushed the sheet off her, and leaped from the bed. She ran out of her room, through the front hall of the house in a thin light that streamed through the window from a streetlamp, her trembling hand jerking the door, remembering it was locked, turning the lock. She felt a tug on the back of her light sweater. She shrugged off the sweater with one smooth shrug, flung open the door, and dashed outside.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Grace didn’t think she would sleep at all that night. She had made sure that Shyla’s door was locked from the inside, insisted despite the scoffing. She had laid herself down next to Hal, who dropped off with his usual ease, no matter how he felt. But she must have fallen asleep after a couple of vigilant hours, otherwise the tap on her shoulder wouldn’t have been a surprise.
Her eyes flew wide as a hand clamped over her mouth.
‘Shh,’ a voice said, ‘whisper.’
She recognized the voice and nodded so the hand could be taken off her mouth. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said, but obediently soft.
‘You didn’t lock your door like I told you,’ Joan whispered.
Joan gestured her to get out of bed. The woman went into her closet, took a T-shirt and jeans, and re-emerged while Grace stood wondering. Joan left the room and Grace followed her into the alcove at the top of the stairs. ‘Quick, put these on, then grab your keys and come with me,’ Joan whispered. ‘Meet me outside.’
Joan’s body flowed easily down the stairs while Grace watched her go out the front door.
Too surprised to question, Grace did as she was told, along with pulling on a pair of sandals that Joan had neglected to include. She ran downstairs, then stopped at Althea’s open bedroom door to see if she was asleep. The room was dark, and so was the bathroom.
Althea wasn’t there.
The front door was open.
Connecting those facts, Grace picked up her bag where she had left it on the credenza in the front hall, and ran outside.
Althea lay prone on the grass in the front yard.
‘What did you do to her?’
‘She’s fine,’ Joan said. ‘Do you have the keys to the car? And keys to a rental house?’
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell you what on the way. First, help me get her into the car.’
‘But—’
‘Do it!’
Grace punched the code into the box attached to the wall beside the garage door, got into her Kia and pulled it out to the driveway. She jumped out, opening the back door of the car before running back to where Joan stood next to what Grace resisted calling ‘the body’.
‘Help me turn her over,’ Joan said.
They did. Althea’s face was coated from forehead to chin with slick scarlet.
‘Oh my God, look at her face! Look at that blood!’
‘It’s a face wound. There’s always a lot of blood. She must have smacked her head when she went down but there’s no rock or anything. It can’t be that bad.’
‘Here’s a rock with blood on it,’ Grace said, stooping to touch her fingers to a piece of limestone decorating the front yard.
‘Oh. Well,’ Joan said. She picked up the rock and threw it under a hedge by the porch.
‘I’ll call 911.’
‘Are you kidding me? You can’t take that chance.’
‘Then let me get some paper towels for the blood.’
‘We don’t have time. Someone might see us.’ Joan picked up Althea’s shoulders. The woman’s head lolled back and Joan let it balance on her knee. ‘Althea. Althea,’ she said.
Althea’s eyes opened and seemed to try to see through the blood in them.
‘We have to get you to the hospital,’ Joan said. ‘You fell on your face.’
She looked up at Grace. ‘She’s like a sack of potatoes. Help me get her into the back seat.’
‘I told you we weren’t going to do anything! You promised!’
‘You want to stand here over her body and discuss it?’
‘An ambulance.’
‘Shut up and help me.’
Grace gave in for the time being. At least they were doing something. Between the two of them, and with minimal cooperation from Althea, they managed to get her into the back seat and rest against the far door.
‘I’ll get back there with her. You know where you’re going. You drive.’
‘She’s going to get blood on the seat.’
‘That’s the least of our problems.’ Joan got in the car after Althea, resting the woman’s legs in her lap. She quickly hooked her seatbelt. ‘Well, here. Do you have something in the car to staunch the blood? What’s this Dunkin’ Donuts bag?’ Joan unhooked her belt, leaned forward and grabbed it from the floor in front of her. ‘Shit, didn’t you get napkins? Who doesn’t get napkins?’
‘I used it for the jelly donut. There’s another in the bag.’
‘You want me to use a donut?’ Without waiting for an answer, Joan pulled the donut out of the bag. She found the spot, near Althea’s hairline, where most of the blood seemed to be oozing. She pressed the donut against it. After a moment she said, ‘That works better than I thought. But we could use more donuts.’
Althea moaned.
‘Quiet. Where are you going? What house are we going to?’
‘I’m going to the hospital. It’s just a mile west of here.’
‘You’re still not getting it, are you? You take her to the hospital this way, after what happened before, she’s got you in a corner. Then how will you protect Shyla? We’re talking Child Welfare Services.’
Grace felt the center of her chest spasm so painfully she almost ran off the road. Even the discovery of her mother’s body hadn’t thrown her into such a panic as she felt now. Then there was nothing to be done but comfort Shyla and grieve. She hadn’t realized that was the easy part. Now she had to make decisions, and those quickly. ‘Where should I go?’ she asked, hating herself for hoping Joan would take the decision from her.
‘A house,’ she said. ‘We need one of your houses where no one will show up. For some time. The longer the better, just to be on the safe side. Something maybe with extra space between neighbors, but not so fancy it has security cameras.’
Grace tore through the addresses in her head. ‘OK. I got it.’ She doubled back the way she had come and took a right on A1A. The driving let her think more than she had since the moment Joan had awakened her. Here she was, doing what Joan told her to do, without knowing what that was. This after Joan had agreed not to come into the house tonight.
She said that.
Joan said, ‘You’re repeating yourself. I know I promised. I didn’t think she would bolt out of the house. We have to stay flexible.’
Grace tried to keep her eyes on the road while angling the rear-view mirror so she could see the back seat too. ‘Is she doing OK?’
‘Sure, she’s fine. You’re fine, aren’t you Althea?’
Althea moaned a response.
‘She doesn’t sound fine.’
‘Oh, you know her. Making a big deal out of nothing.’
Grace pulled into a small front yard of the modest home opposite the beach. It was the kind of old Florida house that was worth nothing compared to the land it was built on. The kind that no amount of modern tiled floors and renovated bathrooms could hide that it was a terrazzo and turquoise toilet house. This was the same house where she’d changed her clothes to go out to dinner alone.
‘Looks good,’ Joan said. ‘Can’t tell until we get in there, but I don’t want to leave Althea out here. In case she’s better than she’s acting and tries to run again.’
Joan got out, ran around to the other side of the car and, locking her arms under Althea’s armpits, dragged Althea out. She yelped a little when her heels hit the paving stones.
‘Careful,’ Grace said.
‘Oh please,’ Joan said.
Each of them got on a side of her, pulled her arms over their shoulders, and mostly walked her to the front door. Grace had the keys with her and unlocked the door. The mustiness of a closed place came out on to the porch, but at least it was only moderately warm inside with the AC just low enough to limit the dampness.
‘Do not get blood on the tile,’ Grace commanded, summoning back some of her will, while her mind was going: when in my life did I ever imagine I would say that? ‘I don’t want the grout stained.’
‘I think the donut helped a lot,’ Joan said. She held up her left palm to show the crumbled cake looking like it had been soaked in merlot. She was right, Althea didn’t seem to be bleeding so much, at least for the time being.
But just the same, Grace directed that they walk her to the kitchen off to the left of the house where there were some comfortable vinyl chairs around the table, chairs that could be washed with a disinfectant. ‘Can she sit up, do you think?’
And thought what am I doing?
They tried, and she did, though slumped on the table with her face to one side. The blood had subsided, but what wasn’t left in the front yard and the car was all over Althea’s clothes, face and hands. Crumbs, too. Joan washed the donut and blood off in the sink while Grace wet a paper towel and did her best on Althea.
‘What do we do now?’ she asked.
Joan wrenched her attention from Althea and forced it on Grace. ‘You go to a twenty-four-hour Walgreens and get some of those strips that close a wound. And some cleaning supplies to take care of the blood in the car … unless there’s something here we can use. And a change of clothes, you can get them at the house. For all of us. I’ll get Althea’s off her and throw them in the wash. They’re the worst.’
‘Then what?’
‘None of this is what I had thought would happen. The plan has to stay flexible.’
Now who’s repeating herself? Grace doubted more than ever that there was any plan at all. Or maybe there was and Joan just wasn’t letting her in on it. She felt like such a bungler. She said, ‘Tell you what, you’ll need clean clothes too and you need to get that yourself. I’ll stay here with Althea. Get some antibiotic ointment too.’
‘You know where the Walgreens is. I don’t.’
‘If you’re getting clothes, you need Walmart. It’s close. A few blocks.’ Grace got a pen and an old receipt out of her purse and scratched out a map with two turns. ‘You know how we got here so you can get back to my house, then start from there with these directions.’
Joan took the receipt. ‘What about getting into your house?’
‘You’ll have the keys.’
‘What if Hal or Shyla are awake, and see me?’
‘You’re better than I am at keeping quiet,’ Grace said. ‘And I think you’ll worry less if you don’t give me the chance to wake them up.’
SIXTY-EIGHT
Althea had been conscious enough during the ride to wherever this was. Conscious enough to hear Ghost Joan talking to whoever it was she was talking to. It sounded like Grace, but that would be nonsense because Grace was still alive. If she could only raise her hand to wipe the blood out of her eyes, she would be able to see where she was, who was with her, and why she felt in motion. Even lifting her arms was impossible, not knowing whether she was paralyzed or somehow strapped down. It was hard knowing nothing.
Now the motion had stopped. Now she was being helped to walk. Now she found herself sitting on some chair. Now someone was wiping a little of the blood away from her face with a wet towel.
She tried to listen to the voices as they drifted around her ears, some words entering.
Not enough to make sense.
The silk passed over her brain. She welcomed it. Finally, there was her salvation.
‘Robert?’ she whispered.
She felt his hand on her shoulder, giving it a less than loving shake. He had never touched her before. It made her wonder if she was dead.
‘I’m here, my love,’ his voice said.
She looked up and saw him, dripping with as much love and concern as she was with blood.
‘Help me,’ Althea said.
‘Anything. What would you like?’
In her vulnerability she admitted to herself that Robert never did anything these days without her helping him. It wasn’t him saying terrible things in her bedroom, it was that Ghost Joan who had been impersonating him, who said the terrible things to and about her.
‘Help me,’ Althea said, and hoped that she wouldn’t have to be any more specific about that hazy figure across the table.
‘Are you sure this is the only way?’ Robert didn’t sound regretful, only a little doubtful.
Althea didn’t have the strength to ask again. She felt her lips and tongue barely form the words help me.
She lifted her head enough to watch Robert, who had somehow found a steak knife, approach Ghost Joan and stab her, the blade coming down and down and down. Ghost Joan stood still, perhaps too wounded to scream, and too startled to run. Her surprise was understandable. Joan had always been so certain of her father’s love. But no more. Althea gazed at the two of them, Robert and Ghost Joan, finally content that Robert loved her more than Joan. This was the proof, that he would sacrifice his daughter for her sake. This was the final contest. Althea paid close attention as the knife went in and in and in. One, two, three, four, five.
‘What’s that she said?’ Joan asked.
‘I couldn’t understand.’
‘Look at her. What is she looking at? And what is she saying now?’
Grace watched Joan lean over and put her ear close to Althea’s lips. ‘It sounds like she’s counting.’
