Scent of the roses, p.16
Scent of the Roses, page 16
“Car crash?” Robyn looked puzzled.
Scout nodded, gulping for air. Yes.
“Oh, you mean, like an accident?”
She nodded, again. Yes. And drank some more.
“You were in an accident? Just now?”
Another sip. Another nod. Yes.
“Omigod!” Robyn’s eyes got even wider. She stared at Scout with an expression of dawning horror on her face. “Omigod! Omigod, Scout! Are you all right?”
The alcohol hit her stomach and the absurdity of the question her brain at one and the exact same instant. The only reaction Scout could manage, the only reaction that made any sense, was to fall helplessly into a fit of hysterical laughter. A fit from which she would not be able to recover until long after she had frightened Robyn into locking herself in her bedroom for the night.
1 Do you remember when cellphones were so unnecessary that you’d toss it off a cliff just because it wasn’t getting a signal? Gee, what will Scout do now? it’s almost like her whole life isn’t on that phone. Oh, wait; it’s not.
12
Marsha was not a morning person. And the bus station at five a.m. had never been her idea of a good time. But here she was all the same, with her daughter, her daughter’s bike, and what still seemed like a truly excessive amount of gear.
She still did not understand why a three-week bike trip needed to begin at five in the morning. And she didn’t know if she would ever get used to saying good-bye to any of her children. Just thinking about how she was going to feel in September when Jasmine went off to college – well, it was almost enough to make her go back to bed, pull the covers over her head, and stay there for a week.
At least a week.
But she couldn’t do that, could she? She had too many people to take care of, too much to think about, too much to do. Like get to work, open the store, and go over the receipts from the weekend. Like find a way to stop obsessing over how much she was already missing Jasmine, and how long it had been since she’d heard from her boys. Like take care of Scout and placate Lucy.
And now, on top of everything else, she had this thing with Robyn and Celeste to deal with.
Monday did not start out well for Robyn Smith, either. After spending most of the previous afternoon watching horror films, she’d found Scout’s behavior and appearance yesterday evening disturbingly similar to that of the killers in several of the movies. As a result, she’d lain awake most of the night with one eye trained on her bedroom door, half-convinced that Scout might break it down and come after her with an axe, or a hook, or a very large knife, or some other implement of destruction.
It had taken several days for the idea that there might be something wrong with Scout to take hold in her mind. Now that it had, she couldn’t shake it loose.
She thought about it when she got up late and rushed off without breakfast. She thought about it as she rode her bike to work. And while she was at work, she thought about it so much that she was quiet and distracted and so unlike her usual ebullient self, that Lucy, who routinely spent Mondays working with her at the nursery, couldn’t help but notice.
“Okay, Robyn.” Lucy put a steadying hand on the younger woman’s arm. “What gives? Is everything all right? You seem kind of out of it today.”
Robyn turned to her, a woeful look on her face. “It’s the woman I’m sharing the house with. You know, Caroline’s stepdaughter? She’s acting so strange. She frightens me. I think – I really think there might be something wrong with her.”
Robyn’s morning was not improved when Lucy burst into peals of loud and sudden laughter. As loud and as sudden as Scout’s, and every bit as disturbing.
This morning could stand some improvement, Scout decided, as she continued her fruitless search for some kind of painkiller. Any kind of painkiller – as long as it was non-alcoholic. It was hard to believe that anything as sweet as apricot brandy could leave her feeling this bad, but there you had it. She was hung over, and hungry, and more achy than she’d previously believed it was possible for a person to be.
There was no food in the house. Which normally wouldn’t matter, since she couldn’t cook, anyway, but this was one day when she really didn’t feel like going out to breakfast.
And there were no painkillers, either. Not unless you counted Robyn’s feverfew tea, which Scout for one, did not.
She put some water on the stove to make coffee. It wasn’t until she looked in the canister that she realized she was out of that, as well. Great. Just perfect. No food, no aspirins, no coffee. She sighed in resignation. There was no way around it. She’d have to go downtown. And she’d have to walk. Assuming she even could. 1
Overnight, her right ankle had become swollen and stiff. Even if the thought of getting back into a car again right now didn’t terrify her, she wasn’t sure she could drive anyway. But between her ankle and her lightheadedness, and the bright sunlight that felt as if it were slicing into her head, walking there wasn’t going to be a picnic, either.
She whistled for the dog, and then immediately wished she hadn’t. But the dog came running to her anyway, obviously none the worse for wear, and they headed off. Scout did her best to keep her mind off the pain by trying to decide which made more sense: food first and then coffee? Or coffee first? But she still hadn’t reached a decision by the time she got to town.
Glenn didn’t usually have this much trouble making decisions but seeing Scout again had stirred up a hornet’s nest of ideas. Unpleasant memories and emotions buzzed about in his head, resisting all his attempts to bat them away.
He couldn’t decide what to do.
He knew he hadn’t handled things well, so far. He’d acted rashly, said and done the wrong things. But he’d gotten one shock last week, when he learned she was coming back. And then yesterday—
Well. Being forced to make small talk with Marsha while Scout sat silent and distant – that had been intolerable! He could tell that she was thinking about finding Lisa, and the idea scared the shit out of him. Because thinking had always been Scout’s problem.
She thought too much. About everything. Everyone always talked about how smart she was, but he’d never seen it. Why, just look at all the trouble she’d already gotten them into – planning things that were best left to chance, arranging things that didn’t need to be arranged.
He’d have to see her again, wouldn’t he? That’s what he’d do. He’d see her and talk some sense into her. He should go to her house today. Or maybe tonight.
Or better yet, he could go right now.
They would talk some more about Lisa. Or, then again, maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe he’d let this just be about them. He thought about that for a moment, and a faint wave of pleasure washed over him.
There was peace in its wake, and clarity.
Maybe, what he really needed to do was to stop thinking so much, himself. Maybe that’s where the problem lay—where all the problems lay. He’d always been good at thinking on his feet when he was younger, hadn’t he? He’d acted on impulse most of the time back then and, most of the time, things had worked out for him. Could be that was what was needed right now.
Nothing was working for him and frankly, Nick was tired of the struggle. He’d put up a good fight, but no matter how hard he tried to push Scout from his mind he just couldn’t do it.
Maybe seeing her one time wouldn’t hurt…too much. Just seeing her from a distance? He wouldn’t even have to talk to her…
But what if that wasn’t enough? And what if, on the other hand, it was more than he could handle?
For twenty years, he’d had his dreams and his memories of her to sustain him—during all the worst times. What if coming face to face with the reality caused those dreams to shatter, turned his memories to dust?
Was this really the chance he had been waiting for? The chance to finally free himself from his obsession with her. Or was it just another one of Fate’s cruel tricks.
Lucy might know. Hell, Lucy probably knew the answers to all his questions. And if he and his cousin could just have a simple conversation about it, like two normal people, then perhaps he could avoid doing something as obviously stupid as the actions he was currently contemplating.
But fat chance of that ever happening. And for once, he knew just who to blame for the mess he was in. Damn it, this was all Lucy’s fault.
“It’s my fault. I’m sorry. Really, I am. It’s just—” Lucy paused and gasped for breath. She was trying hard to apologize, but tears still streamed from her eyes, and stray peals of laughter continued to slip past her lips. “This is Scout we’re talking about, right? And you think there be something wrong with her? Might be? Nah!”
Robyn sniffed angrily as Lucy dissolved into giggles once again.
On the whole, Lucy thought, laughing until her sides ached, this morning wasn’t half-bad.
“I love this story.” Marsha laughed, gleefully.
Scout shot her a weary, disgusted look. “I knew you would.”
“Oh, c’mon. Your sister communicated with you from beyond the grave and saved your life. How can you not love this?”
Once again, Scout had to wonder what Marsha knew. Why was she so certain Lisa was dead? Granted it seemed likely, given the whole disembodied-voice-thing. But, on the other hand, it could just be imagination—couldn’t it?
“I don’t know, Marsha. I think if you felt as awful as I do right now, you wouldn’t love much about it either.”
Where was the coffee she’d been promised? Where was the food she’d ordered, or the painkillers that Marsha had assured her were on their way? “Anyway, I don’t think it proves anything. Other than the fact that I have a really vivid imagination. And I think we already knew that. I tell you, though, if that really was Lisa? And if she went to all that trouble just to save my ass? I wish she could have done a better job of it. I feel like crap.”
Marsha’s grin grew wider. “Well, who says you can’t judge a book by its cover? You look pretty lousy, too.”
“Thanks.” Scout sank her head in her hands. “Seriously, Marsha,” she sighed. “What am I gonna do? I’m hearing voices! That’s not normal.”
“C’mon, Scout. Don’t you think you might be overreacting? It was an extremely stressful situation. And…what do you mean voices? It was just one voice, right? Isn’t that what you told me?”
Scout shrugged. “I guess.”
“Okay. So. You hear one little voice which, not incidentally, prevents you from being killed. Where’s the bad? There are a lot of people who would call that a miracle.”
“Maybe.”
“Besides, I really think it’s probably a one-shot deal.”
“You think?” Scout asked, perking up. “So, maybe I’m not losing my mind after all?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Marsha said growing serious once again. “There’re a lot of things that you probably should be worried about right now, but I don’t think that’s one of them.”
Glenn’s day was not improving. Scout wasn’t home. He’d driven all the way out here and she wasn’t even home!
Her car was, though. And, man oh man, the little red convertible was a real mess. She must have had one hell of a close call yesterday. But he supposed the fact that it was here at all must mean she hadn’t been too badly injured.
He shook his head in frustration and came within inches of kicking the car’s tires on his way to the house. But, given the way the car already looked, that would certainly be overkill.
He’d tried to warn her of the danger, hadn’t he? He’d told her she ought to take more seriously her roommate’s suggestions that someone might be out to get her. But she just wouldn’t listen. So, if—or likely when—she did get hurt, it would be nobody’s fault but her own.
When he got to the front door, he found it locked, which surprised him. He’d spent his entire life in Oberon, and like many people who lived there, he usually didn’t bother locking his door, except maybe at night.
But it was typical of Scout to make things difficult. She could be lying in the house unconscious, for all anyone knew. Because no one could get in to check. She could be lying in there stone-cold dead, too. And what good would all her thinking and planning do her then? Not too damn much, that’s what.
He went around to the back of the house, hoping to find another way in. There were three cats on the patio. He felt the weight of their stares and shivered. He hated cats. He had always hated cats. He couldn’t understand what anyone would want with even one of them, never mind three.
And if it turned out that Scout was not lying dead inside the house, they were seriously going to have to talk about that.
The thought brought a smile to his face. Well, of course they’d talk, but he didn’t think he was going to be bringing up the subject of cats. At least, he was pretty sure they would be a little too preoccupied for that.
The kitchen door was locked, and the French doors, as well. What the hell was she thinking? He eyed the cats again, and another smile crawled across his face. Well, as the old saying went, there was more than one way to skin a cat. Or, as his mother had been fond of saying, when the Good Lord closes a door, you can be sure He’ll open a window, somewhere.
There was still the basement door to try. If there was one thing that he prided himself on, it was his ability to think on his feet. To accept what life brought him and roll with the punches. Unlike Scout, who probably hadn’t, even now, accepted the fact that accidents were a part of life.
Well, they were. He shivered as he thought of it. No one knew better than he how true that was. Accidents happened all the time. Hadn’t he seen that in his work? In his own life? Big accidents and small. Preventable, or seemingly unavoidable. Inconsequential, or life changing, or fatal. They could happen any day, anywhere, to anyone.
And you couldn’t always plan for them, either.
Nick hadn’t exactly planned to drive by Scout’s house on his lunch break. First off, he seldom ever even took a lunch break. And today he’d meant to drive out to the coast – fresh air, the open road, and a full tank of gas that’s how he spelled relief. 2
Instead, his car had practically steered itself through the narrow residential streets that led here. There were two cars in the drive, and though he knew nothing about the kind of life she’d led for the past twenty years, he had no doubts that the new red Mustang with the convertible top was hers.
It was exactly the type of car he could picture her driving. Although, he wouldn’t have pictured it in quite this condition. It had obviously been in an accident recently. He wondered how she’d even managed to get it here, as banged up as it was.
He didn’t know who the other vehicle belonged to, but she obviously had company, and the last thing he wanted right now, was for anyone from Oberon to see him hanging around her house. He’d come back later, he promised himself. He pressed the gas pedal to the floor and sped away. The coast was calling…
I’ll come back later, Glenn thought, as he got back into his Montero. And when he did, he and Scout would have that little talk he’d been promising himself.
Maybe.
Maybe they’d talk, or maybe they wouldn’t have to. Depending on how things worked out, maybe he wouldn’t see her, or talk to her at all.
He still thought he could make her see things from his point of view – he just wasn’t sure he’d have to. But, either way, it didn’t make any sense for her to waste time looking for Lisa.
For a moment he allowed himself to think about Lisa. She’d been so beautiful, so vibrant. And she’d always understood him. A whole lot better than Scout ever had, to be honest.
He’d truly never meant to hurt Lisa – why would he? But there had been something about Scout; she’d been impossible to walk away from. And no matter how hard he tried to explain that Lisa hadn’t wanted to accept it.
Ah well, there was no sense in dwelling on the past. It was all so long ago, what did any of it matter now? Lisa was gone and what they had together was over.
Whereas Scout, on the other hand, was here.
Perhaps…perhaps he had been too hasty. Perhaps she didn’t have to go away again, after all. If he could just talk to her and make her see reason. If he could just make her listen! It might save them both a lot of unpleasantness.
His head began to ache again. Things were getting complicated. Perhaps it was best to leave things as they were. To let chance or fate or circumstances rule his course. One way or another, if he could just stay calm, he was sure things would work out fine.
“Okay, okay.” Lucy held up one hand to stop the flow of words from Robyn’s mouth. “I get the picture.” But the picture she was getting was enough to start the laughter gurgling in her throat again. “Look, you have to understand something. Scout and I go way back. I mean, I could tell you stories—”
Once again, she bit back a laugh. They’d had some good times, before all the trouble started. She’d almost forgotten that.
Robyn glared at her. “It’s not funny,”
Lucy sighed. “No. I know it’s not. The thing is, I honestly don’t think you’re in danger. Really. She’s trouble, no question there, but not the kind you’re thinking.”
“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying,” Robyn insisted. “She doesn’t sleep. I don’t think she eats. I mean, I’ve never seen her do it. She just drinks. Wine and coffee and stuff like that—none of it healthy. She even had this bottle of brandy, or something stashed in the back of the cabinet! And now, all of a sudden, she’s smoking? Nonstop? I mean, who even does that anymore?
“But the worst was last evening when she came home from the festival. She’d been in an accident, or something, I guess. I mean, I think that’s what she said. But she looked like someone had beaten her up. Her hair was hanging in her face, and she didn’t even seem to notice. Do you think she’s, like, on drugs?”
