The Bay At Midnight Part 7

Maria.

I weeded my garden every day. Although it was only late June, I could already see weeds popping up through the mulch Julie and Lucy had spread for me. Most people hated weeding, but I didn't. I loved being in the sun-the Italian portion of my blood, no doubt. Maybe I had more wrinkles than I would if I hadn't spent so much of my life outdoors, but I didn't care. It was a privilege to grow old, and not everyone got to enjoy it. I was grateful for every minute I was given. weeded my garden every day. Although it was only late June, I could already see weeds popping up through the mulch Julie and Lucy had spread for me. Most people hated weeding, but I didn't. I loved being in the sun-the Italian portion of my blood, no doubt. Maybe I had more wrinkles than I would if I hadn't spent so much of my life outdoors, but I didn't care. It was a privilege to grow old, and not everyone got to enjoy it. I was grateful for every minute I was given.

I liked keeping the flower beds neat and orderly, scratching out the weeds from around the red begonias and pink peonies, making order out of chaos. Julie was exactly like me in that regard. Lucy was another story altogether. She was sloppy and complicated. I tried not to think of where Isabel would have fallen in that continuum of neatness to messiness. Thinking about things like that could drive you crazy.

That morning in late June, I was sitting on the little seat-onrollers Julie had bought for me, working on the flower bed near the front steps, when a car pulled into my driveway. It was a big car with a long hood, the kind of car an old man would drive, and sure enough, I watched as a man about my age got out of the driver's side.

I set down my trowel and stood up slowly. That's one thing I'd learned-I had to take my time getting to my feet after working in the sun, or everything would go dark for a few seconds. I took off my gardening gloves and dropped them to the mulch as I watched the old man retrieve a cane from the car and begin to hobble toward me.

"h.e.l.lo," I called out, taking a few steps across my lawn.

He waved at me. "h.e.l.lo, Maria," he said, and my mind started the frantic racing it did when someone unfamiliar seemed to know me. My memory was not bad at all, but when I'd meet people out of context, I often couldn't place them. Did I know this man from church? From Micky D's? I shaded my eyes with my hand, trying to see him more clearly. He was tall and nearly gaunt, his white hair very thin on top. He limped when he walked toward me and I knew he needed that cane and that it wasn't just for show. He looked like a complete stranger to me.

He smiled as he neared me, and although there was something familiar in the curve of his lips, I still couldn't place him.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" he said, without reproach.

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I don't," I said. "Do you go to Holy Trinity?"

He held his left hand toward me, his right hand leaning heavily on his cane. "I'm Ross Chapman," he said.

I had stood up slowly enough, of that I was certain, yet my head went so light I thought I might pa.s.s out. I took his hand more to steady myself than to shake it and I could not seem to find my voice.

"It's been a long, long time," he said.

I managed to nod. "Yes," I said.

"You are still a stunning woman," he said, even though I was wearing my gardening overalls and probably had dirt smeared on my face.

"Thank you." I couldn't bring myself to reciprocate. Ross Chapman had once been a very handsome man, but in the fortyone years since I'd last seen him in person, he had withered and paled. After we left the summer house for the last time in 1962, I would see his picture occasionally in the papers and on TV, since he was a prominent figure in New Jersey and had even run for governor. But he looked nothing like that robust politician now.

"Is this how you spend your days?" he asked, motioning toward the flower bed. "Working in your garden?"

"I also work at McDonald's in Garwood and I'm a volunteer at the hospital," I said.

"McDonald's?" he laughed. "That's marvelous. You always knew how to keep busy," he said, nodding with what I guessed was approval.

I wasn't sure what to do with him. We stood for a moment in an awkward silence. I didn't want to invite him in, but I saw no alternative.

"Would you like to come in?" I asked finally. "Have something to drink?"

"I'd like that," he said.

I walked up the front steps and inside the house, holding the door open for him. I could see that the four concrete steps were a bit of a struggle for him and I looked away, not wanting to embarra.s.s him by noticing his frailty.

"Why don't you sit here?" I motioned toward the armchair in the living room, then rattled off the things I could offer him to drink.

"Just ice water," he said.

In the kitchen, I took my time getting out the gla.s.ses, filling them with ice. I wished he had not come. I could see no point to this visit. I could have quite happily lived out the rest of my days without seeing my old neighbor again.

When I returned to the living room, I saw that he had not taken a seat as I'd suggested. Instead, he was looking at the pictures on the mantel. There was one of the four of us-Charles and myself and Julie and Lucy, when the girls were fifteen and eleven. It was the last picture I had of Charles; he'd dropped dead from a heart attack in our kitchen only a few weeks after it had been taken. Then there were Julie's and Lucy's old college-graduation pictures and, next to them, Shannon's senior picture. Ross lifted that last one up and looked toward me, a smile on his lips.

"A granddaughter?" he asked.

I nodded. "Shannon," I said. "She's Julie's." I thought of telling him more about her, how she'd been accepted to Oberlin, how accomplished she was already, but I didn't want to extend my conversation with Ross any longer than I had to.

"Lovely." Then he poked a finger at Julie's picture. "That's Julie, right? She was the sharp one. The one with the brains and the s.p.u.n.k."

His words jolted me. Julie had brains, all right, but her s.p.u.n.k had gone out the window long ago. He was right, though. When he knew my girls, Julie was the one who'd had the most gumption.

"Yes," I said, to keep things short and simple. "She was always up to something."

Ross limped over to the armchair and sat down. "I have one granddaughter and a great-granddaughter," he said. He took the gla.s.s I held out for him and looked up at me. "But that's not why I'm here."

I set a coaster on the end table next to him, then sat on the ha.s.sock in front of the other armchair. "Why are are you here?" I asked. The back of my neck ached a bit, and I rubbed it. My skin was slick with perspiration, more from anxiety than the heat. you here?" I asked. The back of my neck ached a bit, and I rubbed it. My skin was slick with perspiration, more from anxiety than the heat.

"Do you know that my Ethan and your Julie are meeting for lunch today?" Ross asked.

"What?" I'd been about to take a sip of my water and nearly dropped the gla.s.s. "Why on earth?" As far as I knew, Julie and Ethan Chapman had had no contact since 1962. I'd been about to take a sip of my water and nearly dropped the gla.s.s. "Why on earth?" As far as I knew, Julie and Ethan Chapman had had no contact since 1962.

Ross shrugged. "Ethan just said he was thinking about her and felt like getting together. They planned to meet in Spring Lake."

"Well," I said, recovering from the shock. "Good for them. They were friends when they were little."

"Anyhow," Ross said, "when Ethan told me he was going to see Julie, it started me thinking about you...about your family. About how I..." He set his gla.s.s down on the coaster and looked directly into my eyes. "I mishandled things, Maria. In every which way. I-"

"Water under the bridge, Ross," I said. "It's not necessary to rehash it."

"But I think it is," he said. I recognized his earnest look as one he'd employed when running for governor. It was a look that made you want to trust him.

"I'm old and tired," he said. "I really doubt I'll live much longer and I just want to make amends to any people I might have hurt during my lifetime."

"What's wrong?" I asked him. I wondered if he had cancer. He was so thin. "Are you sick?"

He shook his head, brus.h.i.+ng my question away with his hand. "I lost Joan last year," he said, then looked away from me, toward the pictures on the mantel. "And Ned...Ned died just a few weeks ago."

"Oh," I said. I understood then how his world had been altered. Ned must have been close to sixty, but that didn't matter when it came to burying your child. "I'm sorry, Ross."

"It gave me a new understanding of how you felt when Isabel died."

"Yes," I said.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about...I just wanted to apologize."

"And now you have and that's fine and enough," I said. I didn't like the sympathy I felt for this old man. He was a politician, first and foremost, capable of talking out of both sides of his mouth.

He looked at me so long and hard that I had to look away. I knew he wanted to say more, but whatever it was, I didn't want to hear it. So I stood up.

"Come on," I said, holding my hand out to help him from the chair. He'd hardly touched his water, but he had not come here for the refreshments.

He clutched my hand hard as he struggled to his feet. I let him hold on to my arm as I walked with him back down the front steps and out to his car. Neither of us spoke, although I knew there was a lot we could have said if we'd had the courage. I opened the driver's-side door of his car for him. It made me nervous to think of someone in his condition driving. I had not even asked him where he lived, how far he had to drive.

"What did Ned die from?" I asked, before closing the car door.

"Drinking," Ross said. "Drowning his sorrows. I don't think he ever got over losing Isabel."

I winced at that, then closed the door. I watched him drive away before returning to my seat in the garden. I pulled on my gloves and drew the trowel through the soil, barely able to see what I was doing for the tears. I don't think he ever got over losing Isabel. I don't think he ever got over losing Isabel.

"Neither have I, Ross," I said out loud. "Neither have I."

CHAPTER 9.

Lucy.

Shannon spent most of the afternoon with me as we talked about her dilemma. It was a strange experience for me, watching her s.h.i.+ft between tears of anxiety and worry and joy over the new love in her life. She had always been a very grounded, sane person, even as a young child, but listening to her talk about Tanner, I had the odd feeling that she had been taken away by some cult group, brainwashed and returned to us a different person. It was the same Shannon sitting there in my living room, the same beautiful girl who'd brought such joy into her family, but words were coming out of her mouth that were decidedly un-Shannon-like. I felt as though we needed a deprogrammer.

She left about four, saying she had a cello lesson to give at the music store, and she'd been gone no more than fifteen minutes when Julie showed up at my door. I'd tried to reach her on her cell phone to see how the lunch with Ethan had gone, but was only able to get her voice mail, so I'd pulled out my violin, planning to practice for an upcoming ZydaChicks concert.

"I'm interrupting your practice," Julie said, glancing at the violin in my hand. There was a damp flush to her cheeks that made her look pretty, if uncomfortably warm. I knew she was grappling with hot flashes, something that was still in my future.

"Haven't even started," I said, taking her hand with my free one and pulling her into my apartment. "So, how did it go?" I asked, as I put my violin back in its case.

"Not bad." Julie flopped down on my sofa. The two empty gla.s.ses of lemonade were still on the coffee table and I scooped them up and carried them into the kitchen before she could ask who had been there, but she didn't even seem to notice them.

I glanced at her when I returned to the room. "Are you okay?"

She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were nearly the color of her red s.h.i.+rt. "I'm just..." She smiled a sort of goofy grin. "Just freaking out, I think," she said.

"Hot flash?" I asked, although by now I'd guessed it was more than that. She'd just had a conversation about Isabel's murder. That alone would have been enough to freak her out.

"What?" she said. "Oh, maybe. I don't even know." She slipped off her sandals and stretched her legs out on the couch. "I convinced Ethan to take the letter to the police," she said.

"Oh, that's excellent." I felt relieved. I sat down in my armchair again, drawing my legs onto the seat cus.h.i.+on, covering them with my skirt. "Did he take a lot of convincing?"

She nodded. "It took a lot of discussing," she said. "It was hard and I felt sorry for him." Julie watched her feet as she flexed them up and down. Then she looked at me. "He just can't handle the fact that his brother could be guilty after all these years."

"Of course he can't," I said. "What do you think the cops will do with the letter?"

"That's the scary part," Julie said. "Ethan has a friend in the police department and he sort of ran it by this guy-in a hypothetical way-to get a sense of what would happen. His friend said they'll probably start fresh, which I figured they would do. But that means interviewing everyone involved again. I'm guessing that would be me, which is fine, of course. Maybe Ethan and Ned and Izzy's friends. Mr. Chapman, which worries Ethan." She bit her lip and looked at me squarely. "And possibly Mom."

"Ugh," I said.

"Right. I hope it doesn't come to that. I'd love to keep her from knowing this is even going on. I could see them badgering her with questions and then she has a heart attack or a stroke or-"

"Julie." I laughed. One reason my sister could write gripping page-turners was her skill at imagining the worst possible outcome in any situation. I dreaded the scenarios she would be able to create once she learned that Shannon was pregnant. Her ability to turn an event into a catastrophe in her mind had been one of Glen's many complaints about her. I laughed. One reason my sister could write gripping page-turners was her skill at imagining the worst possible outcome in any situation. I dreaded the scenarios she would be able to create once she learned that Shannon was pregnant. Her ability to turn an event into a catastrophe in her mind had been one of Glen's many complaints about her. She always worries about everything She always worries about everything, he'd whined to me. She never lets herself have any fun. She never lets herself have any fun. Although there was some truth to the statement, it still infuriated me that he'd made it, that he never took the time to understand the origin of those worries. Although there was some truth to the statement, it still infuriated me that he'd made it, that he never took the time to understand the origin of those worries.

"If Mom has to be interviewed, she'll be fine," I said. "She would want the truth to come out." My voice sounded strong, but I too hoped our mother wouldn't need to be involved in a new investigation.

"I just don't want her to be hurt any more than she already has been," Julie said. She pulled a tissue from the pocket of her cropped black slacks, then took off her gla.s.ses and began cleaning them.

"She'll be okay," I said. "Do you think they'd want to interview me?"

"I doubt it," she said. "What do you remember about that whole situation?" She held her gla.s.ses up to the light, then slipped them on her face again.

I shook my head. "Almost nothing," I said. "I barely remember anything about the sh.o.r.e at all.You know what I was like-always cowering in the background while everyone else swam or went out in the boat or whatever." It was as though I hadn't truly been there. I supposed that I'd repressed most of the memories from the worst summer my family had ever endured. "The other day, though, I remembered when you caught that giant eel and Ethan wanted its guts," I said.

Julie laughed, and the high flush came to her cheeks again. It made me suspicious. Maybe I wouldn't have recognized the subtle look of infatuation in her face if I had not just witnessed the same expression in her daughter's.

"So, what is he like these days?" I probed. "As geeky as he was back then?"

She looked away from me. "He was nice," she said, and I thought she was trying not to break into a smile. "He...he looked good. I didn't recognize him at first. He's a carpenter and he has this amazing body."

"You're kidding." I tried to picture the skinny, gawky kid of my memory with an amazing body.

"And he must have had laser eye surgery, because he wasn't wearing gla.s.ses. His eyes are really blue."

"Hey," I said, turning in the chair and putting my feet on the floor. "Are you attracted to him or what?" Julie had shown no interest whatsoever in men since the divorce.

She laughed, shaking her head. "He just looked better than I'd expected, that's all."

"If you say so," I said with a smile. I liked seeing the life and color in her face. It may have been a difficult conversation, but all in all, I thought seeing Ethan Chapman had done her good. Seeing her daughter daughter would be something different altogether, and for the remainder of our conversation, I couldn't get Shannon out of my mind. I sat there with my sister, knowing a secret that was going to rock her world. It was like looking at someone's smiling picture on the obituary page.You wanted to warn them: would be something different altogether, and for the remainder of our conversation, I couldn't get Shannon out of my mind. I sat there with my sister, knowing a secret that was going to rock her world. It was like looking at someone's smiling picture on the obituary page.You wanted to warn them: You don't know it, but you're going to walk in front of a truck on March 3, 2003. You don't know it, but you're going to walk in front of a truck on March 3, 2003. I listened to my sister talk, and I hated having that secret inside me. I needed Shannon to tell Julie soon, for my sake if not for hers. I listened to my sister talk, and I hated having that secret inside me. I needed Shannon to tell Julie soon, for my sake if not for hers.

CHAPTER 10.

Julie.

Shannon moved to Glen's on Tuesday. She was only two miles away; I reminded myself. Two miles. Two miles. I could walk it, although I wouldn't. She'd moved out to taste her freedom. To get away from my tight reins. What I needed to do was to back off. Sometimes I felt as though the only way I could keep her safe was to be sure she stayed in my line of sight. I wished that children came with guarantees that they would stay healthy, that they would outlive their parents. I could walk it, although I wouldn't. She'd moved out to taste her freedom. To get away from my tight reins. What I needed to do was to back off. Sometimes I felt as though the only way I could keep her safe was to be sure she stayed in my line of sight. I wished that children came with guarantees that they would stay healthy, that they would outlive their parents.

I'd walked into her room as she was packing this morning.

"Do you need any help?" I'd asked.

She'd smiled at me, but it wasn't her real smile. "I'm fine," she said. She had taken apart her computer setup, the components on her bed, and she was wrapping towels around them.