Blue Diary (21 page)

Liz Howard had phoned to inform Jorie that offers like this weren't made every day, not for the house of a self-confessed murderer. Liz had gone so far as to come and pick her up, and Jorie, who'd been napping, had thrown a light raincoat on over her pajamas. Shed stood there in her own backyard while Liz and the couple from Framingham went over the house's flaws and its strong points. In the end, Jorie had told them she needed to think things over, and she'd left Liz there in the garden and set off on her way back to her mother's house.

Anne is startled to see her sister walking down the middle of the road, following the white line that glows in the dark, her concentration as focused as if she were on a balance beam. Anne had assumed that Jorie, always better at everything, would also be a better mother; she took for granted that Jorie's absence here suggested she had gone to the library talent show along with Collie and Gigi and Ruth. But instead, here she is, barefoot, hair streaming silver.

“Hey,” Anne calls. “Come get a drink. I've got white wine.”

Jorie starts up the herringbone path that Ethan put down for her mother last spring. Lining the bricks are several moody hosta plants that send out tendrils that often catch visitors by the ankle if they aren't careful, and should be trimmed back before someone gets hurt.

“I thought you'd be at the talent show.” Anne refills her wine-glass and hands it to her sister. After all this time, she figures she might as well share.

“Damn. I forgot.”

“Hey, you're only human.”

It's something of a joke, and Jorie winces. She knows what Anne thinks of her, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, far from human in her estimation.

“I didn't think you noticed,” Jorie says.

Anne watches as Jorie sinks down to the grass. She sees that beneath the light coat, Jorie is wearing her pajamas. “Do you realize you're not dressed?”

Jorie has, indeed, been spending more and more time in bed. She failed to go to the jail today because she was sleeping and then she neglected to attend a meeting at Mark Derry's house to discuss the direction the defense fund should take, dozing dreamlessly, not realizing her mistake until Mark called, concerned. Lately, she's been remembering that as a child she'd been afraid of the dark. She had to leave every light on in her room at night and had been especially frightened of the spaces in the closet and beneath the bed. Before she goes to sleep she once again checks those places with a flashlight, just to reassure herself that she's safe, at least for the time being.

It's unusual for the sisters to be sitting outside together, for them to be talking at all. Jorie and Anne have always been at odds, vying for their mother's affections; they've been so distant that Jorie hadn't even known anything was wrong with Anne's marriage until Anne and Gigi arrived with their suitcases in March. Funny how they enjoy being out on the lawn together on this evening; they don't have to speak to each other if they don't want to, they don't have to pretend to be polite. No traffic goes by. No dogs bark in the distance, out where there are still orchards and fields.

“Charlotte is sick,” Jorie says.

“So I've heard. News travels fast.”

“I need someone to talk to, and I can't talk to her. I can't burden her with my problems on top of everything she's going through.”

Anne snickers. “Oh, sure, but you can burden me.”

The sisters laugh, but Jorie's laughter veers off course and she covers her mouth with her hand, the way she always used to when they were children and she was trying to hold back tears.

“Don't do it,” Anne warns. “I'm a terrible shoulder to cry on. You know that. I'm the worst I have no sympathy for anyone, and I always say the wrong thing. Even Gigi confides in Mom instead of me.”

“I have to decide whether or not to sell the house. I've never made a decision like that on my own.”

“Welcome to the real world.” Anne takes back the glass of Chardonnay and raises it in a toast. “Herein is the place where no one can tell you whether or not you've done the right thing. But actually, I never did like that house. Too perfect.”

“Did you ever think there was something wrong with him? Did you know something I didn't know?”

“About Ethan? No. He seemed totally normal to me. Frankly, he seemed great. But look at who I was married to. Do you know Trent has seen Gigi exactly twice since we moved out here, and if I hadn't taken her down to Boston when he was in town on business, he probably wouldn't have even done that much.”

“That's not a crime,” Jorie reminds her.

“Yeah, well, it is in my book. But I guess you're right. It's not the same. If it makes any difference, Mom still thinks the world of Ethan. She'll stand by him, do or die. She's ready to back him all the way, guilty or not. Poor deluded creature.”

“I don't know. She seems better off than we do.” Jorie stretches out in the hot, dark night, her head resting on the grass. Her pajamas are shimmery, and her hair is white as snow. “I want to go back in time. That's what I want.”

Both sisters can hear mosquitoes drifting past, as well as the echo of traffic from the highway. With four years between them, they were never close; Anne was already gone by the time Jorie was in high school, and they've been as good as strangers ever since. Now they look at the stars. Jorie can spy Polaris, the only star she knows for certain, high and bright in the sky. She thinks about devotion and betrayal and about how young she had been on the night when she met him. Had she been happy all this time, or had she been fooling herself? Inside the house, their mother's dog, Mister, howls when a siren begins to wail on the other side of town, and the sound raises goose bumps on Jorie's arms. She knows this signal, long and low, a summons to each volunteer firefighter:
Call ín, come home.

“Has he tried to explain what happened?” Anne asks. “Can you make any sense of the reasons behind it?”

“He told me he didn't mean to do it. He never would have hurt anyone.”

“Ah.” Anne grabs some chips from the bag. “But he did.”

“He says he prayed for forgiveness, and forgiveness came to him, and that's when he knew he had to admit what happened.”

They stare at each other, and Anne shakes her head. “Easy as that?”

There are so many stars in the sky, but neither sister has ever bothered to try to learn what they are. Tonight, they regret not knowing their names. A car turns the corner and through the dark Jorie and Anne recognize their mother's Toyota, ten years old and badly in need of an oil change, as Anne well knows because the last time she borrowed it, the car had huffed and puffed its way up Horsetail Hill to the country club.

“Do you think you can do that?” Anne asks quickly, before the children are near.

“Do what?”

Anne looks at her sister straight on. “Forgive him.”

“I don't know.” Jorie closes her eyes; still she can see those bright nameless stars. “I think I must be dreaming.”

Once the Toyota has parked, Collie is the first to get out. He goes around and opens Gigi's door, since she has the leftover sheet cake in her lap from the party that followed the talent show. He's a gentleman even at twelve; with his whole world falling in around him, he still remembers what he's been taught.

“How'd it go?” Anne calls.

“You should have been there.” Ruth Solomon approaches; her face is somewhat pinched, the way she always looks when she feels someone hasn't lived up to her responsibilities.

“One more thing I've done wrong,” Anne says under her breath.

Collie goes by without a word, hightailing it into the house, where the dog is waiting for him. In the past, Collie always loved to play with Mister, for the pug will dance on its toes if offered pretzels or chips, but tonight Collie slinks into the living room and switches on the TV Ruth perches on the arm of a chaise. From here they can see shadows in the living room and a blue. flickering light.

“Collie and Kat Williams disappeared halfway through the show. Rude as can be. Nobody knew where they were.”

Gigi hands Anne the sheet cake and sits down beside her mother in the grass.

“Yum,” Anne says, as she picks at stray bits of yellow cake.

“Three people got stage fright, and Noah Peck told some jokes that were in such bad taste his grandmother pulled him off the stage.” Gigi sighs. She's something of a perfectionist, although she's already learning that perfection isn't one bit easier to find in Monroe than it was in any of the other towns where they've lived. “Collie just didn't want to be there. Its not like anyone said anything mean to him, but I guess he knew what everyone was thinking.”

“What are they thinking?” Jorie turns to her niece.

Gigi looks over at her grandmother for assistance.

“What?” Jorie demands to know.

“They're thinking his father killed somebody, dear.” Ruth slips off her shoes, which always raise bunions on her toes. “Not that I believe in judging Ethan.”

“Me either.” Gigi is quick to agree. Gigi wears no makeup and her face, if not pretty, is fresh and sweet.

“There are often circumstances that none of us understand.” Ruth sits with her hands folded in her lap. She is well aware that people were staring at her tonight in the library, and every time she caught someone's eye, she made certain to smile. “You just have to have faith,” she says gently.

Anne lets out a laugh. “Oh, come on, Mom. He admitted his guilt. What are we supposed to have faith in?”

“He also said he'd repented.” her mother reminds her.

When they head for the house, Jorie's gait is unsteady. Maybe it's the Chardonnay that makes her woozy, or the conversation at hand.

“What would you do?” Jorie whispers to her niece as they reach the front steps. She wants the opinion of the most innocent among them, someone as young as Gigi, a girl who might still believe in possibilities and true love and forgiveness.

“Well, first of all, I wouldn't wear pajamas outside,” Gigi whispers back as they go through the door. “You'll never get those grass stains out now.”

Inside, Jorie finds Collie watching TV in the dark with Mister curled up beside him on the couch. Funny how the entire time the girls were growing up, Ruth refused to let them get a dog, but since Anne and Jorie moved out, she's had a series of pugs, the most recent of which is her beloved Mister, who sleeps in Ruth's bed and dines on boiled chicken and rice on Sunday afternoons.

Jorie sits down on the other side of Mister, and the dog wags its whole body in a greeting. Collie, however, doesn't bother to acknowledge her presence. He stares straight ahead, watching the flickering cartoons.

“You and Kat took off?” Their bad behavior was probably her fault for not being there. She hopes they weren't out in the bushes smoking or getting into any more trouble than they've already been in.

Collie shrugs. “The whole thing was stupid. We didn't want to sit there and watch a bunch of kids make fools out of themselves.”

“Look at Mister—he really is crazy about you.” The dog has rested its head on Collie's knee, but as soon as Jorie brings it to his attention. Collie moves his leg. “Maybe we should get a dog,” Jorie suggests. She has the desperate edge of a parent who wants her child to be a child once more. “Maybe we should go look for one this weekend.”

“We're not living anywhere, so we can't have a dog.” Collie has become a rationalist, matter-of-fact and cynical and impossible to win over.

“We'll be living somewhere soon enough. We'll get a place with a yard.”

Even in the blue tint of the darkened room, she can see Collie roll his eyes. He doesn't believe anything anymore. These days, if you told him it was raining he'd probably have to go stick his hand out the window and feel the drops himself before he could be convinced.

“Until we settle down somewhere, we're living here. Mister could help us train the new dog,” Jorie prattles, but she stops when she sees the way Collie is looking at her. He wants to know the truth, and he doesn't want to know anything. He's tied up in knots, and those knots are only going to get tighter. Already, it's changed him; Jorie can see it in the way he holds himself, by the way his hands are curled into fists and by his hooded expression.

“You could have told me you were putting the house up for sale. I heard about it from Kat.”

“You're right.” Jorie could throttle Kat Williams. “I should have talked to you first.”

“Kat said most people can't pay the mortgage after two months with nobody working.”

Jorie tries her best to reassure him. “I don't see any reason why I can't start teaching again, so we don't have to worry about money.”
That Kat Williams is far
too
smart for her own good,
Jorie thinks.
She's trouble for sure.
“It's late. I'm going to make up the couch for you.”

Jorie goes to the linen closet in the front hall for a blanket and sheets, and meets up with her mother in the hallway. Ruth has just tidied the kitchen and she stops to peer into what had been her living room until Collie took up residence. She shakes her head. “I don't like what's going on here,” she says. Collie has fallen asleep in his clothes, with Mister there beside him. “A boy that age should have his own room. Maybe you put the house on the market too quickly. You still don't have all the facts. You've got to just wait and see.”

In the dim light, Jorie notices that her mother looks older. Ruth Solomon is dealing with this, too; it's her son-in-law sitting in the jail, not two miles from here. Every time Ruth ventures out to the market or the bakery, every time she walks out to get her mail or retrieve her newspaper, she invariably meets one or another of her neighbors, asking her how she feels about the charges against Ethan. Tonight at the library, for instance, Margaret Peck had leaned over during the finale, while the younger children, including her grandson Noah, were singing “All You Need Is Love,” to ask if Ruth had heard a defense fund had been started for Ethan. For a minute, Ruth was relieved. Defense funds were started for innocent men. But then Margaret had said, Guilty
or not, I guess you plan to stand by him.
Well, that was no comfort to Ruth.
Judge not lest you be judged,
she'd said to Margaret, but by then the children were taking their bows and Margaret Peck had turned away to applaud.