Chance Harbor (29 page)

“W
hat’s going on? Why is Mom on the floor? Mom, are you okay?” Zoe demanded, shouldering past Catherine and going straight to their mother, where she squatted down and took her hand.

“She fainted and fell before I could catch her. The ambulance is on its way.” Catherine stared in disbelief at this new version of her sister.

Zoe had shed the black dreadlocks, sunglasses, and shawl. A stranger observing this scene would not see a gonzo woman pretending to be blind and homeless, but a pretty, slender woman with cropped blond curls, a curvy back end in snug jeans riding low on her hips, and an expensive-looking, stylish black leather jacket. To top it off, Zoe wore a black-and-white scarf with tassels. It was the sort of cotton scarf that hippie backpackers might wear to advertise the fact that they’d traveled through Asia on a shoestring.

Catherine had been angry at her sister many times in her life, for more reasons than she could list in a single breath. Still, even compared to all that, the anger bubbling up in Catherine now was lava-hot and threatening to spill out of her body. She could imagine spewing enough anger to burn everything in this room to a crisp. Especially her sister, the hot sun around which their family had always revolved.

Meanwhile, her deranged sister was making clucking and cooing noises over their mother. As if she knew one thing about falls or concussions. Zoe was even stroking their mother’s hand like she actually cared, after nearly killing her with grief.

“I’m all right now,” Eve was saying, but she didn’t look it. The lines in her face were deep and her limbs looked brittle. Catherine didn’t usually think of her mother as old. Tonight, though, she could see where Eve was headed. “I fainted and fell. But I’m perfectly all right. Just feeling silly.” Eve stirred on the floor, as if to stand. Zoe and Willow both put their arms around her to help her up.

“Leave her there!” Catherine shouted, her voice echoing in the hallway. “Mom definitely has a concussion. She blacked out!”

“Please, Catherine. Let’s not be dramatic,” Eve said.

“Me? I’m a nurse practitioner! You’re telling
me
to curb the drama?” Catherine sputtered.

Everyone ignored her. Eve had taken both of Zoe’s hands in hers, saying, “My God. I can’t believe you’re here! Where have you been? Let me look at you. Are you really all right?”

“It’s a long story. But yes, I’m fine,” Zoe said, talking so fast that the words bounced noisily on the hardwood floor and echoed off the walls. She must have rehearsed this speech. “I’m clean. Healthier than I’ve ever been. I’m sorry I caused you so much pain and worry, Mom. Not only when I left, but for all those times before. Really I am. And I’m sorry about Dad, too. Believe me, I would have stayed here if I thought I could survive.”

By now Catherine could hear the shriek of an approaching ambulance. “They’re almost here,” she said needlessly.

Eve turned to her, still gripping Zoe’s hands. “For God’s sake, do not let those paramedics in the house. They always find something wrong.”

“Relax. We’ll just have them check you out,” Catherine said.

“All right. But don’t let them take me to the ER,” Eve said.

Zoe patted her hand. “We won’t. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine,” she said. “
You’re
fine.”

“Like you know squat,” Catherine muttered as she went to open the front door. Getting there involved navigating around her sister, mother, Willow, and both dogs, which had joined them and were now peacefully sniffing each other’s backsides. She couldn’t believe how many life-forms were breathing in her hallway.

She opened the door as footsteps thumped on the porch, expecting the paramedics. But it was Russell. Nola was standing behind him, peering over his shoulder. Catherine gritted her teeth. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Dad?” Willow said.

“Is that her?” Zoe demanded. “The little home-wrecking skank?”

Catherine’s face felt hot with embarrassment. Willow must have told Zoe every embarrassing detail about their home life. “Stay out of this, Zoe,” she said.

Russell waved a textbook he was holding in one hand and looked uncertainly at Catherine. “I just wanted to bring Willow’s book. She left it in my car and I thought she might need it at school tomorrow. Nola and I were having dinner in Cambridge, so it seemed like a good idea to drop it off.”

Catherine glared at Nola, who looked right past her and peered into the house. “Hey, Willow,” she said. “Who’s that?”

Before Willow could answer, Catherine shoved at Russell’s chest and forced him back down the porch steps. Nola had to walk backward behind him to avoid having him plow into her; she stumbled as she misjudged the last step and her boot heel slid off the stone path. “Ow!” she said.

“Get out, Russell.” Catherine’s face felt as if it were on fire, and she had to keep blinking against the slap of the cold night air. “You know I don’t want her here. We agreed! Get that girl off my lawn or I’ll take out a restraining order. Go!”

Russell put both hands up in surrender. But he, too, was looking beyond her to the front door of the house. “Is that
Zoe
in there?” he said. “Is she
alive
? Jesus, Catherine. What’s going on?”

The shock and concern in his voice undid her. Catherine had felt so alone, as if Zoe had coaxed her mother and Willow to one side of the moat and pulled up a bridge, leaving her stranded on the other side. When Russell said her name, she felt her knees wobble and stumbled toward him. Russell caught her in his arms.

For one blissful moment, Catherine let her exhausted body rest against his. It was so good to be held, to feel Russell’s tweed jacket against her cheek and to be surrounded by his familiar spicy scent. Her husband was here. Everything would be all right now, she thought, as the ambulance pulled up in front of the house.

Her
cheating
husband, she remembered, and butted his chin with her head. Hard. “Let go of me!”

“Ouch!” Russell yelped, rubbing his chin. “Christ. What did you do that for?”

“Don’t hurt him!” Nola said. “He was just trying to help you!”

“You shut up and get the hell off my lawn,” Catherine said.

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s going on, people?” A paramedic approached them, a young black guy in a reflective jacket. A woman stood behind him, a medical case in her hand, raising her eyebrows. The eyebrows were thin and black against her powdered face, like thread stitched onto her skin.

Now Catherine realized a fire engine had pulled up to the curb in front of her house as well. Neighbors were already stepping out onto their porches or standing on the sidewalk. Maybe she should just invite them all into her hallway.

“I’m fine. We all are. Well, most of us.” She pointed toward the house. “I called because my mother fell. She’s inside. I think she has a concussion.” Catherine was so cold that the words emerged in clipped, icy syllables.

“You sure there’s no problem with this guy here?” the EMT asked, stepping closer and essentially shielding her from Russell.

Catherine shook her head. “He’s my ex. It’s fine. He’s leaving.”

“He was just trying to help her,” Nola said, sounding fierce. “He’s a good person.”

“Shhh,” Russell said. “Don’t work yourself up over this. You heard, sweetie. Everything’s fine now.”

Behind the paramedic, Catherine watched Russell wrap Nola in his arms. Even from here, she could see the bulge beneath Nola’s short quilted coat. She did a quick calculation: January due date, so Nola must be six months along.

“Take her home, Russell. Please.” Catherine wheeled around to lead the paramedics into the house.

Zoe had come outside and was staring at Russell, her eyes narrowed. “You piece of crap!” she yelled. “How
dare
you do this to my sister? And to Willow? And what gives you the balls to bring that little slut around here?”

Russell snorted. “Big talk from the drug addict who abandoned her child.”

“At least I never
pretended
to be good,” Zoe shot back. “At least I’m
honest
about who I am.”

“Shut it, Zoe,” Catherine snapped. “That’s enough. Mom needs you.”

Just then, Nola let out an agonized moan. Catherine turned back and saw that she was doubled over and clutching her stomach. Her forehead glistened. Russell was leaning close to her, stroking her hair. “Sweetheart, what is it? Talk to me. You okay?”

“I think I’m in labor,” she gasped. “It really hurts.”

“When’s she due?” the male EMT asked, whipping out his stethoscope and going to Nola.

“January,” Catherine and Russell answered together.

The female paramedic rolled her eyes. “I’ll go check on the mother,” she said, and trotted past them, bag in hand.

Catherine glanced once more at Nola as the male paramedic helped her over to the ambulance, where he began taking her blood pressure. Probably just Braxton-Hicks contractions, she told herself, but felt frightened. What if Nola lost the baby?

Inside the house, the female paramedic told Catherine to shut the door. “We’ve had enough drama,” she said as she took Eve’s vital signs, asked her questions, then helped her up. She led Eve to the couch and offered oxygen and water, took some notes. Eve refused to go to the hospital.

“She’s probably going to be fine, but you might want to take turns sitting with her tonight to be on the safe side,” the paramedic said, looking at Zoe and Catherine. “Take her to the ER if there’s any deterioration.” As she began explaining what to look for—vomiting, nausea, blurred vision—Catherine stopped her.

“I’m a nurse,” she said. “I know what to do. But thank you.”

Catherine saw the paramedic to the door. Outside, Russell was bundling Nola into the car. She waited until they were gone, and the ambulance, too, before coming back inside and shutting the door. The temperature in the house had dropped while the door was open; Catherine started a fire in the fireplace.

Other than the occasional crackle and pop from the flames, the house was eerily quiet. Willow sat on the couch with Eve’s feet in her lap; Zoe was cross-legged on the floor next to Eve’s head. Between them lay the big black dog, flopped onto his side, snoring next to the couch, Mike curled in a ball against him. The living room smelled like dog and wood smoke.

Catherine sat in the armchair across from them and tried not to think about how this chair had always been her father’s favorite; he used to sit here and read the newspaper whenever she and Russell invited them for brunch. Now she remembered what Russell had said about her mother being unfaithful. Impossible to imagine. She never would have guessed that her parents had any serious problems. They seemed happy. Companionable. Respectful. She had tried to model her own marriage after theirs. How naive she’d been!

Catherine slumped lower in the chair, shivering a little from the shock of all that had happened despite the crackling heat of the fire, and studied her sister.

Zoe hardly looked older than when she’d left. Healthier and a bit heavier than before, but despite her extra weight, Zoe’s waist was still well defined and her body looked toned. Somebody would have had to put Catherine in some kind of torture device to get her to flex her knees as much as her sister’s were now. Maybe Zoe had been in a yoga retreat for the past five years. At this point, Catherine could believe almost anything about her sister’s secret life.

Her irritation and anger had waned during the chaos. Zoe had come to her defense, really, going after Russell like a pit bull. That was a minuscule point in her favor.

“Anybody want a drink?” Catherine said to break the silence. “Coffee or tea? Brandy? Juice? Water?” She pointedly looked at her mother on the couch. A little brandy might do her mother good. If her sister asked for alcohol, though, Catherine would throw her to the curb. And if she disappeared again, good. It was nice to know she was alive—really, it was—but who among them would actually be better off if Zoe stayed?

“No, thanks,” Willow said.

“I’m perfect,” Eve murmured without opening her eyes.

“I’d take some OJ if you have it,” Zoe said.

Of course Zoe wants you to wait on her
, Catherine thought, aware of a bitter taste at the back of her throat as she filled a glass with orange juice in the kitchen and carried it back to the living room. What else was new? Zoe had always exhibited a debutante’s need to be served. Or a dictator’s. Part of her charm. But oh so exhausting.

“Thanks.” Zoe did a graceful half spin on the floor without uncrossing her legs and reached up to take the juice. “So that’s Russell’s new squeeze, huh? Holy hell. What a dope.”

Catherine said nothing. She didn’t know whether by “dope” Zoe meant Nola or Russell. Either way, she didn’t want to talk about it. Not because Russell was with someone else, but because knowing that Willow had probably already told Zoe all about Catherine’s failed marriage and Russell’s new life was humiliating. How much lower could anyone sink than to be the object of pity between a tenth grader and her homeless, runaway mother—who, P.S., was probably still a drug addict? She went back to curl up in the chair again.