Drowning Instinct (26 page)

Dad must‘ve bullied someone because they let Meryl come up. As soon as I saw her, I plowed into her arms and buried my burning face into her shoulder like a little kid.

―It‘s okay,‖ she murmured, as we tottered back and forth. She stroked my hair. ―Whatever happens, I‘m here, honey.‖

She‘d brought my knapsack and promised to fetch clothes. ―And your hairbrush,‖

she said, ticking items off on her fingers. ―Shampoo, conditioner, face soap . . . am I forgetting anything?‖

―My laptop.‖ I told her what books I needed. ―Oh, and my car‘s still in the school parking lot. I think my keys are . . .‖ I stirred the contents of my knapsack and came up with the ring.

―Sure, sweetheart.‖ She checked her watch. ―It‘ll be daylight soon. We‘re down here, might as well. Your dad and I can dig it out—‖

―He wants to go back.‖

―He can suck an egg. His patients will keep. I‘ll get them to run your keys back up to you. That way, you can come and go as you please, without having to depend on me or him. Monday comes, we‘ll see how things are. I can put off going back north for a while.‖

―I need to go to school on Monday.‖

―Why don‘t you just take it one day at a time? You might not feel up to school for a while. People would understand.‖ She peered at me over her glasses. ―You call him yet?‖

For a weirdly confused moment, I thought she and I were on the same page. I nearly called Mitch by name but caught myself just in time. ―He‘s probably not up yet.‖

―If that boyfriend cares about you, he won‘t mind. Besides, don‘t all you kids sleep with your cell phones glued to your ear? Call him, honey. That‘s what people who love each other do.‖

The nurse‘s name was Laurie. She got them to bring in a cot so I could sleep next to Mom. ―People always complain how cold it is,‖ Laurie said, carrying in an armload of blankets. ―I swiped these from the autoclave in the delivery room. You should be nice and toasty. Anything else you need, you just say.‖

―Thanks.‖ I knew I wouldn‘t sleep, but I let her cover me up. She‘d been so nice, it seemed the least I could do.

―Oh, one more thing, honey. Hospital rules, you can‘t use that cell up here. You want to make a call, you have to go down to the cafeteria. Otherwise, you have to go outside, as in out of the building. Okay?‖ I nodded, and she dimmed the lights and left.

For a while, I lay on my side and watched the green and red lines that sketched my mother‘s heartbeat and blood pressure. The ventilator hissed and sighed and sucked air and let more out. The IV pumps ticked away, dribbling fluids into my mother‘s veins. My mother was still as death.

I checked my cell: almost 5 a.m. Meryl might be right; Mitch would want to know. I knew
I
would. But I decided to wait a little while longer. The idea of bundling up to stand in the frigid wind made me feel tired.

If you‘re wondering if I thought about what you‘d said, Bobby-o, you‘d be right.

Deep in my heart, I knew my mother had killed her bookstore. I could imagine her turning a slow circle, her eyes cutting across the silent spines of the books that she loved so much. I wasn‘t sure she meant to kill herself. She was drunk. So that might have been an accident.

Or not.

About what you‘d said about the fire at Grandpa‘s . . . Bobby, Bobby, you didn‘t really expect me to go on the record, did you? Mitch guessed. You‘re not as smart as he is, but you can read between the lines. Come to think of it, I probably should‘ve had
you
do my paper on Alexis; you seem to be pretty good at telling stories about crazy people. So, draw your own conclusions.

I rummaged in my knapsack and dragged out the Lasker book, the one Mitch had given me. Now was as good a time as any, I guessed, so I propped myself up on pillows and started in.

The book was a very fast read. Lasker reiterated a lot of what I already knew about Alexis. If you believed him, they‘d met at Stanford before Alexis hooked up with Wright, and it was lust at first sight. Lasker went into great detail about what Alexis was like in bed (a screamer who liked to use her nails and wasn‘t above a little blood); how often she wanted to get into his pants (every five seconds); how she made him feel: sore.... Okay, he really didn‘t say that. What Lasker wrote was
sated, yet hungry for more of the drug that
only Alexis infused in my veins, oh sweet happy death
. Talk about hyperbole. Maybe it‘s me, but I imagined a bloated Bacchus, with wine dribbling onto his chest. Or a heroin addict.

The whole book was like that. I wasn‘t sure why Mitch thought it would be helpful, then considered that all I had for Alexis‘s frame of mind was what she said and what others, out to protect her legacy, wrote. Lasker was all me-me-me, and maybe there was something to that. If you believed him—and I kind of did—Alexis cheated on her husband all through their marriage. The Alexis in these pages was vain, self-absorbed, blind to everything but her own needs and passions, whether those passions were for whales and dolphins, or a lover.

But then I came to something Lasker wrote that made all this somehow noble and tragic, at the same time, and so good, Bob, I copied it word for word:
There are those individuals who die for a cause, and we say they have made the
ultimate sacrifice. We call them martyrs, and we never doubt their sincerity.

Yet many others search their entire lives for something—or someone—worth dying
for and this is very different. These are the lonely and the desperate, fearful that their lives
have no meaning. They yearn for the bullet, if only someone else will pull the trigger.

Knowing what I do now, Bob, I think that was what Mitch wanted me to see, whether he knew it or not.

After two hours, my eyes were gritty and sore. I closed the book and reached for my knapsack. Before I could grab it, the book slipped off my lap and thumped to the floor. My eyes shot to my mother, but she hadn‘t moved. I bent to retrieve the book which lay facedown, covers splayed like a broken bird. As I retrieved it, I noticed a slip of paper that must‘ve been tucked into the back of the book. The print was dim and the lettering tiny, so I had to hold it at an angle and squint.

Saul’s Rare Books
, it read. There was a snail mail address, as well as a phone number and web site. There was the title of Lasker‘s book followed by a column of numbers and a final tally: $127.57.

A sales receipt. My eyes snagged on the date: October 3.

I knew that date because my mom‘s party was on October 6. So that meant the day Dewerman gave me Alexis‘s name was the same day
Mitch
had bought . . .

Don’t you have an English project?

No.
No
.

A week later, Mitch said he already
had
this book in his library. Hadn‘t he? I couldn‘t remember. I wasn‘t sure. But he knew all about Alexis.

All right, wait, wait.... My heart skipped a beat, then two. Wait, he hadn‘t lied, he
did
have the book, but . . .

I closed my eyes, replayed the moment I‘d turned around and seen Mitch and Dewerman chatting in the doorway. Then I remembered the handwritten slip I‘d stolen:
J.

And
lover.

A note to himself.

A reminder to buy the book?

―No,‖ I said aloud. ―No, it wasn‘t like that.‖

As I headed down to the cafeteria, I‘d decided that I must‘ve misunderstood. Either way, whether he had the book already or only
thought
he had it and then bought it because he cared about me, what did it matter? He‘d been thinking of
me
. That was all that counted.

A few people were already filing through with trays. I smelled greasy bacon and eggs, and as I spied a cafeteria lady flipping sausage patties, my stomach complained. I hadn‘t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but my stomach would have to wait. I chose a table in the corner and, holding my breath, called Mitch‘s cell.

One ring. Two. Then: ―Hello?‖

―Mitch, it‘s—‖ The words died in my mouth as I registered that the voice wasn‘t his. ―I‘m sorry. I was looking for Mr. Anderson. Who is this?‖

―This is Kathy,‖ she said. ―Mitch‘s wife.‖

47: a

The words were a punch in the gut. My knees went suddenly wobbly and weak. It was a good thing I was already sitting down.

―Who‘s this?‖ Mrs. Anderson said. ―Is this the police again? Mitch has already told you everything he knows. Do you know what time it is? Who
is
this?‖

What?
Police
? Why would they talk to Mitch about the fire? ―I . . . I‘m on Mi—Mr.

Anderson‘s track team, and I‘m his chem TA and—‖

―Oh, I remember him talking about you. You‘re another one of Mitch‘s girls, aren‘t you? Or . . . wait.‖ Her voice changed and she whispered, ―Is this
Danielle
?‖

I blinked. I actually pulled my cell away and looked at it. Then I pressed it to my ear again and said, ―No. My name‘s Jenna Lord. I‘m Mr. Anderson‘s TA? In chemistry? And I

. . . I need to talk to him. About Monday.‖

―
Now
? It‘s Friday.‖

Think fast, think fast. ―Uhm . . . it‘s an emergency. My mom‘s in the hospital and I probably won‘t make it to school on Monday. I‘m sorry, I guess I‘m just so worried and upset.‖

I think it helped that all this was true, because Mrs. Anderson said just a minute, that Mitch was in the other room and she‘d go wake him up and give him his cell. I listened to muffled footsteps and then what sounded like doors opening, closing, and voices.

Then Mitch was on the line: ―Jenna? What is it, what‘s wrong?‖

―You‘re with your
wife
,‖ I blurted, loudly enough that two women four tables away lifted their heads and stared. I scooted around until I was facing the cafeteria wall which was a nauseating puke-brown.

―In separate rooms,‖ he said. ―I didn‘t know she was coming down, sweetheart. She surprised me.‖

―She had your cell.‖

―She had some calls to make back to her family in Minneapolis and I lent her my phone. Jenna, what‘s going on?‖ He listened as I pushed out the words around tears and then said, ―Oh honey, is there anything I can do?‖

―Can you come?‖

He might have shaken his head because there was a small gap and then he said,

―Not right away.‖

―You want to stay with your wife.‖

―Did I say that? Jenna,
think
. It would look pretty strange if I,
your chemistry
teacher
, took off at dawn to go hold the hand of his
student
, who clearly has a family of her own.‖

I knew he was right. ―I‘m sorry. Why . . . Mitch, what does . . .‖ I couldn‘t bring myself to ask the question.

―Hang on a second.... Okay, I‘m back. I‘m actually in the bathroom, with the door closed.‖

His voice was very soft. ―Where are you?‖ I asked.

―Hotel, in adjacent rooms, as in she locks her door and I lock mine. It‘s a long story, sweetie.‖

―I‘m not going anywhere.‖ When he didn‘t say anything, I said, ―Mitch? Are you and she—?‖

―No,‖ he said firmly. ―
No
. We‘re not sleeping together. We are not getting
back
together, no matter what she wants.‖

I had to wet my lips. ―But do you want to?‖

A longer pause this time. ―I would be lying if I said it hadn‘t occurred to me. You don‘t deserve lies.‖

Oh no, I only deserved sneaking around and being told I was too young to understand and a dead brother and a mother who‘d tried to kill my grandfather and ended up nearly offing me. I deserved a lover who was my teacher and married and couldn‘t divorce his wife and might be lying now.

Then I had another, brighter thought. Maybe Mitch hadn‘t found a
reason
for a divorce, until now. Until me. Maybe that‘s why they were together now.

But that‘s not what I asked next. ―Mitch, when your . . . when Mrs. Anderson answered the phone, she thought I was the police. She thought I was
Danielle
.‖ He was silent so long I thought we‘d been disconnected. ―Mitch?‖

―I heard you. Look, I can‘t talk about it this instant. I will, just not now. Honestly, sweetheart, you have enough going on, you don‘t need to worry about this. I‘ll explain it later, okay?‖

―Are you in trouble?‖

―No.‖ Then Mitch said he had to stay another day and wouldn‘t start back for his house until Sunday. ―But I‘ll call you later on today, okay? I‘ll see you soon, honey.‖ He told me he loved me and then we hung up.

Ten minutes later, as I was stepping out of the elevator, I remembered that I hadn‘t told him which hospital Mom was in. So I rode the elevator back down. The ladies at the table were gone, but the cafeteria was getting busy, and I broke down at the sight of pancakes. It was fifteen more minutes before I navigated to a table with my plate and a cup of coffee.

Mrs. Anderson answered again, something for which I wasn‘t prepared. ―Oh, hello .

. . Jenna? I borrowed Mitch‘s cell again. I think he‘s in the shower. Do you need to leave a message?‖

It would be strange if I didn‘t and there was nothing suspicious about the information. I told her where my mother was, and then she said her father had been a patient there, too, only not in the Burn Unit. ―It‘s horrible about the fire. I‘m watching the news right now. Such a shame about that old bookstore. Just one more bad thing this weekend. They say bad things come in threes, so I‘m waiting for the last shoe to drop.‖

I had no idea what she was talking about, so I said, ―Yeah, it‘s pretty upsetting.‖

―I wouldn‘t wonder. You poor kids . . . Does anyone have any idea what‘s happened?‖

Oh, the detective thinks my mother did it
. ―No.‖

―Well, they will. I‘m sure the police will find her. Anyway, I‘m so sorry I never got a chance to thank your mother in person for the book.‖

What? It took me a couple seconds; it seemed fifty years since the party. ―Oh. Sure.

Well, she‘ll be happy to hear that you liked it.‖
If she doesn’t die first.

Then it hit me. ―Mr. Anderson gave you the book.‖

She sounded bemused. ―Of course. He doesn‘t read that kind of fiction much.‖

I knew that, of course. But
when
had Mitch seen her? She was supposed to have been in Minneapolis the whole time. Maybe she‘d come down on a weekend, or something.

The most logical explanation was that he‘d given her the book just yesterday. Sure, that was it, only . . .

I never got a chance to thank your mother in person.

That didn‘t sound like something Mrs. Anderson would say if she‘d only gotten the book yesterday.

Wait a second.

That night after Mitch took me home that first time, I‘d called. A woman had answered and there had been someone else in the room right before the hang up. But Mitch told me on the way home that his wife was away:
I’m baching it
.

Was the woman I was talking to now the same person? I thought about it. Decided, no, I didn‘t think so. That other person had sounded . . .
young
.

Like someone my age.

―Anyway,‖ she was saying, ―I‘ll give Mitch the message, okay? How was the rest of your holiday? I mean . . . I‘m sorry, what a stupid question.‖

―No, that‘s okay. It was fine,‖ I lied. It was killing me that she kept calling him by his first name. To be polite—and change the subject—I asked, ―How were things at Mr.

Anderson‘s sister‘s house?‖

―Mitch‘s sister?‖

―Yeah. She has Thanksgiving every year? In Madison?‖

―Oh, I think you‘ve got Mitch mixed up with another teacher,‖ she said.

―Oh. She doesn‘t live in Madison?‖

―She doesn‘t live anywhere,‖ Mrs. Anderson said. ―We‘re in Appleton, and Mitch doesn‘t have any brothers or sisters.‖

I kept waiting for her to say the rest:
in Wisconsin
. But she didn‘t. So I said, stupidly, ―So he doesn‘t have a sister . . . or a brother?‖

―No,‖ said Mrs. Anderson. ―Mitch is an only child.‖

48: a

I’m visiting my sister in Madison.

My head was whirling. I left my pancakes.

My sister always does Thanksgiving.

I drifted out of the cafeteria in a kind of daze, floating to the elevator, punching the up arrow, staring at the numbers ticking in a kind of countdown: 7-6-5-4....

Casey’s in Afghanistan.

I stumbled into the elevator and stared dumbly at the panel. A hospital tech reached past me. ―What floor?‖ he asked.

―Burn Unit,‖ I mumbled. He stabbed the right button as I sagged against the back of the elevator and closed my eyes.

I have three sisters.

Girls always use more hot water than guys.

My brother’s in Special Forces.

Small world.

God, what world had
I
been in? Planet Mitch? He‘d lied. He was in Appleton with his wife. He had no brother, no three sisters who used all the hot water. He bought the Lasker book the day Dewerman gave me the assignment.

No, wait. Numb, I navigated my way down the hall from the elevator toward the Burn Unit. Mitch had done his undergraduate work at Stanford; he‘d studied marine mammology, he said, and as a grad student, he‘d already
known
about Alexis and he just
thought
he had Lasker‘s book. But why buy it? There was no reason he would need it—unless that reason was me.

No, he went to Stanford and then Madison, and there were sharks and diving and
dolphins and—

And then I realized what else was missing from Mitch‘s library, what my dad had and Mitch didn‘t,

No pictures there, in that cabin. No diplomas either.

Stop, I had to stop. Not everyone advertised. There were plenty of people who didn‘t slap every credential on the wall for other people to admire, and the cabin was private space. Mitch wouldn‘t need a reminder. I had to slow down. There were things Mitch had told me that had to be true: he was rich; he was married; I‘d talked to his wife; I knew she was with her sick dad in Minneapolis.

Police. She‘d said
police
, and Mitch said that was a long story. And what else?

You poor kids.

Bad things come in threes.

I‘d assumed she‘d been talking about me, but—

―But she thought I was Danielle.‖

―What? I‘m sorry, did you say something, honey?‖

I looked up and saw a nurse, not Laurie, in my mother‘s doorway. All the nurses were different. Change of shift. The nurse said, ―Are you Jenna?‖ When I nodded, she dug into her pocket. I heard the tinkle of metal. ―Laurie wanted me to give you these. You were down in the cafeteria.‖

―Thanks.‖ I took my keys. Meryl had pinned a note to the ring:
Family Parking,
Level 2, Row 3
.

―I heard about your mom‘s bookstore on the news this morning,‖ the nurse said.

―I‘m real sorry.‖

Mrs. Anderson had seen the news, too.
Bad things come in threes
. ―Is there a TV

around?‖ I asked.

The nurse steered me to the family lounge, which was empty. I punched through stations with the remote until I found the local news, but it was nearly 8 a.m. and the only story featured was something about a dancing penguin who wrote opera. (Okay, it wasn‘t; I made that up, but it was something equally stupid.) I waited impatiently, jiggling my foot, and then the lady announcer said, ―A deadly fire destroys a cherished downtown landmark.‖

―And authorities in Milwaukee investigate what they fear may be a suicide pact between a Turing High School athlete and her boyfriend,‖ her male partner added. ―All that, and the weather when we come back.‖

Danielle
. And ...
David
?

My heart iced.

Mrs. Anderson thought I was Danielle—because she‘d been there when the police called Mitch.

49: a

I had to wait through the weather first, an obscenely cheerful guy named Brian jabbering about Arctic cold fronts and more snow by next week. The announcers got in on the act, posing inane questions to which they already knew the answers: ―
Brian, I bet there
are a lot of snowmobilers just chomping on the bit. What about those lakes and rivers?
‖

Setting up Brian so he could warn us all about appearances being deceiving and the dangers of thin ice, blah, blah, blah.

Mom‘s store was the lead story. There were aerial shots of the fire—a great roiling inferno—and then ground level, but either way you could see there was nothing left but a charred skeleton. The only thing saving the block had been the cold and snow melt that had wet neighboring buildings so they didn‘t burn.

Danielle and David were next. I listened hard, trying to still my mind. What I got was that David had picked up Danielle at her house on Wednesday and then they both disappeared. Just . . . vanished. The newspeople were getting the suicide thing from one of Danielle‘s friends—I recognized her from school—who said that Danielle had talked about maybe not coming back after Thanksgiving.

―Police have interviewed teachers and students at Turing High for any information that might lead to the discovery of the missing teens. While it is too early to speculate on their whereabouts, unnamed sources tell Channel 4 that Miss Connolly placed a call to Child Protective Services as recently as two weeks ago. Miss Connolly reportedly declined to make a specific complaint.‖

Cut to Mr. Connolly, standing on his doorstep: ―All we have to say to Danielle is, honey, we love you, come home, we can work it out.‖ Shouts from assembled reporters; I caught
allegations of abuse
. Mr. Connolly, his face lawyerly and glacial: ―No comment.‖

Cut to the announcer: ―CPS could not be reached for comment. Police are investigating. And in other news . . . ‖