Isabella Moon (12 page)

Later, as they lay wrapped up together in one of the quilts, Lillian felt herself slipping into a dream in which she gave birth to a hundred children who, like the fireflies, flew off into the night.

In the distance Lillian heard the sound of a lawn mower start up. It was too early in the season for grass cutting—someone was surely mulching late-falling oak leaves. She smiled to herself, thinking that she wasn’t the only midnight gardener in the neighborhood. Actually, it was only 7:45, and full dark had just come. An automatic light she’d had installed on the side of the house came on as the neighbor’s tabby passed beneath her kitchen window.

“’Evening, Pudding,” she called, but the cat merely stiffened her raised tail and continued across the patio.

Sitting back on her feet, Lillian stretched her arms above her head. The cool air from the woods had begun to move through the yard, and the last thing she needed was to be out in the damp. As she gathered up her garden tools, her mind rushed forward to her evening routine: shine up her sink, take the garbage out, wash her face, and clean her teeth. She rose, stiffly, and headed to the back door of the garage.

She was about to reach for the doorknob when she saw a movement behind the garbage cans.

“Pudding!” she said. “Scat!” The cat, which belonged to her neighbor, Aletha, had a taste for trash and was damned clever about getting into it. No doubt the salmon fillet she’d had the night before had attracted it.

When no cat dashed out, she looked more closely. Again, the movement. She put her hand to her chest when she saw a small girl rise up from behind the can’s lid. Her face was pale, paler than one could ever imagine a person’s skin being. Lillian felt that if she looked hard enough, she would be able to see through her skin and into the inner flesh of the girl. Her hair was black, almost invisible in the shadows. A thin hand rested on the edge of the can.

When Lillian’s breath returned, she said, “Child,” but couldn’t force any other words from her throat.

There was a sound behind her, a swishing sound like a wave of silk sweeping across the lawn, and the girl, not even looking toward the sound, turned away.

Lillian reached out to her, but before she could take a step, she felt the presence of someone behind her and started to turn. Something hard hit her in her right temple, then hit her again and again as she fell to the ground, the curve of the trug’s handle beneath her, digging into her stomach.

Stunned but still able to move, she tried to raise herself up, to find out what had hit her, and who. But something jabbed at her, hard, in the back. This time she lay with her eyes closed, but her strength wouldn’t return. The whisper of a prayer escaped her lips.

A small hand that was neither warm nor cold slipped over her open palm and squeezed. Lillian opened her eyes and blinked several times, trying to clear the blood from them. The little girl knelt beside her, looking at her impassively.

Lillian wasn’t sure if the girl was speaking. Her mouth didn’t appear to be moving, but inside her head Lillian heard the words,
It’s all right all right all right all right,
over and over, like a mother’s lullaby. So absorbed was she, so transformed by the pain and the little girl’s words, that she barely moved when the pitchfork pierced her, puncturing a lung and snapping her spinal cord in two.

10

FRANCIE LAY WITH HER HEAD
on Paxton’s chest. His shirt, which he hadn’t bothered to take off, was soaked. Her own legs and butt were exposed, but the interior of the car was still warm.

Only twenty minutes earlier she had hurried out of the hospital, exhausted and anxious to get home. But before she could pull out of her parking space, Paxton rapped on the driver’s-side window, nearly scaring her to death. Now, they were both in the passenger seat of her car, still breathing hard from the sex they’d just had.

“That nursey uniform is so fucking hot,” Paxton said. “I can’t believe all those old men in there aren’t trying to drag you into their beds and fuck themselves into heart attacks.”

Francie laughed and raised her head to bite playfully at his lower lip. “You’re so full of shit,” she said. Her uniform was a baggy pair of white pants and an oversize smock.

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “You don’t know what a fine piece of ass you are. That’s what I love about you.”

“Well, the guy driving around in the security truck is going to know if we don’t get out of here,” Francie said, trying to pull away. But Paxton pulled her closer and began to stroke her hair.

“Come on up to Keeneland with me when they start running in a couple of weeks,” he said.

Francie didn’t move, waited to answer. Lexington wasn’t that far away, and the track was a fairly public place. Paxton never talked about people he knew up there, but the rumor mill was rife every spring with his horse-circuit partying.

“Hey. Are you asleep?” he said, nudging her.

“We really are living on the edge today, aren’t we?” she said. She twisted around to pull up her panties and pants and climbed awkwardly back over to the driver’s side. It confused and irritated her when Paxton brought up the subject of their being seen together. One day he said he didn’t give a damn, other times she wouldn’t see him for weeks when he thought that they might have been seen in Middleboro or in a restaurant an hour from Carystown.

“I hate to bring it up,” she said. “But what about your mother? Isn’t it always about your mother?”

Pax buckled up his pants and reset his seat. “Come on, baby,” he said. “My mama’s so out of her head these days with whatever bullshit the doctor’s got her on, she doesn’t know her ass from her elbow.”

That much she knew about Freida Birkenshaw. The woman had been ill for almost a year. Francie often saw her in the hallways of the medical center on her way to her doctors’ appointments, leaning on Paxton or her housekeeper.

“What about
my
mother, then?” Francie said. “Don’t you care what she thinks?” She was feeling guilty about not going by her mother’s house, and now she would be on her way to bed. On the phone, her mother had sounded the slightest bit sad.

“We can play that game all fucking night if you want, Francie. But then I guess we both got ours, didn’t we?”

“Where the hell did that come from?” she said. Paxton had turned suddenly nasty. It was a side of him she didn’t like. She thought it might be the coke talking. When he’d shown up at her car, his eyes had been glassy, his smile just a bit too wide.

“Someday you’re going to be all out of excuses, sweet cakes,” he said. “And you’re going to be fucking all alone. Because we both know that even if I bought you a fucking gold ring and let you put it through my nose so you could lead me down fucking Main Street, it wouldn’t make any difference to you. Would it?”

Francie shook her head, but she was trembling inside. “Whatever. You’re just stoned,” she said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked around for her purse as though getting ready to get out of the car. She didn’t know what to do. She just wanted to be away from him.

“You don’t fool me, Francie,” he said. “I’ve known you too well for too long.”

“You don’t know shit,” she said. “You don’t know anything about my life. What would you know, living in that big fucking house with your four fucking cars and your old black Bonterre servants to wipe your ass for you? What the hell do you know about real life?”

The look in Paxton’s eyes was hurt, angry. So many times they’d played games where they got close to the edge of pain, but they were only games. Would he hurt her? Here, in the car? It scared her more, though, to realize that at that moment she felt something deeper for him than the lust she had been experiencing for months.

“You’re a snob, Francie. You have been all your life. You can’t see your way out of your precious family circle,” he said. “You’re fucking pathetic if you think it’s some kind of crime to have money. And in about five minutes you’re going to be fucking sorry you blew me off, because you’re going to need me, sweet cakes.”

He sat for just another moment in the car, staring at her, his breath coming heavily. Then he got out.

A minute later Francie heard the Mercedes start up a few rows over. She looked up as he gunned it down the parking lot aisle and bounced out onto the highway.

11

AFTER A LONG MORNING OUT
at Janet’s new house, Kate sat at her office desk picking at the salad she’d had delivered from The Lettuce Leaf. She’d already eaten the sunflower and walnut roll that had come with it, butter and all, and had dabbed at the crumbs before brushing them into her trash can. The salad displeased her. For once, she was truly hungry, and the deep green romaine leaves and crisp veggies seemed offensive. What she really wanted was comfort food: peanut butter, macaroni and cheese, caramel popcorn with nuts, cookies, cookies, cookies, and then, perhaps, some ice cream. But she knew better than to go down that road. Once she started, it would be too hard to stop.

For the first time in more than a week, she had slept through the night. There had been no sudden awakening, no sickening worry that she was being watched. Saturday night had been peaceful too, with Caleb breathing evenly beside her in the dark, though she’d awakened herself several times waiting, wondering if the girl would come again.

Self-conscious about their lovemaking, Kate had insisted, to Caleb’s amusement, that they make love in the living room on a blanket on the floor. She’d had him light a fire in the fireplace and they used up the last of the wood she’d had delivered for the winter. By the time they finished around midnight, they were both dripping with sweat, so warm was the room.

“Let’s get a shower,” he had said. “Then maybe we can start all over again in bed.” He ran the tip of his tongue lightly from the hollow of her throat to the tender skin on the underside of her jaw. “Mmm. Salty girl.”

But what if she’s there, watching? What if she’s at the window?

Kate wriggled out from beneath him and wrapped herself in the throw from the couch. She glanced down the hallway to the bedroom.

“What is it?” Caleb asked.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Let’s get dressed first. Or maybe you could just put these on.” She picked up the plaid boxers that lay near a leg of the couch and tossed them so that they landed at his feet.

He looked at the shorts but made no move to pick them up. “What the hell? The shades are pulled down.”

“Well, maybe they aren’t in the bedroom,” she said.

In the waning firelight, Caleb’s skin gave off a warm, bronze glow. She knew how lucky she was to have him in her life. He had never done a single thing to hurt or worry her. She knew she didn’t deserve to be treated so well. Someday he would know the truth about her and he would probably leave. Pushing him away was the furthest thing from her mind, but right then the little girl seemed more important.

“Pretty please?” she said, giving him a playful pout.

When he stood up, towering over her with the firelight behind him, he was like a dark shadow come to life. Naked, he walked past her to the bedroom and the bathroom beyond.

“You may be one of the best-looking women I’ve ever known, Kate Russell, but sometimes I think you’re a little nuts,” he called back to her.

She heard the bathroom door close behind him and the shower start up. Later in bed, though their bodies were spooned comfortably together, they spoke little before they fell asleep. As he prepared to leave Sunday, Caleb had kissed her passionately, but she felt like there was a new distance between them.

In her heart she knew she’d been a little ridiculous about the whole thing.
Paranoid
really was the word. The girl could go anywhere she wanted, obviously—to a cemetery, out to Janet’s house (Kate was sure that the pinecones had been brought there by the girl, or she had caused them to be there). The absurdity of the situation was starting to get to her. The notion that she was making choices in her life based on what she thought were the concerns of something or someone that didn’t even exist put her off balance. She was worried that maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, that her conscience was catching up with her. She had thought she’d left the worst part of herself and her fears behind her when she fled South Carolina. But maybe she was wrong. Still, hadn’t Lillian seen? Hadn’t she understood that the girl was asking for her help?

“That woman’s back again,” Edith said, startling her out of her thoughts. “Janet’s going to have a fit.”

Kate sighed. “I told her yesterday that she was going to have to stop hanging around out there.”

Hanna Moon leaned with her back against the window, her broad shoulders and tangle of dark hair spread against the glass. She was looking up as though watching the sky for something.

“It’s so sad about her daughter,” Edith said. “I think I’d go a little crazy, too. But I don’t think I’d actually become a
street
person. Maybe I should get someone at the church involved. Or maybe we should just call the police even if Janet said not to. She’s going to have a fit, just a fit. What do you think, Kate?” Edith stood with her hands on her hips, watching the woman at the window with mild perplexity, as though she were trying to decide which hat to wear.