Ivy Secrets (53 page)

They crept through rubble and decaying bricks, down a narrow passageway.

“Jenny!” Charlie shouted. But the only sound that followed was the hollow thuds of their footsteps.

“Jenny, where are you?” Marina called out behind her.

Suddenly there was a noise. Charlie looked down. A fat gray rat scampered past. She shuddered.

“There’s dinner!” Willie laughed, and kept walking.

Charlie looked at Marina. Marina looked away.

“Jenny!” Charlie called out again weakly, and followed Willie again.

“I bet she’s in the round house,” Willie muttered. “The round house. Or in the shock room.”

“What is the round house?” Marina asked Charlie.

Charlie shook her head and kept walking.

“The round house,” Willie sang. “It’s where we do our exercise. Around and around and around. Exercise is important to better mental health.” He pointed to the right. “Round house this way. Shock room that way.”

Agent Connors stopped. “Let’s split again. We’ll save time. Ms. Marchant, you go with Willie to the round house. Mrs. Hobart, come with me.”

Charlie stole a quick look at Marina, who nodded. “Go ahead. Willie and I will be fine.”

    Marina followed Willie through a door to the right, down a dark, cavernous hall. They came to another door. Willie pushed against it. It creaked in opposition. He pushed again. It opened.

Inside was a large room. A large dusty, damp room. A huge wooden turnstile stood in the middle of the floor. Willie scampered over to it and tried to spin it around.

“It’s broken,” Willie said. “It’s broken. Are you happy now?”

“She’s not here,” Marina said. “Any other bright ideas?”

Then Marina heard a sound. A muffled, faraway sound. Her eyes darted around the gray room. There was a door, off to the left. She screamed, “Jenny!” The muffled sound came again.

She ran to the door. She threw it open. Her hand flew to her mouth. It was a tiny cubicle, its walls covered by rotted padding. But in the middle, a young girl lay on a decaying mattress, her knees pulled to her chest, her feet and hands bound, a scarf wrapped around her mouth.

“Jenny?” Marina cried out.

The girl turned her eyes—her huge, dark blue eyes—toward Marina. Marina stared into them. Within their darkness, an image shimmered, a mirror essence of herself. She gaped down at the child, filled with a sense of completeness, a wholeness, like she had never known.

“Jenny,” the voice within her spoke.

The girl wrinkled her eyebrows together and murmured through the scarf.

Marina took a deep breath to calm her shivering soul. Then she knelt down beside the mattress and untied the child of her womb, setting her daughter free.

“Mommy!” Jenny cried as the scarf fell from her mouth and tears sprung from her eyes. “Where’s my mother?” Her lower lip trembled, her shoulders quivered.

Marina reached out her arms and slowly drew the child against her, to her breast, to her heart. “Sssh,” she whispered. “Your mommy’s here.” She felt the cool flesh of Jenny’s cheek against her own; Jenny’s flesh, which once had been within her own. She felt the bones of Jenny’s back beneath her arms, bones that had once been so tiny were now strong and grown. She listened to Jenny’s gentle breathing, and knew that she had been the one to make it happen; she had been the one who chose not to abort this grand and beautiful child; she had been the one to give her birth. She felt these things and knew these things as she held her child close to her, just as she knew that though she had been the one to give the child life, she had not been the one to help her grow. She squeezed Jenny and closed her eyes, trying to etch forever the feel of her being within her mind. And then Marina whispered, “Your mommy’s coming, Jenny. Your mommy will be right here.” She rocked the child back and forth, and licked away the single tear that had fallen down her cheek.

“Jenny!” came Charlie’s shout from behind them.

“Mommy!” Jenny shrieked. She broke from Marina’s grasp and tried to stand. She wobbled, then slumped back onto the mattress. “I thought no one would ever find me.”

Marina moved as Charlie went toward Jenny in a slow-motion tableau. “My God,” Charlie cried. “ ’You’re all right. You’re all right.”

And then the child reached out to the only mother she had ever known.

For a moment, Marina watched them hug and felt the old air in the room become charged with life and love. Then the princess stepped back through the doorway, past a smiling Willie Benson, past a composed FBI man, and retreated down the hallway, back the way from which she’d come.

“It’s all over. Jenny’s fine.”

Tess heard the voice come from the doorway of her hospital room, but she didn’t—couldn’t—turn her head on the pillow. The last person she wanted to see was Joe Lyons.

“Tess? Did you hear me?” Joe asked. “I said Jenny is fine.”

She stared at the green-painted cinderblock wall. “I heard you. Thanks for letting me know.” She clutched the stiff, worn blanket and wished she had a rag doll—one of Dell’s rag dolls—to hold, to hug.

Suddenly, Joe’s footsteps came into the room, circled the bed. She turned her head to avoid seeing him.

“Tess, are you okay?”

She didn’t answer.

She heard him drag a chair to her bedside. Then there was silence.

“I’m not leaving until you look at me,” Joe finally said.

“Then you might as well ask for a bed of your own.”

She felt his hand on her back. “Tess, Jenny’s fine. You’re going to be fine, too. Look at me. Please.”

“Look at you? Why? So I can feel like more of an idiot than I already do?”

“You’re not an idiot, Tess. You’re a passionate, emotional woman. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

She clutched the blanket more tightly and prayed he would take his hand off her back and get the hell out of her room.

Then she heard him stand up. “Okay, Tess, you win. If
you want to spend the rest of your life feeling sorry for yourself, I can’t stop you.”

She squeezed her eyes but could not hold back the tears. They crept from the corners and ran down her cheeks. She blinked long enough to see Joe walking toward the door, to see the thick white bandage that wrapped his hand. The hand she had so carelessly burned. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “God, Joe, I’m so sorry.”

Joe turned around and smiled. “Sorry for what?” He followed her gaze down to his hand, then held it high. “What? This old thing? I’ve had worse.” He stepped back to her bedside. “Did I ever tell you about the time those Democrats rallied in Springfield and I got caught in the riot?” He took off his cap and rubbed his red hair. “They beat the shit out of me. Damn liberals.”

Tess couldn’t help but laugh.

He sat on the edge of the bed, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath. “But you know what I learned, Tess? I learned that we all have to live together. Democrats, Republicans, all of us. I learned that we have to accept each other if there’s ever going to be any damn peace in this world.”

Before she knew it, she was crying again. “Oh, God, Joe, do you know what I want this very minute?”

He touched her shoulder.

“I want a doll. I want a doll to hug, to tell me that everything’s going to be okay.”

“Well,” he said with a smile, “I was never much one for playing with dolls. Would you mind settling for me?” Then he leaned forward, ever so slowly, and wrapped his big tender arms around her and hugged her the way no one ever had. And told her that everything was going to be fine.

    She sat on the floor in the living room, savoring the warmth of Grover’s body, rubbing his fur, loving the feel of his heart beating softly against her leg.

“It’s going to be okay, Grover,” Jenny whispered. “We’re going to be okay now.”

She listened to the adult voices in the other room, not needing to hear their words, not caring what they were saying. Long ago Jenny had learned to tune out the conversations
of adults: they were never talking about her, anyway. They were always talking about business or people she didn’t know or things they had to do. Nothing that related to her. Nothing that mattered.

Aunt Tess had been the only one who ever talked to her, listened to her. But now, Aunt Tess wasn’t here.

She wondered what was going to happen now. She’d taken three showers, but it still seemed like the musty, rotting smell of that cellar was coming out of her skin. She’d eaten a slice of pizza, but all she could taste were the pickle and mustard of the hamburgers she’d eaten, the junior Whoppers, the only food he’d removed the scarf to let her eat.

She touched the corner of her mouth. It still hurt, still felt like that awful scarf was tied there. She looked down at her feet; her ankles were still swollen and sore from the rope that had been tied around them. The rope
he’d
tied around them.

They’d told her he was dead. But she would never forget his face. And she would never forget his funny accent. It was the same accent that the woman who found her had. The woman with the thick black hair and the big dark eyes. The beautiful woman, whose hair and eyes were like … hers.

She wondered what would happen now, and if she would ever be able to eat a junior Whopper again.

    Charlie watched from the kitchen as Jenny sat quietly with Grover. Jenny would, Charlie knew, need special care, special attention from now on. The trauma that she’d been through—the horror and the fear—would ease only with time. Time, patience, and help: the kinds of things that Jenny had been deprived of for too long. Charlie rubbed the never-ceasing pain inside her shoulder and prayed her guilt would someday also heal.

She glanced around the small, neglected house. The FBI men—and all their equipment—at last were gone; Dell and Peter were cleaning up the dinner dishes; Marina had not returned. Charlie was uncertain if she ever would. The police had never been told the truth about Jenny’s birth.

Charlie sighed wearily. Her husband dried a dish, set it
in the cabinet, and winked at Charlie. She smiled. She had never seen him dry a dish. She’d always thought that, like Elizabeth, he expected paid help to do it. She was going to have to get to know Peter all over again. This time she would be certain to learn the real him.

Suddenly, the back door opened. For an instant fear rushed through her before she remembered that Jenny was back, that Jenny was safe.

Joe Lyons came into the kitchen. Behind him was Tess.

Charlie went to her.

“I’m sorry,” Tess said quietly. “I’m sorry I caused so many problems.”

Charlie reached out her arms. They hugged. “Oh, Tess,” she cried, “everything’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” Even as Charlie heard her words, she smiled at herself. Good old Charlie, ever the optimist, she thought.

Grover bounded from the living room, barking and panting and dripping. Jenny followed close behind with tentative, uncertain steps.

“Aunt Tess?” Jenny whispered, with a glint in her eyes that Charlie knew was special, special for Tess, not for her. She moved aside to allow Tess to sweep Jenny into her arms.

“I hear you’ve had some kind of adventure,” Tess said. “Imagine, you having all that fun without me.”

Jenny laughed. “Some fun,” she whimpered, as she squeezed Tess tightly, radiating her love.

Charlie forced a smile. It was wonderful to see the way Jenny took to Tess, yet she couldn’t stop the small spark of jealousy that flickered within her. Tess, Charlie knew, had earned Jenny’s love. She was patient with her, warm, and kind. The way a mother should be. The way Charlie’s own mother had been. Charlie sighed and hoped it wasn’t too late for Jenny and her, that now they could start over, that Jenny would be willing to let Charlie try. She glanced at Peter; he gave another reassuring wink. Charlie nodded.
We’ll be okay
, she told herself.
Together, we’ll be okay.

Charlie noticed that Joe carried a large bag.

“I have a little something for you, Peter,” Joe said. “A cool three million, I believe.”

“Three million dollars?” Jenny questioned as she pulled away from Tess. “You paid three million dollars for me?”

Peter set down his dish towel. “Little lady,” he said, “I’d have paid three hundred million dollars for you.” Charlie watched Jenny’s eyes grow large. Peter held up a finger. “But not a penny more.”

Jenny looked into her father’s eyes a moment. A hesitant grin crawled across her face. Tess patted her shoulder and Jenny’s grin widened into a smile. “Gee,” was all Jenny said.

Charlie reached out and took the heavy bag from Joe, thankful that he had discreetly disposed of the knapsack, the knapsack stained with Nicholas’s blood, with Nicholas’s life, with Nicholas’s death.

“Come on, Aunt Dell,” Joe said, “I’ll walk you home.”

Dell turned off the water and wiped her hands. “I can walk myself, thanks,” she said, then added, “but I would enjoy the company. Thanks.”

“Wait a minute, Joe,” Charlie said. “I have a question. How did you figure it out about Nicholas?”

Joe leaned against the wall and removed his hat. “We didn’t. I had my suspicions—I knew Alexis couldn’t pull this off alone. But until the payoff, we honestly didn’t know. That’s why it was so important to have Alexis go through the motions.”