Peony Street (17 page)

“Angus and Ayelet will come if I need them to; I haven’t decided yet.”

“Will anyone else be joining you?”

“Carlyle’s in Scotland,” Sloan said, eyeing Claire with sly contempt. “I guess he just wasn’t interested in seeing you again.”

“Will you need room service?” Claire asked, as she felt her face flush in humiliation. “There’s a diner, a pizza place, and a burger joint; those are your choices.”

“I knew there could not be a decent restaurant this far out in the wilderness; will they let Juanita cook for me in the kitchen?”

“I think the owner would be only too delighted,” Claire said. “It seems many people think she looks just like you.”

“One of those, huh?” Sloan said. “Where is she?”

Claire called Gwyneth, who lived in the former college president’s residence at the end of the cul-de-sac. Once she heard who had arrived she made amazing time, and came in breathless and star struck.

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Gwyneth said. “I’m just another slobbering fan, I’m afraid.”

“It’s like looking in a mirror, isn’t it, Claire?” Sloan said. “I’m just lucky you didn’t decide to become an actress.”

Gwyneth almost levitated with pleasure. Sloan’s request about the kitchen was met with total approval, but then Gwyneth upped the ante.

“I just happen to have a four-star chef employed in my home,” Gwyneth said. “I would be honored if you would allow me to provide you with all your meals while you’re here. Everything’s organic, of course. Are you vegan?”

“Heavens, no,” Sloan said. “I like my steaks bloody and my Scotch neat.”

(Claire knew this was a lie; Sloan only ate steamed green vegetables and chicken, fish, or eggs that were poached in her French spring water with no butter or oil. She ate 500 calories a day, tops, and didn’t drink hard liquor because of its aging side effects. The steak and Scotch retort was dialogue from a play in which she was meant to portray a femme fatale back in the forties.)

Gwyneth clutched her pearls but didn’t miss a beat.

“I’m sure we can accommodate any preferences you might have. Just give Claire a list and I’ll have Renaldo do the rest.”

Gwyneth insisted on personally seeing Sloan to her room, but before she followed her up the stairs, Sloan turned to Claire.

“I hardly recognized you, you’ve gained so much weight,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

Teeny and Juanita smiled nervously at Claire and followed their employer. Claire was so relieved to see the desk clerk for the next shift coming through the door from the kitchen she almost hugged the woman. Claire grabbed her coat and handbag and ran out to the car. As she pulled out of the service drive onto Morning Glory Avenue she saw a long dark sedan with New York plates pull up to the entrance of the Inn, and knew Stanley had arrived. It had been a narrow escape.

Scott waited until his mother was settled in her bed, kissed her forehead, and turned out the light.

“I don’t want you to worry,” she said. “If you call your sister I’m sure she’ll come. I don’t want this to disrupt your work.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Scott said. “Get some rest.”

Scott locked the front door behind him and stood outside, enjoying the fresh air; his mother’s house was so overheated he couldn’t stand to stay in it very long. It had been a long day spent pushing his mother’s wheelchair from waiting room to waiting room in different parts of a labyrinth-like hospital, allowing her to be taken away for tests, and then waiting an interminable amount of time to talk to a doctor about what the results meant. His mother was exhausted; he was also worn out but went down to the station to check in.

His deputy Frank was there and handed Scott the courier delivery package that held Claire’s phone.

“Everything’s been real quiet,” Frank said. “I like this time of year.”

“Has Sarah been by?” Scott asked.

“Around noon,” Frank said. “I didn’t tell her anything and I didn’t open the safe for her. I told her I didn’t have the combination.”

“Good man,” Scott said. “You go on home; I’ll stay awhile.”

Scott opened the courier’s package and smiled at the rhinestone-studded pink leather case holding Claire’s phone. He slipped it out of its case, pried off the back, took the battery out, and was relieved to find no tracking devices. After he reassembled it he took Claire’s charger out of his desk drawer, plugged one end into the wall behind his desk, and the other into Claire’s phone. Then he used his own phone to make a call he didn’t want to make to the sister he knew would not want to hear what he had to say.

Claire walked into the Rose and Thorn and was immediately hailed by the regulars sitting on swiveling stools attached to the bar like mushrooms on a log. She couldn’t remember all of their names but the faces, though older, were familiar. Her father was sitting in what she thought of as her booth, watching a basketball game on the flat screen television on the back wall.

“Hey, Dad,” she said. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Look at the big television Patrick put up there,” Ian said. “It’s a modern miracle, that is.”

Pip came out of the bathroom and sat down across from her father, where she could see he had a beer waiting.

“What are you doing here?” Claire said.

“Is that any way to talk to your husband?” her father said. “And him having come all the way from California to see you.”

“It’s alright,” Pip told Ian with a wink. “I’m used to her ways. She’s all bark.”

Pip tried to grab Claire around the waist but she was too quick for him. It was all Claire could do not to pour his beer over his head. Instead she sat down next to her father and regarded her ex-husband.

“Pip’s staying at his mother’s house, Dad,” she said, pointedly. “So he can help her work on some things.”

“If you’re missing me,” Pip said, “I can certainly spend every other night at your place.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Ian said. “We’ve plenty of room.”

“My mom’s sick,” Claire said. “I’d like to keep things quiet for her.”

“I can be quiet,” Pip said, and waggled his eyebrows.

Claire kicked him and he yelped.

“What’s the matter?” Ian said.

“Pip’s back is bothering him,” Claire said. “He gets these pains.”

“The only pain I’m having is in the neck,” Pip said. “I’d like to speak to you privately, sweetheart.”

“Hello, young lovers,” Patrick said, and put a pitcher of beer on the table.

Claire stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed as he went back to the bar.

“You two go on,” Ian said. “I want to see the end of this game.”

Claire got up and walked to the back room with Pip right behind. Once they were inside she shut the door and said, “Well?”

“Meredith still won’t talk to me,” he said. “Courtenay wants me to tell the police Meredith ran over your friend and then asked me to hide the car. She thinks if I turn Meredith in they won’t charge me, and then Meredith will be out of the way, permanently.”

“First of all, you’re an idiot,” Claire said. “Courtenay probably wants both of you out of the way. With Meredith in rich people resort camp for manslaughter and you in federal prison as an accessory after the fact, Courtenay will have a clear shot at having Knox all to herself.”

“She wouldn’t do that to me,” Pip said. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“If you mean intimately, then, no,” Claire said. “But if you mean I don’t know her type that’s where you’re wrong. Courtenay’s the Russian starlet and Knox is the brilliant director. Meredith is Sloan, the famous actress, the wife with the money and the connections, but a total drag to be married to; and you, my dear ex-husband, are the personal trainer who fools around with both women but gets dumped in the end. Don’t you remember Lars?”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Oh, honey, bless your heart, I’m not jealous; I’m just smarter than you,” Claire said. “And trust me; I’m not that exceptional in the brains department.”

“If you’re so smart then what should I do?”

“You need to talk to Sean,” Claire said. “Do you have a working car that hasn’t been stolen or used in the commission of a crime?”

“My mom’s car.”

“I’m going to give you Sean’s number. Call him and make an appointment to go up to
Pittsburgh and talk to him. Maybe he can figure a way out of this mess.”

“You go with me.”

“No, Pip,” Claire said. “Just this once do something difficult without some woman holding your hand. You’re forty-two years old, for crissakes. Grow up!”

“Courtenay’s expecting me to come over tonight. Knox is in DC.”

“Is there any point in me telling you that isn’t a good idea?”

He shrugged.

“Sloan’s in town,” Claire said, and was gratified to see real fear in his eyes.

“Does she know I’m here?”

“Not yet,” Claire said.

“Well, whatever you do, don’t tell her,” Pip said.

“Are you sending your wife any money to take care of your children?” Claire asked.

“Her parents are taking care of them,” Pip said. “They hate me.”

“Big surprise,” Claire said.

“It’s not my fault,” Pip said. “Crap just always happens to me and everybody always blames me.”

“It’s never your fault, is it?” Claire said. “I can’t imagine why you continue to have such rotten bad luck. It couldn’t possibly be the poor choices you make, could it?”

“Courtenay says she’s going to help me start my own business. She says there are lots of rich people in DC who will pay big bucks for the stuff I do.”

“As a prostitute or as a carpenter?”

“I hate you, Claire,” Pip said, and banged out the side door.

Claire went back in the bar and collected her father, then led him by the hand, out the door and all the way home.

“I don’t like Pip,” Ian said as Claire helped him take off his coat in the front entryway. “I know he’s your husband but I think he’s an idiot.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your mind,” Claire said. “He is an idiot.”

“Why don’t you divorce him and marry some nice boy like Scott.”

“I think Maggie may have a lock on that deal,” Claire said.

“Your cousin Maggie blew her chance,” Ian said. “I think you could snag him.”

“You think so?”

“She’s as mean as that mother of hers. I told him he should thank his lucky stars; he made a narrow escape.”

“What did Scott say to that?”

“He said there’s a lid for every pot, and he’s Maggie’s.”

Claire got him settled in his chair, brought him a glass of juice, and exchanged the medication patch on his back for a fresh one.

“That patch is really helping my shoulder,” he said. “My bursitis is much better since we started using it.”

Claire washed her hands as she reflected on the worth of a patch that was supposed to save her father’s memory in light of the fact that he couldn’t remember what it was for. Her mother said the patch cost over two-hundred dollars a month; their insurance only covered it for nine months out of the year, and only after the deductible was met.

Claire wondered how people survived; people who worked hard for decades and had so little to show for it at the end of their lives. What did people do who didn’t have children to care for them? What would she do?

Claire checked on her mother, who was lying in bed reading a book. She considered telling her everything that had happened that day, but her mother looked so rested and relaxed Claire didn’t have the heart to burden her.

“How was your day?” Delia asked.

“It was fine,” Claire said. “How are you feeling? What can I do for you?”

After Scott had fully charged Claire’s phone, he tucked it in his interior jacket pocket and locked up the station. Loud bluegrass music from the Rose and Thorn was pouring out of the open front door and echoing against the mountain on the other side of the river. Sometimes when there was a lot of moisture in the air the river sounded like it was running right through the middle of town. Two new dams installed after a devastating flood three years before made sure it never could.

Scott knocked on Ian and Delia’s front door and Claire answered. She invited him in and he saw Ian was napping in his chair. They went to the kitchen, where Scott sat down while Claire poured him some coffee.

“How’s your mom?” she asked.

Against his will, Scott felt his eyes well up. Claire put her arm around his shoulders, hugged him, sat down next to him, and clasped his hand on the table. He wiped his eyes and cleared his throat.

“It’s cancer,” he said. “They think it started in her uterus and now it’s everywhere. The cough and shortness of breath are from where it’s spread to her lungs. The oncologist wants to do radiation and chemo, but the internist wasn’t very encouraging about that. He said if it were his mother he would call Hospice and try to make what time she has left as good as possible.”