Sullivan's Justice (19 page)

She reached for the empty bottle, then collapsed, the room spinning around her. Her eyelids flickered as she felt herself drifting through time. Eighteen years disappeared and she found herself in the cold, frightening house of her childhood. When she saw Jeremy’s face, she was filled with joy.

“Where are the rest of the pieces?” her brother asked, looking at the partially completed castle he was building for his sister. A stream of profanity erupted from their parents’ bedroom. At fifteen, Jeremy could escape by spending the night with one of his friends. Jessica was only nine. Although she could go to her friends’ houses during the day, she was not allowed to have sleepovers. She hated it when her brother left, especially when her mother and father were fighting.

She was dressed in her pink flannel pajamas with the embroidered silk collar. They had become too small for her, but she refused to wear her new ones because they weren’t as soft. Stretched out on her stomach on the floor, she pedaled her feet in the air. She had inherited her mother’s strawberry blond hair, and her nose and cheeks were dotted with freckles. There were vague memories of a time when her mother had been pretty. She certainly wasn’t pretty now. Her eyes were always puffy and red, her mascara smeared, her breath reeking of alcohol. Jessica loved her mother, but lately she’d grown to despise her.

She rolled a Lego piece between her index finger and her thumb. “Mama might have thrown some of the castle pieces away,” she told him, resting her head on her fist. “She got mad at me yesterday because I didn’t put them all back in the box.”

“Why did she do that?” Jeremy said, annoyed. “Mom trained you to drop your toys on the floor. We’re too rich to pick up after ourselves, that’s Mrs. Mott’s job. Even Dad says the same thing. All he wants us to do is study. Money can’t buy intelligence.”

“I don’t care about the castle, anyway,” Jessica said. “We live in a stupid castle.”

“Be grateful that you have a roof over your head and food to eat. Think of all the kids who’re cold and starving.”

She fell silent for a few moments, chewing on the ragged skin around her cuticles. “Melody’s parents won’t let her come over anymore.”

“I thought you didn’t like that girl.”

“Mel brags too much,” she told him. “I still play with her, though. All the other kids live too far away.” She stopped and put her hand inside the waistband of her tight pajamas. “People know Mama isn’t right, Jeremy. Dad doesn’t think they do, but they do.”

The town kids called them stuck-up and spoiled. Jessica would have preferred a shack, something small and cozy, with a mother who cooked their meals, washed their clothes, and loved her children more than she loved a bottle. Jessica had tried to take it away from her one time and her mother had knocked her to the ground.

Six months earlier, her father had ordered the servants to leave the premises by six. The Grahams were society people. He couldn’t allow the help to see his wife drunk. Even Mrs. Mott had been forbidden to play with her. Jessica didn’t care. She was certain the nanny was a witch who’d put a spell on her mother to make her sick.

“Go to bed,” Jeremy said, pushing himself to his feet. “It’s past nine o’clock.”

Two pale blue eyes peered up at him. “School’s out for Christmas vacation, remember? Mama said I could stay up as late as I want.”

“You do what I say,” Jeremy snapped at her, pointing at his chest. “Mom isn’t right, okay? She might tell you to jump off a cliff or stick your head in the oven. Listen to me or Dad.”

No matter how often their parents fought, the children never got used to it. It was Christmas Eve and they were going at it again. The room fell silent. Jessica had tears in her eyes. Her brother walked over and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry I got mad. Want to watch a movie? You like
It’s a Wonderful Life,
that old movie they play every Christmas. We have the video. We could go upstairs and watch it in the theater.”

“You know I’m scared of the third floor,” she said. “Something terrible happened up there. Daddy said if I ever go up there again, he’ll send me away forever.” She went to her dresser and pulled out a stack of Swiss chocolate bars, tied up with a gold ribbon.

“Why do you tell so many lies, Jess?” her brother said, the sounds from their parents’ room growing louder. “That’s the reason you don’t have any friends.”

Jessica refused to answer. They’d talked about this a dozen times. Since her mother lied, she assumed it was okay.

“I guess we’ll watch the movie here, then.”

The house was as large as a hotel, but they all lived in the left wing on the second floor. Jessica’s room had been her mother’s bedroom as a child. It was located next to their parents’ room. Outside of the few years she’d attended college, Phillipa Grace Waldheim Graham had never lived anywhere but this house.

“We don’t even have a Christmas tree,” she said. “Do you think they bought us any presents?”

“Of course,” Jeremy told her, although his expression said he wasn’t certain.

Their father, a cardiologist, worked long hours in Manhattan. She knew he had probably forgotten to buy them any gifts. They had everything, anyway.

“I got you a special present,” her brother said. “Do you want me to give it to you now?”

“Yes,” Jessica said, smiling as she clapped her hands. “But I didn’t get you anything. I asked Mama to take me to the store. She said it was too cold and she didn’t want me to get sick.”

“Wait here,” Jeremy told her, leaving to go to his room.

When he returned, he handed her a small box. He watched as she eagerly ripped off the wrapping paper. Inside was a silver charm bracelet. With only one heart-shaped charm dangling from it, it looked naked.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, her face glowing. “Hearts mean love.”

“Look at the back.”

The girl turned the charm over and found her name engraved in the silver. “You’re the most wonderful brother in the world,” she said, walking over and hugging him. “I love you
so-o-o
much.”

“I love you, too, Jess. Every year, I’ll buy you another charm.”

A few minutes passed and the smell of the chocolate got her attention. Jessica began methodically unwrapping the chocolate bars, her slender fingers as agile as her father’s. Dr. Graham’s emphasis on learning had paid off. She read at a high-school level, and she was far above average in subjects such as math and science. Her father had mentioned several times that she might one day become a surgeon like himself.

She laid out the candy wrappers side by side, then used each bar to shape bricks into various sizes. “See,” she said, licking her chocolate-covered fingers. “If you hadn’t torn down the castle, we could have finished it with these.”

Something heavy crashed against the wall. Her mother must have thrown a lamp or a vase. Jeremy inserted the movie in the VCR, depressed the play button, then turned up the volume to block the noise.

As far as she knew, her father had never hit her mother. Unless she got drunk and went on a rampage, Dr. Graham was a soft-spoken and loving father, a man who would do anything for his family.

When she heard another thud against the wall, Jeremy hit the mute button on the remote control. It sounded like her mother was moaning. He asked Jessica to stay there, but she refused. They left the room to find out what had happened. When they reached their parents’ room, they found it locked. Jeremy pounded on the wood with his fists. When there was no response, her brother insisted they go back to her room. Before they walked away, it became quiet. Jeremy told Jessica the argument had either ended or her mother had passed out.

Thirty minutes later, they tiptoed down the hall again to see if they could talk to their father and make certain everything was okay. This time, they saw the door to their parents’ room standing ajar. In the middle of the floor were a broken bottle and a stain where its contents had spilled out onto the carpet. Jessica’s mother was on the bed, on her back, with her eyes closed, her arms sprawling out at her sides. She was wearing a black lace nightgown, and her left foot dangled off the side of the mattress. Their father was slumped in one of the blue velvet chairs, staring into space.

Jeremy told Jessica to go to bed, then went in to speak to their father. Instead of doing what he said, Jessica slid down the wall outside the door and listened.

“Are you all right, Dad?” her brother asked.

Dr. Graham was twelve years older than his wife. Standing six-five, he was an imposing figure. Phillipa Graham was a petite woman. Jeremy and Jessica inherited their height from their father. Her brother was already five-ten, and Jessica was the tallest fourth grader at her school. “Your mother’s sick, son,” Dr. Graham said. “If she doesn’t stop drinking, she’s going to die. Her liver is already shot.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’ve made arrangements for her to go into a residential substance abuse program, one of the best of its kind in the country.” Dr. Graham paused and rubbed his temples. “That’s what we were fighting about. She’s chasing the booze with tranquilizers now. Either she bought them on the street, or one of her friends from the country club gave them to her. I’ve instructed every physician in town not to prescribe medications to her without my consent.”

“But you have to work late or go to the hospital in the middle of the night,” Jeremy protested. “The closest house is a mile away. How can I spend time with my friends? I’ll have to leave Jess here alone. I deserve a life, don’t I? What if something happens? I know Mom’s drunk most of the time, but it’s nice to have an adult around.”

“Don’t worry,” his father told him. “I’ll have Mrs. Mott move in as soon as your mother’s committed. Before you know it, she’ll be home and everything will be fine.”

Jessica ran sobbing to her room. Now she hated her father as much as her mother. She couldn’t stay in the big house alone. It was full of ghosts and Mrs. Mott was a witch. She wished her mother and father were dead. Then they would give her new parents, who would love and protect her.

 

 

 

 

 

W
hen they arrived at Paul’s house in Pasadena, Carolyn went to the bathroom to take a quick shower. She tried to put Laurel’s murder out of her mind as the hot water relaxed her aching muscles. Leaning her forehead against the tile, she prayed that her brother wasn’t responsible for Laurel’s death. She then asked forgiveness for even thinking that he could do such a terrible thing.

Stepping out, she dried off with a large white towel. When she was in Pasadena, she was in Paul’s world. The house had never been remodeled, just meticulously maintained. Never had she seen a home that was this reflective of the owner’s taste and personality. Beautiful cherry-paneled walls, bold California colors, exquisite coffered ceilings, elaborate crystal chandeliers—and not a throw pillow out of place. About as far away as a person could get from the chaotic, teenage world she lived in. There was a delightful odor that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was it cedar? It must be something permanent or Paul would never allow it.

Opening his medicine cabinet, she stared at the perfectly aligned bottles and tubes. The toothpaste not only had a top, it was rolled up tightly without a smudge on it. She closed the glass door too hard, causing a bottle of mouthwash to fall into the sink. Paul called out from the other room, “Is everything all right?”

She broke out laughing, then cupped her hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t hear. The first time she’d spent the night here, she’d showered and sprayed herself with perfume. Paul had run into the bathroom, looking at her as though she’d ripped out the toilet. “What did you do?” he’d said, scolding her like a child. He proceeded to tell her it would take weeks to get the smell out of the house. That’s when she discovered that Paul had an aversion to odors.

Now she had two neat freaks in her life—Neil and Paul. What a ridiculous thing, for Hank to be suspicious of her brother because he wasn’t a pig. Tons of people needed order. It certainly didn’t mean they were murderers. Maybe Paul was obsessive-compulsive like Neil. No, she thought, he was just a physicist.

She opened the lower cabinet and saw five bottles of Lubriderm fragrance-free lotion, which Paul had stocked up on after the perfume disaster. After she moisturized her skin, she slipped one of his white dress shirts over her naked body.

When she reached the living room, the sight and smell of the crackling fire awoke her senses. Paul was waiting for her. He’d tossed a thick white blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace. Holding two wineglasses in one hand and a bottle of vintage Merlot in the other, he set the bottle on the mantel and poured the dark red liquid into the glasses. “How could you make me wait like that?” he said, gesturing for her to join him. “You’re cruel, Carolyn.”

She giggled, watching as he sat Indian-style on the blanket. He was wearing the black silk boxer shorts with the hearts on them that she’d given him for Valentine’s Day. Although he was not physically impressive, his mind made him irresistibly appealing. He was also the sexiest man she’d ever known. Not many women would agree, though, unless they’d slept with him.

Carolyn dropped down on the floor, taking her wineglass out of his hands. “Living dangerously, huh?” she teased. “Red wine on a white blanket.”

“Well,” he said, smiling, “it
is
Christmas.”

She felt as if they were teenagers about to have sex for the first time. The energy was electric.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” Paul said, tapping his glass against hers. After they both took a sip, he pulled her down into his lap. “I love you, you know.”

“You’re just making sure I don’t fall asleep on you,” she said, tugging on the elastic waistband of his shorts.