Take Another Look (23 page)

On Christmas Eve, to satisfy Isabel's zeal for religious experience, they attended a candlelight mass. As the choir sang a hymn, Jane snuck a look at the two girls: Isabel in her red sweater and pleated skirt, with her hair pinned back in a twist, and Harper in a black blouse and gray skinny jeans. Her hair hung long and loose, with dark tresses nearly covering one eye in a dangerous look. In many ways, their personalities had been set at birth. Easygoing Isabel and difficult Harper. But Jane prayed every day that her daughters would defy their genetics, that neither girl would twist and spiral down the dark path that had consumed their father.

Isabel was in the clear, and Jane was grateful for that.

But Harper . . . oh, she had her moments.

Glimmers of those snappish fits had been surfacing again lately. Isabel had been their guest for a week and already Harper was getting testy about sharing her room. She didn't like having Isabel around whenever Jesse came over. She didn't want to share her friends. She didn't have a minute to herself. She kept misplacing things and blaming Isabel. Isabel stared at her too much. Isabel finished Harper's favorite cereal.
Her
cereal, implying ownership. The entitlement of an only child.

“Remember how we talked about sacrifices?” Jane had told Harper that afternoon, speaking in low tones while Isabel had been showering for mass. “Put yourself in her shoes. She has nowhere to go. Her mom is still sick, and there's been a terrible rift with her aunt. The woman has completely ignored our calls. Honestly, I don't know what's going to happen with that situation. But I do know that right now, this Christmas, we are going to do our best to keep Isabel's spirits up. We are going to remind her that she's welcome here. Because right now, we are all she has.”

A huge sigh. Rolling eyes. “Fine. But I don't have to like it.”

“Do your best to pretend,” Jane had told Harper. “Put on a happy face, and maybe your mood will match.”

“I should get an Academy Award for this. Or an Oscar.”

“Same thing,” Jane had called as she made her way down the hall to get dressed.

“Whatever.”

Now on her knees, Jane prayed that Harper would learn how to be less selfish. She prayed that Isabel would continue to adjust to the difficulties that came her way. She prayed that neither girl had inherited Frank's sociopath gene.
Let the evil die with him,
she prayed.
Forever and ever, amen.

In the beginning of December, Detective Alvarez had called to let her know that he had located the beach house that Frank had inherited from his aunt. “Your tip was a good one. Because the house was in another county, we hadn't connected it to Dixon. We found blood stains there that match Lana Tremaine's DNA. Now we have evidence to press charges against Dixon.” The detective also told her that the district attorney's office had been granted another extension in the Frank Dixon trial; Jane would not be called upon to testify until the fall. A huge relief, considering everything else that was going on. But the phone call had haunted her with tiny glimpses of Frank in her daughters' behaviors: Harper's blue-eyed fury, Isabel's smug smile. Suddenly Jane saw Frank everywhere, at home, at school, in her dreams. Each day, she reminded herself that the girls were not necessarily infected with his moral depravity. They might be a product of their positive environments, growing into happy, healthy, contributing members of society.

From Christmas Eve through New Year's Day, the holidays were a tumble of family traditions and innovations to accommodate Isabel and Luke and the precious guinea pigs that now enjoyed having floor time downstairs with Phee as a large playmate.

Although Jane had worried about the inequity of Christmas gifts for the girls, no one had mentioned it.

“Finally!” Harper had said as she'd unwrapped the iPad that had been on her wish list. “Everyone else has had one forever.”

While Harper's focus melted into the small screen, Isabel had popped up from the paper-strewn floor to give Jane a hug. “A needlepoint sampler. How did you know I've always wanted one?”

“Just a guess. You're so creative with crafts.” Jane had priced a sewing machine, but the high cost had forced her to settle for something less expensive. “When I saw this at the craft store, I remembered how my grandmother used to do needlepoint. I remember a few small pillows she made. She said she found it soothing.”

“I know exactly what she meant.” Isabel nodded. “There's something so comforting about knitting or crocheting. And now it will bring me even more comfort to know that I'm carrying on a tradition my great-grandmother enjoyed.”

Behind Isabel, Harper lifted her face from the iPad's screen to flash a sardonic scowl.

Little brat,
Jane thought. Spoiled and mocking. Jane was embarrassed by Harper's behavior, but she knew it would be a mistake to call her out in front of Isabel, whose model deportment seemed to irk Harper. On a certain level, Jane understood. She would be annoyed if a smarter, better-behaved version of herself came to town and shadowed her life. It was a little too close for comfort.

Despite the tensions, the holiday season brought Jane moments she knew she would never forget. When the girls sang a carol in harmony. When Isabel made a batch of mouthwatering potato latkes. When Harper scored the winning basket in a game and Isabel was beside Jane to cheer for her sister. When the girls carried the guinea pigs down the stairs and stretched out on the floor to play with them. Suddenly the house wasn't just a place to live; it was a home for their family.

Each day when Jane's calls to Anya Diamant went unanswered, she began to accept the possibility that Isabel might be staying for quite some time. How would that work out? Certainly, Harper would be annoyed, but they could make adjustments. They would have to. As Isabel said, family was everything.

Chapter 24

J
ane let out a whoop as she soared down the final hill at Hood Valley. Surrounded by blue sky, sunshine, and white ridges, she was exhilarated by her run down the mountain.

“Look out, world!” Isabel called, moving up beside her on the wide slope.

Their laughter bounced in the thin mountain air as they made an easy turn toward the lodge. The jagged ice peaks of Mount Hood had been intimidating when they drove up to the ski resort, but schussing down the beginner trail with Isabel had been sheer delight.

The ski trip had been conceived as a group activity. Sensing that the train was running off the rails, Jane had planned a ski trip to rekindle family solidarity before everyone went back to school. Although the bond between Isabel and Harper had been Jane's main focus, her plan had been sabotaged when Harper had insisted on going up to the double diamond runs with the more experienced Luke, while Jane, a novice on the slopes, had been left behind with first-timer Isabel.

“You are a quick study,” Jane told Isabel as they popped off their skis. “One lesson and you were able to do a smooth run down the mountain.”

“It was easier than I expected.” Isabel took off the helmet she had borrowed from Harper, and thick dark hair spilled over the shoulders of the snow jacket. With her hair unbound, she was identical to Harper. “Thanks for sticking with me,” Isabel said. “That was fun, Mama-dish.”

Jane's smile was tempered by ambivalence. Should she allow Isabel to call her that? It was awkward, especially now that they'd had a report from Cottage Hospital that Chrissy was recovering. They expected her to be released within the next week. Jane estimated that Chrissy might be back in Mirror Lake by the following weekend. That was just a guess; she would have a better sense of scheduling once Chrissy returned her calls. It annoyed her that Chrissy had been dodging them. At first, Jane had fumed over such an ungrateful and inconsiderate lack of response. Then it had occurred to her that Chrissy probably was not getting her messages. She suspected that Chrissy had been temporarily cut off by Anya, whose mental illness seemed to be worse than reported.

“This has been one of the best days of my life,” Isabel said as they stacked their skis on the rack. The sun was low in the sky, and it formed a halo around her dark head, forcing Jane to squint into the light. “I'm so glad we found each other,” Isabel said.

“I am, too.” Jane had to admit the truth. Meeting Isabel had filled the empty spaces that had haunted her at night. “Let's go get some hot chocolate while we wait for the power skiers.”

 

Dusk fell as they drove home from the mountain. The ride took less than two hours, but Jane, exhausted from hours of sun, snow, and exercise, was asleep in the first twenty minutes. By the time she woke up, Luke was turning onto Mirror Lake's Main Street. She glanced behind her to see the girls dozing in the backseat.

“Wow.” Jane shifted in the passenger seat. “It's a good thing you stayed awake.”

“It wasn't easy. The mountain really takes it out of you.”

Luke pulled into the driveway and shut off the car. “Wake up, girls. You're home.”

As Harper moaned in the backseat, Jane escaped to the house, moving gingerly on sore legs. Inside, Christmas lingered like a stale scent. The tree was brittle, dust hung from the garland over the window, and the cookies and fudge in the tins on the counter had been reduced to sugary crumbs. And where was Phee? Although the dog usually did not greet Jane at the door, she tended to hang out on the main floor.

“Phoenix? Where are you?” Jane called, scanning the dog's usual spots. When a woof came from above, Jane trudged up the stairs.

The door to Harper's room was open, the first indication that something was wrong. Inside, on the rug beside Harper's bed, Phoenix lay in a heap with Clover nestled in the crook of her foreleg. Phee lifted her head in greeting, but did not bother to get up and come to Jane.

“What the hell?” Jane put her hands on her hips. “You shouldn't even be in here,” she told the dog, “let alone playing with the pigs.” The cage door was open, and Squeak was huddled in the habitat, tucked in the fleece liner at the far side.

“And I wonder who left this open?”

Probably Harper, the forgetful one. Harper trusted Phee and didn't take the threat of the dog seriously. In secret, Isabel had complained that Harper didn't respect the responsibility of taking care of the guinea pigs. Jane had agreed, although she had decided not to address the issue since the pigs would be returning to the classroom as soon as the holiday break ended.

“All right.” Jane kneeled beside the dog. “Let's get you back in your cage before the girls get up here.” As she reached for Clover, she noticed the blood. Clover's fur was matted with it, and one of Phee's paws was dark and sticky. “Phee, what happened?” Jane lifted the guinea pig from the dog's embrace and immediately she felt the difference. The creature's little body felt boneless, and its head drooped from a sagging neck.

Clover was dead.

 

“I didn't do it,” Harper whined as a tear trailed down her cheek. “Why does everyone think it was me?”

“We know that Phoenix didn't open the cage on her own,” Isabel said in a thoughtful, even philosophical, tone, “and you're so forgetful.”

“I am not! Why do you always say that?”

“Hoppy, you've left the cage open before,” Jane interrupted.

“When I was there. When I was giving the pigs floor time.”

“While you were downstairs,” Isabel pointed out.

“Getting some veggies for them, and when I did that I always closed the bedroom door.” Harper glared around the room. “Why is everyone ganging up on me?”

In the thick silence that followed, no one wanted to state the obvious. Isabel had not left the cage or door open. Isabel did not make careless mistakes.

They had been round and round, trying to reenact the morning, methodically trying to calculate who had been the last person upstairs. But they had left before sunrise, and even Jane had been too groggy to remember much more than turning off her alarm, slipping on her clothes, and nursing a cup of coffee while the girls got ready upstairs.

Harper created a brief diversion when she tenderly groomed Clover's body for burial and found that there were no bite marks. She reasoned that, if Phee had crushed the guinea pig with her jaw, there would be puncture wounds. But it appeared that the blood had come from Clover's mouth.

“See! Proof that Phoenix and I are innocent!” Harper protested.

Jane turned away to keep herself from snapping. Did Harper really think there was another possible cause of death? As if some fiend had broken into the house and killed one of the guinea pigs for the fun of it?

Checking the tiny body, Luke was sympathetic. “I see what you mean, Harper, but it doesn't really prove anything. Even the pressure Phee applies to a chewy toy is enough to cause internal trauma.”

“What?” Harper wheeled on Luke. “You're blaming me, too?”

“It's the only logical explanation. But no one is saying that you did it on purpose.” Tears glistened in Isabel's eyes. This had to be hard on her, too. She had worried about something like this happening; she had mentioned it to Jane, but had gotten no support. “Accidents happen.”

“But I didn't leave the cage open. I would never do that for such a long time. Why can't you guys see that I'm innocent, and so is Phee? We both loved Clover.” Her mouth puckered as she tried to hold back tears. “Stop blaming us.”

“We're not here to assign blame,” Luke said, placing a palm on the shoebox that contained Clover's still little body. “Do you want to give Clover a small send-off, or should I take care of it on my own?”

“We'll help,” Jane said. “No one has to pray or speak, but I want you girls to be involved.”

Night was heavy upon them as they tramped to the back of the yard. Jane brought votive candles for the girls, but Harper put hers on the ground and alternately held the flashlight for Luke or took the shovel herself and levered it into the cold earth. They hacked away at the frost, stone, and clay until they could carve out a deep, narrow hole.

Such a pitiful graveside: a shivering Isabel, who clasped her hands around the candle as if positioned for prayer, and Harper, swiping back tears with the sleeve of her jacket.

Well, at least she's feeling the consequences of her actions,
Jane thought. Maybe that would help her be mindful of her actions in the future.

“I want to say a little prayer,” Isabel said, crossing herself. Jane tamped down a flash of guilt as the girl recited the Our Father perfectly. A quick study.

Luke recited the last lines to a Robert Frost poem, finishing with “miles to go before I sleep.” His low voice, smooth and potent as brandy, made Jane fall in love with him all over again.

Harper sniffed and pulled something from the pocket of her jacket. “It's kale, Clover's favorite. I want to put it in the box so she'll have it forever.”

A thoughtful gesture, though Jane had hoped for a little less drama and a lot more remorse. A contrite confession would have made this a learning moment, but none was forthcoming.

After the brief burial, as they were heading inside, Harper popped the question: “Can we go to the pet store tonight? We're going to need to buy a new guinea pig.”

“Absolutely not.” Jane felt her fury seeping into her voice. “You can't just go to the store and replace something you love.”

“That's not what I meant.” Harper's voice cracked, a wounded sound. “Oh my God, you really think I'm heartless.” She kicked her boots into the corner and stomped toward the stairs. “Everybody hates me. I'm just like the worst person in the world.”

Jane clamped her teeth together as Harper retreated to her room. She stood at the kitchen counter, blindly sifting through the mail. Luke said good-bye and headed home. Isabel started warming some chicken noodle soup for their dinner.

“Harper's right about getting a new guinea pig,” Isabel said as she stirred the pot. “Squeak will get depressed without companionship. But I'll pay for a new one. It's my responsibility, and I have a savings account. I wonder if Harper wants to help pick one out?”

Jane sank onto the couch, feeling like an ogre. “I'm sure Harper would like to help. I'm sorry I snapped before.”

“I understand. We're all upset. But do you think you can tell Harper that . . . Well, I don't want to bring the guinea pigs here, ever again. It hurts too much to see something bad happen to something you love.”

And Isabel had seen enough of that in the past year. “I'll talk to Harper,” Jane said. She reached forward to scratch Phee behind the ears, hoping that Harper would learn something from this sad ordeal. A difficult lesson for all.