The Invisibles (19 page)

“Norster?” Ozzie obviously hadn't heard it. She cocked her head. “Come on, babes. You ready?”

Instead of answering, Nora stood up. She moved toward the sound, which was coming from inside the house. Maybe it was the weed, she thought quickly. Maybe she was imagining things, hearing something that wasn't really there. Did that happen when you were high? Could you actually start to hallucinate?

“Nora! Where are you going?”

“Honey, what's the matter?”

Ozzie and Monica called out behind her, but Nora kept moving. There was no mistaking the sound any longer, but the knowledge of this fact did nothing to ease her angst. She felt a hand close around hers suddenly, and she jumped.

“Henry'll settle her down.” Grace's eyes were huge, and Nora thought she could see the moon reflected in them. “It'll be okay. It won't last long.”

Nora inhaled shakily. Even Grace's inherent understanding of what she was feeling at this moment did nothing to ease the growing panic she was feeling inside; the yard around her felt as if it were closing in and even the sky seemed to drop closer, a mantle falling over her head. She would suffocate if she didn't get out of here; she would drown in a sea of sound.

The baby's wails went on and on, a rending of something deep inside, some bottomless pain that nothing would fix.

Nora pressed her hands against her ears and shut her eyes. “I have to go,” she whispered, even as she realized that she still had not gotten around to making any kind of plan to prepare herself for this very moment. Somehow, with everything else going on, she had forgotten. Again.

“Go where?” Grace clutched at her sleeve.

“I don't know. Just for a walk. I'll be back.”

“Honey, it's after midnight. And you don't know the neighborhood.”

“It's okay.” Nora increased her pace as she angled around the house. “I'll be fine.”

“Well, at least let us go with you.” Ozzie and Monica had caught up to Grace; Ozzie was pulling on the back of Nora's sweater.

“No!” She whirled around, facing them. “I don't want any company. Not now. Please. Just let me walk for a little bit and then I'll be back, okay?” She backed up, holding her palms out in front of her. “Please. Just stay here. I'm fine, okay? I just need a minute.” She turned around before any of them could object and disappeared into the night.

A
light wind whipped the hair along the top of her head and rustled the leaves in the trees, but the silence that descended as she moved through the streets was so still as to feel almost sacred. It was the sort of stillness that had draped itself over her that last terrible night, after everything was over, as if the world around her had stopped breathing. She broke down all at once as she felt it and leaned against the thick trunk of an oak to steady herself. There was no telling how far she'd walked or even where she was exactly, but she was not worried. She longed for Alice Walker, her silent, faithful companion, who had only to push her nose into the space between Nora's ear and shoulder for her to feel that everything off balance had once again aligned itself. She felt an ache now, thinking of it, and sat down against the tree. For a long time, she sat very still, her eyes closed against the world, and breathed in and out.

Her watch said 12:45 a.m. God, was it that late already? She had to get back. She winced, thinking of it. The women would
still be up, waiting for her, probably sitting in a row on the couch, hands on their knees, rushing fearfully toward the door when she came in. Even if they didn't push her to talk, the strain in their faces would be evident; they would have already discussed the situation in her absence, weighed in on her mental state (and here Grace was supposed to be the one with problems!), maybe even devised some other kind of secret hand signal or eye movement the way they used to do at Turning Winds whenever one of them needed to talk.

No. There was not a single person in the world who needed to treat her with kid gloves. She was beyond this. Past it. The fact of the matter was that Grace had a baby now, a real, living, breathing child. That was just the way things were. She needed to be stronger, to steel herself when the child inevitably cried. Because that was just what babies did; they cried. They wailed too, when their needs were not being met fast enough. And if her reaction to hearing it brought her to her knees, she would let herself fall, but only on the inside. This would be the last time she crumbled in front of them. In front of anyone. She was an adult now, thirty-two years old, for God's sake. It was time to act like one. She got up quickly, pushing herself off the trunk, and headed back to the house.

B
reakfast the next morning was a somewhat somber affair, although Ozzie tried her best to keep things light with her goofy jokes, and Henry served perfectly poached eggs atop English muffins, each one dolloped with a lemony hollandaise sauce. There were individual mixed berry compotes too, and good, strong coffee, all served out on the back deck again as the
sun peeked through the blinds. Monica, who had been preoccupied with another phone call, seemed on edge for some reason, and Nora kept her own eyes down, the remnants of her mortification still lingering around the edges. She'd been wrong about the women sitting on the couch or rushing for the door when she returned; only Grace, whose bedroom was on the first floor, poked her head around the corner as she heard the door lock, to ask her if she was all right. Nora had nodded, mumbling something about needing to sleep, and Grace had let her go, watching as she walked up the steps, and then giving her a little wave as she turned into her room. Monica had been in Ozzie's room, sitting on the edge of her bed, and they'd both turned, their faces tense and expectant.

“I'm fine,” she volunteered wearily. “See you in the morning.”

Some time later, after she'd brushed her teeth and slipped into her pajamas, she heard Monica opening the door and sliding into her own bed. The brief silence in the room was followed by a whisper. “Nora?”

She closed her eyes, which had been wide open, staring at the ceiling.

“Nora, you awake?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Monica sighed. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”

Her heart swelled then in the dark, a sea anemone expanding in the darkest recesses of the ocean. “I love you, too, Mons.”

Somehow she had slept, but lightly, uneasily, one ear subconsciously tuned for the baby. It was, she thought later, quite possibly the longest Saturday night of her life.

“So what time's our flight?” Monica asked, spooning a bite of the hollandaise sauce into her mouth. “It's not 'til later, right? What should we do this morning?” She picked up her coffee, spilling some on the tablecloth, and then put it down again.

“Mons?” Ozzie was looking at her strangely. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Monica picked up her spoon to stir her coffee.

“Why's your hand shaking?” Ozzie asked.

Monica glanced at her trembling fingers and set her spoon back down. “Oh, I'm a little overtired, I guess.”

“You don't look good,” Ozzie said bluntly. “I mean, you look like something's eating at you.”

“You do look a little anxious,” Grace joined in. “Is something wrong?”

Monica pressed her lips together and shook her head. Without warning, a single tear welled out of her eye and slid down the front of her face.

“
Honey.
” Ozzie reached across the table and put a hand over hers. “What is it?”

Monica dropped her head and shook it from side to side.

“Is it because you're leaving today?” Grace tried. “I don't want you to leave either. But it'll be okay. Now that we've gotten back in touch . . .” Her voice trailed off as Monica shook her head again.

“Does this have anything to do with the phone call you made in the bathroom this morning?” Ozzie asked.

Monica's shoulders caved in on themselves as she gave way to the sobs, and for a moment, Nora was afraid she might fall
face first into the plate of eggs still in front of her. She reached out and steadied one of her arms, but the gesture seemed to undo Monica completely. Her sobs drifted out from under her blond hair as she clutched at her face and began to rock back and forth.

“Jesus Christ.” Ozzie pushed her chair behind her with the backs of her knees as she stood up and came around the other side of the table. “Monica Ridley! What the hell is going on? Talk to us!”

“Oh, God,” Monica blubbered behind her hands. “Oh, God, I can't.”

“You can't what?” Ozzie exchanged a bewildered glance with Nora and Grace.

Monica rocked harder.

“Who'd you call this morning?” Grace asked. “Liam? Is something wrong with Liam?”

Monica shook her head.

“Monica.” Ozzie put a hand on her hip. “Please. We don't have time here for twenty questions. Please just talk to us.”

“Oh, God, I can't,” she moaned. “I've done a terrible thing. I'm a terrible person.”

“You're not a terrible person.” Ozzie squatted down next to Monica's chair. “Stop being so melodramatic and just tell us what's going on.”

Grace gave Ozzie a withering look and came around to the other side of the chair. Kneeling down next to Monica, she smoothed her hair with one hand and patted her back with the other. “Honey. Try to calm down, okay? That's it, deep breaths.
In. Out. Okay, good. Now, can you try to tell us what's gotten you so upset?”

Monica pressed her fingertips against her mouth. “I'm in trouble,” she whispered.

“What kind of trouble?” Ozzie asked. “What'd you do?”

Instead of answering, Monica began to cry again.

“Oh, for God's sake,” Ozzie burst out, standing up again. “What'd you do, kill someone?”

Monica's head jerked as she stared up at Ozzie. “
No!
” Her voice, tremulous as it was, sounded furious.

Ozzie seemed unfazed. “Okay, well, good. Murder would be a tough one. Anything else I think we can deal with.”

Monica's face eased a fraction of an inch. “You mean it?”

“Of course we mean it!” Ozzie looked at Grace and Nora. “Right, girls?”

“Of course,” Nora echoed.

“Absolutely,” Grace said.

“It's bad,” Monica whispered.

“It's okay.” Ozzie sounded grim.

“I . . . took . . .” Monica pressed her napkin into the corners of her eyes. “I mean, I stole . . .”

“What?” Ozzie encouraged. “A Prada purse? That tacky cell phone cover? What'd you steal?”

“Money.” Monica dropped the napkin from her face and stared at a spot on the table. “I stole a lot of money. From the treasury. I mean, I'm the treasurer. For the fund-raising committee I'm on. For the charity. And I stole money. Other people's money. A lot of it.”

Ozzie steadied herself on the back of Monica's chair and licked
her lips. “Let's take this one step at a time. What's a lot of money? What are we talking here?”

Monica steadied her lower lip with her teeth. “A lot.”

“Monica.”

“Forty thousand dollars.”

Ozzie inhaled sharply through her nose. Nora, who had started to sweat, could see Monica's shoulders trembling through the thin material of her blouse.

“Forty thousand dollars?” Ozzie repeated. She sat back down in her chair. “Are you serious?”

Monica nodded.

“Why?” Grace gasped.

Monica shook her head.

“
Why?
” Ozzie pressed.

“I don't know!” Monica cried, snapping her head up. “I don't have an answer, okay? I just did!”

“Did you need it?” Ozzie pressed. “I mean, was Liam not giving you money? Were you saving up or something? You know, trying to get away from him?”

“No, no, no.” Monica shook her head back and forth. “No, it was nothing like that.”

“Then what?” Ozzie said.

“I told you.” Monica looked up helplessly. “I don't have a reason. I just did it.”

There was a moment of silence around the table. Nora could not think of a single thing to say next that had not just been uttered. She stared at the top of Monica's white-blond hair instead, wondering how anyone just stole forty thousand dollars.
Especially if they didn't need it. What exactly went through someone's mind before they did something like that?

“All right, well, who were you on the phone with this morning?” Ozzie asked finally. “Liam?”

“No.” Monica's voice was frantic. “He doesn't know. He can't ever know. He'll leave me if he finds out.”

“Then who were you talking to?” Ozzie's voice was eerily calm.

“A detective.” Monica choked on the word. She swallowed and fiddled with the ring on her finger. “From the Manhattan police department. He left a voice mail for me yesterday. Said I had to call him back no later than this morning.”

“Which you did,” Grace encouraged. “And then what?”

“He said they found out. That they know. The police, I mean. They know what I did. They've known for a while.” Her face crumpled in on itself. “He said that I have to turn myself in before noon tomorrow at the Nineteenth Precinct.”

“The
police
station?” Nora found her voice. “Why?”

“Because they're going to . . . press charges.” Monica's upper body heaved under a fresh sob. “And arrest me.”

“Holy
shit
.” Ozzie's face was pale. “Well, of course they're going to arrest you. I mean, they have to, I guess. Right?”

Monica nodded helplessly.

“Can you try . . .” Ozzie began pacing around the room. “I mean, Monica, you live with a fucking millionaire! What the hell are you stealing that kind of money for?
Any
kind of money for?”

Monica closed her eyes against the question and shook her head.

“Monica!” Ozzie clenched her hands.

“She said she didn't
know,
Ozzie,” Grace said firmly. “Now
might not be the time to start analyzing the reasons why she did it. Especially if she's not ready to talk about it.”

Ozzie's face was turning pink. “Well, when is the time to start talking about it, Grace? You want to tell me? Because she's going have to come up with some sort of decent explanation so that after she gets arrested, she doesn't end up in
jail
!”

“Why are you yelling?” Monica looked frightened.

“Why am I yelling?” Ozzie's voice veered sharply. “You've just admitted that you stole forty thousand dollars from a fucking charity for no reason at all, and that you're on your way to the Manhattan police station to turn yourself in, and you want to know why I'm
yelling
?”

“Stop.” Nora's voice quavered as she stood up. Ozzie stared at her, her nostrils white around the edges. “Just stop it. You're making things worse, Ozzie. Now quit yelling.”

Ozzie dropped her eyes and inhaled. She strode around the other side of the table, yanked her chair out, and plunked down in the middle of it.

The room was silent save for the faint thumping sound of Ozzie's butter knife as she turned it over and over against the tablecloth. Monica stared down at her lap as Grace remained kneeling next to her, looking down at the floor. Nora glanced at her half-eaten breakfast, which, with its smeared egg yolk and stained berries, now had a vaguely lurid appearance. She pushed it away.

“Why didn't you tell us anything earlier?” Grace asked.

“I was embarrassed,” Monica whispered.

Nora bit her lip. She wouldn't have told anyone either.

“So what now?” Ozzie asked. Her voice was hard, unforgiving. “You have an attorney, right?”

“Yeah.” Monica nodded.

“Have you talked to him?”

“A little.”

“You gotta tell him everything, Mons. You might be too embarrassed to tell us the truth, but you're gonna have to lay your cards on the table for him. Seriously. Lawyers can fix anything. I mean, maybe he can claim mental distress or something and you can just get probation.”

“What do you mean, mental distress?” Grace asked. “Monica's not mentally distressed.” She looked at Monica. “Are you?”