The Mirror and the Mask (22 page)

“Yeah, I am.”

“How'd that happen?”

She dug into her pocket for her keys. “It's kind of a long story.”

“Annie . . . I think we need to talk.”

She drew her hair back away from her eyes. “I'm not sleeping with him.”

“Whoa, kiddo. None of my business.”

“No, but I wanted you to know. We're just friends.”

“Listen,” said Jane, folding her arms over her stomach. “I like you. I think you know that. I've tried to help you.”

“You have helped me.”

“But from the very beginning, you haven't been honest with me. You don't owe me anything, least of all honesty, I realize that, but—”

“But I do,” said Annie. “I owe you so much. You're . . . maybe the kindest person I've ever met.”

Kind
, thought Jane.
Wonderful
.

“Maybe we could get together tomorrow?” said Annie. “Just the two of us?”

“Unfortunately, tomorrow's pretty busy for me.”

“How about tomorrow night?”

“That might work. I'll be here at the restaurant until at least midnight.”

“I'll stop by.”

“Good,” said Jane. “And . . . Annie, whatever the emergency is, I hope you and Curt can resolve it.”

“Me, too.” She hesitated. Leaning close, she brushed Jane's lips with hers.

“Annie, I—”

The second kiss was long, slow, ineffably tender.

Snowflakes fell lightly against Jane's face as she drew back, searched Annie's eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.” She touched Jane's cheek. “Was it a mistake?”

“No,” said Jane, reaching up for Annie's hand. “No,” she said again, this time more firmly.

“See you tomorrow night. And I promise. No more lies.”

 

 

 

S
he promised me she'd call,” said Curt, pacing back and forth in his living room. “You heard her. I told her to call me today and she said she would.”

“Does she always keep her promises?” asked Annie. The soft feel of Jane's lips still lingered in her memory. She tried to shake it off, to concentrate on what Curt was saying.

“If I ask her to call, she calls. So I called her—about a dozen times. Left that many messages. Something's wrong, I know it.”

Five feet away she could smell the booze on his breath. “You called Jack?”

“Hours ago,” he said, throwing himself down on a chair. “He told me she was still in bed when he left for a breakfast meeting this morning. He hasn't seen her since.”

“He's not worried?”

“Not as much as I am. Sunny's erratic. Sometimes she stays at a friend's place and forgets to let anybody know.”

“Have you tried calling her friends?”

“Everyone I could think of. But since it's Saturday, most of them were out. I left messages.”

Dooley lay on his back in Annie's arms. He seemed extra glad to see her, making little happy snorting sounds when she pressed her face to his fur.

“Her car's still at the house,” added Curt. “It makes no sense. If she wanted to run away, she would have taken it. She's lost without that Saab.”

“Did the police talk to her today?”

“Jack said he didn't want her talking to them unless he and his lawyer were present. The lawyer couldn't do it until Monday or Tuesday. I don't think they set a specific time because the funeral is set for Monday morning. Jack pulled some strings and got my mom's body released to him today.”

Annie let go of Dooley and crouched next to Curt. “Are you helping with the plans?”

“He's taking care of everything. Which is good, because I don't want anything to do with it.”

“Still can't forgive her?”

“I'll never forgive her.”

She hesitated. “Curt?”

“What?”

“Is there a specific reason Sunny doesn't want to talk to the cops? Like, maybe she thinks they'll force her to talk about something she'd rather keep secret.”

“You're partly right. She thinks cops can read minds, that they'll try to trip her up, make her say something that isn't true. She's terrified. I can't explain it. It's just the way she is.”

She guessed that he was covering, that knew more than he was saying. “Did you talk to the police today?”

“They called, but I was out.”

“You were?”

“I walked over to a liquor store to buy more bourbon.”

That
she believed. “Jack was in a pretty lousy mood last night when he more or less demanded that Sunny come home.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Maybe they got into a fight.”

“It's possible.”

“She got pissed and stomped out.”

“Without taking her car? She's dramatic, I'll give you that. But I can't see her getting angry and then calling someone to come get her when she has a perfectly good set of wheels in the garage. It doesn't make sense. And remember, Jack said she was still home this morning.”

“We've only got Jack's word for that.”

“Jesus, you're more paranoid than I am. I need another drink.” He pushed off the chair and crossed into the kitchen. He came back a few seconds later with a glass filled with ice and bourbon.

“It's just after nine,” said Annie. She didn't entirely understand why he seemed so panicky. It wasn't very late. “She might still come home.”

Curt's phone rang. “Maybe that's her,” he said. He lunged to grab the cell off the coffee table, spilling half his drink in the process.

Annie went to get some paper towels.

“Hello?” he said eagerly. “Oh.” His voice dropped a good octave. “Brianna, hi. Yeah, I left you a message. Hey, did you see Sunny today?” He listened. “Okay. But does she have any new friends I might not know about?” He lowered his head. “Yeah, nobody new in that group. Well, if she calls, will you tell her I need to speak with her? It's important. Thanks, Bri. Yeah, bye.”

When Annie returned with the paper towels, she saw that Curt had turned on the TV. He stood in the center of the room, staring at the screen.

Annie wiped up the spilled bourbon while Curt downed what was left in the glass.

“Brianna said she was at the mall today, but she didn't run into Sunny.” He pointed the remote at the TV and switched it off.

“This friend, Brianna. She'd tell you the truth, right? If she knew where Sunny was, she'd let you know?”

“Why wouldn't she?”

On his way back to the kitchen to refill his glass, Annie stopped him. “You don't need another drink. What you need is to sit with me on that couch and calm down.”

“Do I?” He slipped his arms around her waist. He looked deep into her eyes. “God, I'm glad you're here. Thanks for coming home.”

It wasn't her home, and yet it was as close to one as she'd had in years. The problem was that the more time she spent here, the harder it was going to be to say good-bye to Curt—and to Jane.

For most of her life, Annie had kept others at a distance. If necessary, she forced them away. If people got too close, they'd find a way to hurt you; that's just the way the world worked. But somehow both Curt and Jane had breached her defenses. It made her nervous and, at the same time, oddly grateful. She'd never had the courage to admit it before, always projecting an image of the self-sufficient loner—someone who didn't need people in her life to make her happy—but ever since her dad had died, she'd felt profoundly alone.

“Let's trade stories,” said Curt, holding her hand as they sat down on the couch. “Tell me something about your family. No . . . your dad. You were pretty little when he died, right?”

“Five.”

“Okay, tell me something you remember the two of you doing together. Something nice.” He leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Well,” said Annie, reaching back into her past, “he took me on a boat ride a few months before he died.”

“What did he die of?”

“Cancer.”

“Did you know he was sick?”

“If I did, I don't remember. But I doubt it. I was pretty little.”

“Keep going.”

“He loved boats. The one we were on that time was fairly large, I think, but it was just him and me. No other passengers that day. I remember standing in the back watching the wake as we cut through the water. It looked like root beer—frothy, foaming root beer. I can still see it. At one point, we pulled up to a dock. I remember people walking around on shore, and hundreds of birds, probably gulls, dipping and swooping over our heads. It was that golden late afternoon kind of light, you know? September or October. Chilly, but not cold yet.

“I loved being on the water as much as my dad did. Didn't matter if it was a canoe, a rowboat, a big motor boat, a pontoon, or the kind of large charter fishing boat we were on that day.

“My dad was up front, high up in the captain's chair, when this big wave came crashing over the side and swamped me. It scared me and I started crying. I had on my favorite sweater. I still remember it. Blue wool with darker blue and red snowflakes on the front. I thought it was ruined, and I imagine that added to my misery. I was huddled against the side of the boat when my dad picked me up. He carried me down into the cabin and took off my sweater and the white cotton shirt I was wearing under it. He dried me off, then removed his own sweater and wrapped it around me. He rolled up the sleeves until my hands poked out. I remember how much the sweater smelled like him—and how much I loved it. And then he carried me up to the pilot's chair, telling me that he'd let me drive when we got farther out into the water. I adored it. He held me the entire way home. I felt so warm. I don't think I've ever felt that warm again since.”

Curt was silent for a few seconds. “He sounds like a great guy.”

“He was.”

“Your life could have been so different if he'd lived. That's what I always think. If only my dad hadn't driven into that tree. I mean, why didn't he love Sunny and me enough to work through his problems?
Why did he have to end his life? Sometimes I get really mad at him. I scream at the wall or the sky that he was a selfish bastard and wasn't worth loving. But mostly, I just miss him. Quietly. To myself. If I could only talk to him one more time, man, what I would give.”

“I know it wasn't my dad's fault that he got cancer, but I can get so mad at him because he left me and Mom all alone.” She squeezed his hand. “We're a lot alike. Both of us lost our fathers when we were young.”

And both
, thought Annie,
ended up living with the same pathetic substitute
.

“I've never said this to a woman before,” said Curt. He stopped, then rushed on as if he were afraid that if he didn't get it out quickly, he'd never say it at all. “I think I'm falling in love with you. Not the optimum time in my life, I realize. But I won't be like this forever. I don't suppose you . . . feel the same way.”

“I don't know,” said Annie. It was an honest answer. “I'm six years older than you are.”

“So what? Is it because . . . because I can't—”

“No,” she said, slipping her arm over his stomach. “In fact, if anything, not having sex has made me feel closer to you. It's not the only reason you want to be with me.”

“Hell, no,” he said, kissing her forehead. “It's my mother's death. That's what has me so down.”

“But you were depressed the first night we met.”

“Yeah, but that was school.”

Was it?
thought Annie. Maybe she should have pursued the issue, but she didn't have the heart to upset him any more than he already was.

 

 

 

A
fter the brunch crowd thinned on Sunday afternoon, Jane left the Lyme House for home. It wasn't the way she'd planned to spend the day. She dug out an old silver-handled cane from an upstairs closet and limped around the house leaning on it, worried that the pain and weakness in her leg seemed to be growing worse. Mouse was put off by the heavy stick. He watched her silently from the middle of the living room rug. They often took a midday walk, but that wasn't going to happen today.