The Second Silence (27 page)

‘I just wanted to wish you luck.’ Mary crossed the room to give her a perfume-scented hug. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay? I feel terrible about leaving you.’

‘I’m sure.’ Noelle spoke abruptly, for once not bothering to hide her displeasure. Why did it have to be
her
decision? A normal mother wouldn’t have had to ask.

‘It’s not too late for me to call and reschedule my appointments.’ Mary faltered a bit, fingering the pretty silver pin on her lapel. ‘Nothing is more important than you, honey. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Do I?’ Noelle turned away, tugging a robe over her nightgown. ‘When did I ever come first, Mom?
When?
Oh, sure, you were there when it
counted—
school plays and parents’ night and graduations—but did it ever occur to you I might need a mother the rest of the time as well?’ She couldn’t believe she was speaking to Mary this way; the old Noelle wouldn’t have dared. At the same time it felt long overdue.

‘I did the best I could. It wasn’t easy for me, living here with Nana.’ Mary’s voice was soft.

‘It wasn’t easy for me either. I love Nana, but I wanted
you,
Mom, not your understudy. Even after we moved to the city, I saw more of the baby-sitter than I did of you.’ Noelle was close to tears. She marched over and flung open the closet, knowing that no matter what she put on, she’d never come close to looking as fashionable as her mother. Staring at the clothes drooping dejectedly from their hangers, she said in a low, fierce voice, ‘Did you think coming here would change all that? Did you think I’d just fall into your arms with gratitude like the last thirty years never happened?’

‘Oh, honey, I’m not sure
what
I expected.’ Mary let out a deep sigh of pent-up breath, but in place of her usual contriteness there was only calm resignation. ‘All I know is I’ve run out of excuses. I don’t expect forgiveness. I just want—I want things to be different from now on.’

Noelle turned slowly to face her, longing desperately to believe her but unwilling to risk yet another disappointment. Cautiously she said, ‘It isn’t something you can just stick out your hand for. You have to
earn
it.’

‘I’m trying, honey.’

Unexpectedly Noelle’s heart went out to her. ‘I know you are, Mom,’ she said softly, blinking back her tears. ‘Look, you’d better hit the road before you get caught up in a lot of traffic. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you later to let you know how it went.’

Mary seemed satisfied with that. ‘Promise? I won’t be able to concentrate on anything else all day. Not,’ she was quick to add, ‘that I have the slightest doubt you’ll make a good impression.’

Noelle laughed uneasily. ‘Better keep your fingers crossed just the same. I might end up with the Wicked Witch of the East.’

‘If that’s the case, you can always drop a house on her.’

Thankfully Mary didn’t offer any further advice. She looked at Noelle with the respect of a peer instead, as if confident that she was perfectly capable of managing on her own. For a fleeting instant Noelle believed it, too.

She spent the rest of the morning cleaning the house, top to bottom. She doubted it would be submitted to a white-glove test, but as Nana always said, it didn’t hurt to put your best foot forward. Besides, sitting still wasn’t an option. She was too antsy. If she didn’t keep moving, she’d go stir crazy. As she pushed her grandmother’s ancient Hoover over the living room carpet, a single thought beat in her head like a pulse:
Please, let Linda Hawkins like me.

By a quarter to one she was showered and made up, her hair blown dry. The psychologist wasn’t due to arrive until one-thirty, but Noelle wanted to be prepared in case she showed up early. Dr Hawkins might very well try to catch her with her guard down, and if Noelle had learned one thing from this ordeal, it was
not
to trust in the kindness of strangers.

She slipped out of the dress she’d just put on—a light cotton shift the color of marigolds that hung on her too-thin frame—and pulled another, more sober one from the closet. Standing before the full-length mirror, she held up her dark blue linen coatdress, then firmly shook her head. No, this wasn’t a job interview. She didn’t want to look like a supplicant. If she couldn’t
be
her normal self, she at least had to look the part.

Noelle settled on a pale green sleeveless sweater and a pair of off-white slacks that were stylish without being too dressy, the sort of outfit she might have worn to a committee meeting or a field trip with Emma’s preschool. After twisting her springy hair into a knot in back and slipping on a pair of gold earrings, she stepped back to view the effect.

Would Hank approve?

The thought sneaked in out of nowhere. She turned away from the mirror, frowning. How could she be thinking of Hank at a time like this?

Maybe because he sees you differently from the way you see yourself: as strong, even admirable. Someone fit to tackle the battle ahead,
a voice whispered in reply.
Besides, let’s be honest, you
like
being with him. He makes you feel good in a way Robert never did.

Never mind that they’d met at the worst possible time. Even if she cared to find out where friendship with Hank Reynolds might lead, right now it simply wasn’t possible. Not without Robert’s getting wind of it somehow. And anything that might make her look bad in court was a risk she couldn’t take.

Emma was her sole concern right now. No more false moves; she had to think like Robert in order to be as cunning. Starting today. She had to convince the psychologist that Emma belonged with
her.
How hard could that be? Dr Hawkins was a woman. Maybe even a mother. She wouldn’t be entirely unsympathetic.

Noelle squared her shoulders and stepped out into the hall. She paused only to look in on her grandmother, fast asleep in bed, as she headed for the stairs. Lately Nana’s naps had been getting longer, sometimes stretching far into the afternoon. A sign that she was getting better or merely slipping farther away? Noelle felt a twinge of anxiety and made a mental note to have a word with Hank at her grandmother’s next appointment.

In the kitchen, freshly scrubbed, its speckled green linoleum gleaming with a coat of wax, she poured herself a glass of lemonade. She couldn’t recall a moment since Emma had been kidnapped (yes,
kidnapped)
when she hadn’t felt parched, but however much she drank it never seemed to quench her thirst. The lemonade only made it worse. She followed it with a glass of water, which she immediately regretted. What if she had to pee in the middle of the interview? She could always excuse herself, of course. But might Linda Hawkins wonder if she was catching a nip from a bottle tucked in the pantry?

Noelle began to sweat. In the living room she switched on the ancient rotary fan, which reminded her of when she was a little girl, practicing piano scales with one hand anchoring the fluttering pages of her exercise book. Now, as she sank down on the bench, she recalled how her small fingers had stumbled over the difficult chords. She hadn’t played in years, but at Hazelden, as she sat through those endless groups, craving a drink and going quietly out of her mind, oddly enough it had been the one memory that kept her sane. In her mind she’d practice those scales over and over until they became a sort of mantra. She would feel the satiny coolness of the Baldwin’s yellowing keys and hear the resonating plunk of each note. After a while the ache in her gut would ease.

Now it was as if she’d been plunged back into that dark period of her life. A time when she would reach for a familiar crutch, only to come up empty-handed. AA had helped, though as soon as she’d felt able to handle things on her own, she’d stopped going. Then she got pregnant, and there was no question of her drinking. Still, she should have kept up with the meetings. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad now. She’d have had her fellow members to draw strength from and her sponsor to provide guidance and moral support: Gwen Nolan, with her twenty years in the program, who knew a thing or two about the rocky road to sobriety. And if the impulse to drink surfaced again, as it had just the other day, she’d have had a safe place to—

The chiming of the doorbell broke the stillness, causing her to jump to her feet. She glanced at her watch. Quarter past one—damn, the woman
was
early. As Noelle made her way to the front door, each step was accompanied by the heavy thud of her heart. She felt faintly queasy as well, the sweetness of the lemonade turning to bile in her throat.
Please God, let her like me,
she prayed once more.

The door swung open to reveal a slender, not unattractive middle-aged woman in a dowdy tan suit and thick-heeled shoes, with a slim maroon briefcase tucked under one arm. Not the Wicked Witch of the East, but there was something odd about her nonetheless. It was a moment before Noelle realized what it was: Linda Hawkins was utterly hairless. No eyelashes, and only thin penciled lines above hazel eyes that seemed to fix on Noelle with disturbing intensity. On her head was a shoulder-length wig the lustrous brown of a mink coat.

Noelle tried not to stare.

‘Dr Hawkins? Hi, I’m Noelle.’ She fought the impulse to slide her sweaty palm down her pants leg. ‘Please, come in. My grandmother’s taking a nap, so we have the place pretty much to ourselves.’

The psychologist gripped her hand firmly, one quick squeeze, before stepping inside. ‘Please, call me Linda.’ She smiled warmly, alleviating some of Noelle’s anxiety. ‘I’m told your grandmother is recuperating from surgery. She’s feeling better, I hope?’

Noelle smiled back. Her mouth might have been a strip of elastic stitched onto her face. ‘Oh, yes. Much.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

In the living room Noelle gestured toward the sofa. Linda chose one of the chairs instead, propping her briefcase on the floor beside it.

‘Can I offer you a drink? Some cold lemonade?’ Noelle asked.

‘No, thank you.’ Linda primly smoothed her skirt over her knees.

Noelle noticed a tiny run in her panty hose and was secretly reassured. It made this odd hairless woman seem more human somehow, someone with an elderly parent of her own perhaps, who had a fondness for cats and See’s chocolates.

See? there’s nothing to be afraid of,
she told herself. Yet for some reason she
was
afraid. Cold panic sheeted through her like rain across a windshield. It was those stark lashless eyes, like those of a department store mannequin; they gave her the creeps. How on earth was she supposed to concentrate with the woman staring at her like that?

Sinking down on the sofa, she nevertheless forced herself to meet Linda’s gaze. ‘I don’t suppose you’d take my word for it that I’m a nice person?’ she asked in a lame attempt at breaking the ice.

The woman surprised her with a chuckle. ‘You have the wrong idea about me, Noelle. May I call you Noelle? My job is simply to observe and make a recommendation to the court. I don’t have a final say in any of this. And I don’t bite, I promise.’ With a wry twist of her thin red mouth, she lifted her briefcase onto her lap. ‘Now then … let’s start with a few questions, shall we?’

‘Sure, go ahead. I have nothing to hide.’

Noelle knew immediately that she had phrased it the wrong way when Linda flicked her a curious glance, as if wondering whether or not she might indeed have something to hide. Sweat flooded her armpits, making her sweater stick to her skin. She pictured a thermostat like the one in the hallway and imagined thumbing the dial.
Stay cool… you’ve got to stay cool. …

‘Do you have any interests, Noelle?’

‘What?’

‘Hobbies, that sort of thing.’

Noelle’s mind raced. She’d been prepared for an inquisition, but this felt more like a college interview. Clearing her throat, she replied, ‘I write.’

‘You keep a journal, you mean?’

‘Well, yes, that, too. Mostly short stories and articles, though. I’ve even had a few published.’

‘Any I might have read?’

Noelle indulged in a dry laugh. ‘Not unless you subscribe to the
Baroid News Bulletin
or the
California Highway Patrolman.’
She shrugged. ‘When you’re starting out, you take what you can get.’

‘So it’s not just a hobby. You’re pretty serious about it.’

Sensing a possible trap, Noelle backed off at once. ‘Someday I’d like to write full-time. But for now…’ Thinking of Emma, she flashed the woman a smile that was genuine this time. ‘Look, I know it’s sort of old-fashioned to admit it these days, but there’s nothing more important to me right now than being a mom.’

Linda’s only response was to scribble on her notepad. When she looked up, her face was expressionless. ‘While we’re on the subject, let’s talk a bit about child care. Who watches your little girl when you need to run an errand or if you should happen to feel, ah, indisposed?’

Noelle tensed. Was that a reference to her allegedly having fallen off the wagon? There was nothing in Linda’s tone to suggest it. Even so, she sensed she would have to tread very, very carefully.

‘My grandmother, when she’s up to it,’ she replied. ‘There’s my aunt Trish, too. She baby-sits in the evening sometimes. Oh, and I have a teenage sister, Bronwyn. Emma absolutely worships her.’

‘It sounds as if you have a very close-knit family.’

‘We look out for each other.’

‘Even so, you must have had your hands full, taking care of a sick grandmother as well as a five-year-old child.’

Noelle felt the first flicker of real alarm. It wasn’t her imagination; this
was
a trap. Cautiously she said, ‘It’s only for a little while. Like I said, Nana is much better. She’ll be her old self in no time at all.’

The woman directed her lashless gaze at the somewhat lurid painting over the sofa of Christ’s crucifixion. ‘Well, yes, but let’s suppose, just for the sake of argument, that her health
doesn’t
continue to improve. Do you see yourself bringing in outside help?’

Noelle tried to picture her grandmother agreeing to such a thing. A stranger rattling around in her kitchen, sorting through her laundry? Someone in a white uniform and thick waffle-soled shoes carting trays up and down the stairs? No, Nana would never stand for it.