Thorns of Truth (26 page)

“Isn’t this great? All of us together.” Iris looked so delighted, Mandy half-expected to see her clap her hands like a child being given a special treat. Her face was literally glowing. “I barely got a chance to talk to you at our party. All those people! You look wonderful, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Mandy murmured, knowing it wasn’t true. She looked like shit. Pale, with dark circles under her eyes. At the office, she’d told everyone she was coming down with the flu—as if anyone would buy that, with all the rumors that had to be flying. Now, looking into Iris’ amber eyes which, up close, weren’t quite so cloudless, she realized that in some ways their predicaments were similar. Iris, too, was treading on thin ice with Rose. Tentatively, she asked, “By the way, when’s the wedding? Have you two set a date yet?”

Iris cast an uncertain glance at Drew, who was over by the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of wine—something Mandy dearly wished she could do. He appeared tense, uncomfortable. Rose’s plan had worked, sure, but he looked none too happy about being here. He had to know how worried his mother was, and was probably worried himself that Iris would notice.

Poor Drew. Was he having cold feet as well?

“Next summer, I hope,” Iris said a bit too brightly. “Drew doesn’t want to set a date until we find an apartment. He’s superstitious.” She crossed the room and slipped an arm about Drew, who smiled and kissed the top of her head.

If Drew doesn’t watch out, he’11 be eaten alive.
Over the years, Mandy had witnessed enough of Iris’ moods to know that her brother wouldn’t have an easy time of it.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?” Mandy asked, masking her concern by pretending it was for Iris.

“Knowing my brother, before long you’ll be knee deep in lab rats he couldn’t bear to euthanize.”

“If you’re trying to scare her off, you’ll have to do better than that.” Drew laughed, looking so like their father just then, Mandy felt her throat catch.

Except her brother’s blue eyes, unlike Daddy’s, were utterly vulnerable—a window standing open to anything that might fly in.

They were interrupted by the buzzing of the doorbell downstairs. Minutes later, Rose was ushering in the man responsible for that giddy look on her face. Eric Sandstrom, in faded jeans and pressed navy blazer, his deceptively laid-back gaze seeming to size up the situation with a glance.

“Hey, sorry I’m late. I was subbing for one of the other hosts.” Friendly without appearing too eager, greeting everyone with a warm handshake.

Yes, Mandy could see it. Eric, though not conventionally handsome, was more interesting in some ways than Robert even. He bore the irresistible stamp of a man who … well, who’d
lived.
It wasn’t just the lines around his eyes and mouth. His expression embodied something both wise and sad. It puzzled her, because at the same time he appeared happy—joyous, even.

Meeting his almost uncomfortably direct gaze, Mandy had the strangest feeling she knew him from somewhere other than Drew and Iris’ party. A vague memory drifted lazily just below her consciousness. Lying on her back, looking up at Eric, his face like a bright sun at the mouth of a dark cave.

But that was crazy. At the party, they’d only exchanged a few words. And afterwards, when he’d helped her downstairs and into a taxi, she’d been in no shape for conversation.

Yet Rose had been so eager for Mandy to get to know him. Why? The memory surfaced again, more clearly this time. Eric hovering over her, with those sad and knowing eyes—
A dream? Yes, it must have been
—and goosebumps scuttled up the backs of her arms.

Suddenly Mandy couldn’t wait to get away. Whatever Eric’s story, she didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not ever.

Warily, she watched him greet Drew, then Jay, who hung back a bit, reminding her of a jealous boyfriend checking out the competition. Iris was the only one who greeted Eric warmly, as if he were an old friend of her family. Which he was, Mandy remembered.

“You’re invited, too,” Iris told him. Then, noting his puzzled expression, she began to giggle. “To the wedding. That’s what we were talking about before you got here.”

Rose’s face turned to stone. She tried to hide it, but there was no disguising her dismay. Drew must have seen it, too. He frowned, shoving his fists deep into the pockets of his chinos. Meanwhile, Jay—who, like any sixteen-year-old, would sooner walk over hot coals than see a family problem aired in public—did his usual fade-out, melting into the background without actually leaving the room.

Even Mandy was embarrassed. Though, at the same time, she couldn’t help feeling relieved that the focus was on someone other than her.

Rose was quick to shift gears. As deftly as a poker player disguising a losing hand, she smiled and said, “Why don’t you all come to the table? The food is just about ready.”

Dinner was more relaxed—the exhalation of a pent-up breath. Drew talked about his summer job at Computer World, how crazy it was now, with everyone flocking to buy laptops for their school-age kids. And Eric amused them with stories about the celebrities he’d interviewed while cohosting the
Morning Show
—the blind jazz pianist who’d remained seated while his wife, out in the audience, took a bow; the macho movie star who’d squealed in fright when one of the other guests—a zookeeper—thoughtlessly allowed a marmoset to scramble up onto his lap.

Even Jay laughed at that.

When Eric stood up to help Rose clear the table, Mandy was surprised at how quickly the time had gone. Somehow, she’d managed to get through an entire meal without obsessing about not drinking—a feat she would have believed impossible. Nor had she been the center of attention.

Nobody is out to get me,
she realized.

Eric was too busy concentrating on Rose. Any fool could see he was in love with her. And yet Rose seemed skittish, as if not quite wanting to believe it. As if that kind of happiness might be a thing of the past.
She’s not over Daddy,
Mandy thought, feeling suddenly sad for her stepmother.

Mandy got up, too, and began stacking plates, carrying them into the kitchen. Anything to keep her hands busy, to keep from thinking about the lonely weekend ahead, when she’d be climbing the walls to keep from walking to the liquor store … while at the same time wishing she could be with Robert.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

Startled, Mandy looked over to find Eric at the kitchen sink, rinsing off a plate. In the next room, she could hear Rose taking orders for coffee, and Drew arguing good-naturedly with his brother about something. She glanced nervously over her shoulder.

For the moment, at least, she and Eric were alone.

“Remember what?” Mandy asked innocently, though she had the distinct feeling she didn’t want to know.

“I took you home after the party.” He bent to load the plate into the dishwasher, then straightened to smile at her.

Mandy tensed, searching his face for the judgment she was used to seeing in other people’s. There was none. Eric met her gaze with the cool look of someone living in a glass house of his own, who knew better than to throw stones.

She relaxed slightly and admitted, “I was kind of out of it.”

“No shit.” He chuckled, as if amused by her understatement.

Mandy remembered again why she was here, and felt her face grow tight. “I should have thanked you. I’m sorry.” She added caustically, “I guess it’s a good thing I have Rose to remind me of my manners.”

He shrugged, refusing the bait. “You don’t owe me anything. But if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m around.”

He fished in the pocket of his blazer, and handed her his business card. “Call me anytime.”

Mandy just stood there, holding the card between her thumb and forefinger as gingerly as a lighted match. What was he? Some kind of preacher? That must be what his radio show was about—telling people how to fix their lives.

“That’s why you came tonight, isn’t it? To lecture me,” she snapped. Taking a deep breath, she fought to bring herself under control. “Look, I don’t mean to sound rude. But I hardly know you. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

“I know what you’re going through, that’s why.”

“How could you?”

“I’m an alcoholic.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

Mandy stared at him, feeling slightly dizzy. Of course. How stupid of her. She should have known. Eric wasn’t just being the Good Samaritan—
He thinks I’m an alcoholic, too.
Instinctively, she found herself backing away, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

“You can’t think …” She licked her lips, which suddenly felt as dry as old, bleached bones. Words of denial bubbled to the surface. “I sometimes drink too much, sure, but I’m not … I can stop anytime.”

He smiled. “I used to think that, too.”

“But you did. Stop, I mean.”

“I’m sober, yes. There’s a difference. I learned that in AA.”

“I’m not like you,” she insisted. “I don’t need AA.”

“None of us think we do. In the beginning, at least.”

She eyed him, curious in spite of herself. “What changed your mind?”

He surprised her with a hollow laugh, rubbing his eyelids as if tired. When he opened them again, his eyes were bloodshot, their bright, unsettling blue like a bolt of lightning in an overcast sky.

“I began losing things,” he told her. “My friends, my job, my house. Toward the end, even my sanity.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” she declared, defiantly almost.

Eric eyed her thoughtfully before reaching once more into his pocket. When she saw what he was holding, Mandy gasped. Her missing keys. She’d been looking everywhere. How had Eric gotten them?

“I would have returned them sooner,” he apologized, “but I didn’t realize I’d pocketed them until Rose mentioned something the other night. I went looking in my closet, and found them.”

Mandy’s cheeks burned as she reached for them.

It seemed suddenly vital that he understand. “I haven’t had a drink in two days,” she blurted.

Eric merely shrugged as if to say,
So what? What’s two days stacked up against all your years of drinking?
“Like I said, you can call me anytime. We’ll go to a meeting together.” In the weary curve of his mouth, she saw something that struck more than just a nerve … something that jarred her to the bone.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “It … It would mean …”

She stopped. God, what had she been about to say?

She saw from his expression that Eric
did
understand—more than she’d bargained for. He was looking at her with compassion, as if he knew precisely how she felt.

“… not being able to drink anymore,” he finished for her. “Yeah, I know. It’s a bitch, all right. But it gets better, believe me. Or I wouldn’t be here. You’ll see.”

But Mandy didn’t want to see. Or know. She wanted only to escape. Abruptly turning her back on Eric, she darted from the kitchen. Her head was pounding, her scalp on fire. She wanted to be home, where she could …

No. No booze. I can’t
.
That would prove he’s right.

She had to be good. Even if it killed her.

Chapter 9

“Y
OUR MOTHER HATES
me,” Iris declared mournfully.

She was lagging behind, and Drew had to slow his steps in order to keep pace. The taxi had let them off at the corner of Gansevoort, a block from his place—a fifth-floor walk-up the ad in the
Times
had billed as a “quaint studio in historic bldg, ideally located in Village.” In other words, a dump. But it was
his
dump … and the more he thought about giving it up for something roomier that he and Iris could share, the less he liked it. Particularly at times like this, when Iris was stewing about something.

It’ll get better,
he told himself.
It has to.

He took a deep breath. The humidity that all week had gripped the city like a sweaty fist was beginning to ease. He thought he could feel the first hint of fall in the air—or was it just his imagination? Tomorrow was his last day at the computer store where he’d spent the summer peddling laptops to college-bound kids who made him feel as if his own undergrad days had taken place long enough ago for him to smile with wistful nostalgia.
An engaged man,
he thought.
I’m engaged to be married.
However many times he said it, he couldn’t quite see himself that way. It was as if he’d turned a corner onto an unfamiliar street … and if what he was seeing now was any indication of what lay ahead, Drew wasn’t at all sure he was headed in the right direction.

Once school starts, I’ll be too busy to notice,
he told himself.

In a just few weeks, he’d be submerged in lectures and labs, where his only concern would be keeping his head above water. And Iris at Parson’s, all her tiny worries—worries that tended to grow, like mushrooms in damp rotting soil, into
big
worries—lost in a storm of drawing paper, charcoal stubs, gesso, and paint. Soon, he thought, this summer would seem like one of those dreams from which you awake sweating and short of breath, only to forget, a minute later, what it was all about.

“She doesn’t
hate
you.” Drew squeezed her hand. “She’s worried, that’s all.”

“Because she thinks I’m some kind of psycho, right?” There was no resentment in Iris’ voice, only a kind of bruised despair.

“Jesus, Iris.” Drew sighed. When she got like this, he never knew quite what to say, how to console her. “Nobody thinks you’re a psycho. Look at it from my mom’s point of view— Dad’s only been gone a year, and now her oldest son is engaged to be married. Plus, you have to admit, it hasn’t always been hearts and roses with us.”

He grinned crookedly, casting like a fly fisherman on a still lake for even the tiniest glimmer of a smile. But Iris wasn’t biting. She regarded him gravely, her eyes in the hard glare of the street lamp deeply pocketed with shadow.

“More like Dungeons and Dragons,” she groaned without so much as a hint of irony. Drew couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her look so unhappy. Not since …