When We Were Friends (14 page)

Sydney had lied to me, told me she hadn’t been questioned by the police about the note yet, but now the article said she’d given them leads? Why would she lie about it? Was it because she’d given them my name? What if when they’d shown her the composite she’d told them who I was? It wouldn’t be long before all the pieces clicked together, my meeting with Sydney at Chelsea’s Café, Jeffy Hauser seeing me with Molly on the deck, credit card records showing my trip to Babies “R” Us. The cops would come to our home, interrogate Star, who I knew would never hold up under that kind of pressure, and it all would be over.

I ran back to the car, my head spinning. Would Muriel let me use the phone at the inn? I had to call Star and find some way for her to hide—disregarding the fact that she’d be largely incapable of hiding anywhere farther than underneath her bed—but I didn’t dare call on my cell phone for fear they’d trace the call. Although … I’d been on my cell yesterday! Were the police even now waiting outside the inn to arrest me? I strapped Molly into her car seat and started the engine, hands shaking so badly it took two tries. What I’d have to do was drive by the inn without stopping, and if I saw a police car I’d just turn the car around and run.

Molly started to cry in long quivering wails, and at some point I had started to cry as well, my breath coming in short stabs, my eyes blurred. I blinked quickly to clear them, racing through downtown, ignoring stop signs and lights and the use of turn signals. I’d just started up the hill with my foot on the gas when suddenly the car shuddered and made a hideous cranking sound. And then stopped. “No, no, no,” I whispered, jamming the key back and forth in the ignition. “No!” In response, the car started rolling backward, down the hill. “No!”

I slammed the brake, then pulled the parking brake and popped the hood. Jumped out and stared at the mess of metal thingies and rubber thingies, as if whatever was broken might suddenly wave a
flag labeled with repair instructions:
slide tab A into slot B
. I unscrewed the top of the oil tank, the only part of the engine that was remotely familiar, and touched the dipstick. Yes, the oil tank contained oil.

I kicked at the front tire. “You piece of crap!” Kicked it again and again until my toe began to scream, and then crumpled to the ground cradling my foot. “Dammit!” What the hell had I been thinking, trying to drive my hundred-forty-thousand-urban/suburban-mile-old car across the country? And what the hell was I supposed to do now?

An old gray Volvo pulled up beside me, and a man with dark hair and flushed cheeks leaned to unroll his passenger-side window. “You okay here?” he called.

“I’m fine,” I said, as if I wasn’t on the ground holding my foot, beside a broken-down car complete with screaming baby. “I’m fine,” I said again, but seeing the kind, concerned look on his face, my eyes suddenly flooded with tears. “It’s just my car.”

“Right,” the man said, and pulled his car behind mine. “Hold on, I’m just going to get your baby, is that okay? And then I’ll take a look at the engine.” He got out from the car and lifted Molly, smoothing a hand over her hair, and she arched her entire body back against his arm, like he was spotting her in some gymnastics move.

He unscrewed the cap to the oil tank, looked inside, then screwed it back. “I actually have no idea what I’m looking for,” he said.

“It’s dead,” I said. “It gave this kind of … death rattle and then a nails-on-chalkboard sound and then it just stopped.” What could I do? Just wait here praying the cops wouldn’t show up before the car was fixed? And pay for that fix how, exactly? I should just say the hell with it all, release the parking brake and lie behind the back wheels.

“I’ll find you a repair shop, okay?” He shuffled Molly against his hip and pulled out a cell phone, and I stared at it as he dialed information, then called the number they gave him. He had a phone, and I needed a phone. Him stopping to help was, perhaps, providence.

“They’ll be here in ten minutes,” he said after hanging up, then
smiled down at Molly, who raised her hand to pull at his ear. “I’ll just wait with you to make sure they find you, okay?”

I stood gingerly, testing my toe. “You’re so nice,” I said, “thank you.” And then I made an apologetic face. “Do you think I could use your phone?”

“I can take you wherever you have to go.”

“No that’s not it, I just need to call somebody. Just for a minute, it’s kind of an emergency.”

Concern flooded his face again; his face was so very
expressive
, and I found myself wanting to hand off everything to this man I’d just met, the solid knot of worry that pushed against my gut, throw it all onto his shoulders. He seemed like he might understand. Instead I tried to smile reassuringly, thanking him as he handed me his phone, then said, “Would you mind …?”

“Oh no, of course not.” He turned away with Molly. “I’ll just wait by the car.”

My eyes on them I dialed home, hoping to God I was getting to Star before the cops had. “It’s me,” I whispered when she answered. “Are you alone?”

“What?” she said. She sounded fine. Mysteriously fine.

“Listen, I don’t want you opening the door to anyone. I did something stupid, Ma. I left a note yesterday morning at Six of Swords, telling Sydney to call me, so now the cops must be sure she knows who the kidnapper is.”

“Well I know, she called yesterday. She sounded really upset. I mean I was going to curse her out, use obscenities you’re probably not even aware are in my vocabulary, but she broke down and started sobbing so I didn’t have the heart.”

“She was crying?” I thought about this. “Well she probably just wanted you feeling sorry for her so you wouldn’t go to the cops.”

I kept watching the man who was now talking in low tones to Molly, and forced myself to take slow, deep breaths. If the cops hadn’t already come to question Star, did that mean they wouldn’t? If Sydney had given them my name, if I was the lead mentioned in the paper, wouldn’t they have come to our home right away? “Just,” I
said, “just if a cop happens to come to the door, or anybody really that you don’t know, you call me before you answer, okay?”

Star was quiet a moment before she said, “Honestly, I’ve thought this through already. Because I don’t think either of us fully trusts Sydney. I mean of course we don’t, how could we? If she was in trouble, I doubt she’d hesitate to shift the blame off herself. But I do believe she’s scared for her daughter, that she’s doing the wrong thing but for the right reasons, which means she’d never let the investigators or David know where you are.”

I nodded as if Star could see me, trying to believe this was true.

“But if she does end up giving them your name,” Star said, “I’ll tell them I don’t have any idea where you’ve gone to, that you’ve just disappeared.” She paused, then added, “Which’ll implicate you, I guess, it would mean you’d really have to go into hiding before your face is splashed all over the news, but we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Fingers of fear were stretching across my chest, pressing against my ribs. But Star sounded like she was discussing a chance of rain rather than a chance of incarceration. Normally she freaked out when she heard the walls creak, so how could she possibly be so calm? “How can you possibly be so calm?” I said.

“Well I wasn’t yesterday after you’d left, I’ll admit that. But talking to Sydney … I had to calm her down, which I guess calmed me down. And I don’t know if this’ll help you, but I really believe the universe wouldn’t punish us for doing the right thing. That’s not how the world works.”

I gazed at Molly, who was now plastering her hand over the man’s mouth. That was exactly how the world worked, and Star knew it. The world tested you, and on the off chance you didn’t fail, it turned things up a notch, as a lark. “You’ve started taking pills again, haven’t you.”

She sniffed. “I maybe took one. Or two. Don’t you start reading me the riot act over two pills.”

I gripped the phone tighter. How could I have left her alone in the house with a full bottle of pills? When she’d first begun having problems,
the doctor had given her prescriptions for Lexapro and Valium. Which had helped her to function until they hadn’t helped her, and she’d started taking more and more until her doctor had refused to prescribe them. She’d gone through two weeks of withdrawal, which she’d described as feeling like her bones had cracked into shards, stabbing through her skin and internal organs. After which she’d refused to take anything, even the SSRIs and benzodiazepines that might’ve helped. Until 9/11, when she’d fitfully sent me out for duct tape and plastic sheeting, and Xanax.

She was careful with it, taking the pills only when the fear was overwhelming. Which, of course, it would be now. “Just be careful, okay?” I said. “Two pills a day, tops.”

“I’m not stupid, Lainey. My addiction-to-tranquilizers phobia is bigger than my other phobias.”

“Okay,” I said, “I’m trusting you.” Because what choice did I have?

After hanging up, I thanked the man, starting toward him to hand back his phone, then winced at the pain in my toe. I leaned against the car to pry off my shoe.

“You okay?”

“Just my toe.” I looked down at my bare foot, expecting a welt and swelling, but it was just unimpressively pink. “I forgot my car was an inanimate object, and kicked it.”

“Ah yes, I’ve made the same mistake, although I usually swear at my car instead of using brute force. Equally ineffective, but less painful.” He handed Molly to me, and nodded at the tow truck climbing the hill. “We’ll wait for them to take the car and then I’ll drive you home.”

Drive you home
, it sounded almost romantic, like the words
with me
were implied. “Thanks so much,” I said, studying his face for the first time while trying to look like I was doing nothing of the sort. He was good looking. Very good looking, actually, with ruddy cheeks, short-cropped hair and clear green eyes. He could’ve been an Abercrombie & Fitch model, the kind of man I’d be afraid to even glance at, knowing he’d inevitably return a glassy I-wouldn’t-let-you-lick-my-baseboards gaze.

But get this: I didn’t stammer or blush, my mind didn’t go blank
and I didn’t start hyperventilating. Not that I’d come up with an especially clever statement, but despite his cuteness, my brain had managed to formulate a perfectly acceptable expression of gratitude. And of this, I was inordinately proud.

I sat in the Volvo, Molly in my lap, as the man drove me up the hill toward the inn. “So we should probably introduce ourselves,” he said, “seeing as how I saved you and then … saw your dirty sock. It all confers a certain amount of intimacy.”

Heat rose to my face. “Well thanks for making me feel completely awkward.”

The man smiled. “I’m Alex.”

In my lap, Molly swiveled her head to him, to me and then back again, as if trying to interpret our conversation. I double-checked myself before answering, “I’m Leah. And this is Molly.”

“Nice to meet you both.” He gestured to the glove compartment. “There’s aspirin there, if you want it. Take the whole bottle, okay? You might need it later.”

“Appreciate it.” I pulled out the bottle. It was dirty, the label ragged. “Looks like it’s seen the ravages of war,” I said, popping two into my mouth.

“Guess it’s been there awhile. Does anybody ever use the aspirin they keep in their car?”

We were approaching the inn and I gestured at it. “Thanks so much,” I said, as he pulled into the gravel driveway.

“My pleasure. This was an easy, incommensurably rewarding Good Samaritan experience.”

I tried to force a laugh, but—maybe it was something about his smile, or the thought of going back into my empty bedroom where I knew the fear would hit again with a vengeance, or the conversation I’d just had with Star, or the relief of knowing Sydney probably hadn’t given the cops my name, or the pain in my toe or everything together—all at once I felt my eyes fill.

“Leah?” he said.

“It’s nothing, sorry it’s nothing.” I was about to pull the door handle when he set a hand on my shoulder, which had the curious effect of dislodging something that had been sitting just under my ribs. I made a sobbing sound. “Sorry,” I said, huddling over the baby. “I’m sorry!”

“Leah!” He wrapped an arm awkwardly around me. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing!” I repeated, but I let him hold me, half-mortified but the other half, the half indisputably in charge, just needing to be held.

He didn’t speak, just rubbed at my back, his chin resting on my head. And I huddled against the warmth of his shoulder, not letting myself think.

I stayed there with my face buried against him until Molly—probably feeling squashed between us—wailed her fist at my arm. And realizing that here I was, bawling in the arms of a stranger, the mortification returned. I pulled away and swiped a sleeve over my eyes and cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from. I’m just not sleeping much and it’s been a hell of a week.” I pulled open the door and got out. “Thanks again, Alex, really so much.”

But he’d already slipped out of the car to pull the stroller and diaper bag from the backseat. He closed the door with his hip and squeezed my elbow. “Just want to make sure you get in okay,” he said, escorting me to the door.

Muriel was in the front sitting room, working on a needlepoint. She jumped up when she saw me. “Leah, what happened!”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just my car broke down and I’m overreacting. I told the repair guy to call here when he knows what’s wrong, so could you let me know when he does?”

“Were you crying? Your face, it looks like a pomegranate.”

“I think she just needs to rest,” Alex said. “But if it’s okay, d’you think you or somebody here could check on her later? Just to make sure?”

“That’s crazy, really I’m fine.” I grabbed the diaper bag off his shoulder and then squeezed his arm in thanks. “Bye, Alex. So nice
meeting you!” I raised my hand in what I hoped would pass for a cheery wave, and carried Molly upstairs.

In the bedroom I sank onto the bed with Molly, listening to Alex downstairs talking to Muriel. Wondering if they were talking about me. I couldn’t let myself fall apart like this ever again. It put everything at risk because if Alex ever read the story about Molly, how long would it take for him to see the resemblance? Breaking down in his arms like that would probably be all the proof he’d need to go to the cops.