With an Extreme Burning (31 page)

The memory clouds were still massing. And now they were huge, bloated. She could feel the expanding pressure inside her head, as if they would burst any second …
like the horror in her mind that had burst at the lake
… get away, get away! But it was too late. She couldn't move, couldn't hide, there was nothing to do but lie there, whimpering, afraid, and wait for the deluge.

She was about to remember something monstrous.

*     *     *

Mom wasn't at Better Lands. Amy found her at home, in her bathroom upstairs, wearing a robe and combing out her damp hair. There was a big bandage over the palm of her right hand. And the bathroom was steamy and hot, almost like a sauna; she must have been in the tub for hours.

“What'd you do to your hand?”

“Cut it. It's not serious.”

“So I guess you're getting ready to go to Dix's again.”

“Yes.” Mom stopped brushing, gave her one of those searching looks. “Does it bother you, Amy?”

“Does what bother me?”

“That I've been spending so much time with Dix Mallory.”

“Why should it? He's got the same crap to deal with that we have—more, on account of Katy. Besides, you think I don't know adults get horny?”

“Amy, my sex life is none of your business.”

Right, Amy thought. Just like mine is none of
your
business.

“Is it serious?” she asked.

“My relationship with Dix? It could be. That's why I asked if it bothered you, my seeing so much of him lately.”

All
of him, you mean. “I told you it doesn't. It's been a long time since you and Dad got divorced. You need somebody and he needs somebody. Everybody needs somebody.”

“You like Dix, don't you?”

“He's okay.”

But
boring
. Mom's speed. Boy, am I bitchy today, she thought. Bitchy and snotty to everybody. That's what happens when your life turns to shit.
You
get shitty, too.

Mom asked, “Why are you here anyway? Clean clothes?”

“No. I've been looking for you.”

“Why?”

“I saw Eileen. I went to the hospital after work.”

“That was good of you, baby. How is she?”

“Still pretty much out of it. She said some stuff … I don't know, maybe it's important. She wanted me to tell you.”

Amy had worked to develop the skills she would need as an investigative reporter; she repeated the conversation with Eileen word for word. Mom was frowning when she was done.

“You're sure Eileen said Pelican Bay?”

“Positive. That's where you almost had the accident, right? You and Eileen and Katy?”

“Yes. But that was four years ago …”

“What did she mean about Katy seeing a trophy?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, it must be what Eileen remembered last Sunday. The reason she called from Blue Lake.”

“It must be, but—” Mom put her brush down, hurried into the bedroom. From the doorway Amy watched her take off her robe and start getting dressed. “I need to think about this. Talk to Dix about it.”

“I'll go with you.”

“To Dix's? No, I want you to go straight to Gran and Gramps's and stay there. I'll call you later.”

“Why? I'm part of this, too.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Then why do you want to shut me out of it?”

“I don't. It's just that—”

“Just that you think I'm too young.”

“No, it isn't that.”

“Sure it is,” Amy said cuttingly. “You think I'm too young, I'm not responsible enough, I can't help make adult decisions. That's bullshit, Mom.”

“Amy, please. I haven't kept anything from you, have I? I haven't tried to shield you from the truth. Doesn't that tell you I think you're adult enough to handle it?”

“Then why do you keep trying to shove me off on Gran and Gramps?”

“For your own good, that's why. Will you please just do as I ask? No more arguments? We'll talk later, after I get this sorted out.”

“After you and Dix get it sorted out, you mean.”

“That's enough. Go. Straight to Gran and Gramps's. Promise me.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Downstairs, Amy saw that her mother had left her purse and car keys on the front hall table. She just hated being treated like a kid, pushed aside, left out; it made her wild. She was an adult—an adult! She took the pencil and notepad out of the drawer, wrote
Mom: In case you run out
, and set the pad next to the keys. On top of it she put the unopened package of rubbers from her own purse.

*     *     *

Pelican Bay, Cecca thought as she drove, the accident in Pelican Bay.
Is
there a connection? Such a long time ago, more than four years … God, that awful rainy night … three people dead, maybe four …

Fire. Burning. They hadn't just died in the crash … there'd been a fire, hadn't there? An explosion and a fire?

Soon, Francesca. But not too soon. The hottest fires burn slow. One fire burns out another's burning, one pain is lessen'd by another's anguish
.

But it wasn't our fault. We weren't even directly involved. It was the driver of the van, not Katy. We never saw the victims, I don't even remember their names. The highway patrol up there never contacted any of us afterward. We never heard from anybody in Oregon. Who'd want to harm us because of that?

Dix said, “I don't have any idea either. But it's the first possibility that makes any sense at all.” He began to pace the living room in quick, agitated strides. Watching him, Cecca had the unsettling sensation that Katy's “Blue Time” painting was watching him, too, from the wall above. That somehow Katy herself was in the room with them.

“Pelican Bay,” he said. “So that's what Eileen meant.”

“Meant when?”

“When I saw her yesterday. She mumbled something that sounded like ‘pellagrin day.’ Tell Cecca, she said. But I dismissed it, forgot about it; I thought it was a babble phrase. Christ, I should have remembered it was the name of that town.”

“How could you, after four years? Katy didn't talk about that night, did she?”

“Not after she told me what happened when she first got back, no.”

“None of us talked about it,” Cecca said. “We wanted to forget it—everything about that night.”

“I still should have made the connection.”

“So should I, and much sooner, if you want to play that game. When I first heard about Katy, I thought, God, how awful she should die in a car accident after avoiding the one in Oregon. Eileen mentioned it, too, more than once. But the fact is, it happened four years ago, hundreds of miles from here, and we were only peripherally involved. Until now there was nothing to make either of us connect that with what's been going on here. The only reason Eileen did was whatever Katy said to her.”

“You're right.” He scrubbed at his face with a heavy hand. “Trophy,” he said then, “some kind of trophy. What kind?”

“I don't have a clue.”

“And what would a trophy have to do with Pelican Bay?”

She shook her head.

Dix stopped pacing, came back to where she stood. “Can you remember the details of the accident up there? I mean everything before, during, and after.”

“Most of them, if I have to.”

“You have to. Katy's account was sketchy.”

“Let me sit down first.”

She curled up on a corner of the couch, her legs tucked under her. Her mind didn't want to open up to that June night four years before. She had to make an effort of will to force the memories into clear focus.

“All right,” she said, and took a breath, and said, “We were well up the Oregon coast, taking our time, playing tourist. I was in pretty rough shape when we left here, all wrung out over Chet, but by then—five or six days into the trip—I'd regained some perspective and I was actually having a good time. That day, a Tuesday or maybe a Wednesday, we spent shopping in Lincoln City. Katy and I wanted to stay the night there, but somebody in one of the shops told Eileen Pelican Bay had more atmosphere … you know, it's a little fishing village. And it was only a few more miles up the coast. So we drove up and took rooms in a beachside motel. The woman at the motel said the best place to eat was a restaurant a mile or so north of town … Crabpot, I think it was called. We were hungry, so we decided on an early dinner. Thank God we didn't drink much. One glass of wine apiece was all.”

“The accident happened as you were leaving the parking lot?”

“That's right.”

“And Katy was driving.”

“Yes. I was in the front seat with her and Eileen was in back. It was raining, one of those thick, misty rains, and just dark. Visibility was practically zero. You could see bright lights—headlights—at a distance but not much else. There were headlights approaching in both lanes, far enough away for Katy to safely make the turn across into the southbound lane. It just didn't look like there was a closer car in that lane. A car was behind us, people leaving the restaurant like we were, and the driver said he thought the lane was clear, too, that he'd have pulled out just as Katy did if he'd been ahead of us.”

“But it wasn't clear,” Dix said.

“No. Just a few seconds after she made the turn—she was still accelerating—she cried out, something like ‘Oh my God!’ and swung over hard to the right. We were just beyond a turnout on the ocean side; we almost went off the road. The other car, the van came roaring up … only its fog lights on and they were dim. He must have been doing at least sixty.”

“Almost hit you, Katy said.”

“Almost. If the northbound lane had been clear, he might have been able to veer around us without going out of control. But by then the lights we'd seen coming that way—two cars—were too close. The only things he could do were to plow into us at full speed or veer into the turnout.”

“Not much of a choice.”

“No choice at all. We talked about it afterward. Each of us would've done just what he did.”

The cut on her palm had started to burn and itch; she rubbed it through the bandage. Dix hadn't asked about the bandage. Even if he had, she wouldn't have told him about the incident with Elliot. Someday she would, but not now. It was no longer important.

She said, “The turnout was fairly wide, fifty or sixty yards. It overlooked a place called Pelican Point. Steep cliffs, a rocky beach. But he was going too fast. And the highway was too slick and the surface … gravel, but there was mud under it, and deep rain puddles. He couldn't stop, couldn't even slow down. The van kept sliding, fishtailing. The rear end hit the guardrail first and then it … sailed through and dropped out of sight. The crash was awful. We could hear it above the storm, even closed up inside the car.”

“Did it explode, burn?”

“It burned, yes; I remember the fireglow. I don't remember an explosion … it was all so confused …”

“There must have been one,” Dix said grimly. “Gasoline igniting—that would have been what caused the fire.”

“I guess so.”

“What did the three of you do?”

“Just sat there in the car,” Cecca said. “We were all petrified, in a state of shock. It happened so fast. Eileen … she said, ‘I think I wet myself.’ She wasn't kidding. She really did wet herself.”

“Then what happened?”

“Two or three other cars stopped. The driver of the one that had been behind us in the parking lot got out and ran over there, too. There wasn't anything they could do. Somebody at the restaurant called the highway patrol. The three of us stayed where we were, waiting, until the officers got there.”

“There were four people in the van?”

“An entire family. Two young children.”

“But they weren't all killed outright.”

“Three were. The fourth—the driver, I think—was thrown clear. He hadn't been wearing his seat belt. They found him in some rocks partway down the cliff.”

“Alive?”

“Yes. Badly injured.”

“How badly?”

“I don't know. We never found out. They were still trying to get down to him when the officers let us go back to our motel. We couldn't bear to stay there any longer than we had to.”

“You said ‘him.’ The father?”

“Yes.”

“Katy told me she called the hospital the next morning, before the three of you left Pelican Bay. He was still alive then?”

“In serious condition. That was all they'd tell her.” Cecca licked dry lips. “One of us should have checked back again later, to find out how he was. But we didn't.”

“You can't blame yourself for that. You didn't know him and the accident was his fault.”

“Still, we were responsible. If we hadn't been there, if Katy hadn't pulled out when she did …”

Dix said slowly, “It could be somebody else thought the same thing. Blamed you, the three of you, for the accident.”

“Revenge after all this time?”

“It's possible. There could be a valid reason for the four-year time lapse … an incapacitating injury that took that long to heal, for instance.”