Black Out (21 page)

29

When Victory and I show up at Vivian’s unannounced later that afternoon, I see a flash of something on her face that I’ve never seen before. It happens when our eyes connect through the thick glass of her front door. It’s just the ghost of an expression, and in another state of mind I might not even have noticed it. It’s fear. Vivian is the strongest woman I’ve ever known, and when I see that look on her face, my heart goes cold.

“What a surprise,” she says with a bright, warm smile, swinging open the door. But it’s too late; the secret has passed between us. I walk through the door with Victory in my arms. She immediately reaches for her grandmother, and I hand her over, stand back as Victory bear-hugs her and then begins to chirp happily about her day. Vivian makes all the appropriate confirming noises and exclamations as we walk to the kitchen. I sit quietly, sipping a glass of water as Vivian makes a grilled cheese sandwich and cuts it into tiny squares the way Victory likes it. I stare out the double glass doors at the glittering blue waters of the infinity pool, thinking all variety of dark thoughts as the most important females in my life chatter, light and happy, like two budgies.

After her snack Victory runs off to the elaborate playroom they keep for her here, and Vivian sits down at the table across from me. She folds her arms on the table in front of her and waits. I tell her everything.

When I’m done, I look at her and see that she has hung her head. She raises her eyes to me after a moment, and they are filled with tears.

“Annie, I’m so sorry.”

I lean forward. “Why, Vivian? Why are you sorry?”

“Oh, God,” she says. That look is back, but it’s here to stay. Then, “Annie, there was no body. Marlowe Geary’s body was never recovered.”

“No body,” I repeat, just to hear the words again.

“It seemed like the only way at the time, Annie. He
had
to have died in that crash. He
couldn’t
have survived. But we didn’t think you could heal if you’d known they’d never recovered the body.”

I examine Vivian’s face, the pretty crinkles around her pleading eyes, the soft flesh of her cheeks flushed red with her distress. She is suddenly unfamiliar, this woman whom I have come to love more than my own mother. In a way I don’t really blame her for deceiving me all these years. I can understand why she did it; I can even believe she did it to protect me. But I’m angry just the same. I keep my distance, wrap my arms around my body against the clenching in my stomach. I look at the flowers on the table, bright pink and white tulips bowing gracefully over the lip of the vase. I try not to think about all the times I’d confessed my fear that Marlowe Geary might still be alive. I try not to think about how many times she, Drew, Gray, and my father had lied to me, made me feel like I was crazy, assuring me about this body they all knew was never found.

“Why are you telling me this now, Vivian?” I ask her when I trust my voice again. “What’s changed?”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. She just keeps talking.

“You were haunted by him,” she says. “I knew you were in pain. I thought, in time, all that pain would just go away. But then I started to wonder if part of you, maybe the part that couldn’t remember so much, was still connected to him. That doctor, he was supposed to
help
you.”

“Dr. Brown?” I say. “He knew who I was? He knew about my past?”

She shifts her eyes away and doesn’t answer.

“You brought me to him,” I say, remembering my first visit, how she drove me there, waited until I was done. “You said he’d helped a friend of yours.”

“I know,” she agrees, nodding solemnly. “That’s what they told me to say.”

“Who?”

“He knew everything about your past. He was supposed to help you come to terms in your own way, in your own time.”

He always knew when I was lying or leaving something out. There was never anyone in his waiting room. He never took any notes about our sessions but had perfect recall. All these things come back to me. Why didn’t I see any of it before?

“
Who
told you to say that?” I ask again when it was clear she wasn’t going to answer me.

“When you were stronger, I wanted Gray to tell you that Marlowe’s body was still missing. I thought you needed to know. But he didn’t want that. He just wanted to protect you. That’s all he’s ever wanted. You know that, don’t you?”

She takes my hand and holds it tight, looks at me with an urgency that makes me uncomfortable, that fills me with fear. But I don’t pull away from her.

“What are you trying to tell me, Vivian?” I lean in close to her and squeeze her hands. “Please just tell me.”

Her eyes lift to something behind me, and I spin around in my seat to see Drew standing in the doorway. He looks like a thunderhead, brow furrowed, eyes dark, neck red.

“Viv, you shouldn’t have,” he says sternly.

Vivian sits up straight and squares her shoulders at him, sticks out her chin. “It’s time. This is wrong. She
needs
to know.”

“She never needed to know,” Drew says. “Geary’s dead. Body or no body. No one’s ever heard from him again,” he says to me, his eyebrows making one angry line.

They exchange a look. I can see it was an old fight between them, words spoken so many times they don’t need speaking again. There is more Vivian wanted to say, but I know she’ll never say it now that Drew is here.

“No one’s ever heard from Ophelia March again, either, and yet here I sit.”

They both turn their gazes to me. Vivian looks so sad suddenly. Drew’s expression I can’t read.

“Who’s Ophelia?” We are interrupted by Victory. She’s staring at me with wide eyes.

“She’s no one, darling,” I say, reaching down to touch her face. “She’s just a character in a book.” I rise and lift my daughter into my arms. She must have wandered in while we were speaking. I’m not sure how long she’s been there or what she heard. All my questions will go unanswered now. It doesn’t matter anyway—they’re both liars.

I grab Victory’s jacket and book bag from the table. Vivian and Drew both move to stop me, then catch themselves. They won’t make a scene in front of their granddaughter. At least they have more respect for her than they do for me.

“Are we leaving?” Victory asks.

“Yes,” I say. I can feel her examine my face because she didn’t understand my tone. I look at her and give her a smile, which she returns uncertainly. I walk out the door without another word, jog down the steps, and go to our car. Victory calls behind us, “Bye, Grandma! Bye, Grandpa!”

Vivian and Drew stand by the door, waving stiffly to my daughter.

“Are you mad at them?” she asks as I buckle her into her car seat. Adrenaline is making me clumsy and hyperfocused, and I’m fumbling with the task of fastening the straps around my daughter. When I don’t answer, she asks the question again. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to play Twenty Questions, either. I don’t say anything, just kiss her on the cheek and ruffle her hair. I close her door and move to the driver’s seat, all the while feeling the heat of Drew’s and Vivian’s eyes.

“You
are
mad,” Victory says as we pull out of the driveway. “My teacher says that it’s okay to be mad but that you should always talk about your feelings, Mommy.”

“That’s good advice, Victory. But sometimes things are a little more complicated than that.”

She gives me a nod of grave understanding, and I wonder what kind of lesson I am teaching her today. Nothing good, I’m pretty sure.

As I drive off, my anger subsides and the adrenaline flood in my body finds a lower level. With Drew and Vivian disappearing in my rearview mirror, I am aware of a kind of relief. Gray talks about how before an operation there’s a terrible tension that fades once the first shot is fired. All the wondering about how things will go down and if he’ll survive evaporates, and he becomes pure action. Today I finally know what he means.

Gray is waiting at home when we get there. He jumps up from the couch as we walk in the door. Victory runs to him, and he picks her up and hugs her hard. She giggles in a way that makes my heart clench, a kind of sweet, girly little noise that is uniquely hers.

“How’s my girl?” he asks.

“Mommy’s mad at Grandma and Grandpa,” she tells him seriously.

“That’s all right. Sometimes we get angry with the people we love,” he says, depositing her on the floor and looking at my face. His eyes tell me that he’s already talked to Drew and Vivian.

“Hey, guess what? Esperanza’s waiting for you upstairs. She’s got a surprise for you.”

Victory doesn’t need to be told twice. I watch as she runs off. I hear her little shoes pounding up the stairs.

We stand looking at each other for a minute. I can’t read his expression.

“Why did you kill Simon Briggs?” I ask after I don’t know how long. The room is darkening as the sun fades from the sky. I can hear the lapping of the waves against the shore. I hear Victory laughing upstairs. There are black beans cooking in the kitchen.

He frowns and opens his mouth to deny it. I put up a hand. “I followed you. I saw you shoot him.”

He turns his head to the side and releases a long, slow breath.

“Because I couldn’t figure out who he was working for,” he says finally. “I found out where he was staying. I offered him a payoff in exchange for the name of his employer and for him to go back to whoever it was and say he couldn’t find you or that you were dead or whatever. When I gave him the money, he lied to me, said he was working for the police. So I killed him. I figured that it would send a message to whoever had hired him.” He finished with a shrug.

“How do you know he lied?”

“I know,” he says.

“Is he alive, Gray? Marlowe. Is he?”

He doesn’t answer, just fixes me with a stare. I can tell he wants to reach for me but there’s a high, hard wall between us.

“Is he alive?” I ask again.

Finally, “I don’t know, Annie. I just don’t know.”

I let the words move through me. Strange as it is, it feels good to hear him admit it, this thing I have known all along. I somehow feel stronger, saner, for knowing that my instincts haven’t failed me completely.

“What happened to Dr. Brown? Who was he?”

“He’s someone my father knows. He was a clinical psychiatrist who dealt with military and paramilitary posttraumatic stress patients. We thought he could help you.”

I don’t tell him what Detective Harrison has told me. I’m not sure why. Probably because I figure he’ll have an explanation for whatever I say. I don’t know whom to believe. Harrison isn’t exactly unimpeachable himself.

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know, Annie. That’s the truth.”

That’s the truth.
It’s a funny phrase. If you need to say it, it’s probably because every other thing out of your mouth has been a lie.

I see her then. She’s standing out on the deck, her hands pressed up against the window. She’s every bit as real as I am, which doesn’t mean much. I see her for what she is finally, just a girl who’s been lied to and betrayed by everyone she loves, someone who’s forever looking for a rescue that’s just not coming.

If there was ever any question about what I needed to do for her, it had been answered. Between Ray Harrison’s revelations and Vivian’s confessions, it’s all very clear. I understand Ophelia after all these years, why she has been afraid, so eager to flee the life that Annie Powers made. It has all been a façade, flimsy and insubstantial, waiting for one good wind to blow.

“Annie?” says Gray.

“Don’t call me that,” I say. “It’s not my name.”

Later I tuck Victory into her bed and lie down beside her. She clutches Claude in one arm, holds my hand with her free one. She’s drifty, eyelids droopy. I drink in the delicate lines of her profile, the soft pink of her skin, run my fingers through her silky hair. Sometimes it seems that all you do as a mother is say good-bye in tiny increments. The minute they leave your body, they just get further and further away, first crawling, then walking, then running. But tonight it’s even worse. Tonight I really am saying good-bye. Of course, she has no idea.

“Are you still mad?” she asks me, turning suddenly to meet my eyes.

I shake my head, “No. Everything’s fine. Sometimes grown-ups argue.”

She gives a small nod and a sleepy smile; she seems satisfied with this. She has always been such a reasonable child, always seeming to understand things beyond her years.

“I love you, baby,” I tell her. “More than anything.” It’s so important for her to know this now.

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

I watch as her little face finally relaxes, her breathing deepens. When I’m sure she’s asleep, I slip off her bed and leave the room quickly. If I stay any longer beside her, I’ll never have the strength to do what I know I must.

I find Gray waiting for me in the hallway. We have left our conversation dangling, and it will need to be finished tonight. I follow him to our bedroom and close the door behind me. I tell him everything, the return of my memories, the arrangements I have made with my old friend Oscar.

“Annie,” he says when I’m done, “listen to yourself. You met this guy in the psychiatric hospital?”

“It’s what he does, for companies like yours. He makes people disappear, gives them new identities, helps them to stage their deaths.”

Gray shoots me a skeptical look. “But he’s crazy?”

“No crazier than I am,” I say defensively. “He was just having a hard time. Depression. An occupational hazard.”

Gray sits down in the chair by the window. I move over to the bed, give him some space to process all of it.

“Okay, let’s look at this rationally,” he says, lifting his eyes to me. “What does all this accomplish? What about Victory? Do you really want to put her through this?”

“Don’t you get it, Gray?” I say. “He has
found
me. I don’t know how, but he has. Maybe Simon Briggs was working for him. We don’t know. The point is that I die on my terms and hope to come back to my little girl. Or I die on his and that’s the end. He wins.”

“I’d never let that happen,” he says. “You know that.”