Don't Cry Now (26 page)

Bonnie lay her forehead against the hard wood of the front door. When had she lost control of her life? she wondered. “What do you want, Nick?”

“I want to see you.”

“I'm not feeling very well.”

“So I understand. Let me in. I want to talk to you.”

Bonnie took a deep breath, then opened the door.

“My God, what did you do to your hair?” Nick asked, his own dark blond hair neatly trimmed and brushed away from his forehead. He had their mother's delicate nose, Bonnie realized, standing back and letting him come inside.

“Did you call me last night?”

“Last night? No. Was I supposed to?”

“Someone called here at two twenty-three in the morning,” she told him, walking into the kitchen, taking the bottle of chicken soup from the fridge, pouring some into a pot, and lighting the stove. “Do you want some soup?”

“You think I called you in the middle of the night? No, I don't want any soup.”

“You've done it before,” she reminded him.

“Only because you told Adeline it was important that you reach me.”

“So it wasn't you who phoned last night,” she said.

“No, it wasn't me.” He pulled up a chair, sat down. “You want to tell me about it?”

Bonnie shrugged. “There's nothing to tell. Someone called, then they hung up. End of story.”

“I understand Rod's away in Florida,” Nick said after a pause.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It's called conversation.”

“I thought you were implying that Rod might have called.”

“It never crossed my mind. Why? Do you think it might have been Rod?”

“Of course not,” Bonnie said quickly. Did she?

“Look,” Nick told her, “I just came by to see how you were doing. Adeline told me that you dropped by yesterday. I was hoping you'd still be around when I got back from work, but Adeline said you had to leave because you weren't feeling very well.”

“What else did sweet Adeline have to say?”

“That you and Dad had a good talk.”

“Is that what Dad said?”

“You know Dad. He…”

“…doesn't say much,” Bonnie said, finishing her brother's sentence.

“But I know he felt good about your visit, Bonnie. It was all over his face. Like some long shadow had been lifted.”

The soup started boiling. Bonnie lifted the pot off the stove, poured the hot soup into a bowl. “You're sure you don't want any?”

“I'll have a beer, if you've got any.”

Bonnie nodded toward the fridge. “Help yourself.”

In the next minute, they were sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, Bonnie sipping her soup, Nick his beer. Who'd have thought it? Bonnie wondered, amazed by the brain's continued capacity for surprise.

“What's happening with the murder investigation?” Nick asked suddenly.

The question caught Bonnie off guard and her hand started shaking, the soup in her spoon spilling onto the table. “What?”

“Careful,” he cautioned. “It's hot.” He grabbed a napkin from the side counter, wiped up the spill. “I asked if there was anything new with the police investigation.”

“Why do you ask that?”

Nick shrugged. “Haven't read anything in the papers for a while. I was just wondering if you'd heard anything.”

“Like what?”

“Like if the police were any closer to finding Joan's killer.”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Bonnie told him, watching his eyes, trying to read the thoughts behind them.

Nick raised the beer bottle to his lips, threw his head back across the top of his spine, sucked the rich brown liquid into his body as if he were inhaling a cigarette. “Nothing like a good cold bottle of beer,” he said.

“Have you heard anything?” Bonnie asked.

“Me?” He laughed. “How would I hear anything?”

“I thought the police might have been back to question you.”

“Still think I might have killed Joan?”

“Did you?”

“No.” He took another sip of his beer. “I have an alibi, remember?”

“I'm not sure our father qualifies as an unbiased witness.”

“You were wrong about him before.”

There was silence.

“Maybe you're wrong about me too,” Nick continued.

“I doubt it,” Bonnie said stubbornly, gulping down the balance of her soup, taking the bowl to the kitchen sink, the floor shifting slightly beneath her feet. “You're not exactly a stranger to murder, are you?” she asked. “Or are you still insisting you were framed?”

“I was in the car when Scott Dunphy was arranging the hit,” he reminded her, as old newspaper clippings danced before Bonnie's eyes. The clippings from Joan's scrapbook, she realized, her breath catching in her throat.

“They were standing two feet away from you,” she argued. “How could you not hear what they were talking about?”

“The car window was closed.”

“So you didn't hear a thing, and you had no idea why your shady partner was handing over ten thousand dollars
in cash to a total stranger. Is that what you're seriously trying to tell me?”

“It's more complicated than you realize.”

“Is it?”

There was a moment's silence. “I didn't kill Joan,” Nick said finally.

Bonnie nodded, said nothing. What was the point? She watched the room suddenly tilt, the ceiling slope toward the floor. She leaned back against the kitchen counter, tried to focus on the large maple tree just outside the front window, watched its branches sway with the gentle outside breeze. She shifted her gaze to the Chagall lithograph on the wall, watching as Chagall's upside-down cow slid off the roof of the house, feeling her knees grow weak. She saw Amanda's painting of square-headed people, her own head starting to feel vaguely boxlike. What was happening to her? Was it time to take another pill? She tried to focus on her watch, gave up when the numbers proved indistinguishable, looked instead to the digital clock over the stove, but it, too, blurred, its numbers waving in and out. “The clock in my car is digital,” she remembered telling the police, and then laughing at the absurdity of it all. Why hadn't anybody told her it was only going to get worse?

“Bonnie,” Nick was saying, his voice lumbering toward her, as if coated in heavy molasses. “What's happening? Are you all right?”

She took a step forward, panicking when she was unable to feel the floor beneath her feet. “Help me,” she cried out as the room faded to black and she felt herself slipping headlong into the abyss.

W
hen Bonnie opened her eyes, she was in bed and Nick was sitting in the chair across from her. “What happened?” she asked, pushing her body slowly up against the headboard.

“You fainted,” he told her, approaching the bed, sitting down gently at her feet.

Bonnie looked around, saw it was still light outside. “How long ago?”

“Not long. An hour maybe.”

“The kids…?”

“Sam and Lauren came home from school and went right out again. Something about papering Diana's bathroom. Amanda hasn't come home yet.”

“No. She was invited over to a friend's house. They'll be bringing her back about five-thirty. I should get up, start to get dinner ready.” She took a deep breath. Her head felt noticeably heavy, as if it were a strain for her neck to support. What was happening? Was she having a relapse? She was feeling worse than ever.

“Stay where you are. I already told the kids we'd order pizza when they get home.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bonnie groused. “I just can't stay in bed forever.”

“Who said anything about forever?” Nick asked. “You're not our mother, Bonnie. A few days does not a lifetime make.”

Bonnie tried to smile, but her lips quivered, then twitched, and she abandoned the attempt. “Since when did you turn into such a nice guy?” she asked.

“Someone called while you were asleep,” Nick told her, ignoring the question. “Said his name was Josh Freeman. Claims he's a friend of yours.”

Bonnie nodded. “He's a teacher at Weston Secondary. He dropped by yesterday, brought me some chicken soup.”

“Well,” Nick said, patting her feet, “there doesn't seem to be any shortage of men to take care of you.”

Except for my husband, Bonnie thought.

“Except for your husband,” Nick said.

As if on cue, the phone rang and it was Rod. “You're still in bed?” he asked, incredulously.

“I can't seem to shake this bug.”

“What does the doctor say?”

“He should be calling by tomorrow with the results of the tests,” Bonnie said, knowing this wasn't the answer to the question Rod had asked, but thinking it served just as well. She watched as Nick began pacing restlessly between the bed and the window.

“How are the kids?” Rod asked.

“They seem fine. Lauren's okay. So far, no one else has gotten sick.” Thank God, Bonnie thought.

“When's he coming home?” Nick asked.

“What?” Rod said. “Who was that? Is that teacher there again?”

“It's Nick,” Bonnie told him.

“Nick? What the hell is he doing there?”

“I'm taking care of my sister,” Nick answered, scooping the phone from Bonnie's hand and snarling into it. “Something you should be doing.”

“Nick,” Bonnie protested, but the protest was weak, and she had to admit her heart wasn't in it.

“What the hell is going on there?” Rod demanded, his voice loud enough for Bonnie to hear.

“Your wife is sick. She fainted less than an hour ago,
and it's a good thing I was here to catch her when she fell.”

“She fainted?”

“When are you coming home?” Nick asked again.

“I'm scheduled to fly back Saturday morning.”

“Change your schedule,” Nick said.

It seemed as if they all paused to catch their breath, then, “Let me speak to Bonnie,” she heard Rod say as Nick handed her back the phone.

“Rod…”

“What the hell is happening there, Bonnie?”

“I don't feel well, Rod.”

“You want me to cut short my trip, come home early, is that it?” His voice pleaded for a simple no.

Bonnie closed her eyes, swallowed, the stale taste of blood clinging to her gums. “Yes,” she said.

An uncomfortable silence followed. “All right,” Rod said. “I'll see what I can do about getting a flight out of here sometime tomorrow.”

Bonnie started to cry. “I'm sorry, Rod. I don't know what's the matter with me. I don't know what to do. I'm scared.”

“Don't be scared, honey.” Rod's voice strained for sympathy. “It's just a bad case of the flu. You'll probably be feeling much better by the time I get home.”

“I hope so.”

“All right, look, I better get going if I want to rearrange my timetable. I'll see you tomorrow, honey. Stay calm. Try to get some sleep. And get rid of that brother of yours. You were doing great until he started showing up.”

Bonnie returned the phone to Nick's outstretched hand, watched him drop the receiver into the carriage, noting for the first time how defined the muscles in his arms had become. Lots of time to exercise in jail, she thought, trying not to absorb the weight of Rod's words.
You were doing great until he started showing up
.

I thought confronting my past was supposed to make me feel better, Bonnie thought, sinking back under the
covers. “He's coming home tomorrow,” she heard herself say before drifting off to sleep.

 

It was dark the next time she opened her eyes. She sat up with a start, a series of small heat bombs exploding inside her, bathing her skin in sweat.

“Bonnie?” the voice asked from somewhere in the dark.

Bonnie gasped, scrambling to her knees on the bed, gathering her blankets around her, trying to decide if she was awake or asleep.

“It's okay. It's me, Nick,” the voice continued, moving closer.

Bonnie saw the figure cutting through the dim light, the long dark blond hair, the muscular arms, the curiously feminine nose in the middle of such a determinedly masculine face. “What time is it?” she asked. How many times had she asked that question lately? Did it make any difference? Had it ever?

“It's after ten,” he told her.

“After ten? Where's Amanda?”

“She's asleep.”

“Sam and Lauren…?”

“In their rooms.”

“What are you still doing here?”

“Making sure you're okay.”

“I don't understand,” she told him. “Why the sudden concern?”

“I've always been concerned,” he told her.

There was a timid knock at the bedroom door.

“Yes?” Bonnie called weakly.

Sam slunk into the room as if he were too tall for the ceiling, his head craning forward over stooped shoulders, his eyes searching out Bonnie in the dark. “I heard voices and I thought I'd see how you were doing,” he explained. “How are you?”

“I've been better.”

“The pills aren't working?”

Bonnie rubbed her forehead. She couldn't remember the last time she'd taken one. “I'm probably due for one around now,” she said.

“Where are they?” Nick asked.

“In the kitchen.”

“I'll get them,” Sam offered, and was gone.

“He's a strange kid,” Nick observed.

“So were you,” Bonnie reminded her brother. “Always playing cops and robbers. Except in those days, you were always the good guy. What happened, Nick? What made you change sides?”

“Things happen,” Nick told her. “People change.”

“What happened? How do they change?”

Nick pushed his hair off his forehead, a curious expression settling on his face, his eyes staring at her with an intensity even the darkness couldn't hide. She realized she was frightened.

What was he doing here? Why had he come? What was he doing back in her life, and why now? What connection did he have to Joan? To her death? Had he murdered her? Was he planning on murdering his sister as well? Was that why he had insinuated himself back into her life? Was that what he was doing here tonight? She was feeling so sick, she almost didn't care. Just do it quickly, she prayed, and get it over with. Anything was better than the way she'd been feeling the last several weeks.

Just don't hurt my child, she pleaded silently, as Nick turned away. The thought forced Bonnie's spine erect. She had to stay strong, she determined. She couldn't let anything happen to her little girl.

“I brought you some soup,” Sam said, walking carefully into the room, steam rising from the mug in his hands. He came around the side of the bed, dropping the antibiotic into Bonnie's outstretched hand, then transferred the soup from his hand to hers. “Careful, it's hot. I put it in the microwave.”

Bonnie put the pill at the back of her tongue, blew softly on the soup, then swallowed. The pill bounced un
easily down her throat, like a ball in a pinball machine. She took another sip of the soup, felt it burn the tip of her tongue, swallowed anyway. “How's Diana's bathroom coming along?” she asked.

“Great,” Sam said proudly. “I think she'll be happy.”

“I'm sure she will.” Bonnie took another sip of the soup.

“She'll be back this weekend. I'll find out then.” Sam shuffled from one foot to the other. “I'm kind of tired,” he said. “Is it all right if I go to bed?”

“Of course,” Bonnie told him.

“I can show myself out,” Nick said.

Sam smiled, slouched toward the hall, stopped. “Hope you're feeling better by tomorrow.”

“Me too.” Bonnie turned her attention back to Nick. “I'm sure you have other things to do,” she began.

“Not a thing. Actually, I was thinking of spending the night.”

“What? No, don't be silly. You can't do that.”

“Why not? I'll sleep right here on the chair. That way, I'm here in case you need anything.”

“I'm not going to need anything.”

“I'm not going to leave,” Nick said.

 

At first she heard the whimpering as part of her dream.

She was standing in the middle of the school cafeteria, plastic lunch tray in hand, waiting her turn at the food counter. “Move along,” a voice beckoned, and Bonnie inched forward, a high-pitched whine hissing from the vents by her feet, licking at her bare legs.

“Is something wrong with the pipes?” she asked Rod, who was dressed in the uniform of the school custodian.

“Why don't you have a look and see?” he suggested, pulling open the square air vent in the wall by his legs. The whimpering immediately grew louder, more pronounced. Someone was trapped inside, Bonnie realized, edging closer.

“Watch out for snakes,” Rod warned as Bonnie crawled inside the long tunnel.

“Is someone there?” Bonnie called, her voice ricocheting off the tunnel's walls, slapping at the sides of her face, like a bitter wind.

“Mommy?” a small voice asked. “Mommy, help me. Help me.”

“Amanda?” Bonnie gasped, scrambling on her hands and knees toward the sound. But the closer she got, the longer the tunnel grew, the greater the distance between them. Dirt from the tunnel walls began dropping on Bonnie's head, threatening to bury her alive.

“Mommy!” Amanda called again, her voice disappearing into the now-familiar whimper.

“Amanda!” Bonnie cried, breaking into a sweat, hand reaching into the surrounding darkness, flailing about.

Bonnie's hand touched the cool air of reality, and she woke up, perspiration trickling from her forehead to her neck. Oh God, she thought, sitting up in bed, making out the sleeping form of her brother in the chair across the room. Another nightmare to add to her collection.

And then she heard the whimpering, and she understood that it was real, that her subconscious had only incorporated it into her dream, not created it. “Amanda!” she whispered urgently, jumping out of bed, running into the hall toward her daughter's room, the whimpering growing louder with each frantic step.

Bonnie reached Amanda's room, her breath forming a tight ball in the middle of her chest when she realized the bedroom door was wide open. Uttering a silent prayer, her breath escaping her lungs in a series of short, painful spasms, she stepped inside the room and flipped on the overhead light.

Amanda was sitting up in her bed, her small body pressed tightly against her headboard, hands at her open mouth, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes wide as saucers, her blankets on the floor, stuffed animals all around her, the pink panda by her head, several black and
white dogs at her waist, the live snake at her feet.

Bonnie gasped at the almost surreal scene before her.

The snake was coiled around Amanda's bare ankle, its body swaying hypnotically toward her. “Mommy,” Amanda cried softly, as Bonnie stood frozen in the doorway. “He's squeezing my foot, Mommy. It hurts. Make him stop.”

Oh God, Bonnie thought, feeling her own body sway, her head grow light. She was going to faint, she realized, then, no, no, she couldn't faint. Wouldn't faint. She had to save her daughter. Nothing else mattered. This was her child, more precious to her than life itself. There was no way she was going to let anything happen to her. She would do anything to protect her.

In the next moment, she felt herself leave her body, abandoning it in much the same way a snake sheds its skin, growing weightless as she flew through the air toward Amanda's bed, no longer thinking anything at all, an animal only, operating on pure instinct and adrenalin. Bonnie lunged at the snake, grabbing at its head with one hand, at the tight coils of its tail with the other. The snake stiffened and grew heavy in her hands, as if she'd grabbed hold of an iron pole. And then it started twisting, its head straining against the palm of her hand, its long body tensing and pushing against her grip in seemingly all directions at once. Her fingers worked to loosen the snake's coils from her daughter's foot, but it was as if the snake had fingers of its own, pulsing rhythmically against hers. He's so strong, Bonnie thought, not sure if she had the strength to hold him.

She heard noises, the sounds of her own screams, she realized, as she fought to unwrap the snake from Amanda's ankle. Almost there, she thought, her fingers digging under the snake's silken skin. She almost had him.

She pulled hard, heard a pop, like a suction cup coming free, the snake now off Amanda and struggling inside her arms. He was so heavy, she thought, so damn strong. She couldn't hold him much longer, she knew, hearing voices,
turning around as Nick appeared in the doorway, his eyes wild, his arms outstretched, the gun in his hands pointed directly at her head.