Grand Avenue (50 page)

“On the contrary. You were brilliant, as usual. It’s not everyone who can pander to a jury’s basest prejudices and make it sound so noble.”

“You think that’s what I was doing?”

“What would you call it?”

“The truth,” Vicki said simply.

“The truth?” Susan shook her head in wonderment. “The truth is that nothing happened that night between Chris and Barbara and you know it. The truth is that even if something
did
happen, it was completely irrelevant. The truth is that being gay doesn’t make you a child molester. In fact, most adults who molest children are straight. Twisted as hell,” she continued, her voice lowering, as it always did when she was very upset, “but straight.” Susan walked to the window, her eyes focused on the light snow falling to the street below.

“I know you don’t understand.”

“What is it I don’t understand, Vicki? The jury’s decision? You’re wrong. I understand that jurors are human. I understand that no one wants to believe a
nice, middle-class teenager would up and murder her mother for no good reason. It’s much easier, much more comforting, to demonize the mother. And why not? We hate mothers in this country almost as much as we hate homosexuals.” Susan stepped back from the window, focused her strong gaze on Vicki. “I think I even understand why you took this case.”

“And why is that?” Vicki braced herself for the accusations she was sure would follow.

“Believe it or not, I
don’t
think it was all about fortune and fame. I think you were doing what you honestly felt Barbara would have wanted. And the
really
funny thing is that I agree with you. I think Barbara
would
have wanted you to protect Tracey, in spite of everything.”

Vicki realized from the burning sensation in the middle of her breasts that she was holding her breath. “Then you understand why I had to do the things I did.”

“No,” Susan said quickly. “I’ll never understand the things you did.”

“You’re talking about Chris,” Vicki acknowledged, rubbing a budding headache away from her forehead. “Is she all right?”

“Well, let’s see. She lost her job because of all the negative publicity, and she had to move out of her apartment. Plus her relationship with Montana is back at square one, and she can forget about ever seeing her kids again. But, hey, let’s look at the bright side—a cold-blooded sociopath got off scot-free. So, why wouldn’t she be all right?”

Vicki said nothing. What could she say?

“The extraordinary thing is that I think Chris really
is
all right. She’ll find another apartment. She’ll get another job. I think in time she might even find it in her heart to forgive you. You know Chris. She’s very loyal to her friends.”

Vicki felt the words stab at her heart. “And you? Can you forgive me? We’ve been through so much together.”

“Yes, we have.”

“I love you,” Vicki said, tears returning to her eyes.

“I love you too.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

Susan walked to the office door. “Not a chance in hell.”

Vicki was on her fourth glass of red wine when the doorbell rang. “Rosa,” she called out before realizing her housekeeper had left at least an hour ago. What time was it anyway? She checked her watch, but the two hands were dancing back and forth across the diamond-circled dial, and she couldn’t make out whether it was closer to eight o’clock or nine. Who would be dropping by without calling, no matter what time it was? She pushed herself off her dining room chair and stumbled toward the front door. Probably Jeremy or one of the kids. How many times did they have to be reminded to take their keys? Where was everyone anyway?

“Tracey!” Vicki said, opening her front door to the rosy-cheeked young woman, stepping back to allow her entry. What was she doing here?

“I probably should have called.” Tracey shook the
fine dusting of snow from the bottoms of her black boots, although she made no move to take off her heavy lambskin jacket.

“Is everything all right?”

“Great,” Tracey replied easily, looking around. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Vicki waved away her concern with a tipsy hand. “Not a thing. Actually, I’m all alone. Jeremy’s tied up in a meeting, and the kids are … somewhere.” She laughed. She vaguely remembered Josh muttering something about hockey practice, and Kirsten was probably at the library. “You want a glass of wine?” Hell, Vicki thought, weaving her way back to the dining room, if the kid’s old enough to kill her mother, she’s old enough to have a drink.

Tracey followed after her. “Better not. I’m driving.”

“Your father let you drive his precious Mercedes?” Vicki poured what little wine remained in the bottle into her glass.

“Actually, I’m driving my mother’s car.” Tracey giggled. “I guess it’s mine now.”

Vicki gulped at her wine.

“You have such a beautiful home.”

“What brings you all the way out here?” Vicki plopped back into her chair, almost missing the burnt orange leather of its seat.

Tracey remained on her feet on the other side of the long, narrow table. She shrugged, as if she weren’t quite sure what had brought her to Indian Hill. “I needed some air. It’s so chaotic at my dad’s house. The kids are always screaming. I think I might have to get a place of my own.”

Vicki downed the rest of her wine.

“What happens to the house?” Tracey asked.

“The house?”

“My mother’s house. Is it mine or my dad’s? I know he still pays the mortgage and everything.”

“I don’t have a clue,” Vicki told her impatiently, eager now to get the young girl out of her house. “You’d have to ask a lawyer.”

“I
am
asking a lawyer.”

“Sorry. Not my area of expertise.” Vicki covered her nose with the now empty wineglass, inhaling its heavy musky scent. She debated going downstairs to the wine cellar and opening another bottle. Or maybe she’d just hit herself over the head with it. Knock herself unconscious. Hell, whatever gets you through the night.

“I guess I should go.” Tracey smiled, went nowhere. “Are you gonna be okay?”

“Me? I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

“ ’Cause you seem sort of …”

“Drunk?”

Again Tracey giggled.

God, what an annoying sound. “Tracey, do you mind if I ask you something?” Vicki heard herself ask.

“Shoot.”

An unfortunate choice of words, Vicki thought, before plunging ahead, the room tilting slightly to the right. “Why did you kill your mother?”

Tracey swayed from one foot to the other. Or maybe it was Vicki’s head that was swaying. She couldn’t be sure. “You know.”

“I know the case we presented to the jury.”

“Then you know everything.”

“I also knew your mother.”

A look somewhere between boredom and consternation settled across Tracey’s normally placid face. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that the jury’s not here right now. The trial is over. The defendant has been exonerated.”

“And I can’t be tried again, isn’t that right? No matter what?”

A feeling of queasiness curled around Vicki’s stomach, like a cat in a basket. “That’s right.”

Tracey shrugged, studied the brass and crystal chandelier hanging above the dark, antique oak table. “Then you’re right,” she said easily. “My mother never molested me.”

The room tilted violently on its side. Vicki gripped the sides of her antique chair, fought to stay upright, to keep from screaming. “You made the whole thing up?”

Again Tracey shrugged. “Well, not all of it. I mean, she
was
always touching me. You know how she was.”

“I know your mother loved you more than anything else on earth.”

“I loved her too.”

Vicki closed her eyes, saw Barbara, Susan, Chris. Dear God, what had she done? “You loved her but you killed her for no reason.”

“There was a reason.”

“What was it?” Did this conversation make any sense? “Because you were jealous of her relationship with Howard?”

Tracey was already shaking her head. “It wasn’t that.”

“What was it?”

“You won’t understand.”

“No, I probably won’t. But tell me anyway.”

“I’m not sure I can explain.” Tracey undid the top button of her winter jacket, fanned her face with her fingers, as if trying to get air into her lungs. “We were so close, it was almost like we were the same person sometimes. Like I didn’t really exist when she wasn’t around. Do you know what I mean?”

Vicki nodded, but in truth she had no idea what Tracey was talking about.

“It was so great after my dad left and it was just the two of us. We were always together. But then she met Howard, and everything changed. Suddenly she had this whole other life, and I was just … I don’t know … I was nothing. It was like I didn’t exist anymore. Like she’d stolen my breath away. And the only way I could get it back, the only way I could get my life back, was to kill her. Do you understand? I didn’t want to hurt her. I just wanted my own life back.”

Vicki’s head was swimming. Had anything Tracey just said made any sense? “And now?” she asked, the words banging against the side of her skull. Like the club Tracey had wielded at her mother’s head, Vicki thought, closing her eyes. “You feel nothing? No guilt? No remorse?”

There was a long pause. “I feel relief.”

Oh, God.

A key twisted in the front-door lock. “Hello,” Jeremy called out seconds later. “Anybody home?”

“In here.” Vicki made no move to stand up, knowing she’d never make it to her feet.

Tracey smiled. “I should go. My dad’ll start to
worry. I can show myself out. Thanks again,” she called back when she reached the hallway, then: “Hi there, Mr. Latimer. How are you?”

Ever the polite young woman, Vicki thought, as behind her the grandfather clock ticked away the minutes. Vicki pictured her father sitting in his bed, staring at the nursing-home walls. Was this how he spent his nights? she wondered. Counting the minutes till morning, praying for unconsciousness to overtake him?

“Vicki?” she heard her husband say. His voice was coming from a far distance, although he appeared to be standing right in front of her. “Are you all right? Vicki?”

Vicki blinked, slowly nodded her head, thinking, He looks so old.

“Tracey seems like a very happy girl.”

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want Tracey to be unhappy.” Vicki held up the empty bottle of wine. “I’ve been celebrating. Why don’t you get another bottle from downstairs and join me?”

Jeremy smiled sadly. “I’m not sure I’m up to celebrating tonight, darlin’.”

Oh, God, him too, Vicki thought. What was
his
problem?

“I had an interesting meeting earlier this evening.” Vicki regarded him quizzically. Why was he talking about meetings?

“With Michael Rose.”

Oh, God. Vicki felt her stomach drop to the floor. “You had a meeting with Michael? Why?”

“Trust me, it wasn’t my idea. He showed up at my
office, ambushed me as I was about to leave, gave me quite an earful.”

“Well, I certainly hope you didn’t take anything he had to say seriously. He’s just angry and jealous and probably drunk.”

“Probably. Still, he was pretty convincing.”

Vicki stared into her husband’s hurt and knowing eyes. Could she really insult him further by lying about her affair to his face? Hadn’t she done enough damage already to the people she loved? “It didn’t mean anything,” she admitted, sobering up much faster than she would have liked.

“What does?” Jeremy asked simply.

“What?”

“I’m just starting to wonder, darlin’, that’s all.”

Was he going to walk out on her? Vicki wondered, thinking that all her life people had been walking out on her. She could get their attention, she thought, but despite all the theatrics, she couldn’t make them stay.

“Anyway, darlin’, it’s been a long day, and I’m tired. I’m goin’ to bed.” Jeremy paused. “You comin’?”

“Soon,” Vicki said gratefully. “I’ll be there soon.”

Then she sank back against the stiff back of the antique dining-room chair, drifting in and out of consciousness, and listening to the grandfather clock behind her tick away the minutes till morning.

A
lmost nine years have passed since Barbara’s death, eight years since the trial that sealed our fate once and for all. We have entered a new century, a new millennium. The years have passed quicker than I ever thought possible. So much has changed, although Grand Avenue remains essentially the same, at least on the outside. I still live here. I’m the only one left.

The film ends. Automatically, I press the rewind button, listen as the tape whirs quietly past my ears, like the hum of a dying fluorescent light. How many times have I watched this tape already today? Five? Six? Maybe more. I try not to think how many times I’ve watched it over the years. Must be hundreds. Birthdays, anniversaries, too many days in between. Still, I’m not ready to say good-bye to these young women I love and will love until the day I die. The Grand Dames, I say silently, almost like a prayer, as once again their faces fill the giant TV screen, and their laughter melts my heart. Can twenty-three years really have passed since that first afternoon? Is it possible? Why can’t I let go?

The doorbell rings.

“Mom, the door!” a voice calls from upstairs.

“Can you get it, sweetie?” I ask. “It’s probably for you.”

Footsteps on the stairs. They sound like a herd of elephants, although it’s only a twenty-one-year-old girl.

“Check who it is before you open the door,” I call out, but it’s already too late. I hear the door open. Soft voices wind through the small foyer toward the newly constructed “media room” to the left of the front hall. “Who is it, sweetie?” I ask as my daughter appears in the doorway.

“Someone for you.” Delicate shoulders shrug. “She says she knows you.”

I stop the film, watching the women freeze on the screen. I’ve become very adept at manipulating the VCR, which amazes me as much as it does the rest of my family. In fact, I’m the only one who knows how to program it so that it will tape something while we’re away or asleep. I even know how to tape a show on one channel while watching something on another, and I am curiously, even alarmingly, proud of this accomplishment. “Did she give her name?” I ask, reluctant to push myself off the sofa.