Slice (30 page)

S
EVENTY-SIX

“
I
'm sorry it took me so long, Maxine,” Jessie was saying, as she hurried out of her car. “Thank you so much for staying.”

Maxine smiled. “Not a problem at all.”

“Everything okay with Abby today?” Jessie asked.

The tutor's smiled broadened as she opened her car door. “Oh, yes. After our lessons, she played on the swings. And that little friend came by and joined her.”

“Little friend?”

Maxine slid in behind the wheel. “Yes. The one she mentioned. Aaron.”

Jessie approached Maxine's car and looked down at her intently. “Did you meet him?”

“Oh, yes. What an adorable little boy.”

“What did they do?”

“They just swung on the swings. Then, when it started getting a little dark, I told Abby she ought to go inside and wash up for supper. Aaron waved good-bye and went on his way home.”

“Which way did he walk?”

Maxine gestured with her head. “Over there. Through the woods. I assume he must live in one of those new houses over there.”

“Yes,” Jessie said, her voice soft.

“I'll see you on Monday, Jessie,” Maxine said, starting her car. “Have a lovely weekend.”

“Yes, thank you,” Jessie said, her voice still far away and distracted. “You too.”

As Maxine backed out of the driveway, Jessie hurried into the house.

She found Abby upstairs, in the bathroom. The little girl had just finished washing her face and hands and was brushing her shiny blond hair in front of the mirror.

“Hi, Mommy!” Abby chirped when she spotted her mother's reflection behind her.

“Hello, baby,” Jessie said, kissing her daughter on the top of her head. “Did you have a good day with Maxine?”

“I sure did!”

“I understand Aaron came over to play.”

In the mirror Jessie saw Abby's blue eyes dart up to her, as if she worried her mother might be angry. But Jessie just gave her a smile.

“I hope you two had fun,” she said.

“Oh, we did, Mommy. We played on the swings.”

“You know, Abs,” Jessie said, stroking the girl's hair, “I was thinking. If Aaron comes over tomorrow, maybe we can have a cookout.”

“That would be great, Mommy!”

Jessie smiled, looking up from her daughter to meet her own eyes in the mirror. “I'd like to get know Aaron better,” she said. “In fact, I want to learn all there is to know about him.”

S
EVENTY-SEVEN

H
eather could hear the kids arguing from down the hall, but she paid them no mind. The last thing she wanted to deal with tonight was Piper and Ashton's brattiness. She wasn't happy that she would have to deal with them entirely on her own for the next few days—and that included Halloween, much to her regret—since Consuela was off visiting her ailing sister in Rochester, New York. In a burst of generosity, Heather had let her faithful housekeeper-assistant take her car for the six-hour trip. Her Beemer was certainly more reliable than Consuela's old Nissan.

In the interim, Heather could use Bryan's car. His Porsche Panamera had been sitting in the garage ever since he disappeared. Wherever Bryan was, he didn't seem to need wheels.

Heather passed the door to Piper's room. She heard a loud crash from inside, and then her daughter's shrill voice: “You broke the lamp!”

Then her son's: “No,
you
broke it!”

Heather just sighed and continued down the hall.

Before Consuela had left, the kids had squirted dish detergent all over the slick marble floor in the foyer, causing the housekeeper to slip and fall hard on her butt. Piper and Ashton had run away laughing hysterically. Consuela, used to such pranks, had just gotten up and continued on her way, her dignity unruffled. Heather had observed the scene from the living room. She really should punish the brats, but she was too exhausted to deal with it at the moment. She'd get on their case in the morning. Right now all she wanted to do was get to bed.

In her room, Heather undressed, trying to block all unpleasant thoughts from her mind. She wouldn't think about the kids, or Bryan, or John, or that damn Jessie. She would just think of herself tonight. No one had it as hard as she did. She ran this house, raised those incorrigible kids, ran a successful business, and dealt with an unfaithful pervert of a husband. She would have loved a bubble bath this evening, but Heather was too tired even for that. So she slipped into her black satin negligee—which John had once so admired on her—and stood looking at herself in her bathroom mirror. She figured she still had what it took. She'd forget John eventually, and once she was free of Bryan, she could get another man easily.

Heather smiled. Maybe, in fact, she was
already
free of Bryan. Maybe John had taken care of that.

It galled Heather to think that John and Jessie were involved. That was the only explanation for why John had so abruptly ended his and Heather's relationship.

“I could get him back,” Heather whispered to herself, lowering her eyes to gaze upon her full breasts in the negligee. “I could definitely get him back.”

She giggled a little, then turned and shut the light off in the bathroom.

Her bedroom was dark. Heather had pulled the light-blocking curtains tightly so not even a hint of moonlight might penetrate the room. The only light in the entire place came from the small clock on the bedside table, with the numbers 9:59 glowing green. From down the hall Heather could still hear the muffled voices of her kids. She should really tell them to get to bed, but at the moment she just didn't care. Feeling around on her bureau, Heather found the remote for her iPod, which was docked across the room. She powered it on. Instantly the sounds of Stevie Wonder filled the dark room.
Isn't she lovely. . . . Isn't she wonderful . . . .

Heather smiled and slipped into bed.

She wondered briefly if Bryan and Jessie had ever had sex right here, in her own bed. The thought revolted her, but she figured it was unlikely. Despite what she had told Chief Walters, Heather didn't really believe that Jessie and Bryan had been carrying on an affair. That photograph wasn't recent. It probably came from their college days, and Bryan, the perv, had probably snapped it while Jessie was asleep. But if Heather could stir up trouble for Jessie, she was only glad to do so. The bitch deserved it after stealing John away from her.

Heather yawned, stretching out in the bed.

Her right arm touched something.

What was that?

The room was so dark that it was difficult to see even a few inches in front of her face. Heather stretched her arm out again across the king-size bed. She felt nothing but air. Maybe she'd imagined it.

But there was a warmth. . . .

And . . . movement.

And . . . breathing!

Someone was in the bed with her.

“Who—?” Heather blurted, reaching up with her left hand to find the lamp.

But she never did. The next thing Heather knew there was someone right beside her, breathing in her ear. The darkness prevented her from seeing a thing, but she certainly felt the cold blade that was suddenly pressed against her throat, and then the warm blood that splattered all over her face and filled up her lungs, leaving her unable to cry out, or even breathe.

S
EVENTY-EIGHT

S
omeone was calling Ashton's name.

The little boy paused in mid-throw—he had an ashtray in his hand, as he was preparing to lob it at his sister's head—and listened.

“Ashton! Ashton!”

Someone was downstairs, calling his name. “Hey,” the boy said, dropping the ashtray. “Whose voice is that?”

“I don't know,” Piper said. “But whoever it is, they're calling me.”

Ashton frowned. “You mean, they're calling
me
.”

“No,” his sister insisted. “They're calling
me
. They're saying, ‘Piper! Piper!' ”

“They're saying, ‘Ashton! Ashton!' ”

“They are not!”

He was about ready to pick up the ashtray again when the voice resumed.

“Who is it?” Ashton asked, heading out of the room and down the hall.

“I don't know,” Piper replied, close on his heels.

It wasn't their mother. As they passed the door to their mother's, they could see it was dark inside, and music was playing. Their mother was apparently sound asleep. The voice wasn't Consuela's either, and it certainly wasn't their father's. It was hard to tell if it was a boy's voice or a girl's voice. But it kept calling to them.

The two children paused at the top of the stairs and looked down.

“Maybe we should wake Mother,” Piper suggested.

“No, she'd just get mad,” Ashton said.

They listened. The voice was calling them again. It seemed, Ashton thought, to be coming from the kitchen.

“Who's there?” Ashton called down the stairs.

The only answer he heard was, “Ashton! Ashton!”

The voice was becoming more urgent now.

“I'm going down,” the boy announced.

“Why are
you
going down?” his sister asked. “They're calling
me
!”

“They are not! They're calling
me
!”

“I'll beat you down there!” Piper shouted.

“Oh no, you won't!”

The two of them began racing down the stairs.

They never saw the wire that was stretched across the staircase halfway down. They barely even felt it. They only knew that suddenly they were airborne, that instead of running down the stairs, they were now plunging down them head first. There was a brief sensation of somersaulting through the air—their feet above their heads—and then came the final thud against the marble floor. The last thing both Ashton and Piper heard was the surprisingly loud snap of their necks. Ashton's last thought before he died was that his sister was lying on top of him, and he wanted to slug her for that. But at least he had a split second of satisfaction that he'd beaten her down the stairs.

S
EVENTY-NINE

“T
his is what they call Indian summer,” Aunt Paulette said, arriving with pumpkin and apple pies.

It was a beautifully warm, sunny day. The leaves might be off the trees, but otherwise it felt like a day in August instead of October. Jessie watched Abby and Aaron play on the swings. The boy had shown up early. How he'd known they'd have a cookout Jessie didn't know. He'd seemed to just intuit that he'd be welcome today, that Jessie would want him to come by. He didn't say much, but smiled a little, obviously pleased, when Jessie asked him to stay for supper. She'd called Aunt Paulette and asked her to bake some pies. Now she was firing up the grill, one eye always on the children on the swings. Their laughter reassured her. Watching the kids play, Jessie had come to the conclusion that there was nothing to fear from Aaron. Whether he was somehow in league with Emil, she was still unsure. But the boy himself was darling.

“Jessie,” Aunt Paulette said, setting the pies on the picnic table. “I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Monica to come by as well.”

Jessie shot her an angry glance. “I
do
mind, Aunt Paulette. I don't want to get into any heavy discussions with Monica today.”

“No heavy discussions,” her aunt assured her. “Just let her have a hamburger with us. She's very upset about everything that's happened.”

Jessie just grumbled under breath.

“Mommy,” Abby called from the swings. “We're hungry!”

“Okay,” Jessie called back. “How many burgers can you eat?”

“I can eat a hundred!” Abby said, laughing.

“I can eat two hundred!” Aaron added, his face lit up by a big smile.

Jessie laughed. “I'll make you each two,” she said. “And if you want another, I'll throw another patty on the grill.”

“He's very cute,” Aunt Paulette whispered, drawing close to Jessie.

“Adorable,” Jessie agreed.

She looked up. Her sister was coming up the hill, carrying a bowl. Jessie dropped her eyes to the grill. She really wished Aunt Paulette hadn't invited her. She wasn't ready to face Monica just yet. All those years ago, Monica had deliberately stolen Todd from her. Deliberately broken her heart. And she'd done so through trickery. Jessie knew Monica resented so much about her. She was jealous of her relationship with Mom, with the teachers at school. She figured Monica's theft of Todd—and her terrible lie—had been her way of having revenge. And while it all may have been a long time ago, it would still take some time for Jessie to forgive her sister. She didn't want to be hard or cruel. She knew that Monica was going through a rough time now that Todd had left her. But the fact was, Jessie was still hurt by what Monica had done. It would just take time.

“Hello, Jessie,” Monica said.

“Hello.”

“I made a tossed salad.”

“It looks delicious,” Aunt Paulette said, taking the salad bowl from Monica and placing it on the picnic table next to the pies. “Are these the last of the fresh tomatoes from the garden?”

“Yes,” Monica said. “I picked them this morning.”

Jessie thought her sister didn't seem sorry at all. She stood there rather haughtily, smiling, pretending nothing was wrong.

“Who's the boy?” Monica asked.

“That's Aaron,” Aunt Paulette informed her. “Oh, Abby! Come over and introduce Aaron to your Aunt Monica.”

The children jumped off the swings and ran across the grass. Abby's blond hair was tied in two ponytails on the side of her head, and they flopped like bunny ears as she ran. Aaron's dark eyes were bright and shining. He seemed far more animated than ever before. He was barefoot as always, and his clothes were still slightly soiled and wrinkled. But he seemed a different boy. No longer mysterious or quiet, he was smiling and laughing. When the children reached the adults, they stopped running and looked up at them with bright, happy faces.

“Hello, Aaron,” Monica said.

“Hello!” the boy responded enthusiastically.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“Over there!” he chirped, pointing toward the woods.

“Don't you own any shoes?” Monica asked.

“Nope,” Aaron replied.

Jessie overheard, and stepped forward. “Oh, come now, Aaron. You must have shoes at home.”

“No,” he insisted.

Jessie exchanged a look with Aunt Paulette.

“May I please have three hamburgers?” the boy asked.

“I told you if you eat both of the ones I'm grilling for you, I'll make you another.”

“I will eat both of them!”

“All right,” Jessie said.

The children ran back to the swings.

“Is the kid really that poor?” Monica asked. “No shoes and his parents don't feed him?”

“He does seem rather neglected,” Aunt Paulette observed. “His clothes are quite dirty.”

Jessie returned to the grill and flipped the burgers. “Well, if he's hungry,” she said, “we're going to make sure he leaves here with a full belly.”

The kid did indeed wolf down both of his hamburgers, and asked for a third, which Jessie happily made for him. After that, he had two slices of pie, one pumpkin and one apple. He was smiling and laughing the whole time.

As Abby helped Monica and Aunt Paulette clear off the table and carry the leftovers into the house, Jessie sat down at the picnic table opposite Aaron, who was finishing the last of his pie. “Aaron,” she said, “I'd like to see where you live. Will you show me sometime?”

“Sure,” he chirped.

Jessie leveled her eyes at him. “That would be okay? Would your parents like to meet me?”

She was testing him, of course, trying to see if he might give away a clue about Emil, if in fact he was somehow in cahoots with him.

“I don't have parents,” Aaron said. Suddenly his high spirits evaporated. His smile disappeared; the light in his eyes dimmed. He just sat there at the picnic table, staring at his plate.

“Who do you live with then?” Jessie asked the boy.

Aaron didn't reply. He just looked up at her with his big brown eyes.

“I wish I had a mommy like you,” he said.

Jessie's heart melted.

“Mommy!” Abby called. “Can me and Aaron color now?”

Jessie looked up. “You should say, ‘Aaron and I.' ”

“Okay. Can Aaron and I color?”

Jessie smiled, deciding against correcting her further about using “may” instead of “can”—for the moment, anyway. “Would you like to color, Aaron?” she asked.

“Sure!” the boy answered.

She walked with him up to the house. In the kitchen, Abby had brought out sheets of papers and her box of crayons, setting them on the table. Aaron came into the room and immediately his eyes were drawn to the family picture Abby had rendered at school. He stood in front of the refrigerator staring at the stick figures of Abby's family. His expression was intense.

Jessie stooped down beside him. “Abby drew that of her family,” she told him. “Maybe you can draw a picture of your family now.”

“I don't have a family,” Aaron said.

“Come on, Aaron,” Abby called from the table. “I'll show you how to draw!”

A smile returned to the boy's face and he scampered over to join her.

“Jessie, sweetie,” Aunt Paulette said, “you cooked tonight so Monica and I will wash the dishes.”

“That's not necessary,” Jessie said. She really just wanted Monica to go home.

“No, fair's fair,” Monica said, stacking the dishes in the sink and turning on the faucet. Jessie reflected for a moment on the irony of her sister's words, then drifted back toward the table to watch the kids color.

Aaron was working slowly, tentatively, one eye always on Abby's drawing. He seemed as if he had never colored a picture before in his life. He watched as Abby drew, then tried to copy her. He was very intent in his efforts, his little tongue protruding over his upper lip as he concentrated.

Jessie was overcome with sadness. This was what it would have been like if she'd borne both twins. She would have had both a boy and a girl playing around the house. She would have had a
son
—and Abby would have had a friend and a playmate with her at all times. Why had Jessie ever feared that her little boy would be a monster? Her son would not have been like his father. Jessie's little boy would have been just like this Aaron, sweet and innocent. He would have had similar bright brown eyes, and a smile and a laugh that were just as happy.

As she continued to watch the children at the table, Jessie felt as if she might start bawling. The old guilt had returned. How she regretted wishing her baby dead. She had caused that miscarriage herself—she was convinced of that. She'd wished that she might lose the boy but keep the girl. Meeting Aaron was her punishment. It was karma, as Mom would have said. Fate was showing her what she had killed.

Jessie wasn't aware until the last second that Monica had come up behind her.

“Jessie,” her sister whispered. “We need to talk.”

“Not now, Monica.”

“Well, when then?”

Jessie resented being pulled out of her thoughts this way. The last thing she wanted to contemplate at the moment was Monica's treachery. “I don't know,” she said. “But not now.”

“I can't take any more of this!” Monica suddenly wailed.

Anxious that the children might hear, Jessie strode into the living room. Monica quickly followed.

“Don't you realize what I'm going through?” Monica cried. “My husband has left me! You have to help me get him back!”

Jessie spun around to glare at her. “I have to do
what
?”

“You need to tell him that I told you I was pregnant, and that you
did
ask me never to bring it up again.”

“Why would I lie for you?”

“Because I did everything I could not to break your heart further! I didn't tell you that I was pregnant because I figured it would hurt you more. And I fibbed to Todd that I told you because I didn't want you to find out—I was trying to spare your feelings!”

Jessie couldn't believe what she was hearing. “This is all bullshit, Monica, and you know it. You were never pregnant! You just used that line to snare Todd.”

“I was so pregnant!”

Jessie made a face in disgust. “I remember when you were going to fertility treatments a few years ago. You told me then that doctors believed you had a congenital condition preventing you from conceiving!”

“No, no, I never said that—”

“Yes, you did! Look, Monica, please go home. I do not want to deal with this now.”

“But Jessie—”

“Please leave, Monica!”

Her sister glared at her for a moment, then stalked out the front door, letting it slam behind her.

Jessie became aware of someone standing behind her. She turned around. There, looking up at her, was Aaron.

“Are you okay?” the little boy inquired, all eyes and concern.

“Yes, Aaron, I'm fine.”

“I came in because it seemed you were upset,” he said.

Jessie's heart melted again. She stooped down and placed her hand on the boy's cheek. “You are a darling little angel to worry about me, Aaron,” she said.

He smiled. “I drew you a picture.”

“You did?”

He nodded, taking her hand and bringing her back out to the kitchen. Abby had gone outside with Aunt Paulette to close up the grill. On the kitchen table sat two drawings. Abby's was a stick figure of a little girl with yellow hair holding the hand of a stick figure of a woman, also with yellow hair. Underneath she had printed:
To Mommy Love Abby
. Aaron's drawing was almost identical, except the smaller stick figure was a boy with black hair. And there was no printing underneath.

“Why, this is lovely, Aaron. Is that you and me?”

He nodded, seeming very pleased with himself. “But I didn't know how to do that part.” He pointed to Abby's printing.

“You'll learn how to print soon, I'm sure.”

He pouted. “I wanted to sign it like Abby did.”

“I tell you what. Your name and Abby's both start with the same letter. A. You see it there?” She pointed to the A. “Just copy that and I'll always know this came from you.”

Aaron smiled broadly and quickly got down to work, carefully copying the A on to his own drawing with a crayon.

“Look how high I can go!”

Jessie looked up at the sound of Abby's voice. The little girl had gone back to the swing set for one more ride. Jessie saw Abby swing forward, her little legs pointing out in front of her.

“Be careful,” Jessie heard Aunt Paulette call to her.

“Look how high I can go!” the little girl shouted again. “Aaron showed me!”

Jessie's heart leapt into her throat as she watched her daughter swing higher and higher into the sky.

“Be careful, Abby!” Aunt Paulette was calling. “You could fall—”

And in that very instant, she did. Abby flew from the swing and came plummeting to the ground. Jessie watched as if in slow motion.
She'll break her neck. She'll snap her spine.
Abby tumbled through the air and crashed hard against the earth.

“Abby!” Jessie screamed, and bolted out of the kitchen into the yard, leaving Aaron standing at the table with his drawing in his hands.