Still Life (14 page)

“So, tell me something about yourself,” the TV host prompted the newest shrieking contestant.

“So, tell me more about Casey Lerner,” she heard Warren say, his soft voice caressing the nape of her neck, beckoning her back into their not-so-distant past, to that time when their relationship was unfolding, when each encounter was a source of wondrous new discoveries and love lurked behind each sigh, wafting tantalizingly through each lull in the conversation.

“What would you like to know?”

They were spending the morning at the farmers’ market in Lancaster, a pleasant little town approximately sixty miles west of Philadelphia, with a population of just under sixty thousand people. Originally called Gibson’s Pasture, it was first settled by Swiss Mennonites around 1700 and was now a pedestrian-friendly urban center, where historic old buildings competed with a host of new outlet stores. The farmers’ market, where many local Amish farmers brought their meat, fruit, vegetables, baked goods, and crafts to be sold, had been in operation since the early eighteenth century, and the redbrick building housing it was one of the oldest covered markets in America.

“I want to know everything,” Warren said.

“That’s all?”

“I’m not very demanding.”

Casey smiled. “I’m not very complicated.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“It’s true. I’m pretty straightforward. What you see is generally what you get.” She paused, tilted her head to one side, her long blond hair falling across her right shoulder. “So, you tell me—what do you see?”

Another pause. Warren inched closer so that his face was only inches from hers. “I see a beautiful woman with sad blue eyes.”

“What?”

“And I can’t help but wonder what makes her so sad,” he continued, ignoring her interruption.

“You’re wrong,” Casey demurred. “I’m not—”

“And I want to take her in my arms and hold her, and tell her everything’s going to be okay….”

“—sad.”

“And I want to kiss her and make it all better.”

“Well, maybe just a little sad.” Casey lifted her chin as his lips moved toward hers, landing like a soft feather on her mouth. “Come to think of it, I’m actually quite distraught,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around him as he kissed her again.

They spent the night—their first night together—at King’s Cottage, a Spanish-style mansion that had been converted into one of the area’s two B and B’s. Built in 1913, it had eight rooms, with private baths, antique furniture, and large, comfortable beds. “It’s lovely,” Casey said as the flame-haired proprietor handed over the key.

“
You’re
lovely,” Warren said, once again surrounding her with his arms. They made love, the first of many times they made love over the course of that night and the weeks that followed, and each time was “magical,” as Casey later confided to Janine and Gail.

“It’s like he can read my mind,” she told them.

“It’s so romantic,” Gail said.

“Excuse me while I go throw up,” Janine said.

The subject of children came up during another of their weekend getaways, this time to historic Gettysburg. They were just nearing the end of the mile-long hike along the Big Round Top Loop Trail when three adolescent boys raced past them, almost knocking Casey over. “So, how many children would you like?” Warren asked, grabbing her elbow to keep her from falling.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it,” Casey lied. In fact, having children was something she’d thought about a lot. She often wondered what sort of mother she’d be—absent and indifferent, as her own mother had been, needy and clueless, as Drew was, or possibly, hopefully, more like the “actual” mother she remembered seeing at the sandbox when she herself was a child, a woman who enjoyed her children and wanted to nurture and care for them. “I guess two would be nice. What about you?”

“Well, I’m an only child, remember, so I’ve always pictured a house full of kids, but two sounds good.” He smiled, as if they’d just compromised on an important point and come to a decision.

Casey pretended not to notice. “What were your parents like?”

“Well, I never really knew my dad,” Warren said easily. “He died when I was a kid. My mother, on the other hand …” He laughed. “She was fierce. A force to be reckoned with.”

“In what way?”

“Well, to start with, she was married five times.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, I kid you not. According to family legend, she divorced husband number one after he threw her down a flight of stairs, and number two when he went to prison for embezzlement. Husband number three, my dad, the only good one in the lot, according to my mother, died of a heart attack at age forty-nine. I don’t really remember much about either number four or five, since I was away at school during both those fiascoes. However, my mother managed to come away from those last two outings with enough money to keep her in the style to which she’d always aspired. Speaking of which, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist on a prenup.”

“What?”

“Before we go any further with this marriage talk …”

“What marriage talk?”

“In your office, the day we met. You’ve forgotten my proposal already?”

“You weren’t serious,” Casey said, although she knew—had always known—that he was.

“I want you to see a lawyer, and have him draw up a foolproof prenup,” he told her. “In the event of a divorce, which, trust me, is never going to happen, because I intend to make you the most deliriously happy woman on the planet, I want to make sure all your assets are completely protected. Nobody—and I mean nobody—is ever going to question my motives where you’re concerned, or accuse me of having married you for your money.”

“So, do you have my money?” Drew was asking now.

Instantly, Casey snapped back into the present. Who was Drew talking to?

“As I’ve already explained, this is a very complicated situation,” Warren began.

“How complicated can it be? It’s
my
money.”

“Yes, it is. But it was under Casey’s control, and now Casey is—”

“Napping with the fishes. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I’m trying.”

Casey pictured her sister crossing one arm over the other, fingers extended so as not to smear her freshly polished nails, and leaning back in her chair, her jaw clenched in anticipation. “I’m listening, Counselor,” she said. “Give it your best shot.”

FOURTEEN

“A
s I was saying, this is a very complicated situation.” Warren paused, as if waiting for Drew to interrupt again. She didn’t, so after several seconds, he continued. “I spoke to William Billy, one of my partners …”

“That’s his real name?”

“William Billy, yes.”

“His name is Willy Billy?” Drew laughed.

“You find that funny?”

“Don’t you?”

“Not particularly.”

It is, kind of, Casey thought, picturing the man. Standing more than six feet five inches tall, he had massive shoulders and a thick tree stump of a neck, both undermined by the almost girlish timbre of his voice. He had thinning red hair, and his ghostly white skin would flush a matching crimson whenever he was agitated or upset, which unfortunately was most of the time, due in large measure to his name. William Billy. Billy Billy. Willy Billy. Willy Nilly.

“William Billy happens to be one of the best estate and trust lawyers in the city.”

“He’d have to be.”

“Can I continue? I thought you were in a hurry for this information.”

“I am. Please proceed.” She laughed again.

“Are you high?”

“What?”

“You’re stoned, aren’t you?”

“Am not.”

“
Am not
?” Warren repeated. “What are you, five years old?”

“No, that would be Lola, your niece, who you seem to be intent on starving to death.”

“What are you on? Coke? Ecstasy?”

“Oh, please. I wish.”

“You’re certainly high on something.”

“I’m not on trial here, Warren. Don’t treat me like I’m one of those witnesses…. What are they called?”

“Jehovah’s?” Warren deadpanned.

More laughter. “Now, see, that was funny. I knew you had a sense of humor. But no, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Do you
know
what you’re talking about?”

“Hostile,” Drew said. “That’s the word I’m looking for. I’m not a hostile witness. Well, maybe I
am
hostile. A hostile Jehovah’s Witness.” She laughed again.

“I’m not even going to try to talk to you when you’re in this condition.”

“I’m not stoned, Warren,” Drew insisted. “And do you think you could lower your voice a few decibels? The whole floor doesn’t have to be in on this. So I might have smoked a little weed before I got here,” she admitted, whispering now. “Can you blame me for wanting to take the edge off things? It’s not exactly pleasant, coming down here, seeing my sister in this condition….”

“Who are you kidding?” Warren demanded, finally losing his patience. “You can’t see past your own nose.”

“Can you?” Drew asked pointedly. “I mean, let me take a guess at what you’re going to tell me. Can I do that?”

Casey imagined Warren turning both palms up, as if handing the floor over to Drew.

“You spoke to the esteemed William Billy, one of Philadelphia’s top trust and estate lawyers—Philly’s Willy Billy! How perfect is that?” She laughed again. “Sorry. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Besides, Casey thinks it’s funny, too.”

“What?”

“Look at her face,” Drew said. “She’s laughing. I can tell.”

She was right, Casey realized. “Philly’s Willy Billy” had done the trick. Despite everything, her sister had managed to make her laugh, even if Drew was the only person who could see it.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Warren said dismissively.

“I was right about Casey being able to hear,” Drew reminded him. “And I’m right about this. Casey’s laughing. She understands. So, you better be nice to me, because when she regains consciousness, she’s going to be plenty pissed if you don’t treat me well.”

“I’m trying to help you, you little twit.”

“How? By stealing my money?”

“I’m not … Look, I don’t want to argue. I spoke to my partner….”

“And you’re the new executor of my parents’ estate,” Drew exclaimed triumphantly. “Am I right?”

“It’s not quite as simple as that.”

“Then by all means, simplify it.”

“In Casey’s …
absence
, I’ve been made temporary executor of the estate. It’s just temporary,” he stressed, as if expecting Drew to object, “until we have a clearer understanding of what’s happening with Casey, at which time a court will have to decide—”

“So we could be talking years,” Drew interrupted.

“We could be, yes.”

“Years with you
temporarily
in charge of
my
money.”

“You’ll get your money, Drew. I intend to follow your sister’s wishes to the letter. You’ll continue to get your monthly allowance.”

“This sucks, and you know it.”

“Nothing has changed.”

“
Everything’s
changed. My sister is in a coma. You’re the one calling the shots.”

“What do you want from me, Drew?”

“I want what’s mine. Why do you get to have any part in the decision-making process?”

“Because I’m Casey’s husband.”

“You’ve been her husband for what … all of two years? I’ve been her sister my whole life. And even though my father might not have trusted me with his precious estate, he sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted you in charge of it.”

“This is just temporary, until—”

“Until the courts decide. Which could take years. I get it. And Casey gets it. Don’t you, Casey?”

If you’re insinuating that Warren is after my money, you’re wrong.

“Look, this is getting us nowhere,” Warren said. “It’s a moot point anyway.”

“Meaning it’s subject to argument or debate.”

“Meaning it’s academic, of no practical value or consequence.”

“Meaning you’re full of shit. I’m going to talk to this Willy Billy myself….”

“By all means. I’d be more than happy to make an appointment for you.”

“I don’t need you to do anything for me. You’ve done more than enough already. I’m going to hire my own Silly Billy, and then I’m going to sue your ass. Do you hear me?”

“You do that, Drew. And while you’re busy suing my ass, remember that it’s very expensive to go to court, and that it takes a long time for these cases to come to trial. You also might want to think about the eventual outcome of such a suit, considering the fact I’m not only Casey’s husband and legal guardian, but a damn good lawyer as well. And
you
are an unwed single mother with a long history of drug abuse and promiscuity.”

“Whoa. That’s some closing argument, Counselor. Casey ever see this side of you?”

“You obviously bring out the best in me.”

“Sorry, did you say ‘best’ or ‘beast’?”

“Look, you do whatever you feel you have to do,” Warren continued, ignoring the question. “By all means, hire a lawyer and take me to court. If that’s how you want to waste your money, that’s entirely your choice. I guess it beats shoving it up your nose.”

Silence, except for the sound of ragged breathing.

Casey couldn’t tell who was breathing harder, Warren or Drew. She found herself actually feeling sorry for her younger sister. She was no match for Warren. He wouldn’t allow himself to be steamrolled the way Casey had so often been by her younger sister.

“Who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do?” Casey remembered Drew shouting at her one afternoon from across the L-shaped living room of Drew’s dark one-bedroom apartment in Penn’s Landing, overlooking the Delaware River. Heavy, mustard-colored drapes, the stale odor of marijuana buried inside their deep folds, kept the late-day sun from casting too bright a spotlight on the crowded, unkempt space, although Casey had no trouble making out the assorted drug paraphernalia—an old black pipe, some loose squares of thin white paper, a crumpled twenty-dollar bill, a dusting of fine white powder—spread across the top of the oblong glass coffee table.

“You’re using again,” Casey stated plainly. “How can you even think of having a baby?”

“You’re gonna try to stop me from thinking now, too?”

“I’m your sister. I just want what’s best for you.”

“You mean you want what’s best for
you
.”

“You’re in no position to have a baby.”

“On the contrary,” Drew countered. “I was in the perfect position—flat on my back.”

“This is hardly the time for bad jokes.”

“I didn’t think it was so bad. Anyway, this baby is certainly no joke. It’s real. And I’m going to have it, whether you like it or not.”

“Do you even know who the father is?”

“Does it matter? I’ll be the one raising this child.”

“How? With what? You think it’ll be easy raising a child all by yourself?”

“When has my life ever been easy?”

“Oh, stop with the ‘poor me’ routine already. It’s getting a little tired.”

“Sorry if I’m boring you.”

“This isn’t about me. It’s about bringing a helpless little baby into the middle of this”—Casey’s arms made wide circles in the air, stirring up the sickly sweet odor of hashish—“mess.”

“You think I’ll be such a horrible mother?”

“I think you’ll be a great mother,” Casey said sincerely, “when the time is right. When you’re clean and sober and ready to settle down.”

“Maybe I’m ready now.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Maybe you don’t know everything.”

“I know you had all sorts of problems when you were a baby because of all the alcohol Alana drank when she was pregnant….”

“You’re comparing me to our mother? Not nice, Casey. Not nice at all.”

“For God’s sake, Drew, this baby won’t stand a chance. It’ll be born addicted to drugs.”

“Not if I check into rehab. Not if I get clean.”

“Are you willing to do that?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.” Drew wiped the tears away from her cheeks, swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I really want this baby, Casey. Can you understand that? I want something of my own, something that nobody can take away from me, something I can love, that will love me back. Unconditionally.” She wrapped her arms around her chest and began rocking back and forth, as if she were cradling an infant.

“There are always conditions,” Casey told her sister. “And it’s not a
thing
, Drew. It’s a human being.”

“I know that. You think I don’t know that?”

“What are you going to do when the baby’s up all night crying?”

“I’ll sing it back to sleep.”

“And if it won’t go back to sleep, if it’s colicky and cranky and—”

“I’ll love it all the more. I’m gonna be so good to that baby, Casey. I’ll give it so much love. I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl. I’ll love it no matter what. And I’ll take such good care of it. I know you don’t think I can do it….”

“I think you can do anything you set your mind to,” Casey argued, hearing the obvious lack of conviction in her voice, and knowing Drew could hear it, too. “I just don’t think now is the best time to be making this kind of decision.”

“I’m not interested in what you think,” Drew shouted. “You know what
I
think? I think you should go to hell. Did you hear me? Go to hell!”

And then predictably, less than a year later, her sister was pacing back and forth across that same room, a squalling baby in her arms. “What am I going to do, Casey? She hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“She cries all the time.”

“She’s a baby. That’s what they do.”

“I try so hard, Casey. I hold her. I sing to her. I change her diapers. I feed her. Nothing I do makes any difference. She cries all day. She cries all night. She cries when I put her down. She cries even louder when I pick her up.”

“She probably has gas.”

“I should have nursed her,” Drew said, crying now herself. “The doctors at the hospital tried to convince me I should—they said it would be better for her—but I was worried there might still be drugs in my system, even though I’ve been clean for months. I swear I have. I was just being cautious, because I didn’t want to do anything that might hurt her. And now it’s too late. My milk has dried up.”

“Lola’s fine with the bottle, Drew. She’s gaining weight. She’s beautiful.”

“She
is
beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Just like her mother.”

“I love her so much.”

“I know you do.”

“Why does she hate me?” Drew asked plaintively.

“She doesn’t hate you.”

“You should see the look she gets on her face sometimes, like she’s totally disgusted with me.”

“Oh, Drew. She’s not disgusted….”

“You haven’t seen the look, Casey. She scrunches up her face and gets all red, like a wrinkly old balloon. And these big, dark eyes glare up at me, like she can see right through me. Like she’s judging me.”

“Babies can’t think, Drew. They can’t make value judgments.”

“All I wanted was for her to love me.”

“She does love you.”

“No,” Drew insisted. “She knows I’m a fraud.”

“You’re not a fraud. You’re her mother.”

“I’m a horrible mother.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am. Sometimes when she cries, I get so mad, I just want to smother her with a pillow. Not that I would ever do anything like that,” she added hastily.

“I know that.”

“But even to have such thoughts …”

“You’re exhausted,” Casey offered.

“I haven’t slept in days,” Drew confirmed. “Maybe more than a week. Every time I lie down, every time I close my eyes, she starts to cry. It’s like she knows, like she’s doing it on purpose.”

“She isn’t.”

“I’m so tired.”

“How about hiring a baby nurse?” Casey broached carefully. She’d made this offer several times already, only to be turned down soundly each time.

“You mean a nanny?” Drew spat out the word as if it were a curse.

“I mean someone to give you a hand, so that you can catch up on your sleep. Everybody needs a break now and then.”

“I won’t have my child raised by strangers.”

“Nobody’s saying it has to be forever.”

“I can’t afford a nanny.”

Casey shook her head. They’d been through this before, too. “I’ll pay for it.”

“I don’t want your charity.”

“It’s not charity.”

“Only because it’ll come out of the estate. Because it’s
my
money,” Drew shouted above the baby’s increasingly desperate cries.