Still Life (27 page)

“Is it all right if I say good-bye to Casey?”

“Of course. Take as long as you like.”

Casey pictured Warren picking up Patsy’s suitcase and carrying it down the stairs as Patsy entered the room and positioned herself at the foot of Casey’s bed. She felt Patsy’s eyes burrow into her brain. “Bitch,” she said.

And then she was gone.

“Well, that worked out rather well, all things considered,” Warren was saying minutes later, pulling up a chair and making himself comfortable. “Mrs. Singer’s gone for the weekend, Patsy’s out of the picture, Gail’s out of town, and I don’t have to worry about Janine for at least a few days. So it looks like it’s all systems go for Sunday. That’s the day after tomorrow, in case you’re keeping track.”

The day after tomorrow
, Casey repeated. Where was Drew? She had one day left to get through to her.

“I’ve arranged for a private nurse to come in tomorrow, and the doctor’s going to drop by later to give you your shot. So you won’t get too frisky when Drew comes to visit,” Warren said, as if her thoughts were printed across her forehead. “So, let’s just try to relax, shall we?” he said, taking her hand in his and lifting it to his lips, kissing the inside of her palm. “It’ll all be over soon.”

TWENTY-NINE

S
he dreamed she was in the passenger seat of a twin-engine Cessna when it crashed into a wall of turbulence and spun out of control, propelling its passengers into the thin, cold air, as if they’d been shot from a cannon.

“Daddy!” Casey screamed, as she watched her mother somersault through the sky in her pink chiffon gown, a drunken Alice disappearing into the rabbit hole below.

“Try to relax, golden girl,” her father’s voice urged from behind an ash-colored cloud. “Grab my hand.”

Casey stretched her arm as far as it would reach, her fingers waving frantically in the void for her father’s reassuring grasp. They touched nothing, latched onto no one. Her father wasn’t there, she realized. He never had been.

He couldn’t save her.

Nobody could.

Casey lay in her bed, slowly drifting back into consciousness. Even through the wooziness that occupied her head like an expanding sponge, she understood that although she was no longer plummeting through the air to her doom, she was no less at risk. She was going to die, she realized, trying to imagine how her parents must have felt the afternoon their plane had plunged into Chesapeake Bay.

She’d never really thought about it before, she realized, never permitted herself the necessary introspection to board that doomed plane, to feel what her parents must have felt, to think what they surely thought as the plane careened wildly through the sky before disappearing into the sea. Had her mother been flailing about helplessly and crying with fear? Had she been berating her husband, lashing out at him in a panic-fueled fury, or had she tried to embrace him, to hold him in her arms one last time, even as the waves rose up, like a crazed chorus, to welcome them? Had her mother even been conscious? Or had she passed out early in the flight from a surfeit of alcohol and fatigue, her head lolling obliviously from side to side as Casey’s father fought frantically with the controls? Had he been too drunk to fully comprehend the danger they were in? In his last seconds, had he thought about his daughters at all? Had either of them?

Did it matter? Casey thought now.

Did anything?

Had she ever really meant anything to anyone?

Her father had loved her only as a reflection of his own accomplishments. Her mother had been too self-absorbed to share that love with anyone else. Her sister’s love had always been tempered by equal measures of resentment. And Warren? He loved her money, Casey thought ruefully.

And then there was Janine. Her former roommate and business partner, supposedly one of her closest friends. Yes, they’d had many disagreements over the years. Yes, they’d argued and fought and occasionally said things they’d regretted. But never had Casey imagined the scope of Janine’s anger, never had she appreciated the lengths to which Janine would go to get back at her.

And yet, as shocked and disappointed as she was, Casey realized she wasn’t angry with Janine. Her friend had simply made the same mistake Casey had: Warren. God knew she was sorry. And anyone who could atone for her sins by reading
Middlemarch
out loud day after day, week after week, deserved not only compassion but a second chance.

Too bad she wouldn’t be here to give it, Casey thought, those thoughts transferring to Gail. Gail, the one person who’d always been there, who’d loved her unconditionally since childhood. She was somewhere in Martha’s Vineyard with the new man in her life, and she’d be devastated to learn of Casey’s death when she returned.

I’m sorry, Gail
, she said now.

I’m sorry for everything, she cried silently, trying to project two days ahead, to imagine how it would feel to have someone put a pillow over her nose and mouth until she stopped breathing. Would she gasp for air and fight for breath? Would it take a long time for her to die or would death be mercifully quick? Would there be an angel waiting to greet her? What would death be like?

Could it be any worse than this?

And yet, despite the horror of the past few months, despite the revelations and the lies and the betrayals, despite the loss of her vision and her speech and her mobility and everything that made her who she was, Casey realized she wasn’t ready to die.

Not now. Not when she was so close to recovering all she’d lost.

Certainly not without a fight.

Sure, some fight, she thought in the next instant, as a wave of dizziness washed over her, the result of the powerful drugs in her system. Not exactly a fair fight.

“What’s the point of fighting if you’re going to fight fair?” she heard her father ask, his too-big laugh trailing after him as he strode into the room to peer out the window overlooking the backyard.

“Daddy, hi,” Casey told him, pushing herself up in bed.

“What are you doing still in bed?” He pivoted around on his heels and stared at Casey with disapproval.

“I’m not feeling very well.”

“Nonsense. You’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Mind over matter, Casey. Just put one foot in front of the other. See where it takes you.”

“But I can’t see.”

“Then open your eyes,” her father said simply, before disappearing into the night.

Casey opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was the light of the moon coming in through the window at which her father had been standing.

She blinked once, twice, a third time.

Each time the light grew stronger.

Okay, try not to get too excited, she warned herself. You’re obviously still dreaming.

Except it didn’t feel like a dream.

You’re hallucinating.

Hallucinations felt more real than dreams.

Except this didn’t feel like any of her previous hallucinations.

It’s the drugs. They’re playing tricks on your mind. You’re woozy. You’re dizzy.

Not that dizzy. Not that woozy.

I can see, she thought, blinking again.

The powerful blink.

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’re getting yourself all worked up over nothing. It’s dark. It’s the middle of the night. You’re just imagining the curve of the moon peeking in the large bay window. You can’t really make out the lilac-colored drapery open to either side of it or the floral tub chairs in front of it. You can’t see the striped chair beside the bed or the large flat-screen TV on the opposite wall, flanked by paintings of orchids and daffodils. You can’t see the fireplace or the bed you’re lying in, its crisp white sheets visible even in the dark. You can’t see the mauve blanket lying at your feet, can’t see the indent of your toes wiggling beneath it.

I can’t. It’s impossible.

Casey’s eyes moved frantically inside their sockets as they shot from side to side, then up and down, then back and forth. I can see, she understood, elation spreading through her body like a fire through dry wood.

Don’t get too excited. This has happened before. It’s the drugs. Any minute now, you’ll wake up.

“Relax, Casey,” she heard Warren say. “It’ll all be over soon.”

No. Not now. Not when I’m so close.
She lay in her bed, feeling her breath grow increasingly ragged, and staring up at the round overhead light fixture in the middle of the large expanse of ceiling, trying to calm herself down.

I will get out of this. I will. I will.

She heard Warren’s footsteps in the hall and knew he was coming to check on her. She told herself to close her eyes, that even in the dim light, Warren would spot immediately that she could see, and that she couldn’t afford to take that chance. And yet, she couldn’t close them, so terrified was she that once she did, her sight would vanish again, and that when she reopened them, all would be blackness, as it had been before.

Warren stepped into the room.

Casey took a deep breath, uttered a silent prayer, and closed her eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart. How’re you doing?” He perched on the side of the bed, and Casey could smell the liquor on his breath. “I was having trouble sleeping again, so I thought I’d come in and see what you were up to. Seems I’m missing our little chats already.” He rubbed her leg. “Your breathing seems a little labored. What’s with that? You’re not going to die on me, are you?” He laughed. “I mean, wouldn’t that be ironic? You up and dying all on your own, after everything you’ve put me through these last months.” Casey felt him shaking his head. “That’d really be something, wouldn’t it? Although if that’s what’s happening, I’d appreciate it if you could hold off till the morning when the nurse gets here. Think you could wait till then? Maybe till I’m out of the house? That way, nobody can harbor any suspicions about me or accuse me of doing anything unseemly.” He got up, walked toward the window. “There’s almost a full moon. It’s pretty spectacular. What is it they say about full moons? That they bring out the beast in people?” This time his laugh was more of a shrug. “Did you know it’s a fact that more crimes are committed during a full moon than at any other time of the month? Interesting, isn’t it? Nobody’s ever been able to explain exactly why that is.

“So, your sister called earlier,” he continued after a pause. “She was thinking of stopping by tomorrow with Lola. I told her that would be terrific, that maybe I’d send out for pizza and we’d have a picnic in the backyard. She thought that was great, and you know what? So do I. I mean, why waste time and energy fighting when we all know I’m a lover, not a fighter.” He laughed again, a boisterous “hah!” that bounced off the walls to slam against the side of Casey’s head like an errant rubber ball. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the situation with Drew, and I suddenly realized it’s very simple, and I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. Probably I was just so pissed off at everything. But now I see that Drew’s like this sad little puppy who just wants to be loved, but everybody’s always kicking her to the curb. So instead of joining the crowd, instead of treating her like a Gucci-clad piece of shit, the way she’s used to being treated by the men in her life, I’ve decided to treat her like a princess in one of Lola’s fairy tales. I’m going to shine up my armor, ride in on my white horse, and sweep her off her feet.

“How, you may ask? Well, I’ll tell you, even though prudence dictates I keep my mouth shut. Who is that Prudence anyway, and how dare she tell me what to do?” He laughed. “But what the hell. I’m drunk, and you’re not going to be around past Sunday. And once you’re dead and gone, it’ll be up to me to provide your sister with a sturdy shoulder to cry on. The grieving widower comforting his distraught sister-in-law. So understanding. So compassionate. How will she be able to resist? How will she not fall in love?

“And who would condemn such a love?” he continued, as if delivering a summation in front of a jury. “A love born of grief, of a shared sense of loss. It’s perfect, don’t you think? We’ll take it slow, of course, wait at least a year before announcing our engagement, followed by a quick but tasteful wedding, Lola serving as flower girl. Maybe we’ll even ask Gail and Janine to serve as bridesmaids. Well, maybe not Janine.

“Anyway, Drew and I get married, we live happily ever after. Or at least happily ever a year or two. And then another horrifying twist of fate. Mother and child lose their lives when their sailboat capsizes in treacherous waters off the coast of Mexico; distraught husband almost drowns trying to save them. I can see the headlines now.

“Of course there’ll probably be some whispers surrounding their deaths. You know how people talk. You’re no stranger to gossip and innuendo. Hell, you grew up with it. And what was your father’s philosophy? To hell with gossip and innuendo! Show me the cold, hard proof. So while I expect there’ll be those who question the likelihood of this kind of lightning striking twice, of two wealthy young sisters dying in separate but equally tragic accidents way before their time, and Detective Spinetti will no doubt come snooping around again, I suspect his investigation will hit the same brick wall his last one did. And I think I can put up with a few months of suspicion in return for a lifetime of luxury. And this time, I won’t even have to share. It’ll all be mine. Everything your father worked for. And cheated for. And stole for. Because your father really wasn’t a very nice man, Casey. In his case, the rumors and innuendos were all true. I know because I followed his career for years. I studied everything about him. I can’t tell you how much I admired him, how much I wanted to
be
him. I even wrote a paper on him in law school. I don’t think I ever told you about that, did I? No, of course I didn’t. As far as you knew, I’d never even heard of Ronald Lerner before I met you.”

Casey felt her eyelids flutter with indecision. She wanted to see this man, this man she’d loved and married, who’d tricked and deceived her, who’d played her and used her, and ultimately tried to destroy her. If nothing else, she had to look at his face—to see the grotesque ogre behind the Prince Charming mask—one last time before she died.

It was risky, she knew. What if he was no longer staring at the moon? What if he was looking directly at her? Could she fool him into thinking her eyes saw nothing? Could she manage to fool him for even several seconds as easily as he’d fooled her for more than two years?

Slowly, cautiously, Casey opened her eyes.

He was standing by the window, although he was no longer staring out at the night. Instead, his gaze was focused on the far wall of the bedroom, his handsome profile backlit by the rounded spotlight of the moon.

He looks exactly the same, Casey thought, suppressing a sigh of longing so deep, she almost gasped out loud. Longing for what? she wondered impatiently. Longing for the life she’d had, the life she’d lost? A life built on lies and deceit? How could she long for a man who longed only for her death?

And yet, there it was—longing, albeit mixed with fear and anger and loathing, but longing nonetheless. Was there any doubt at all that Drew would succumb to that same magnetic pull? They were both Ronald Lerner’s daughters, after all, and he’d prepared them all too well for men like Warren Marshall.

Warren sighed and ran a hand through his thick brown hair, which was longer than the last time Casey had seen it. He tightened the belt of his silk bathrobe, one of a dozen gifts Casey had given him last Christmas, and then sighed again. “So, what’s your opinion of my latest plan, Casey?” he asked, spinning around.