Venom and the River (16 page)

“Perhaps it’s just as well,” Cassandra Putnam had said, though to Leigh’s ears she didn’t sound convinced, “what with Chase and Alexa and the baby in Paris for two weeks. A change of scenery and environment could be helpful. You’ll take appropriate action, won’t you? This breach of behavior is unacceptable, surely you’d agree? She needs discipline. Chase just isn’t firm enough. It’s been a difficult spring.”

Difficult how? The stepmother’s cheerful email updates hadn’t mentioned anything about that.

Emily’s hair had been colored and highlighted since she’d seen her last. Almost a year? And they’d barely been able to arrange that visit because Emily was so overscheduled. All they could manage together were three days at the beach house the stepmother had suggested they use because Emily was too busy to take a longer trip to the Midwest. So Leigh had been the one to travel, taking nearly two weeks off from work on George Hutton’s vanity book to make the long car trip to the coast and back.

It was an unsuccessful visit. That didn’t surprise her because she was on Chase’s turf—enemy soil, confronted everywhere she looked and turned in the luxurious house by reminders of the life and life style she’d lost when she’d written her way to professional and marital suicide.

“Seem familiar?” Emily had said as she led her mother into the house. “It was all yours once, after all. Stir up any memories? Any regrets?”

She’d not even taken off her coat and it had begun. “It’s been remodeled. And it was never mine. I never fit in here, Emmie.”

“Then why didn’t you just leave? Why did you have to get stupid and do so much damage? People still talk about it. I hate that. You did the one thing that hurt everyone the most, did that ever occur to you?”

“Not at the time, Ems, but often since, more often than I can even—”

“Don’t call me that! I hate those old nicknames. I’m not your little girl and you can’t just call me anything.”

And that had been the first five minutes. No, the visit hadn’t gone well.

Emmie, Ems, Emily. Leigh drummed on the steering wheel. Was Emily taller? Had she lost weight? When did she start holding her head that way when she talked? Who was this girl? Once she’d known every smooth curve and soft curl of her daughter’s body. She could still feel the weight of her in her arms, carrying her upstairs to bed. The moist pad of her palm when they walked hand-in-hand.

The younger of the security guards and Emily pulled out cellphones and they started tapping screens. Exchanging numbers? That quickly? She’d been consorting with the local males in Mexico, according to her grandmother, and that was the main reason she’d been sent home. Leigh felt the cold, familiar chill of her ex-in-law’s disapproval. She hadn’t even spoken to her daughter and already she was losing control. She glanced over her shoulder, saw an opening in a long line of cars, and peeled out from behind the trio of red hats. She pulled up to the curb and braked fast. The car had barely stopped when she opened the door, hopped out, and shouted, “Emm…Emily!”

Her daughter glanced up from her cellphone, wide-eyed. She shook her head, whispered something to the guards, who hitched their pants and laughed. She kissed them each on the cheek, lifted her duffle, and walked over to the curb. “Holy crap, Mom—when did you start driving a Beamer?”

*

As the car idled at Pepin’s only stoplight, Leigh shook Emily’s shoulder. “We’re here.”

Emily had been sleeping since they’d hit the highway outside the airport. She sat up and blinked. “Oh my god,” she said as the town came into focus. “This is smaller than the last place.”

“It’s nicer. I like it here.”

“I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Leigh signaled and turned toward Dee’s.

Emily stared at the café under the blinking blue sign. “What a dive. Is this place safe?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“If the fish are biting.”

*

Marti slid into the empty booth seat across from Leigh and set a glass on the table. “I’m glad to see you here. What a crowd, and not a soul I want to talk to except you. Dee said you’d showed up with a surprise playmate. I hope he’s got a friend. Why are you drinking only Coke? Have a grown-up’s drink.” She tapped the soda bottle in front of her. “Dee lied to me. It
is
Phil; he’s a root beer man.”

Emily sauntered back to the booth as another song started on the jukebox. She slid into the seat next to Leigh and held out a hand. “Emily Putnam. Who are you?”

Marti looked back and forth between mother and daughter. “Good god, Leigh—I don’t see you for twenty-four hours and you get yourself cloned!” She took Emily’s hand. “Marti Lanier. Welcome to Pepin. Aren’t you supposed to be in Mexico?”

Emily claimed her root beer and set it on the table in front of her after taking a drink. “She’s mentioned me? That’s kind of a surprise because I’m part of her previous life, the hidden life we don’t talk about
.
It’s supposed to be a secret.
Leigh Burton’s
secret.”

Marti pointed a finger at Emily. “Young lady, I taught high school for a long time, I have no patience for teenage insolence any more, and if you don’t want me to turn into your mother’s friend from hell, you’ll pack up the attitude.”

Leigh could feel Emily stiffen. Thank you, Marti, she said silently.

“We all like your mother,” Marti continued, “and we’re glad she’s here. I happen to know her secret, her hidden life as you call it. I’m the only local who does, and I’m sure you and I both plan to keep it that way. Now, shall we start over? I’m Marti Lanier, your mother’s new best friend. Welcome to Pepin, Emily. This is an unexpected and wonderful surprise.” Her hand shot out once again.

Emily paused and then took Marti’s hand a second time. “It’s just, well, holy crap,” she said when she’d flopped back. “It’s like I’ve wandered into an alternate universe. I was up all night last night getting yelled at by a tight-ass chaperone who wouldn’t even listen to my side of the story. Then this morning after a bus ride from hell, she puts me on a plane in Mexico City. A few hours later I’m sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for my flight to South Carolina when I decide there’s no reason I should go home to face my grandparents, who will just make me feel small as shit. So I decide to rebook the ticket and visit dear old mom. Only, wow, what a strange place this is. Miles from nowhere! Lesbian bartenders! A jukebox with only songs from the sixties! Catfish pizza! And to top it off, I’m not even in town half an hour and I get bitch-slapped by my mom’s new best friend.” She rubbed her eyes. “I need to sleep.”

Marti said, “Sorry about that rough welcome, honey. I guess maybe you didn’t deserve it.”

Emily nodded. “I guess is right. But you want to know the weirdest thing about it all?” She leaned toward Marti and whispered, “My mother’s driving a BMW!”

Marti glanced at Leigh.

“Terry Bancroft’s car. Marti, I don’t know if I can have Roberta stay in the house now. You know how small it is.”

“Oh, no, Leigh. No choice about that. Emily, I’m blackmailing your mother. I need her to host someone famous for a few days. If she doesn’t, I’ll tell everyone her secret and it’s likely she’ll lose the nice-paying job she has here.”

“That sucks. Who’s coming to stay with her?”

“Roberta Garibaldi, the writer.”

“I love her books! Oh, Mom, cool! I’ll sleep on the couch. She can have my room. Do I have a room?” She turned back to Marti. “The last time I visited my mother she was renting a one-bedroom apartment over a seed store in some hell hole in South Dakota where she was writing a book for an old man in diapers. We had to share a bed. I’d rather use the couch.”

Leigh said, “There isn’t a couch, which you’ll see once we get out of here. And you’ll have your own room, which you do not have to give up for Marti’s visitor.”

“But if you do,” Marti said, “you can bunk at my place, Emily.”

“Can’t Roberta?” Leigh asked.

“Don’t be silly. She’s only coming because she can stay in the cottage. Has your mother filled you in on the history of her place, Emily? No? Well, you two have lots to talk about. As do we, so what do you say as soon as you’re rested we’ll have a picnic lunch out on the river while your mother’s working, and I’ll tell you all about the time I was sent home from a high school trip.”

“Yeah?” Emily’s face lit up.

“Washington, DC, my junior year. There was this other group staying in the hotel, a college debating society, and one boy—”

“Marti,” Leigh said, “Do you want the last slice of pizza? I do hope so, because I’m about to stuff it in your mouth.”

Marti folded her hands on the table. “I’m just getting acquainted with your daughter, Leigh. You’re so busy these days, she’ll need someone to play with.” She reached for the pizza slice. “Emily, I’ll listen to your side of the story; hell, I believe it already. Not that I approve of what you did or didn’t do. I’m sure your mother would agree that it’s foolish to jeopardize your freedom by breaking rules.”

Leigh said, “Zip it, Marti.”

“I’m not alluding to your rule-breaking, Leigh, so don’t ‘zip it’ me.”

“Didn’t think you were; you’re just running on, and I don’t want you to scare my daughter any more than you have already; it’s her first night in Pepin.”

“Ha! Remember your first night in town? Oh, you should have joined me and those two delicious boys. But no, you were scared to death and sad as a mourning mother.”

Emily said, “Sounds like you’ve finally gotten a life, Mom. One with people.”

“I haven’t; it’s work all the time. Let’s go. We need to stop at the grocery store and it closes in half an hour.”

Marti raised her glass as they slid out of the booth. “Glad to meet you, Emily. We’ll compare notes about misbehaving soon. Not that I condone it. Whatever your mother decrees is proper punishment, I applaud and support. At the very least, you should be grounded in a small airless room.”

As she followed Emily toward the door of the café, Leigh looked over her shoulder at Marti, and said—out loud this time—“Thank you.”

*

“What a great place. He did it all up for you?” Emily let the plastic bags slide off her hand onto the kitchen table and she collapsed on a chair.

Leigh started putting away groceries. Organic milk, organic eggs, organic peanut butter. Kiwi, papaya, mangos. One large box of Captain Crunch. “I wouldn’t say that, but he did just have it refurbished and, yes, I’m the first person to live here in years.”

“Is he married?”

“No, thrice divorced.”

“Thrice.” Emily repeated the word softly three times. “If you ask me, it won’t be long before Dad is thrice-divorced. Is this guy as old as your other clients? You should hook him and get married. I mean, how long could it last? Then you’d be rich and you could keep this house.”

“What a ridiculous idea. I’ll show you your room.”

Emily flopped down immediately on the bed. “So what’s the history of this place?”

Leigh sat at the narrow desk in the bedroom. “The girl of the house grew up to be a famous author. Ida May Turnbull. She wrote the
Little Girl, Big River
books.”

“I’ve seen the show. Reruns are on every day after school. Alexa’s a big fan. She used to watch it way back when it was first on and she got addicted then. Get this: she still has her Little Girl doll and she keeps it in their bedroom. Dad married a woman who likes dolls!”

Leigh knew a trap when she heard one. As curious as she was about Emily’s family life, there was no way she’d get lured into a slash and burn gossip session on the subject of the stepmother. She didn’t trust Emily not to report back, for one thing. And, too, Alexa had been the first one in the family in ten years to offer an olive branch. “Maybe that affection for childhood is why she’s a successful pediatrician, do you think? By the way, if you don’t want another bitch slap from Marti, you’d better not mention that you’ve watched the television show.”

“Thanks for the warning. Marti. She’s like…like, wow.”

“Yes. Like wow.”

“Mom?”

Oh, Emmie, Ems, Emily. With hair in her face and a smudge on her cheek. “Yes?”

“I really need to sleep. Can we talk in the morning about punishment or whatever you’re going to do?” She covered her eyes with an arm.

“I’m not sure I’ll do anything.”

“Grandma won’t like that. You should have heard her on the phone; she wants to kill me.”

“I doubt that. And I don’t care what she wants me do.”

Emily shook off her shoes. “Are you going to sit there all night and watch me?”

“I might.”

She lifted an arm and peeked out. “Can you do it with the light off?”

Leigh pulled the cord on the desk lamp. Emily shifted slightly and sighed.

A breeze ballooned the curtains, wafting in the noise of a million raspy crickets and the scent of skunk. The spotlight from a passing river barge twirled in the sky above the trees. The loud pipes of a truck ripped as it tore down a nearby street.

Leigh sat back in the chair. Maybe she would watch all night. The last time she’d sat up with Emily had been when? And why? Some long ago ear infection? Stomach flu? Nightmares? Once upon a time the girl had been scared of every shadow in her—