When Venus Fell (27 page)

She paled. “You look a mite lost, that’s all. You need some directions, ma’am?”

Suddenly, I realized she was merely being polite. Sociable. “I’m looking for Ruth Attenberry’s office, please,” I said, shamefaced.

“Right down yonder. Second door on the left.” She pointed. “The judge brought in some fresh cider from his orchard this morning. Help yourself to a cup at that table in the hall.”

“Thank you.”

My jaw set, I strode quickly past the facade of folksy hospitality. I’d entered the bowels of the legal system, trapped like a peach pit Ruth couldn’t stomach, and no amount of small-town southern comfort changed that fact. I walked through an open office door and halted. There was Ruth,
reared back in an upholstered chair at an ornate wooden desk. She was angled away from me; I couldn’t see her face but I saw her large, stockinged feet and plump legs propped beside a green-globed desk lamp. The skirt of her beige suit was hiked up above her knees. Pungent-smelling white smoke wafted into the air above the high chairback. Papers rattled.

“I imagine you suspected I’d come to see you, sooner or later,” I said. “Now that you think my sister’s proved your theories about us being trollops and gold diggers.”

“Yep,” she answered without turning around. “I can smell the stink of corrupt moral values a mile away.” She took her feet down and pivoted in the chair. A slender, almost delicate little cigar was perched between her fingers. Her lap was full of legal documents of some sort. A gold fountain pen gleamed in the brunette hair above one ear. She bared her teeth in a smile.

“What did you expect? That I’d send your sister a wedding present? How about a shovel to help her dig into Carter’s money?”

I shut the door and sat down in a hard wooden chair across from her desk. “Listen, you smug, self-righteous harpy, your own
family
is apologizing for your rudeness. ‘Ruth’s so busy.’ ‘Ruth’s not a chit-chatter.’ Of course they don’t know the half of it. Don’t Min and Isabel’s opinions mean anything to you?”

“I leave the nice-nice duties to them. They’re darling souls and that’s their job in the family. Kicking ass and taking names is
my
job. Mine and Gib’s. I expect
he
hasn’t apologized for my lack of enthusiasm toward the lovely Arinelli sisters. Because he agrees with me. You’re trouble. Both of you. But even I’m surprised how fast your sister moved. She got all over Carter like a greased snake.”

“I can tell this conversation is a waste of time. You pick the weapons, I’ll pick the hour. You want a blood duel, I’ll give you one. Get up, girlfriend, and let’s commence with the
ritual bitch-slapping contest. Because that’s what it’s going to take to settle this, isn’t it?”

“Lord have mercy, how you
do
talk. I don’t have any intention of mud-wrestling with you. The situation’s more complicated, now. You and Ella are family.” She snorted derisively when she said that, but I was amazed that she admitted any alliance at all.

I stared at her. “I doubt my sister will be
family
for any longer than it takes your cousin to dump her.”

“That’s the problem. I have to fake a certain level of decorum until he wises up.”

A chill went through me. Surely Gib hadn’t told her Ella’s medical history. “You mean when he realizes he’s married a woman who expects a mature, faithful husband?”

“Considering the kind of male role model y’all grew up with, I’d think Ella would be happy enough just knowing her husband doesn’t run with a crowd of left-wing sociopaths who fry federal judges.”

I leaned toward her and said in a low, calm voice, “You were only a little girl when your world fell apart, but it affected your whole attitude, didn’t it? I should have known. It explains so much about you and Gib and Isabel—and Simon, too, no doubt.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your parents. How they died in England. Killed by IRA terrorists. You’ve always wanted to find those bombers and punish them, but you can’t, so you channel your energy into this superjudgmental, law-and-order mentality.”

“When I want to hear cheap psychological analysis I’ll turn on a TV talk show. I believe in fairness and justice. It’s that simple.”

“Fairness and justice require an open mind. You’ve already decided my sister and I are treacherous scum. The only reason I give a damn is that I don’t want Ella hurt. That’s all I came here to say. Take out your private war on
me
, not her.”

“It seems to me we’re in the same boat. I have to tread lightly because my cousin thinks he loves her—and you have to behave because your sister says she loves
him.”

“Agreed.” I stood. “Thanks for your time.”

She smiled coldly. “What do
you
believe in, Venus de Milo? Don’t let your reach exceed your grasp. That’s how the statue probably lost her poor little arms. Being greedy.”

I went to the door, opened it, and gazed back at her innocently. “Now that I’m certain you’re a toothless threat, I
believe
I’ll enjoy a tasty cup of apple cider on the way out.”

She threw a law book at me.

Isabel slipped inside my bedroom one afternoon while I was attempting to jot down notes about a piano composition. I wasn’t making any progress; my moods were all bad, I worried constantly about Ella, and that didn’t contribute much creative energy. She and Carter had been gone for days.

“You’re so mad at us all you can barely see straight, can you?” Isabel asked meekly.

I sighed. Being mad at Isabel was like being mad at Ella, which was the emotional equivalent of kicking a kitten. I just couldn’t do it. “There are a lot of Camerons in this part of the world,” I said finally. “But only two Arinellis. To y’all this was just another colorful Cameron marriage, but it changed my sister’s life, and mine, completely. And I wasn’t offered any choice. The situation was forced on me.”

She nodded sympathetically then held out a pot of hot tea and tiny cream-cheese sandwiches on a silver plate. “Ella and Carter will be fine,” she said gently. “You really should try to feel at home here, even though you’ve only been here a few weeks.” I shook my head. She set the tray down then laid a hand on my shoulder. “We don’t want to upset you more than you are already, believe it or not, but there’s something we haven’t told you. You need to know. It might make you feel better toward us.”

Oh, no
, I thought with queasy dread. “I’m beyond surprise,” I said calmly.

“You’ve noticed that this bedroom has a yellow theme?”

That was an understatement. Everything, from the curtains, the bed, the chairs, the throw pillows in the window seat, the rose-printed wall-paper, to even the lampshades, exuded a soft shade of yellow. It was like sleeping inside a large, sunlit egg.

“Somebody likes yellow,” I said blankly.

Isabel nodded. “This bedroom is decorated in yellow because of your mother. She sent a gift when you were born. That yellow chenille bedspread. We did the room to match it.”

I looked at the bed with a smothering sense of stark overload, surrounded by meaning, portents, memories, star-crossed spirits, and trouble. I realized I’d been sleeping under my mother’s bedspread.

“I need some time to myself, thank you,” I said. Isabel’s brows shot up in embarrassment. She apologized for upsetting me then hurried out of the room.

I decided to put as much distance between me and everyone else as possible from then on. I spent my days walking the roads and paths of the valley.

One afternoon I hiked into a hidden glen not far from the chapel. Amazed, I stared at the cottage there. It was simple but lovely, painted red with white trim and a white board porch with white rocking chairs on it. Flowers bloomed in old washpots set around the stone steps, and the window boxes overflowed with ivy and impatiens. White lace curtains moved gently in the open front windows.

I felt like Goldilocks discovering the three bears’ place. I could almost smell their tempting porridge.

A brass plaque hanging on a porch post said,

Another Cameron historic site, I noted with resignation. These people probably even posted signs over the biggest rocks.
Davy Crockett stubbed his toe here, 1822
.

But it was a place where I could retreat and brood in private. The infamous Venus Arinelli was taking command of it now.

Maybe they were glad to get rid of me, or maybe they felt sorry for me. I couldn’t tell. But no one seriously opposed my plan to move to the cottage.

Everyone walked out of the Hall and gathered around me as I left. “Are you sure you feel more comfortable going off to stay there?” Min asked.

“Yes. I’m just not used to living with people.”

“Those years she spent with the lamas in Tibet affected her social skills,” Gib noted. He set my luggage in the rear of the car and slammed the hatchback.

“Brother, hush,”
Isabel rebuked gently.

He nodded curtly to me and walked back into the Hall. I watched him go with a sinking heart. He was as unhappy as I was. He was stuck with me and my hidden money indefinitely. Plus he’d let his cousin marry without learning my sister’s unstable background. My family secrets were a growing albatross around his neck.

Min smiled gamely. “Of course you know you’re welcome to move back into the Hall whenever you want to. Don’t you want at least one of us to go over to the cottage with you? Then you can look around and maybe change your mind.”

“Thank you, but I can find my way. I’m looking forward to just being quiet and absorbing everything that’s happened.” Olivia wrote on her pad and held it out to me:
Gib lives in the lodge. Carter and Ella live in the houseboat. You now live in the schoolhouse cottage. Nothing odd about that. You are all satellites of my personal moon. Part of my galaxy. That’s all that’s really important
.

“Olivia,” I said evenly, “I don’t want to be disrespectful to you. But you don’t own me. I’m only staying in this valley because my sister needs me here when she gets back.”

Olivia wrote:
Oh? Which would be worse? To be needed, or to learn you are, in fact, no longer needed at all? You are part of this family now, like it or not
.

Bea read the notes over our shoulders. “Herself, oh, Herself,” she said, chortling and waving a tall mug of warm beer. “We’re no’ so grand as stars in your orbit. We’re mere bugs in your web, you dear old spider, and aren’t we knowing that for a fact?”

Olivia eyed her narrowly then wrote:
Drink your morning toddy and be quiet. Some days you annoy me
.

Minutes later, as I drove the car down a shady, forest-draped little road deep in the valley below the Hall, Kelly leaped out from the woods like a lanky teenage cat.

She waved a cigarette in one hand. I stopped the car and she sauntered over to my open window. I tried not to gape at her transformation. Until then she’d been a clean-cut Junior Barbie. Now she could pose for one of those Calvin Klein ads where the models look as if they’re in need of drug rehab. She wore a sloppy white tank top, low-slung baggy jeans, black nail polish, and tiny barrettes in her short, dark brown hair, which looked as if it had been styled with axle grease. As she leaned down in a cloud of unfiltered smoke, I was nose-to-cleavage with her small breasts and her put-on expression of apathy.

“What’s happening?” she asked rhetorically. “I thought maybe I could hang out with you a little. Like I could be myself around you, ’cause you understand. I can’t wear this stuff at the house. Nobody’s cool with it. But I figured you wouldn’t care. So maybe I can go to the cottage and show you where to put your crap and all?”

Being an expert on my own self-protective attitude, I recognized cocky bullshit when I saw it. I indulged her. “Sure. Get in. So what’s the latest news from hell on earth?”

She brightened. “Life sucks.” She swaggered around to the passenger side. Her lower lip twitched nervously. After she took her place in the passenger seat I borrowed her cigarette and took a puff.

“Man,” she said in an awed tone, as she studied me. “How come you’re only wearing a couple of little hoop earrings? I want to see you with all your holes filled up.
Man
, did it hurt when you got that one up in the top of your ear pierced?”

“Yep, the needle went into the cartilage and it hurt like a bitch. I don’t recommend it.”

“You’re not wimpin’ out, are you? I mean, you ought to put on all your earrings and be proud.”

“My ears need a rest. The jewelry was for my act. It looked good onstage, but it’s no fun to hook it with a fingernail. I tore one of my holes, once. Had to have stitches. It’s no fun to have your holes stitched, either.”

She giggled wildly. “Uncle Gib says you have a pierced belly button. When he came home from Chicago he told Aunt Ruth and Aunt Isabel all about it, and like, he was saying
exactly
how you had a little gold ring with a little gold chain that went around your waist, and how it looked like you’d sprinkled some gold glitter around your belly button, and how your belly jewelry reflected the stage lights and stuff when he went in that lesbo nightclub to see you the first time, and so he’s telling this story and all of a sudden Aunt Ruth said, ‘Good godawmighty, did you get out a magnifying glass?
You’ve spent more time describing her navel than you’ve spent talking about the last five women you
dated
.’ Uncle Gib gave her this kind of one-eyed squint he does when he’s pissed off, and he got
real
quiet.”

I should have laughed. I should have enjoyed knowing Gib was a secret slave to my allure. But a wave of intense longing went through me, and I was suddenly aware of my navel as if he’d kissed it.

“Can I see it?” Kelly babbled on. “Your navel?”

I pulled up my T-shirt and she peered at my stomach. “Hey, that looks like a little silver barbell. Can you feel it all the time?”