Lisey’s Story (60 page)

Little
. There it was again. Another shower, furious but of no more than twenty seconds' duration, beat on the roof of the car, and while it drummed, Lisey found herself thinking of all the speaking engagements she'd gone to with Scott—what he called
gigs
. With the notable exception of Nashville in 1988, it seemed to her that she always had a good time, and why not? He told them what they wanted to hear; her job was only to smile and clap in the right places. Oh, and sometimes she had to mouth
Thank you
when acknowledged. Sometimes they gave him things—souvenirs, mementos—and he gave them to her and she had
to hold them. Sometimes people took pictures and sometimes there were people like Tony Eddington—Toneh—whose job was to write it up and sometimes they mentioned her and sometimes they didn't and sometimes they spelled her name right and sometimes they didn't and once she had been identified as Scott Landon's
Gal Pal
and that was okay, it was
all
okay because she didn't make a fuss, she was good at quiet, but she was
not
like the little girl in the Saki story, invention at short notice was most assuredly
not
her specialty, and—

“Listen, Amanda, if channeling Scott is what you had in mind, it's not working, I'm really clueless here. Why don't you just call Dr. Alberness and tell him you're all right . . .” As she was saying this, Lisey tried to pass the cell phone back.

Amanda raised her mutilated hands to her chest in refusal. “It wouldn't work no matter what I said. I'm
crazy
. You, on the other hand, are not only sane, you're the famous writer's widow. So make the call, Lisey. Get Dr. Alberness out of our road. And do it now.”

Lisey dialed, and what followed was, to begin with, almost too similar to the call she'd made on her long, long Thursday—the day she had started following the stations of the bool. It was once more Cassandra on the other end, and Lisey once more recognized the soporific music when she was put on hold, but this time Cassandra sounded both excited and relieved to hear from her. She said she was going to connect Lisey with Dr. Alberness at his home.

“Don't go away, now,” she instructed Lisey before disappearing into what might have been the old Donna Summer disco tune “Love to Love You, Baby,” before undergoing a musical lobotomy.
Don't go away
had an ominous ring, but the fact that Hugh Alberness was at home . . . surely that was hopeful, wasn't it?

He could have called the cops from home as easily as from his office, you know. Or the on-call doc at Greenlawn could have done it. And what are you going to tell him when he comes on? Just what the hell are you going to tell him?

What would
Scott
have told him?

Scott would have told him that reality is Ralph
.

And yes, that was undoubtedly true.

Lisey smiled a little at the thought, and at the memory of Scott pacing around a hotel room in . . . Lincoln? Lincoln, Nebraska? More likely Omaha, because this had been a hotel room, a nice one, maybe even part of a suite. He'd been reading the newspaper when a fax from his editor had come sliding under the door. The editor, Carson Foray, wanted further changes in the third draft of Scott's new novel. Lisey couldn't remember which novel, just that it had been one of the later ones, which he sometimes referred to as “Landon's Throbbing Love Stories.” In any case, Carson—who had been with Scott for what old Dandy would have called
a dead coon's age
—felt that a chance meeting between two characters after twenty years or so was poorly managed. “Plot creaks a bit here, old boy,” he'd written.

“Creak on this, old boy,” Scott had grumbled, grabbing his crotch with one hand (and had that sweetly troublesome lock of hair tumbled across his brow when he did it? of course it did). And then, before she could say anything of an ameliorative nature, he had snatched up the newspaper, rattled it to the back page, and shown her an item in a feature called
This Odd World
. It was headlined
DOG FINDS HIS WAY HOME—AFTER
3
YEARS
. It told the story of a Border Collie named Ralph, who had been lost while on vacation with his family in Port Charlotte, Florida. Three years later Ralph had shown up at the family manse in Eugene, Oregon. He was thin, collarless, and a little footsore, but otherwise none the worse for wear. Just came walking up the driveway, sat down on the stoop, and barked to be let in.

“What do you think Monsieur Carson Foray would make of that if it turned up in a book of mine?” Scott had demanded, brushing the hair off his forehead (it flopped right back, of course). “Do you think he'd shoot me a fax telling me it
creaked
a bit,
old boy?
”

Lisey, both amused by his pique and almost absurdly touched by the thought of Ralph coming back after all those years (and God knew what adventures), agreed that Carson probably would.

Scott had snatched back the paper, peered balefully for a moment at
the photo of Ralph looking sporty in a new collar and a paisley bandanna, then tossed it aside. “I'll tell you something, Lisey,” he'd said, “novelists labor under tremendous handicaps. Reality is Ralph, showing up after three years, and no one knows why. But a novelist can't tell that story! Because it
creaks
a bit, old boy!”

Having delivered himself of this diatribe, Scott had then, to the best of her recollection, gone back and rewritten the pages in question.

The holdmusic cut off. “Mrs. Landon, still there?” Cassandra asked.

“Still here,” Lisey said, feeling considerably calmer. Scott had been right. Reality was a drunk buying a lottery ticket, cashing out to the tune of seventy million dollars, and splitting it with his favorite barmaid. A little girl emerging alive from the well in Texas where she'd been trapped for six days. A college boy falling from a fifth-floor balcony in Cancún and only breaking his wrist. Reality was Ralph.

“I'm transferring you now,” Cassandra said.

There was a double click, then Hugh Alberness—a very concerned Hugh Alberness, she judged, but not a panic-stricken one—was saying, “Mrs. Landon? Where are you?”

“On the road to my sister's house. We'll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Amanda's with you?”

“Yes.” Lisey had determined to answer his questions, but no more. Part of her was quite curious as to what those questions would be.

“Mrs. Landon—”

“Lisey.”

“Lisey, there are a great many concerned people at Greenlawn this afternoon, especially Dr. Stein, the on-call physician, Nurse Burrell, who is in charge of the Ackley Wing, and Josh Phelan, who's head of our small but ordinarily quite able campus security team.”

Lisey decided this was both a question—
What did you do?
—and an accusation—
You scared the hell out of some folks today!
—and thought she'd better respond to it. Briefly. It would be only too easy to dig herself a hole and then fall into it.

“Yes, well. I'm sorry about that.
Very
. But Amanda wanted to leave, she was very insistent about that, and she was also very insistent about not calling anyone from Greenlawn until we were well away from
there. Under the circumstances, I thought it was best to go with the flow. It was a judgment call.”

Amanda gave her a vigorous double thumbs-up, but she couldn't afford to be distracted. Dr. Alberness might have been a
huh-yooge
fan of her husband's books, but Lisey had no doubt he was also excellent at getting things out of people that they didn't want or mean to tell.

Alberness, however, sounded excited. “Mrs. Landon . . . Lisey . . . is your sister responding? Is she aware and responding?”

“Hearing is believing,” Lisey said, and handed the phone to Amanda. Amanda looked alarmed, but took the cell phone.

Lisey mouthed the words
Be careful
.

“Hello, Dr. Alberness?” Amanda spoke slowly and carefully but clearly. “Yes, this is she.” She listened. “Amanda Debusher, correct.” She listened. “My middle name is Georgette.” Listened. “July of 1946. Which makes me not quite sixty.” Listened. “I have one child, a daughter named Intermezzo. Metzie for short.” Listened. “George W. Bush, sad to say—I believe the man has a God-complex at least as dangerous as that of his stated enemies.” Listened. Shook her head minutely. “I . . . I really can't go into all that now, Dr. Alberness. Here's Lisey.” She handed the phone back, her eyes begging for a good review . . . or at least a passing grade. Lisey nodded vigorously. Amanda collapsed back against her seat like a woman who has just run a race.

“—still there?” the phone was squawking when Lisey put it back to her ear.

“It's Lisey, Dr. Alberness.”

“Lisey,
what happened?
”

“I'll have to give you the short form, Dr.—”

“Hugh. Please. Hugh.”

Lisey had been sitting bolt-upright behind the wheel. Now she allowed herself to relax a little against the comforting leather of the driver's seat. He had asked her to call him Hugh. They were pals
again. She would still have to be careful, but it was probably going to be all right.

“I was visiting her—we were on her patio—and she just came around.”

Showed up limping and without her collar, but otherwise fine
, Lisey thought, and had to clamp down on a crazy bray of laughter. On the far side of the lake, lightning flashed brilliantly. Her head felt like that.

“I've never heard of such a thing,” Hugh Alberness said. This wasn't a question, so Lisey stayed silent. “And how did you . . . uh . . . make your exit?”

“I beg pardon?”

“How did you get past the Ackley Wing reception desk? Who buzzed you out?”

Reality is Ralph
, Lisey reminded herself. Taking care to sound only a little puzzled, she said: “No one asked us to sign out, or anything—they all looked very busy. We just walked out.”

“What about the door?”

“It was open,” Lisey said.

“I'll be—” Alberness said, and then made himself stop.

Lisey waited for more. She was quite sure there would be more.

“The nurses found a key-ring, a key-case, and a pair of slippers. Also a pair of sneakers with the socks inside them.”

For a moment Lisey was stuck on her key-ring. She hadn't realized the rest of her keys were also gone, and it would probably be better not to let Alberness know that. “I keep a spare car key under the bumper of my car in a magnetic box. As for the ones on my ring . . .” Lisey tried for a halfway genuine laugh. She had no idea if she succeeded, but at least Amanda did not pale noticeably. “I'd be sorry to lose those! You'll have the staff hold them for me, won't you?”

“Of course, but we need to see Miss Debusher. There are certain procedures, if you want us to release her into your custody.” Dr. Alberness's voice suggested he thought this was a terrible idea, but there was no question here. It was hard, but Lisey waited. On the far side of Castle Lake, the sky had once more gone dead black. Another squall was rushing their way. Lisey wanted very much to be done with this conversation
before it hit, but still she waited. She had an idea that she and Alberness had reached the critical point.

“Lisey,” he said at last, “why
did
you and your sister leave your footwear?”

“I don't really know. Amanda was insistent that we go at once, that we go barefoot, and that I not take my keys—”

“With the keys, she may have been worried about the metal detector,” Alberness said. “Although, given her condition, I'm surprised she even . . . never mind, go on.”

Lisey looked away from the oncoming squall, which had now blotted out the hills on the far side of Castle Lake. “Do you remember why you wanted us to leave barefooted, Amanda?” she asked, and tilted the phone toward her.

“No,” Amanda said loudly, then added: “Only that I wanted to feel the grass. The slinky grass.”

“Did you get that?” Lisey asked Alberness.

“Something about feeling the grass?”

“Yes, but I'm sure that it was more. She was very insistent.”

“And you just did as she asked?”

“She's my older sister, Hugh—my
oldest
sister, actually. Also, I have to admit I was too excited at having her back on planet Earth to think very straight.”

“But I—
we
—really need to see her, and make sure this is an actual recovery.”

“If I bring her back in for examination tomorrow, would that be all right?”

Amanda was shaking her head hard enough to make her hair fly, her eyes big with alarm. Lisey began nodding her own head just as emphatically.

“That will do very well,” Alberness said. Lisey could hear the relief in his voice, real relief that made her feel bad about lying to him. Some things, however, had to be done once you had it strapped on nice and tight. “I could come in to Greenlawn around two tomorrow afternoon and speak to both of you myself. Would that suit?”

“That would be fine.”
Assuming we're still alive tomorrow at two
.

“All right, then. Lisey, I wonder if—” Just then, directly above them, a glare-bright bolt of lightning raced beneath the clouds and struck something on the far side of the highway. Lisey heard the crack; she smelled both electricity and burning. She had never been so close to a lightning strike in her whole life. Amanda screamed, the sound almost completely lost in a monstrous roll of follow-thunder.

“What was that?”
Alberness shouted. Lisey thought the connection was as good as ever, but the doctor her husband had so assiduously cultivated on Amanda's behalf five years before suddenly seemed very far away and unimportant.