Maybe This Time (26 page)

“Well,
really,
” Kelly said, smiling at her, all teeth. “I'm just trying to
help.
”

“Like hell,” Andie said. “Also, Southie? She's cheating on you with the cameraman.”

“What?” Southie said, turning to look at Bill, who said, “Hey, I was there first,” and Isolde said, “This is
not helping,
” and then there was another knock and Andie went to the front door, prepared to snarl at whatever idiot was screwing up her life now.

She yanked open the door and saw Lydia Archer, standing under an umbrella and looking like avenging death.

“Is my son here?” Lydia snapped.

“Southie? Yes,” Andie said.

Lydia walked in, said, “I like your teeth,” shook out her umbrella and left it draining on the stone floor, and then went down the hall, following the candlelight through the stone archway in her quest for Southie.

“My teeth?” Andie said to her back and closed the door.

She picked up speed and got there just as Lydia saw Kelly.

“You!” she said, fury in her voice, and then there was a flash of lightning from the storm, and Andie saw three figures in the Great Hall that hadn't been there before: the thing in the tiered dress, a man who looked like the guy on the tower in an old-fashioned coat, and May, pirouetting with perfect grace, her dark curls flying.

Hi,
she said to Andie.
You wanted to see us? We're here.

“Oh,
my God,
” Andie said, cutting across the beginning of Lydia's tirade.

“What?” Lydia said, looking in the direction of the ghosts.
“What?”

“Can you see them?” Isolde said to Andie.

“Yes. Tell them
to go
.”

May laughed.

It'll take more than that to get rid of them,
she said.
And you need me.

“No,” Andie said to her, and then realized the whole table was watching her. “I can see her,” she told them. “I can see all three of them, but two of them are . . .”

Dennis frowned in the direction she'd been staring, as if trying to see what she'd seen.

“Just energy,” Isolde said. “Harold says there's not much there of two of them, just need. The other one, she's still got some life in her. Literally.”

Damn straight,
May said, and twirled around again, and Dennis leaned forward, squinting.

“What the hell is going on here?” Lydia snapped, and all three ghosts seemed to grow a little more defined.

“Anger,” Isolde said. “Get that woman out of here or we're in trouble.”

Andie stood up. “Come on, Lydia.”

“Not until I've—”

There was a knocking sound, and Andie said,
“I'll get it,”
and all but shoved Lydia out of the room. “Wait here,” she said when they were in the entry hall, “do
not go back in there.
”

Then she went to savage whatever idiot was screwing with her séance now, but when she opened the door, it was North, tall and strong and
calm.
She said, “Oh, thank
God,
” as he stepped in, put her arms around him, buried her face in his wet overcoat, and said, “Save me.”

She heard his overnight bag hit the stone floor as his arms went around her, and he felt so good that she held on longer than was
polite. He said, “That bad?” and when she looked up, he was smiling down at her, just like the old days, and she lost her breath because it was him, holding her again.

Then Lydia said, “Well, it's about time you got here,” and Andie stepped back as he let go of her.

“Hello, Mother,” he said, sounding annoyed.

“It's a damn good thing you came to your senses,” Lydia said. “These people have all lost their minds. They're having a séance
with that O'Keefe woman in the room.
”

“A séance?” North said, looking at Andie as he took his coat off.

Andie took the coat and put it on the hall tree, trying to get her breath back while she figured out how to tell him that she believed in ghosts in front of his mother.

“It's over now,” Lydia said. “I went back in and the woman who was running it said I'd brought too much anger into the room, and it was strengthening the spirits.”

“They like being bullied, do they?” North said, and then Andie saw Crumb come into the entrance hall from the living room, wearing her violently orange-flowered apron and a furious expression.

Andie leaned up and whispered in the direction of North's ear, “I fired Crumb this morning. Also, remember, we're still married.”

“There goes the nightly blow job,” North said under his breath and crocodile-smiled past her. “Mrs. Crumb. So sorry you're leaving us.”

“No we're not,” Andie said.

“I heard the knocking,” Crumb snapped. “We wasn't expecting
any
of you. Four people last night and now this. You need me to take care of this mess.”

“You can discuss that with . . .” North looked down at Andie. “Mrs. Archer.” He gestured to Lydia. “This is my mother, Mrs. Archer. The other Mrs. Archer.”

“What other Mrs. Archer?” Lydia said.

“How many more are there?” Crumb said to Andie, ignoring them all.

“How many Mrs. . . . Oh, how many guests?” Andie did a fast count in her head. “Four more.”

“We only got two more bedrooms. 'Course Mr. Archer will be in with you.”

“What?” Lydia said, and North looked at her, and she shut up. “Fine.” She looked at Andie and then at North and then went back into the Great Hall.

Okay, North's sleeping in my room,
Andie thought,
no, May's room. She'll like that. It doesn't matter since I'm sleeping in the nursery with Alice.
“Of course he'll sleep in my room,” she said to Crumb, and North looked interested but didn't say anything.

Crumb folded her arms. “I don't know what that is to me. I been fired.”

“Good point,” Andie said. “Leave.”

“Well, now,” Crumb began, and then Southie came into the hall, saw Crumb, and said, “For the love of God, woman, get us drinks.”

Crumb looked at Andie, and Andie said, “Fine, we'll talk about it later.”

The housekeeper smiled, triumphant, and said, “You're going to have to share a room, Mr. Sullivan,” and went off to shift some guests.

Southie caught sight of North and came as close to a glare as Andie had ever seen from him. “How nice to see
Mother,
” he said to North.

“Don't blame me.” North looked at him without sympathy. “I told you not to come here.”

“The Beast of the Nightly News had him,” Andie told North, trying to find her way back to sanity. There were ghosts, but North was there. It might even out, especially if she threw herself at him again, and distinct possibility given the way her mind was going south just from his sheer proximity. “Southie was helpless in her clutches. She truly is a blot on humanity.”

“Excellent,” North said, looking down at her with that beautiful,
serious face. “Mother's been spoiling for a fight. Let her have the Blot. You take me someplace, give me a drink, and tell me what the hell is going on.”

Yes,
Andie thought, but she said, “I think we'd better go in with the Blot. “I'm not sure your mother can take her.”

“Nonsense. A good stake through the heart and she's done.” North looked at Southie. “I beg your pardon, Sullivan, I should have asked. Do you love this woman?”

“God, no,” Southie said.

“Then let Mother have her.” He smiled down at Andie again. “And in the meantime, you can tell me what's happening. It can't be nearly as bad as you sounded.”

“It's worse,” Southie said. “We—”

“Southie,” North said. “Go away.”

“What?” Southie blinked at him. “Oh. Right. Sure.”

He went back into the Great Hall, and North looked down at her and said, “Where were we?”

“Well . . .” She stopped, knowing if she told him the truth, that there were ghosts, that he'd be calm and rational and probably have her committed.

“If it's that bad,” he said as her silence lengthened, “give me the short version.”

She took a deep breath and said, “There are ghosts. We're having a séance to get rid of them, but it's not working. Kelly O'Keefe is here sleeping with her cameraman and Southie at the same time and all that emotion makes the ghosts stronger. The kids won't leave because the ghosts kill anybody who tries to take them away. Your mother is furious with Kelly O'Keefe and that's making the ghosts stronger. And my mother is here, too, and you know how she and Lydia are when they get together, so we're all just
feeding
those things and I can't get the kids out and I'm so
tired . . .”

She stopped, overcome suddenly by how awful everything was and now he was going to have her committed—

He said, “What do you want me to fix first?” and she felt all her tension go.

“Save the kids,” she said. “I don't give a damn about the rest of them, but get the kids out of here.”

“We can do that,” he began, and then Alice screamed bloody murder in the library, and Andie took off at a run.

 

Andie threw open the library door and saw Alice shrieking in the middle of the room, turning blue from lack of oxygen. Her screams weren't her usual “NO NO NO,” they were deeper, coming from a place of so much fear that Andie scooped her up and held her close and said, “It's okay, Alice, it's all right,” as calmly as she could while Alice screamed and screamed.

“What
happened
?” she said to Carter, patting Alice frantically, and he nodded to Will. Andie turned on Will. “What did you
do
?”

He looked horrified as he stared at Alice thrashing in Andie's arms. “I told her she was going to come to Columbus to live with us.”

“
Jesus,
Will! Why—”

“He told us we didn't have any choice,” Carter said flatly, and Andie thought,
You fucking MORON,
but then Alice's screams deepened, her eyes rolling back into her head, and she forgot Will entirely. She turned to take her out of the room and saw North in the doorway, surveying the mess calmly, and pushed past him and into the hall, carrying Alice with her, past Southie, who looked alarmed, and Lydia, who looked confused, and a distressed Flo, and a sympathetic Dennis, and an avid, staring Kelly, up the two flights of darkened stone stairs, whispering to Alice that it was all right, that she wasn't going anywhere, that Andie was with her, but Alice was beyond that now, flailing in a place where there was only terror. Andie could hear Carter on the stairs behind her, but he was going to have to wait. She carried Alice into the nursery and sat down in
the rocking chair there—
no ghosts in this one,
Andie thought—and began to rock, humming “Baby Mine” to the little girl since she couldn't hear words.

Alice's screams were guttural now, her throat raw, and Andie kept humming, her cheek on Alice's hair, rocking and rocking. Alice slowed to rasping, gasping breaths, and then as Andie hummed and patted, she quieted down even more, to shaky, moany little sighs, and Andie began to sing, and Alice listened until Andie sang, “Never to part, baby of mine.”

Alice straightened, her face dirty with tearstains. “You promised.”

“He was wrong, I promise I won't take you until you want to go, we're never going to be with him,” Andie said, and Alice subsided into her arms again, and said, “Sing.” Andie did, and Alice relaxed, sighing whenever Andie sang “baby of mine.” When she'd finished the song, Alice sniffed and said in a shattered little voice, “Sing it again,” and Andie did, and Alice curled into her and began to suck her thumb as they rocked.

“Again,” Alice said when Andie was done, pliant now, and Andie sang again, smoothing back Alice's hair from her feverish little brow, wondering how it could be that she could hate any kind of commitment and still know she'd be with Alice forever. Because she was going to be. Nobody was going to raise Alice but her. She'd get through to Carter, too, if it took her years, he was going to feel safe and loved again. They needed her. And she needed them. This kind of love, this went so deep she'd never get out of it.

“Never to part,” she sang again, more sure than ever, and Alice turned her head up. “
Never
to part,” Andie said to her, looking into her eyes. “I will stay with you forever. I will never desert you. Never.”

Alice took a deep shuddering breath and nodded, and then said, “Sing the other baby song,” and after a moment, Andie figured out what she wanted, and began to sing “Somebody's Baby,” soft and
slow, and Alice put her head on Andie's arm and fell asleep, sucking her thumb.

Andie brushed the white-blond strands of hair back from Alice's clammy forehead again and kissed her.
Mine,
she thought, and then looked up and saw Carter in the doorway to the little hallway, watching them.

“She's all right now,” Andie whispered to the boy, and Carter nodded and turned to go. “Carter.” He turned back and she said, “That goes for you, too. All of it. I'm with you forever.”

His face was in shadow and he didn't move for a long moment. Then he went down the hall to his room.

“You might have checked that with me first,” Will said, exasperated, and Andie turned and saw him standing in the doorway to the gallery hall, Southie and Kelly behind him, and behind them North. Will looked annoyed, Kelly looked avid, Southie looked kind, and North looked calm. Beautifully, competently, unflappably calm.

“What do you need?” he said to her over them all, and she said, “We just need to be alone.” He reached past them all and pulled the door closed, shutting them all out swiftly, and Andie stood up and carried Alice over to the bed she'd made up for her by the fireplace. She pulled the spread and sheet back and tipped Alice into bed and took off her grubby tennis shoes and looked at her narrow dirty feet.
Bath tomorrow,
she thought, comforted by the banal thought, and pulled the sheet and comforter up over her.