Orient (36 page)

Beth stepped into the hall. “Mike,” she said as he proceeded down the walk. “How’s the daughter? Is Lisa Muldoon holding up okay?”

Mike froze and turned his head.

“She’s as bad as you could expect. Came down from college in Buffalo and arrived the next morning. We’ve got her staying at the Seaview. Someone should pray for that poor girl.”

Beth closed the door and walked up the stairs. She took her clothes off, stepped into the shower, and leaned into the warm jet that rinsed her face. Her stomach was beginning to bowl out just below her navel, as firm as muscle. She hugged herself under the nozzle and thought of Mills and the argument with Pam in Paul’s front yard, right out in the open where anyone could see. She felt she had to do something to help him, and waiting around wasn’t it. Beth tied a towel around her waist and entered the bedroom. Pulling open the drawer of her end table, she took out Jeff Trader’s pen-ravaged photograph of Holly Drake. “What about you?” she said.

CHAPTER
19

I
n a matter of days, Pruitt Securities signs popped up on the front lawns of Orient like late-blooming flowers. Beth saw that the Drakes had one staked in their lawn. Through the wavy glass of the front windows, beyond the elaborate display of jacquard swatches and lotus motifs, she saw Holly sitting alone in a leather chair, bent forward like the arm of a desk lamp. Holly was sobbing, her shoulders and long red hair shaking, a tissue bunched in her fingers. Her silks were spread around her on the carpet, like sunning lizards in a terrarium. Beth stepped back and rang the bell. It took two minutes for Holly to compose herself.

When the door opened, Holly stared out from the shadows. Her freckled skin was blotched red, and her nose was running.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Beth said, feigning surprise. “Is this a bad time? Of course it is. It’s a bad time in general out here. I can come back.”

Holly shook her head and sniveled. “If you want to see Cole again, he’s at his office. You can try him there.”

“No, I’m actually here for your fabrics,” she said, pointing to a gaudy turquoise batik through the window. “I wanted to buy one for a birthday present. But honestly if this isn’t—”

“No, no, it’s fine. Please.” Holly swept her fingers through her hair and straightened herself into the role of saleswoman. Beth knew that Holly couldn’t afford, even in sorrow, to turn away a customer—especially a customer who had fashionable Manhattan friends with conspicuous bank accounts, not when her home textile
emporium had languished so long out of sync with the regional tastes of Eastern Long Island. She ushered Beth into the showroom parlor, messier than it had been on her first visit, with fabrics and papers strewn across the desk and floor. A tuna sandwich lay abandoned on a plate after a single bite. Holly balanced herself on the edge of the desk, her black sweater brightening her long, red hair.

A marbled cat wound between the desk legs and made a run for the hallway, but not fast enough for Holly, who scooped it up and brought its neck to her cheek. “Pearl, behave.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.” Beth reached out in its general direction but had no intention of petting it. Do not approach cats when trying to affect a general sense of harmony and compassion. Cats are mutinous betrayers; never count on them for cooperation.

“She was a stray. Showed up a week ago and wouldn’t leave the back door. Her cries broke my heart. I have to keep her in the basement when Cole’s home—he doesn’t like them. He doesn’t realize they just need someone to give them a little affection.” Holly sneezed and the cat sprang from her chest, jumping across the Persian carpet and scampering up the steps. Beth wondered if it was one of the cats Mills had fed at Jeff Trader’s house. Holly dabbed at her nose with the tissue.

“Maybe you’re allergic,” Beth said.

Holly waved off the idea, gliding through her showroom. Her fair, freckled skin was rash red and blotchy, a barometer of her suffering. It was the kind of skin that made for a terrible liar.

“What are you looking for exactly?” Holly asked, wearily. “I have some gorgeous pillowcases from Iran that have just arrived. Or some South Indian napkins, beaded by local women. Ten cents on every dollar fights sex slavery.”

Beth walked to the window seat, her fingers flipping through swatches of soft embroidery, feigning admiration. They were beautiful, though overpriced for a market that had yet to settle on the North Fork. But Beth respected Holly’s commitment to the exotic wares, which seemed to contradict the plain suburban man she had
married. Could anyone be less exotic than Cole Drake? She had always liked Holly, the way she liked any woman who used bumper stickers to declare her right to choose and the injustices of the death penalty—two very un–Cole Drake opinions. Perhaps if she hadn’t come here to interrogate Holly, they might have become friends, sharing lunches and books and protesting the protestors outside the Hauppauge Planned Parenthood clinic.

Holly vanished down the sunken step to the den but soon rematerialized, wearing a pair of velvet house slippers. “I have some saris coming in a shipment this week. They’re over sixty years old, too delicate to wear, but they’re gold-threaded and make for wonderful wall décor. I don’t know who you’re shopping for. A loved one maybe? Or a friend?” Beth had presumed that getting Holly to talk in her grief would be easy, but Holly checked her tears, biting down on the pain. She was tougher than Beth had expected.

“Holly, are you okay? Maybe we should sit down?” Beth asked, touching her shoulder, a surprise attack of compassion.

“No,” Holly said coolly, stepping backward in alarm, as if Beth had asked if she needed to go to the hospital. “I mean, why?”

Beth tried again. There seemed to be some specific implication in Holly’s grief, something about the death of the Muldoons that had struck her particularly hard.

“I know what it’s like to be alone out here,” Beth said. “I don’t have many people to talk to either. The quiet can get to you.” Beth grabbed Holly’s wrist. When she didn’t withdraw it, she led her toward the couch. Beth sat first, leaving Holly no option but to do the same.

“I’m sorry,” Holly managed. “I’m just so broken up about the fire, about Bryan and his family killed like that. How could that happen to such sweet people? Bryan was doing so much good in the village, or trying to. Why would anyone do that to him?”

Beth was surprised by the way Holly spoke about the tragedy. She thought she’d been closer to Pam, but it was Bryan’s name that brought tears to her eyes.

“How’s everything with Cole? Are you two doing okay?”

Holly lifted her chin in a manner implying that the labor of chin-lifting was noble under the circumstances. “You’re right,” she said weakly. “It does get lonely out here, and friends haven’t come easily. Orient has always been Cole’s home, not mine. I’ve tried to make the most of it. I opened this shop. This useless, stupid shop where I make no money except for what I sell online. I don’t even need this showroom. I could sell my textiles from anywhere. You know, this wasn’t exactly my plan. I was in medical school at Syracuse when I met Cole. He was getting his law degree. One summer I went to Karachi as a volunteer nurse, and the women in those NGO camps were so impressive, so inspiring to me, that when I came back I started working in textiles made by the women there. I quit school and married Cole, and for a while I was happy. But now, I’d give anything to go back and finish my degree. I used to hate those cold dissections, but I’d love to do them now. Love to feel like I was getting my fingers under the skin, touching something real.”

Holly examined the pink undersides of her hands, scalloped and cracked from the dry winter air.

“It was my mistake,” she said somberly. “Quitting and moving out here, I mean. It wasn’t Cole’s fault. You asked how we’re doing. I don’t know. And now with the fire, and poor Bryan and his family dead, and this living room full of colors from a world away . . .”

Holly was trembling now.

“Can I tell you something?” Beth asked. Holly gazed at her bewilderedly, as if she could barely imagine that anyone else had regrets. “My husband and I came out here to start a family. He moved out here for me, the same way you did for Cole. And now I feel selfish, because I don’t think I want a family anymore. I’d rather not have a kid. How do you go back on something you promised? But I realize that it’s not selfish to change your mind. You have to make concessions. You don’t have to be held hostage by the person you once thought yourself to be.”

Holly slid her hand over her stomach. “I’ve made concessions,”
she whimpered. “I’ve done things I didn’t intend. Children. There won’t be any. Cole doesn’t want them.”

Beth took her chance.

“You were very close to Bryan Muldoon, weren’t you?”

The allegation woke Holly. “Who told you that?” She stiffened her shoulders. “Who said so? Did Bryan tell you that? He couldn’t have.”

Beth massaged Holly’s knee. “No one told me,” she said softly. “But I could see it between you two even at the picnic. I’m not going to say a word. I would never break your confidence like that. I want you to know that I understand.” Beth had just wanted to gain Holly’s trust, but now she felt that she’d hold true to her promise of confidence. Perhaps they could be friends after all.

“Are you sure Bryan didn’t tell you?” Holly dropped the tissue on the floor. “Look, I liked Pam. And I want to respect the memory of that family, even if they’re gone and I’m the one who’s left, having to live with it all by myself.” She breathed into the room, eyes dulled by the fabrics embroidered by hundreds of faceless women that spilled around her feet. “I didn’t expect it to go further than what it was. What it was for me was a break in time, a minute outside of my life. Two married people with obligations and nowhere to go but a motel room once a week. Jesus, that sounds cheap. But it wasn’t cheap. I used to stay in that rented room at the Seaview for the rest of the afternoon once Bryan left. I’d sit on the bed and look out at the Sound and convince myself that I was happy. Do you know how much convincing that takes?” Tears ran down her freckled cheeks. She purposely didn’t look at Beth. “Did Bryan say anything about me? If he told you, I’d like to hear what he said. It would mean something to me.”

“He didn’t,” Beth admitted. “I don’t know if he told anyone. I’m sure you would have heard if Pam had found out.”

Holly collected herself on the couch. Her bitten fingernails dug into the armrest. “She didn’t know. Absolutely not. Anyway, Bryan and I stopped about a month ago.” She glanced sidelong at Beth,
and her voice deepened. “Pam
did not
find out. There was no split, no scene. It just ended. The affair was casual. We were intelligent adults. Until I heard about the fire, it hadn’t even occurred to me that I had come to depend on it.” Beth nodded but swept her eyes to the floor too quickly. Holly yanked her forearm and squeezed. “Don’t look away like that. I said, there was no scene. I wasn’t interested in breaking up his family and I wasn’t going to destroy it if I couldn’t have Bryan all to myself.” Holly laughed hoarsely. “I didn’t set that house on fire, if that’s what you’re thinking. My god, I would never.”

“I don’t think that,” Beth said.

“And I wasn’t the first. Bryan had been with other women, women he took to the Seaview before I ever came along. That evil bitch, Eleanor, who runs the motel always made these snide little comments. ‘A new one, mister. Hope you don’t mind the same room. Getting to be your room, isn’t it? Number thirty-one.’ So I swear, if you’re thinking I could have done that, poured gasoline around his house and lit a match like some heartbroken harridan, you’re wrong. I didn’t care about those other women. I don’t expect anyone to be a saint. I’m not. I’m sure Pam wasn’t. Maybe only Cole is. Maybe that’s my punishment, having to share my life with a saint.”

“What about Cole? Did he find out?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Beth regretted them. She should have allowed a minute to pass before asking that. She had overstepped, moving too swiftly beyond the temporary shelter she had built in their conversation. Holly stood up, retreating to the sliding door near the den, creating hostile space between them.

“Why are you asking?”

“I was just concerned,” she faltered.

“He was in the city for business that night. Is that why you’re asking, because he wasn’t here with me?” Her thoughts seemed to fly across her face as she spoke, each one redder than the last. “Did you even come here to buy a present? Cole’s office has a branch in Manhattan, for Christ’s sake. He commutes there for meetings all
the time. I drove him to the train station myself.” The words came angrily, as if Holly had already realized the inconvenience of her husband’s absence on the night of the fire, which denied either of them an alibi. Holly’s eyes narrowed. “Whose birthday is it? Don’t lie to me.”

Before Holly could push any further, Beth fished through her purse and pulled out the photograph. When she held it out, Holly squinted at it, her brain erasing the devil horns and the scratched-out eyes and the goatee, to see herself smiling on her own summer lawn. She snatched the photo from Beth’s fingers.

“What is this? Why did you do this to me?” Holly stared at her as if she suddenly thought Beth herself might be capable of taking a match to an Orient house. “This is my picture. Cole took this of me two summers ago. I can tell by the roses. It should be in our picture drawer.”

“I found it in a book belonging to Jeff Trader. I wondered why Jeff would do this to a photo of you. That’s why I’m here, to ask you about it.”

“Jeff Trader,” Holly said furiously, relishing the bitter memory with a flicking tongue. “He didn’t like me. But so what? I didn’t like him either. He did odd jobs for us for a few years. Cole insisted. Give the local drunk his due. I guess Cole saw that disgusting man as some sort of village mascot. But he wasn’t harmless. He stood around asking me all kinds of personal questions. Were we planning to have children? If we did, were we going to move into a bigger home or build onto the back of this one? Did Cole like his job? Was I happily married?” She snorted after the last question. “It’s not innocent to ask those kind of questions, even when you do reek of liquor at ten in the morning. Finally, I caught him searching through the drawers of my desk—looking for I don’t know what, cash most likely—and I fired him on the spot. I told him I was going to call the police and warn other families out here. Isn’t that what a good neighbor is supposed to do when the man who takes care of all the houses in Orient turns out to be a thief?”

Beth smiled wanly and leaned forward to reclaim the photograph, but Holly held it to her chest. “No, I’m keeping this. It belongs to me. I don’t know who you think you are, but you have no right to enter my house and ask me to justify what I’ve done when all I’m guilty of is unhappiness. Infidelity, sure, but that’s unhappiness by another means. I was only trying to do what any human being would do.” Holly attacked her own sweater with groping hands.

“I’m not asking—”

“You tricked me. And I’ve defended you in this community time and time again when there were nasty words spoken about you. And, believe me, there have been plenty.” Holly pulled on a red rivulet of hair by its tip. “What an arrogant snob you are. Cold and judgmental, condescending, just like your mother. I guess I didn’t see the resemblance until now.” Beth gathered her purse, and Holly pointed toward the hallway. “Get out.”