The Heat of the Moon: A Rachel Goddard Mystery (Rachel Goddard Mysteries) (15 page)

“You’ve got to get away from her,” Luke said. “Listen to me.” He grasped me by the shoulders. “Stay here with me. No pressure, no decisions, I promise. I just think you ought to get away from your mother.”

“I can’t.” My voice cracked. “Mother’s the only one who knows the truth. If I leave she won’t forgive me for it. I’ll never find out anything if I don’t stay close to her.” The sudden thought of Michelle sent a shudder through me. “And my sister needs me, whether she knows it or not.”

I leaned against him, and he closed his arms tight around me, as if he feared I might evaporate. I felt like a ragged scrap of silk, ripping down the middle.

Chapter Fourteen

“Come on,” I said to Michelle. “We haven’t done this in such a long time.”

She laughed her sweet girlish laugh. “Okay, just let me change my shoes.”

I waited out on the patio while she put on athletic shoes that she didn’t mind getting dirty on our walk along the creek. She came back smiling eagerly, looking like the little sister I’d dragged along on such walks all through our childhood.

Every step down through the backyard took us farther from the house and our mother. I turned once and wasn’t surprised to see her watching us from her study window. She smiled and waved; we smiled and waved back. I would get Michelle down into the woods, where Mother couldn’t even see us from her window, and then I could talk to her openly.

The tiny flowers of some creeping weed covered the creek banks in yellow. Above us, tree branches were misty green with emerging new leaves. “Look,” I said, pointing up. “A pileated.”

The big black-backed woodpecker clung to a tree trunk and gave its loud cackling call, and from perhaps fifty feet away came an answer. Only one pair lived in these woods. In summer we’d see one or two young ones with the parents for a while, but by the following spring they’d be gone, killed by the winter or off to find their own mates and territories.

“I forget sometimes how peaceful it is here,” Michelle said. She linked an arm through mine. “Thanks for reminding me. We used to have fun down here, didn’t we?”

“We always had fun together,” I said. It was silly to miss being ten or eleven years old, but I did, sharply, painfully.

“You taught me so much,” Michelle said. “I grew up seeing the world—nature—through your eyes. You’ve always been in tune with the natural world, but I have to make a conscious effort to connect with it. I wish I could be more like you.”

I barked a surprised laugh. “You’re kidding.”

She stopped, withdrew her arm and stepped back to look at me. “No, I envy you sometimes. You’re able to be passionate about things—”

“Hot-headed, Mother would say.” I forced a grin.

Michelle went on looking at me, serious, almost contemplative. “Well,” she said, “Mother’s always believed calm and rational behavior is better than passion. I’m not sure Mother knows what passion is.”

Startled to hear her say such a thing, so close to criticism, I was speechless for a moment. Finally I said, picking my way toward the subject I’d brought her here to discuss, “I think all the passion went out of her life when our father died, and she’s been trying ever since not to feel anything too deeply.”

Michelle nodded. Somewhere nearby a squirrel chattered a warning and a bluejay screamed. “It’s sad that she’s completely closed off any possibility of falling in love and getting married again,” Michelle said. “I guess in a way I’m glad we didn’t have to change our lives to fit in a stepfather while we were growing up, but now—”

“She’s still young,” I said. “Fifty-two’s not old. And she’s attractive.”

We were both silent a moment. Then Michelle said, “She wouldn’t like us discussing her this way.”

“She can’t hear us, Mish.”

At the same moment we both glanced back, in the direction of the house. I could just see the roof and chimney through the trees.

I said, “If she’s clinging to his memory, if she can’t forget him and that’s the reason she won’t see other men, why do you suppose she never talks about him? Why doesn’t she want to make sure his children don’t forget him?”

“Oh—” Michelle looked faintly annoyed, as if she’d had an automatic negative reaction to my question. “It’s her way of coping.”

“To blot him out of our lives? To blot out the first few years of our lives?”

“Rachel,” Michelle said, slipping her arm in mine again. “Why are you bringing all this up now? You were talking about Daddy just recently. What—”

I pulled away. “I’d like to remember those years and I’d like to remember our father. I was old enough. I don’t understand why I can’t remember him clearly. Something’s missing, and I want to find it. Don’t you ever feel that way?”

She shrugged. “I was too young to remember. We’ve talked about this before—”

“I tried to have myself hypnotized so I could remember,” I blurted.

“Hypnotized?” She looked confused. “By Mother? Why would she—”

“No. Another doctor. But I couldn’t go through with it. I panicked during induction.”

“Oh, Rachel,” she said, touching my arm, concerned. “When? Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

I told her now, in as much detail as I could remember.

She sighed. “Mother wouldn’t like this if she found out. She’d be hurt that you went to someone else for help.”

“Don’t tell her,” I said. Why had Michelle’s first thought been for our mother’s feelings?

“I won’t,” she murmured. Then, curious, studying me, “Did you remember anything—”

“No, I didn’t get that far, I told you.”

She chewed her bottom lip, an old habit when she was thinking.

I said, “Mother thinks I shouldn’t try to remember because I was so traumatized by our father’s death. I gather I had some kind of breakdown.”

Michelle’s eyes widened. “What? She said that?”

I told her what Mother had said about my destroying the pictures. Michelle’s expression went from surprise to a kind of concerned acceptance. “I don’t remember that at all,” she said. “Well, I can see her point. Mother’s just looking out for your emotional well-being.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I cried, and the loudness of my voice startled a couple of chickadees into angry chitters. “Let me look out for my own emotional well-being. What right does she have to keep our father a mystery to us? What right does she have to tell us what to think and feel and how to act and who to see and—Why do you let her dictate who you’ll see, Mish? Why did you let her stop you from seeing Kevin when I know you wanted to?”

She took a couple of steps back, and her face was a cold mask. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I made my own decision about Kevin. This is the busiest time of my life, finishing my degree, planning my future, and I don’t need the distraction of—”

“She told you to stop seeing him, didn’t she? She sat you down when I wasn’t around, and talked you into it, just like she’s been trying to talk me into breaking it off with Luke.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Michelle said. “You’re imagining things. She did no such thing.”

“Don’t use that voice with me! That patronizing therapist voice. You’re my sister, my baby sister, don’t talk to me like a stranger.”

She spun away, marched raggedly along the path, back toward the house. I caught up and took her arm. She faced me, and I was startled to see tears on her cheeks. “I’ve seen Kevin a couple of times,” she said in a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard even here. “I’ve been wanting to tell you. But I’m not dating him. It’s just been lunch. I made the decision not to date him, I explained to him why.” She closed her eyes briefly, pressing a hand to her forehead. “Please don’t let Mother find out—”

I took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Michelle, you’re a grown woman. You can see anybody you want to.”

She let out a long sigh. “It’s just easier if she doesn’t know about it.” Then she shook her head, making her blonde hair whip around her neck. “Rachel, I wish you’d stop dragging up all this about Daddy. It upsets her, she doesn’t want to talk about it. And it’s obviously hurting you, it’s got you confused and torn. Can’t you let it be?”

“Is that what therapists are telling patients these days? You’re better off if you let the past be?”

“You’re not a patient!”

“No, I’m your flesh and blood, and I deserve at least as much support as you’d give a patient who’s trying to understand her past.”

She swiped at her cheeks with the back of a hand. “All my patients are going to be children,” she said. “They won’t have pasts.”

I laughed, although I felt like crying. “Well, that’s one problem solved.”

She sniffled and looked up, beyond me, as she blinked rapidly. “You’ve got your work,” she said. “You’ve got Luke. You function well, you’re not a neurotic crippled by unresolved issues. You should be enjoying the present, not digging around in the past. I’m not going to help you do something that will only hurt Mother.”

Before I could answer, she turned and hurried away, toward the house, leaving me feeling as alone as I’d ever felt in my life.

Chapter Fifteen

Friday, the Fourth of July. This day that would end so badly began in a cool mist, the air a white gauze of fog drifting in from the Potomac.

Mother, fussing over preparations for the party she gave each year, peered out through the patio doors and wondered aloud whether it would be cloudy all day. When the fog burned off and sunlight drenched the back lawn, she fretted that the afternoon would be unbearably hot. Then the clouds settled back in to stay and she worried that we might have rain for the first time in three weeks.

Rosario went on with her baking, Michelle and I set up rented tables and chairs on the patio, and none of us bothered to respond to Mother. Rosie and Michelle knew as well as I did that her concern over the weather was more than a convenient focus for free-floating anxiety. Any extreme would force the guests indoors, and Mother didn’t want two dozen people roaming her house.

It would have been useless to ask why she did this every year, inviting a group of near-strangers to the house. The July 4 party, a longtime event at the home of Theo and his wife Renee, moved to our house when Renee’s battle with cancer began. The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, a favor, until she recovered. But she didn’t recover. For some reason Mother felt obliged to continue the annual ritual after Renee’s death, even though it was a chore and a strain.

Michelle and I worked silently, unfolding chairs, pushing card tables together in two long rows. She avoided my gaze and shied away every time I brushed against her. Watching her from the corner of my eye, I began to wonder. She was acting secretive, guilty, the way she used to as a kid when she was waiting for some misdeed to be discovered. Candy pilfered from the basketful meant for trick-or-treaters. Christmas gifts unwrapped for a peek, then inexpertly rewrapped. A sister’s confidence broken.

Mother gave no sign that Michelle had told her what I was up to, but I wouldn’t expect that. Mother would choose the moment to reveal what she knew.

I had another reason to worry—I’d invited Luke to the party without telling Mother. He’d said yes without hesitating, and he was entirely too enthusiastic about showing Mother she hadn’t driven him out of my life. For days I’d been trying to make myself tell her he was coming, but now the party was hours away and she still didn’t know.

My mother and sister and I floated through the house in our separate bubbles of anxiety, occasionally bouncing off one another.

It was also Michelle’s birthday, but our pause at lunchtime to celebrate was only a momentary break in the tension. At the dining room table, when our barely touched sandwiches had been cleared away, Mother presented Michelle with a small oblong package. She smiled as Michelle stripped off the silver ribbon and glossy white wrapping paper, opened a blue velvet box and gasped at an elegantly simple gold bracelet. “It’s beautiful, it’s perfect!” Michelle cried, and she rose to give Mother a hug and kiss.

My gift, a navy blue leather briefcase with her initials in brass, was something she’d pined for and hinted about, but it was accepted now with a short “Thanks” and a flick of a smile in my general direction.

***

I was in jeans and Michelle wore Bermuda shorts, but Mother’s idea of informality was black silk slacks and a white short-sleeved blouse. At four o’clock she stood stiff and alert on the patio, waiting for the first guests to arrive. They would all show up because none of them had anywhere else to go, and they’d all arrive precisely on time like patients keeping appointments.

They advanced up the driveway in little chatting groups, dressed in Bermuda shorts and tee-shirts or sun dresses. These people, all psychiatrists and psychologists, were Theo’s friends, not Mother’s. Many had been his students decades ago and were in the habit of attending Renee’s July 4 party.

I worked the drinks table, handing out glasses of chilled white wine and cans of cold beer. Every few seconds I scanned the driveway for Luke. Mother stood next to the table, greeting her guests.

Melinda Morse, a tiny woman with moist bush baby eyes, grasped Mother’s hand and said in a whispery voice, “I always appreciate the invitation, Judith. Since Robert died, and with my son living so far away—”

I saw Mother’s gaze shift beyond Dr. Morse and lock on something, someone. Luke was rounding the corner of the house onto the patio. Mother looked at me, brows lifted inquiringly.

“I invited him.” I handed Dr. Morse a glass of white wine. She murmured her gratitude and crept away into the crowd.

“Well,” Mother said, “you’re certainly entitled to invite a friend.” As Luke approached she put on a brilliant smile. “Hello, Dr. Campbell. I’m glad you could come.”

She didn’t give him a chance to answer, but exclaimed that she’d forgotten the rest of the appetizers, and vanished into the house. Luke leaned to kiss me lightly and murmured, “Better than being shot on sight.”

Michelle didn’t bother to put on a show of civility. She returned Luke’s greeting with a cold glare, then turned her back on him.

I was still steaming over that when Theo arrived.

“Rachel.” He squeezed my hand and studied my face. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay, Theo.” I withdrew my hand and cast a quick glance around, making sure Mother wasn’t in earshot.

Theo stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “I’ve felt terribly guilty all week. I know it was my fault. I didn’t adequately prepare you. Why don’t you come see me this weekend and we can get into some of your issues in more depth.”

I located Mother, with a knot of people twenty feet away. But she was watching us with an alert expression. Suddenly I was certain Michelle had betrayed my confidence.

Mindful of her gaze on us, I stepped back from Theo and said, “This is my friend, Luke Campbell.”

“Ah.” Theo was instantly distracted, his keen dark eyes making a quick assessment of the man before him.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Luke said, shaking Theo’s hand. “Rachel tells me you’re originally from Athens. I spent a week in Greece one summer when I was in college, and I’ve always wanted to go back.”

In seconds they were talking about Theo’s family and background.

I left them and followed Michelle into the kitchen. “Did you have to be so rude to Luke?” I said, sliding the patio door shut. 

“You know, Mother’s a good judge of people.” She lifted a big blue bowl of potato salad from the refrigerator and pushed the fridge door shut with her elbow. “You ought to pay more attention to her opinion.”

Through the glass doors I saw Luke and Theo at the far end of the patio, Luke with his hands in his jeans pockets, Theo leaning on his cane, gazing out over the flower beds as they chatted. Mother circulated among the other guests, but her head swiveled toward the two of them every few seconds.

“What did you tell Mother?” I said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Michelle sailed past me with her chin up and the blue bowl in her hands, but her exit was blocked by the closed patio doors. She tried to shift the bowl, cradle it in one arm so she could open a door with her free hand, but the bowl was too big and slippery. She grunted in frustration.

I slid back the door. Her gaze met mine for a second, and in her eyes I thought I saw a glimmer of apprehension.

“God, what a dull bunch of people,” Luke whispered when we managed to separate ourselves from the crowd and meet in a corner of the patio.

He’d discovered that a collection of shrinks talked about the same mundane things anybody else would: politics, the break in the heat, the drought that had them watering their lawns and gardens for hours every week.

“And they all want me to diagnose their cats and dogs, sight unseen,” he said. “That guy talking to your mother, he spent ten minutes describing some skin problem his Lab’s developed, and he got a little huffy when I told him to take the dog to his own vet. What a jerk.”

I laughed, watching Max Richter’s broad gestures. Every few seconds his large swooping hand landed on some part of Mother, her shoulder or hand or arm. Her smile was fixed and her body rigid against his incursions.

“He’s by himself this year,” I said. “Usually he brings his latest girlfriend or wife. He’s been married four times.”

“Jeez.” Luke studied Mother and Dr. Richter. “He likes her, he really goes for her, I can tell.”

“He’s been coming on to her as long as I can remember. Even when he had a wife or girlfriend standing next to him. Maybe he sees her as a challenge. But she’s not interested.”

“He’s lucky. He doesn’t realize he’s cozying up to a poisonous spider.”

I looked down at a potted hibiscus, watched a pollen-gilded bumblebee back out of a red flower, and wondered why I still felt this urge to defend Mother.

***

Luke and Theo and I sat at one of the improvised long tables and Mother and Michelle sat at the other. Dinner was cold ham and roast beef, potato salad, julienned cold vegetables, and Rosario’s meltingly tender butter rolls. Mother would only go so far in carrying on Renee’s tradition; she wouldn’t set up a messy barbecue on the patio and cook hamburgers and hot dogs.

At our table a long serious debate about the pros and cons of timer-controlled lawn sprinklers gave way to fascination with the idea of heart surgery on cats and dogs. Everyone chewed contentedly and urged Luke to describe myriad unappetizing surgical procedures. 

Every time I glanced Mother’s way our eyes met. Half of my mind was keeping up with the conversation, while the other half frantically tried to construct plausible answers to Mother’s inevitable questions.

***

As afternoon slid into evening, the sun broke through the clouds and burned red low behind the trees, reaching through the foliage to lay long fingers of pink light across the grass. When the meal was finished, Mother went into the kitchen and emerged a few minutes later bearing aloft a white-frosted cake with lighted candles.

The guests burst into song.
Happy birthday, dear Michelle.

Perennially delighted by the cake and the attention, Michelle laughed and blew out the candles.

“Born on the Fourth of July?” Luke said.

“Yeah. I forgot to mention it,” I murmured.

Why had I always felt this pang, as if the celebration of my sister’s birthday denied something to me? It didn’t make sense. Certainly I wasn’t envious of a song from these people.

With a wry smile, Luke said, “I hope your birthday’s livelier than this.”

I laughed. “Mine’s even quieter, actually. Just the three of us.”

“Not this year.” He stroked my back. “August 26. You’ll have a birthday to remember this time, I guarantee.”

I grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”

My sister, smiling prettily, laid cake slices on the guests’ plates. Rosario had made two cakes to ensure we’d have enough for everybody. Twenty-four years old, Michelle was today. Mature in some ways, still so childlike in many others.

Mother’s cherishing gaze never left Michelle’s face. However hard I tried, I never brought that look to Mother’s eyes, that soft smile to her lips. Some kind of obstacle had always stood between Mother and me, something that made us draw back from one another. For all her show of love and concern and closeness, for all the gentle touches, she withheld herself from me, while her love for my sister overflowed, uncontainable, demanding expression.

***

“Rachel.”

I turned to Dr. Aaron Krislov, distinguished professor of psychology at Georgetown University, a bearded man in blue Bermuda shorts and a yellow Izod shirt that stretched thin over his bulging belly. “Before it gets too dark,” he said, “could I wangle a look at your animals?”

Half a dozen others asked to go along. Luke and I led them down through the trees to see four orphaned baby raccoons and a battle-scarred squirrel. Everyone was disappointed to hear they’d missed the hawk.

***

When I stepped back onto the patio, I saw Mother and Theo in the kitchen. She stood straight and still, hands clasped, her eyes boring into Theo as she spoke words I couldn’t hear. He raised an arm a couple of times in a gesture I recognized as a plea, but she went on talking and didn’t allow him to interrupt. 

I spun around, searching for Michelle. She sat at a table chatting with Melinda Morse and nibbling the last of her cake.

When I reached her, I squeezed her shoulder hard enough to make her wince. “I want to talk to you.”

“Rachel—” She squirmed out of my grasp.

Dr. Morse’s big eyes got bigger.

I leaned close and whispered in Michelle’s ear, “You little rat. You told her, didn’t you?”

Michelle’s face went red. The tip of her tongue flicked over her lips, catching a stray crumb at the corner of her mouth. “Not everything,” she whispered back.

But enough to do damage, I’d bet. I left Michelle and maneuvered through the crowd to the sliding doors. When I pushed one open, Mother broke off before I could catch anything she was saying. Theo stood with his head bowed, one hand clutching his cane and the other raised to his mouth.

“Rachel,” Mother said, “you’re interrupting a conversation.”