Girl in the Rearview Mirror Page 16

  Distantly I heard a door slam. A single, clear yell that echoed.

  I counted. I remembered the importance of counting. I sobbed, shoved my fist against my teeth. Shut up! I had to count, to breathe into her.

  The gate clanged, and they were there. Shadows over us. A confusion of voices.

  Marina grabbed my arm. “You’re hurting her!”

  Any minute, Amabel would cough and push me away. Stop it, she’d say for herself.

  The Senator’s voice was too loud. He was giving someone directions. Philip stood at the periphery of my vision, saying, “Wait, wait!” to no one in particular.

  My breath couldn’t get into her. It was like blowing into a balloon that wouldn’t inflate. I had plenty of air, too much, I was breathing like a marathoner. The sting of chlorine was in my nose, my mouth.

  Marina was talking to Amabel, imploring, threatening. What’s wrong, what happened, get up.

  The Senator put his arm around her. “I’ve called an ambulance. They’ll be here soon. Try to stay calm.”

  Amabel’s swimming suit bottoms were inside out, the flounce of the skirt crumpled under the waistband. Her body jerked stubbornly, resisting air.

  Once more I lifted my palms to her bird’s chest.

  “That’s enough, I think,” the Senator said.

  There was a long silence. The day trickled in. Chirping sparrows. The shark rasping against the walls of the pool.

  I brought a hand to my face. The sting wasn’t chlorine but salt. Philip lifted me by the armpits like a child. I clung to him, my face pressed into his shirt, soaking the fabric.

  Marina let out a hiss.

  Philip pushed me away, gently. He hadn’t hugged me back. He reached for Marina, but she turned away.

  “Where were you?” She slapped me. Her ring scratched my cheek, a sharp diamond slash. “Where were you!”

  Philip pulled her into him, murmuring quietly. They stepped away from me, arms around each other in a slow dance.

  I sank to the deck beside Amabel. My hands hovered over her, forming a mute wriggling sign language. Gently, I squeezed the water from her hair. I remembered the box of cornstarch, rubbing it into her slippery, beautiful hair, the comedy of age on her baby face. Powder drifted over the kitchen floor, and we’d glided through it, taking running starts, Amabel’s laughter maniacal.

  The air filled with a shrieking sound. Marina’s kettle. Amabel’s fever. The dog pinned to her neck in the hotel bed. Her fist a microphone as she danced. A giant splash as Philip boosted her from the water. I’m a mermaid.

  The noise got louder and louder. Sirens.

  The gate slamming, radios crackling, shouting. The patio filled with people. I was pushed aside. Amabel was on a stretcher, tiny. A plastic cup over her mouth, cutting into her delicate skin. The Martins staggering behind, Marina’s arm around the warm equator of Philip’s stomach.

  Somehow I was on the driveway watching the ambulance pull away.

  A crowd of uniformed men stood about, aimless but alert. Two policemen seemed to be in charge. They talked with a fireman at the foot of the driveway.

  The Senator went down to meet them, his head bowed. He looked as he did when taking the podium for a difficult speech. Solemn, weary, calm.

  The men nodded deferentially at the Senator. They gathered in a triangle, conferring.

  One of the cops had been nudged out. He noticed me standing alone. “Miss? Are you all right?”

  I felt a surge of tears. I was still wet and shivering. I crossed my arms.

  The Senator withdrew from his conversation and joined us.

  “Are you the victim’s sister?” the cop was saying.

  The Senator put his arm around me. I felt protected and passive, like a doll to be handled. “Finn is a friend of the family. She was visiting today.”

  “Did you find the victim?”

  “She dove into the pool,” the Senator said. “She administered CPR until the paramedics arrived. She might have saved the girl’s life.”

  The police officer tilted his head. “Are you able to confirm that for me, miss?”

  The Senator’s hand squeezed my shoulder, as if encouragingly. I whispered a yes.

  In the cop’s sunglasses, my hair was in snakes, my shirt clinging to my skin.

  “Was anyone supervising the child?”

  The Senator said, “She was supposed to be napping. She was an obedient girl. We never thought she’d wander.”

  “Is there a gate around the pool?”

  “Of course.” The Senator pinched the crook of his nose. “It’s always locked. I’ll show you. First, I’d like to send Finn home. She’s had a shock.”

  “Sir—”

  The Senator held up a hand. “I’ll answer all your questions in time. If you need Finn, you can speak to her later. Please. We’re all stunned here. I’d like to get to the hospital myself.”

  He put his hand on my back, lightly, and guided me to his car.

  “It’s too late,” I blurted. My teeth were chattering. “Do they know that?”

  The Senator sighed. “They have remarkable technology now. It’s just a matter of getting there in time.”

  “But what if we waited too long?” My voice jumped at the end, a teary hiccup.

  The Senator slowed. He took both my shoulders in his hands and bent so his famous face was inches from mine, enormous and craggy, its features distorted by the closeness. Capillaries threaded his nose. He was old, but far from frail; he looked cold and hard, like ancient rock. His grayish tongue wetted his lips before he spoke.

  “I don’t want you to think too much about this. There’s nothing anyone can do now. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t. It was like the platitudes trotted out at a funeral—she’s in a better place now, she’ll be young forever—but spoken insistently, like an instruction.

  “Accidents happen,” he whispered. “We believe we’re in control, but accidents do happen. That’s what this was. It doesn’t have anything to do with you. All right?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” He gave my arm another squeeze, and headed back to the house.

  His driver materialized behind me. He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and opened the car door. I stared after the Senator. He was stooped with exhaustion. Then he wiped his palm on his pants with a disgusted gesture. He must have gotten wet, touching me.

  The driver cleared his throat, and I ducked into the car.

  “Where did they take Amabel?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  He didn’t ask where I lived. He drove like a robot, quickly and precisely. It was too quiet. I couldn’t even hear the hum of tires on the road. Cold air streamed from the vents. I sat cross-legged under the blanket. My feet were bare; my shoes must have fallen off in the pool.

  We passed familiar fields, stucco strip malls, parking lots. People were everywhere, carrying shopping bags and talking on their phones. The tinted windows turned the sky a deep blue, as if it were beautiful.

  The driver took me to Bryant’s. Without speaking we rode up in the elevator. He had a key. The condo was empty and quiet. He followed me inside, filled a glass of water at the sink. Wrapped my fingers around it.

  “Do you need a sleeping pill?”

  I shook my head.

  “You should.” He’d removed his sunglasses. His eyes were small for his wide face.

  I’d never really looked at him before. He’d probably gotten this job out of the military. His huge arms dangled away from his sides. He must wear a gun, though he hid it well. When we’d come in, he’d glanced rapidly around Bryant’s great room, from the ceiling to the floor. Now his gaze was fixed on me.

  I shrank away.

  “Sleep is the best medicine.” He took a silver case from his jacket pocket. Two blue pills the size of almonds clattered onto the counter. He watched as I swallowed one.

  “Go on and sit.” He tossed a throw pillow to the end of the couch.

 
I awkwardly lay down, balling myself up. I was wet and cold. I sensed the loom of the driver, but I lost the energy to worry. My eyes dropped, flung open, dropped. I fell and jerked up like I was going to fall into the pool. I thought I might vomit. My eyelids were too heavy. I couldn’t move.

  I heard the click of the door shutting.

  I slept.

  20

  I woke feeling soggy. Someone was hammering on the door.

  When I sat, my head throbbed. Dampness lingered at the small of my back, the nape of my neck.

  Amabel had drowned.

  I pushed the thought down and it bobbed up again, like an ice cube in a glass.

  The knocking increased in tempo.

  Marina stood at the door looking just as she had the day I met her. Clean and fresh in white linen, impossibly crisp. Tortoiseshell sunglasses, red lipstick, thin strips of gold dangling from her ears. Serene as a woman in an advertisement.

  I thought: The doctors saved her! Of course. They’d never let Amabel Martin die. Gasping, I reached for Marina’s arm.

  She leaned away. My purse dangled from her hand, and she held a manila envelope tucked under her arm.

  “I woke you.” Her voice was cool and flat. “Why don’t you go freshen up?” She stepped inside and shut the door with a hushed click. “Go. I’ll wait.”

  Sleep still dragged on me; I stumbled down the hall. In the powder room, I blinked at the papery face in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, white flecks gathered at the corners of my lips. On my cheek, an angry pink puffiness rose where Marina’s ring had scraped me. I splashed my face with cold water, swirling a palmful in my mouth. I pushed the damp tangles of hair back from my forehead. Never, I’d never leave Ammy alone again, not for a minute. I hurried back out.

  Marina stood staring at the floor, still wearing her sunglasses.

  “Are you all back from the hospital?” I asked.

  Marina paused, as if someone might whisper the answer to her. Slowly, she set my purse on the bench. She pulled off her sunglasses and folded them in her hand.

  When I saw her eyes, my hope evaporated. They were glossy, wide, restless. The eyes of a nervous horse. They roved the hallway, staring everywhere but at me.

  I sank onto the bench. “They didn’t save her.”

  She shook no tersely, a micro-motion, as if holding something balanced on her head. Her eyes swept my face and looked away, took in Bryant’s cavernous living room. His ice machine clunked.

  My fingers found the cut on my face and dug.

  “I drove your car over.” Marina cleared her throat. “The keys are in your bag. And your phone. I’m afraid it’s broken. It fell in the pool.”

  My purse slumped beside me. Was Marina really apologizing for my phone? I heard myself murmur, “It must have been in my pocket.” I swallowed the rest of the sentence . . . when I jumped in. The morning sun glittered off the subtle metallic wallpaper, and my eyes winced shut. But then it felt like my body was underwater, bobbing; ill, I opened my eyes and leaned forward.

  “Finn?” Marina touched my shoulder. “Finn? You need to eat something. Those pills aren’t good on an empty stomach.”

  I squinted up at her. “I only took one.” There was something in her expression, her jaw; she was anxious, but I couldn’t think why. The worst had happened. She should be despondent, or angry, furious, with me. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was watching her. I always watched her.”

  She drew back, stiffening, and I braced myself—like yesterday, like her cry, her slap. Where were you! Instead, she took a breath, a deliberate, yogic inhale. Without meeting my eyes, she said, “That’s not a road we want to travel.” Again, her voice was calm. She sounded polished and impersonal, as if I were being laid off from a faceless corporation. Smoothly, she drew the envelope from under her elbow and held it out to me.

  It was light, full of paper. “What is this?”

  “Something for you. For your time with us.”

  My thoughts were delayed, meaning arriving long after speech, like an echo. “No. I don’t want anything. I’m so sorry.” I fumbled. The envelope dropped to the floor.

  Marina inclined as if to pick it up, but instead laced her fingers together. “It will be better for everyone if we consider this chapter closed.”

  “What about the funeral?”

  “There will be a small private gathering for Amabel. It will be easier that way. Trust me. It’s for the best.”

  Already she was turning away, sliding her glasses on. Opening the door and shutting it behind her, gently.

  For a long time I sat there. The sun played over the oyster-colored walls, the glinting textured wallpaper that so maddeningly reflected the light. I welcomed the pain in my eyeballs, the throbbing headache and thirst, tracking the layers of discomfort with grim satisfaction. Deserved, all of them.

  Eventually I dug my phone from the bag. The plastic screen guard was puckered. The screen was crushed, a starburst that splintered my reflection. I never carried it in my pockets. It would have been in my purse, in the laundry room closet. Maybe I’d been carrying it and forgot, in the chaos. I didn’t care. I dropped it into the bag.

  I showered, a hundred gallons of steaming water pounding down my back. The waste of it was satisfyingly ugly. I dressed in Bryant’s gym clothes. Gathered my damp things and buried them in the garbage, then scrubbed my hands.

  I sat on the couch with the envelope, hopeful and afraid. Mementos of Amabel, maybe the drawings she’d made of our princess story. I eased the flap open, careful not to tear it.

  Cash. I shook it out on the coffee table. Hundred-dollar bills, crisp and green. I sorted them into stacks of ten and made ten stacks total. I counted again. I hadn’t made a mistake. Hands shaking, I stuffed the money back in the envelope. I’d never seen so much cash, not a fraction of it.

  The bills were new, fresh, as if they’d gone to the bank that very morning. It was that important to them, the day after Amabel died, to give me money, to tell me they didn’t want to see me again.

  21

  The imprint of the booster seat etched into the upholstery. A ghostly outline of the garage door opener on my visor. The tiny sunglasses in the glove compartment.

  Amabel was everywhere.

  My brain kept tripping over this new reality. It was not possible that what had happened had happened.

  I pulled into a gas station. I expected everyone to stare, loss stamped on my face. No one noticed. I bought a cup of greasy coffee. Rotated a rack of sunglasses, tried on a few pairs, checked my reflection in the mirror. All ugly. I felt hideous for caring. I grabbed a random pair and paid with my credit card. Then I dropped into a mobile store and bought the cheapest phone, $200.

  In less than an hour, I’d spent a quarter of what was in my bank account.

  At home, I stashed the Martins’ cash in my freezer, propped against a bottle of vodka. I lay in bed. I felt desperately lonely, clutching my empty, silent phone. I tried to compose a text to Bryant, but everything I typed out seemed pitiful, or false. Have you heard, where are you, please let me explain—

  I erased them all. Obviously, he’d heard what happened. Hated me.

  I should have gone straight to the pool when I’d found her room empty. It was the most dangerous place, I should have ruled it out before I checked anywhere else. I should have called for help right away.

  I shouldn’t have been listening to the Martins at all. Bryant was right, I should have kept out of their business.

  When he finally called at noon I didn’t dare answer.

  I ran. Out of my apartment, down the ugly side streets, the sidewalks all to myself. The businesses in this area never got busy. A dollar store, money-wiring office, a self-operated car wash where looped black hoses dripped dirty water on the ground. After a mile, the streets gradually improved. Here was a McDonald’s; after another four blocks, a Starbucks (though only a drive-through kiosk). I turned east, where a flat city park cleared a view of the Martins’ mountain. The l
ayer of smog over the valley obscured the base so it seemed to hover like a cloud.

  I was soaked in sweat. I put my hands on my knees and gasped. A bee crawled across the curb inches from my sneakers. Its body was half crushed; I considered stepping on it, putting it out of its misery. I couldn’t. I turned back.

  At home, I had five missed calls from Bryant.

  I showered again before I called him back. He answered immediately.

  “Finn? Thank God. What happened to you?”

  “You didn’t hear?”

  “Of course I heard. I’ve been calling and calling. Are you okay?”

  I laughed. “No. I’m really not.”

  “I can’t believe it. It’s shocking. I don’t understand how it happened.”

  “It was an accident,” I said, disgusted by my lie.

  “That’s what Jim said.”

  I gathered my hair into my fist and tugged it. “Yes. He was there.” He’d have told Bryant, I thought; told him how I’d failed.

  “Hold on.” The phone was muffled, but I heard voices. “Sorry,” he said. “Finn?”

  “When are you coming back?” I said.

  “Well . . .” His voice was on tiptoes. “I got back this morning.”

  “What? I was at your place—you weren’t.”

  “We’re in emergency mode. I need to be here for Jim.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Don’t sound like that.”

  “Like what?” I had my ear close to the phone. He sounded guilty, evasive. But I was the one who should be guilty. A bitter taste rose in my mouth. I dug in my purse for a mint and found a watermelon sucker, Ammy’s favorite.

  “Trust me, I know how it sounds. But things are up in the air right now. I just need to be here.”

  “Up in the air?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it on the phone.”

  We were silent a moment. I nibbled the ridge around the candy.

  “I miss you.” I hated the neediness in my voice. I didn’t deserve comfort.

  “I know,” he said. “I hate the idea of you being alone.”