Breakwater Bay (14 page)

Meri’s eyes ached from reading the faded writing. It was almost midnight. She should go to bed. She stretched out her arms, cracked her neck. And continued reading.

Meri stopped reading. Riley had stepped in front of a truck. On purpose? An accident? They would never know.
She
would never know. And suddenly it didn’t matter what happened next. Her mother had left her and stepped in front of a truck. Good God. If her life was so bad, why hadn’t she just gotten rid of the baby?
Rid of me,
Meri amended. And she had to admit she was glad Riley hadn’t taken that option.

Meri put the diary down. She was maxed out. She’d learned the gist of what she wanted to know. The rest could wait. She returned the diary to the box and the box to the closet. She got ready for bed, but she didn’t go to sleep. Riley Rochfort. Her mother. It was an unusual name—except in Newport circles. The name belonged to one of the minor gilded satellites, a contributor to restoration projects and on the boards of several philanthropic organizations.

Those Rochforts were a local family with a lot of clout. Was Riley one of them? Maybe the diary would tell her. Or maybe her grandmother would know. If not, there was always Google.

Meri settled down, determined to sleep, but sleep eluded her until the sky lightened into dawn. She knew how Pandora felt when she opened that jar and released all the evils on the world. The questions that whirled around in Meri’s brain might easily be her undoing. Where the answers led might be worse than not knowing.

W
hen the alarm went off at eight o’clock, Meri dragged out of bed and went to work.

Coffee was made, but there was no sign of Doug or Carlyn. Meri poured herself a half cup, not wanting to jangle her nerves more than lack of sleep and stress had already done, and lowered herself into a chair.

Between standing or sitting for hours a day with her neck crooked upward, and spending nights hunched over the diary, she ached in places she couldn’t even remember aching in before. Add the lack of uninterrupted sleep and she felt—and probably looked—like the living dead.

She’d attempted makeup this morning, but it hadn’t done much to conceal the dark circles under her eyes.

“Unlike my ceiling,” she groused.

“What about your ceiling?” Carlyn struggled through the doorway, holding two heavy file boxes.

Meri pushed the chair back to help.

“Stay put. I’m almost there.” Carlyn staggered over to the kitchen table and dropped the boxes. She pressed both hands to the small of her back and stretched. “And before you ask, yes, there are more, but I think I’ll wait for an intern to show up.”

“So what’s in them?”

“Doug’s files. His wife has decided to renovate his home office and turn it into a den.” Carlyn squawked out a laugh. “Are you ready? At work or at home, the poor guy can’t get a decent place to park his butt.”

“Exactly how many are there?” Meri asked, frowning at the corner that held Doug’s curbside desk and a mountain of books and files tipping precariously into the room.

“He’ll have to move upstairs to one of the empty rooms. He likes to be where the action is, but I’m not giving up my office. Besides, he wouldn’t have enough room there. I’ll fix it up nice . . . enough.”

She stopped, looking at Meri for the first time. “Wow, who beat you up?”

“That bad?”

“Honey, please tell me you and Peter reconciled and were burning up the sheets all night, and that you’re not staying up worrying about”—she lowered her voice—“the adoption thing.”

“No Peter, though I’m supposed to see him tonight.”

“It’s the other?”

Meri nodded.

Carlyn pulled out a chair and sat next to her. “You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet. I’m still trying to assimilate it all.”

“Well, it doesn’t change a thing about you.” Carlyn leaned over and pulled Meri into a hug. “You are who you are and we love you.”

“Thanks,” Meri said, hugging her back. She felt very close to tears. “Well, I’d better get to work.” She stood and gave Carlyn’s shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks, girlfriend.”

M
eri checked out a respirator and a hard hat, filled a large container with the vinegar-and-water solution that she used to clean off paint, and climbed the scaffolding to the ceiling.

The section she had cleaned was promising, but depressingly small compared to the area still covered with paint, soot, and grime. She needed a section at least twice as large in order to show the pattern in situ and how it would look when the restoration was finally completed. And a flash of brilliant color and gold ought to garner some enthusiasm for completing the project. Not that she’d seen any more gold since the first day. Probably destroyed, if it ever existed. But maybe, just maybe there was enough left to imagine the original.

She’d lost precious time looking for mold yesterday. The only place she hadn’t looked was underneath the medallion. Mold could undermine all their work. It destroyed surfaces and made layers unstable. Not to mention its toxicity. But mold around electricity meant moisture, which could be dangerous. There was no lighting fixture associated with the current medallion, but houses of that period generally had chandeliers. She’d have to look.

Besides, Meri was really hoping the original medallion had been smaller and more proportionally correct, and that removing the replacement would reveal some intact design of the original ceiling, not a black mess that would have to be destroyed.

She would need help to remove it, but first she would score the seam so that it would come away cleanly without cracks and tears that might destroy any of the original pattern that might be underneath.

Meri stood beneath it, a giant wart that been painted in several layers of oil-based psychedelic colors before being covered in latex white. When she’d first sounded it weeks before, she’d been hoping for a later date foam replacement that would be much lighter and easier to remove. But no such luck. It was plaster. And heavy. At least she wouldn’t be responsible for cleaning it.

It would be sent straight to the salvage yard.

She strapped on the ventilator and applied a mild solvent around the edges of the medallion. Then she went back to her cleaning while she waited for the solvent to soften the outermost layers of paint.

By the time Meri broke for lunch, she was feeling a little wonky. She hadn’t eaten breakfast and she hadn’t brought anything for lunch.

She had a headache, probably from the respirator and hard hat. She left them on the scaffolding and climbed down. Joe was already back at work and two of the interns who were repairing woodwork were consulting about a windowsill.

By three o’clock Meri was back on the scaffolding. She cleaned off the solvent and soft paint and sealed the goop in a plastic bag. There were still layers of hard paint left. She could apply more solvent, but that meant that she would have to wait until tomorrow to have it removed. And she really didn’t think that would be necessary. The worst was gone and now only dried cracked paint remained.

She laid out various size knives and putty knives and took a good look at the painted medallion.

She was itching to find out what was beneath it. Would it be raw plaster or possibly a preserved pattern? Hopefully, not any forgotten live wires.

Meri began carefully scoring a line around the base of the medallion.

When she finished scoring the entire circumference, she went back and began to carve out an angled cut to loosen it from the last few layers of paint.

She changed to a heavier-weight utility knife and made a shallow cut at an angle to the scoring. Then she lifted out a small section with the tip of her knife and continued to make another cut and another until she’d cut out a third of the circumference. Each time she cut, she tested the medallion, checking for any movement that might indicate weakness in the attachments.

Everything went fine until she was a quarter of the way around. When she made the next cut, a sprinkling of paint flaked away. Not a good sign. It could mean poorly laid plaster or possibly more water damage. She slowed down, cutting and testing the weight with her free hand.

After the first sprinkle of plaster, it seemed solid enough. She continued around the edge of the medallion. When she was halfway around, she felt a slight shift.

At first she thought she’d imagined it, then without warning, the whole medallion fell in a screech of rusted bolts and falling plaster.

The knife flew out of her hand as she reflexively grabbed the medallion with both hands, attempting to hold it in place and prevent it from breaking into pieces. Plaster dust and paint chips rained down on her head, clogging her nostrils and blinding her.

“Heads up!” she screamed as plaster fell onto the scaffolding and down to the floor.

She could hear urgent voices and running feet below.

“Meri! Meri! Are you okay up there?”

She coughed and tried to clear her throat, but it was filled with dust. “Yeah,” she said hoarsely. “But the center medallion just came loose. I’m trying to hold it in position, but I need help.”

“I’m coming up, don’t move.” Doug’s voice.

She coughed and spit out plaster. “No, I’m fine. You stay there. Send me a couple of interns.” Her arms were getting tired, and her legs had begun to shake, but she didn’t know what, if anything, was holding the medallion to the ceiling.

Footsteps clattered on the ladders, and two pairs of hands relieved her of the weight.

“Careful,” she said. “I don’t know what’s under that. There may be wires.”

The two interns held it steady as Joe Krosky reached the top and hurried over with a high-beamed flashlight. “Wires are tied off. Lower it gently. Gently now.”

The two men lowered the heavy plaster decoration while Joe grabbed one of Meri’s knives and cut the final adhesions of paint away. They moved it away and deposited it at the end of the scaffolding.

“Meri!” Joe said. “You’re bleeding.”

She’d been vaguely aware of a searing pain in her left hand, but she’d forgotten about it as the medallion was lifted away to reveal gold.

“Meri!”

“What’s going on up there?” Doug’s voice from below.

“Meri’s hurt,” Joe said.

“I can see the pattern,” Meri called down to him. “It’s real gilt. I’m sure of it.”

“Meri, are you okay?” Carlyn’s question seemed to come from far away.

Joe had moved up to her. “What did you do to your hand?”

Meri lifted her hand and tried to focus on it through a haze of plaster dust and fog. Blood was oozing across the fine layer of dust that coated her hand, turning it into a pink paste. Fresh blood dripped down her arm, soaking the sleeve of her sweatshirt. At first it didn’t register, then she realized it must have happened when she dropped the knife.

Now the pain came with a vengeance. “Better tell them to put a tarp down. Don’t want to drip on the floor.”

“Forget the floor. Let me see.”

She held up her hand.

“Joe, what’s happening up there? Is Meri all right? Should I call an ambulance?” Doug’s voice was strident.

“Stay put, Meri, I’m coming up.” Carlyn started up the ladder.

“Do you think you can climb down?” Joe asked

“Of course. But I need something to keep the blood off the floor.”

Joe looked around. Found nothing. Pulled off his hoodie. “It’s not too clean.”

“Kind of academic at this point. Thanks,” Meri said. She wrapped her hand in his sweatshirt. “This will do until I get down. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you down.”

Carlyn met her as she reached the ladder. “Turn around. I’ll spot you on your way down.”

Meri tried to nod, but the movement made her dizzy. She was definitely going to need help getting down.

She grasped the rail with her right hand, reached her foot for the first rung. Joe hovered over her like a redheaded gargoyle. She reached for the next rung and felt Carlyn’s hand on her butt.

“I’ve got you, just one step at a time.”

It seemed an eon before Meri had both feet on the floor. She cradled her arm in her good hand. “Doug. Look up. The ceiling.”

Everyone looked up, including Meri. She swayed on her feet.

“We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Sorry to cause such a fuss.” Was she slurring her words?

“Now.” Doug wrapped his beefy arm around her waist.

“I’ll get your purse and coat.” Carlyn took off in a blur.

“Don’t let me drip on the floor,” Meri said and let Doug lead her away.

T
he emergency room nurse took one look at Meri and ushered her through the door that led to the examining rooms. Carlyn was allowed to come with her, but Doug was left dealing with insurance and pacing in the waiting room.

“Do you want me to call your grandmother or your dad?”

“No. I don’t want to worry them.” Her hand was beginning to throb, and there was fresh blood seeping out of the towel that somehow had replaced Joe’s sweatshirt. She was worried enough for everyone. What if the knife had hit a nerve?

“Didn’t you have a date with Peter tonight?”

“Oh God, I forgot.”

The curtain that surrounded the gurney opened and a man wearing a white coat and stethoscope entered.

Must be a doctor,
Meri thought. Her brain seemed to be slowing down. She grasped weakly at Carlyn’s arm. There was something she meant to say, but she couldn’t remember.

The doctor introduced himself. His name flew right over her head. She squinted at his name tag. Couldn’t read it.

Carlyn touched her arm. “I’ll take your phone and call him, okay?”

Meri nodded. “Tell him something’s come up; I’ll call him later.”

Carlyn nodded and left; she was replaced by a nurse in blue scrubs.