Dancing in the Dark (25 page)

“Yes,” Leslie said in a low voice. “I do feel better now.”

“How did it feel to have everyone think you were crying wolf?”

“Awful, just awful.” Tears welled in Leslie’s eyes. “But I wish no
one had to die in order for people to believe me.”

His aunt hadn’t been bugging him nearly as much this afternoon. Ever
since she’d heard that someone had been arrested for kidnapping those
women, Aunt Emily seemed a lot more relaxed. She’d actually let Anthony
walk up the beach without asking him where he was going. He’d been able
to walk over to the Casino again, no problem.

Inside the dank and cavernous space, the mini-campsite was exactly
as he’d found it yesterday. But this time Anthony made himself
comfortable on the soiled yellow blanket and helped himself to one of
the sodas in the cooler. As he drank, his imagination wandered, trying
to picture whose blanket this was and who wore this ski jacket. Maybe
this was the place the guy in the army fatigues spent his time when he
wanted to get away from things. Maybe he even lived here.

Anthony wanted to know, but he sensed that he wasn’t going to find
out anything during the daylight hours. He had to come back when it was
dark. Then he could see if someone slept here at night.

Anthony slid out from under the concrete slab, his eyes adjusting to
the daylight again. He walked back down the beach, stopping a few times
to scrape at the sand with his big toe, trying to find a little crab or
something beneath the surface. As he got closer to the familiar beach
umbrella, he could see that his mother was sitting there along with
Michelle and his aunt Emily. Anthony jogged the rest of the way to
their beach blankets.

“Hey, Mom. What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I have a little break, and I thought I’d come down here and spend
some time with you guys.”

Anthony didn’t want to say it, but he was pleased. He glanced up
toward the boardwalk. “Where’s Matthew?” he asked.

“He went back to his place, but you can see him again tonight if you
want.”

“Cool. Is he having dinner with us again?”

“No. We’re meeting him afterward. There’s a summer concert. I
thought it might be fun if we all went,” said Diane.

Michelle rolled over on her beach towel and held her hand above her
eyes, squinting in the still powerful sun.

“Oooo! The Dave Matthews concert at the Arts Center?” she asked with
more enthusiasm than Diane had seen from her in quite a while. “I saw a
couple of flyers around here for that and I really wanted to go.”

“No, honey.” Diane braced herself. “I was thinking of the Ocean
Grove Summer Band at the Great Auditorium.”

Anthony paid no attention to his sister’s outraged protests. He was
wondering if his plan to sneak back into the Casino would still be
doable.

Diane was reminded of
Pollyanna
,
the old Disney movie, as she watched the people strolling on the Camp
Meeting grounds. Though everyone was dressed in the summertime fashions
of the new millennium, there was an atmosphere of yesteryear as they
ambled on the paths dotted with Victorian structures. In the summer
evening light, everything looked peaceful and secure. Only the yellow
police tape that still cordoned off the gazebo betrayed the trauma the
town had suffered.

“I’m glad they got the guy” said the first man Diane interviewed.
“But I feel sorry that he’s mentally ill. That makes it all sadder
somehow.”

“I haven’t been able to let my kids out of my sight. At least we can
relax now and enjoy the rest of our vacation,” a woman said. “I feel
bad saying that, though, because that poor girl’s parents must be in so
much misery. They’ll never have a totally happy vacation again.”

After getting a few more opinions, Matthew directed the crew to
spray the area for some general shots. “After you get those, you can
call it quits for the night. I’ll call you in the morning if it turns
out we have something to do for KEY
to America
.”

“So, we don’t have to shoot inside at the concert?” asked Sammy.

“No, we don’t need any more video,” Matthew answered. “You can
attend, though, if you want.”

“No thanks,” Sammy and Gary answered almost in unison.

“Why do
we
have to go if they
don’t?” asked Michelle as she watched the men leave.

“Because, it’s something different that we can all do together as a
family,” Diane answered. “It won’t hurt us to give it a try.”

The band began playing their repertoire of seaside music. A few
measures into “By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea,” Michelle
hissed to Diane, “Get me out of here.”

“Forget about the music if you don’t like it,” Diane whispered.
“Just sit back and look at this place. It’s amazing.”

Mammoth
was the only word to
describe it. The most impressive structure in Ocean Grove was almost
the size of a football field. Nearly seven thousand people could be
seated under the arched wooden tongue-in-groove ceiling. The massive
Hope-Jones organ, with its ten thousand pipes, some as small as a human
finger, was installed at the back of the sweeping stage. The acoustics
were perfect.

As Diane took in the magnificent surroundings, she noticed one of
the ushers at the door nearest their seats. The woman who stood beside
him holding on to the arm of his blazer looked familiar. It took Diane
a minute to place her. It was Helen Richey. She didn’t look happy.

Diane turned back to watch the stage. When she looked toward the
door again, the couple was gone.

“It’s never enough for you, is it, Helen?” Jonathan hissed, keeping
his voice low. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs. Let everyone
hear that he’d had it with the Ocean Grove Camp Meeting Association,
couldn’t stand living in the tent, and had no desire to be stone cold
sober all day, every day. “Here I am fulfilling my obligation to the
association, volunteering to serve as an usher at one of their concerts
when there are just about a hundred things I’d rather be doing
tonight—and you’re still not satisfied. I’ve just about given up on
making you happy, Helen.”

Helen was glad it was dark enough now that Jonathan couldn’t see the
tears welling up in her eyes. She followed him as he stalked up Pilgrim
Pathway but called out, asking him to stop before they turned onto Bath
Avenue. Once they got on their street, the neighbors would be able to
hear every word they said.

Jonathan spun around and waited for his wife to catch up. She
reached out to take his arm, but he pulled away.

“All right. I’m going to tell you why I’ve been harping and nagging.”

She couldn’t really see his facial expression, but she knew he was
looking down at her expectantly.

“It’s because I’ve been under an incredible amount of stress.”

“What stress?” asked Jonathan. “You’re spending your summer exactly
the way you want, aren’t you? If anybody’s under stress, it’s me,
Helen.”

“I know you don’t like it here, Jonathan,” she said softly. “And
maybe I’ve been wrong to insist we come here every summer. I’ll never
forgive myself if I’ve made you so unhappy that you’ve done something
crazy.”

“What are you talking about?”

Helen couldn’t stand it anymore. “Were you here in Ocean Grove last
Thursday? I looked in your wallet and found the real estate business
card with the note on the back that read Thursday, four o’clock.’”

“What in God’s name were you doing in my wallet, Helen?” There was
anger in his voice.

“Jonathan, believe me. I have never, ever gone into your wallet
before. It’s just that I had stood there and watched you lie to the
police about being there when Carly left the other night. And then I
compounded it by lying to the news people. It’s eating away at me,
Jonathan.”

“So you went through my wallet?”

“I didn’t know what I was looking for,” she stammered. “I guess I
was just hoping to find something to reassure me that everything’s
okay.” She lowered her eyes. “I’m ashamed of what I did,” she admitted,
“but that’s the truth.”

When she looked back up at him, Jonathan’s head loomed against the
night sky. If she was hoping her apology might induce him to offer an
explanation for the card in his wallet, she was in for a disappointment.

“Helen, you don’t need to know everything I do. I’m going for a
walk,” he announced. “I have some things to think about.”

As her husband strode down the street, Helen didn’t know what she
was going to do. But in the short run, she knew she had to get back to
the tent and relieve her neighbor Mrs. Wilcox, who was watching her
daughters. Jonathan could just walk away. She couldn’t.

“All self-injury—be it by cutting, burning, bruising, whatever—is an
attempt to relieve pain,” Dr. Messinger explained as he sat beside the
bookcase in his office.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Anna. “Hurting yourself to stop
hurting.” She’d gone home to change into a flowing cotton skirt and
felt confident that it covered all her self-injuries.

“No, it doesn’t, does it? And cutting is a quick fix, Anna. It
doesn’t solve anything.” Dr. Messinger glanced at the clock on the
wall. “Let’s stop for now, Anna. I’ll see you next week.”

Anna rose obediently, not sure whether she should be upset or glad.
She didn’t like the abrupt way Dr. Messinger ended their sessions. Once
again, just as she felt she might finally be gaining some understanding
about why she did what she did, Messinger would say they were out of
time. Still, Anna was always relieved when the therapy sessions were
over.

But she knew that part of her mental health depended on her ability
to assert herself. Tuesday night at nine o’clock was too late. She wanted Dr. Messinger to schedule her appointments
at a different time, but until now, she had been too timid to say so.

“Dr. Messinger?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“I wanted to ask you if you have another time slot for me. I’d like
something earlier.”

Messinger concentrated on his progress notes and didn’t raise his
head. “We can talk about it next week, Anna.”

She swallowed his dismissiveness, but before she walked out, she
pointed to the bookcase. “Where are all the colored binders?” she
asked. “I noticed you were writing in a new one for me today. It’s a
different shade of green.”

“I don’t want you to be alarmed, but someone broke into my office
over the weekend, Anna. The binders were taken.”

He watched her face. “You mean someone has all the notes you took on
me?” she asked, horrified. “Some stranger can know all the private
things I told you?”

“Anna, please. Try not to be upset. My notes are in my own
particular kind of shorthand. I doubt anyone could decipher them but
me.”

As she walked out into the parking lot, Anna wondered if she would
ever get well. She’d been going for over two years now, and though Dr.
Messinger said she was making progress, Anna didn’t see any
diminishment in the cutting or in her obsession with controlling her
food intake. Plus, she was terribly uncomfortable
with that razor blade therapy he insisted on using in the group. She
had watched Dr. Messinger taking copious notes during the group therapy
sessions. That always made her feel like she was being studied, not
treated. Now, his notes on her had vanished. Anna felt violated. Was
this some sort of sign? Should she start fresh with someone else?

Anna was deep in thought as she threw her bag across the bench seat
of her father’s old blue Crown Victoria, strapped herself in, and
carefully pulled the huge car out of the parking space.