House Arrest (22 page)

31 ~ Sam

At the slam of a car door, Sam looked up from the computer and rolled his desk chair to the window. Emily was home before Zoe’s school bus.

He had to admit she hadn’t reneged on her responsibilities to Zoe, even if she had let pretty much everything else slide during the two weeks since Pippa’s court hearing. The Sunday before, she served herself a two-inch square of Anna’s lasagna and carried it to her room. A headache, she mumbled on the way out of the kitchen, navigating as if the air had become ocean.

When Emily brought her plate back to the kitchen, Sam asked what was wrong. He didn’t tell her that he had observed the hearing from the back corner of the courtroom. Emily would have reminded him what he already knew: it was none of his business. But Pippa showed up when Zoe was in surgery and Sam wanted to return the favor. Besides, he was curious.

He didn’t tell Emily any of that. And she didn’t answer his question either.

“I’m fine,” she had insisted.

“Are you scared?” he asked. “Because of the cat?”

Emily just gave him a look. It meant scorn and regret that she ever told Sam and Anna about the murdered cat. But Sam could see behind the scorn and through the regret. Emily was drowning.

Sam knew that feeling. Thick, sunken, underwater. His drowning had started the day Zoe’s ultrasound showed the hole in her spine. After work the day after, he had waited for Anna in Forest Park. They were supposed to talk.

The park that afternoon had been a carnival of families. A guy in a Red Sox cap chased a toddler in and out of patches of sunlight. The boy glanced back and lost his balance, toppling sideways onto the grass. The dad scooped him up, babyfat legs still bicycling the air. Sam watched father and son, and his lungs began filling with seawater.

Sam stood alone in the shadow of the trees at the edge of the playground and watched Anna, alone, the wicker basket untouched on the picnic table. He wanted to sit close to her and share a beer. He had never been very good at figuring out what she was thinking, but that wasn’t true this time. Anna wanted to have this baby and he didn’t. Anna wouldn’t change her mind. The ocean surged between them and he couldn’t swim.

When he couldn’t think of any more excuses to wait, he waded through the face-painted children and parents chasing toddlers, through a tsunami of misgivings.

“Sorry I’m late,” he had whispered into her ear, nuzzling her hair. He used to love the smell of her scalp. He wondered what their baby’s scalp would smell like, and how he could be a good father when he couldn’t swim.

•

At the toot of Zoe’s school bus, Sam scooted back to the window. The bus driver helped Zoe down the stairs and handed Emily the backpack. Emily and Zoe disappeared under the roof of the front porch. Sam wanted to be downstairs, helping Zoe with her afternoon stretches. He tried to concentrate on his project, but building a website for two sisters from Ludlow selling hair-removal gel mixed in their garage couldn’t compete with his daughter.

He knocked twice on the kitchen door before walking in. Zoe sat at the table dipping carrot sticks into peanut butter.

“Okay if I spend some time with my Poose this afternoon?” he asked Emily.

“Look, Papa.” Zoe handed him a card. “I’m invited to Jessie’s birthday party Saturday. Ice cream and cake, and real clowns who make animals out of balloons.”

“Great.” He lifted Zoe onto his lap. “The eighteenth. Almost the solstice,” he said.

Emily ignored him, handed Zoe a glass of milk. “Don’t get your hopes up. You’re allergic to balloons.”

Zoe started to argue, but Sam interrupted. “Don’t worry. If your mother calls Jessie’s mom and explains, they’ll skip the balloons and you can go.” He flashed an annoyed look in Emily’s direction, but she had already turned back to the stove.

His solstice comment must have irritated her. But he forgot all about it and made up counting rhymes to accompany Zoe’s stretching exercises, then played Knock Knock jokes on the bathroom door while she did her catheterization.

Anna came home with a new story about the boy in her Family Life class. He left his cranky computerized baby doll strapped in the car seat in his sister’s car and she had an accident and totaled the car. The rescue squad used the Jaws of Life to extract the car seat and were furious it was just a doll. It put Anna in such a giddy mood that she invited Sam to stay for dinner, even though it wasn’t Sunday. Over dinner, they argued about whether the boy should be charged with something, or just flunk Family Life.

When Anna started scooping ice cream into bowls for dessert, Zoe remembered the invitation. “My first ever birthday party. Clowns and everything.”

“Clowns with balloons,” Emily said.

Sam knew this was a moment when he should shut up, but he couldn’t. “I’m sure if you call Jessie’s mom, she’ll nix the balloons, Anna.”

“Call right now, Momma.” Zoe bounced up and down on her chair.

“Okay. But you two keep quiet.” She pointed at Sam and Emily.

From the beginning the conversation didn’t sound promising. At first, Jessie’s mother didn’t seem to understand Anna’s explanations about latex allergy. Then she apparently didn’t agree that other games would be as much fun as balloon animals.

“I’m sorry.” She leaned over to hug Zoe. “She said no. She’s already put down a deposit for the clown.”

“Just this once?” Zoe’s voice was on the verge of crumbling. “After this party, I’ll never go near a balloon again.”

“It’s just a precaution, isn’t it?” Sam asked. “I mean, Zoe’s never had a reaction.”

“Doesn’t matter. Do you remember what happened to Marilee from clinic? How she ended up in the emergency room with her throat swollen shut? From balloons at her prom.”

Sam couldn’t believe it. “You’d keep her home from her prom because of the decorations?”

“We don’t have to worry about her prom yet. But we do have to worry about balloons on Saturday.” Anna crouched in front of Zoe. “Even if they’ve never bothered you before, you could have a bad reaction. You could die. I’m sorry.”

Anna turned to face Sam. “And I asked you to butt out.” Then she carried the howling Zoe out of the room.

As he washed dishes, Sam realized that Emily had been silent. Usually she was right in the middle of any health-related conversation. She sat at the kitchen table, staring intently at the wall, as if her mind were a trillion miles away. No, Sam decided, that’s not quite right. She looked like she had found something that had been missing. Emily looked like she had come up for air.

32 ~ Emily

I couldn’t stop thinking about hives.

Sitting at the kitchen table, in the eye of Zoe and Anna’s stormy argument about the birthday party and balloons and life’s not fair, my mind was stuck fast on hives.

I hadn’t actually seen Pippa’s hives, but I could picture them. After her shower, they blossomed like mutant scarlet cauliflower on her ankle, itching fiercely. Once she slipped a sock next to her skin, they slowly faded. When Anna explained to Zoe about balloons and latex allergy and anaphylaxis, when Zoe wept about missing the first birthday party she had ever been invited to outside of her family, that’s when I knew how to outsmart Pippa’s house arrest.

So it barely registered when Anna dragged our wailing child from the kitchen and carried her to her bedroom, promising that they would do something special on Saturday, just the two of them. I barely noticed the swish and clunk of Sam washing the dishes. I even forgot that I hadn’t actually come to a decision yet about whether or not to help Pippa.

I forgot all my promises. To Nan and Gina, to maintain a professional distance with Pippa Glenning and her oddly shaped family. To Anna, to think long and hard about actions that might be right, but had consequences I had never been willing to consider, had never wanted to face. To my other patients, to give them the care they needed, before someone else had a relapse.

I forgot that Sam had backed out on trying to help Pippa escape house arrest. Regretfully, he said, because he really liked Pippa. But it was just too dangerous.

I even forgot about Zoe, who would dearly miss me if I weren’t around.

“You okay?” Sam held a dishtowel and an upside down glass, which dribbled rinse water in a splotchy zigzag down the front of his jeans.

“I’m fine, but you’re leaking.” I pointed at his pants. “When Anna comes back, would you tell her I’m going out?

“Out where?”

I hesitated a moment. “To see Pippa.”

“You’re not going to . . .”

“This is none of your business.”

“I’m the guy who tried to help, remember? I’m on your side. I like Pippa.”

“Sorry, Sam. Just tell Anna, okay?”

Sam nodded. “Okay. I was wondering though. I can’t imagine where in the park they can find a place that is private enough, remote enough, for their ceremonies.”

I scrutinized his face, but it was relaxed and open. He’d never find their sacred dingle. I didn’t think I could find it again, by myself. Still, better not say too much. “I don’t know exactly where it was. There were rhododendrons.”

The car stalled twice in the icy night. How would Pippa react when I showed up? I had never been there in the evening, when her family was home. I had never ever visited a patient without an appointment.

But I was certain about what I was going to do.

33 ~ Pippa

Isis flickered in the candlelight. On the sofa across the room, Pippa resettled her tired feet on the pillows stacked on the coffee table, careful not to bump the teapot or disturb Newark’s raspy purring on her lap. The Tea Room had been insanely busy when they opened after Bast’s service.

“Almost,” Liz had suggested, “as if the Forest Park community knew we just had a funeral and folks stopped by to offer condolences.”

“But instead of bringing food,” Pippa said, “they come to buy cookies and drink tea?”

“Are you complaining?” Liz asked. “Because we really need the business.”

No complaints. Except that there hadn’t been a moment all afternoon to sit down. Pippa’s legs ached. Even after elevating her feet above the level of her heart for twenty minutes like Emily said, she could barely squeeze her pinky finger under the monitor strap. Did her ankles swell this early with Abby?

Everything about this pregnancy felt different. According to Emily’s pamphlet, the baby was only about five inches long. But this kid felt immense, a whale in her womb. Abby had been light, her movements like butterfly kisses from the inside. Even in deep toddler sleep, sprawled across Pippa’s chest and radiating that intense baby dampness, Abby had never been too heavy.

Pippa closed her eyes, imagined the heat of Abby’s red blanket sleeper on her chest, felt herself pacing her own breathing to her daughter’s rhythm. In four months, when this baby was born, Abby would have been two and a half. A good age for a big sister.

But Abby was gone, and Bast was gone, and Pippa wasn’t so sure about Tian. He said he loved her and her feelings hadn’t changed, not exactly. He just felt so awfully far away, wasting their phone calls talking about legal stuff. About the bald guard he was teaching to love Isis and wouldn’t it be neat if a prison guard could change his way of thinking?

And what did he mean on the phone last night?

“You’ve really got to be at the solstice celebration Tuesday night, babe,” he had said, his voice as gravelly as Newark’s.

Pippa didn’t know how to answer. “I’ll try.”

“Are you practicing the Mother Dance?”

“Adele’s helping me.”

“We’ll all do our best,” Tian had said, “to not let Isis down.”

What did he mean? How could he attend when he was in jail? When Pippa asked Francie, she said to ignore Tian’s grandiose ideas. Pippa wasn’t so sure.

Besides, what about not letting each other down? Wasn’t that more important?

He was right about one thing, though. She had better ask Adele to work with her some more on the choreography. Because one way or another, Pippa planned to dance.

When the bell rang, Pippa heard Jeremy and Timothy race to the door, jostling each other against the hallway. Then Marshall’s deep voice ordered them back to the kitchen, he’d take care of it.

They were all jumpy. There’d been a string of hang-up phone calls and a sedan with dark windows parked in front of their house at odd times. The old couple next door was acting even weirder than usual, posing on talk radio as the cult experts of Western Massachusetts. But the murmured sounds of the conversation at the front door rose and fell, merging with Pippa’s exhaustion, too calm and musical to be the neighbors. Then she recognized Emily’s voice.

“For you,” Marshall said from the arched doorway.

Emily looked insubstantial next to Marshall’s bulk, her skin a soft gold in the candlelight.

“Hi, Emily. Marshall, would you bring another mug?”

He walked toward the back of the house, careful not to touch Emily. Standing framed under the arch, she looked different, less starchy.

“Have a seat.” Pippa patted the cushion next to her.

“Are your legs bothering you?” Emily asked.

“Is that why you’re here? To check on my legs?”

Emily shook her head and sat down on the edge of the sofa. “No. I came to apologize. I’m sorry I told you to trust Nan. I thought that she would help about Bast. I trusted her and I was wrong.”

Pippa shrugged and turned to take the mug from Marshall.

“Thanks,” she said to him. When he didn’t leave she added, “It’s okay.”

The two women watched Marshall leave the living room. Pippa leaned forward and poured tea, then held a cup out to Emily.

“Thanks. Not raspberry leaf, is it?”

Pippa looked at her sharply.

“Joke,” Emily said, holding both hands up in a parody of surrender. “Sorry.”

Pippa smiled then. “Guess my sense of humor is a bit rusty.”

Emily took the tea cup. “I’m really sorry that Nan let us down.”

“Cops don’t help people like us. What did you expect?”

“Some measure of justice?”

“Right.” Pippa blew on the tea, sending a small cloud of steam into the air between them.

“I don’t know why I should expect justice. My father didn’t get justice.”

“What happened to your father?”

Emily rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t mean to say that. I came here to talk about you.”

“About me? Does that mean you’ll help?”

“First, explain a couple of things to me. Nan said something about gang violence, about prostitution?”

Pippa turned her face away. “I don’t know anything about gang violence. I heard there were problems in Newark, before Tian started the family. That’s part of worshipping Isis, to get away from that.”

Emily nodded. “Okay.”

“And the other? That was me, for a short time. I was a runaway. I had to eat.”

Emily’s face stiffened, like when they first met, then relaxed. She sipped her tea, then set the cup down carefully on the table.

“Listen, the only way I can think of for you to leave the house without prior approval is some kind of emergency. I’ll help you fake a medical crisis. That will give you a few hours for the ceremony. The monitor alarm will still register that you’re out of the house, but you’ll have a valid excuse.”

“How can I thank you?”

Emily held up her hand. “Not yet. There are three conditions.”

Big surprise, Pippa thought. “What are they?”

“One, you don’t tell anyone our plan,” Emily said. “Not even Tian.”

“That’s fair. I can do that.”

“Two, that you don’t drink the wine and drugs mixture. They could hurt your baby.”

“I don’t want that either. Number three?”

Emily looked square into Pippa’s face. “I go with you.”