Key West (26 page)

“Jim?” Billy said, her eyes wide. “Help me.”

“Don’t do this to him,” Sonnie said. “I intend to get some opinions soon. Just as soon as I feel I can leave Key West.”

“You can leave
now,”
Billy said. “Why wouldn’t you be able to? There’s nothing keeping you here, is there?”

Only a need to look for the reason why I lost control of my car. I’m not the panicky type. When I was told that Frank had been abducted, I’m sure I felt bad for him, but it wouldn’t have upset me for myself. I wouldn’t have had an accident because of the news. I didn’t love him anymore. He made sure of that. I don’t love him now, and I don’t know why I ever thought I did.

“Sonnie? Answer me. Is there anything keeping you here?”

“Don’t interrogate your sister like this,” Jim said.

“I’ve got to look after the dog,” Sonnie said. “He isn’t well enough to travel right now.” Desperation could make a person say really dumb things, Sonnie thought, and turned hot.

“Dog?” Billy said.
“Dog?
What dog?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you I got a dog, didn’t I? He’s such a dear little thing, but he hurt his stomach and needs to heal. He needs a lot of attention right now.”

Billy leaned close and patted Sonnie’s cheek. “Dear little Baby,” she said, “dear, wounded little sister. I’ve got to help you face up to the truth. You just want something to love, and a dog is the closest you can get to what you want most. Your baby died, Sonnie. You can’t replace a dead baby with a dog.”

Darkness edged into Sonnie’s mind. She stared, but the scene faded. Billy was talking again but from a great distance. All feeling had left Sonnie’s body.

Α gentle shaking—Jim shaking her shoulder very carefully—slowly dispelled the protective shield she’d closed around her. He was smiling at her again.

“You’re frail,” he told her. “Why wouldn’t you be? You’ve been to hell and back and you’re doing so well. Will you allow me to say a few things to you?”

Sonnie stared at him and nodded.

“Your sister is a sweet, gentle—completely undiplomatic woman. I’m a man who doesn’t make decisions easily, but I’ve fallen in love with her.”

Billy said, “You say dreadful things, then make me cry. You’re a beast, Jim Lesley.”

“Try to sit quietly,” Jim told her, “until I’ve finished telling Sonnie what I see here. Or maybe until I tell her something about myself that could help her. I’m not your doctor, Sonnie, but I am a doctor. A psychiatrist” He gave a breathy laugh. “I don’t know much about scheduling plastic surgery, but it seems you should probably get an evaluation soon. Does your leg hurt?”

“Yes. It probably always will. My tolerance for the pain increases, though.”

“Brave girl,” Jim said. “Anyway, regardless of my medical training, I’m not
your
doctor. I can’t advise you as a practitioner unless you ask me to, but I can speak as a friend, and as a man. I’m on R and R, Sonnie. I’ve got a private clinic. It’s very successful, and it demands almost everything I’ve got to give. A day came when I knew that if I didn’t get away and regroup, I was likely to be occupying one of my own beds. The task I’ve given myself is to decide what’s really important. That means I’ve got to face up to where I am in my life, and why, and if the answers add up to a situation that’s injuring me, I’ve got to change course. Scary as hell, but no scarier than risking burning myself out.”

“Does any of that sound familiar to you—as if I could be talking about where you are today?”

She could tell him none of it was applicable, or she could say that if she examined what she was doing in Key West, she might find out she was hurting herself. Only she wouldn’t tell him that because, unlike him, she wasn’t prepared to change course.

“It’s the biker,” Billy said, producing a small mirror and checking her makeup. “Not entirely, but mostly. She’s unbalanced—or not herself anyway—and he’s taking advantage of that. Why else would he give her any attention, especially now? He sees an easy meal ticket, and she’s leaning on him because she’s lost. I’m going to contact her doctors and ask advice.”

Stiff from sitting too long, Sonnie pushed to her feet and gripped the edge of the table until her spine loosened up.

“Sit down,” Billy said. “We’re going to order a meal soon.”

“I hope it’s good. I’m going to have to beg off. I hope you’ll excuse me, but I’ve already been here longer than I intended to be. It’s time to feed Wimpy.”

Billy snapped her compact shut. “Wimpy?”

“My substitute baby.”

The last time Chris had been in Key West, Mallory Square Sunset had been a place to avoid. Street entertainers had reached combative terms with each other and often fought over prime spots where the tips were best. Beggars had passed the quietly insulting phase and were openly aggressive. Bad jugglers and worse magic acts had abounded, and the crowd frequently included those—both men and women—who shed clothes to show off body piercings. Α young man might lie on a bed of nails with a concrete slab on his lap and request volunteers to break the slab with a hammer.

Overall the vibes became malignant. Chris had had enough trouble with his own internally generated “bad feelings” and avoided the place completely for years.

Eventually the powers that be had cleaned up “Sunset,” and the wowed gawkers had returned to take photographs of the sinking sun, photographs soon destined to be forgotten.

If Bo hadn’t been down to a merchants’ meeting near the square this evening, Chris wouldn’t have known where to look for Sonnie. In truth it might have been some time before he realized she wasn’t still with her sister.

The sunset hour was upon them, but there was no sunset. The unholy calm that had pressed down on the area in midafternoon remained. All that seemed to move was the gradually encroaching darkness.

He crossed the red brick-paved square to a walk that edged the water. A few staunch photographers—no doubt visitors for the day determined to get a shot of something they could point out as the sunset—craned their necks to see past a moored cruise ship. A vendor hawked conch fritters in a tone that never changed, at intervals that never varied, while stray cats feasted on scraps.

At the farthest point to his right, past an evangelist who was the sole listener to his own lesson on the meaning of sin, Chris saw Sonnie. She sat with her legs hanging over the water, and gazed toward the Gulf and the lights on Sunset Key. From a distance she seemed completely motionless.

Α
bad feeling
didn’t come close to what was going on inside his head, his body. Was she preparing herself to tell him she intended to leave Key West? How would he respond to that? What would he do? Would he do anything?

Or was he feeling something else, something he’d persuaded himself was over: that Sonnie was in danger?

At first he hurried toward her, but the closer he drew, the slower his feet moved. When he could actually see her profile, he could hardly move at all. Remote and lovely, with no particular expression, she still conveyed sadness.

That sister of hers had done something, said something to hurt Sonnie.

He arrived behind her.

“You found me,” she said. “How did you manage that?”

 “I’d like to say I closed my eyes and knew you were here. Bo saw you.”

“Dear Bo.”

“Yeah, dear Bo.”

“I’ve got to make up my mind—about what I should do.”

Chris settled a hand on her shoulder. “I thought that’s what you might be doing here.” Deciding whether to stay or go. He wanted to figure in her calculations, but feared he didn’t. “May I sit with you, or would you rather I left you alone?”

She covered his hand on her shoulder. “Sit with me.”

He did as she asked, trying not to feel too exhilarated. “You sad, kid?” He put an arm lightly—and, he hoped, nonthreateningly—around her shoulders.

“Maybe.” Her gaze remained fastened on the seascape. “I cry too much these days. I never used to cry at all. Not as far as I can remember.”

“Tears have a purpose. Good for you. They say if men cried more, they’d live longer.”

Sonnie looked at him, and the look stole his breath. She searched his face as if she were trying to see inside him. Her smile was a relief. “Start crying, then,” she said. “Cry a lot. I’ll buy the tissues.”

All the years of hiding what he really felt had left him unprepared for moments like this. Offering her his hand, he waited until she placed her palm against his, and he took her fingers to his mouth. Never looking away from her face, he kissed each one. The faintest blush rose in her cheeks.

In the silence that followed, they sat holding hands and facing the hot, thickening gloom.

“The tissue bit,” Chris said, “did that mean you wish me a long life?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Best not to fish. You might hear something that’ll frighten you.”

And that, Chris thought, could mean a number of things. “Right,” he said. “What were you thinking about when I found you? You said you were trying to make your mind up.”

“I’ve decided I trust you. Really trust you. It’s not because I’ve learned much about you. But I think you care about me, although you didn’t want to. You tried very hard not to care about me.”

“That was before I got to know you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“How can you say that? We’re not strangers.” He resumed kissing her fingers, and she gave him a reproachful glance. “What was that for?” he said. “I’m only telling the truth. We’ve spent some pretty significant time together.”

“Significant?” She shook her head. “Now you’re a diplomat. I’m not safe, Chris. You were wrong when you said I might be.”

Gripping her hand tightly, he frowned. “Want to enlarge on that, darlin’?”

“It’s quite possible that the dreadful thing that happened with Edward Miller had nothing to do with what frightened me into coming here in the first place.”

“On the night you had the nightmare and called me, you saw fire, and you saw a face behind the flame. Isn’t that what you said?”

“You tied that up to other nightmares. Other unexplained things that have happened to you.”

“I did then. I know what you’re getting at. It was probably Edward who produced the flame and looked at me through it. He was dark haired—like Frank—and I made Edward’s face into Frank’s.”

He tucked her hand around his elbow. “I’m sure you’re right. When Ena talked about him making Wimpy jump through hoops of fire, it all came clear. The guy was psychotic. For some reason you became his fixation. But he’s dead and you’re not. It’s not going to happen again.”

“Maybe not that, but something probably will.”

“Sonnie—”

“Listen to me. From the start I told you I thought someone wanted me dead. That was before the fire thing. It started in Miami—in the hospital—when I wasn’t conscious much. There were voices. They told me to die. They said I
should
have died. I must join my baby. They said I should join her because that’s what I wanted to do. And I did, Chris. I was so broken. I began to wish myself away. But then the pressure in my brain was reduced, and although I was so broken, I stopped wanting to die.”

She might make him feel like crying some of those tears she’d mentioned. “Okay,” he said, “I’m more grateful about that than I can explain. But you could have been hallucinating when you were in the hospital.”

“No.” She pulled her hand away. “That’s why I never told anyone. I knew what they’d think.”

“I didn’t say its what Ι think. I just mentioned the possibility.”

“One day there was a lot of commotion because a nurse came in and found one of the tubes out. One of the tubes into my body. I don’t know what it was for, but everyone started running. Afterward I heard them talking about how I must have pulled it out, only they couldn’t figure out how I’d managed it.

“I’m sure I didn’t pull it out, Chris. Someone else did. Someone who wanted me dead.”

“Hell,” he murmured. “But you can’t say for sure that you didn’t pull it out.”

Sonnie rubbed her hands down her face. “No, I can’t. Or I can’t say it and hope to be believed. I heard those voices, soft and in whispers, telling me to stop fighting, telling me to die. Over and over they told me to die. And when I started to get a little better, the doctors said how they’d spoken with my family and that everyone believed Frank’s abduction had caused the accident.”

“Is that so far-fetched?”

“The plane came in,” Sonnie said. “I was told all this—I don’t remember much. The Giacano plane came in, but it was Romano who got off, not Frank. Frank had called from Miami. He asked me to meet him at the airport that night. He said he’d be in a hurry and needed me to do something for him. He rarely traveled by commercial plane. Romano arrived and told me Frank had been kidnapped. I was so shocked I got in my car and drove wildly until I hit a wall. I was thrown free but no one noticed that until the emergency crews arrived. The car caught on fire, and Romano—he’d tried to follow me—Romano thought I was still inside.”

Chris had read the official reports of the accident. They pretty much matched what Sonnie said. “And now I believe in angels,” he told her. “Angels who save good people like you for rotten people like me.”

She bent forward to peer at the water below. “I believe, absolutely believe, that I was supposed to die in that crash. I’m not saying Romano knew that. He probably didn’t because...because the person who wanted it to happen would probably keep Romano in the dark. So he could say all the right things later.’’

“Sonnie,” Chris said gently. “How would someone try to pull off something like that?”

“I don’t know. By doing something to my car? By giving me drugs—a shot, maybe. I’ve tried to find any airport personnel who were on duty that night. All I’ve reached is one dead end after another. It seems as if several people left shortly afterward and no one knows where they went.”

He rubbed her back. She was a very intelligent woman, but hunches didn’t make the grade if they couldn’t be proved. “Wouldn’t that mean your brother-in-law was involved?”

“No.
No.
Romano has always been so good to me. I do think he’s having business difficulties now—and he may even be afraid I intend to talk out of turn about Frank. Romano adores Frank and he’d protect him at any cost.”