The Second Silence (35 page)

‘Both,’ he said.

‘Isn’t that like a chapter with two headings?’

‘More like a book you have to read to see how it ends.’

How will this one end?
she wondered.

Her mind drifted back to Noelle, and she felt a stab of guilt. Here she was, wallowing naked in bed, while her sister was out there, in mortal danger for all she knew. She had to do something, warn Noelle. But how? If she repeated what Dante had told her, her sister would want to know where she’d heard it. That would put Dante at risk. Not to mention that her dad would find out, and she’d be grounded for the rest of her life.

‘I’ve got to go,’ she announced suddenly.

‘Go where?’

‘I need to see my sister.’

‘Now?’

‘It’s important.’ She jumped up and grabbed her jeans off the floor.

Dante looked as if he might try to talk her out of it. His penis, incredibly beginning to stir to life once more, was particularly eloquent on the subject. Then he shrugged and sat up, reaching for his car keys on the nightstand. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you.’

They’d fallen into a routine. Noelle would arrive to find Emma waiting stoically in the reception area, her stuffed dog, Bowwie, clutched to her chest and her pink Barbie backpack strapped to her bravely squared little shoulders. Yet as soon as she laid eyes on Noelle, her small face would light up as if it were Christmas morning, and she would race to the door to hurl herself into Noelle’s arms. Then, in the lunchroom that afforded them some privacy, at least five to ten minutes had to be allotted for snuggle time. Emma would burrow into her lap, clinging to Noelle the way she had as a baby, occasionally reverting to sucking her thumb. She would insist, too, on being read the most babyish of the books Noelle had brought. Dr Seuss’s
Green Eggs and Ham
was the current favorite.

‘“I do not
like
green eggs and ham,”’ she’d parrot emphatically. ‘“I do not like them, Sam-I-Am!’”

When Noelle felt secure enough to crawl down off her lap, they would either sit or lie on their stomachs on the carpet and for the precious time that remained simply play. Pretend games mostly, with the dolls in Emma’s backpack (Barbie always had the featured role, of course, the gaudier the wardrobe the better). When she grew tired of dolls, there was the tote bag of books and toys thoughtfully provided by Trish. Last but not least, the ritual of the ice cream. Near the end of their visit Noelle would pull out the list of flavors from Scoops, and Emma would spend several minutes elaborately pondering which to choose before settling on her all-time favorite, mint chip.

As soon as the ice-cream cones were consumed, the tears and whining would start. This was the part Noelle dreaded, more than the tears she herself would shed on the way home. More than the sleepless night ahead. Today, for some reason, it was worse. Emma, who until a few minutes ago had been happily sorting through a box of PlaySkool farm animals, had gone from tears to sobbing and was now quickly approaching meltdown.

‘I w-whu-want to go with
you,’
she wailed. ‘I don’t whu-whu-want to w-wait here for D-Daddy.’

‘Oh, sweetie, I wish I
could take
you,’ said Noelle, close to the breaking point herself. She sat with Emma on her lap, drinking in her smell, the unmistakable scent of her child that only
she
would know blindfolded. ‘But the judge won’t let me, not just yet.’

During their last visit she’d spelled it out for Emma, in terms simple enough for her to grasp. She’d explained that there were people, including Daddy, who thought that Nana’s might not be the best place for her to live and that first Mommy had to show them it was okay. No amount of reasoning, though, could change the fact that Emma missed her.

‘I hate Daddy! He’s m-muh-mean!’ she sobbed.

Noelle felt a sharp prick of alarm. ‘How is Daddy mean?’

‘He won’t l-luh-let me c-callyou! I
told him.
I can do it all by myself. I know the number and
everything.
But he g-got mad and yelled at me.’ Emma lifted a face swollen and blotchy from crying. It was all Noelle could do to keep from scooping her up and carrying her outside, damn the judge, damn that stupid woman out there with her piggy little eyes and well-meaning chatter.

‘What about Grandma Gertie? She’s nice to you, isn’t she?’ It took a supreme effort to sound normal.

‘She takes me to the playground sometimes.’ Her daughter’s sobs began to subside.

‘Does she take you other places, too?’ In her mind Noelle was seeing her mother-in-law’s big white Caddy winding its way toward the site for Cranberry Mall.

Emma nodded, one stockinged foot swinging back and forth. ‘I didn’t like it when we went to the cement-tary, though.’

Noelle grew suddenly alert. ‘She took you to the cemetery?’

Her daughter’s dark head bobbed up and down, pigtails dancing. ‘The one where Uncle Buck went. Grandma says it’s where dead people go before they get to go to heaven.’

A chill settled over Noelle. She thought about the withered roses on Corinne’s grave. Only one person could have left them: Gertrude. But why? Corinne couldn’t have been more than a distant name from the past, a girl Robert himself claimed to hardly remember.

Her mother had shed some light on it the other day, on their way home from the cemetery, telling her about the autopsy report that revealed Corinne to have been pregnant. Yes, that might explain why Gertrude, sentimental about her own flesh and blood, would mourn the loss of a grandchild, even an unborn one. But why
white
roses, like those for Buck?

‘Did Grandma bring flowers?’ she asked.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Roses?’

‘Uh-huh.’ Emma lay quietly with her head against Noelle’s shoulder. Her tantrum was over, with only a few hitching breaths here and there. ‘Daddy says I can have a turtle.’

Noelle smiled at the suddenness with which a five-year-old’s mood could shift, like a summer thundershower that’s over almost before it’s begun. ‘A turtle? Won’t that be nice.’

Emma’s foot stopped swinging. ‘Mommy, what’s a all-cacolic?’

Noelle stiffened. Clearly her husband, probably his parents, too, had been discussing her in front of Emma. ‘You mean an alcoholic,’ she replied as calmly as she could. ‘It’s a disease, Em. Kind of like an allergy. Alcohol makes certain people sick.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Mommy’s an alcoholic. That’s why Daddy drinks wine with dinner and I don’t.’

‘Grandpa says you’re too sick to take care of me.’ She gazed up at Noelle, wide-eyed. ‘Is it true, Mommy?’

Noelle brought her cheek to rest against the crooked part in Emma’s hair, her voice catching only a little as she murmured, ‘No, sweetie. Nothing in the world could ever keep me from taking care of you. It won’t be much longer. Then we’ll be together
all
the time. Cross my heart.’

She cupped a hand over Emma’s smaller one, guiding it to form an invisible X on her chest. It reminded of making the sign of the cross, all those endless Sunday masses when she was squeezed into the pew next to Nana. It would have been incomprehensible to her as a child that she would one day have a little girl of her own, as unimaginable as God himself. Now she thought,
I know there’s a God because otherwise I couldn’t stand it. I’d have fallen apart long before this.

At the door she somehow managed to smile and wave goodbye. Emma, her small hand tucked into the social worker’s, waved back. A little girl with shiny brown pigtails and a crooked part, looking to Noelle like the world’s smallest soldier caught in the crossfire of a battle she didn’t quite understand.

Trudging down the courthouse steps with her head tucked low, Noelle didn’t see her sister at first. It wasn’t until Bronwyn called out that she looked up, startled, to find her standing on the sun-dappled sidewalk below, peering up with a hand cupped over her eyes.

‘Wow, I’m glad I caught you. I was afraid you’d left.’ Bronwyn bounded over, a golden-limbed gazelle in baggy jeans and a Tommy Hilfinger T-shirt.

‘What’s up?’ Noelle asked, keeping her voice light.

‘I need to talk to you about something. Are you in a hurry?’

‘In a hurry to do what, run home and floss my teeth?’ Noelle gave a hollow laugh. A sisterly chat was the last thing she felt in the mood for. On the other hand, what good would it do to wallow in her misery? The AA meeting she’d attended the other night had reminded her of something important that she’d lost sight of: that sometimes the best way to help yourself is by helping someone else. ‘We could sit in the park,’ she suggested.

‘Uh, well, I was thinking of someplace a little more private.’ Bronwyn cast a furtive glance over her shoulder, as if scouting for shadowy men in trench coats who might be stalking her.

Noelle fought to keep a straight face. It was a family joke that Bronwyn could turn the opening of a letter into high drama. Maybe it was all those Nancy Drew mysteries she’d devoured as a kid. At the time, Noelle hadn’t seen the harm in passing her somewhat antiquated (even then) collection onto her sister, but now she wondered if it hadn’t in some way contributed to Bronwyn’s tendency toward melodrama.

‘Nobody will bother us,’ Noelle said, slipping an arm through her sister’s.

Bronwyn darted another look over her shoulder before reluctantly giving in. ‘Well … I guess that would be okay.’

Together, they crossed the street. This time of day, with the temperature in the low eighties, the park was pretty much deserted—just a few hardy old-timers seated on benches and strolling about in the shade. Later, when it cooled down, mothers would bring their children to play, and young lovers would lie on the grass, whispering to one another between stolen kisses.

Noelle thought of Hank. This morning when she brought Nana in for her appointment, she’d been certain everyone in the waiting room could see right through her, that they knew exactly what she was feeling. How was she supposed to act normal when all she could think of was him kissing her?

Noelle sank down gratefully on a deserted bench by the fountain, under a huge old linden tree. The heat had sapped what was left of her energy; even in her sundress and sandals she was sweating. She eyed the bronze nymph fountain, from which a fine mist floated to sprinkle the stones at their feet, thinking how nice it would be to slip out of her sandals and wade barefoot in the cool water.

The two sisters remained silent for a minute or two, each lost in her own private and not so dissimilar thoughts. At last Noelle said, ‘I missed you at Scoops.’ Today was her sister’s day off. ‘I had to
ask
for extra jimmies on Emma’s ice cream cone.’

Bronwyn turned to smile at her. ‘Don’t tell me… mint chip, right?’

Noelle smiled back. It was the one little joke they’d managed to wring from all this, the fact that Emma always ordered the exact same thing. Reaching into her purse, she withdrew a folded square of paper, a crayon picture Emma had drawn. She spread it over her knees. ‘That’s me.’ She pointed to a stick figure with a head topped by black squiggles, flanked by two other figures. ‘See, there’s Nana … my mother, too. I told her Grandma Mary is staying with us.’

Bronwyn tilted her head for a better look, holding her long hair back with one hand. ‘The one of you looks a little like Pamela Anderson Lee. Where did those boobs come from?’

‘Certainly not from me.’ Noelle was surprised to find herself laughing. ‘Emma is heavy into Barbie these days. Coming from her, this is the highest form of praise.’ With a sigh she folded the drawing and tucked it back into her purse. ‘So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?’

‘I’ll tell you in a minute.’ Bronwyn toyed nervously with her hair, twirling it around her finger. ‘First, you have to promise not to say anything to Daddy.’

‘I can’t promise that until I know what it is.’

‘God, you’re so predictable.’ Bronwyn rolled her eyes, knowing better than to argue. Noelle, because she was so much older, had always been more second mother than sister. ‘Okay, there’s this guy. His name’s Dante.’

Noelle looked at her, startled. ‘The same Dante who smashed the windows in Dad’s building?’

Her sister frowned. ‘What happened to innocent until proven guilty?’

‘Uh-oh, I smell trouble already. This is the same guy Dad told you to keep away from, isn’t it?’ Noelle shook her head in disbelief. ‘Lord, Bron. Only
you
would be in hot water like this. Does Dad know?’

‘That’s the whole point. He
doesn’t.
And I’d like to keep it that way. You won’t tell, will you?’

Noelle studied her sister’s anxious face. Dad would be angry, all right. But mostly worried.
She
was a little worried, too. What on earth did Bronwyn think she was doing, hanging out with some tattooed biker type? Their father’s reaction could end up being the least of her troubles. What if this guy did something to hurt her, or ruin her life?

Then she remembered that she’d made the so-called safe match, marrying Robert. An older, successful man with a sizeable 401K who’d tooled to work in a shiny new black Mercedes. The truth was, other than what Dad had told her, she knew next to nothing about this Dante character. So who was she to judge?

‘I won’t say anything … for now,’ she said. ‘Just promise
me
you’ll be careful. This guy sounds like trouble.’

‘He’s not the one you should be worrying about.’ Bronwyn glanced furtively about before bringing her dark-eyed gaze back to Noelle. ‘El, what do you know about Robert’s business dealings?’

‘Other than what I picked up working in his office, you mean? Truthfully it was so long ago I don’t remember much.’

‘What would you say if I told you Robert was the real culprit behind Daddy’s windows getting smashed?’ Bronwyn dropped her voice to a whisper, though there wasn’t anyone remotely within earshot.

‘I wouldn’t exactly be shocked, if that’s what you’re driving at.’ Noelle had already come to the same conclusion; the timing was simply too coincidental.

‘Well, suppose that’s not all he’s guilty of.’

Noelle began to grow a little impatient. ‘What exactly are you getting at?’