With Every Breath (9 page)

She stopped at the liquor store again. This time she bought a bottle of vodka.

As she dug the money out of her purse to pay for it, she realized that the salesgirl was eyeing her curiously. She’s wondering if I drank yesterday’s wine already, Maddie realized giddily. She considered opening the vodka right there and chugging from it. That would give them something to talk about.

Josh raced ahead of her back to the Volvo, eager to return to the kitten. They stopped again at the market, and when they got home, she set up a kitty convenience center in the kitchen. When that was done, she decided on frozen pizza for dinner—Josh’s nutrition was going to hell in a handbasket, she thought grimly, but in this case it had nothing at all to do with coddling him. She didn’t feel like cooking. She didn’t feel like eating.

She made herself a vodka and tonic, took a fortifying gulp, and looked around the kitchen. Her house?

She went outside onto the back deck and looked over the waving beach grass and the dunes. There was no sign of Angus. She remembered how he had hesitated to come inside for lunch. No wonder. Beacher Brogan had once chased the poor man right out of this very house.

Maddie groaned softly.

She went back inside, her gaze glancing off the refrigerator and the stove, the sofa and the old television, and the rocker on the front part of the deck. She laid a hand against a wall, as though expecting to feel some sort of vibration of familiarity, then she snatched her hand back, disgusted with herself.

She went down the hall into the bedrooms. Which one had been hers?

She ended up in the one she’d claimed this time around, and she stood there for a long time. She realized that her eyes were burning with tears she refused to cry. Not for them. No, never for them. She certainly hated Rick Graycie, but what she felt for her parents went deeper than that. It was a roiling, physically painful tangle of emotions that roared up in her whenever she tried to think of them. Was that memory? Did that count? The thought of her parents had always brought her pain, loneliness, an ache of solitude and silence.

And The Question. Why did you do that to me? Why? Did you hate me so much?

Lately, since she had had Josh, she had added something new to the litany. She’d asked how. How could a woman walk away from a child she had carried in her womb? It hadn’t been like an adoption, giving her up as an infant because she would be better off elsewhere. This was a case

of walking away from a child she had nurtured for nine years. What kind of monster had Annabel Brogan been?

Odd, Maddie thought, hugging herself, but she had never asked that regarding her father. She had never wondered how
he
could walk away from her. Maybe subconsciously she remembered more of the man than she realized.

Maddie swiped angrily at her eyes and went to check on Josh. He was lying on his side beside the kitty food and the litter in the kitchen, watching closely as the animal made use of each. She went back to the rocker on the front porch, sitting down in the cold, buffeting wind, staring out at the sea across the road.
Shhh,
it whispered, rushing. It was a view she must have looked out at countless times before.

Her throat closed. She didn’t remember it. And she wondered what in God’s name was wrong with her.

She and Josh caught the first ferry off the island in the morning. Apparently, Harry Reiter had found his keys, because the boat was up and running. He stood by the pilothouse again, staring steadily down at them. After a while, Maddie had had enough, and she turned around at the railing to stare right back at the man. It didn’t seem to embarrass or intimidate him, but after a moment he lifted a hand in a strange sort of salute-wave, and went back inside.

They found the telephone company and got their phone, then they had lunch on the mainland. The sandwiches were overpriced and dry, and Josh seemed antsy, even for a six-year-old. He spilled the salt shaker twice, took three bites out of his ham-and-cheese, then stood to put his coat back on.

"All right," Maddie muttered. "All right." She figured

he was probably anxious to get back to the kitten. Or Angus. The man hadn’t returned yesterday afternoon, and, of course, they’d left the house early this morning.

Josh ran ahead of her back to the car, and they just barely caught the two o’clock ferry. As soon as they were home, he searched the house for the animal. Maddie watched him, thinking again that Leslie had been right. Little No-Name was good for him, if for no other reason than he seemed to give Josh something besides himself to focus on.

Maddie went to the living room, moved the rickety television stand, and found the telephone jack behind it. She plugged the phone in and gave a deep, relieved breath when she heard a dial tone. The woman had said they could switch everything on by computer right from the office. Maddie had been expecting some kind of snafu. Candle was twelve miles out to sea, after all.

She hung up the receiver, then abruptly picked it up again and called Aunt Susan.

"Hi," she said when she answered. "We’re here and we’re safe and sound."

Her aunt’s voice was husky with relief. "Oh, thank goodness! It took you so long. I was beginning to worry." "Actually, we got here on Wednesday, but I wasn’t able to get a phone in the house until today." She realized with a guilty start that she could have called her from the post office pay phone, and she simply hadn’t thought of it. There had been so much else on her mind, and Aunt Susan hadn’t really been in favor of their going to Candle Island to start with.

"Where are you staying?" Aunt Susan asked.

"It’s a cottage up on a little spit of land they call The Wick." There was silence to that. Maddie decided to skip the full details of Cassie Diehl’s prank. "Anyway, the view is pretty. And Josh has gotten a kitten—"

"Oh, that’s good."

"Yes, it’s very good. It already seems to be drawing him out some." She took a deep breath and tackled the first of the two things that were weighing on her mind. "Any word on Rick?"

"No, dear, not yet."

Only when it had rushed out of her did Maddie realize she’d never let out the breath she’d taken.

"It’s just a matter of time," Aunt Susan assured her.

"Hopefully less than three months," Maddie muttered. She’d had it in her head from the start that they’d be back in Florida for Christmas. In her fantasies, Josh talked when they returned.

"Of all the places you could have gone!" Aunt Susan burst out suddenly. "Mind you, I fully understand why you wanted to get away, but that
place ..."

"It’s not that bad," Maddie protested. "The people are snoopy, but mostly they’re friendly enough." Then Maddie started as something else occurred to her for the first time. Susan was Beacher’s sister.

"Did you ever live here?" she asked carefully.

There was a short silence. "Our parents divorced when I was young, dear. I was ... oh, about three. Beacher stayed on the island with our father, and I went to Bangor with our mother. And then, of course, Mom remarried and we came here to Florida."

Maddie felt her heart kick. Not at Susan’s answer, but because she had honestly never thought to ask about it before. What had Leslie called it? A self-protective reflex? Suddenly the turtleneck sweater she wore seemed to be trying to strangle her.

It was as good a time as any for her other question. "Did I have a trust fund?"

"A ... yes, of course."

She didn’t know what she had expected, but it felt

like the wind went out of her sails. "Why didn’t you ever mention it?"

"I’m sure I did."

I’m sure you didn’t. Then Maddie felt her face burn. How the hell should I know? she asked herself accusingly. She’d lived in this house, in this very house, and she didn’t remember that, either.

"That’s where your college tuition came from," Aunt Susan was saying. "Surely you remember that."

The Savings. Aunt Susan had often mentioned The Savings, as though they were some revered, sacred thing. Which they probably were, given the fact that they hadn’t been at all wealthy. There was no way Aunt Susan could have sent her to college if she hadn’t had a trust fund—or The Savings, as the case might have been. "Do you have pictures of my parents?" she pushed. This time Aunt Susan’s silence was longer. "Maddie," she said finally, "if I didn’t talk about the money your parents left behind, if I didn’t show you any of the photos I have of them, it is simply because you always got so emotional at the mention of those people. I was truly afraid that you’d stop speaking again. And what was the point?"

None, Maddie thought. Until now. "So you do have pictures," she persisted.

"Of your father, at least. I’m not sure about your mother. I didn’t take anything out of the house but your clothes when I came north for you. In fact, the only pictures I have of Beacher during that time are any he might have sent me. I had moved south well before the time you were born, dear."

"Will you send what you have?"

Aunt Susan hesitated again. "The photographs?" "Please."

"Dear, I’m not sure this is good for you. Any of this.

It was all very traumatic for you. I don’t see why you want to open that whole can of worms all over again." There was no way to tell her, Maddie thought. There was no way to explain, without alarming her, that she was beginning to fear that her lack of memory wasn’t normal. Aunt Susan would only use that as ammunition to avoid sending her the pictures. She would see it as an offshoot of the silence . . . and maybe it was.

"Well," Aunt Susan said. "Of course I’ll do as you ask, but I wish you’d think twice about it."

She gave Aunt Susan the phone number and the address. There was no sound of recognition in her voice as she repeated it back to her. Maddie thought that maybe she was going crazy, that maybe this was all a bad, weird dream. Or that maybe she was normal, and the rest of Candle were off their rockers.

She urged Susan to call if she heard anything more about Rick, then she went outside to the deck to brood some more.

She was still there an hour later when a bright red sports car veered onto her stone-covered drive. Now who? Maddie wondered.

Gina Gallen popped out of the driver’s side door before the thought was completed. To Maddie’s surprise, she wore a full-length mink. Beneath its long, luxurious hem were black leggings and very high, narrow pumps. Either cops made a lot more than she thought, or the bakery business was doing exceptionally well on Candle Island.

Maddie dragged her eyes from this spectacle to the passenger door. That swung open more slowly. Doe Carlson didn’t pop. She rolled and levered herself out.

"Dana had plans," Gina called up to her.

"Dana—oh." Maddie pulled her jaw shut. It was Friday night. She had forgotten all about Gina’s campaign to take her to ... what had she called it?
The Sandbar.

"I said I’d let you know," she snapped, feeling cornered.

"Well, I figured no news was good news, so I got you another baby-sitter." Gina trotted up onto the porch. "You’re not going like that, are you?"

Maddie looked down at the jeans and the old sweater she wore beneath the afghan she had wrapped around herself again. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she wasn’t going at all. She couldn’t. But then something stopped her.

Leslie Mendehlson had warned her not to coddle Josh. Which was precisely what she would be doing if she stayed home with him. As long as you don’t talk, honey, Mommy will stay right here and give you all her attention.

That wasn’t good, she thought. No, that couldn’t be good at all.

It was just that she didn’t want to go. Not only because of Josh’s silence . . . but because of Rick. Because she was so very reluctant—scared—to let Josh out of her sight again.

Well, she thought, that wasn’t good either. It was at least mildly irrational. They had traveled the length of the entire country for the luxury of living without fear. Without paranoia. Even the cops thought Rick was in Nassau. And God knew he wouldn’t think to look for them in a place she barely remembered.

"I don’t know," she said on a confused rush of breath. Doe Carlson had reached the deck and was huffing and puffing her way up the steps. "Let me talk to Josh," she went on.

She left them standing on the porch. She found Josh in his room with the kitten. She opened her mouth to ask him if he would mind if she went out for an hour or so, then she deliberately changed course.

"I’m going out for a little while. Mrs. Carlson will stay with you." She looked at her watch. It was barely five o’clock. "Until seven. Mrs. Carlson is the woman we got your kitten from," she reminded him.

She waited pointedly for some kind of a response. Josh stared at her seriously. Ask me to stay home. If he did that, oh, yes, she would definitely reward him. But of course he didn’t answer. In fact, he turned back to No-Name, as though he didn’t care if she stayed or went.

Maddie went thoughtfully back to the porch. Doe Carlson was ensconced in the rocking chair. Gina grinned at her expectantly. She needed to do this, Maddie thought, for a lot of reasons, for herself and for Josh. It was time to start putting the fear behind both of them.

"There’s just one thing," she said reluctantly. "I’m having some problems with Josh’s father. I doubt very seriously if he has any idea that I’m here. In fact, if I believed that for a moment, I wouldn’t go. But..." She looked at Doe. "Please, if anyone comes to the door that you don’t know, call me immediately. And call the police." Raise the alarm, she thought. Call anybody and everybody. Seal off the island. She realized there was some small comfort in knowing that she’d be a maximum of four miles away, and Rick couldn’t escape the island unless the ferry carried him.

Doe Carlson nodded comfortingly. "I won’t allow anyone in the house."

As though, if Rick wanted to come in, Doe could stop him, Maddie thought. Then she took in the woman’s size again. She probably could, she realized, at least for as long as it would take the cops to come the short distance to The Wick.

Her stomach rolled. She was being ridiculous. Paranoid. None of that was going to happen.

She left them in the living room to shower and change.