Home Before Dark (11 page)

Jessie appointed herself official taker of phone calls. She wanted to shield Luz and Ian from anxious parents, school people and the local paper. Then a wire service and the Department of Public Safety. Then an insurance investigator. Growing ever more protective of her sister, Jessie set up a makeshift workspace on the deck at the umbrella table. She had a cordless phone, a notepad and pencil, a tall glass of iced tea and her youngest nephew whirling himself sick on a tire swing suspended from a nearby live oak.

Most people she spoke with thought she was Luz. Their voices were remarkably similar, although Jessie's Texas accent had been altered by little-known New Zealand phrases and cadences.

“I didn't know Luz had a sister,” said an aggressive-sounding matron from the Halfway Baptist Church.

“I didn't know she had a church,” Jessie said. There was so much she didn't know about Luz's life. Over the years, they'd kept in touch—Luz more conscientiously than Jessie, of course. But more of the phone calls and e-mail conversa
tions consisted of Luz asking about Jessie, not vice versa. She winced, realizing how self-centered she'd been. She'd assumed her life was more interesting than Luz's and had expounded at length about her adventures. Some of her e-mail messages read like the work of a seasoned travel writer, bringing a place to life for people who would never get a chance to go there.

By the fifth call, she had perfected her spiel. Lila's injuries were minor, and the hospital had released her. She honestly didn't know the status of the others, and it really wasn't her place to give out names. She didn't know who was driving, or whose car it was.

That part was a lie, of course. It had been Heath, the teen heartthrob, in the guise of Heath the village idiot.

For the most part, the callers were caring, worried, supportive. But some were downright nosy, like the church lady. The straw that broke the camel's back was Grady “Bird-dog” Watkins, a personal injuries lawyer.

“Are you a friend of the Bennings?” Jessie asked.

“Look, I know this is a difficult time for the family, and I don't want to see it complicated by financial hardship.”

“Of course you don't. So you propose to sue the driver, his family, the auto manufacturer, the tire company and the hospital. How's that for starters?”

“Ma'am, my job is to investigate and initiate action that will bring about resolution, justice and reparation for the victims of this terrible tragedy.”

“And your fee for this would be…?”

“Negotiated with the victim and family,” he said, very smoothly.

She hung up on him. Lawyers—the scum of the earth, her brother-in-law notwithstanding.

She jotted down the call on the list, drawing a scowling face next to it. The accident had rattled her in so many ways.
Her first panicked reaction when Luz had awakened her had been a silent shrieking in her soul. What if something happened to Lila? What if the doctors needed important medical information about her, like who her biological parents were?

Ever since her outburst with Luz and Ian, the idea kept niggling at Jessie. She felt herself edging toward a growing conviction that the time had come to put the truth out there. Medical reasons aside, maybe Lila simply deserved to know the truth of who she was.

Lately, even Luz admitted things weren't so hot for Lila. Knowing the truth wouldn't turn her into a Rhodes scholar, but would it make things worse? And whom would it serve? Whom would it hurt?

Heaving a discontented sigh, she glanced at Scottie. Sitting in his tire swing, he kicked his feet into the fine dust of the yard, ineffectually trying to propel himself forward.

“Hey, chief,” she called. “Want a push?”

“Yup.” He squealed with delight as she pushed him high. Clutching the rope, he threw back his head and laughed.

“You hang on tight, now.” Jessie felt a surge of apprehension. Only yesterday, she wouldn't have paused to consider the dangers inherent in pushing a little boy on a swing, but now her mind conjured up hideous disasters. This was something she hadn't anticipated—the understanding that life with kids was a constant, pressing, pounding worry about what disaster would come next.

“Are you hanging on?” she asked.

“I'm hanging on.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

As she pushed him higher and higher, a shadow haunted the edge of her vision.

Not now.

There was no pain, but a strobe followed by a pulse of black fog, obscuring her right field of vision.

Please.

She had never learned how to pray, but since the mysterious condition had stricken her two years earlier, she had taught herself. She prayed in the primitive, unschooled manner of a child, in broad and desperate supplications.

Please don't let this be happening to me.

She used to rage at the idea that her prayers were ignored. But maybe, just maybe she was praying for the wrong thing. The specialists she'd consulted reluctantly concluded that they couldn't fix this. No one could. And judging by her diminishing field of vision, she didn't have much longer in the light.

Soon, Dr. Tso had told her in his sleek, plush clinic in downtown Taipei. And Dr. Hadden in Auckland had gone even further—If there is anyone you should see, now would be the time.

If there is anyone you should see…

The words had driven her home. And so far, she had done nothing but screw up.

Scottie was oblivious as he soared, his face turned to the sky. “Look!” he yelled. “Look, Aunt Jessie. I can see the whole world.”

“That's good,” she told him. “You just look out at the amazing world.”

“Amazing,” Scottie said.

“Pump with your legs,” she said. “I need to make a phone call.” She dug her wallet from the zippered silk belt around her waist. Years of travel had trained her to keep everything she needed in a slender billfold.

An echo of the old restlessness reverberated through her as she extracted a forgotten boarding pass stuck like a bookmark between the pages of her well-thumbed passport. Ever since
giving up her baby, she had traveled the globe, searching, always searching but never sure what she was seeking. For as long as she could remember, there had been something lacking, something missing from her life, her heart, her world. She was searching for a way to make herself whole, and she chose to do it by traveling, seeing untold wonders, majesty and squalor. She'd captured vivid images with her camera in a way that, while not making her rich, had allowed her to cover the hospital expenses, bit by bit.

If Jessie chose to fill the void by traveling the world, Luz found a more direct and obvious method. She married, had babies, moved back to the family home. Jessie wondered if Luz was truly fulfilled. She wondered if she had the nerve to ask her. Because what if the answer was no?

She sat down at the table and took a small white business card from her billfold. A graphic depicted a generic bird. Birdies were her mother's specialty.

The name was printed in shiny gold embossed letters: Glenny Ryder. Golf Champion. Those were the only words on the card, and that was probably appropriate. Those were the words that defined Glenny. No one, not even her daughters, could really think of her without including in the same thoughts “golf” and “champion.”

Any other designation would be inaccurate. Glenny Ryder, mother of two, had never sounded quite right. She had given birth to her daughters; she even loved them in her own way. But as far as Jessie knew, she'd never mothered them.

She turned the card over and over in her fingers. How about Glenny Ryder: wife? That wouldn't fit, either. She had probably been married a total of thirty years, but to four different men. Glenny Ryder: serial wife.

Holding the card at an angle, she read the number she had never memorized because it kept changing and because she so
seldom called. On the back, she had crossed out and rewritten three new phone numbers. She dialed the latest version.

“Hello?”

Jessie had to think for a second before her stepfather's name came to her. “Stu. Is this Stuart?”

“Luz?”

“No, it's Jessie.”

“Well, now, Jessie. Isn't that nice. How are you?” He had a pleasant voice, one that reminded her of the host of a radio call-in show.

She bit her lip. “Fine. I'm back in the States, visiting my sister.”

“Fantastic,” Stuart said. “You must be having a great time, all together again.”

“Uh-huh.” Jessie shut her eyes, picturing him. Her mother had a talent for attracting and ill-advisedly marrying handsome, charming men who did irresponsible things with her money. Stuart was probably no exception. Luz had attended the wedding in Vegas a few years ago and had, of course, sent pictures to Jessie. She vaguely recalled a good-looking man seated at a bunting-draped table next to his radiant bride. He was not, thank God, visibly younger than Glenny. Their mother had worn an amber silk sheath, her athletic arms bare, her flame-colored hair too long for a woman her age. But the look worked for Ann-Margret, and it worked for Glenny Ryder.

“Is my mother around?”

“She's at the club.”

“Of course she is,” Jessie said wryly.

“She just gets better and better. You must be so proud.”

“Oh, you bet.”

“Anyway, she does carry a cell phone, strictly for emergencies.”

She scribbled the number on the tablet. “Thank you, Stuart.”

“No problem. Everything okay?”

She hesitated. “Just peachy. But I do need to speak with Glenny.”

“I'm sure she'd love to hear from you.”

Jessie rang off and drummed her fingers on the table. Strictly for emergencies. What did that mean, anyway? Her mother's emergencies meant a late check for commercial residuals, or her graphite driver needed reshafting.

The fact was, Glenny Ryder was not a bad person or even, for that matter, a bad mother. She'd simply given her girls an unconventional upbringing. From Augusta to Palm Springs, the three of them traveled the green highways of America, singing along with Jackson Browne or Carole King.

In places like the Springs, they lived like trailer trash, their car parked at some edge-of-town motel with a tired Vacancy sign and a name like the Starlite Inn. During the school year, they lived at the house at Eagle Lake, looked after by the hap hazard kindness of neighbors and hired baby-sitters until they were deemed old enough to look after themselves. Glenny judged this to be when Luz turned nine and grew tall enough to reach the hide-a-key over the lintel.

Either through sheer luck or remarkably good insight, no overt disaster occurred. The girls raised themselves, Luz with an earnest diligence and Jessie with an angry wildness. Glenny collected both trophies and husbands, the former proving more productive and enduring than the latter. The girls learned to fix their own problems before Glenny found out about them. Jessie and her sister had always tried to take the tough decisions away from their mother. From the time they were very small, she had trained them to make allow
ances for her. The career put gas in the car and food in their bellies, so the career came first.

It quickly became a habit, an unwritten rule. Don't put too many demands on Glenny because she has a tournament coming up. If she doesn't make the cut…

Well, disaster was happening now, Jessie thought. On a scale she could never have prepared for. Somewhere in the world there must be a manual or list of things to do when your world falls apart. The first thing on the list would be “call your mother.”

But Glenny Ryder wasn't like most mothers. She wasn't like any mother.

Hiya, Mom. I'm going blind, and Luz's daughter sneaked out last night and nearly got herself killed, joyriding with a carload of drunk kids. And how are things with you?

She stabbed in the number. While it rang, Jessie pictured the artificially lush golf course, its green-carpeted fairways rolling past stands of yucca and saguaro cactus, kidney-shaped ponds looking deceptively cool in the desert heat.

A hushed voice answered, “Glenny Ryder's service.”

Only her mother would bring an answering service to the golf course.

“This is her daughter, Jessie. I need to speak with my mother.”

“Jess? Hey, girl. You sound like your sister.” Then Jessie recognized the voice of her mother's caddie. Glenny Ryder and Bucky McCabe had been together for over twenty years, making it the most successful long-term relationship thus far in her mother's life.

Jessie smiled. “Hey yourself. You still following my mother around?”

“Somebody's got to do it.”

“What did I interrupt?”

“A real pretty tee shot. It's all right. Phone doesn't ring but it vibrates.”

“Ingenious. Look, would you put Glenny on?”

“You bet.” Bucky hesitated. “Sure would be nice to see you again, sweet pea.”

“It would be nice to see you again, too,” said Jessie.

A few moments later, another voice came on. “Jessica Didrickson Ryder, is that you?” Glenny was using what had always been known as her golf course whisper, designed to disturb no one.

“Hey, Glenny. I know you're in the middle of a round, but this is pretty important.”

A beat of hesitation. “What's wrong?”

Christ, she didn't have a clue where to begin. “I'm back in the States,” she said. “I'm staying at Luz's.”

“Welcome home, champ. So what's the problem?” Glenny's voice was deep and sweet from nights of celebratory cocktails and Virginia Slims.

Jessie wondered why she had thought calling her mother was a good idea. “Luz's having a little trouble with Lila. And I'm—” She stopped, the words freezing in her throat. How did you explain this to anyone, even yourself? It had a name— AZOOR—and a pathology. The one thing it didn't have was a known cure. She could find no reason to share that with her mother. “So anyway,” she said, “Lila went out joyriding with a bunch of kids last night and there was a wreck.”