House Broken (22 page)

“First, I'm really sorry about what a disruptive mess our lives have been recently. I know it's not my fault—at least not entirely—but I'm still sorry.”

“Hey. It's educational.”

She smiled. “And
challenging
. Wasn't that the word all the child-care books used to call the terrifying stuff?”

“Yeah, we've both been challenged.”

“And you've been incredible.” She took his hands. “Really.”

He gave her an embarrassed grin.

“Which is why I hesitate to ask you this.”

“Uh-oh.”

“It's worse than that, actually. I'm going to ask you a question, and if you say yes, I'm going to tell you something else. The deal is that after I tell you, you can't change your first answer.”

“You're not usually this complicated. Why the hoops?”

“I need them. Trust me. Deal?”

“Sure, I guess. I mean, yes.”

Geneva exhaled. “I'd like my mother to continue living with us. Indefinitely. Would that be okay with you?”

Tom startled. “Whoa. That was unexpected. Why? Does this have to do with what Louisa told you?”

“Yes, and what else I figured out. So, do you have an answer, or do you need to think about it?”

“Sure. I mean, we'd have to make a more permanent bedroom for her, but sure.” He studied her face. “Aren't you worried about her drinking and corrupting our kids and everything else?”

“I'm hoping she'll finally agree to join a program.”

He nodded. “That'd be great. Okay, so why did I have to agree not to change my mind?”

“Because there's no statute of limitations on murder.”

HELEN

S
omething was going on. Ever since Geneva told her she'd read Paris's letter, Helen had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sunday morning—yesterday—she'd woken up and there was Diesel gawking out the window. Helen gawked, too, and together they watched Geneva leave the barn with her computer. Came inside and acted mighty peculiar, too. Later, she dropped that dish and stayed holed up in her room the entire afternoon. Since then, Geneva and Tom seemed to have their heads together constantly. Helen couldn't be sure what they knew, but one thing was certain: They had a plan for her. And she didn't cotton to other people's plans.

She hadn't wanted to come up here—it wasn't her plan—but what choice did she have? She pictured herself in her apartment
with all her old furniture and bad memories, and dread crept up her legs like a nest of spiders. She'd managed to live with what she'd done (and hadn't done) up until now because nobody knew about it, except Paris. She could pretend, if only for a wink or two, none of it had happened. When that failed, she could drink. She never worried about passing out and not waking up. She never thought that far ahead.

But lying in the hospital she'd been plagued with recollections of things she didn't want to recollect, making her want to run away from herself faster than ever. Worse, the tubes and needles and the look on everyone's face told her she'd come near to dying. God help her, as much as she struggled to call what she did living, dying scared her more. Death was a cold and endless place. At least life served vodka.

If she was on her own again, with nothing to stop her from carrying on as she always had, she was either going to drink too much or drink too little. Neither choice would save her, so she gave up on the notion. She'd never been much of one for decisions anyhow.

• • •

They didn't keep her in suspense long. Monday night after supper, the kids were in their rooms studying, and she was reading one of her mysteries in the living room. Honestly, it was more like skimming. She'd figured out halfway through who'd done it and how.

When Tom and Geneva sat on the couch and said they wanted to chat, she closed her book and steeled herself.

Geneva started. “Yesterday I spoke to Louisa.”

“Louisa who?”

“McCutchion.”

“In South Carolina?”

“Yes. I Skyped her. It's a video service over the Internet.”

“I know what Skype is.” She wondered why Geneva would hunt down Louisa, but didn't get far because her daughter was talking again.

“She's well. She misses you.”

“Does she? Now that's nice. But why—”

“Mom, I asked her about Paris and Daddy. I thought she might know. And she did. She saw . . .” Geneva twiddled her fingers, then looked at Tom as if the right words were inscribed on his forehead.

He said, “She witnessed a terrible act. She was certain of it.”

Helen breathed in sharply. Everything came into perfect focus, as if she were squinting hard. Thoughts raced around in her head, but she couldn't snag one of them. She should have felt relieved, but truth was, as long as she hadn't been absolutely sure, she hadn't had to accept that Eustace molested Paris. Maybe it was easier to believe she had killed an innocent man than it was to believe he'd done what he'd done.

Geneva spoke low. “You were right about him. He was a monster.”

Helen stared at her daughter, the child who'd idolized her daddy the most, Paris notwithstanding. All these years she'd let Geneva have her daddy the way she remembered him. The fantasy more or less ended when she'd read the letter. Now it was over for good.

Helen nodded.

“And,” Geneva said, “I know you killed him.”

Helen's heart fluttered in her chest. She opened her mouth to deny it, but her daughter reached out and took her hand.

“It's okay. We know, and it's okay.”

She didn't hear that right. Too many emotions flying through her head had balled up her hearing. They would throw her out. They might even call the police, who'd dig Eustace up. She'd worried about this for thirty-five years and now it was transpiring. Detectives probably had new methods—like on
CSI
—and would pin the blame on her. No murderer was ever careful enough. She'd been right not to talk to Louisa. You never knew which way people would fall until you went and pushed them.

“Helen,” Tom said. “Did you hear us? It's all right. We know you didn't think there was any other way.”

“I don't know what I would have done in your position,” Geneva said. “Maybe the same thing.”

Helen took this in. A lump formed in her throat. Her nose started to run, so she searched up her sleeve for a tissue. She couldn't see too well, but blinking wasn't doing a bit of good.

“Oh, Mom. Don't cry.” Geneva scurried off and reappeared with a box of tissues.

Helen dabbed at her eyes and collected herself. The stuffiness in her head cleared. Her emotional reaction was only the shock of having her secrets trotted out into the open after so many years.

She appraised her daughter—her broad, confident shoulders and intelligent eyes—and knew Geneva was wrong. No way on God's green earth would she have let her husband carry on with her daughter. She'd have packed up those kids and left him behind without a moment's thought for the consequences. She wouldn't have put her faith in a German shepherd or counted on her husband's decency to reappear by magic. She would have fought for her children, and wouldn't have worried about landing on the streets or in the same filthy shack she'd cut her teeth in. No, her daughter would not have been a coward.

Geneva regarded her patiently. If her daughter had more to say, she wasn't sure about saying it. She looked at Tom, who nodded. Spit it out. “Tom and I want you to stay here for as long as you need to.”

“You do? I had the feeling you were counting the days until you were rid of me.”

He said, “Well, it hasn't always been easy, it's true. And the invitation does come with a condition.”

“A condition?”

“Yes,” Geneva said. “We want you to attend a program to help you stop drinking.”

Helen blew her nose and sat up. “So, if I don't go to AA, you'll tell the police.”

Geneva shook her head. “No, nothing like that. We just think you could use the support. You remember my colleague Stan? He's one of the founding members of the local group. I'll even go with you if you want.”

She pictured walking into a room with a circle of folding chairs filled with strangers who wanted to trade drinking for honesty. “I'll think about it.”

Her daughter paused, as if she had expected a different answer. “One more thing to think about. I've obviously told Tom, but I haven't said anything to Dublin or anyone else. Not about what you did. What you had to do.”

“You keeping secrets from Dublin? How long is that going to last?”

“It's not my place to tell. I found the letter and went from there. But whether you tell anyone is up to you.”

Helen imagined the conversation and frowned.

“For what it's worth,” Tom said, “don't you think Dublin and
Florence—and pretty much any other reasonable person—would understand?”

“I never thought about whether they would or they wouldn't. I wasn't taking any chances.”

Geneva's eyes filled with tears. Helen couldn't remember the last time she saw her daughter cry.

Geneva said, “But you have. You've taken big chances, all this time—drinking yourself sick, burning things, having accidents, pushing people away, pushing your children away, pushing away people who love you.” She buried her face in her hands.

Tom put his arm around her, then addressed Helen. “This is your second chance. We're here to make sure you don't blow it.”

Helen walked to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Geneva's face was splotchy and her forehead was creased like she was thinking hard.

“Mom, you didn't use your walker. You're barely limping.”

“Oh, that.” She drank from the glass. “I figured you wouldn't throw me out until my leg was better. Just keeping my options open.”

GENEVA

T
wo days later, Dublin took a personal day and flew up to San Francisco. Geneva met him at the airport. He bear-hugged her at the arrivals curb. “I had to pay big bucks for a last-minute flight. Worse, I had to beg Talia's mom to help with Jack. Do you have any idea what it's like to haggle with a geriatric Muscovite?”

“No.”

“This better be good.”

“I'm not saying anything.”

He threw his bag onto the rear seat. “I want popcorn. And beer.”

Helen had asked Geneva to be there when she told Dublin. “In case I forget something.” She followed Geneva's suggestion, and started at the beginning, with her first suspicions about Eustace and Paris. As Geneva listened, she realized she wouldn't know if
her mother omitted anything, as she had never heard the whole story.

For once, Dublin didn't interrupt with jokes, although he did glance at Geneva occasionally, as if expecting her to suddenly laugh and point to a hidden camera.

“And once he'd taken that many pills,” Helen said, “it was only a matter of time.”

Dublin stared at her, immobile.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

He ran his hands through his hair and sighed loudly.

“Aren't you going to say anything?” She turned to Geneva. “Why isn't he saying anything?”

He shrugged. “I'm digesting. I feel like one of those pythons on
Animal Planet
. I've swallowed a bush pig, or a gazelle, or maybe an entire rhino, and I'm waiting for it to break down a little. Right now, it's an awfully big lump.”

Helen nodded. “It's a very big lump.”

“Part of me thinks Dad's been dead for so long, how he died doesn't really matter. Especially now I know what a sicko he was. I was prepared for that part. Ginny told you she sent me the letter, right?”

“Without my permission, if you can imagine.”

“Seems like small potatoes, Mom. Next to incest. And murder.”

She lifted her hands as if to say she wasn't in a position to judge.

Geneva asked Dublin, “You said ‘part of you thinks it doesn't matter.' What about the other part?”

“The other part is hoping none of this is genetic.”

Helen leaned back in her chair. “So you're not planning on turning me in?”

“Are you kidding? And ruin my good name?”

“You're a good son.”

Geneva winced. Even after opening her house to her mother, she hadn't received such praise.

“And the only one you've got,” Dublin said. “Remember that, in case I piss you off sometime. And just to be on the safe side, I'm not eating or drinking anything you give me ever again.”

• • •

At dinner, Dublin asked Charlie what his plans were for the summer.

“I'm Dad's slave. We're refinishing an old dresser and bed for Nana's room, and making some bookshelves.”

Geneva leaned forward to catch her mother's eye, but she was intent on slicing her pork chop. Helen hadn't accepted their offer to stay, but everyone was working on the assumption she would. She appeared content and Geneva was certain she hadn't had a drop of alcohol since being discharged from the hospital. She decided to give her mother until the end of the week, then ask again. The woman had been through an ordeal.

Tom said, “Charlie's making amends.”

“At least you get your room back at the end of it,” Dublin said.

“And I still have to work a paying job 'cause I owe money, too.”

“Your pockets will be empty, Grasshopper, but your heart will be full.”

“Who's Grasshopper?” Ella asked.

“It's a cocktail,” Helen said. “Sweet and green.”

“It's from an old TV show called
Kung Fu
,” Geneva said. “The wise teacher called his student ‘Grasshopper' because he couldn't hear the grasshoppers at his feet.”

“I can see how that would make an exciting TV show,” Charlie deadpanned.

Dublin stood and bowed. “Spoken like a true Grasshopper.”