The Abduction of Mary Rose (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Lisa Boyce was a pretty woman with warm coffee-coloured eyes and streaked blond hair. The few extra pounds she complained about, as far as Naomi was concerned, just added to her appeal. Her husband died three years ago of a sudden heart attack, she told Naomi, and she lived alone. Their four grown children were scattered around the country, with children of their own, she said.

It wasn't hard to see Lisa through Mary Rose's eyes. To see her as a trusted friend, someone to talk to, to share secrets with. She exuded warmth and compassion, along with a sense of fun. At the moment she was explaining that she was computer illiterate, saying it would have been easier if she could have emailed, then Naomi could have had a choice of whether to answer or not. "I suppose it's always harder for people to say no on the phone."

"Naomi laughed, "It's not like you're a telemarketer, Lisa. Of course I would have answered your email. With pleasure! I can't imagine anyone saying no to you."

"Oh, I'm sure there are any number. Anyway, the kids are always at me to learn how to use the computer so we can all stay in touch easier, and so they can email me pictures of the kids. I've finally decided to give it a try. The local library is running a course for beginners. I'm scared to death," she laughed. "I'm about as low tech as you can get. I can't even program my DVD player." She gave a soft self-deprecating chuckle and sipped her tea.

They were sitting at a round maple table centred with a cut-glass bowl of flawless red shiny apples, in Lisa's bright kitchen, enjoying tea and home-made cheese biscuits that were high and light as clouds.

The apples in the bowl looked waxen they were so perfect in shape and colour, but their sweet apple smell told her they were real. As real as Lisa Boyce herself.

"You'll do great, Lisa. You'll surprise yourself at how quickly you'll learn with a bit of hands-on help. Just takes practice. Six months from now, I guarantee, you'll wonder how you ever got along without your computer. You'll love it, I promise."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me. Well, we'll soon see. But enough about me. You know, when I saw your story in the paper, Naomi, I could hardly believe it. I didn't know if I should call or not. I really have nothing helpful to tell you. I wish I did. And I didn't want to bother you for nothing…."

"Hardly for nothing, Lisa," Naomi reassured her quickly. "I'm really glad you called. Actually, I was planning to call you. You're the only person I know who can tell me anything about my birth-mother."

"I … I suppose that's true. I hadn't thought of it that way. I only wish I could help you find out who did such a terrible thing to Mary Rose. But I'm so excited you're here, Naomi. That you exist. It's like a miracle." An embarrassed laugh held tears. "I'm so happy to meet you, you have no idea. You have her smile."

"Do you think so? Thank you for that, Lisa." Her words had sent a pleasant warmth through Naomi. Strange how easily the conversation flowed between them, as if they had known one another all their lives.

"I'm surprised some lucky guy hasn't grabbed you up by now," Lisa said, getting up to refill their cups from the Pyrex teapot on the stove.

"There've been a couple of close calls," Naomi said easily. "Things just didn't work out. I'm probably too independent."
I'm more like Mom, my adopted mom, than I realized.
"I like my freedom."

"Ah, a cat who walks alone," Lisa teased, returning to her chair. Then more seriously, she added, "You just haven't met the right one is all. But you're young yet."

"I'm not really looking. And speaking of cats, I have one who's wonderful company. Molly. The love of my life. And I keep busy." Even as she spoke the words, an image of Eric Grant's blue eyes smiling at her out of that bushy face leapt unbidden into her mind's eye, surprising her. Strange. Had revealing her story to him created some childish bond in her mind? Like someone who develops an attraction for her shrink? What did they call it, transference? Whatever, it would pass. She was just another story to him.

"You must miss your husband terribly," she said, turning the conversation away from herself to Lisa."

She nodded slowly. "We were supposed to grow old together. The year before his heart attack we bought a yard swing and joked about spending our golden years sitting in it, talking and looking at the stars. For a long time I didn't think I could go on. But you do. Somehow you do. You don't have much choice."

Naomi sat quietly. She could see a part of the swing through the kitchen window. Wooden, old-fashioned, the kind that invited you to sit a spell and contemplate the stars.

"Sometimes I sit out there alone and imagine him beside me. I even talk to him. Do you think I'm crazy?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure he hears every word."

"Your mother's secret must have weighed heavily on her all those years. She clearly loved you very much, to want to protect you."

"Maybe she was protecting herself."

"Oh, I don't think so, honey. She would have been considered some kind of hero if folks around here knew she took in that poor girl's baby to raise as her own."

Naomi let the words sink in. They made sense. Made her feel a little better, too. "I can see why Mary Rose was drawn to you, Lisa. You're really something."

She just smiled a sad little smile that Naomi couldn't quite read. "It's nice of you to say that."

"It's only the truth. Can you tell me about her, Lisa? I know it was a long time ago, but…."

"Not so long that I don't remember like it was yesterday. I remember her very well. I can see her face so clearly in my mind. Hear her laugh. And that night still haunts me, and will for the rest of my life. I can still smell the nail polish we painted our nails with, hear the music on the record player. What haunts me most is that her killers are still out there, free for years now to come and go as they damn well please while Mary Rose lays in the ground … I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I feel the same way. What was she like?" Naomi prodded gently, wanting to know Mary Rose better, wanting to make a deeper connection through this woman who knew her. Who danced and laughed with her when they were both girls.

Lisa looked thoughtfully at her, but Naomi sensed she was looking inward, at old memories. Eyes soft, a tender smile on her lips, she said, "She was quiet and kind of shy. She had a great laugh, though. Infectious. Made you laugh too. Although admittedly there wasn't much for her to laugh about at school. Kids can be pretty mean. I don't think it's so bad now the bigotry. Anyway, she handled it. She was very close to her grandfather, and I think that helped. He called her 'Little Bird'. Let me see. She liked to draw and write poetry. And she had a lovely singing voice, too, like an angel. Once, I tried to talk her into auditioning for the school variety show, but you'd have thought I suggested she jump from a plane minus a parachute." She laughed softly, remembering. "Imagine, here I am sitting across from her daughter who would grow up to be an audio book narrator. How cool is that?"

"It is kind of, isn't it?" Naomi grinned, feeling a self-conscious pride in her achievements, modest as they were. "I'm very lucky to be doing work I love."

"Yes. You are. That's not to say you didn't work for it. But I think knowing how to be grateful is a gift too."

Her words caught Naomi off-guard. A kind of back-handed compliment that came off oddly as advice. It also made her think of Eric Grant; he wasn't all that off base in his comment about her being lucky. She'd just been particularly touchy in that moment that was all. "I'm really glad you called," she said again. "You're a special person, Lisa."

The sadness in the woman's eyes deepened. "Not so special. I went to visit her for a while after … but it was too hard seeing her like that. Unable to speak, even open her eyes. All those tubes snaking out of her … machines beeping." After a beat, she said, "I never knew she was pregnant."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You were just a kid."

"I know. But I still feel guilty. Oh, I have something for you. I'll just be a minute, it's in the bedroom."

Moments later, she returned with a folded sheet of paper in her hand and passed it to Naomi. "It's one of her poems. I kept it in an old chocolate box all these years. I want you to have it."

Naomi's immediate impulse was to snatch the paper from Lisa's hand and clutch it to her heart, but of course she didn't, just forced her hands to lie limply in her lap. "I couldn't. It belongs to you."

"No, not anymore. I guess I was keeping it for you anyway. I just didn't know it." Naomi took the paper. As she started to unfold it, Lisa put a hand on hers. "Don't read it now. Wait until you're alone."

"You don't know what this means to me."

"Oh, I think I do," Lisa smiled. The smile gave way to concern as she said, "You be careful, Naomi. Be very careful."

The warning sent an involuntary chill through Naomi. "I will. But I don't think there's too much to worry about. I haven't heard anything significant since the article came out in the paper."

"You will though. I have a very strong feeling about that. You will."

Chapter Fourteen

Naomi had barely gotten in the house and taken off her jacket when the phone rang, but by the time she snatched up the receiver and said hello, the caller had already hung up. She contemplated the silent phone for a few seconds, then replaced the receiver with a sigh of frustration. Was Lisa right? Could that have been the call that would change everything? Surely they would call back then, if that was the case. If it was part of the plan.

Lisa was sensitive, and open, and it was this that had given Naomi the courage to tell her about her dream of the eagle. She was the first and only person she'd ever told about the dream. Not surprising to Naomi, she didn't laugh or look skeptical as many would have, but in fact was matter-of-fact in her assertion that Mary Rose had reached out to her from the spirit world. Her words affirmed Naomi's own belief that we exist on different planes, and that all things are possible. Spoken aloud, it might sound like so much fantasy and wishful thinking, but Naomi felt in her heart that there was more to life than six feet of ground at the end. Otherwise, it was all some kind of cosmic joke, and that seemed far less likely. That made no sense at all.

It had been an afternoon of revelations. Lisa surprised her by telling her that Eric Grant wrote a book called "Freakhead". Lisa had noted his byline on her story, and said she was a fan. "It's a memoir. About being raised in an orphanage, Greyland's Home for Boys, aptly named, I might add. The place had a reputation and they finally tore it down. He got the title for his book from some kid who called him Freakhead all the time."

Not as bad as Devil's Spawn, she thought. Then felt ashamed of herself for even daring to compare her own childhood with someone who was raised in an orphanage. It explained totally his comment about her being lucky to be adopted. Which, of course, was true.

Lisa offered to lend her the book but for some reason that she couldn't explain, even to herself, Naomi declined, saying she had all she could do to keep up with the books her publisher sent. She didn't miss the oddly puzzled look Lisa gave her, and wondered at her own resistance to reading his memoir. "Why was he in Greyland's?" she asked. "Were his parents dead?"

"Divorced. Mother remarried, and the new husband didn't want to be saddled with a kid. She made a choice. Four year old Eric went to live with his father. A year later his father died of a heart attack, and Eric ended up in that hellhole. You oughta read the book."

* * *

Driving home, Naomi recalled reading that Eric Grant's articles on the Middle East had been short-listed for some prestigious award a couple of years back. She hadn't made the connection with his name at first. She should try to stay current.
Pretty impressive for a kid raised in an orphanage.
As she thought about Eric Grant, and her perhaps skewed first impression of him, she continued to listen for the phone, willing it to ring.