The Carson Springs Trilogy: Stranger in Paradise, Taste of Honey, and Wish Come True (107 page)

Anna took a deep breath. “You won’t have to.”

“Cross your heart, hope to die?”

“Stick a needle in my eye.” Anna grinned, and in that instant they were sisters again. Two little girls hugging each other tightly as they cowered in the closet, listening to their father beat the living daylights out of their mother. Before Liz was born. Before Dad got sick. Before Monica ran away to Hollywood and became famous.

“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off,” Monica said magnanimously. “You’ve earned it.”

As Anna rose to her full height she had the oddest feeling of sinking into the floor, like an elevator going down. She’d won, hadn’t she? Why did she feel so defeated? “Thanks, I think I will.”

“See you in the morning?”

“First thing.”

It wasn’t until she was outside, trudging toward her newly repaired Toyota, for which she was now in the hole for two hundred eighty dollars she could ill afford, that it struck Anna: She hadn’t gained a thing. Not really. Monica had given in, yes, but at what price? Anna couldn’t shake the feeling that the other shoe had yet to drop.

She was in her nightgown, brushing her teeth, when the phone rang.

“Miss Anna … you come. Hurry.” It was Arcela. She sounded agitated.

Anna felt a jolt of alarm. “What is it?”

“Miss Monica, she fall down. She hurt, I think.”

More like passed out cold. Anna recalled how drunk she’d been. And that was before cocktail hour, when the fun
really
started. But what if she really was hurt? “I’ll call an ambulance,” she told Arcela. “Just keep an eye on her until it gets there.”

Punching in 911, she felt a great weariness descend on her. This wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last. She could no longer ignore the fact that her sister was an alcoholic.

Her next call was to Laura. “I know it’s late,” she apologized, “but something’s come up. It’s Monica. I’m on my way to the hospital and I was wondering—”

Laura didn’t let her finish. “Finch can drive you. And don’t worry about your mother; I’ll look after her.”

“I hate to bother you this time of night.”

“Don’t be silly. What are neighbors for?” As if she’d asked to borrow a cup of sugar. “Just stay put. We’ll be there as soon as I throw something on.”

Anna fought back tears. “Thanks. What would I do without you?” It was a familiar refrain, yet each time it amazed her that someone who didn’t owe her a thing could be so giving.

Minutes later she heard a knock at the door. Laura let herself in before Anna had a chance to answer it. She wore a jacket over her flannel nightgown, a pair of cowboy boots peeking from under the ruffled hem. “Take all the time you need,” she said, as Anna was leaving. “I just hope it isn’t serious.” Something in her tone caused Anna to go cold inside: Laura knew. Which meant it was even worse than she’d thought. There’d be no sweeping it under the rug this time.

“I
S SHE AWAKE?”
Liz asked nervously.

Anna shook her head. “Out like a light.”

“Do you guys, uh, want some coffee or something?” Finch piped.

They stood in a tense huddle in the hallway outside Monica’s room on the third floor at Dominican, Finch hovering a few feet away from Anna and Liz. She felt as though she were butting in on private family business.

“I could use some.” Liz looked put out, as if she’d been dragged there for no reason. She dug into her purse and handed Finch a crumpled bill. “Milk, no sugar.”

Finch could see the resemblance to Anna in her heart-shaped face with its wide-set blue eyes that crinkled at the corners. The difference was that Liz took better care of herself. Her brown hair was stylishly cut and streaked with subtle highlights; her body that of someone who worked out regularly. And no wonder. Liz managed the spa at the hot springs, where Alice was always threatening to drag Laura one of these days.

“I’m good, thanks.” Anna flashed Finch a weary smile. She wore sneakers and rumpled sweats, and in one corner of her mouth was a tiny smear of toothpaste.

Finch felt a rush of protectiveness, which was odd given that Anna was more than twice her age. Probably because they were alike in some ways; neither had had it easy. Finch saw it in the shyness with which Anna greeted new people, as if experience had taught her that not everyone with a hand out meant well, and in her reluctance to step to the head of the line, as if to do so would make her a target. It wasn’t until you got to know Anna that you realized how amazing she was—strong in the way that trees are, quietly enduring each storm.

Like now, with Monica. Some might see Anna as subservient to her famous sister, but Finch knew the truth: Anna was the glue that held Monica together. But even she had her limits. Everyone in town knew that Monica was a drunk. Anna could only hold it together for so long.

Finch was on her way back from the cafeteria, walking carefully to keep the Styrofoam container of coffee from spilling over, when she saw the two sisters still huddled in conversation. And from the looks they wore it wasn’t the weather they were discussing. She slowed her steps, their voices drifting toward her.

“Are you sure it’s as bad as all that?” Liz was saying. “I mean, just because she drinks a little too much—”

“It’s not a little; it’s a lot. And it’s getting worse.” Anna wasn’t backing down. Good for her. “You don’t want to be around when she’s been drinking, believe me.”

“I don’t want to be around her, period.” Liz gave a dry little laugh. “I deal with enough celebrities at the spa. The worst? The ones who come across sweet as pie in public. You should see how they treat my staff.”

“Ever heard of Pathways?”

“Isn’t it one of those religious cults?”

“It’s a rehab facility. A lot of famous people go there.”

“Oh yeah, it’s coming back to me. Isn’t that where what’s-his-name went to get off drugs?”

Anna nodded. “That’s what made me think of it. Anyway, I put in a call.” This wasn’t news to Finch; Anna had phoned from the car—someone named Rita. It sounded as if they’d spoken before.

“And?” Liz arched a brow.

“They’re sending someone to evaluate her.”

Liz made a face. “I wouldn’t want to be that person.”

“Well, the thing is …” Anna became suddenly absorbed in rubbing at a spot on her sleeve. “We’ll have to be there, too. Sort of like an intervention.”

“Sort of? There’s no such thing as
sort of
.” Liz took a step back, glancing about wildly as if in search of the nearest fire escape. But she must have realized she was stuck, for she moaned and slumped back against the wall. “Oh, God, I should’ve known.”

In a quiet but firm voice, Anna said, “I can’t do this alone. I need you, Liz.”

“Why should I? What has she done for
me
lately? She barely gives me the time of day. And Dylan? The last time we were up at the house, she took a nap while he splashed around in the pool. I’m surprised she even remembers his birthday.”

“Well, it’s something at least.”

The telltale flush in Anna’s cheeks was the tip-off. Liz’s eyes narrowed. “It was
you,
wasn’t it?
You’re
the one who sends those gifts.”

Anna looked as if she were going to deny it, then shrugged. “I charge it to her card, so technically they’re from her.”

Liz sighed in defeat. “Okay. I’ll do it for you. But that’s the
only
reason.”

Anna looked relieved. “Great. Meet me here tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Why so early?”

“Supposedly it’s better if we do it first thing—before she knows what hit her.”

Liz sighed again, looking even more put upon. “I’ll have to find someone to cover for me at work. Janelle’s out sick and I’ve been filling in at the front desk. But I suppose I could spare an hour.”

“Actually, it’s a little more involved than that.” Anna suddenly had trouble meeting her gaze. “There’s also family week.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s not for a couple of weeks, until she’s had a chance to settle in, but it’s important that we both come. Not just for Monica’s sake. For ours too.”

“No way.” Liz was shaking her head like a child ordered to eat something that would make her gag. “No fucking way am I rearranging my entire life for that … that …” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. Whatever Monica might be, she was still her sister. In a sullen voice, she added, “She wouldn’t do it for either of us.”

“Probably not,” Anna admitted, looking more sad than angry. “But isn’t that all the more reason? God knows it can’t get any worse. And maybe it’ll get better. For
all
of us.”

Finch chose that moment to step forward. She handed Liz her coffee, saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” She’d started off in the direction of the lounge when Anna grabbed her gently by the elbow.

“You’re not interrupting anything.” She gave her a look that said,
You’re family, too.

A warm glow stole over Finch. For most of her sixteen years she’d been on the outside looking in. Fourteen foster homes in as many years, never in any one long enough to call it home. It was only in the past year or so, since she’d come to live with Laura, that she’d felt as though she belonged. And now here was Anna making room as well.

Liz smiled. “The more, the merrier.”

“Is she going to be okay?” Finch asked with a glance into Monica’s room, where she slumbered on, oblivious to what was about to hit her.

Liz snorted. “Depends on what you mean by okay.”

Finch had heard the rumors. She’d also been around enough drunks to know one when she saw one. Once, when waiting on Monica in Delarosa’s, she’d smelled booze on her breath.

“I’m just glad she wasn’t hurt,” Anna said.

“How the hell do you fall out of a wheelchair? I mean, even drunk it’s quite a stunt.” Liz glanced about, as if afraid someone might overhear. “By the way, what’s the
official
story?”

Anna smiled grimly. “That she was taken suddenly ill. Pneumonia probably. It sounds more glamorous than a bump on the head.”

Finch shuddered, a memory rushing in. She was eight years old, in the emergency ward at King’s County, her arm being set into a cast. She was crying, not just because it hurt or because she was in an unfamiliar place, but because the nice doctor fixing her arm had wanted to know how she broke it and she didn’t know what to say. If she told the truth, her foster dad might hurt her even worse, as he’d threatened. So she lied instead, telling the doctor she’d fallen off a jungle gym.

From inside Monica’s room came a soft moan. Finch peered in to see her stirring awake. She didn’t look so glamorous right now. Her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, her hair snarled. A few years ago, Finch had torn a photo of Monica from a magazine and taped it to her bedroom wall. She’d dreamed of one day being rich and famous like her, but now she wouldn’t have traded places with Monica for all the money in the world.

While Liz and Anna hung back, each waiting for the other to go first, Finch found herself drifting into the room. “Hi,” she said, lifting her hand in a little wave.

“Who are you?” Monica squinted groggily up at her.

“A friend of Anna’s.” Clearly, Monica didn’t remember her from Delarosa’s.

Monica looked past her, calling sharply to Anna and Liz, “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Anna stepped up beside Finch. “You took a little tumble back at the house.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.

Monica frowned. “Funny. I don’t remember.”

“Hey, Sis.” Liz planted a little peck on Monica’s cheek. “You look a little under the weather.”

“I feel like shit.” The dark circles under Monica’s eyes looked as if they’d been drawn on with a Magic Marker. “Where’s Dr. Berger?”

“He’s not here,” Anna said.

“Where the hell is he? Why haven’t you called him?”

She struggled to sit up, but Anna gently pushed her back. “It can wait until morning. No sense disturbing him tonight.”

“All right, if you won’t call him,
I
will.” Monica reached for the phone by the bed, but Liz snatched it out of reach.

“You’re not exactly in a position to be calling any shots,” she said.

Monica looked stunned. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being talked to this way. “What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Don’t deny it; it’s written all over your faces.”

“We might as well tell her. She’ll know soon enough.” Liz cast a meaningful look at Anna before turning back to Monica. “The doctor says you have six months to live.”

“Go to hell,” Monica shot back.

Finch fought the urge to giggle.

“We’ll be back in the morning,” Anna said. “We can talk about it then.”

Liz glanced at her watch, then lowered the phone onto the floor.

“So that’s it—you’re abandoning me?” Monica gazed up at them piteously. Finch was reminded of the movie in which she’d played a woman dying of cancer. Finch had cried the whole way through, but now she looked on dry-eyed.

“Looks that way.” Liz cast her a last unsympathetic look as she headed for the door, Anna and Finch behind her. “If you get lonely, you can always watch yourself on TV.” There was usually a Monica Vincent movie on some channel or other.

They were stepping out the door when something went flying past them to land with a thud against the jamb—a Gideon Bible, Finch saw. It appeared Monica was recovering nicely.

“Shh … it’s starting.”

Andie snuggled down in her seat, passing the popcorn box to Simon. He helped himself before handing it to Finch. The credits were rolling over the opening shot: a car winding its way down a familiar mountain road.

“Studebaker,” Simon muttered.

“What?” Finch whispered back.

“The car.” He turned toward her, tiny twin images of the Studebaker flashing across the lenses of his Clark Kent glasses. Andie’s boyfriend was the worst kind of know-it-all, the kind who was always right. If he hadn’t been so nice, Finch could easily have hated him.

Turning her attention back to the screen, she quickly became caught up in the movie. It was a scratchy print, its colors dulled by age, but
Stranger in Paradise,
the story of a man on the run from the law who takes a wrong turn and ends up in a town that turns out to be heaven, held her captive from start to finish. By the final scene, when the hero realizes he’s in love with the woman he was falsely accused of murdering and has to choose between staying with her and going back to his life on earth, she was sniffing surreptitiously into the tissue balled in her fist. Glancing at Andie out of the corner of her eye, she saw that her friend was doing the same.