The Death of Perry Many Paws (45 page)

“Oh God, Sybil. What have you done?” My voice sounded hoarse and foreign. I kept backing away and stumbled to the side of the road, where I collapsed on the ground and cried. I heard the sirens and automatically scooted back from the road to the edge of the woods as the fire truck and two police cars wailed past me. I could still feel the heat of the fire but I was shivering all over.

Several more cars had joined the firefighters and the police. People in various states of odd attire were wandering aimlessly, watching the firefighters and wondering what had happened. I moved further back among the trees, too exhausted and too stunned to do any more than watch.

The sound of someone calling my name pulled me out of the fog and, like Perry Many Paws emerging from his cave after a winter of hibernation, I lethargically crawled to the edge of the road to see what was going on. Creatures—witches, fairies, pirates, gypsies, a box of oatmeal and lots of the most authentic fireman costumes I’ve ever seen.

“Tamsen! Tamsen! Oh God, where are you? Someone do something! Hiram saw her get into Sybil’s car. She must be here … Why isn’t anyone doing anything? Get her out of there! Do something, you idiots …”

I watched, fascinated, as two men dressed as policemen grabbed a Tin Man and pulled him away from the fire. The Tin Man kept
screaming and fighting but the two policemen were too much for him, encumbered as he was by his outfit. I started laughing hysterically as one of the policemen actually punched the Tin Man, and he lumbered to the ground like a pile of cans falling off the kitchen table. Well, that should shut him up for a while. There was enough noise and confusion without that hysterical tin can disturbing everyone while they were trying to work. Some people had no consideration.

I was cold. The long dress was keeping my legs warm but the rest of me was cold and I couldn’t stop shivering. Even my feet were jumping around uncontrollably and the only way to get them to hold still was to actually grab them with my hands. This wasn’t easy to do. After a couple of half-hearted attempts to get hold of them, I made a concerted lunge and felt a sharp pain surge down my thigh.

“Awwwww. Son of a bitch, that hurts!” My scream jolted the Tin Man to a sitting position and he started pivoting in a circle while trying to bring himself to his feet.

“Tamsen! Where are you? Dammit. Where are you?”

Cam! How did he get here? I grabbed the nearest tree and pulled myself to my feet. Ouch! Another pain shot through my thigh. “Cam! Over here. I can’t walk …”

“Hold on, sweetheart. I’m coming to you.” I heard the clanking of tin coming closer. “Don’t try to move,” he said huffing and puffing. “You may be seriously …”

“I’m fine, but I can’t walk …”

“You will walk. I promise. I’ll make sure you walk again …”

All we needed was some dramatic music to make this 1940s Hollywood scene complete. I started to giggle, remembered Sybil and burst into tears.

“Oh God. You’re crying. You never cry. You must be in pain.”

I leaned against the tree and stretched out my arms as Cam came clobbering toward me. His helmet was gone and his red hair was
covered with ash. There were streaks of soot on his face, streaks that I would swear were tears. And his jaw was rapidly swelling and beginning to distort his mouth so he now resembled the Phantom of the Opera emerging from a can of soup. His face lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me and we fell into each other’s arms laughing and crying and, in my case, swearing because of the pain in my thigh.

Bear hugs. Whispered endearments. Happy tears. Sooty kisses. Sir Lancelot in tarnished armor carrying a bedraggled Guinevere out of the woods, yelling for an ambulance. The EMTs gathered around us, delighted to finally have someone to care for, and I was whisked into the back of the ambulance. The doors were slammed on Cam as he shouted instructions to the EMTs and encouraging words to me on his devotion regardless of my ability to ever walk again. I blew him a kiss and then was rushed away, siren wailing and people making way.

The EMT began to examine me and when he put pressure on my thigh I screamed. “We have leg damage, possibly vertebrae damage,” he yelled to the driver. “Call it in.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think there is any …”

“How did you survive that crash, ma’am? If you come away alive, regardless of the damage to your leg, you are the luckiest woman I know.”

“I wasn’t in the car when it …”

“Ah. You jumped out! What incredible reflexes and fast thinking. You may have broken your leg or your back. You still have feeling in your leg. That’s a positive sign that you will be able to walk again …”

“It’s amazing what surgery and rehab can do now. Be positive!” yelled the driver.

It was obvious that I wasn’t going to be able to get a word in so I just leaned back and closed my eyes. Both men were so proud of me and so encouraging that I didn’t have the heart to tell them I that my only injury was a pulled a muscle in my leg, the result of trying to touch my toes.

spent the night in the hospital. It didn’t take long for them to determine I wasn’t seriously injured but there was some concern about my confused state of mind. They gave me a mild sedative and I slept well. In the morning I talked to a psychologist who pronounced me normal enough, considering the shock I had had. They prescribed some sleeping pills and sent me on my way.

Cam took me home and I looked forward to continuing the ride on the wave of affection that had overwhelmed us last night in the woods. I imagined a day spent recovering on the couch, in front of the fire, with Cam running around waiting on me and telling me how his life would have been destroyed if I had been in the car when it crashed. My friends would drop by, one at a time, and I would feign loss of memory when pressed for details of the event. I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell people yet. I wasn’t even completely sure just what had happened or why. But I knew I could put it off for a day or two until I had time to think it through. I was recovering from an ordeal. Certain latitude was granted in tragic situations such as this.

Therefore, I was dumbstruck when I headed into the library for my day of repose. I didn’t expect to see a tragic figure in a peach silk peignoir languishing on my library couch, propped up with a dozen
pillows, a cup of tea and a plate of cookies within easy reach. Cam came up behind me and put his arm around my waist.

“After leaving you last night I went to break the news to my mom. I didn’t think she should spend the night alone so I brought her home to stay with us until she comes to grips with Sybil’s death,” he whispered in my ear.

“I hate whispering …”

“I know,” he continued to whisper, “but I don’t want to disturb her.”

My hair smelled like smoke. I was coughing from smoke inhalation. I was limping. My eyes were red and puffy. I had horrible visions floating through my head and a million unanswered questions. Meanwhile Claudia was lounging on my couch, perfectly made up and perfumed, dressed in layers of peach silk that flowed around her diminutive form like a pastel pastry confection. If she had been crying there was no sign of it. It would be easier to feel sorry for her if she looked as bad as I did. Claudia raised a limp hand in our direction.

“Tamsen, dear, are you all right? Cam and I were so worried about you.” The delicate white hand fluttered back to her side like a swan floating across the water. I felt like an ugly, filthy, smelly blob. Slowly I walked into the room and went to the couch. I had a sudden vision of Claudia raising that swan hand at my face and making me kiss her ring.

“Yes Claudia, I’m fine. I’ll be coughing for a few days and my eyes hurt and …”

“That’s good, dear. We don’t want this tragedy compounded by losing someone else.” Sigh.

“Mom, you should be resting. This has been a huge shock. Maybe Tamsen and I should leave you alone so you can sleep. Or I can help you back upstairs to your room.”

Her room? Claudia had an actual room now? How long was she going to be here? Why couldn’t she just sleep on the couch and then go
home? Did she actually need a room of her own? I headed toward my favorite leather chair and started to sit.

“Wait, dear. You don’t want to do that. Don’t you think you should shower and change before you sit on the furniture?”

I glanced at Cam and he shrugged.

“Fine. I’ll go shower. And change. Then maybe I can bake some pies and make a full Thanksgiving dinner for all of us.”

“Thank you, dear, but please don’t bother. Thanksgiving is three weeks away so there is no sense in going to all that trouble now. It would spoil our anticipation of the actual event. But we’ll need something hearty for dinner after what we’ve been through. A pot roast, maybe?”

The shower and clean clothes felt good. The pot roast, made by Cam, tasted wonderful and did a lot to improve my spirits. The four-hour nap, alone in my room and far away from Claudia, was incredibly restorative. I was beginning to feel like my old self as the three of us sat around the fireplace munching on German chocolate cake, a donation from Bing, and drinking after-dinner coffee and diet soda. Mycroft was seated at my feet. The room was cozy with a gentle light from the flames and a few lamps softly lit around the room. I felt at peace. I knew that either Cam or Claudia would ruin it. It was just a matter of time. Cam won.

“I can’t believe you left the party and didn’t tell me where you were going.”

“I was just going to the car with Sybil and …”

“But you left town! That isn’t quite the same as …”

“I didn’t know I was going to leave town, Cam. I was just planning to go to the car with Sybil to get something …”

“But you drove away …”

“But I didn’t
know
I was going to drive away, so how could I tell you something I didn’t know!”

“Please don’t yell, children. I don’t want to get a headache.”

Silence followed while Claudia sipped her coffee and daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. We had to get out the cloth napkins because she felt paper was vulgar. I felt like blowing my nose in my cloth napkin just to show her what vulgar really was but I decided to keep it clean in case I needed to wad it up and stuff it down Cam’s throat the next time he opened his mouth.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without Sybil,” Claudia sighed.

Yeah, you’ll need to learn to make your own famous chocolate cherry soufflé. I wonder what the people at Ashland Belle will think when you don’t make the soufflé anymore. You will probably tell them you are retiring the recipe in honor of Sybil.

“She was like a sister to me. We’ve been friends our whole lives. I can’t believe she’s gone. Why was she so careless?”

“I don’t think she died just to inconvenience you,” I said. Cam gave me a look that would have earned him a kick in the shins if he had been closer.

“Well, whether she meant it or not, what she did is completely disrupting my life.”

“I’m sure you don’t mean that the way it sounds, mother …”

“Really? I don’t usually misspeak but maybe I’m overwrought. You could hardly expect less under the circumstances.”

Cam nodded, totally oblivious to the tension in the air. Cam’s love for me might be blind but his love for his mother was deaf, dumb, blind and imbecilic.