The Perfect Comeback of Caroline Jacobs (22 page)

“I have one in the cruiser,” Dugan said. “I'll go get it.”

“I'm coming with you,” Barbara said. The two crossed the backyard and turned the corner at the edge of the house. A second later Emily and Carline were alone.

“I'm worried about Polly,” Caroline said.

“Don't be,” Emily said. “We know she was here last night. She's probably on her way back to your mother's place right now.”

“I can't stand the thought of her sleeping in that tree house alone.”

Emily laughed. “I did it on more than one occasion. It's uncomfortable but not all that bad.”

“You did? When?”

“When I was in high school,” Emily said. “I got along with my parents for the most part, but things weren't always rosy. When I would run away from home, I would come here and spend the night. I didn't know it at the time, but my parents always knew where I was.”

“I had no idea that you used to run away from home.”

“Not really running away,” Emily said. “More like a cooling down period. You know teenagers. Everything has to be dramatic. You never came back here after you moved?”

“I couldn't even stand the thought of seeing this place. I missed it so much. Still do. This was the last place that I can remember being perfectly happy.”

“You're not happy now?”

“I'm happy,” Caroline said. “It's been a tough few years for me and Polly. We fight a lot. Actually, we used to fight a lot. Now we just don't talk. But that's normal, I guess. So yeah, I'm happy. But I'm talking about that special brand of perfect childhood happiness. You know what I mean? When the only thing you worried about was getting home before the street lights came on.”

“I don't know if I ever had a time when I felt like that. My childhood was great, but there was always a lot of pressure to get good grades. And my parents fought a lot. I think they put all of their attention and effort on me so they wouldn't have to focus on each other.”

“Are they still together?” Caroline asked, surprised and a little embarrassed that it had taken her this long to ask. For a good portion of her childhood, they had been like surrogate parents to her.

“No, they got divorced after I graduated. I think they were waiting until I moved out to split. Dad lives in Maine. He got remarried to a woman he met online. A sheep farmer, if you can believe it. I actually like her a lot. He moved onto her farm. He shears sheep and raises chickens now.”

“I can't imagine your father raising chickens,” Caroline said. “That's wild.”

“Right,” Emily said. “No blue suits needed on a farm.”

“And your mom?” Caroline asked. “What about her?”

“She lives on the Cape. Bought a bed-and-breakfast and works her ass off every summer so she can spend the winter on the couch, reading and knitting.”

“Is she married?” Caroline asked.

“No. She's had a few boyfriends, but nothing's stuck.”

“I always thought your parents had the perfect marriage.”

Emily laughed. “They did a good job of faking it for the benefit of the world, but behind closed doors, there was a lot of yelling. And a lot of silence.”

“It makes me wonder if anyone stays together anymore.”

“You and your husband are still together.”

“That's true,” Caroline said, feeling more proud of this fact than she ever had.

Officer Dugan rounded the corner, carrying a white first-aid box in his hand. Barbara trailed him, arms folded.

“How's the head?” he asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Caroline said. “It doesn't hurt, if that's what you mean.”

“Head wounds bleed a lot,” Dugan said. “They often look worse than they really are. I'm just going to put a bandage on it for now.”

After several attempts to tape sterile gauze to the wound, Dugan finally took out a roll of gauze and wrapped it around her head in order to hold the bandage in place.

“Damn, you look like someone brained you,” Emily said.

“I brained myself,” Caroline said. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Dugan said. “No arguments.”

“And?” Barbara Kingman said.

Dugan looked to Caroline and Emily and rolled his eyes. “Would you mind apologizing to Mrs. Kingman for trespassing on her property?”

“Oh, come on,” Emily said.

“No, it's fine,” Caroline said. “You've done enough apologizing for one day.” She turned to Barbara Kingman. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Kingman. We didn't mean any harm.”

“Try harder next time,” she said.

A minute later, Dugan was helping Caroline into her car. “I don't blame the lady,” he said. “Kids are in that tree house constantly. She must call us twice a month. And if the kids see us coming, which they usually do, they bolt into those woods behind the house and it's damn near impossible to catch them.”

“She's still a bitch,” Emily said.

“I won't argue with that,” Dugan said. “I'll follow you back to your mom's. See if Polly's shown up there yet. Call off the dogs.”

Emily turned to Caroline. “You mind if I go with you back to your mom's house? I want to see this through with you. Make sure Polly's safe and sound.”

“Sure,” Caroline said. Then she smiled. “But I can't guarantee that she'll be nice to you when we find her.”

“That's okay,” Emily said. “I deserve it.”

 

 

Tom tensed at the sight of the cruiser pulling into Penelope's driveway.

“It's fine, Tom,” Caroline said, climbing out of her own car.

“Oh my God!” Tom, moving quickly to close the gap between them. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Caroline said. “He's just here to see if Polly made it home yet.”

“I'm taking about your head,” he said, motioning to her forehead.

“Oh, God. I forgot. I hit my head”

“Are you okay?” he asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Jesus. Your head is covered in blood. Are you sure?”

“She's fine,” Dugan said. “You can take her to the hospital if you'd like. Better safe than sorry. But I don't think there's any concussion, and I'm pretty sure it's stopped bleeding.”

“How did you hit your head on a beam?” Tom asked.

“In a tree house. It's a long story. Any word from Polly?”

“No,” Tom said, shaking his head. “I just pulled in. I went to White Hen and the diner and that plaza down the street. I thought she might be hanging out somewhere, nursing a coffee. You didn't find anything either?”

“I did,” Caroline said, remembering her possibly good news. “Charleston Chew wrappers and Red Bull. Looks like Polly stayed in my old tree house last night. But she'd left already by the time we got there.”

Tom looked relieved. “At least we know she's okay.”

“Are you guys still looking for Polly?” All four heads turned to the porch, where Agnes was sitting in the rocking chair that had been occupied by Spartacus the day before.

“Yes?” Caroline said.

“She's in the backyard,” Agnes said.

“What?”

“She's in the backyard,” Agnes repeated.

“What's she doing in the backyard?” Tom asked.

“Attending a funeral,” Agnes said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

twenty-six

George Durrow and Polly were standing shoulder to shoulder amongst the tiny markers that dotted the backyard lawn. Spartacus was standing a couple paces to their left. They were facing Penelope Waters, who was dressed in what appeared to be a black robe and holding an open book in her hands. A small, rectangular hole and a tiny pile of dirt filled the space between them. Caroline could tell that she was speaking, but the combination of the roar of the river and the distance between them prevented the words from making their way to her.

“It's okay,” Tom said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We can just wait inside.”

“No,” Caroline said.

“Are you sure?” Tom asked.

Emily, flanking Caroline on the opposite side, gave a quizzical look. “What's wrong?”

“Caroline doesn't—” Tom began.

“I haven't been to a funeral since my sister died.”

“Oh,” Emily said.

“Listen,” Tom said, adopting his ministerial tone. “Maybe this isn't the time—”

“It's exactly the time.” As she crossed the lawn and navigated her way through the rows of tiny headstones, Caroline thought back on Lucy's funeral, a memory she had been avoiding for more than two decades. It had been a day similar to today: clear skies, light breeze, sun high in the sky. Caroline's uncle Bill had driven Caroline and her mother over in his paneled station wagon. The car had been full of adult passengers, which meant that Caroline had to sit alone in the way-back, a space that in today's seatbelt culture was reserved for luggage and pets. No one spoke during the ten-minute drive. The only sound was the near-silent wailing of her mother.

Caroline hated the birds that day. She was standing between her mother and her aunt June at the grave site, squinting at the sun's glare as it reflected off the polished wooden surface of the casket. Lucy was inside that small box, she knew. Cold, lifeless Lucy, the little girl who wanted nothing more than to be just like her big sister. Lucy was going to be lowered into the ground and buried forever, and yet the birds continued to chirp and sing in the trees around them as the moment drew near, oblivious to the fact that the world had been cracked in two.

Caroline had been trapped in a space between grief and terror. The weight of the sadness over the loss of Lucy was unbearable, and yet there was also the ever-present fear that someone would discover that she was responsible for her sister's death. That everyone would hate her as much as she hated herself.

Another bird,
she thought, spotting the wooden box in George's right hand as she drew near the small gathering.

Her mother's eyes were focused on the book in her hands. Caroline had initially thought it was the Bible, but now that she was closer, it looked too thin. Her mother had just turned a page and begun reading when her words finally carried over the sound of the river. It was a poem, and one Caroline knew well.

Our revels are now ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded in a sleep

Tears welled up in her eyes.

A second later, her mother asked for a moment of silence.

Caroline came alongside Polly and touched her arm lightly. Polly turned. Her eyes widened as she focused in on her mother's forehead. Caroline quickly shook her head in an attempt to dismiss Polly's concern. “It's okay,” she said, mouthing the words, not wanting to disturb this moment of silence. “Don't worry. It's nothing.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Penelope was staring at her daughter. A second later George was, too.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Who?” Spartacus asked, turning in her general direction.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Honestly. I banged my head. That's all. I'm here for support. Just keep going, Mom.”

“Then why are you crying?” Polly asked.

“Who's crying?” Spartacus asked.

“Caroline,” her mother said. “Caroline's crying.”

“It's just a bird,” Spartacus said. “No offense, George.”

Caroline wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “Please. Don't let me interrupt.”

“We're almost done,” her mother said. “Are you sure you want to be here?”

“She's sure.”

Polly and Caroline turned to see Emily, Tom, and Officer Dugan.

It was Emily who had spoken.

Caroline's mother managed a smile before turning her head back down to the book. “All right, let's continue then. The final reading of the afternoon will be by my granddaughter, Polly Jacobs.”

“Not exactly a reading,” Polly said. “Just some stuff that I wanted to say.”

Caroline's mother looked to George. “It's okay,” he said. “I'm sure that whatever she says will be perfect.”

Penny stepped aside. Polly took her spot in front of the small gathering. “There's a company in England that will send professional mourners to your funeral, so you can look more popular than you really were.”

“Is that true?” Spartacus asked.

“Shush,” Penny said. “Let her speak.”

“She can tell me later,” Spartacus said.

“Shush!”

“It's okay,” Polly said. “And yes, it's true. I think it's kind of amazing that some people need to hire professional mourners for their funerals, and we have so many people here today for Tutu's funeral.”

“Amen,” Penelope whispered.

Spartacus nodded.

George sniffled.

“They say that death is hardest on the living,” Polly said, louder now. More official. “But whoever said that was an idiot. A total moron. And whoever said it was alive at the time, so he was hardly in the position to know. I don't know if a man said it, but I think it's a safe assumption. Sounds like something a guy would say.”

Polly paused for a moment, seeming to lose her place. She looked up at Caroline. Took a deep breath and found her place again.