The year She Fell (13 page)

“Well, we did rehearse,” I said. “We learned songs for every occasion. And that one was the one we’d sing at a sorority sister’s wedding. Sort of giving the bride away.”

Linda and Janie had never been the sorority sort, and I could tell this nugget of Tri Delt tradition amused them. So I added, a bit defensively, “It’s a sweet custom, I think.”

“Oh, yeah, real sweet,” Janie said. “The whole time, I remember, that crinkly blonde-haired one was making eyes at Tom. I was about to walk over there and smack her.”

“You mean Tansy Milhone?” Tansy was the only one I knew who actually used those awful crimping irons on her hair. And it was true, she did occasionally make a play for Tom, but mostly, I thought, to aggravate me. “You think,” I asked slowly, “that she wanted him?”

“Oh, who knows. She was such an airhead anyway,” Janie said. “Tom didn’t give her a second look. I’d had about four glasses of champagne by then, and I was ready to smack him too if he responded to her. But he only had eyes for you, and all that stuff.”

With something like relief, I acquitted Tansy. Mad as I was at Tom, I couldn’t believe he’d be as carefree as he was that day, if we were being serenaded by his former bedmate. That also eliminated the other two sorority sisters at the wedding. There were, however, a couple dozen other Tri Delts unaccounted for—all of them on my Christmas card list, getting my cheery little annual letter with its news of Tom and Sarah and all the events of our lives.

That mailing list was on my laptop, which was sitting at the house, waiting for parts.

“Are you okay?” Janie asked gently.

I gave myself a mental shake and managed a smile. “Oh, you know, just remembering back when we were all so young and excited about life—”

“And Cathy was still with you,” Linda said. “I suppose even happy memories make you remember losing her.”

That wasn’t really what was bothering me, but it was a good enough alibi for my moodiness. So, even though I felt guilty for using my sister’s death, I nodded sadly. “It’s hard to escape the memories, you know, when I’m back in the old house.”

Janie took one of my hands, and Linda the other, and they squeezed, and after a moment Linda started laughing. “Hey, Ellen, let’s give Janie a kiss too. That Swenson girl, the waitress, can then go start a rumor about the new principal and her best gal pals.”

Janie glanced back at the counter girl and yanked her hand loose. “That’s all I need. I’ve already got parents calling me inviting me to go to their church, saying they’ve noticed I don’t seem to have anywhere to go Sunday mornings.”

“Moralistic little town,” Linda muttered, sliding out of the booth and standing up. “I swear, as soon as the kids graduate, I’m heading back to
Pittsburgh
. But for now, I better get back to work.”

We all kissed goodbye—over Janie’s shoulder, I caught a glimpse of the little waitress’s intrigued expression—and I left to go to Compuworld.

As I went out the door, I looked back at Janie and Linda, their faces so familiar and so dear. Janie and Linda wouldn’t have slept with Tom, even after we broke up. I knew that. I wondered why I suspected my sorority sisters, but trusted my high school friends so implicitly.

And why, trusting them so implicitly, I didn’t trust them with this secret.

I felt the fury against Tom rise again. This was making me suspicious and secretive, and I hated being that way. I’d fought for so long against my natural middle-child negative tendencies, and now they were overwhelming me. I felt cheated and resentful and distrusting, just like I used to feel back in the bad moments of childhood, when it seemed like everyone else got to be special and I got to be ignored. I wasn’t like that anymore—but this made me feel that way again.

I was opening the back of the laptop, watching with half-an-eye as the Pirates ended the 8
^th
inning with a pop-up, when Mother came into the study and turned off the TV. “Someone must have left that on, and I’m sure it’s distracting you from your task.”

I looked up from my awkward position on the floor, my mini-screwdriver slipping out of the tiny screw again. I decided not to tell her I’d been watching the game. “I have to install a new modem card.”

“How interesting!” she replied. I was quite sure she wouldn’t know a modem from a mouse, but she did seem genuinely intrigued. “I can’t wait to—what do you call it? Surf? Surf the web again.”

This girlish enthusiasm was another signal that something was wrong—or something was different. She didn’t even mention the morning’s meeting, or her decision to leave the house to the college. Just as well. I’d gone from feeling confused to feeling hurt and rejected, and I couldn’t in good conscience inflict that mood on anyone, even the mother responsible for it.

Just after Mother left to go to the employment agency to meet another housekeeper candidate, Laura strolled in. She slid sinuously to the floor beside me, leaning against the side of the couch so she wouldn’t block my light. “A screwdriver. In your hand. Wow. I’m impressed.”

“Yes, if this church gig doesn’t work out, I’m going to get a job at Computers R Us.” I glanced at the clock on the mantel. Time passes quickly when you’re screwing and unscrewing. “Did the dedication ceremony really last three hours?”

“No. I just, you know, hung out there for awhile. Soaking up the local color. I must have seen a dozen former classmates.” She picked up one of the little screws and examined it closely. “Most of the women look great. Most of the men look old.”

“Boredom and beer age men fast here in the mountains. So . . . did you speak to the guest of honor?”

She misinterpreted me—deliberately. “The mayor? No— he was too busy giving speeches. Must be election time. I don’t know why he thought this would win votes, but he bragged that the lockup cells have more modern conveniences than most hotel rooms. I thought maybe I would move in there if Mother gets too annoying.”

“And get regular bed checks from the police chief, huh?”

This she just ignored. “I keep thinking that someday I’ll be able to write a screenplay about this, about growing up in a small mountain town, everyone so proud of the new lockup, the fire department’s spaghetti dinner benefit the biggest event of the month . . . But I can’t get a grip on it. I have the setting and characters, but no story.”

I straightened up and arched my aching back. “How about . . . you know. A murder in a small town. Investigated by a good-looking young police chief with a checkered past. His old high school squeeze comes back for the summer—”

“I think I’ve seen that one. Like ten times.”

“Just means it’s a classic plot.” To tease her, I bumped her shoulder with mine. We were exactly the same height, I noticed. No need to compare weights, however. “The squeeze could be the murderer.”

“Yeah. She murders a college president. And gets off for justifiable homicide.”

“Now, now, Urich is just doing his job.” I yanked out the old modem and studied it. The jack end was bent almost at a right angle. “He’d be negligent if he didn’t take everything Mother wanted to give him.” With my free hand, I shoved the new modem box to Laura, who stared at it as if she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do with it. “Open it,” I said impatiently. “Geez, did
Jackson
serve up moonshine at the police station opening ceremony? You don’t seem completely lucid.”

Laura opened the package with quick, harsh motions. “Yeah. Chief McCain provided bit of the old homebrew.”

I wanted to ask her more about
Jackson
, but the clipped way she said his name told me it wasn’t the time to pursue the topic. “Dr. Urich annoyed you, did he?”

Moodily Laura popped the protective plastic modem envelope and withdrew the card. “Did you see the excitement in his eyes as he contemplated taking up residence here in the
Wakefield
mansion? Excuse me, the Catherine Wakefield Memorial Hall? He was thinking, ‘The president of WVU doesn’t have a house this big.’“

“Don’t take it out on my modem. Those things are fragile.” Tenderly I took the modem out of her outstretched hand, and slid it into the tiny slot in the motherboard. “Maybe Mother will change her mind and give us the house after all, when I let her use this modem even after she broke the last one.”

Laura was quiet while I went about the delicate task of fastening the tiny screws. Then, as I closed the cover, she said, “That was weird, wasn’t it? Her ripping the cord out like that.”

“I know.”

She glanced back at the archway. Mother was long gone. Still she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I think she did it deliberately.”

I didn’t want to contemplate it. “Why would she want to break my computer?”

“I don’t know. But if she did—well, either there is something wrong with her, or she’s, I don’t know. Trying to keep you from emailing someone?”

“I can’t imagine why. And if so, she wouldn’t be so happy that I am fixing the modem.” I pushed the power button and watched the screen come to life. “Maybe she just didn’t want me to see the website she was viewing.”

“So check the cache.”

I debated this for a minute. “You don’t think it’s, you know, an invasion of privacy?”

Characteristically, Laura had no use for such niceties. “If she wants privacy, she shouldn’t use your computer.”

So I plugged in the phone cord, and she crawled under Daddy’s desk and attached the other end to the wall jack. “I miss my broadband connection,” I said with a sigh as the modem went through the laborious process of dialing up. It was several minutes before I got the browser up and running, and Laura peered over my shoulder as I pulled up the cache.

“Well, that’s pretty disappointing,” she said, surveying the list. “
West Virginia
history site.
Loudon
College
homepage and chat.”

“And the Wakefield Police Department website. That’s kind of interesting.” I clicked on the link. “Hey, there’s a picture of Chief McCain. A good picture. I’m beginning to understand the appeal of a man in uniform.”

Laura couldn’t help it—she took a quick glance at the screen, and just for a second, her eyes softened. Then she looked away. “No clues there. Mother’s just doing her loyal
West Virginia
citizen routine.”

I gave in again to the urge to tease her. “Sure it wasn’t you prowling the WPD website, hoping to grab that .jpg picture of the new police chief?”

She gave me a look of annoyance. “I don’t need a picture.”

“That’s right. You just saw him at the jail dedication, didn’t you?”

Now she smiled, the sort of sly smile that would have marked her as the villainess in any movie. “Yes, but you know who else I saw?”

I knew she was just trying to change the subject, but still it made me nervous. “Who?”

“Your husband. I’m sure it was him. He was leaning on a black Jeep and watching the show. I tried to get over there to say hi, but by then he was gone.” She frowned. “I shouldn’t have told you. I figured he was planning to surprise you, and now I’ve spoiled it.”

I shrugged, feigning unconcern. “You didn’t spoil it. I knew he was here.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Lots. “Like what?”

“Like why you’re here, and Tom’s here, but he’s not
here
.”

“He’s staying out at the Super-8. And I don’t really want to get into it.”

She gave a half-laugh and pulled the rest of the cellophane from the modem box. “Please don’t tell me he’s moved out. I swear, you’re the only couple I know that I really believe in. You have to stay together, or disillusionment will overwhelm me.”