Jo wondered if Becca had had any nasty STDs in her adolescence that her aunt might want to disclose out of her hearing, but she managed not to ask. This felt like some clumsy effort to discredit Becca, to make Jo doubt her judgment, and she resented it. The front door opened and Rachel emerged, alone, on the porch. Jo left Patricia to flounder to her feet unassisted to join them.
“She’s more comfortable, now.” Rachel spoke quietly, as if still in tending mode. “I ended up giving her a Seconal.” She made a clicking sound of regret. “Becca stays away from meds when she can, but we both agreed it was a good idea tonight. That doll must have been a horror, Joanne.”
“A doll?” Patricia looked from Rachel to Jo and back. “Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good. May I see her?”
“Becca’s finally sleepy. It isn’t a good time for more visitors.” Rachel slid her arm through Patricia’s. “Why don’t you give her a call tomorrow, Patricia? She promised to join me for breakfast in the morning, just to check in. I’ll want to see how she’s doing then.”
Jo released a small breath of relief. “Is there anything I should know for tonight?”
“Just stay in close proximity, in case she dreams. I made her go upstairs to lie down in a real bed, by the way. The woman needs sleep.” Rachel peered up at Jo and patted her wrist gruffly. “You could do with some rest, too, Joanne. You have to take better care of yourself.”
“Oh, look who’s talking.” Patricia pursed her lips. “Rachel, you’re out on your feet.”
Nothing about Rachel had registered for Jo, except her welcome presence, while Becca needed her help. Now she realized how right Patricia was. Rachel seemed shrunken in on herself, hunched and old in the finery of her silk dress. Jo remembered the bird-like thinness of her arm as she helped her up the steps.
“Let me drive you home,” Patricia said. “Or you can sleep at our place, Rachel. That might be best.”
“Don’t be silly, Patricia, I live six blocks away. Just help me down these infernal steps, and I’ll be fine. Good night, Joanne.”
“Good night, Joanne,” Patricia repeated, guiding Rachel solicitously down the stairs. “Please call if Becca needs anything.”
“Where are your shoes?” Rachel asked.
Jo hitched her thumbs in her pockets and watched the two women thoughtfully as they made their way to the street. Their expressions had revealed two things in the last thirty seconds, more clearly than any message whispered from beyond the grave.
Rachel’s concern for Jo’s personal well-being had rung entirely false. Jo supposed she found this understandable. But so had Patricia Healy’s concern for Rachel.
Chapter Fifteen
“It’s all right. I’m awake.” Becca heard the bedroom’s hardwood floor creak beneath Jo’s foot. She assumed it was Jo, and not some creeping, doll-planting interloper. It had better be, since she’d left her chobos downstairs. She was too drowsy to turn over on the wide bed and actually look.
“I’m sorry,” Jo said, apparently apologizing for her mere presence in the darkened room. “I felt it was necessary to bring this up.”
Ah. Jo moved around the bed, and Becca could see her shadowed form set the Spiricom on the low table beside it. She seemed surprised to find the small globe radio already there.
“That yellow ball seems to tune in on my mom the best.” Becca yawned. “If she speaks up tonight, she’d better mind her manners and whisper.”
She felt Jo settle gradually onto the side of the bed, and her silence finally prompted Becca to turn over. Her limbs moved with a drugged languor, and she blinked sleepily.
“It’s not the same bed,” Becca said.
“What?”
“The furniture in this house has been turned over several times over the years. I made Rachel reassure me about that, more than once. My parents slept in this room, but it wasn’t in this bed.”
“I never assumed it was.” Jo sounded puzzled and troubled. “Becca, you scared the hell out of me tonight.”
“I know.” Becca felt genuine sorrow about this. She knew how she would have felt if Jo were suddenly, frighteningly unconscious. “Thank you for looking after me so well.”
“It didn’t seem there was much I could do. How are you now?”
Becca thought about it and decided to tell the truth. “I’m better. Rachel pumped me full of drugs, and I’m calm now, and sleepy. But I’m afraid I’m going crazy, Jo.”
It came out so casually, it sounded so reasonable, and Becca’s eyes filled again with helpless tears. As if she could see them, Jo wrapped her hand in hers.
“Tell me,” Jo said. That’s all she said, and Becca found she could.
“Bipolar disorder tends to run in families. You know that. I’m beginning to think I’ve caught my mother’s bug. These fugue states I go into. They feel psychotic. I may be losing my grip here.”
Jo waited, but that’s all Becca could get out right now. The tears ran down either side of her face, trickling through her hair to the pillow.
“You’re not having manic episodes, Becca, not as I understand mania. And if you’re having intense reactions to this phobia, that just seems good common sense to me. In the past, the danger has always been in your mind. These days your subconscious is reacting to what has become a very real threat.”
Jo’s logic wasn’t reaching Becca, but her voice was. That low, rich alto, the thoughtfulness of her speech. Unfortunately, it wasn’t calming Becca; it was just making it possible to open the floodgates further. She managed to keep her own voice level. “That’s basically what Rachel told me.”
“Rachel knows you very well. You have a therapist you trust, and loving friends to see you through this. You’ll be fine.”
“My mother had those things, and she wasn’t fine.”
That did it. Becca was undone. Even as sobs convulsed her, she knew Jo and Rachel were right. She knew she wasn’t going to end up on a back ward of Western State, but it was so dark outside and Rachel had only given her one Seconal, and it wasn’t enough.
Whatever unlikely wisdom had told Jo when to be silent must have told her now that more than words were needed. Becca felt her long body ease down onto the bed, stretching out beside hers. Jo’s arm draped lightly across her waist, and Becca curled into her shoulder.
They held each other while Becca wept, and for a long time after her tears finally stopped. Then Jo’s hand brushed beneath her chin, and Becca lifted her face to meet her kiss. Their lips blended with a sweet softness, melding with a natural ease, a perfect fit. Becca’s body filled slowly with a different kind of languor, a liquid, trickling warmth.
“Becca.” Jo lifted her head, and Becca wondered at the honest regret in her voice. “I’ve never made love to anyone. I don’t know how. And I don’t want to learn tonight. I just want to hold you.”
And Becca was saddened all over again that Jo was afraid this would be considered heresy; both that she was inexperienced, and that a moment of such loving physical intimacy had to lead inevitably to sex.
“Don’t you know this is enough?” she whispered. “Becca School is back in session, dear Dr. Call. You’re giving me exactly what I need.”
Jo’s body relaxed against hers, and Becca could feel sleep claim her in seconds. Her exhaustion had finally kicked in, and Becca was relieved there was some hope Jo might actually sleep through the night. There was some hope she might too now, well and dreamlessly, with Jo draped around her like a comforting cloak.