The ball moved with rocket speed-a line drive between third base and shortstop, about a foot above the ground. The outfielder made a dive and missed.
Elise didn't know much about softball, but she knew a good hit when she saw one. She started to jump to her feet, then remembered the baby. She clung to Tyler with one arm, while cupping her free hand and shouting as Audrey rounded first, then second.
Home run? Was it going to be a home run?
Two outfielders scrambled for the ball, one of them finally sending it infield to the pitcher just as Audrey tagged third.
Stop! Stay there! Elise thought.
Audrey didn't hesitate. Didn't even think about playing it safe. She flew for home. The pitcher shot the ball to the catcher.
Beside Elise, Vivian shouted, "Slide! Slide!"
Audrey slid. Riding into home on her hip and thigh, crashing into the plate just as the ball smacked the catcher's mitt, enveloping the players in a cloud of dust.
Had the catcher fumbled?
Had she dropped the ball?
Elise stared at the umpire, her heart in her throat.
After what seemed the longest pause in softball history, he shouted and gestured wildly. "Safe!"
The winning run.
Game over.
Elise cheered madly. Beside her, Vivian joined in.
The noise frightened the twins; they began to bawl, their little mouths wide, faces red.
Elise bounced her knee. "Don't cry, sweetie."
That didn't help, because Tyler was afraid of her.
"Have you ever seen anybody slide like that?" Elise asked over his head.
"Not a girl."
Both women laughed.
The ball teams lined up for the traditional high-five and "Good game" pass.
On the bleachers, people gathered up their belongings and climbed down until it was just Elise, Vivian, and the crying babies.
"She hates me," Elise said, watching her daughter move through the line of girls.
Vivian dug into her blue diaper bag and produced two teething crackers, which she handed to the boys. Like a flipped switch, they both quit sobbing and took the treat. "Who?"
"Audrey."
Vivian twisted around to stare at Elise. "What are you talking about?"
"She doesn't want to visit anymore. Not that she ever wanted to visit much anyway."
"It's not you," Vivian reassured her. "She's at that age when friends are so important. She wants to be near them."
"She's slipping away."
So many songs had been written about how quickly kids grew up, and how parents had to be there or miss out. Those songs may have been cliches, but they were true.
It had all started gradually.
When Audrey was a baby and Thomas had remarried, it seemed logical for Audrey to spend her days with Vivian rather than a baby-sitter. And when Elise was working odd hours-which was most of the time-Audrey stayed with Thomas and Vivian. They loved her every bit as much as Elise did, which made it easier for Elise to sleep at night and do a good job during the day, knowing Audrey was safe and loved and well cared for.
When it came time for Audrey to begin school, it seemed practical for Audrey to go to school near Thomas and Vivian. Schools were better and less dangerous in the suburbs, and if Elise was working late, she didn't need to worry about Audrey.
Even before the twins came along, Thomas, Audrey, and Vivian had been a real family with a traditional life. And they had a schedule. A routine to their days that rarely varied. That was important. Something a child needed.
Sometimes Elise felt tainted. Tainted by her past. Tainted by her job.
Vivian was solid. Stable.
People thought it strange that she and Elise were friends, but to Elise it had always seemed natural. There had never been any hostility in the divorce, only a realization that she and Thomas couldn't have been more wrong for each other.
Audrey looked in their direction and waved.
Elise and Vivian waved back.
The mob broke apart and Audrey ran toward the bleachers in her red-and-white uniform with matching striped socks. Along one side, from waist to ankle, was dirt-stained evidence of her slide.
She put down her ball glove and held out her hands to Tyler. He began squealing in delight, arms outstretched.
"Got him?" Elise asked.
Audrey kept her eyes locked on her little brother. "Yep," she said with a beautiful smile. She tucked Tyler firmly against her. He immediately grabbed her hair with a gummy, cookie-encrusted fist.
"Oh, my God!" Audrey said. "He is so gross] He's getting my hair full of gross stuff!"
Elise watched as her daughter and Vivian looked at each other and began laughing hysterically.
The family life Audrey had with Thomas and Vivian was good. She was happy. But for Elise, the price of that happiness may have been the loss of her daughter.
Chapter 10
"As your psychiatrist, I have to ask-are you thinking of harming yourself?"
"Of course not."
"Are you thinking of harming anyone else?"
With the phone to his ear, David Gould stared at the cat for a long time. Bern 's cat.
"David?" his psychiatrist asked in her calm voice. "David? Are you still there?"
"No. I mean yes-I'm here. And no, I'm not thinking of harming anyone else."
Getting off drugs cold turkey-no matter that they were pharmaceutical-had seemed like a good idea on Friday, not long after Elise had brought up his lack of engagement. Today was Sunday. Well, actually Monday, since it was long past midnight, and David was crawling out of his skin.
Stopping the antidepressants was doing a strange number on his head.
In all the time he'd been taking them, he hadn't experienced a single high or low. He hadn't experienced anger, or joy, or sorrow. He wasn't even sure he could
say he existed. But now… now all that was changing. Now he was AWAKE, with capital letters. Awake after almost two years of being dead.
But you wanted to be dead. Didn't you even ask the cops to kill you? To put you out of your misery? To stop the pain?
Agony rushed up his throat, threatening to choke him.
He couldn't deal with the memories now. One thing at a time.
Control. Control. Control.
It was an FBI agent's mantra. It was his mantra.
This was like a rebirth. A baptism.
Emotions he'd forgotten existed pulsed through him. Pain. Anger. Sorrow.
Wonderful emotions. Overwhelming emotions. Too many at once. Too intense. Let some of it in, but not all of it. Slam that door. He couldn't handle it all. Not yet.
"Is there anyone in Savannah you can call?" Dr. Fisher asked.
He hadn't switched psychiatrists when he'd moved to Savannah because he hadn't wanted the people he worked with to know he was seeing a shrink-something that had turned into an issue in Ohio. As soon as coworkers had become aware of his problem, things changed and they began to second-guess him. Not a safe situation for anyone involved. When he realized what was going on, he decided to start over somewhere new. A clean slate.
"Your partner, perhaps?"
His partner? "Out of the question."
What would he say to Elise? Hey, I'm flipping out and wondered if you could come over and hold my hand?
"You've been working with her for three months. Surely it wouldn't be out of line to give her a call."
Three months. Yeah, normally you would kind of know somebody by then. "I've been a little… disconnected."
David was sitting on the floor of the combination living room/kitchen, back to the wall, phone balanced on one thigh.
He noticed that his leg was jiggling.
He made it stop.
The room was dark-the only light he'd turned on was the one above the stove. "Believe me, calling my partner is out of the question."
What was that smell? Like wood that had been soaked in urine for twenty years. And sick, fevered bodies.
Yellow fever.
It's my apartment. My fucking apartment.
No wonder his sister had been so appalled.
Sorry, Sis.