Claire stood, rapt, unable to fathom the message, and only wished she could have drunk in the whole impression alone, undisturbed. She felt protective, but of Lucy or of Minna she was not sure.
“This is seriously troubled,” Lucy said at last. “Is this, technically, voodoo?”
It came to Claire like the welling up of an unsuspected, subterranean source — a ready ability for lies, deception. “Minna wants to be an artist. She’s exploring the island’s colonial past. Its history of slavery.”
Lucy’s experience in Santa Fe, working with artists, had habituated her to a certain driven, obsessive quality in the creative life. All manner of bad behavior, past and future, could thus be explained away. It made for such a comforting notion, Claire tried to believe it herself for a moment.
“How come she never mentioned it?” Lucy asked.
“She’s afraid she’s no good.”
“It’s powerful, isn’t it? I could see this hanging in downtown lofts. Should I talk to the gallery owner?”
“Eventually. Right now, officially, we haven’t seen it yet.”
Lucy left the room, singing:
How do you do that voodoo
That you do so well
That morning, Claire’s whole body ached, and when Lucy injected her she screamed, pain shooting all the way to the bone. She refused anything to eat and would only suck ice chips.
When a car rolled into the driveway, Lucy ran to the window. “It’s Minna!”
Don’s car in the driveway now a source of rescue. Minna had ensconced herself, made herself part of the family. Yet who was she? Minna stepped out, wearing a beautiful yellow silk dress, elegant and expensive, but the tightness of it undoing its intended effect. Her gold earrings and bracelets marked her as if with price tags — bought. Don walked in after her, carrying thick, glossy bags from designer boutiques. More clothes in service of creating what effect? What life was Minna preparing herself for? She seemed too far gone to return to the Spartan life of grad school.
When Minna saw Claire in the living room, she kicked off her high heels and hurried to the couch. “Oh, che, not so good? You’re hot.”
Claire shook her head, turned away, embarrassed at the fevered burn of tears.
“I’m glad Lucy called. I’ll fix you right up.”
“What’s that on your finger?” Lucy said, grabbing Minna’s hand and holding it high. “A diamond?”
“Don proposed.” Minna laughed. “I said I’d take the ring and think about it.”
Claire was startled that her earlier lie about a proposal had come true, as if she had conjured it. Minna changed back into her plain housedress, and the pain in Claire’s chest lessened in the security of her being back. Barefoot, Minna walked into the kitchen to mix one of the herbal drinks. Alone with Claire, Don sat on the couch. “I want to apologize about Mexico. I just freaked out when you got sick.”
“What are your intentions?”
“What?”
“Toward Minna?”
He shrugged. “I’m wild about her.”
“But she isn’t one of your Hollywood starlets. One of your waitresses. She’s complicated.”
“That’s what I love—”
Claire held up my hand. “No one mentioned love. Complicated as in depressive. She’s very high-strung. You and I have talked about the little discrepancies.”
Don remained silent.
“I’m trying to look out for her interests since she has no family here.”
Don shook his head. “This job will be over by the end of summer, right?”
“True.”
A tendon in Don’s jaw throbbed. Claire couldn’t take her eyes off it, the gauge of his truthfulness.
He stood up. “The thing I always admired about you is that you minded your own business.”
Had they become enemies so quickly, fighting over Minna? When Lucy came back into the room, he said a curt good-bye and backed his car out of the driveway in such a hurry he ran over a hedge of French lavender.
“You called her?” Claire asked Lucy.
“Yes, and good thing she did,” Minna said, coming back from the kitchen. The elixir stank of rotting and was a thick, unappealing brown.
“I can’t.”
“You will.” But Minna relented and poured sugar into it. “Where did Don go?”
“He’d had enough of our house of women, I guess. He gives his love.” Claire thought she saw a shadow pass across Minna’s eyes for a moment, but then it was gone. She couldn’t possibly love someone like Don. Or was Claire hoping that? What kind of friend, mother, was she, not to look out for the girl’s well-being? His ordinariness didn’t fit Claire’s romance-novel idea of her.
“Let’s get you in a cool bath,” Minna said.
* * *
Lucy helped Claire undress, seeing for the first time the scar across Claire’s chest. Lucy grimaced. “Can I touch it? Does it hurt?”
Claire felt embarrassed, but Minna was blind to the amputation as if it were as commonplace as her own body and said, “Course you can. It doesn’t bite.”
Minna ran the bath, and they both helped Claire into the tub, full of greenish water on top of which floated large, crumpled green leaves, resembling a lily pond. Down at eye level, Claire saw that they were lettuce leaves.
“Takes the heat away,” Minna explained.
“I feel like I’m in a salad.”
“Which is better — butter or romaine?” Lucy joked.
Claire lay back, and the cool water did soothe her. Her insides felt settled for the first time since Minna had left, as if her very presence healed.
“Don’t leave again,” Claire said, then, sensing the desperation in her request, added, “Until I’m better.”
“She needs you.” Puzzlement was in Lucy’s eyes. “She’s never needed anyone before.”
“How about a smoke? For the appetite?” Minna asked.
“How about just for fun?” Lucy said. She looked at Claire and clapped her hand over her mouth.
“It’s fine this once. A little pot for medicinal purposes.”
* * *
Minna went to her room, and Claire worried about their trespassing. Would she notice, and if she did, would there be tantrums? But she returned with no sign of having seen anything changed, a joint pinched between her elegant, long fingers. The two girls sat cross-legged on the floor on either side of the tub and passed the joint back and forth. Ashes floated on top of the water and stuck to the lettuce leaves, now giving the impression more of a rain-sodden, muddy pond. Claire wasn’t above using her scar, her illness, to coerce Lucy into staying. In a way, wouldn’t it be healthy to force an adult-size responsibility on her? Both of her girls seemed to have kept a certain childishness. Had she spoiled them, protected them too well? She felt remorse for her behavior with Don — had it really been interest for Minna’s welfare, or had it been possessiveness?
Lucy whispered to Minna the new protocol after the emergency-room visits. Claire heard white blood cells, impaired organ function, toxicity. Instead, Claire would simply take the daily injections. During this time, she would have to be kept isolated, with a minimum of people.
“I wish I could stay,” Lucy said. “But Javier promised to take me to Tampa. We planned it forever.”
“Who’s Javier? Who goes to Tampa?” Claire asked.
Lucy looked hurt. “You never listen.”
Minna smiled and took a puff of the joint.
“Of course I want you to go.” The words did not sound convincing, even to Claire herself.
“I’ll come back and visit.”
“Tampa in the summer should be nice,” Minna said, and started to giggle.