I took a deep, steadying breath. “I want to talk to Georgina.”
“She can’t come to the phone right now.”
I’ll bet. Another handful of colorful pills had sent her off to la-la land. I wondered what Scott would do if those prescriptions ever ran out. “Will you have her call me when she wakes up?”
Scott neatly sidestepped my question. “I’ll tell her you called.”
I knew that nothing I said that day was going to change his mind about Daddy, so I tried another tack. “Have you completely forgotten that we have your children?”
“Of course not!”
“What about the children, Scott?”
I could feel a request being formulated in the silence. “Do you think they could spend the night? Georgina’s in no fit state to take care of them right now.”
“How about their father, then?” I asked. “Somebody put you on psychotropic drugs lately?”
“Give me a break, Hannah! I’m looking after your sister and I have a business to run. The business, need I remind you, that pays for all her medical treatment.”
I stared at a jumble of dirty spoons in the kitchen sink and didn’t say anything.
“I’ll be down to pick the children up in the morning,” he said at last.
Scott was slippery. I pushed for specifics. “When, exactly?”
“Uh, around eight; time for Sunday school. Georgina needs to be playing by nine anyway.”
I doubted Georgina would be ready to play the radio or anything else in the morning, let alone a pipe organ. “See that you are. Mom and Dad aren’t as young as they used to be.”
“What? Aren’t the children with you and Paul?” Scott was shouting so loudly I had to pull the receiver away from my ear. What was his problem?
“No. We’re at Mother’s. They’re spending the night here.”
“No way! Not after what Georgina told me. No way they’ll stay in the same house with your father.”
My stomach tightened and I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. He really believed it, then. It wasn’t just a husband’s blind, unquestioning support of a disturbed wife. He believed every one of Georgina’s lies. I took two deep breaths and found my voice. “If that’s the way you feel, then I suggest you get in your goddamn car and come pick them up yourself.”
Scott must have had rocks for brains. “Are you sure they can’t stay with you?”
“As you so succinctly put it, Scott, no way. No effing way.” I hung up before he could reply and pressed my forehead against the cool enamel of the kitchen doorframe, wondering when this nightmare would be over.
When I turned around, I was surprised to see Mother standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, juggling a large box marked “Sheets / Twin.” Oh, God! How much had she overheard? I hurried to relieve her of the box and set it down on the kitchen table. “You won’t need these tonight, Mom. Scott decided to come get the kids after all.”
The light left her eyes. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Me, too, Mom. Me, too.”
While we waited for Scott, Mother and I arranged towels and sheets in the upstairs linen closet and Paul called for Chinese carryout. After the delivery boy left, it didn’t take long to turn the kitchen table into a disaster area of red and white cartons, paper plates, overturned sauce cups, crumpled-up napkins, and the odd chopstick. At eight o’clock Scott pulled his SUV into the drive and honked. After a strained conversation with Scott in which I determined that Georgina would probably sleep through till morning, we sent the kids scurrying off with kisses and hugs and tummies full of shrimp fried rice. I had managed some hot-and-sour soup, but that was all I had the stomach for. When Mother gave me That Look, I claimed I was still too full of the pizza I had wolfed down at lunch.
By the time Mother and I returned to the kitchen after escorting the children down the drive, Paul was ready to go, holding my coat folded over his arm. With my back to him, I struggled into it while he waved the coat around behind me like a matador, trying to anticipate where I’d put my arms. “Where’s Daddy? I want to tell him good-bye.”
Mom kissed my cheek, handed me my cashmere scarf, then shoved me gently in the direction of the front door. “He’s gone up to his room.” I recognized that wounded expression. Daddy’d probably taken a bottle of scotch up with him. “Look after her, Paul.” Her eyes darted to the food, half-eaten, on my plate. “She needs to keep up her strength or she’ll be too weak for the surgery.”
His lips brushed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lois, I will.” Paul’s arm snaked around my waist. “And Lois?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a damn fine shopper.”
Mother looked from Paul to me, a half smile brightening her face. “Be forewarned,” she said, shaking an index finger. “It’s in the genes.”
Once we pulled the front door shut behind us, I stood on the porch, sick with dismay. I wanted Paul to bundle me into his arms and get me out of there. I wanted to snuggle against him as he drove me home, and the hell with mandatory seat-belt laws. I wanted a hot bath. A warm bed. But both his car and mine were parked out front.
I must have moaned, because Paul squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll drive,” he said, instantly in tune with my mood. “We’ll come back in the morning to pick up your car.”
I stared up into his eyes. “You are a prince, Mr. Ives.”
He kissed my forehead. “Just an overachieving frog, my dear.”
I thought I could wait until we got home to tell him about Daddy, but once in the car with the key already in the ignition, I reached out to touch Paul’s hand before he could start the engine. “Honey, I need to tell you something.”
He faced me then, his cheeks a sallow yellow in the light from the street lamp overhead. I struggled for the words. I didn’t want to cry, but a combination of worry and anger made my eyes overflow. I felt a tear slide down my cheek. I brushed it away with my fingers.
Paul took my chin in his hand and turned my face gently toward his. “Hannah, something’s been eating you all evening. What is it?”
I sputtered, gasped, then broke down, sobbing against his chest with my cheek resting against the soft flannel of his shirt, smelling freshly of Tide. I told Paul about Daddy’s interview with the police and about Scott’s crazy conspiracy theory.
“God, Hannah. Just when I thought things couldn’t possibly get any worse.” We sat there while I blubbered, Paul stroking my hair.
After a few minutes I straightened, wiped my face with an old napkin Paul had scrounged out of the glove compartment, and said, “Take me home.”
Paul started the engine and drove home cautiously, making attentive noises as I ranted. As we waited for the traffic light at the intersection of College and King George, he put a comforting hand on my knee and squeezed gently. In the darkened car, his handsome profile reflected red in the light from the turn signal of the car just ahead of us, blinking to turn left.
Ten minutes later, back at the house, I stood in the entrance hall like a zombie with my coat still on.
Paul unwound the scarf from my neck and unbuttoned my top button. “I’ll see what I can do, Hannah. I’ll talk to Iris Templeton at the Navy clinic. She’s been in the therapy business for ages; I’m sure she’s had to deal with this kind of stuff before.”
“And I’ll talk to Ruth. If there was ever anything funny going on, surely she’d have known about it.” While Paul pawed through the closet looking for a hanger for my coat, I sat on the carpeted steps that led upstairs. “I just can’t get my mind around this! Tell me I’m going to wake up and find out that I’ve been dreaming.”
Much later that night I found my escape. Paul and I made slow, gentle love and I fell asleep in the crook of his arm, dreaming of sunny days and soft breezes and the warm waters of a Caribbean lagoon sliding over my naked body, which, in the way of dreams, was once again perfectly whole.