Last to Know: A Novel(31)
“Bea,” she called, “I bet you thought there was no one here to greet you. Welcome, dear child, welcome to our home. I thought Detective Jordan would have brought you.”
“I wanted to come alone,” Bea said.
Rose held her close. She could feel the girl’s ribs under her hands. Harry Jordan had said how frail he thought she was. “Come on in and let me show you your room,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind I had to put you next to Diz. He’s only eleven but he’s a quiet child and you won’t be disturbed by loud music. We insist he wear headphones because the rest of us can’t stand the racket.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind.” Impulsively, Bea took Rose’s hand in hers as they walked together up the shallow steps into the house and into the large open living area with its view through the birch trees of the lake. And also, unfortunately, of the blackened remains of Bea’s home. Rose thought it better not to mention this right now and walked her guest quickly to the kitchen.
“Just put your stuff down on the table, honey,” she said. “Take a seat while I get us a cup of coffee. I’m sure you could use one after the horrible stuff they gave you in the hospital.”
“Oh, it wasn’t too bad. Not really.”
Bea was looking around and Rose noticed the pleased smile on her face.
“It’s lovely here,” the girl said. “So much nicer than our house ever was. It’s just so … well, homey, I guess is the right word.”
“Then I’m glad you feel at home. We aim to please. Take a seat.” Rose swept the copy of the local newspaper, The Lakeview Monitor, to one side and placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Bea.
“A Peter Rabbit mug,” Bea exclaimed. “I always loved those books as a kid.”
“It was Diz’s when he was small, somehow it’s survived the years. There’s also banana muffins fresh made this morning, though, I confess, not by me. Madison did it, she likes to cook. Maybe she’ll end up a chef somewhere.”
Bea took a sip of the coffee then took a small polite bite of the muffin Rose placed on a handy saucer in front of her.
To Rose, the girl looked as though she had not had a decent meal in a long time. She wondered about that mother. Even though the woman was dead and she should not be thinking bad about her, it was apparent the daughter had been neglected. Not only had she obviously not been eating properly but Rose would bet she was also emotionally starved.
Bea hunched over the table, her eyes fixed on the muffin on the saucer as though wondering what to do with it, and Rose wondered if after all she was doing the right thing. Harry Jordan might have talked her into the biggest mistake of her life, looking after this troubled young woman.
“Madison, the girl who baked the muffins, is one of my twin daughters,” she explained. “The other is Frazer. They’ve just turned sixteen and are full of teenage angst.”
“I don’t remember any teenage angst.” Bea frowned. “I don’t think angst was allowed in my house.”
The Havnels had only lived at the lake for a couple of months and now Rose wondered exactly where that house, where Bea had spent her angst-less teenage years, was.
“You a Boston girl, then?” she asked casually, biting into a muffin and the hell with the calories; this girl made her nervous as no other child ever had.
“Idaho,” Bea replied, picking up her muffin too and inspecting it carefully.
“That’s where the potatoes come from.” Diz’s voice came from the doorway. He stood, hands shoved in his shorts pockets as always, feet bare as always, his sneakers on the table, as always. Though Rose did notice her son had put on a clean T-shirt. It was too big for him and she knew it belonged to Roman.
To Rose’s surprise Bea smiled at Diz. “How do you know that?”
Diz shrugged. “We wrap ’em in foil and put ’em on the barbecue. When you unwrap them an hour or so later they smell great. Don’t even really need the butter.” He walked to the table and picked up a muffin. “Mom,” he complained. “I hate banana.”
“Blame Madison, she made them. And anyhow, say hello to Bea, she’ll be staying with us for a while.”
“I know. I heard all about you.” Diz stood by the table looking at Bea. “I used to see you across the lake sometimes. I saw you rowing to the island the day of the fire,” he added, eyeing her warily, carefully not mentioning the plastic bags and the man he had also seen there.
Bea looked innocently back at him. “Do you know there’s a badger sett on that island? I’ve no idea how they got there, but there they are. At first they would hide when they saw me but I just stuck around day after day and they got used to me, I guess.”
Rose wondered about a young woman spending her time on a small uninhabited island watching badgers. Looking after Bea would be a long haul. Then the front door slammed and her daughters came rushing in, all brown legs and short white shorts, chambray shirts with the sleeves rolled, long hair flying free. A breath of fresh air. Rose sighed, relieved. Even if she didn’t mean to be, Bea Havnel was hard work.
“Has she arrived yet?” they called in chorus, the way they sometimes did, because they were twins and thought alike. Now, though, they stopped in their impetuous tracks and took a look at their new “guest.”