The Clairvoyants(22)

“Who usually swims with you in your pool? Any neighborhood kids? What are their names?”

Answering, tearfully, my heart racing, Del clinging to my hand, to our mother’s hand.

“My girls are distraught,” our mother said. “Must you continue to question them about this? They’ve told you all they know.”

The days had moved forward then, one into the other like a train chugging off from the station into the city, the world a blur going by. And then that train stopped, and I got off, and first Cindy Berger, and then the other dead—lovelorn, languishing—began to appear to me, and it was senior year, and Del was in the Institute. Detective Thomson continued his rounds of questioning.

Where were you on the afternoon of Friday, August eleventh?

At home.

At your grandparents’ house?

That is home.

What were you doing?

Reading. Upstairs.

Anyone with you in your room?

No.

Anyone else at the house?

There were kids swimming outside, but a storm came in, and I think they all left.

Why weren’t you swimming?

I didn’t feel like it.

Did you have an argument?

No.

Well, did you talk to any of the kids?

Sure.

What did you say?

I don’t remember exactly. We played croquet for a little while. Then it seemed like it was going to rain, so I went inside.

You didn’t invite anyone in?

No.

Why not?

I’m not allowed to have friends in the house when no one is at home.

Whose rule was that?

My grandfather’s.

And, I’m sorry, he passed away several years ago, is that correct?

Yes.

But the rule stands?

Yes.

What book were you reading?

The World as Will and Representation.

(silence)

Schopenhauer?

I understood Alice’s anger.

“Screw Officer Paul,” I said.

Alice squeezed my hand.

“Have you seen my sister?” I asked her.

The other girl, Lucie, touched my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re all friends here.”

I understood that it wasn’t just Mary Rae’s disappearance, but the mystery of it, that had these girls frightened, clustered together around the fire. Beyond the firelight the ring of pine woods did feel ominous, a place where the dead might hang back from the brightness, hesitating to emerge. I scanned the woods, and I thought I could see figures, waiting patiently in the shadows. It filled me with a rare dread—I’d never been afraid of them before. I stood to look for Del or Geoff, and my head spun from the wine.

I moved out of the circle into the cold night air and began to walk across the lawn. Suddenly William emerged from the darkness behind me, reached out for my arm, and held it, loosely, near the elbow.

“Hang on,” he said.

I startled, felt the heat of his hand through my sweatshirt. I faced his amber-colored eyes, his square chin. “What?”

Had Del done something or said something more? He let go of my arm. “It was nice of you to listen to the girls back there,” he said.

“It’s terrible,” I said. “What’s happened to your friend.”

“At some point, though, you have to move on,” he said. “They refuse to do it. It’s frustrating to have to hear it over and over. The last night, the last phone call, the last birthday, Christmas, New Year’s.”

I could tell he was older than the girls, old enough to see them as immature. I didn’t want him to know I was closer to their age than his, to view me the same way.

“You think I’m being harsh,” he said. “I guess I am.”

“I think you’re honest,” I said. “I can’t fault you for that.”

I stepped toward the terrace and warmth of the house’s lights, intent on finding Del, but William grabbed my arm again, this time more forcefully, perhaps surprised that I was leaving him.

“Wait,” he said. “Could we talk sometime?”

“About what?” I asked. The pressure of his hand on my arm lessened now that he had my attention. A gust of wind blew my hair over my face, sent a spray of embers up that forced a few people back from the fire.

“Anything at all,” he said.

It was as if I had amazing things to share, and that out of innumerable nameless women he might encounter—passing by on the sidewalk, or in their cars—and even over Del, I was unique, and chosen. It was a powerful thing, this being chosen. Strong enough to urge me to assume I had the upper hand, that I could control what I’d give and take. I told him I had to find my sister, and he asked if he could call me. I knew nothing about him—who he was, what he did, why he was even there. Still, I wrote my phone number on an old miniature golf scorecard I found in my bag, and we separated at the terrace steps. I went up to the door and into the glare of the kitchen, where Anne sat with a cup of tea at the counter.

She raised her hand, weakly, in greeting. “I had a wonderful chat with Delores,” she said.

I found Anne difficult to read—the thin line of her pressed lips, the trembling teacup in her hand.

“I hope she didn’t bother you,” I said.

“Not as much as that irritating police officer,” she said.