Family of Liars(64)

He stands there, looking at me.

“I mean it,” I say.

Pfeff shrugs. “You’re going to feel terrible about this later,” he says. “You’re going to wish you’d said sorry. You’re going to wish we’d made up.”

“No I won’t. Just leave us and never come back.”

Pfeff walks forward into the ocean. The water hits his middle and he begins to swim. He swims out past the sharp rocks, beyond the cove to the open water.

I watch until I cannot see him anymore.



* * *



—

WHEN THE POLICE boat arrives, it contains the same two officers we met with earlier. They have really come to speak with the Pfeffermans, but we all gather in the Clairmont living room, almost like a tea party. Tipper serves hot drinks and stacks of white toast with butter.

The weathered, pythony officer takes the lead. He explains that divers and rescue teams on boats have searched the area since Pfeff was reported missing. Sometimes bodies are found quickly, if they drown in shallow water, he says. Or if they are in a discrete area, like a pond. But in deep water, or in very cold water, it is common for a body not to surface. Depending on various factors, the body could float, or not.

In a situation like this one, a shark attack is certainly a possibility. “White sharks are widely known in Cape Cod waters. They have a migration pattern.”

“Will you continue to search?” asks Harris.

The officer shakes his head. “I’m sad to say the search is closed,” he says. “If you want my evaluation, I’d say the shark.”

Mrs. Pfefferman breaks down crying. Mr. Pfefferman puts an arm around her.

Penny, Bess, and I busy ourselves clearing teacups and tossing uneaten toast into the trash.





69.


LATER THAT DAY, after Harris has taken the Pfeffermans back to the mainland with Lor’s possessions, Tipper knocks on my door.

She sits on my unmade bed. Self-consciously, I begin picking up dirty clothes and putting them in the hamper. I straighten the objects on top of my dresser.

“I know you must be devastated,” says Tipper after a silence. “You are holding up so well. I wanted to tell you how beautifully I think you are doing.”

“Thank you.” I am not sure what she means.

“He was a great boy. Dashing and smart and funny—everything a girl could want, really. Your dad liked him. And Amherst, that’s a very good school,” she says. “I could tell you were happy together.”

Some part of me wants desperately to confide in her. I could tell her how I found Pfeff with Penny. I could share how cold he was, and cruel, could let her see how wrecked I’ve been. She would comfort me. I could snuggle into her arms and be her baby again, the one who needs the most care. I could become the priority, like I was when my jaw was infected.

But would the whole story spill out? If I tell her the one thing, will I tell her what happened after that? Will floodgates open? I cannot burden my mother with the story of a murder and a cover-up. Her world would shatter completely. She might never forgive us.

Even if I could stop telling the story at the breakup, even if I could tell her only that Pfeff didn’t love me, and explain how he treated me, telling her would be foolish. The story of his death depends on everyone believing that Pfeff made an excellent apology and we agreed to go boating together with my sisters. Once people question that, our story will begin to seem suspicious.

And anyway, Tipper is not asking if I’m all right. She is telling me how well I’ve done pretending everything’s all right. She thinks I have lost my first love to the sea, and she knows nothing more, but she wants me to keep on saving face.

“I’m sad, but it wasn’t really serious between us,” I say. “Just a summer fling before he went to college.” It is the same lie I told the police. “I would never call him a boyfriend, really.”

“Oh,” she says. “I see.”

“You know I really like Andrew at North Forest.” Another lie. There is no Andrew.

“Oh yes, I hadn’t realized Andrew was still in the picture,” she says with a slight frown.

“I hope so,” I tell her. “He’s the soccer player, remember?”

She nods and fingers my green patchwork quilt. “This needs repair. Shall I take it down and fix it?”

“Sure,” I say. “Thank you.”

“I made the chocolate mud pie you like,” she tells me as she folds up the quilt. “The one I always say is too much trouble.”

I know she is trying to take care of me the only way she knows how.





70.


PENNY PEELS HER fingernails until her hands look like raw stumps. Bess brings bottles of wine to her bedroom at night. I up my dosage and spend hours asleep in the afternoons.

We no longer eat supper at the big picnic table. It feels too empty.

We are not well, but we do settle in to a quiet life.

A week goes by. Then two.

Rosemary visits now and then, for no particular reason that I can see except she’s bored. Or lonely.

Harris spends a few days back in Boston, handling things at his office. When he returns, we have a visit from his lawyer, who gets taken out on the sailboat and stays a night in Goose.