Saving Meghan(42)
“I’m going to call my lawyer,” he grumbled, heading to his office above the garage. Becky made her way to the kitchen, where she poured herself a generous portion of red wine. It rippled in her shaky grasp. She downed it quickly and poured herself a second glass. She called up to Carl, but he did not answer.
Give him space, she thought as she went up to her office on the second floor, wineglass in one hand and bottle in the other. The large home always felt overwhelming to her, even with the cleaners, landscapers, and various repairmen who kept the place operational without her having to do much more than dial a number. Tonight, it felt profoundly empty.
She walked past Meghan’s bedroom, finding it impossible to look inside, let alone sit on her empty bed.
Becky fired up her computer and within moments had Veronica Del Mar on FaceTime. It was after nine o’clock in the evening, but Veronica, draped in a cream-colored cardigan sweater, seemed as fresh and put together as if the day had just begun.
“Sweetheart, it’s good to see your beautiful face!” Veronica exclaimed. Becky knew for sure that she looked anything but beautiful.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” Becky said, taking a gulp of wine.
Becky recounted the entire story in detail, taking her time to get all the details right, starting with Nash’s request for an emergency exam and ending with Carl storming off into their silent home to call the lawyer.
“They can’t do that!” Veronica sounded shocked. “It’s criminal. It’s kidnapping.”
“That’s what I told them,” Becky said, feeling the familiar crimp that portended tears. Becky had friends to lean on, a sister she should call, but Veronica was the only one she felt able to confide in. Nobody offered a better shoulder—even if it was virtual—to cry on.
“What now, honey?” Veronica asked, her mellifluous voice full of feeling. Veronica poured a glass of wine herself, a rosé of some variety.
“Carl’s going to get us a lawyer. We’ll get her back.”
“Will we?” Carl’s darkly menacing voice came from the doorway.
Becky turned to see him take an unsteady step into the room. Light from the hallway cast Carl in shadows, but she could still make out the glass tumbler clutched in his hand, only a sliver of whiskey at the bottom. She speculated it had been full not moments ago.
“I’ll be off in a minute,” Becky said, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping through her. Her home should be a sanctuary, and her husband should be her stalwart supporter—yet neither felt true.
Carl took a few more steps into the room. Becky could hear the clank of ice tumbling inside the glass. “Who are you talking to?” he asked, his voice brooding.
“Just Veronica,” Becky said, trying to pass it off as nothing.
“Just Veronica,” Carl repeated, drawing out the words, slurring them slightly so they blended together. He came closer until Becky could smell the whiskey. “Just Veronica,” he repeated almost as an aside. “Did you tell Veronica what happened today?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” Becky said, turning her attention to the camera so she could focus on a friendly face.
“Carl, I’m so sorry,” Veronica said through the computer speakers.
“Oh, are you?” Carl came forward to stand behind Becky, looming over her, his face lit strangely in the glow of her monitor. She craned her neck to look up at him.
“I know this is difficult,” Veronica said. “But I’m sure it’ll resolve itself soon, and Meghan will be home where she belongs in no time.” Becky could hear the apprehension in Veronica’s voice. Despite being thousands of miles away, her friend knew to be nervous.
“Or,” Carl said, crouching low so that his face filled the camera’s lens. He put his arm around Becky’s chair as if to demonstrate solidarity, though Becky sensed it was a charade. “It won’t resolve itself. Maybe I’ll have to mortgage the house to pay the legal bills. Maybe our daughter will come back with PTSD from the experience.” Carl pointed an accusatory finger at the camera lens and, by proxy, at Veronica. “Or maybe—and here’s the big one for you, Veronica—maybe it’s your fault.” Carl took the final drink of whiskey and licked the liquid from his lips.
Veronica reflexively, or anxiously, brushed some platinum hair from her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow?”
“You don’t?” Carl asked, his voice taking an even darker turn. “Have you ever fed a stray animal, Veronica?” Becky hated how Carl said her name with such simmering contempt. “Do you know what happens when you do?”
“Carl, I don’t see how a stray—”
“The animal comes back for more food,” Carl said before she could finish. “Do you know why?”
“Please, Carl,” Becky whispered.
Carl turned slightly, sending Becky an uneven smile that made her shiver. “Do you know why?” Carl asked again.
Veronica let out a sigh that could just as easily have been a groan. “Because it’s hungry, Carl,” she said snippily, stating the obvious.
“And now it doesn’t have to look for food, because the food is right there, at your doorstep. So it gets conditioned to come to you, to visit, because you’ve made it need you.”