Bloodline(67)

“Ursula,” I croak, not caring that I sound insane, “I’m going to wait for you to call me and tell me what to do. But I need to know it’s you. When you call, tell me you know who Amelia Earhart is. Tell me you know who she is on Halloween.”

I take a Valium and I crawl into bed.



Someone is hammering a nail into the door.

Pound.

Pound.

Pound.

It’s a very long nail. Or many nails. I don’t care. I just want it to stop so I can sleep. I feel a stirring next to me. Deck. He’s in bed. It’s another night that I didn’t know when he came home.

And it’s not a hammer pounding.

It’s somebody knocking at our front door.

I shoot out of bed so fast that I get dizzy. Ursula! She’s come to save me. Maybe she’s brought the police! I’m halfway down the stairs before I realize how unlikely this is. But I keep going.

I yank open the door.

Clan is standing on the other side. He has pulled on trousers but is still wearing his pajama top. His hair is disheveled. He’s barefoot. It must be near dawn because I can see his face clearly in the outdoor murk.

“Get Deck. It’s an emergency meeting of the Fathers and Mothers.”

My blood slices at my veins. “What is it?”

“There’s been a shooting,” Clan says. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep everyone safe.”



Hands shaking, I call Ursula again, after Deck and Clan have left. Clan refused to tell me who shot whom, but whatever has happened tonight has gathered all the Fathers in one place. I will never be safer in Lilydale than I am right now.

She picks up on the second ring, voice groggy. “Joan?”

Relief floods my body. She’s been waiting for my call. “You got my message?”

“I . . . yes. Where are you right now, Joanie?”

“At home. I mean, in Lilydale. Can I stay with you? I might be bringing danger with me. It’s bad, Ursula, really—”

“Goddamn it, Joanie, stop that right now.” She’s angrier than I’ve ever heard her. “There’s no conspiracy! No one is trying to steal your baby. Nobody is watching you. You need help, Joanie. Deck and I are very worried about you.”

“You called Deck?” I slide to the floor, my voice etching the air.

“Don’t be mad,” she says firmly. “You’re going bananas, Joanie. I was worried after that first call, but then Deck called me last night. After you left that cuckoo message. He told me all the insane ideas you’ve been having. He’s worried about you, Joan. He’s a good husband.”

I swallow the sharp rock in my mouth. “A good husband.”

“Yes.” Her chuckle is dry. “I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me the two of you eloped. If nothing else proved you were going crazy, that would have done it.”

And that’s when I realize, finally, how powerful they are.

They have made sure I have no one to turn to.

“You’re right, Ursula. Thank you for your concern.”

I drop the phone and flee into the night.





CHAPTER 52

I don’t get far, obviously. They would never allow that.

It’s Catherine who finds me sobbing, running barefoot in my nightgown, and brings me to Dr. Krause. He administers a shot. When Deck shows up, Dr. Krause tells him that Senator Robert F. Kennedy’s shooting—that’s what got the Fathers out of bed—has made me hysterical. The radio playing in the doctor’s office says the senator’s condition is critical, and I understand he will die, and most of Lilydale will not care because we live separate from the real world here, and boy do we.

Dr. Krause tells Deck I cannot drive, or work, or experience any distress or I will lose the baby. He prescribes sleeping pills in addition to the Valium, enough of both to sedate an elephant.

After, Deck leads me to the car.

“Darling,” he says, “what’s wrong with you?”

You brought me to this town, you sorry bastard. You dropped me in this crazy stew.

“I’m sorry, Deck,” I say. It sounds as if I’m speaking in another woman’s voice, a soft, acquiescent woman. “Can you drive me home?”

It’s a short ride from Dr. Krause’s to the craftsman, white with blue shutters, home to avocado appliances and charming built-ins and my jail. Catherine, Dorothy, and Barbara are waiting. They help me into the house. Dorothy wants to tuck me into bed, but Deck says he can do it. I hear him shooing out the Mothers.

The baby kicks.

I’m so sorry, Beautiful Baby. So, so sorry.

I start weeping.



Church next Sunday is lovely. That’s what I make my face say if anybody looks at me, and my mouth repeat if anybody asks. The priest speaks of the promise of eternal life, offering hopes and prayers for the Kennedy clan, and then, as an afterthought almost, for the Gomez family. I bow my head and murmur the right words. I’m even wearing white gloves. I’ve chosen a dress that displays my belly in all its pregnant glory.

I am pure, and I know my role.

I let no one see what’s inside: my escape plan, fully hatched.

When I approach Dennis after mass, he appears nervous. It’s only recently that I tricked him out of his car keys, which has certainly gotten him into all kinds of hot water. He glances around the church. There are Mothers and Fathers nearby, but it doesn’t matter if they’re sitting on my shoulders. Every word I say is going to pass muster.