Rapid Falls(24)

“Last one to the pool has to do dishes for a month!”

He laughs, and we change into our swimsuits quickly.

The sparkling water and the natural granite are gorgeous, but I find my gaze being drawn to my husband’s body. His lithe, muscled frame makes me catch my breath as he steps into a huge hot tub. I follow, sighing as the hot water rises above my shoulders. It feels so good to be here alone with no sudden crashes in the other room, no shrieks for attention, no cell phones ringing. We soak for a half hour and then retire to the soft, thick fabric of deck chairs. A waiter brings us a bottle of champagne, and we clink glasses. We needed this: a day for only us. For the first time in months, I feel like Rick and I are thinking the same thing as I look over at him with sex on my mind. I know what just happened was only a taste of our night to come.

“I should check on Maggie,” Rick says.

“Great idea. I was just wondering about her too,” I lie. I don’t usually misread him like that, but the champagne has wrapped me in a pleasant glow. I pour us each another glass. The phone rings in his hand before he can dial.

“It’s your mom.” There is panic in his voice. “Suzanne? Is Maggie okay?”

His shoulders relax in relief, but then his face crumples into a frown. I can hear my mom’s voice, but I can’t make out the words. Rick’s features grow darker as he raises his eyes to me. They are full of worry and something that looks like anger. He is shaking his head.

“What is it?” I say. He ignores me. My mother is not letting him get a word in edgewise.

“Oh my God, Suzanne. This is crazy,” says Rick. He isn’t going to let me in on the call until my mother hangs up. Rick’s parents were very strict about telephone manners; he never carries on two conversations at the same time. I place my empty champagne flute back on the table but fail to lay it completely flat. It lolls forward like a drunken ballet dancer, but I catch it right before it falls off the edge, then set it back down carefully. Luckily Rick doesn’t notice. He is looking off toward the waiter, signaling for the room-charge slip, as my mom’s voice hums in his ear.

“Can I talk to her?” I ask, leaning toward him.

“Okay, Suzanne. We’ll head back now. I am going to pass you over to Cara.”

His eyes are full of disgust as he holds the phone out to me. The look can mean only one thing. This is about Anna.

“I’ll go check out,” Rick says. “Can you sign for the bill?”

I nod. I can hear my mother talking even before I get the phone to my ear.

“Cara, Cara. You need to get back here.” My mother sounds panicked. Something is really wrong. My mom usually talks about Anna with detachment, the same way she treated my dad in the last few years of their marriage, as if his continued presence in her life was puzzling, like a kid at school who wouldn’t stop following her around.

“What is going on?” I say, standing up to grab a towel.

“It’s Anna. She just called here . . .” A sob interrupts my mom’s story. “It was a call from a jail. She called here from jail.” Her emphasis on the last two words is a dog whistle to me. All my life, my mother taught me that we were better than the other residents of Rapid Falls, especially the ones who lived in the trailers on the banks of the river, who spent their weekdays in welfare lines and their weekends in cells. I know her greatest frustration regarding Anna is the way she pulls us all into places like police stations and rehabs, where people treat you like you are contemptible. It doesn’t matter how far you have come or how hard you’ve worked; your presence in those waiting rooms means you are worthless.

“She called you?” My brain is foggy with anger and alcohol. I can’t reason through this.

“I’m at your house, Cara. She called you.”

“Oh.” I should have realized that. I try to shake off my stupor.

“She’ll need bail. Or something.” My mom sounds bewildered.

I’m shocked too. I didn’t think my sister had the ability to surprise me anymore. Going back to prison was one of her greatest fears. She was obsessive about meeting the requests of her parole officer and hadn’t missed an appointment.

“Mom. We’ll figure this out together. Rick and I will be back in two hours, three at the most. I’ll have Rick call his father on the way.” I click back into action mode. Rick’s father is a semiretired lawyer who briefly served as a public defender. He will be able to walk us through the next steps, maybe even recommend counsel. Rick had talked about the broad strokes of Anna’s legal history with him a while after we started dating. I had been upset that Rick had revealed the less savory aspects of my family to his parents. I was even less excited about it now, but we needed information.

“Okay. That sounds . . . Thank you, Cara. You always know what to do.” She sounds relieved that she doesn’t have to be the one to wade through Anna’s mess.

“Okay, good. See you shortly,” I say.

“One more thing, Cara. Anna asked if you could call your dad and let him know what is going on.” My mother and my father haven’t spoken to each other since their separation about a year after the accident, almost twenty years ago.

“Fine,” I say after a moment of hesitation. My father and I don’t speak all that often either.

My mom sighs. “I don’t know what Anna would do without you.”