The Elizas: A Novel(60)

His mouth drops open. “Oh, Eliza. Oh dear. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry doesn’t really cut it. Not now.” This is unfair—I’m saying all this because I’m embarrassed and vulnerable. But I need him to leave me alone. Pretend it never happened. Coming here was a terrible idea.

“What can I do?” he pleads. “How can I help? Maybe you do need an ambulance, then.”

“I can handle it.” I cross my arms over my chest, feeling a wall come up around me. He tries to get me to look at him, but I don’t.

“I’m smitten by you, Eliza,” Desmond says. “You’re like the Lady of the Lake. I don’t understand a lot about you, but I’d spend the rest of my life figuring you out. I want to help you however I can, including figuring out what scared you so much. I want to save you.”

“I don’t need saving.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re strong. You’re impenetrable. But you want to know who hurt you, don’t you? I think your brain and body just gave you a huge clue. Like I said, I’ve been reading up on memory, and I think just being here is working.”

I glare at him. “How do I know you didn’t hurt me, Desmond?”

He draws back. The color drains from his face. “W-what?”

“You just happen to be walking by and fish me out of the pool on the night of a storm? You just happen to have seen someone running away? You could be saying that to take the heat off yourself.”

His hands are at his mouth. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you’re strange. Maybe I was bitchy to you in the bar. Maybe I made fun of you when we were younger and I don’t remember you. You were absolutely the kind of person I would have made fun of.”

Desmond shakes his head, his eyes unblinking. “You have to believe me. I didn’t push you. I would never.”

I pointedly turn away. I really don’t think Desmond pushed me. It’s probably good I threw it out there, but I know it isn’t true. I just wanted to hurt him. It’s too hard for me to have someone care this much. I have a coiled-up feeling that things with Desmond will end badly, disappointingly, devastatingly, and maybe it’s just better to push him away before he pushes me. Maybe I’ve been in this situation before. With Leonidas, perhaps. But more likely with my mother.

Desmond’s shoulders heave, and then he stands. “Let’s have dinner and forget all about this.”

“No way,” I say stiffly. “I’m getting my car out of the garage, and I’m leaving.”

“Don’t be crazy! You just had an episode! You’re in no state to drive!”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Absolutely not. I’ll drive you.”

Desmond reaches out and grabs my arm, but I wheel around and give him the most searing glare I can muster. “I said no.”

I march across the lobby. I feel tipsy from the stinger, and not in a good way. Memories and feelings are bumping into one another in my head. Me pushing Desmond away, me feeling afraid, that seizure—a half-formed picture is taking shape in my mind, except it’s still under a drop cloth. I wonder if I’ll ever get to see what it is.

In the driveway, the same valets wait at their post. The one who took Desmond’s car notices me and snaps to his feet. “Need the Batmobile, miss?” Then he chuckles. “Man, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

I shake my head angrily. I’m even furious at Desmond’s car. “No, thanks. And for the record? It’s basically a glorified Buick.”

“Did you have a nice stay at the Tranquility?” he asks, not missing a beat.

I consider this question. Across the drive, people are going on a hike in the blazing sun. Cacti jut out on the plateau. They look picturesque and innocuous from two hundred yards away, not like they really are: spiny, unyielding, mostly dead.

“Not really,” I grumble over my shoulder, halfway to the parking garage. I’m not sure I’ve ever had fun at this place. Not once in my life.





From The Dots


The next Wednesday, Dot walked slowly to the Vons parking lot, not able to get any of the things Marlon had said out of her head.

How could he think Dorothy would roofie Dot? Didn’t he remember all she’d told him about Dorothy’s constant presence in the hospital when she was a little girl? She’d been the only one in Dot’s family to come. She cared about Dot so, so much. But Dot also knew Marlon wouldn’t lie to her, even if he was jealous about her and Dorothy’s relationship. He wasn’t Dot’s mother. He loved her, honestly and truly, and only wanted the best for her.

Worrying about it kept her awake all night. She felt like she had to choose between them.

Dorothy was waiting in the car as usual, and she greeted Dot with an enthusiastic wave. “Ready for dinner, my dear?”

Dot tried to smile, but her mouth muscles wouldn’t work, and she saw herself making a freakish face in the rearview mirror. The whole drive, she couldn’t think of a thing to say, so she fiddled with the radio for noise. She settled on a sports announcer just because he was yelling the loudest. Roofies. It throbbed in her mind like an infection. Why would Dorothy have done such a thing? Why had Marlon even put that thought into her mind? Only, she’d read a little about the drug and how it made you feel. The symptoms were certainly familiar. Would the drug still be in her body? Should she get tested for it?