She said, “No, Eddie, you don’t have to wear a blindfold, but like they say, don’t knock it. What I mean is, we score each mango without knowing the name. Coach Westhoff?” Kathleen ran her fingers over Mike’s hand. “Would you mind helping Beryl with her score sheet if she gets confused?”
Mike raised his eyebrows and shrugged, too smart to answer.
Beryl Woodward had confident, faded-denim eyes that now became double-barreled. She knew how to handle it, saying, “It’s true, Mike. I can be such a ditz at times. Do you mind? I don’t have Kathy’s experience when it comes to scoring.”
Dr. Rhodes didn’t flinch. "Actually, it’s Kathleen, dear,” she said, turning to smile at Beryl-a chance to show off her own perfect teeth while giving us a look at her profile: nose… chin… blond hair silver over a navy blue tank top that strained with the weight of her breasts, skin freckled tan in a valley of cleavage.
Eddie banged my knee beneath the table-an adolescent guy-thing to do when women spar-but I was looking at Kathleen’s breasts, thinking my own adolescent thoughts about the boundary that separates former lovers. A woman’s breasts are fraternal twins-distinct entities in their secret space that respond independently of the other. Kathleen’s had once been my private playground, the focus of many sweaty intimacies. Now they were as foreign as the moon-and the odds of physical contact were just as remote.
You are always alone, Doc. No matter who you’re with, you’re alone inside that thick head of yours…
Kathleen had written that two years ago-or something close-in the letter I’d kept. She was right-tonight, anyway.
Beneath the table, a foot brushed my leg. I turned and gave Eddie a look of distaste. Hey.
Eddie, now stirring the mango paste into his beer, stared back and said, “What’s your fuckin’ problem, Ace? Never seen someone make a beer Slurpee before?”
The foot touched my leg again. I looked across the table. It was Beryl, signaling me with her blue-jean eyes.
Let’s get out of here.
A little after midnight, Shay called from the hospital, chatty in a way that told me she wanted information without revealing that she wanted it. I’d been at the computer doing research. I didn’t have to get up to answer the phone.
Shay said, “They wake my butt up every twenty minutes to make sure my brain’s still functioning, so I figured I’d check in. Ask you how the party went.”
I thought: She’s calling because she knows Michael and his mother came to the marina. Or because of Beryl.
I replied, “Party went fine. Good band, some great mangoes. Jeth and Janet brought their baby boy. He’s a cutie.” I played dense-stubborn after several beers, but also reacting to Shay’s gambit.
I listened to an update on Corey-she’d had a setback, but nothing serious. Something about electrolytes. Police had taken Vance in for questioning, then released him. Corey wouldn’t admit that Vance had hit her, but community services had stepped in, anyway. Her parents, too. Thumb bruises on a woman’s biceps tell a story. Corey’s family was getting a restraining order.
I said, “That’s good news,” looking at Vance’s phone on the microscope table. He’d gotten so many calls, I’d switched it off. Later, when I had time, I would copy the numbers. The phone was with my boat keys-next to Beryl’s purse.
As Shay continued talking, I stood, put Vance’s phone in a drawer, and closed it.
Shay told me, “A restraining order isn’t all I’d do if Michael hit me. But I don’t have to worry about that, thank God. He’s a good man, Doc-that’s why I’m worried. I’m scared I’m going to lose him over.. . over, you know, what I did. After the wedding-if there is a wedding-I hope you and Michael get a chance to spend time together.”
Was she fishing to get a response? Maybe. But she was also afraid-no finessing that. It was time to stop playing dense and reassure the girl. I told her Michael and I had talked. Nothing confidential, so he could fill in the details. I didn’t mention Michael’s offer, but said, “The man’s determined to marry you. He made that clear.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“You swear?”
“Yes.”
“But what about Saint Arc? He knows that I did something shitty when I was there. But how much does he know?”
I said, “Calm down, take a slow breath. You’re hyperventilating. I mean it-a slow breath.” I covered the phone and turned an ear to the lab’s north window. Through the screen, I could hear the shower running and a woman’s muffled singing.
I uncovered the phone and asked Shay, "Are you okay?”
She was crying again-only the second or third time since I’d known her. “No. I feel so goddamn helpless! Ida is doing everything she can to screw it up, that bitch! She’s always hated me.”
I said, “Michael’s mother.”
“Yes. Ida hires detectives when she wants information. She’s determined to dig up more dirt-not the first time, either. That’s why you have to tell me, Doc. How much does Michael know about the video?”
I said, “What video?” with the familiar emphasis, then added, “He asked about a video. I told him it was a story Vance invented. You know, to give him an excuse for hitting his wife.”
“Did he believe you?”
“Why wouldn’t he? Vance is a pathological liar. Your friends know it.”
Shay made a helpless, groaning sound. “Some nice circle of friends, huh? A wife beater. Two of us in the hospital after we fucked around like sorority girls, then flipped out. And Ida, the Grand Dame of Blame, stirring the pot.”
I said gently, “Take it easy, Shay. The blame’s not all yours. I’ll print out some stuff I researched and bring it to the hospital in the morning. I was right when I said you were targeted by pros.”
“That’s what I think. Those lowlifes!”
I had returned to the computer. On the screen was an article about a party drug known as “Icebreaker.”
Now was not the time to tell Shay.
I listened to her say, “Know what those pretty boys deserve? What Dexter Money would’ve done. Daddy would’ve tracked them down and shot the sons of bitches dead. You know who feels the same way? Beryl. We talked about it-we’re going into attack mode. She’s so pissed off about what Vance did, she’s been trying to get him on the phone to unload. He won’t answer, of course. She didn’t tell you tonight?”
Through the window, I heard the shower stop, along with a woman’s muted humming. I said, “No. Beryl didn’t mention it.”
“Beryl was at the party, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“I bet she was all over Eddie now that her engagement’s off. I told her I liked him a lot, so it’s practically guaranteed she’ll hit on him.”
An interesting friendship, these two women had.
I said, “Maybe they talked, I’m not sure. Eddie said to give you a hug.” He’d also said some things I wasn’t going to repeat to an engaged woman-Eddie had a thing for Shay, too.
“I don’t blame Beryl, it’s just the way she is. Probably because of what happened.”
“What’s that mean?”
There was a silence-Shay getting calmer as her brain began to put things together. “I… I got the impression she was going to take you aside and have an honest talk. I told her it was the best way-you’re big on honesty.”
Cupping the phone, I said, “Beryl mentioned it. Thanks.”
“But she didn’t tell you anything… personal? She said she would. I told her you should know where she stands. Beryl and I feel the same when it comes to the three pretty boys. All bullies, period, and guys who victimize women. If the cops don’t do their jobs, hey, what’s the alternative?”
“Beneath those beautiful faces, you both have hearts of steel.”
“Don’t make jokes. It’s the way a woman has to be. With me, you understand because you met Daddy. With Beryl, though, it’s because of something that happened when she was thirteen. It took her a long time to recover-that’s the reason she started college late. But if she didn’t tell you what happened-”