Читать книгу Cause Of Fear - Robert Ross - Страница 10

“Dear God,” Linda gasps.

“Then I went to save Josh,” Geoff continues, his eyes staring off into the distance at the memory of his nightmare. “But I couldn’t. He just stood there in the flames. He didn’t move. It was as if he just accepted he was going to die. That it was his fate. I watched as the flames consumed him.”

“Oh, Geoff,” Linda says, her whole body trembling. She wraps his head in her arms.

“It was horrible,” he says, his face pressed against her breasts. “The worst dream I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve been up ever since. I was too scared to go back to sleep.”

She places her hands on his cheeks and turns his face to look up at her. She stares deep into his dark eyes. “Listen to me, Geoff. It’s the power of suggestion. You’ve been so empathic with me about my own anxieties, you took them on as your own. I’ve been going on about fire in my own dreams, and so you had one yourself.”

He stands, breaking contact with her, staggering across the room.

“That’s got to be what is, sweetheart,” she says after him. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

But she doesn’t believe it herself.

He says nothing. She watches as he scuffs into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

It was a sympathy dream, that’s all. The power of suggestion.

Except Josh had had a dream about fire, too.

Linda stands, looking out of the window into the glorious golden day.

What is happening? What do these dreams mean?

Below, in the yard, she sees Julia. The old woman is walking among the lilac bushes, breaking off a branch here and there. From this distance Linda can’t be sure, but she could swear Julia’s talking to herself. She catches snippets of words—“the boy”—“soon”—“the sun”—and she’s certain she can see the woman’s lips moving.

Linda turns and raps softly on the bathroom door. “You okay, Geoff?”

“Yeah,” he grunts. She can hear the shower water turn on, splashing into the tub. “I just need to get my head clear.”

“I’ll see you downstairs then. I’ll start breakfast.”

She’s not even at the bottom of the stairs when she sees what’s happened to the white lilacs. They’ve all turned brown. Their purple sisters remain fresh and vibrant and fragrant in their vases, but the whites, despite plenty of water, have faded overnight.

Julia comes in through the back door, her apron filled with new purple flowers. “I told you we never have white,” she says, pulling out the dead clusters and replacing them with new blossoms.

Linda says nothing, just heads into the kitchen. She sees the nanny has already started breakfast. The room is filled with the aroma of fresh-baked blueberry muffins. A pan of scrambled eggs is being kept warm on the stove. A pitcher of just-squeezed orange juice awaits them on the table.

“I was going to cook,” Linda says, her voice weak and ineffectual.

Julia doesn’t respond.

“Where’s Josh?” Linda asks.

“He’s in the backyard,” the nanny tells her. “He said his father promised to take him out on the lake. He’s getting the boat ready.”

Linda peers out the kitchen window. Sure enough, there’s the boy, untangling the ropes that had tied the small wooden dinghy to the pier.

She walks outside and calls to him.

“Josh! Come in and have breakfast.”

He ignores her.

“Tell me, Josh. Are there fish in that lake?”

She’s walking toward him now. He doesn’t look up as she approaches.

“Perch, maybe? Trout?”

“Yeah, there’s fish,” he says.

“Maybe you and your father can catch some when you go out. I can clean them and cook them for dinner tonight.”

The boy looks up at her. “My father doesn’t like to fish.”

“Oh, no? Why not?”

“He can’t stand putting the worms on the hook.”

This surprises Linda. A little factoid she didn’t know about Geoff. Mr. Dark and Handsome. Mr. Brilliant Professor. Afraid of a little worm guts. She laughs.

“Back home, my father would take my sister and me fishing all the time. There were a lot of lakes near where I grew up.” Linda rubs her hands together. “Why, if we had some bait we could probably bring in quite the haul here.”

For the first time something other than hostility registers in Josh’s eyes when he looks up at Linda. There’s curiosity. Interest.

“Would you want to go fishing, Josh? I mean, I know you don’t like me much, but at least I have no problem with sticking nightcrawlers on a hook.”

The little boy looks at her. He’s clearly considering the idea, obviously intrigued. This is it, Linda thinks. The breakthrough.

“What do you say, Josh? We can go down to the general store, get some bait…I saw some fishing poles in the garage.”

“I can’t go,” he says, turning away.

“Why not, Josh?”

“Because my mother will be here soon.”

Linda lets out a long sigh.

She looks out over the lake. The day is clouding over. Before a minute has passed she sees the ripple of raindrops against the water’s surface. Standing there beside Josh, she witnesses the day change from sunshine to rain in a matter of moments. Thunder rumbles overhead, and all at once the skies open and a torrential downpour drenches them on the spot. They both make a mad dash into the house.

“So odd,” Geoff says, peering out the window, “this change in weather.”

Rain pounds against the roof of the house. Linda sits reading a People magazine while her fiancé paces, still agitated by his dream.

“It was supposed to be sunny all weekend,” he grouses.

“Maybe we can go to the movies,” Linda suggests,

Geoff says nothing. He walks back and forth between windows, looking out of each of them as if one might suddenly offer him a better view.

Josh is at the dining room table, coloring with crayons in a large drawing pad. Julia has just popped him a bowl of popcorn, and he stuffs handfuls of it into his mouth as he remains intent on his work. The aroma of salty butter hangs over the room.

“It should clear up soon,” Linda says. “It must be only a passing shower.”

A great crash of lightning rattles the house, and the power shuts off.

“Oh, terrific,” Geoff moans.

The electricity flickers back on, however, and Linda goes back to reading about Ben Affleck and J. Lo.

Despite Josh’s ultimate refusal, she remains heartened by the look she had seen his eyes. I can do it, she thinks. I can win him over. It’s going to take a little time, but I can do it.

She looks over at him now, so focused on his coloring, his angelic little face scrunched up and his tongue planted on his upper lip. He may be another woman’s child, but he will become her son, too—her responsibility to raise and nurture and teach and love. Someday he’ll go to college, and get married, and have babies of his own—and Linda will be right there, watching him, proud of him, at Geoff’s side.

The day passes lazily, the rain showing no sign of letting up. Linda moves from Ben and J. Lo to Jennifer and Brad, then on to Prince William and his sexy college roommate to poor old Bob Hope, a hundred years old and still hanging on. By the time she’s finished, Geoff has gone elsewhere to pace and Julia has disappeared, but Josh is still at the table coloring, humming to himself.

Linda heads upstairs. She’ll shower, fix her hair, try to keep the gloom of the day from oppressing her the way it’s doing to Geoff. They’ll go to the mall. Josh would love that idea.

She walks into the master bedroom to run smack into Julia.

“Excuse me!” Linda says in surprise.

The nanny arches an eyebrow at her. “May I help you, Miss Leigh?”

“I was just—I was going to take a shower.”

“There’s a bathroom in your room, Miss.”

Linda can feel herself getting angry. “Let’s make it clear, Julia. While we’re staying here, this is my room. Geoff’s room is my room.”

“I don’t think it’s wise for Master Joshua to be exposed to such an arrangement.”

“His father and I see no problem with it. Josh knows we’re planning to be married. He needs to understand that I am going to be a permanent presence in his life.”

The nanny says nothing, just hardens her jaw.

“And may I ask what you are doing in here?” Linda asks.

“Just freshening up the room.” The nanny stares at her defiantly. “Making it the way Dr. Manwaring has always preferred it.”

Linda glances around. There are purple lilacs in several vases on the table and the bureau. Candles are lit on the mantelpiece, flanking a small urn in which burns a tiny flame.

“I found it in the study,” Julia says as Linda approaches the urn to study it. “I always remember it in this room. It was always lit.”

Linda holds the urn in her hand. It’s made of some kind of very old tarnished metal, with strange markings like hieroglyphics on its side. No more than six inches long by three inches high, it’s filled with oil, a short wick flickering with a tiny bluish flame.

“I believe it was hers,” Julia says.

“Hers?” Linda asks, her voice barely a whisper as she finds herself transfixed by the urn.

“Mrs. Manwaring’s.”

Linda sets the urn back down on the mantel. She shakes off the feeling that had come over her and turns with some indignation to the nanny.

“In the future, you should get Dr. Manwaring’s approval before you bring anything into this room,” she says.

Julia smiles. “Oh, but I did, Miss. Dr. Manwaring wanted the urn.”

Suddenly Linda is aware of her fiancé standing in the doorway. He looks weary and sheepish. Dark circles remain prominent under his eyes.

“Thank you, Julia, that’ll be all,” he says as the nanny nods efficiently and slips out around him back into the hall.

Linda watches him as he closes the door and comes into the room. He sits on the bed and begins rubbing his temples with his fingers.

“You wanted this?” Linda asks. “You wanted this—whatever it is?”

“It’s an urn. Gabrielle and I found it in Egypt on our honeymoon.” He doesn’t look up at her. “It’s very old. It was a real find.”

“But why do you want it in here?”

“I just thought—I don’t know. Julia showed it to me and I said okay. Put it in the room.”

“She’s very loyal, Julia.” Linda pauses. “To Gabrielle.”

“They were very close.”

“Well, I don’t want it in here. I don’t like it.”

Geoff finally lifts his eyes to look at her. “The symbols—they translate into a prayer for eternal life. It’s a piece used in veneration of the ancient Egyptian sun god, Ra. I’ve always viewed it as good luck.”

“I think it’s ugly,” Linda says stubbornly. “I don’t want it in here.”

She turns back to the mantel, her hand outstretched to pick it up again.

“No!” Geoff is on her in a flash, grabbing her arm. “Don’t put out its flame!”

“Dear God, Geoff! What’s gotten into you?”

He snatches the urn into his own grip. “I—I just don’t want you to damage it. The oil…I don’t want the flame to go out. It could—damage the inside casing—”

“How could it do that?”

He holds the urn tightly to his chest. “If you don’t like it, I’ll put it in the study.”

Linda makes a face. “You’re behaving very strangely.”

Geoff sighs. “Maybe. Maybe so. The dream…I’m still freaked out by the dream.”

Linda gives him a small smile. “I guess I can understand that. My own dream kept me on edge for a couple of days.”

He turns to leave, taking the urn with him.

“Geoff,” Linda calls, “I didn’t know you didn’t like to fish. Josh really wants to try it. I’m going to bring it up with him again tomorrow if the weather clears up—”

But she finds she’s talking to air. Geoff has hurried out of the room.

The rain finally starts letting up late in the afternoon. The mall idea fell on deaf ears. Geoff has become engrossed in grading his student papers, hunched over a pile in the study, that damn urn beside him, still burning. Julia has begun preparing dinner in the kitchen, and although Linda had wanted to make it herself, she makes no effort to confront the old woman again.

And Josh remains coloring in his pad at the dining room table.

“The rain’s stopped,” Linda tells the boy. “Maybe you might want to go outside and play.”

He doesn’t respond.

“What are you drawing, Josh? You’ve been so intent all afternoon.”

For the first time Linda takes notice of the boy’s work. There are dozens of sheets torn out from his pad scattered at the foot of his chair and under the table. What Linda notices first are the colors: only yellows, oranges, and reds. As she lifts one of the sheets to look at it, she glances at Josh’s crayon box. All of the so-called cool colors—the blues, greens, and purples—remain untouched, their points still sharp. But tiny stubs of red and yellow crayons litter the floor.

“What are these, Josh?”

They’re all the same: some kind of a figure—a bird, from the looks of it—surrounded by red, orange, and yellow scribbles. Linda picks up another sheet and then another. Some of the scribbles are rush jobs, but others are carefully rendered, colored in solidly. The look like—

Flames.

“What are these, Josh?” Linda repeats again, quieter now.

The boy doesn’t answer. He’s drawing on a new sheet now: the same birdlike figure, its head raised, two wings at its side, pointing upward on the page.

Linda’s suddenly aware of Julia standing behind her.

“The boy has talent, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Linda says. “I think Josh probably has many talents.”

“Dinner will be ready soon. I’m making lamb chops. I hope that meets with your approval.”

Linda turns to look at her. “Lamb chops will be fine.”

Julia smiles.

“Tell me,” she says to the nanny. “Do you know what these drawings are?”

“Not exactly. But the bird—it was a symbol his mother always used. She had a pendant in that shape, didn’t she, Josh?”

“My mother’s coming home,” Josh says in response, not looking up from his drawing.

“And these lines,” Linda says, indicating the yellow and red scribbles. “What are they supposed to be?”

“I’m not sure I know, Miss. Maybe you should ask Master Joshua.”

Linda turns to the boy. “Well,” she tries. “What are they, Josh?”

“My mother’s almost here,” he says.

Julia just smiles and returns to the kitchen.

The night is quiet. Earlier the crickets had been busy, but as the night went on they stilled their chatter, and now only the soft steady tick of the grandfather clock in the hall is all that Linda can hear.

Geoff sleeps soundlessly beside her. She’s wide awake, feeling cold and uneasy.

Gabrielle Deschamps had been a fascinating woman. Geoff has only told her a little, but Linda’s pieced in the rest through conversations with Jim and Lucy Oleson and others from the campus. In the beginning, Geoff and Gabrielle were madly, deeply, dazzlingly in love—or at least, Geoff was with her. Gabrielle, everyone agreed, kept her most private thoughts to herself. But there was no disguising the passion she had for certain things: academic debate, ancient history, travel, beautiful clothes, stunning jewelry, men. She was an impetuous flirt; no man was safe from her charms. Sit down at a table with her and she’d home right in, finding a man’s eyes, touching his hand, taking hold of his spirit. She’d find his weakness, his vanity, and then she’d prick it, ever so skillfully, making the man hers in mind if not in body. It drove Geoff crazy with jealousy. It only made Gabrielle laugh.

“Borderline personality,” Megan had diagnosed at hearing the description. Her husband, Randy, is a psychologist, so Megan thinks she has all the answers. “Gabrielle was a disaster waiting to happen. Geoff should be glad she’s gone.”

But is he? Linda looks over at him, sleeping peacefully. She’s glad his nightmare seems to have passed. A good night’s rest, some sunny weather, and they’d make up tomorrow for what they missed out on today.

Linda knows she’s no great beauty like Gabrielle was. She’s seen the photographs. How alive Gabrielle had seemed. Always laughing, always posing for the camera. She puckers up for a kiss in one; in another, she pushes up her breasts, accentuating her cleavage. There’s a shot of her on some Mediterranean island—her honeymoon with Geoff, which took them from Rome to Greece to Egypt—where she looks like a sun goddess: iridescent blond-white hair, glowing golden skin, her face lifted to the skies.

“She walked out on him,” Megan has reminded her, whenever Linda has gotten insecure, threatened by the memory of her predecessor. “Remember that. He found her in bed with a teenager! They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, what’s even worse is a man whose ego has been wounded. If Geoff ever felt anything for her, believe me, sweetie, it evaporated pretty quickly when he found her boning some pimply paperboy.”

And how many others? Linda knows that’s what Geoff wonders. How many others had she cheated on him with? Those men she’d dazzle at college parties. The students she’d tease when they came to the house seeking extra help from Geoff. How many did she seduce once Geoff was out of sight?

And Josh? Could they be sure he was Geoff’s? He looked nothing like his father, so fair and blond and soft and pretty like his mother.

But no. Linda won’t allow herself to think that way. She’s seen the bond between them. She’s seen the love, the connection between father and son. The way Geoff will hoist Josh on his shoulders and carry him across campus. The way they wrestle on the living room floor, Josh reduced to a giggly bowl of little-boy jelly. The way the boy will look at his father, his eyes filled with awe, with love, with a sense of who he will someday be.

Geoff has started to snore slightly.

Linda sits up in bed. She’s wide awake. It was such a strange day. The weather. Geoff’s mood. That urn. Those drawings of Josh’s.

She stands, slipping into her robe. But the events of the day aren’t the reason for his sleeplessness. There’s something else. Something amiss. Something she can’t quite put her finger on.

Josh. She needs to check on Josh.

She pads down the hallway silently. At the boy’s door, she pauses. Downstairs she can hear the grandfather clock chime twelve. Midnight.

Linda pushes open Josh’s door, careful not to wake him.

He’s not in his bed.

That’s what she felt was wrong. Josh—he’s gone.

She hurries downstairs, hoping she’ll find him back at the dining room table, coloring with the last tiny chunks of red and yellow crayons. But he’s nowhere to be found. She looks around the room frantically.

The front door. It’s ajar.

Linda hurries to the front steps. “Josh!’ she whispers into the still-dark night. The only sound is the soft swaying of pine trees in the breeze. “Josh!”

In the moonlight she makes him out: a tiny figure in the driveway, staring out into the road.

Linda makes her ways through the dewy grass in her bare feet. “Josh!” she calls. “What are you doing outside at this time of night?”

The boy is in his pajamas. He just keeps staring out into the road.

Linda has reached him. She places her hands on his shoulders, expecting him to pull away from her. But he doesn’t.

“My mother is coming,” he says softly, almost hypnotically. “My mother is coming.”

“Oh, Josh.”

Linda drops to a stooping position beside him so that her eyes are level with his. She sees he’s crying. Her heart breaks.

“Oh, Josh, your mother isn’t coming. I know how much you must miss her. I know you must think I’m here to replace her, to make you forget her. But I’m not, Josh. I know I can never take your mother’s place. She’ll always live in your heart. I don’t want you to forget her.”

He turns his small face to look at her. The moonlight casts a soft white glow across his features. A tear drops down his cheek.

“But she’s not coming, sweetheart. We don’t know where she is. Your dad tried to find her. You know that. But she’s gone. I know that’s hard to understand. I wish I could give you a better explanation. But I can’t.”

Josh just looks deep into her eyes.

“Will you come in the house with me now?” Linda asks gently.

The boy begins to cry harder. He allows Linda to take him into her arms. He buries his face in the folds of her robe and sobs. She holds him tightly for several moments, then lifts him and carries him back into the house.

There’s little chance of sleeping after that. She tosses and turns, dreaming of Josh, a little forlorn elf standing at the foot of the driveway. She sees his tearful face as she lay him back into bed, bringing the blanket up around him. She hears his muffled cries in her dreams, and she can sleep no more.

The sun is beginning to rise when she finally gives up on her rest. Geoff is snoring now, seemingly back to normal, rattling like a bear. Linda throws on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. She peeks in on Josh. Sound asleep. She smiles and makes her way downstairs.

She’s glad Julia isn’t awake yet. She puts the coffee on herself. She mixes flour and eggs in a bowl for pancakes. Maybe things are changing. Maybe Josh will come around. He let her hold him. He let her pick him up and put him to bed.

The coffee helps to waken her, to throw off the lethargy of the night. Linda stands in the kitchen, sipping its warmth, leaning against the counter and watching the shadows of the room disappear. The pink light of dawn slices through the windows. It’s going to be a beautiful day.

She walks outside into the yard. This will be my house, she thinks. Our house. Mine and Geoff’s. Mine and Geoff’s and Josh’s. Our family’s house.

The tulips in the side garden are beginning to open. Had Gabrielle planted them? It doesn’t matter: they’re Linda’s now.

The sun is still low enough in the sky to cast long blue shadows across the yard. Linda loves the very early morning. She often gets up this early so she can jog or head to the gym before work. She’ll do a run through Boston Common and marvel at the light, at the solitude, at the peacefulness. In a few hours the city would turn into a bustle of energy and frantic, angry noise, but at dawn it was quiet and respectful.

In the front yard there are daffodils, most past their bloom, but a few still soldier on. She’ll add more bulbs in through here, she thinks. Hyacinths and narcissi. Make it a vibrant spring garden.

Something catches her eye. Down in the road, there’s a figure, still far off but walking this way. Someone else out enjoying the first light of day.

Linda watches. The person walks from the east, so is little more than a silhouette in the glow of the rising sun. Linda holds her coffee mug close to her chest as she keeps her eyes on the figure. She can’t seem to move from the spot. The person gets closer, growing larger. Linda can make out a cloak, a long full flowing cloak. And a hood.

She suddenly feels cold terror. She wants to run, scream, hide in the house, but she’s rooted in place, unable to look away. The figure approaches.

It is a woman.

Send her away, Linda prays. Dear God, send her away.

The woman has stopped now at the foot of the driveway, the same spot where Josh had stood last night, crying into the dark.

“Hello,” she calls.

Linda doesn’t move or respond.

The woman in the long black cloak advances up the driveway. In the trees, a large bird begins to caw manically. Linda can’t see the woman’s face, as it remains shadowed within her large, full hood. She braces herself. The woman keeps walking toward her.

“Hello,” she says again.

“Hello,” Linda whispers.

“I’m looking for Dr. Manwaring.”

The woman has stopped just a few feet away. Linda still can’t clearly see her face.

“Who are you?” Linda asks in a small, choked voice.

The woman reaches up and folds down her hood, revealing hair of startling gold. She smiles.

“I’m his wife,” she says.