Private Eyes Page 11

  I said, “It’s a bit of a leap from that to marriage.”

  She gave a sour smile. “I invited him over— as a surprise for Mother. This was before she was getting treatment. I was looking for anything to get her going. Get her to socialize. And when he arrived he had three dozen red roses and a big bottle of Taittinger’s. I should have known then he had . . . plans. I mean, roses and champagne. One thing led to another. He started coming over more often. In the afternoon, before the Tankard opened. Bringing her steaks and more flowers and whatever. It became a regular thing— I just kind of got used to it. Then six months ago, just around the time she started to be able to leave the grounds, they announced they were getting married. Just like that. Brought in a judge and did it, at the house.”

  “So he was seeing her when you were trying to persuade her to get treatment.”

  “Yes.”

  “How’d he relate to that? And to treatment?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I never asked him.”

  “But he didn’t fight it.”

  “No. Don’s not a fighter.”

  “What is he?”

  “A charmer. Everyone likes him,” she said, with distaste.

  “How do you feel about him?”

  She gave me an irritated look, brushed her hair from her forehead. “How do I feel? He doesn’t get in my way.”

  “Do you think he’s insincere?”

  “I think he’s . . . shallow. Pure Hollywood.”

  Echoing the prejudices she’d just decried. She realized it and said, “I know that sounds very San Labrador, but you’d have to meet him to understand. He’s tan in the winter, lives for tennis and skiing, always smiling even when there’s nothing to smile about. Father was a man of depth. Mother deserves more. If I’d known it would get this far, I’d never have started it.”

  “Does he have any children of his own?”

  “No. He was never married. Not until now.”

  The way she emphasized “now” made me ask, “Are you concerned that he married your mother for her money?”

  “The thought has occurred to me— Don’s not exactly poor, but he’s not in Mother’s league.”

  She gave a wave of her hand, so choppy and awkward that it made me take note.

  I said, “Is part of your conflict about Harvard a worry that she needs protection from him?”

  “No, but I can’t see him being able to take care of her. Why she married him I still can’t figure out.”

  “What about the staff— in terms of taking care of her?”

  “They’re nice,” she said, “but she needs more.”

  “What about Jacob Dutchy?”

  “Jacob,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “Jacob . . . died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Just last year,” she said. “He developed some kind of cancer and it took him quickly. He left the house right after the diagnosis and went to a place— some sort of rest home. But he wouldn’t tell us where. Didn’t want anyone to see him sick. After he . . . Afterwards, the home called Mother and told her he was . . . There wasn’t even any funeral, just cremation. It really hurt me— not being able to help him. But Mother said we’d helped by letting him do it his way.”

  More tears. More tissues.

  I said, “I remember him as being a strong-willed gentleman.”

  She bowed her head. “At least it was quick.”

  I waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, I said, “So much has been happening to you. It’s got to feel overwhelming. I can see why it’s hard for you to know what to do.”

  “Oh, Dr. Delaware!” she said, getting up and coming forward and throwing her arms around my neck. She’d put on perfume for the appointment. Something heavy and floral and much too old for her. Something a maiden aunt might wear. I thought of her making her own way through life. The trials and errors.

  It made me ache for her. I could feel her hands grip my back. Her tears moistened my jacket.

  I uttered words of comfort that seemed as substantial as the gilded light. When she’d stopped crying for a full minute, I pulled away gently.

  She moved away quickly, sat back down, looking shamefaced. Wringing her hands.

  I said, “It’s all right, Melissa. You don’t always have to be strong.”

  Shrink’s reflex. Another yea-say.

  The right thing to say. But in this case, was it the truth?

  She began pacing the room. “I can’t believe I’m falling apart like this. It’s so . . . I planned for this to be so . . . businesslike. A consultation, not . . .”

  “Not therapy?”

  “Yes. This was for her. I really thought I was okay, didn’t need therapy. I wanted to show you I was okay.”

  “You really are okay, Melissa. This is an incredibly stressful time for you. All the changes in your mother’s life. Losing Jacob.”

  “Yes,” she said absently. “He was a dear.”

  I waited several moments before continuing. “And now the Harvard thing. That’s a major decision. It would be foolish not to take it seriously.”

  She sighed.

  I said, “Let me ask you this: If everything else was calm, would you want to go?”

  “Well . . . I know it’s a great opportunity— my golden apple. But I have to— I need to feel right about it.”

  “What could help you feel right about it?”

  She shook her head and threw up her hands. “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  She looked at me. I smiled and pointed at the couch. She returned to her seat.

  I said, “What could really convince you your mother will be okay?”

  “Her being okay! Normal! Like anyone else. That sounds terrible— as if I’m ashamed of her. I’m not. I’m just worried.”

  “You want to be sure she can take care of herself.”

  “That’s the thing, she can. Up in her room. It’s her domain. It’s just the outside world. . . . Now that she’s going out— trying to change— it’s scary.”

  “Of course it is.”

  Silence.

  I said, “I suppose I’d be wasting my breath to remind you that you can’t go on taking responsibility for your mother forever. Being a parent to your parent. That it will get in the way of your own life and do her no good.”

  “Yes, I know. That’s what N— of course that’s true.”

  “Has someone else been telling you the same thing?”

  She bit her lip. “Just Noel. Noel Drucker. He’s a friend— not a boyfriend, just a boy who’s a friend. I mean, he likes me as more than a friend, but I’m not sure how I feel about him. But I do respect him. He’s an exceptionally good person.”

  “How old is Noel?”

  “A year older than me. He got accepted to Harvard last year, took time off to work and save up money. His family doesn’t have any money— it’s just him and his mother. He’s been working his whole life and is very mature for his age. But when he talks about Mother, I just want to tell him to . . . stop.”

  “Ever let him know how you feel?”

  “No. He’s very sensitive. I don’t want to hurt him. And I know he means well— he’s thinking of me.”

  “Boy,” I said, blowing out breath. “You’re taking care of lots of people.”

  “Guess so.” Smile.

  “Who’s taking care of Melissa?”

  “I can take care of myself.” Stating it with a defiance that pulled me back nine years.

  “I know you can, Melissa. But even caretakers need to be cared for, once in a while.”

  “Noel tries to take care of me. But I won’t let him. That’s terrible, isn’t it? Frustrating him like that. But I’ve got to do things my way. And he just doesn’t understand the way it is with Mother. No one does.”

  “Do Noel and your mother get along?”

  “The little they have to do with each other, they do. She thinks he’s a nice boy. Which he is. Everyone thinks that— if you knew him you’d underst
and why. And he likes her well enough. But he says I’m doing her more harm than good by protecting her. That she’ll get better when she really has to— as if it’s her choice.”

  Melissa got up and walked around the room again. Letting her hands settle on things, touching, examining. Feigning sudden fascination with the pictures on the walls.

  I said, “How can I best help you, Melissa?”

  She pivoted on one foot and faced me. “I thought maybe if you could talk to Mother. Tell me what you think.”

  “You want me to evaluate her? Give you a professional opinion as to whether she really can cope with your going to Harvard?”

  She bit her lip a couple of times, touched one of her earrings, flipped her hair. “I trust your judgment, Dr. Delaware. What you did for me, how you helped me change— it was like . . . magic. If you tell me it’s okay to leave her, then I will. I’ll just do it.”

  Years ago I’d seen her as the magician. But letting her know that, now, would be terrifying.

  I said, “We were a good team, Melissa. You showed strength and courage back then, just like you’re showing now.”

  “Thank you. So would you . . . ?”

  “I’d be happy to talk with your mother. If she consents. And if it’s okay with the Gabneys.”

  She frowned. “Why them?”

  “I need to make sure I don’t disrupt their treatment plan.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I just hope she doesn’t give you problems.”

  “Dr. Ursula?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Any reason you think she might?”

  “No. She’s just . . . She likes to be in charge of everything. I can’t help thinking she wants Mother to keep secrets. That have nothing to do with therapy.”

  “What kind of secrets?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “That’s the thing: I’ve got nothing to back me up— just a feeling. I know it sounds weird. Noel says I’m being paranoid.”

  “It’s not paranoia,” I said. “You care deeply about your mother. You’ve been taking care of her for years. It wouldn’t be natural for you to just—”

  Her tension dissipated. She smiled.

  I said, “There I go again, huh?”

  She started to giggle, stopped, embarrassed.

  I said, “I’ll call Dr. Ursula today, and we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She took a couple of steps closer, wrote down the number at the clinic for me.

  I said, “Hang in there, Melissa. We’ll get through this.”

  “I sure hope so. You can call me on my private line— that’s the number you reached me at yesterday.”

  She walked back to the coffee table, hastily picked up her purse, and held it in front of her, waist-high.

  The accessory defense.

  I said, “Is there anything else?”

  “No,” she said, glancing at the door. “Guess we’ve covered plenty, haven’t we?”

  “We had plenty to catch up on.”

  We walked to the door.

  She turned the knob and said, “Well, thanks again, Dr. Delaware.”

  Tight voice. Tight shoulders. More tense than when she’d come in.

  I said, “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about, Melissa? There’s no rush. I’ve got plenty of time.”

  She stared at me. Then her eyes slammed shut like security shutters and her shoulders dropped.

  “It’s him,” she said, in a very small voice. “McCloskey. He’s back— in L.A. Totally free and I don’t know what he’ll do!”

  8

  I brought her back inside and sat her down.

  She said, “I was going to mention it at the start but . . .”

  “It gives a whole different dimension to your fear of leaving.”

  “Yes, but to be honest, I’d be worried even without him. He just adds to it.”

  “When did you find out he was back?”

  “Last month. There was this show on TV, some documentary about the Victim’s Bill of Rights— how in some states the family can write away to the prison and they’ll tell you when the criminal is coming up for a parole hearing. So you can protest. I knew he’d gotten out— years ago— and had moved away. But I wrote anyway, trying to see if there was anything more I could learn— I guess it was part of the same thing. Trying to help her. The prison took a long time to write back, then told me to get in touch with the Parole Department. That was a real hassle— talking to the wrong people, being put on hold. In the end I had to submit a written request for information. Finally I got through and found out the name of his last parole officer. Here in L.A.! Only he wasn’t seeing him anymore— McCloskey had just gone off parole.”

  “How long’s he been out of prison?”

  “Six years. That I found out from Jacob. I’d been bugging him for a while, wanting to know— wanting to understand. He kept putting me off, but I wouldn’t give up. Finally, when I was fifteen he admitted he’d been keeping an eye on McCloskey the whole time, had found out he’d been released a couple of years before and had left the state.”

  She made tiny white fists and shook them. “The creep served thirteen years out of a twenty-three-year sentence— time off for good behavior. That really stinks, doesn’t it? No one cares about the victim. He should have been sent to the gas chamber!”

  “Did Jacob know where he’d gone?”

  “New Mexico. Then Arizona and, I think, Texas— working with the Indians on the reservation or something. Jacob said he was trying to fool the Parole Department into thinking he was a decent human being and that they’d probably be fooled. And he was right, because they did set him free and now he can do anything he wants. The parole officer was a nice guy, just about ready to retire. His name was Bayliss and he really seemed to care. But he said he was sorry, there was nothing he could do.”

  “Does he think McCloskey’s a threat to your mother— or anyone else?”

  “He said he had no evidence of that but that he didn’t know. That no one could be sure with someone like him.”

  “Has McCloskey tried to contact your mother?”

  “No, but what’s to say he won’t? He’s crazy— that kind of craziness doesn’t change overnight, does it?”

  “Not usually.”

  “So he’s a clear and present danger, isn’t he?”

  I had no easy answer for that. Said, “I can see why you’re concerned,” and didn’t like the sound of it.

  She said, “Dr. Delaware, how can I leave her? Maybe it’s a sign— his coming back. That I shouldn’t leave. I mean, I can get a good education here. UCLA and USC both accepted me. In the long run, what difference is it going to make?”

  Different tune from the one she’d sung just a few moments ago.

  “Melissa, a person with your brains can get a good education anywhere. Is there a reason, besides education, that you considered Harvard?”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe it was just ego. Yes, that’s probably what it was— out to show myself I could do it.”

  “Any other reason?”

  “Well . . . there’s Noel. He really wants me to go there and I thought it would be— I mean, it is the best college in the country, isn’t it? I figured, why not apply? It was actually kind of a lark. I really didn’t think I was going to get in.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier being a C student. Fewer choices.”

  “Melissa, anyone in your position— the situation with your mother— would be in conflict. And now McCloskey. But the harsh truth is that even if he does pose a danger, you’re not in any position to defend your mother against him.”

  “So what are you saying?” she said angrily. “That I should just give up?”