he’s talking to me Michael; not tormenting.”
Michael lifted his head. He was sporting a three day shadow to go with his mustache and goatee.
“Then why does it feel like torment?”
I made my way to the painting and picked it up off the floor. Unzipping my art bag, I slipped the painting inside, out of sight, out of spinning mind. I fully intended to personally deliver it to Harris, just like I fully intended to reveal the texts.
Michael wiped both eyes with the backs of his hands.
“What’s going on here, Bec?” he insisted. “Why would Franny drop the painting off to the apartment instead of leaving it at the art center? That was the whole point behind your taking a couple of days off.”
“I don’t know,” I exhaled. “But I’m about to find out.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I pulled my towel tighter over my chest. I walked barefoot into the bedroom to get dressed. After that, I was going to call Robyn and find out why she gave Caroline and Franny permission to make a surprise drive-by to my home.
Chapter 38
Michael stood by my side while I speed-dialed Robyn’s number and waited for a pick up. For the third time in a row I was greeted by her answering service.
My pulse picked up. This was so not like Robyn.
The fact that Franny and his mother made the effort to deliver the fourth painting directly to my door told me that Robyn had not showed up to open the art center that morning. Otherwise Franny would have simply left the fourth painting there for me.
There was only one thing left to do. I dialed the number for the center. I waited for a pickup but instead got the answering machine and my own digitally recorded voice.
“ You’ve reached the Albany Art Center. No one is available…”
My call waiting kicked in.
Pulling the phone away from my ear, I took a look at the number displayed on the readout. The number did not immediately catch my attention. But the caller ID did
Albany Medical Center.
With trembling fingers, I clicked over to receive the call.
She spoke to me in a hesitant whisper, almost like she was being held hostage. The whisper and the hesitancy were both punctuated with sobs.
Robyn’s mother, June.
“Rebecca,” she cried, “I… have… some…”
She let the sentence hang, as though to complete it was simply too painful.
Michael was staring at me. His shadowy face had gone pale. He opened his mouth as if to say something. But I quickly raised my open hand and pulled my eyes away from his, stopping him cold.
“June,” I begged. “What’s happened?”
I tried to keep my voice steady, even. I’d known Robyn’s mother almost as long as I’d known Robyn. I’d never heard her so upset, so devastated.
“Albany Medical Center,” she exclaimed. “ICU. Please come.”
I dry swallowed.
“Is she alive, June? Is… Robyn…alive?”
“She’s alive,” June whispered.
Then she hung up.
Wide eyed, Michael gazed expectantly into my face.
“Something bad has happened to Robyn,” I explained. “I have to go.”
“You get your stuff together,” Michael said. “I’ll wait for you out in the truck.”
He took me by surprise. There had been a time in our lives when no emergency, big or small, would have kept him from his daily word quota. As he gathered his jacket and beret and headed out the front door to his pickup, I had to ask myself, who is this man?
Acting on instinct, I picked up Franny’s ‘Smell’ painting from up off the floor, tucked it under my arm, and exited the apartment by way of the back door.
Chapter 39
The Albany Medical Center ICU was brightly lit. It was filled with doctors and nurses competing for floor space with the portable gurneys, monitors, hand carts, wheeled IV units, desks, counters and chairs.
The nurse at the counter pointed Michael and I in Robyn’s direction. Like all the beds in the unit, hers was hidden behind a sea blue curtain. From beneath the curtain I could make out June’s sneaker-covered feet, and the tattered cuffs on her gray slacks. The feet were planted stone still and unnaturally on the vinyl tiled floor. A gauze bandage had been tossed on the floor not two or three inches from her feet. The bandage was stained with blood.
My heart was pounding so fast I was having trouble keeping my balance. Michael took hold of my arm. I reached out for the curtain. But I wasn’t sure if I possessed the strength to pull it aside.
“Rebecca,” Michael whispered.
“It’s okay.” I swallowed. I slid back the curtain.
Her face was swelled and bruised, her eyes puffed up and closed shut; her lips bruised and blistered. I didn’t dare look for any missing teeth.
Robyn’s beautiful face.
It came as a relief that she’d been sedated. What in God’s name would I say to her? What could I say?
A clear plastic tube had been run up her left nostril. Her left arm and hand were positioned atop the bed beside her, palm up. An intravenous line was needled into her vein. Hooked to the hospital bed’s plastic railing, a translucent plastic bag collected the catheter drippings.
Robyn’s mother hadn’t shifted her gaze from her daughter’s face when I pulled back the curtain. But somehow, she knew it was me.
Michael slid his hand down from my arm to my hand. He held it tight, his warmth doing nothing to quell the coldness in my palm. Together we stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of the bed.
“She called me just before she left,” June said, her words meant for me, but her eyes still locked on Robyn’s. “It must have been her third blind date in a row.” She shook her head bitterly. “I warned her, told her she was seeing too many men; too many strangers; that it would all catch up with her one day.”
I recalled Robyn bragging about a stockbroker. But now I knew she’d been lying. That she’d been seeing more men than just the stockbroker. That she’d been playing with Match. com like it was some kind of game that didn’t involve real people; real strangers.
The tall, brown-haired, middle-aged woman sniffled, fighting back the tears as best she could. But I knew it had to be a losing battle. She inhaled and set her right hand on Robyn’s forehead, running trembling fingers down through dirty blonde hair.
Set beside the bed was a vital functions monitor. There was the steady, mechanical up-and-down green line that represented Robyn’s heart rate. It reminded me of the one that had been attached to Molly before she died.
“Early this morning,” June went on, “I was woken up by a phone call. It was the police. They’d responded to a 9-1-1 coming from the Cocoa Motel near the airport. They found my Robyn curled up on the motel room floor. She was beaten, bleeding, half unconscious… my poor Robyn.” She paused, hesitating, crying. “Two of her ribs are broken, plus one finger on her right hand. A clump of hair was pulled out of her head.” She choked on the next words. “What kind of animal does something like this, Rebecca?”
