Silence. That was the first definitive thing that had happened. And it struck Gifford as hard as if someone had socked her in the chest. She caught her breath.
“We know for sure they were forgeries,” said Ryan. “And honey, those are the last checks. Nothing, I mean nothing, has come into the bank since those were cashed in New York two weeks ago.”
“New York.”
“Yes. That’s where the trail runs out, Gifford. We’re not even sure that Rowan herself was ever in New York. Look, I’ve been on the phone three times today about all this. There is no Mardi Gras Day in the rest of the country. I came home to a machine full of messages. The doctor who spoke to Rowan by phone is on his way here from San Francisco. He has important things to say. But he doesn’t know where Rowan is. Those checks are our last bit of-”
“I follow you,” said Gifford weakly.
“Look, Pierce is picking up the doctor tomorrow morning. I’m coming up to get you. I made up my mind earlier.”
“That’s absurd. I have my car. We won’t be able to drive back together. Ryan, go to bed and sleep. I’ll be home tomorrow in time to see this doctor from San Francisco.”
“I want to come get you, Gif. I’ll hire a car, and I’ll drive your car home.”
“That’s stupid, Ryan. I’ll leave at noon. I’ve already planned it. Go meet the doctor. Go to the office. Do whatever you have to do. The point is, the family gathered and it was splendid, just the way it was supposed to be, Rowan or no Rowan. Michael was apparently a trouper. And two forged checks, well, what does that mean?”
Silence. Of course they both knew what it could mean.
“Did Mona shock anybody tonight?”
“Only her cousin David. I’d say she had a good day. Pierce is fine. He’s gone out for a dip with Clancy. The pool is steaming. Barbara’s asleep. Shelby called; sorry she didn’t come home. Lilia called too. Mandrake called. Jenn’s snuggled up with Elizabeth in the den. I’m about to collapse where I stand.”
Gifford gave a long sigh. “Mona went home to that house with those two? All alone on Mardi Gras?”
“Mona is all right, you know she is. Ancient Evelyn would call me here if anything was wrong. She was sitting beside Alicia’s bed this afternoon when I left them.”
“And so we lie to ourselves about that, as always, along with everything else.”
“Gifford.”
“Yes, Ryan?”
“I want to ask you a question. I’ve never asked you anything like this before, and I don’t think I could ask you now, if we weren’t…”
“Talking on the phone.”
“Yes. Talking on the phone.”
They had many times discussed this strange aspect of their long marriage, that their best conversations were on the phone, that somehow or other, they were patient with each other on the phone, and could avoid the battles they fought when together.
“This is the question,” said Ryan in his customary direct way. “What do you think
Gifford was speechless. It was more than true that Ryan had never asked her a question like this in all their lives. Most of Ryan’s energy went to preventing Gifford from seeking answers to difficult questions. This was not only unprecedented, it was alarming. Because Gifford realized that she could not rise to the occasion. She didn’t have a witch’s answer to this question. She thought for a long moment, listening to the fire burn, and to the soft sigh of the water outside, so soft it might have been her own breath.
A number of thoughts passed vagrantly through her mind. She even almost said, “Ask Mona.” But then she caught herself, protective and full of shame that she would encourage her niece in that sort of thing. And without preamble, or any sort of forethought, Gifford said:
“The man came through on Christmas Day. That thing, that spirit-I’m not going to say its name, you know its name-it got into the world and it did something to Rowan. That’s what happened. The man’s no longer at First Street. All of us know it. All of us who ever saw him know he’s not there. The house is empty. The thing got into the world. It-” Her speech, rapid, high-pitched, faintly hysterical, broke off as abruptly as it had begun. She thought: Lasher. But she could not say it. Years and years ago Aunt Carlotta had shaken her and said, “Never, never, never say that name, do you hear me?”
And even now, in this quiet safe place, she could not speak the name. Something stopped her, rather like a hand on her throat. Maybe it had to do with the peculiar blend of cruelty and protectiveness which Carlotta had always shown for her. The Talamasca history had said that Antha was pushed through the attic window, that the eye was torn from her head. Dear God! Carlotta couldn’t have done such a thing.
She wasn’t surprised that her husband hesitated before responding to her. In the silence she was full of surprise herself. It all loomed before her, and she also knew in these moments the terrible loneliness of her marriage.
“You really believe that, Gifford. In your heart of hearts, you, my beloved Gifford, believe that.”
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She felt too defeated. They had been arguing all of their lives, it seemed. Would it storm, would it shine? Would a stranger rape Mona on St. Charles Avenue as she walked alone at night? Would income taxes go up again? Would Castro be overthrown? Were there ghosts? Were the Mayfairs witches? Could anyone really speak with the dead? Why did the dead behave so strangely? What the hell did the dead want? Butter is not unhealthy, and neither is red meat. Drink your milk. One cannot metabolize milk as an adult, and so forth and so on, forever.
“Yes, Ryan,” she said sadly and almost offhandedly. “I believe it. But you see, Ryan, seeing is believing. And I always saw him. You never could.”
She had used the wrong word. Could. Real mistake, that. She could hear the little soft sighs with which he drew away from her, away from the possibility of belief or trust, into his well-constructed universe where ghosts did not exist, and Mayfair witchcraft was a family joke, as much fun as all the old houses, and quaint trust funds, and jewelry and gold coins in the vaults. As much fun as Clancy Mayfair marrying Pierce Mayfair, which really, really, really shouldn’t happen, since both were-like Alicia and Patrick-descended from Julien, but what was the use of telling him? What was the use? There was no reason, there was no exchange of ideas, there was no genuine trust.
But there’s love, she thought. There is love and there is a form of respect. She didn’t depend on anyone in the world the way she did on Ryan. So she said what she always said at such times:
“I love you, my darling,” and it was wonderful to say an Ingrid Bergman line like that with so much heart and mean it so completely. “I really do.” Lucky Gifford.
“Gifford…” Silence on the other end of the line. A lawyer thinking quietly, the man with the silver-white hair and blue eyes, who did the practical worrying with her for the whole family. Why should he believe in ghosts? Ghosts don’t try to break wills, they don’t sue you, they don’t threaten you with Internal Revenue investigations, they don’t bill you for the two-martini lunch.
“What is it, darling?” she asked softly.
“If you believe that,” he said. “If you really believe what you just said to me…if this ghost got through…and the house is empty…then why wouldn’t you go there, Gifford? Why wouldn’t you come today?”
“The thing took Rowan away,” she said angrily. “This isn’t finished, Ryan!” Suddenly she was sitting up. Every bit of goodwill she felt for her husband had done its usual evaporation act. He was the same tiresome and impossible man who had wrecked her life. That was true. It was true that she loved him. It was true that the ghost had come through. “Ryan, don’t you feel things in that house? Don’t you sense things? It isn’t over, it’s just begun! We have to find Rowan!”
“I’m going to come get you in the morning,” he said. He was furious. Her anger had drawn out his anger. But he was struggling. “I want to come up there and drive you back home.”
“OK, Ryan,” she said. “I wish you would.” She heard the plea in her own voice, the plea that meant surrender.
She was only glad that she’d had the courage to say the little bit she had about “the man,” that for the record, she had spoken her piece, and he could argue with her, and beat her down, and criticize her to death later
