'Sure. She lives in Florida, near the water. It's where her parents live, so she can be close to them.'
'Do you see her a lot?'
'Not very much. Florida is a long way to go. And we don't get along very well, Sarah.'
'Why not?'
'Well, we don't agree on some things. There are parts of her I don't like very much.'
'Like what?'
'She drinks a lot. And she's very angry most of the time. Sometimes things happen where it's nobody's fault, but people just can't accept it that way. And sometimes a person reminds you so much of someone or something else you've lost that whenever you're with them, you get sad.'
'Like what happened with your brother?'
'Yes, exactly like that.'
'Oh. You're lucky, though,' Sarah said. 'I wish I knew my mother.'
'Sometimes parents aren't what we'd like them to be. They might be too sick to take care of their children, or they might even be dangerous. In that case it's better if they aren't around.'
'My mother wanted to keep me with her. I know she did.'
'Do you remember her?'
'Sometimes I do. Sometimes I dream about her. Why did she leave me here? Why doesn't she come get me?'
'Oh, honey. I'm sure she would if she could.'
'You don't think she's scared of me?'
'Why would she be scared of you? I'm not scared of you.'
'I just want to be like everyone else.'
'Being different can be a good thing. If everyone were the same, what a boring world it would be!'
Sarah was quiet for a minute. 'Will you go get Connor? I want him to stay with me.'
'Sure I will.'
When she spoke again, her voice came drifting back from the depths of sleep: 'I dream about her a lot. .. .'
Jess waited until Sarah's breathing deepened. She slowly disengaged her hand and stood up.
She was surprised to find herself shaking. Whether it was from anger, sadness, or something else, she couldn't tell.
--24--
Shelley still wasn't in class the next day. The guest lecturer told them she would be out for at least another week. After the session ended, Jess reached her by telephone. 'I'm sorry to bother you at home, but it's important.'
She thought she sensed a moment's hesitation. 'All right,' Shelley said. 'I'm feeling a bit better today. It's time we met again anyway. Why don't you come here? It's a nice day and the leaves are turning. We'll sit out on the deck and have a drink.'
She jotted down the address. Charlie was using her car to go shopping in Natick, and so Jess took a taxi into Chestnut Hill. She knew the neighborhood, and was prepared for the quiet, tree-lined streets and stately homes tucked among the gentle hills; but she was nevertheless surprised when the taxi turned into the driveway of what was obviously an estate of considerable size. Iron gates swung open to admit them up a gently sweeping drive, and around tumbling juniper and rock displays to a sprawling Tudor mansion with perfectly manicured lawns and flower gardens that were just beginning to droop and curl in the crisp fall air.
She avoided the imposing front entrance as Shelley had instructed over the phone, instead following a flagstone path that led down a slight slope and around the side of the house. Several big hunks of rough-hewn granite formed steps that ended at a rear door.
Feeling out of place, she hesitated before ringing the bell, half expecting a somber-faced maid or English butler. But Shelley herself answered, looking as if she'd just splashed her face with cold water. Her flesh was puffy and very pale. 'Come on in,' she said, 'I was just making something to eat. Are you hungry?'
The house held a deep, expectant silence. They walked through a hallway lined with a patterned wine runner and hung with oil paintings, into a spacious, well-lighted kitchen. Stainless steel Viking appliances offset warm wood tones, and an oak-topped island in the middle of the room kept a sink and dishwasher.
But what held Jess's attention was the contents of the full-length granite counter to the right of the cooktop: whole oat bread, a cube of white, fleshy tofu on a cutting block, a container of what looked like seaweed, and a plastic bottle full of greenish liquid.
'I've been meaning to ask,' Shelley said, busy inside the huge refrigerator, 'how you managed to pay for school. It doesn't sound like you had much help from your parents.'
'A full scholarship to the University of Connecticut. I waited tables there for spending money.'
'And now?'
'The man who taught me to fly airplanes died when I was a junior. He left me his plane, along with his wishes that it be sold and the proceeds set up as a scholarship fund.'
'You were close?'
'He was the only person I trusted as a child.'
On afternoons after school, when she knew her mother would be drinking, she would listen at the foot of the driveway for the sound of the plane. She would linger at the farm down the street, watching him do his graceful loops and spins, wishing she could be up there too. Sometimes, if she was lucky, he would land and take her up again.
'I hope I'm not being too personal. I just wondered.' Shelley had turned from the open refrigerator with a container of orange juice. She looked very frail in the yellow light, years older. Jess caught a glimpse of the swelling showing in her wrist, and what looked like a particularly nasty rash up the inside of her arm. Something clicked like tumblers falling into place inside her head, and she wondered how she hadn't seen it before.
'It's not important,' was all she said.
'As a matter of fact, it is. Evan and I were very concerned with who we picked to help with Sarah. It's important for us to know what makes you tick. To be perfectly blunt.'
'She's not a schizophrenic.'
'I know.' Shelley put the juice down on the counter, turning away from the sudden silence. 'Actually, I'm not very hungry after all. Why don't we go out and sit on the patio?'
They walked through a room dominated by a huge Steinway grand piano, decorated with an antique oriental rug in deep earth tones, a Chippendale walnut chest and china cabinet, a Tiffany clock, through French doors, and onto a stone deck that overlooked the lawn and gardens. The air was pleasant but cool, the distant trees peppered with orange and yellow leaves.
'That's better. A little sun always lifts my mood.' Shelley settled into a cushioned deck chair. 'Have a seat.'
Jess took a chair opposite. 'What was all that on the counter?'
'Macrobiotics. It's supposed to help clean out my system.' She waved her hand. 'Diet, meditation. You try something new. I have good days and bad days. More lately of the latter, I'm afraid.'
'You're sick, aren't you? Is it cancer?'
'Acute lymphocytic leukemia. You know, I never thought I would go this way. It's not the kind of exit you wish for when you're a little girl. And I thought, if I could cleanse myself, if I eat well and pray ... it sounds silly when I say it out loud.'
'Not at all.'
'I won't go without a fight,' Shelley said. 'I've been living with this for ten years now, and it doesn't get any easier. My father was CEO for the largest steel company in the country. I've seen the best specialists in the world. But money can't solve everything. You go into remission, you think you've beaten it, and then it comes back to bite you harder than ever.'
'I'm sorry.'
They sat in silence while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves at a distant edge of lawn, while flowers bobbed their multicolored heads. There had been a frost last night; when Jess woke up it had been written across the
