“If you’ll excuse me,” I say, “I’m going to do some more deliveries.”
She doesn’t hug the wall to let me pass, just swivels her torso an inch or so to the left. As I edge past her, I’m unable to avoid contact, and the bare skin of my arm brushes unpleasantly against hers. I also detect a whiff of cigarette smoke. Hannah clearly has a bad habit that she’s hiding from the rest of us.
As soon as I descend the stairs, I hear a soft click, her bedroom door closing behind her. I wonder if she’s smiling. Because it must absolutely delight her that she’s unnerved me—and I’m not a good enough actress to disguise the fact.
“Couldn’t find any place to put them?”
Again, I’m caught by surprise. This time it’s Wendy, standing a foot or so inside the front door, holding an orange. I must look like an idiot, still lugging the fucking vase around.
“Sorry, I’m operating in a daze today,” I say. I set the vasedown on a side table with a soft thud. “I guess this spot is as good as any.”
“Did I hear you talking to someone?”
“Yes, Hannah’s back.”
“Ahh. Well, thanks for the flowers.”
I end up taking the long way back to the cottage, doing a sweep down beyond the pool and across the bright green lawn, and gnawing at one of my cuticles. It’s clear to me now that the missing foxgloves aren’t anywhere on the property, that no one clipped them for a bouquet, unaware that they’re toxic. So perhaps someone—and Hannah’s name is at the top of my list—diddo something horrible with them. Like kill Claire.
No,that’sinsane, I admonish myself. Claire had high blood pressure and there’s no proof she died of anything but a heart attack. And maybe Hannah was so busy kissing up during the garden tour that she didn’t pay attention to what Claire was actually saying about various plants. Besides, even if Hannahissome kind of sociopath, as Billy insinuated, how could she have pulled off poisoning Claire? She could hardly have tucked a few blossoms into Claire’s sandwich on Sunday because she would have noticed them. And, in fact, Claire didn’t even eat her sandwich that day.
I have to calm down and step away from the vehicle. There must be an explanation for the missing foxgloves that I’m too wired to see.
And more than anything right now, I need my mom. I fish my phone from my pocket and call her cell.
“Oh, Sara, hi,” she says. “What a nice way for me to start a Monday.”
After I launched my acting career and started referring tomyself as Summer, my dad came on board, but my mother has never switched over, and I’ve tried not to mind it too much.
“Hey, Mom, nice for me to hear your voice, too. You and Dad good?”
“Yes, and I was actually about to callyoutoday. We were driving to some friends’ house last evening and heard a commercial for sunscreen on the radio. We’re positive it was your voice.”
“A sport cream, paraben-free?”
“I believe so, though I have no clue what paraben is.”
“Yup, that was me.”
“Oh, what a kick for us. I may have to even go out and buy some now.”
“That’s so sweet of you, Mom. But actually, there’s a specific reason for my call today.”
I blurt it out then, trying not to blubber as I do. Because the Keatons live in Manhattan, I’ve spent more time with them in recent years than with my own parents, and I don’t want my mom to think that I was closer to Claire than to her—because I wasn’t.
“Goodness, no,” she exclaims. “Oh, Sara, this must be so hard for Gabe. And for you, too.”
“Yes, everybody’s very shaken.”
She peppers me gently with questions, and once I’ve told her what I know, she says how sorry she is. “Dad and I will come down to New York for the funeral, of course.”
I explain that the service is being held here in Bucks County and for only immediate family. A brief silence follows, and I sense she’s hurt.
“I would love to have you and Dad here,” I add. “But Iwant to respect Ash’s wishes. Wendy’s and Keira’s parents won’t be here, either.”
“I understand,” she says. “For some families, a small service works best.”
“I’d better go,” I tell her. “But I’ll call in a day or so and fill you in.”
