The Sitter Page 13

  I wondered if he would make a real move. Would he corner me sometime when Abby was away and tell me again how lonely he is? Tell me how his marriage is falling apart, how he desperately wants me, how he has to have me? . . .

  And then what would I do?

  I’d have to quit.

  I’d have to push him away and tell him I’m outta there and let him explain to Abby.

  And then what?

  I go back to New York with a few hundred dollars to my name and try to find an apartment and a job.

  Or . . . back to good old Madison with Mom and Dad.

  Uh—no.

  Maybe Chip will lay off. Maybe he feels sorry for me, knowing that someone out there hates me—hates me enough to cut off an old woman’s hand and send it to me—hates me enough to want me dead.

  Maybe Chip won’t make a move. He says he wants to protect me, after all. Wow, he’s such a loser. He’s probably just a watcher, a daydreamer.

  And why isn’t Abby enough for him? They’re both so young. They couldn’t have been married very long. How can he be so horny? Is he just a total slut?

  A ringing sound interrupted my thoughts. My phone. I rummaged through the beach bag searching for it. Finally, I found it. I checked the caller ID, then raised it to my ear.

  “Hi, Teresa.”

  “What’s up, Ellie? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Not bad. I’m at a lake with the kids, so I can’t really talk.”

  “We still on for Saturday afternoon? Party at my house?”

  “Yeah. I called Jackson. He said he’d stop by.”

  “Cool. Wait till you see the house, Ellie. Thirty people jammed into five bedrooms. It’s insane!”

  “I’d better go, Teresa. Can I call you later?”

  “Yeah. No problem. Everything okay? Nothing weird going on?”

  “Okay so far,” I said. “The police were back yesterday. They asked a bunch of questions, but they don’t have a clue. And Clay has called me every day. But I see his number on my caller ID, so I don’t pick up.”

  “Good. Maybe he’ll get the message in a year or two.”

  “Let’s hope. Later,” I said. I clicked off the phone and tossed it back into the beach bag. Then I turned toward the water.

  Deirdre and Courtney were piling up stones a few yards in front of the blanket, building some kind of stone house. And Heather and Brandon—

  Heather and Brandon?

  Oh, no. I turned to Maggie. She was bent over the cooler, pulling out wrapped sandwiches for our picnic. “Maggie? Do you see Brandon and Heather?”

  She jumped to her feet and, sheltering her eyes with her hand, squinted down the beach. “They were just here, building rocks with the girls. They couldn’t have gone far.”

  I stepped over the beach blanket and hurried up to the girls. “Have you two seen Heather and Brandon?”

  They looked up from their rock pile, blond hair gleaming in the sunlight, blue eyes looking up at me so blankly, as if they’d never heard of Heather and Brandon.

  “They went away,” Deirdre said finally, in her tiny voice.

  The words sent a chill down my back. Went away?

  “Where? Went away where?”

  They both shrugged their little shoulders.

  I stepped away from them, slipping on some rocks. Squinting hard behind my sunglasses, I searched up and down the beach. I saw dozens of children that could have been them—but weren’t.

  My heart racing now, my throat achingly dry, I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Brandon? Heather? Where are you? Brandon? Heather?”

  I turned to the water. No sign of them. I spun around slowly, surveying the whole beach.

  Finally, trembling, my stomach knotted in fear, I turned to Maggie. “Maggie,” I choked out. “They’re gone.”

  29

  Are the little devils hiding from us?” Maggie asked. “Playing a game, I’ll bet.” Her voice was light, but her face revealed her concern.

  She said something else, but I didn’t hear it. I started to run. On trembling legs, I trotted along the crowded beach, slipping on the wet rocks, searching each face, fighting the sunlight, the bright white light that faded every face, that made every face so vague and hard to identify. Fighting the white light radiating off the sand and stones, such a strong light that seemed to want to surround me, to hold me, keep me from finding the right faces.

  Fighting the sunlight—or my overwhelming dread?

  I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted. “Heather? Brandon?”

  This isn’t happening.

  This is not happening.

  And then I saw a shadow in the water, far out in the water, where the shallow bottom dropped off. The shadow became a figure. I recognized the baggy, black swimsuit, the T-shirt Abby insists he wears when he swims.

  A boy with a big, black inner tube.

  Yes. It’s Brandon. Squinting through my sunglasses, I could see him perfectly now. Where did he get the inner tube? And why is he pushing it to the deep water?

  “Brandon? Come back here! Brandon? It’s dangerous out there! Come back!”

  I leap into the water and run over the wet rocks, waving my arms frantically. And then I stop, water only up to my shins. I stop because I see what Brandon is doing.

  I mean, I see his passenger clinging to the big tube. I see Heather’s back. And I see her tiny hands gripping the side of the tube. She’s on her stomach, clinging to the wet rubber, kicking her feet furiously, holding on for dear life.

  And Brandon is pushing her, pushing her out to the deep waters.

  “Brandon! No!”

  Brandon, why are you doing this?

  I gasp as he gives the black tube a hard push. It bobs out into deep water, tossing on the low waves.

  “No—please! No!”

  As I start to run, I see Heather slide off the side of the tube. Her little body sinks quickly—so quickly and smoothly—into the blue-green water. I see her legs disappear, then her waist, her head. Her tiny arms are the last to go under. I see her hands on the surface, like tiny white flowers. Then they disappear, too.

  The tube bobs in place, and Heather is gone.

  Brandon stands in the shallow water, watching intently, not moving.

  The inner tube bobs, and there’s no sign of his sister.

  I run to the end of the shallow water. I kick off, using the bottom to propel me. Swimming hard, I pull myself along the surface and search for her.

  Heather, come up!

  Behind me, I glimpse Brandon just standing there, watching. I take a deep breath and dive down. Where is she? The water is thick with weeds. The tendrils wave and wriggle and reach out like dark snakes.

  Where is she?

  And then I see a foot—a pale, white, tiny foot, tangled in long black weeds. I need to breathe. How long have I been underwater? My chest feels ready to explode. I picture an inflated paper bag being popped.

  I grab for the foot. I see Heather’s body now, her pink swimsuit. I see her wide eyes, her startled face—not frightened, but startled and confused, as if wondering how this happened.

  I tug once, twice, and wrench her leg free of the tangle of weeds. And then I am pulling her up, pulling her with strength I don’t have, my chest exploding, the whole world red now, bright red.

  We burst over the surface. I hold her up above my head. I gulp in breath after breath, choking, sputtering, spitting out water, my whole body heaving with each breath. The red fades. All color fades in the white sunlight, the pure, white sunlight that I am so happy to see again.

  I hold Heather high. Without even realizing it, I am holding her up to the sun, warming her, returning her to the light.

  Is she breathing?

  Is she alive?

  Yes. She thrashes her arms, kicks her legs, chokes, and spits out grimy green water. Water runs off her body, onto my shoulders. Her blond hair is matted to her head. A tuft of thick grass clings to her swimsuit.

  I feel her s
hake as she starts to cry. She opens her mouth in a long, high wail, and then shudders with sob after sob.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Heather, it’s okay now.”

  My muscles aching, I stumble to the shallow water. She’s crying uncontrollably now. I pull her close to me.

  “Where are your floaties?” I cry. “Who took off your floaties?”

  She’s crying too hard to answer. Brandon hasn’t moved. He stands nearby, skinny arms crossed over his chest, staring at us with no expression at all.

  I cradle Heather under one arm. I grab Brandon with my other hand and tug him sharply toward shore.

  “Why did you do it?” I shout, squeezing his arm, wanting to hurt him, wanting to pay him back for trying to kill his sister.

  I have to get through to him!

  “How could you do such a horrible thing?”

  A smile spreads over his face.

  Furious, I jerk his arm and drag him to shore. Heather is still wailing, thrashing her arms and legs again.

  “Heather, you’re okay. You’re perfectly fine.” I set her down on the pebbly shore.

  I turn to scold Brandon, but something catches my eye. A long white skirt. I look up and realize someone is standing beside us. At first her face is hidden behind a white wide-brimmed hat.

  She is dressed entirely in white, a ghostly figure.

  And then she turns, and I recognize the wrinkled, rouged face in the shade of the hat.

  My breath catches in my throat. “Oh. Hi, Mrs. Bricker,” I finally manage. “I heard you were out of the hospital. I—”

  Her eyes are on Brandon. She stares at him for the longest time.

  Then she slowly turns to me and raises her arm. I see the tight, white bandages. I see her bandaged stump.

  Her eyes narrow to slits. She waves the stump at me and rasps, “It’s started, hasn’t it. It’s started.”

  Part Three

  30

  Teresa’s share house was a tall, white stucco building on Noyac Road. The house was completely hidden from the street by a tall, perfectly manicured hedge.

  The Harpers dropped me off a little after five. I thanked them for the ride and walked up the curving gravel driveway jammed with cars and SUVs. I could see the sparkling water of Peconic Bay behind the house.

  Music blared from the back. I heard shouts and laughter. A red Frisbee came flying past my head. Two guys in swimsuits grabbed for it, bumping each other out of the way.

  Teresa greeted me at the front door. “I hope you came to party,” she said, pulling me inside. “This place is out of control!”

  She pulled me into the living room crowded with guys and girls in shorts and bathing suits, talking, holding drinks, lots of laughter. Two guys were carrying a beer keg toward the back. Two couples were all tangled up, totally lip-locked on a low, tan couch that stretched the length of the back wall.

  “Wow. My first party in a glamorous share-house in the Hamptons!” I said. I sounded as if I were being sarcastic (when don’t I?), but I really was excited.

  “Well, let me give you the glamorous tour,” Teresa said, taking my arm. She led me past five bedrooms jammed with cots toe to toe, sleeping bags cluttering the floor. On the other side of the living room stood a large den where a group of guys was playing PlayStation 2, which they had hooked up to a big-screen TV. They were shouting and cheering as if they were at a stadium.

  There were sleeping bags and cots in every room in the house. Thirty people had shares here, Teresa explained, and they were allowed to bring two or three guests a season.

  “Not a whole lot of privacy,” I said as Teresa led me out to the terrace in back.

  “You got that right!” she replied. “But you’re never lonely. And you do get to meet some okay people.” She pointed to the glass doors at the back. “Come check out the pool.”

  I glanced around. “Where can I change?” I had a T-shirt and shorts over my swimsuit.

  “Just drop your stuff in any corner,” Teresa said.

  We stepped through the glass doors. Pounding dance music greeted us. A beautiful swimming pool came into view. “Ta da! Not too shabby, huh?” Teresa said.

  The pool was dark green and enormous, filled with people. I saw round hot tubs at both ends. And beyond the pool, I could see the beach and the bay, golden and green in the fading sun.

  “Wow.”

  Teresa grinned and pushed back her hair. “I spend most of my time back here working on my tan.”

  I heard a squeal as a man tossed a woman into the pool. The tidal wave of a splash made several people sitting at poolside scream. And though the pool was really crowded, no one was swimming. Everyone was standing in the shallow end, drinking and talking.

  Nine or ten people jammed the first hot tub. They had all taken off their swimsuits and tossed them onto the terrace. I saw a group of people leaning over a darkwood picnic table, having a serious shot-drinking contest.

  Three guys struggled to get the beer keg going. On the deck on the other side of the house, a guy and a girl in white aprons manned two barbecue grills. I watched them turning enormous racks of ribs. Smoke floated up from the grills. The wonderful, tangy aroma reminded me of the annual Brat Festival back in Madison, the streets filled with the aroma of barbecued brats and ribs.

  Teresa and I poured ourselves glasses of white wine. Then we found a free space by the edge of the pool and dropped down with our feet in the water.

  “I entered you in the wet T-shirt contest,” Teresa said.

  I sputtered wine down my chin. “You what?”

  She laughed. “Kidding. Would I do that to you?”

  I gave her a soft shove. “You are so not funny.”

  I glanced toward the house and saw someone I knew walk out through the glass doors. It took me a few seconds to realize it was Jackson. “Hey, he’s here!” I exclaimed.

  “Is that what’s-his-name?” Teresa lifted her sunglasses to see him clearly. “Hey, Ellie, he’s a total babe!”

  I waved to Jackson, but he didn’t see me. I leaned on Teresa’s shoulder to help pull myself to my feet and went running over to greet him.

  We shook hands awkwardly. “Hey, glad you came.”

  His eyes flashed. “I wanted to see how long it would take you to run away this time.”

  “Cut me some slack. I already apologized five times. Do you really think I’m crazy or something?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” If he hadn’t chuckled, I would have believed him.

  He wore faded denim shorts and a navy sleeveless T-shirt. When he shook my hand, I saw a tattoo near his right shoulder. Chinese letters.

  “What’s that tattoo?” I asked. “Something deep and mysterious?”

  “It’s my name in Chinese.”

  I ran my finger over it. “Why’d you get it?”

  He shrugged. “I couldn’t think of what else to get.”

  Teresa walked over, straightening the top of her bikini. I introduced them, and we chatted for a while. Jackson said he had three roommates in his apartment in college, but couldn’t imagine having twenty-nine.

  “We have better parties this way,” Teresa told him.

  Jackson glanced around. “When does the orgy start? Ellie promised me an orgy.”

  I gave him a shove. “Did not.”

  Teresa motioned to a couple at the far end of the pool. They were both dripping wet from the pool. He was on his back on the concrete, and she was on top, straddling him, locking him in a long kiss.

  “Jeez,” she said. “I think it’s already started.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Jackson. “Don’t get any ideas.”

  He grinned. “I have plenty of ideas!”

  The keg was finally tapped, so we went over to get beers. Then we talked and hung out by the pool, met some guys who recognized Jackson from the bike shop. We swam and had platefuls of smoky ribs and potato salad, danced a bit and had a few more beers.

  I realized later on that I never stopped to wonder if I w
as having a good time or not. My mom is always telling me I think too much, that I overanalyze everything. And I know she’s right. But tonight, I was as laid back as Jackson and didn’t ruin my good time by wondering if I was really enjoying myself or not.

  The party was still going strong at 1 A.M. Some couples from another house were just arriving. But I’d had a full day of the kids and the beach, and I was starting to yawn.

  “Did you drive?” Jackson asked. He had his arms around my waist, and we were slow-dancing at the side of the pool.

  “No. I thought I’d call a taxi.”

  He pressed his warm cheek against mine. “Let me take you home?”

  I snickered. “On the back of your bike?”

  He pulled his head back and frowned at me. “Just because I work in a bike store doesn’t mean—”

  “Okay. Thanks. I have to say good night to Teresa.” I pulled away from him and started to search for her. But he pulled me close again.

  “Listen, Ellie, I—uh—know what’s been going on with you. I mean, I saw it on TV. When I saw you with the police, I—I couldn’t believe it. Really. I felt so bad for you.”

  “Jackson, I—”

  “No. Let me finish. I guess you don’t want to talk about it. I mean, you haven’t all night, and I don’t blame you. But, I just wanted to say—well, if you ever do need someone to talk to. Or if you ever do need help of any kind, I—”

  I didn’t let him finish. I threw my arms around him and pressed my cheek against his neck. “Thank you! Oh, you’re so sweet. Thank you!” Then I pressed my lips against his and held his face while we kissed.

  Maybe things were going too fast. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions—trusting him too soon. I mean, I’d just met him. But he seemed so much calmer than any guy I’d ever been with. Like a real grown-up. Hell, I’d ditched him on the beach in the middle of the night, and he understood and didn’t think it was the end of the world.