The Map of True Places (20 page)

Z
EE CRIED MOST OF
the day on Wednesday. More than a few of the tears were relief; because it was over now, she had no big decisions to make. Some of the tears were for the last three wasted years of her life. Some were for Finch, some for Maureen and The Great Love, and some were for Lilly Braedon.

She listened to her thoughts roll around her achy brain. Her sinuses were swollen from crying, she didn't dare look in the mirror. She went into the bathroom, ran cold water in the sink, and splashed it onto her face.

Outside, she heard the sound of Finch's walker. Jessina was in the kitchen making breakfast. Zee dried her hands. She noticed the engagement ring on her left hand, wondered what she should do with it. Should she send it back to him? Should she even call him? She didn't want to, realizing on one level how relieved she was not to have to call and, at the same time, understanding that she would have to get in touch with him eventually to pick up her things. Eventually, but not now.

 

W
HEN SHE COULDN'T STAND BEING
in the house any longer, she decided to take a ride, driving Lafayette Street into Marblehead,
then taking a left onto West Shore Drive. There was something she'd been meaning to do, and now was the time. She stopped at the Garden Center and picked out a grave planter basket, with geraniums, trailing petunias, and dracaena spikes. Then she kept going until she reached Waterside Cemetery.

She pulled the Volvo down the narrow, tree-lined lane and up to the office, where she parked and walked inside.

“Hi,” she said to the woman sitting at the desk. “I hate to bother you, but do you think you could direct me to Lilly Braedon's grave?”

Cathy took in Zee's blotchy face. Normally she might have had to look up the location of a grave site, but Lilly Braedon's headstone had been installed only yesterday, and Cathy had seen Lilly's husband and kids come by to visit it as she was leaving last night. So sad, she thought, wondering what would have caused the young mother to make the leap from the Tobin Bridge into the Mystic River. She felt particularly sorry for the kids.

Cathy walked Zee to the door and pointed up the hill. “It's right up there next to the pavilion,” she said. “Under that big oak tree.”

“Thanks so much,” Zee said.

Zee left her car by the office and carried the flower basket up the hill, stopping at one of the faucets to water it. When she reached the top of the hill, she took in the view. From here she could see all of Salem, from the Willows to the Gables, to Shetland Park and the old mill buildings with their peaked rooflines that looked like a row of white tents. Beyond Shetland was the district called the Point, with the tenement houses where the mill workers had once lived—the Irish, the Italians, the French Canadians. The mills were long gone, but the housing remained. These days it was mostly Dominicans. Jessina and her son, Danny, lived in the Point.

Zee found Lilly's gravestone. It was simple granite, a matte gray. On it just Lilly's name, her date of birth, and the day she died. Zee
found herself doing the math. Lilly was thirty-four, only two years older than Zee and the same age as Maureen had been when she committed suicide, but Lilly had seemed younger than Zee ever remembered her mother being. Certainly more naive, she thought, though it was odd to make that judgment, Maureen's era would have almost certainly dictated a lesser sophistication than Lilly's. Looking back on it now, Zee realized that it was the filter of a child's vision that had clouded her perception. If she saw them next to each other, most likely they would have seemed the same. In many ways, of course, they already did seem the same, at least in Zee's mind's eye. It was barely possible to keep them separate while Lilly lived, but now their images were blending more and more.

Zee placed the basket on the flat base of Lilly's grave. She hadn't thought past doing it, but now she thought she ought to say a few words or, barring that, at least a silent prayer or something, but nothing came to her.

She tried her best to clear her head, to think about Lilly, but when she looked at the gravestone, she just wanted to cry again, which would have been appropriate except that she didn't think she could stand to cry anymore. Her head ached so much from crying that she willed herself not to. Instead she walked up to the pavilion and sat looking out over the harbor toward Salem.

The House of the Seven Gables was partially visible from here. She tried to identify Finch's house, but it was blocked by the boatyard across the street. The light from the Salem Harbor power plant blinked on and off, and for some reason, standing here, she thought for a moment of Gatsby standing and looking out at Daisy's pier, though that light was green and not white, and lower to the ground and not on top of some coal-fired smokestack that people in both towns were trying their best to get rid of.

Zee fell asleep watching the harbor. It surprised her, first that she
could sleep in the daytime—she had never been one to take naps—and second that she could sleep out in the open in a public place. The added confusion of an interrupted dream cycle meant that for a few seconds after she woke up, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

It had been the sound of an engine that had awakened her. A red truck was moving along the narrow lanes, driving first up one side of the hill and then down the other, taking each parallel street slowly, finally stopping and backing up when it came to Lilly's grave. Adam didn't turn off the engine before he got out of the truck. It idled and sputtered, creating a sound track that in retrospect would make what Zee saw him do seem more like a film than real life.

Adam walked over and stood for a long time in front of the grave. He looked at the headstone and then at the basket of flowers. Then he looked around to see if anyone was watching him. He picked up the flower basket Zee had just laid on the grave and heaved it. She watched as it arced in slow motion up and over the gravestones, finally landing on the pavement, where it smashed and scattered. Then Adam got into his truck and took off.

Zee was so shaken that she didn't move for a while. She didn't walk into the office and report the incident. Instead she got into her car and drove back to Salem. When she stopped for a red light, she dialed Mattei's number and left a message.

“I know you told me to let it go, but I just saw something that made me think that Lilly Braedon's death really wasn't suicide. I need to talk to you.”

F
OUR HOURS LATER
M
ATTEI
sat across the kitchen table from Zee. She'd had a hell of a time finding a parking place and ended up leaving her car way down on Congress Street at a four-story public garage, where she still had to wait almost twenty minutes for a space.

Zee had left her two phone messages that day, the first while she was still at the house, requesting a leave of absence so that she could take care of Finch, and the second two hours later, declaring that she didn't think Lilly's death was a suicide.

 

M
ATTEI HADN'T BOTHERED TO CALL
Zee back. Instead she had gotten into her car and driven to Salem.

 

“I
KNOW WHAT
I
SAW,”
Zee insisted as they sat across the table from each other.

“I'm not disputing that,” Mattei said.

“He smashed the flower basket,” Zee said. “He's dangerous.”

“We don't know if he's dangerous. He certainly seems angry.”

“We know he threatened her.”

“Yes,” Mattei said.

“You didn't believe it before,” Zee said.

“I never said I didn't believe it. It was the Marblehead police who were skeptical. And Lilly wasn't exactly reliable. Or cooperative, for that matter.”

“She wasn't suicidal,” Zee said.

“She jumped off a bridge.”

“What if he drove her to it?”

“What if he did?” Mattei asked.

“Shouldn't we tell someone?”

“Tell them what?” Mattei asked.

Zee looked frustrated.

“Let's think it through,” Mattei said. “There's absolutely nothing anyone can do. You can't arrest a person for driving someone to suicide. If you could, the jails would be full of husbands, wives, relatives, and employers. Isn't it always somebody else's fault?”

“Even so…” Zee said.

“She was bipolar,” Mattei said.

“I'm well aware of that,” Zee said.

“Well, you know from personal experience that this is how things sometimes end.”

“You mean my mother,” Zee said.

“Yes,” Mattei said.

“My mother was BP1. And unmedicated.”

“Medication doesn't always work. Case in point, Lilly Braedon.”

“I would have known if Lilly was suicidal,” Zee said. Before Mattei had a chance to respond, she added, “I was thirteen when my mother died. And if it happened now, with my training, I would have seen the signs.”

Mattei was silent.

“And there's something else,” Zee said.

“What's that?”

“
You
didn't think she was suicidal either,” Zee said.

“Now you're telling me what
I
thought?”

“You wouldn't have given her to me to treat if you thought so,” Zee said. “Admit it. She was as much part of my treatment as I was of hers.”

“Interesting theory,” Mattei said.

“You knew she reminded me of my mother. You thought I could treat her and make it turn out differently. Hell, that's what I thought.”

“As in, ‘They all lived happily ever after'?”

“As in, ‘Work out some issues.'” Zee was clearly getting agitated. Her hands were shaking. She clasped them together, trying to steady them.

“Take a breath,” Mattei said.

Zee looked frustrated. But she obeyed. She took a deep breath and held it as long as she could. Then she slowly exhaled.

“Are you okay?”

Zee nodded.

“This is all very predictable. You just lost a patient. One who was important to you. You broke off your engagement. Your father is very ill. I don't want you to underestimate any of this,” Mattei said.

“I'm not,” Zee said. “I'm well aware of the effect all this is having on me. I just think that we should tell someone about Adam.”

“‘We' already have.”

“Then we should tell them again.”

“Again, let's think it through,” Mattei said, more forcefully this time. “Think of the family. Do you really want to put them through more than they've already suffered? Lilly was having an affair with Adam. And from what the police told us, there were other men she was involved with as well. Is this really something you want to pursue?”

Zee remained silent. Mattei was right.

“If it's any consolation,” Mattei said, “you were right. I didn't see it coming.”

There was a sound at the kitchen door. Someone was on the deck. Jessina let herself in with her key, then looked at them.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “Do you want me to come back later?”

“No, you're fine. Jessina, this is my friend Mattei. Mattei, this is Jessina. She takes care of Finch.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mattei said, extending a hand.

“I was going to make cookies for him,” Jessina said, holding out a bag of flour she'd brought.

“Jessina is a great baker,” Zee said.

“From scratch, not a mix?” Mattei asked.

“I never use a mix,” Jessina said.

“Very impressive,” Mattei said.

 

Z
EE AND
M
ATTEI MOVED OUTSIDE
to the deck off the kitchen. From here there was a great view of the harbor, only partially blocked by the boatyard to their left. The house straddled two streets, Turner and Hardy. It was long and narrow, with an entrance on either end.

“This is a really old house, isn't it?” Mattei said, looking back at the twelve-over-twelve windows, the central chimney.

“Except for the deck,” Zee said. “And the widow's walk.”

Mattei looked up. “I don't see a widow's walk.”

“Just the remains of one. See, up there? That flat part on top of the roof?” She pointed. “This house was purchased by a sea captain back in the late 1700s. Eventually he added the widow's walk, then reportedly chopped it down in a fit of jealous rage.”

Mattei walked over to the historic sign posted on the side of the
house:
HOME OF ARLIS BROWNE, SEA CAPTAIN.
“Wasn't that the captain in your mother's story?” Mattei asked.

“The very same.”

“Nice guy,” she said.

“Yeah, right,” Zee said.

A double-decker tour bus pulled out of the Gables' parking lot and got itself stuck trying to make the right onto Turner Street. It backed up, then went forward, and then finally all the way back into the parking lot, where it did an exaggerated U-turn and exited the wrong way onto Derby Street, leaning precariously as it emerged, sending tourists scattering.

“There are a heck of a lot of tourists in this city,” Mattei said.

“Boston has tourists,” Zee said.

“Not dressed in witches' hats, we don't.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the harbor. The sun was bright and playing on the water, making it look as if the light were emerging from the water itself, a million random bubbles of silver popping to the surface and then disappearing.

“What's that over there?” Mattei pointed across the harbor.

“That's Marblehead,” Zee said.

“Ah, the infamous Marblehead.”

Jessina brought out some lemonade and two glasses, placed them on the table without saying a word, and then turned to go back inside.

“You didn't have to do that,” Zee said. “But thanks.”

Jessina smiled, closing the door carefully so it wouldn't slam.

“She seems great,” Mattei said.

“She's a treasure. Melville hired her. She was a nurse in the Dominican Republic. She's raising a son by herself and trying to finish a nursing degree at Salem State. All that with English as a second language.”

“I'm in awe,” Mattei said. “Aren't you?”

“Every day,” Zee said.

Mattei sat and considered for a moment before speaking. “So I take it Melville's not coming back.”

“He tried. Finch kicked him out again.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea. I know they had some kind of disagreement, but Melville said it was an old argument that had been settled a long time ago.”

“Evidently not,” Mattei said.

“That's exactly what I said,” Zee said.

“So that leaves you as caregiver.”

“Pretty much,” Zee said. “At least until I can figure something else out.”

Mattei looked at her.

“I want to do this,” Zee said.

“That's very noble.” Mattei paused. “But caregiving is very difficult.”

“I have Jessina,” Zee said.

“Even so.”

“It's been okay,” Zee said.

“And you've been doing this for what? A week?”

“Nevertheless,” Zee said. It was meant to end the conversation, and Mattei knew it.

“Just promise me one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Promise me you're not just hiding out here.”

Zee thought about it. “I'm not,” she said.

“Okay,” Mattei said. “Take a leave of absence. But I don't want to lose you. You're too good a therapist.”

“Recent evidence to the contrary.”

“Stop it,” Mattei said.

 

M
ATTEI LEFT
Z
EE WITH THE
name of a caregiver-support group at Salem Hospital and a prescription for sleeping pills.

“I don't need the pills,” Zee lied.

“You told me you weren't sleeping,” Mattei said. “It doesn't hurt to fill the prescription. If you don't need them, don't take them.”

“Thanks,” Zee said.

Zee thought about it before bringing up the next subject. “There's one thing we haven't talked about,” Zee said.

“Really? What is that?”

“I'm assuming you talked to Michael.”

“We've spoken, yes.”

“Just tell me one thing,” Zee asked. “Is he okay?”

Mattei thought carefully before she spoke. “He'll be fine. Given the right amount of time and enough red wine.”

Zee nodded. She didn't want to know any more.