All Fall Down (6 page)

“Yes,” Blaine said hesitantly, thinking that she wasn’t referring so much to his literal death as to the death of his spirit, which had occurred the night of the car wreck.

“Martin was terribly unhappy, Blaine. I know what people in town said—that such a vigorous, outgoing man would never take his own life, but it was because he
had
been so vigorous, athletic, commanding, that he couldn’t adjust to being trapped in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. All his sense of achievement and self-esteem vanished. He couldn’t have people telling him he could have been a professional tennis player anymore. He couldn’t stride around Avery Manufacturing giving orders in that Orson Welles voice. After all, I visited Martin several times after the accident. I
know
how he felt. I told the police that.”

“Yes, you did. In fact, you’re the only person besides me who said he was suicidal.”

“Well, Bernice and Robin certainly knew it. But Bernice, of course, thought Martin Avery walked on water, and since she believes suicide is a sin, she wouldn’t admit she knew how he felt. And poor little Robin.” She shook her head. “I just don’t think she could acknowledge that her father wanted to die. But Martin called Bernice and told her not to come that day, and he called here, asking if Rosalind and Robin were back yet. He sounded relieved when I said they wouldn’t be finished decorating the gym for at least another hour. Obviously he wanted to be alone that afternoon. He
knew
what he wanted to do.”

And is that why he started that violent fight with me that afternoon? Blaine wondered. Did he know I’d never leave him alone otherwise? Did he know he could drive me from the house? Blaine felt chilled at this evidence of Martin’s deliberation, but she kept her voice steady. “I can understand Robin’s reluctance to believe her father wouldn’t want to die and leave her.”

Joan frowned. “Under normal conditions, no, he would never have left his daughter.
Or
you, even if he was irrationally blaming you for the accident. That was temporary. I know you understand that.” Don’t be so sure, Blaine thought. “But what people like Bernice and Robin don’t realize is that the severely depressed person is not thinking rationally.”

Do you believe Rosie was thinking rationally? Blaine wanted to ask, but couldn’t bring herself to. Asking Joan to analyze her dead niece was just too much.

Joan dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she’d pulled from her sweater pocket, and Blaine asked instead, “Have you told your mother?”

“Oh, yes. There’s no way to hide something like this. We said at first that Rosalind had gone on a trip. Mother was having one of her lucid moments and she didn’t believe it for a minute. She knew from the looks on my face and on Bernice’s that something was horribly wrong, so I decided to tell her the truth. She got hysterical. Thank God Bernice is here. She’s been keeping Mother sedated. Earlier today, though, she woke up and seemed to think it was my sister, Charlotte, who’d just died instead of Rosalind. Isn’t that amazing? Charlotte’s been gone for over sixteen years.”

“Your mother is so sick, Joan, and this has been a terrible shock.”

“I know. It’s just incredible to me the way the senile mind works. She can’t possibly go to the funeral.”

Joan paled again at the word
funeral
, her eyes straying off, and Blaine asked quickly, “Is there anything I can do to help with the arrangements?”

“No. Everything is already taken care of. Except for the exact day of the service, that is. Do you know they haven’t released Rosalind’s body?”

Of course they were doing an autopsy, Blaine thought, but she wasn’t going to point out that gruesome fact to Joan, who had obviously blocked it from her usually sharp mind. “In the meantime, you
will
let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”

Joan nodded. “I will, Blaine. And thank you for being such a good friend to Rosalind. She idolized you, you know.”

Blaine was astonished. “
What?
”

“Oh, yes. I’m sure she never said anything to you, but I know she did to Robin. And to me. She thought you were wonderful.”

“Look, Joan, I know Rosie liked me, but idolized me? I don’t think so. Especially after this summer.”

Joan shook her head. “She never believed you killed Martin, Blaine. She was adamant about it. Absolutely adamant.”

Blaine glanced around the mahogany-paneled room with its marble fireplace and shelves full of leather-bound books, not wanting to ask the question ringing in her head, but unable to stop herself. “Is that when she and Robin drifted apart? When Rosie insisted she didn’t think I’d killed Martin?”

Joan looked puzzled. “Well, dear, I don’t know. I do know they hadn’t been seeing as much of each other as usual, but whether or not it had anything to do with that…well, no, I’m sure it didn’t. You know how young girls are—always spatting, getting upset because they like the same boy, developing different interests. For heaven’s sake, you don’t think Robin believes you killed Martin, do you?”

“No, no, of course not,” Blaine said hollowly.

Joan’s forehead puckered. “Blaine?”

“Never mind, Joan. I’m just being silly. And I think you’re wrong about Rosalind. She was going off to Radcliffe and devoting herself to her education just the way you did. After all, you were her real role model.”

“I wish that were true,” Joan said sadly. “I wish it were true, because I’m a survivor. I guess my little Rosalind wasn’t.”

1

“Who gets the last slice of pizza?” Robin asked.

“You do,” Blaine and Rick answered in unison, then laughed. “You’re a growing girl,” Blaine added.

“What you mean is that I’m the only one who didn’t fill up on beer,” Robin said.

Blaine looked at her glass. “I don’t think half a glass of Heineken counts as a fill-up.”

Robin looked at her censoriously. “That’s your second beer, but who’s counting?”

“Apparently you are,” Blaine said, abashed that she’d downed a whole beer without even realizing it. “I guess I’m just so tired my memory’s going.”

Rick picked a piece of pepperoni off his plate and fed it to Ashley, ignoring Blaine’s frown. Ashley took the pepperoni in her mouth, careful not to bite Rick’s fingers and just as careful not to look at Blaine, who usually didn’t allow doggy junk food. “Couldn’t sleep last night?” Rick asked.

“Actually, I was really drowsy when I went to bed. Then I got a strange phone call around midnight.”

“I didn’t hear the phone,” Robin said.

“You were asleep.”

“Not at midnight.”

“Robin, I checked on you at eleven and you were asleep.”

“But I woke up later. I looked at the clock. Ten till twelve.”

“Well, I looked at the clock, too. The call came exactly at twelve. Besides, the phone in your room has a different number. It didn’t ring.”

Rick held up his hand. “Ladies, could you finish this fascinating debate later? I want to hear about the phone call.”

“Yeah, who was it?” Robin asked.

“No one. At least no one spoke. They just played a record. A strange record.” Blaine hesitated. “A child’s song, ‘Ring Around a Rosy.’ ”

Rick and Robin stared, Robin’s pizza-laden hand freezing halfway between her plate and her mouth. “Are you kidding?
Rosy?
” Rick finally managed. Then he rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re not kidding. God, that’s sick.”

“I know,” Blaine said softly. “It really shook me up.” She looked at Robin. “Do you know anyone who might have an old recording of that song?”

Robin slowly put down her pizza. “It’s not exactly on the Billboard charts. But there is one possibility.” Rick and Blaine looked at her expectantly. “Caitlin’s day-care center.”

“Robin!”

“I didn’t say Caitlin played it,” Robin returned hotly. “I just said she might have a copy of it, and people are in and out of that place all day.”

“Of course. You’re right,” Blaine said more calmly. “I’m sorry I bit your head off. I’ll check with her tomorrow.”

“Did the person speak?” Rick asked.

“No. There was only the music. Then there was silence.”

“You mean the person hung up?”

“No. Everything just got very quiet, but someone was still on the line. I’m the one who finally hung up.”

“Did you tell Sheriff Quint about the call?” Robin asked.

“Yes, when he was here this morning. He seemed interested, but not overly concerned.”

Robin shrugged. “I guess he wouldn’t be, considering your number was Crank-Call-Central all summer.”

“You have such a charming way with words,” Rick snapped. “Will you lay off Blaine for just one evening?”

Robin’s lips tightened in irritation, and Blaine glanced at him. His burst of temper was unusual; he’d always been very kind, very gentle with Robin. Then she noticed he didn’t look much better than he had last night—tired and worried. He’d been working especially hard lately, and he’d no doubt had to deal with Mrs. Peyton’s hysterics today, and now Robin’s sarcasm.

Robin suddenly rose and began clearing the table. “I’m going to my room and study,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.

Blaine reached out and put a hand on her arm. “I’ll clear up later, Rob. You go ahead.”

Robin nodded and left the kitchen.

Blaine sighed. “I’m so worried about her, Rick.”

“
Worried?
Annoyed, impatient, exasperated I could understand. But worried?
Why?
She seems to be handling this whole thing remarkably well.”

“
That’s
what worries me. She’s handling it
too
well. She hasn’t cried since we found Rosie, and she insisted on going to school today.”

“Would you have been happier if she’d stayed here by herself all day, sobbing?”

“No, although it might not have been much worse. As you can imagine, Rosie was the main topic of discussion with the students. I just wish Robin would show a little more emotion. She’s so self-contained.”

“Too self-contained, if you ask me personally. Professionally, I’d say she’s a young lady of delayed reactions. Let her coast for a while in peace, Blaine. It’ll hit her later, and then she’ll really need someone.”

“The person she’ll need is her father. But he’s not here, either.”

“
You’re
here. And I’m here, too. Or rather, I would be if you’d let me into your life.”

Blaine looked into his hazel eyes now faintly rimmed with dark circles, and at the slightly crooked nose Rick told most people had been broken in a car wreck, but which Blaine knew had been broken when he was a first-year medical student and fainted at his first sight of a cadaver in a gross anatomy class, cracking his nose against the concrete floor. “It’s a common reaction,” he’d told her defensively when she’d burst into uncontrollable giggles at the story, “but the general public doesn’t know that, and I don’t want my practice jeopardized because people think I’m a wimp.”

She reached out and touched his cheek. “Rick, you know how much your friendship means to me.”

He groaned. “Oh, God, spare me the you’re-a-nice-guy-but speech.”

Blaine laughed. “I wasn’t going to say that. I was just going to point out that Martin has been gone such a short time.”

“Six months. And before that he gave you five months of hell.”

“Rick!”

“Well, he did. Look, Blaine, he was my friend, but he changed after that accident. He blamed you.”

“I was driving.”

“Because he’d had too much to drink at the New Year’s Eve dance.”

“But it was snowing, and he always said I couldn’t drive worth a damn on snow, particularly in his car.” She sighed. “I guess he was right. If I hadn’t slammed on the brakes when I saw that other car coming at us, we wouldn’t have gone into that spin and his side wouldn’t have been rammed.”

“No, yours would have been.” Rick squeezed her hand in his. “Blaine, you did the right thing.”

“No, the right thing would have been to call a cab.”

“Sure. This town has five cabs, all of which were tied up. I know because
I
tried to call one. Besides, Martin wouldn’t have waited. He was getting belligerent the way he did every New Year’s Eve and Fourth of July when he had too much bourbon. If you’d insisted on waiting for a cab, he would have wrestled the keys away from you and killed himself or someone else in the car. He was in
no
condition to drive, and you couldn’t help it because someone went through a stop sign and rammed the car. The accident was
not
your fault.”

“I guess not. I only wish they could have found that driver.”

“You think retribution would have made you feel better?”

“I like to think of it as justice. What kind of person would leave us in that crumpled car in the snow?”

“A scared person. Someone who’s never been found and probably never will be. So stop thinking about it. You’re not helping Martin. All you’re doing is tearing yourself up every day.”

“Okay, Rick,” Blaine said wearily. “You’ve been giving me this pep talk at least once a week for nearly a year, and believe me, it
does
help, but as for our seeing each other…” She shrugged. “Even if Martin hadn’t died just six months ago, you know all the rumors that floated around about us.”

“To hell with rumors. We know they aren’t true.”

“Yes, but there are other people to consider here. People like Robin.”

“I knew her before you married Martin, and she’s always liked me.”

“I know she does. But only as a family friend. She’s not ready to accept my seeing someone else yet.”

“So you’re going to let a resentful seventeen-year-old girl run your life?”

“No, but I am her stepmother, whether she likes it or not. I’m responsible for her, and I don’t want to cause any more stress in her life than she’s already feeling. And don’t forget, there’s your ex-wife. You’ve only been divorced for eight months.”

“Ellen wants me to be happy.”

“Is that why she told everyone you forced her to divorce you last March because of me?”

“She did that to cover up. Reputation is very important to her. She didn’t want anyone suspecting that
she
was the one who wanted out for another man.”

“Whatever her reasons for telling that story, it was a very popular theory.”

“So was your being involved with John Sanders.”

“That is ridiculous. John and I are just friends.”

“
Good
friends.”

“Oh, Rick, stop it.”

“I will if you’ll stop being so obstinate.”

“Fine, if you’ll stop being so pushy.”

Rick grinned. “Don’t mince words, Blaine. Just say what you think.”

“Don’t joke around about this. You
are
being pushy.” She leaned forward, so close she could smell his Gray Flannel cologne. “Look, Rick, I think you’re a wonderful man. You’ve certainly been a good friend to me. But I can’t think of anyone romantically right now.”

“No one?”

“
No
one.”

Rick raised his hands in resignation. “Okay, then. That’s the last time I’m going to suggest marriage.
This
week, that is.”

Blaine broke into laughter. “You are impossible.”

“And relentless.”

“
And
exhausted. If you don’t go home and get some sleep, you’re going to lose those good looks that make you the most popular doctor in town.”

“Sink me, madam, what a thought!” Rick said in a horrible imitation of Sir Percy Blakeney’s English-fop accent from
The Scarlet Pimpernel
, which they’d watched on television a few nights before. “Very well, I’ll bow to your wishes tonight, but I’ll be talking to you tomorrow.” He leaned over and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, pretty one.”

2

Half an hour later she finished loading the dishwasher. Within minutes after Robin had gone to her room, the house had begun to throb with vibrations from her powerful stereo. Blaine stopped to listen. Led Zeppelin, “Ramble On.” The music had nearly driven Martin crazy, but Blaine liked it, another testament to their large age difference. Although it would have taken torture to make Blaine admit the truth to anyone but herself, she had often felt more on Robin’s wavelength than Martin’s. When she married, her sister had predicted this, but Blaine hadn’t listened. And much to her relief, their differences in outlook had never caused serious problems. Maybe if their marriage had lasted longer, they would have.

It was ten o’clock before she got the kitchen cleaned, and after taking a long, hot bath, she decided on bed. She felt tired to the bone and her head had begun to ache. She took two aspirins and climbed between sheets printed with pink roses.

Ashley stretched out on her plaid doggy bed beside Blaine’s own king-sized bed, which Blaine had occupied alone for nearly a year since Martin’s accident. Before that awful night, how different things had been. Against her will, her mind drifted back to the beginning of her relationship with Martin Avery.

It had been an unusually hot Saturday night in May. The town was holding its bicentennial celebration down by the small, man-made lake, where the reconstruction of a fort destroyed in the eighteenth century would begin on Monday morning. The fact that the reconstructed fort would be located nearly a mile from where the original had stood, or that it would be surrounded by a man-made lake and approached by brightly colored paddleboats, didn’t seem to bother anyone except the diehard historians, who said the whole thing would look more like something in Disneyland than an authentic fort. Blaine held the same opinion, but because the woodworking business owned by Caitlin’s husband, Kirk, and his father was to be largely responsible for the inside detailing of the fort, the two men had been asked to speak at the celebration. For this reason alone, Blaine had agreed to attend. A day of hot dogs and potato salad and speeches in the hot sun was not her idea of a good time, but she guessed it beat sitting alone in her apartment watching old movies on cable TV.

She had lived in Dallas for almost eight years, since her mother, trying to make amends for deserting her daughters years before, had extended an invitation for Blaine to live with her and her second husband while attending Southern Methodist University. Blaine hadn’t wanted to go, but her father had insisted. “This is a great opportunity for you. And don’t forget, there’s Caity to think of. I don’t like to seem conniving, but your stepfather is very comfortable in the money department. You might not only be helping yourself, but also be paving the way for Caity to find a better life than I’ve ever provided.” And so Blaine had left her father, her sister, and Logan, the only three people she loved, and gone west. Unfortunately, the uneasy truce between Blaine and her mother had not lasted for long, and Blaine had started her sophomore year living in a dorm, supported by grants and loans, too ashamed to come skulking home. What would her father think? That she hadn’t even made an effort for Cait’s sake? Logan was long gone, hurt by her desertion. And, of course, people in Sinclair would say she hadn’t come home by choice, but had been forced to come home because she’d failed in the beautiful school in the big city. By the time she’d finished college, Cait was married and happy, so Blaine had stayed in Dallas, taking a job in computer sales she hated when no teaching positions opened up and payments on her school loans came due.

She had returned to Sinclair three years later to attend her father’s funeral, and impulsively decided to abandon the lucrative, if disliked, sales job for a temporary position at Sinclair High School so she could be near Caitlin and her two-month-old niece, Sarah, for a while. She enjoyed her job at the school, which finally allowed her to do what she’d trained to do in college, and she loved Caitlin and her family, but if she had expected things to be different for her in Sinclair than they had been when she was young, she was wrong. The town was bad luck for her, she often thought. Nothing had ever gone right for her here. Of course, part of the trouble was just that Sinclair had a population of only six thousand. There wasn’t much to do or many people to meet. Still, at twenty-six, she was alone except for Cait, her old school friend Sandra Jarvis, who was now married and had three children who kept her too busy to do much of anything, and John Sanders, with whom she occasionally spent an evening, although he went out of town most weekends. There was no romantic interest in her life, and although finding a husband was not one of her priorities, she did want to marry and have a family of her own someday.