“But she has tried to kill herself?”
“Three times. And two of them were very close calls. We found her in time the time she took the sleeping pills. And Tom found her in the tub after she cut her wrist. The other time it was just something she’d prepared, a noose thing out of quarter-inch nylon, over a beam in the boathouse. All clumsy knots, but it would have worked.”
“Does she say why she keeps trying?”
“She doesn’t remember why. She can sort of remember doing it, in a very vague way, but not why. She gets very frightened about it, very weepy and nervous.”
“Who’s taking care of her now?”
“Tom is home with her. Oh, you mean what doctor? Nobody, actually. You could say we’ve run out of doctors. There are things Tom and I can do for her. She was doing pretty well until Mom died. Then she had… some bad days.”
“Would she remember me?”
“Of course! She hasn’t turned into some kind of a moron, for heaven’s sake!”
“What about those nuisance phone calls you mentioned?”
Her expression was guarded. “Oh, just from people she gets involved with when she… manages to sneak out.”
“She gets involved with men?”
“She goes out alone. She gets tight. She’s very lovely. It’s hell on Tom and it isn’t any of your business.”
“That’s no way to speak to your kindly old uncle.”
A wan smile. “My nerves are ragged. And that part of it just… makes me want to resign from the human race. Those damned oily voices on the phone, like filthy children wondering if Maurie can come out and play. Or like the way you see packs of dogs, following. They don’t know she’s sick. They don’t even give a damn.”
“How often does she sneak off?”
“Not often. Maybe three times in the last four months. But that’s three times too many. And she never remembers much about it.”
I took her empty glass and built her a fresh drink and took it to her, saying, “You must have some kind of a theory. You probably know her as well as anyone in the world. What started all this?”
“When she had the second miscarriage, it was because of some kind of kidney failure. She had convulsions. I thought that could have done something to her brain. But the doctors say no. Then I thought she might have a tumor of the brain, but they did all kinds of tests and there’s nothing like that at all. I don’t know, Travis. I just don’t know. She’s the same Maurie, but yet she’s not. She’s more… childlike. She breaks my heart.”
“Care if I stop by and say hello?”
“What good would it do?”
“And what harm could it do?”
“Is it just kind of a sick curiosity?”
“I guess that’s my bag, going around staring at crazies.”
“Damn you! I just meant that–”
“She’s not on display? Right? Okay. She was twenty. She took that ugly business about Mick with a great deal of class and control. I knew how much she adored her father. Look, I didn’t ask to be let in on all the family secrets. But I was. I’d like to see what she’s like. Maybe you’re too close to it. Maybe she’s better than you think she is. Or worse. Can you think of anybody else who hasn’t seen her since she was twenty?”
“N-No. Suppose I ask Tom what he thinks. And phone you here either later this evening or in the morning.”
When she finished her drink, I walked her out to her little red Falcon wagon. She thanked me for the drinks and apologized for being so tired and cross and edgy, and drove off.
She phoned in the morning and invited me to lunch at the house. She said Maurie was looking forward to seeing me again, and that Tom would join us for lunch if he could get away.
6
BRIDGET PEARSON apparently heard the sound of tires on the driveway pebbles and appeared from behind the house, on the lake side. She wore yellow shorts and a white sleeveless top and had her hair tied back with yellow yarn. Her sunglasses were huge and very black.