Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 02 - Elective Procedures Page 17

  Jen followed doctor’s orders to get up and move and began walking laps around the living room.

  I went to the bathroom mirror, examining the space around my head, trying to see a shadow or an ominous dark halo. I squinted. I stared. I discovered nothing about my aura. But realized I had lots of split ends.

  When I came out, Susan was on the phone again, pacing. “Lisa, I’m a continent away. You’ll have to settle it yourselves—Yes, but you also have a father—Well, explain it to him—He’s not clueless if you explain—So wait until he gets home—Look, you’re old enough to work things out—Lisa, I’m gone. I’m not there—You have to talk to each other.”

  I stepped back into the living room. Susan closed her eyes, ran a hand through her hair. “Why are you telling me? Tell Julie … How will you manage when I’m dead?”

  Jen was still walking. “Nine more to go.” She huffed, hiking the periphery of the room, skirting the sofa on each lap.

  I went onto the balcony and looked down. The pool was crowded. Luis was there, setting up his next sporting event—something with golf clubs. Vendors were setting up a minimarket-place on the deck—tables covered with wooden carvings and silver jewelry. Racks of clothing swayed in the breeze. Becky was sitting near the alligator slide, talking to Sergeant Perez.

  The door behind me slid open. “I’ve had it. I’m done.” Susan stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  “Trouble at home?”

  “Of course, there’s trouble at home. There’s always trouble at home. Three daughters, each spoiled, each wanting her own way all the time. Each resenting the other for using her hairbrush or borrowing her t-shirt or leaving her towel on the bathroom floor. Tim is oblivious. Last night, he called to ask how long to boil the water for pasta. I’m not kidding. Elle, sorry. I need to scream. I just do.”

  I waited. She didn’t scream. She stood at the railing, leaned against it, seething.

  “I came on this trip to get a break from the grind. A rest. A vacation. But ever since we arrived—forget the break-in and the deaths, they’re just icing on my cake. I’ve been working nonstop to meet a filing deadline on a messy case that’s up for appeal—something that should have been done by someone else before we even came down here. And when I haven’t been working on the case, I’ve been fixing Jen’s meals, washing her hair, rubbing her feet, listening to her whine, being her goddamn mommy.”

  She was right. “Sorry. I should have helped.”

  “No. You shouldn’t have. None of us should have. Look, if Jen can afford all these surgeries, then she can afford to hire help. I should have told her so, but I’m a chump.”

  I didn’t answer. Becky, Jen, and I all relied on Susan more than we should, a habit leftover from childhood when Susan had been our babysitter. She had always been the most stable of us, our rock. Probably it had never occurred to Jen to have anyone but Susan take care of her as she recovered.

  Familiar salsa music started up below us; Chichi announced a contest of water putting. I looked down. Sergeant Perez stood alone near the waterslide. Becky wasn’t with him.

  “I have to get out of here, Elle.” Her voice was low, like rumbling thunder. “If I don’t, I swear, I’ll hurt somebody. I’ll break dishes. I’ll throw furniture. I’m claustrophobic. I’ve been inside for three days. I haven’t even been to the beach.” She stared out at the shimmering water, the rolling waves.

  I felt terrible. Susan was right. I’d been completely self-absorbed and insensitive. “Susan, I’m so sorry. I should at least have given you breaks and stayed with Jen.”

  “Never mind. Becky didn’t offer either. She’s caught up in the love affair of the millennium. No, it’s my own fault, Elle. I didn’t say anything. I was martyr Susan, taking care of everyone else and boiling inside.”

  “But now, you’ve finished working on your case.”

  “Yes. And Jen’s up and walking.” She looked out at the ocean. “So from now on, for these next few days, I’m going to have fun. Tomorrow, I’m finally going to the festival I told you about. The Virgin of Guadalupe. It’s the last day. Come with me if you want. Right now, I’m heading for the beach.” She turned to me. “Join me?”

  “My leg,” I reminded her. “I can’t go in the water yet.”

  “Right. Sand probably wouldn’t be good for it either.” She opened the sliding door to go inside, but Becky came rushing out.

  “You guys,” she panted, “what the hell’s going on? That policeman wanted to know who had my room key. I told him nobody. I had it the whole time. He seemed to think I had something to do with your break-in. He can’t think that, can he?”

  “Hi, Becky,” Susan moved around her and went inside. “I’ll be at the beach.”

  “Wait, Susan, I’m serious. Does he suspect me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Becky. No one would ever suspect you of anything that didn’t involve a man. Elle, I’m taking your sunblock.” She went inside.

  Becky was on her tail. “Wait. You’re going to the beach? Alone? The sergeant told me we shouldn’t go anywhere alone.”

  “It’s broad daylight. Besides, I won’t be alone.” She pulled off her t-shirt, passing Jen on the way to the bedroom. “There are dozens of people by the water. And lots of sharks and jellyfish to keep me company.”

  “I’m serious,” Becky kept after her.

  Susan wheeled around, her eyes flashing at each of us in turn. “Listen, all of you. I’m going to the beach. And I’m going now. You guys do what you want, but I’m strongly advising you: Do not try to stop me.” With that, she unhooked her bra and stepped into the bedroom to change.

  Becky looked at me wide eyed and baffled. “What’s with her?”

  Jen passed us, beads of sweat swelling on her forehead. “Just two laps left.” She was breathing hard. “Damn. How long is Susan going to be gone? When I’m done, I’ll need someone to help me with my bath.”

  Becky mumbled something about needing to get back to the pool, but she stayed where she was, looking trapped. I sunk onto the sofa, elevating my leg. Like it or not, we’d inherited bath duty.

  I didn’t understand how Susan had managed alone. Bathing Jen was at least a two-person operation. She was able to sit in a tub of shallow water, but her belly and breasts were supposed to stay dry. She needed help washing the rest of her, especially her back and hair. Becky knelt on the floor and scrubbed toes. I sat on the side of the tub by her head and shampooed.

  “Never do this,” Jen moaned. “Nothing is worth being this sore and helpless. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking.”

  Becky fixated on Jen’s feet. “You need a pedicure. Your nails are a mess.”

  “I know. Susan made me an appointment. Someone’s coming up to do it tomorrow. Ouch. Elle, don’t rub so hard!”

  My leg throbbed. I had to put weight on it to balance as I leaned over her. I took my hands off her hair and straightened up, resting it, repositioning.

  “Why’d you stop, Elle?”

  Becky looked at me, shook her head, no, advising me not to say anything.

  Jen craned her neck, looking at me with her bandaged nose and purple breasts. “I’m covered with shampoo. Aren’t you going to rinse me?”

  Was I? I wasn’t sure of anything except the urge to drown her.

  “I’ll do it,” Becky stepped over, pulling me away from the side of the tub. Taking my place.

  Jen sat back, closing her eyes, allowing Becky to massage her scalp.

  “I feel like I haven’t seen you guys all week,” Becky said. “And I keep thinking it’s my fault Elle nearly drowned. If I’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “That’s bull. The police say someone attacked her. If you’d have been there, they’d have attacked you, too.”

  “No. If Elle hadn’t been alone, they wouldn’t have come near her.”

  Maybe she was right.

  “On the other hand, Chichi says we’re lucky it happened this week, during the festival.” />
  “What festival?” Jen rubbed a wad of suds off her forehead.

  “The Virgin of Guadalupe.” I said it with authority, as if it was common knowledge.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  I knew only what Susan had told me. Mostly, that she didn’t want to miss it.

  “It’s a big thing down here,” Becky explained. “People come from villages and cities all over, carrying candles. They walk for miles to get to Puerto Vallarta. Last night Chichi and I saw people walking on the highway, holding their candles.”

  “What is it? Something about Christmas?”

  “No, it’s for the Virgin Mary. Chichi says she picked this location as a holy site. She appeared on a hill around here early in December—I don’t know exactly when. Hundreds of years ago.”

  “What did she do? Announce herself? I mean, how did they know it was her?”

  “Only one guy saw her at first. A peasant. She was surrounded by light. That’s how he knew who she was.” She poured a cup of water onto Jen’s hair, rinsing it. “She told him that she wanted a church built there to honor her.”

  “Careful, it’s in my eyes.” Jen closed her eyes, reached out of the tub. “I need a towel.”

  I handed her a washcloth. She held it to her face and lay back again.

  “So that’s it?” I asked. “They built the church and celebrate the anniversary?” It didn’t seem like much of a story.

  “Well, first they made her prove that she really was the Virgin Mary. She did some miracles, like healing a sick person and making flowers grow in bad soil. But then she made her image magically appear on the peasant’s cloak. There are icons of that in the church.” She rubbed conditioner onto Jen’s scalp. “So, anyhow, they built the church to honor her and every year people come to celebrate the anniversary of her appearance. It’s a big party that lasts for days. It ends tomorrow, December 12. Chichi says that during the festival, the Virgin Mary blesses and protects the people who come to visit her special site. Which is why Elle came back to us.”

  “What do you mean ‘came back’?” I asked.

  Becky froze for a minisecond, then refilled the cup with water. “Nothing. Just that the Virgin Mary blessed you.”

  “She means you were fucking dead and they revived you.”

  “What?”

  “You weren’t breathing,” Jen said from behind the washcloth. “You had no heartbeat. You got CPR.”

  I’d known that, but hadn’t labeled it as actually being dead. I’d thought of it as near death. Close to the line, not across it.

  “The devil didn’t want you, so he sent your ass back to us.” Jen wiped suds out of her ear. “Thank God I wasn’t there. I’d have had a heart attack and needed CPR, too.”

  “Trust me, Jen, if you had a heart attack, CPR wouldn’t work; the devil would not let you go.” Becky rinsed out the conditioner.

  “Don’t be bitchy, Becky. It doesn’t go with your body type.”

  I took a seat on the toilet lid. Wow. I’d been dead. Why hadn’t I comprehended that? After all, CPR is only given to people without a heartbeat, which means they’re pretty much dead. How long had my heart been still? Melanie had said I’d looked dead when she pulled me out of the water. So, probably a few minutes? And Charlie. I’d seen Charlie. I’d been with him. Talked with him. Held him.

  That must have been while I was dead.

  “Elle?”

  Becky’s hands reached out to me. Oh, for a towel? I handed one to her, and she went on chattering as she helped Jen stand up.

  “So, anyway, we’re both miserable about how fast the week is going. I can’t believe that a week ago, Chichi and I didn’t even know each other. We’re talking about him coming up to Philly in January.”

  Not a surprise, really.

  “Becky, don’t be an ass,” Jen wrapped herself in the towel. “You don’t believe me, but guys down here are always prowling for rich American—”

  “Really, Jen? You’re going to criticize Chichi while I have your hair in my hands?” She was twisting it, making a turban out of a towel.

  “I’m just saying. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

  “You don’t understand. We love each other, Jen. He’s not like that.”

  “He’s a man, isn’t he? They’re all like that. Ouch, Becky!” Her eyes opened. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Sorry,” Becky smirked, “my fingers got caught.”

  Jen pushed Becky’s hands away, and I wondered if she was right. Maybe all men were like that. Charlie had been. And Alain was married but having affairs. But surely, Susan’s pudgy Tim could be trusted. But how about Norm? He was slick. He owned businesses and athletic teams. Real estate. Did Jen trust him?

  “What about Norm?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry?” She gaped at me. “Norm?”

  Oh. Again, I’d missed part of the conversation. They weren’t talking about men anymore.

  “Well, what you said about men. Norm’s a man,” I said. “Is he the same?”

  “Don’t be fucking ridiculous. Norm’s Norm.”

  Oh. “So you trust him?”

  “What kind of question is that? He’s my goddamn husband, Elle. Of course I trust him.”

  Really? “So you’ve told him about your surgeries?”

  Jen turned away. “I’m thirsty. Do we still have lemonade?”

  “You haven’t told him?”

  “You’re so damned annoying, Elle.”

  I was damned annoying? Really? I took a stance, ready to tell her what she was, but Becky put up a hand and led Jen out of the bathroom. I stayed, wondering about Norm, and drained the tub. Then I looked in the mirror, trying to remember those lost minutes. Imagining myself dead.

  What if I hadn’t come back? I thought of my second graders. When my leave of absence was over, someone would replace me and take over my classes. Probably, the substitute who was covering for me now. I saw her at my blackboard, demonstrating an addition problem. Would my death have changed anything? Would it have caused even a tiny a ripple in the universe?

  I didn’t think so. The world would be perfectly fine, unchanged without me. My three best friends would talk about me now and then. The kids in my class would grow up. Life would go on.

  “Don’t tear yourself down,” Charlie scolded. “You’re important. To me, you’re everything. You’re the love of my life.”

  “Go away,” I told him. “You’re not here.”

  “No?” He kissed the back of my neck, raising goosebumps.

  “Stop it!” I swatted the spot he’d kissed, startling myself. “Get lost, Charlie. You had your chance and blew it.”

  I had to get a grip; was talking to an empty room. I splashed water onto my face. Took deep breaths.

  When I came into the living room, Becky was still going on about Chichi, how romantic he was. How musical his voice, how sensitive his nature, how fascinating his thoughts, how chiseled his abs. How she loved to watch him dance. How she could watch his hips all night. She mimicked his moves. I wanted to shake her and scream: shut up. Enough! Could she not go ten minutes without talking about Chichi? Could she not spare us the elaborate details about his body parts? His kissing techniques? His passion? I wanted to slap her. I pictured it, the pinkness in her cheek. The sting of my palm.

  Charlie whispered in my ear. “You’re jealous, Elf. Don’t be. You have me.”

  I was jealous? Of Becky? No. I refused to think so. I was just tired of her being so absorbed in her love life. And I was tired of Jen, too. Her constant whining about being uncomfortable. Good God, she’d had surgery. What did she expect? No, I was fed up with both of them. Didn’t they realize that two women had died there? Hell—apparently, three—I’d died there, too. But they went on as if none of that had happened. I couldn’t bear to hear them, the lilt of their voices. My nerves were frayed. I went to the kitchenette, got them each a glass of lemonade. Then I hurried to change into my bathing suit. Even if I couldn’t get my leg wet, I could still s
it by the pool. Or at the bar. Anywhere but near Becky and Jen.

  I grabbed my sun hat, my beach bag and felt a wave of guilt. Why was I so angry? What was wrong with me?

  I stopped, remembering what Susan had said. Before fleeing to the beach, she’d said she’d wanted to hurt somebody. To break dishes and throw furniture. Susan had expressed the same welling hostility that I felt.

  I sat on my bed, trying to sort out what was happening. Normally, the four of us got along effortlessly. We teased each other about our quirks. We laughed about our differences. We tolerated and balanced each other—hell, we liked each other. So what was happening to us? We’d been fine until we’d taken this trip. Until we’d checked into the suite. Oh God.

  Could the hotel be toxic? Could it be haunted by hostile spirits, ghosts who enjoyed messing up the living?

  Really? Was I seriously considering that? I didn’t believe in ghosts, not even Charlie. He was a product of my emotions, part of my grieving process. But ghosts? No such thing. Madam Therese surfaced in my mind, shaking her head, insisting, “Spirits are drawn to you. You know this to be true.”

  No. I didn’t know about spirits. But I did know that if I stayed in the suite much longer, I’d do something drastic. Maybe I’d be overcome with an irresistible urge to break things like Susan. Or cut my leg off like Greta. Or fall off the balcony like Claudia. I called out that I’d be down at the pool and hurried out the door like a condemned person escaping execution. Limping, I hopped down the hall in such a fury that I almost crashed into a maid and apologized without stopping.

  She didn’t seem to notice. As I passed, she looked the other way.

  I burst out of the hotel, into the sunlight, and kept moving. I didn’t look for Susan. Didn’t look around. Hiding behind sunglasses and under my sun hat, I didn’t stop until I got to the far end of the pool, and lugged a lounge chair away from the cluster to a quiet spot under a palm tree, facing the ocean. I wasn’t alone; people surrounded me. But if I closed my eyes to the wandering vendors and ignored the blaring music, I could pretend I had a smidgeon of solitude.