Don't Cry Now Part 30

"Get one for yourself too," Joan called after her as Bonnie went into the dining room, located the bottle of brandy in the cabinet, and returned with two small gla.s.ses, already poured. "Cheers," Joan said, raising her gla.s.s to Bonnie's in a toast, downing the contents of her gla.s.s in one gulp.

Bonnie sipped gingerly at her drink. "What are you doing here?"

"You don't have much time left," Joan told her matter-of-factly, depositing her now-empty gla.s.s on the coffee table. "Can't you feel it? Don't you know time's almost up?"

"You have to help me," Bonnie urged, rising from her seat, moving imploringly toward Joan.

"You have to help yourself," Joan told her, picking Bonnie's brandy gla.s.s off the coffee table and raising it to her lips. Bonnie watched Joan guide it toward her open mouth. But just as it reached her mouth, Joan tilted the gla.s.s down toward her throat, spilling the brandy across the front of her jacket, the white linen growing deep red, like acid burning a large hole in her chest.

"Joan!" Bonnie screamed, watching the woman fade into the air, until all that was left was a large burgundy stain in the middle of the living room rug.

And then the dream ended, and everything faded to black.

"Bonnie," a voice was calling. "Bonnie, are you okay? What are you doing down here?"

"Mommy!" Amanda shouted happily, jumping into Bonnie's lap just as Bonnie was struggling to open her eyes. "Are you all better now?"

Bonnie glanced quickly around the room, trying to understand what was happening. Was this another dream? Was this real? It was getting increasingly difficult to differentiate between the two.

She was sitting on the sofa in her living room, Amanda on her lap, her pudgy fingers playing with what was left of her hair. Lauren was standing in the doorway, a look of surprise on her face. There were two small brandy gla.s.ses on the coffee table in front of her, one empty, the other almost full. There was a large red stain on the carpet in front of her.

"Was someone here?" Lauren asked.

"We went to the playground," Amanda said. "Lauren pushed me on the swings. Sooooo high," she said, and laughed.

Bonnie looked from Lauren to the empty gla.s.s, to the floor, then back to Lauren. "I must have been walking in my sleep," she said after several seconds.

"Wow," Lauren said. "Did you have something to drink when you were asleep?"

Bonnie summoned up some saliva, tried to determine if it tasted of brandy. "I think I may have had a sip of something."

"Looks like most of it ended up on the floor," Lauren said. "I'll clean it up."

"You don't have to do that."

Lauren was already on her way to the kitchen. "It's okay. I don't mind. Would you like me to make you some tea?"

Tea? I never touch the stuff, Joan had said. Tea's not good for you. Didn't you know that?

"No," Bonnie answered, hugging Amanda tightly to her chest. "No tea, thank you."

"I thought you might like something to eat," Sam was saying as Bonnie opened her eyes to see him standing at the foot of her bed.

Bonnie pushed herself up on her elbows, looking toward the clock. It was almost seven. "Is it morning or night?" she asked.

Sam laughed. "It's night." He brought the tray he was holding to the bed, laid it gently across her lap.

Bonnie wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. On the one hand, she hadn't lost too much time. On the other, she had the whole night to get through. Maybe some food would help, she thought, faint stirrings of hunger mingling with her general nausea. She hadn't had much to eat in the last week. Maybe that was the reason she was so weak. She should eat something to get her strength up. "What did you bring me?" she asked.

"Some chicken noodle soup and some toast. And some tea."

"I think I'm all tea'd out," Bonnie said, lifting the spoon to her mouth, slowly sipping at the hot soup. "This is good," she smiled. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Sam lingered by the side of the bed.

"How'd it go today?" she asked.

"Great," Sam told her. "I tightened some loose screws, packed up some old clothes and books into boxes for the Salvation Army, stuff like that. Diana asked me if I'd like to wallpaper her bathroom."

"And would you?"

"Yeah, I think so. I can give it a try anyway. She has to be in New York for a couple of days next week, and she gave me her key, said to see how I make out."

"Good for you," Bonnie told him, swallowing another spoonful of soup, taking a small bite of toast, savoring the blackberry jam slathered across the top of it.

The phone rang.

"That's probably your father," Bonnie told him, as Sam picked up the receiver and extended it toward her without a word. "h.e.l.lo?" Bonnie said, watching as Sam shifted self-consciously from one foot to the other. "h.e.l.lo?" she said again when no one answered. There was a strange click, then the line went dead in her hands. "Probably a wrong number." Bonnie handed the receiver back to Sam, who returned it to its carriage. "What are you up to tonight?" she asked, when he made no move to leave.

"No real plans," Sam said. "Haze might drop over later."

"Haze?"

"If that's all right."

"I don't know..." Bonnie began, when the phone rang again. She glanced at it warily.

"I'll get it," Sam offered, barking h.e.l.lo into the receiver. Don't mess with me, the growl said. "Oh hi, Dad," he continued, sheepishly. "How's Florida? Yeah, she's right here. Hold on." He handed the phone to Bonnie. "I'll give you some privacy," he mouthed, backing out of the room.

Bonnie forced some levity into her voice. "Rod? Hi. How was your flight?"

The flight was good, he told her. Some turbulence at the beginning, then clear sailing, he said, laughing at his mixed metaphor. He asked how she was feeling, and she lied and said much better, she thought the worst was over. He told her to take it easy, not to try to do too much. She told him the same. He said he loved her. She said she loved him more. They said good-bye.

Bonnie hung up the phone, finished her soup and toast, and fell asleep.

In her dream, she was carrying a tray of food up the stairs toward her bedroom. As she neared the top of the stairs, she smelled something both familiar and oppressive. The sickeningly sweet odor of too many flowers, she knew at once, reaching the landing, proceeding along the hall to her room, rock music trailing after her from a discreet distance.

Sam was in the bathroom papering the walls. She recognized the wallpaper immediately-the dark paper she'd grown up with, with its oppressive a.s.sortment of flowers threatening to tumble from the walls and bury her alive.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Take that paper down right away."

"I can't do that," Sam said calmly. "It's what she wanted." He pointed toward the bed.

Slowly, Bonnie's eyes followed his fingers to the bed. Elsa Langer was propped up against the pillows, staring at Bonnie as she approached. But the closer Bonnie got to the bed, the less distinct Elsa Langer's features became. They blurred, then faded into nothingness. By the time Bonnie reached the bed, she had no face at all, like the faceless woman in the Dali lithograph come to life.

Or was it death? Bonnie wondered, awaking with a start, her heart pounding, the rock music catching up to her, filling the s.p.a.ce around her. Sam's stereo, she realized, rea.s.sured by the sound, looking toward the window, noting the full moon. Maybe the moon was the cause of all these strange dreams she'd been having. At least, she hadn't been walking in her sleep again, she thought, recalling that the last time she'd walked in her sleep, she'd been about Lauren's age. Her mother had found her asleep at the front door, a packed overnight case in her hands. That was just after her father had left, she remembered.

Bonnie heard movement, strange voices, some laughter in the hall, the music growing louder. "Sam?" she called out. "Sam, is that you? What's going on?"

"It's not Sam," the voice said, as a figure stepped into the room. He was tall and slim, his muscular arms stretched out shoulder-height. Haze, Bonnie realized, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the snake extended and twisting between his hands. "How are you feeling, Mrs. Wheeler?" He took several steps toward her.

"Where's Sam?" Bonnie asked.

"Outside having a smoke."

Bonnie heard laughter. "What's going on?"

"Sam's just having a few kids over," Haze said, stretching the snake, as if it were a piece of rope. "He didn't think you'd mind. We've been very good little boys and girls."

"I'm not feeling very well," Bonnie told him. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

Haze walked to the foot of the bed, holding the snake by its tail, swinging him lazily back and forth.

"Be careful," Bonnie advised. "He hates to be dropped."

"That so?" Haze asked, waving the snake from side to side, like a pendulum.

"Please go away," Bonnie said, trying to sound strong and in control. "I'm not feeling very well."

"What'd you do to your hair?" Haze asked, coming closer.

Bonnie closed her eyes. Please let this be another dream, she prayed.

"Haze?" a young girl called from the hallway. "Where are you?"

"Right here," Haze said, wrapping the snake around his neck like a shawl, and retreating from the room. "Catch you later, Mrs. Wheeler," he said.

Bonnie walked calmly into the bathroom and threw up.

The phone rang at just after three o'clock in the morning. Bonnie groped for the phone, pushed it to her ear, mumbled h.e.l.lo, waited for an answer. There was nothing. "h.e.l.lo," she said again, about to hang up when she heard the same strange click she'd heard earlier. Then, once again, the phone went dead in her ears.

You're in danger, Joan shouted at her through the receiver. You and Amanda.

Immediately, Bonnie was out of bed and running down the hall to Amanda's room. She pushed open Amanda's door and rushed to the side of her bed, relaxing only when she saw her daughter comfortably asleep on her back between a stuffed pink teddy bear and Kermit the Frog. She kissed Amanda's forehead and slowly backed out of the room, trying to will her breathing back to normal. What was the matter with her? She was acting like a crazy person. Had she no control over her emotions at all?

The house was quiet. Everyone had left. If there'd actually been anyone here, Bonnie thought, no longer able to distinguish between what was real and what wasn't. Maybe she dreamed the whole unpleasant episode with Haze. I'm dreaming my life away, she thought, the words to the old Everly Brothers song filling her head.

She checked on Lauren, found the girl stretched diagonally across her bed, her blankets bunched up around her feet. Bonnie brought them gently up to Lauren's shoulders, then tiptoed from the room.

Then she looked in on Sam, saw him lying, fully clothed, on top of the sofa, the light from the full moon throwing a spotlight on his face, emphasizing a resemblance to his mother she'd never noticed before. Bonnie turned, was about to leave the room, when her bare feet brushed against something on the floor. It crinkled, scratched at her toes. A piece of paper, she thought, scooping it up. No, not paper, she realized. A photograph. The picture of Amanda taken at Toys "R" Us the previous Christmas, its silver frame lying broken beside it on the floor.

Bonnie picked up the frame, about to put it on the desk when she froze, the light from the moon throwing interesting shadows across the top of the gla.s.s tank. Bonnie stared into the tank, then slowly started to shake. The tank was empty. The snake was gone.

23.

"You're early," Hyacinth Johnson said in greeting as Bonnie entered Dr. Greenspoon's office the following Wednesday morning. "Am I?" Bonnie looked at her watch, feigned surprise. In truth, she'd been waiting in her car for over an hour at the bottom of the street, having left her house immediately after Amanda had been picked up, and Sam and Lauren had gone off to school. She didn't want to spend one more minute at home than she had to. G.o.d only knew what might be waiting for her around the next corner.

She'd woken Sam up as soon as she saw L'il Abner's empty tank and together they'd searched the house, to no avail. Sam had called Haze first thing Sunday morning, asking whether his friend had absconded with his prized possession. But Haze claimed to know nothing of L'il Abner's disappearance, although he allowed as to how he might not have secured the lid on the tank properly when he put the snake back. He'd been pretty loaded, he said.

Once again Bonnie and Sam searched the house from top to bottom, every corner, every closet, every cupboard, every windowsill. Nothing. "He'd go where it's warm," Sam told her, so they'd checked, and then rechecked at regular intervals throughout the balance of the day and night, the furnace room and the hot water tank, but still L'il Abner failed to appear.

Bonnie now took a seat in the waiting area of Dr. Greenspoon's office, noting that Hyacinth Johnson and Erica McBain were both dressed in layers of black and white. Did they consult on their wardrobe, plan it out days in advance? she wondered, grabbing a magazine from the coffee table, flipping carelessly through articles on the latest scandals involving the royal family and Michael Jackson, her thoughts unable to settle on anything other than the missing reptile. She remembered once reading about a man who'd discovered a snake in his toilet when he went to the bathroom in the middle of the night. He'd opened the bathroom door, flipped on the light, and there it was, rising from the toilet bowl like a periscope. "Please don't let that happen to me," she prayed out loud. "It's more than I could bear."

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" asked Erica McBain.

"Just talking to myself," Bonnie told her. Isn't that what crazy people do? she wondered.

"I do that all the time," Erica said, as if to rea.s.sure her.

When repeated searches had failed to uncover the missing boa constrictor, Bonnie called the exterminators, the plumber, the humane society, even the zoo. There was nothing anyone could do. If the snake had gotten outside, she was told, probably someone would spot him sooner or later and call the police. If he'd somehow managed to get inside the pipes of the house, it could be days, weeks, months, even years, before he resurfaced, if ever.

"d.a.m.n Haze anyway," Sam muttered, visibly shaken. "I told him to leave Abner alone."

d.a.m.n Haze is right, Bonnie thought to herself. "He'll turn up," she said to Sam. "We'll find him."

"He'll be getting hungry soon," Sam fretted. "He can get mean when he's hungry."

Since then, Bonnie hadn't slept. She was literally frightened of her own shadow. The last few nights, she'd lain awake, jumping at the slightest shift in the light from the moon through her bedroom curtains, repeatedly checking on Amanda and Lauren, and comforting Sam, who'd dropped two small white rats into L'il Abner's tank in hopes of enticing the snake to come home.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Hyacinth Johnson offered. "I just made a fresh pot."

"No, thank you." Bonnie thought that the last thing she needed was a jolt of caffeine. On the other hand, she needed to keep her strength up. She couldn't let herself get dehydrated. The only nourishment she'd had all morning was a small gla.s.s of orange juice. "On second thought, maybe I will have some coffee, if it's not too much trouble."

"No trouble at all. How do you take it?"

"Black, thank you."

"There you go," Hyacinth said a few seconds later, depositing the delicate pink-flowered china cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of Bonnie.

Bonnie thanked her again, lifting the cup of hot coffee to her lips, feeling the steam filling her nostrils, being absorbed into her pores. She'd always loved the smell of fresh coffee.

She remembered accompanying her mother to the grocery store, as a small child, waiting with eager antic.i.p.ation while her mother emptied the coffee beans she'd selected into a grinder. Bonnie would inhale deeply as the beans were ground into aromatic dust, their scent swirling around her head, like a soft rain, ultimately settling on her skin, like an expensive perfume. Over the years, the visits to the grocery store had grown less frequent, then stopped altogether. Eventually, her mother did all her grocery shopping over the phone from her bed. The days of freshly ground coffee were gone.

The door to Dr. Greenspoon's inner office opened and an attractive older woman stepped out, the doctor right behind her. The woman, who was around sixty, was dressed in a smart brown Armani pantsuit, her blond hair pulled into a fashionable twist at the back. Seeing her, Bonnie felt dowdy, the shapeless ecru-colored dress she was wearing surrounding her like a tent. How much weight had she lost in the last few weeks? she wondered, thinking it substantial.

"Make a series of appointments for Mrs. King," Dr. Greenspoon instructed his secretaries, then took the older woman's hands in his own. "Try not to worry too much, and I'll see you next week." He looked over at Bonnie. "If you'd like to wait inside my office," he told her, "I'll be there in a moment."

Bonnie walked silently into the inner office and took her place on one of the burgundy sofas. The same sofa and the same seat she'd sat in the last time. Was that significant? Would the good doctor notice?

Her eyes drifted into the corners of the room, circling the potted plants, peeking through the window blinds. Looking for snakes, she realized, feeling foolish, a habit she wondered if she'd ever break. Maybe Dr. Greenspoon could help her.

"Sorry to keep you," Dr. Greenspoon was saying a few minutes later, closing the door behind him and taking up his position on the other sofa. He looked natty in his gray seersucker suit and open-necked blue shirt. "How have you been?"