Don't Scream Part 9

You havent told anyone about Brynn hesitates.

Come on, do you really have to ask that? We took an oath, remember?

I remember. But that was ten years ago.

An oath is an oath, Brynn.

Theres a pause.

I know. Ill see you tomorrow at one.

Tomorrow.

At one.

Thats going to take some juggling to arrange, but it has to be done.

Theres no way Im going to miss this.

Four so-called sisters, together again at last.

The precious bond of trust, stretched thin across the span of years, is on the verge of snapping.

Theyre wondering, now, who among them might have violated the sacred vow.

Theyre wondering whether carefully sealed closet doors are about to be thrown open, brittle, decade-old bones tumbling out.

Ah, ladies if you only knew.

One moment, Rachel was there, clutching the almost-empty mason jar.

The next, she was precariously close to the brink of The Prom, laughing hysterically about something.

Or maybe she was crying.

It was hard to tell; she was incoherent.

All four of them warned her to get away from the edge.

And all four watched as she lost her footing and fell.

Unlike the champagne cork, she didnt sail out over the edge of the cliff. No, she rolled off, grasping helplessly, her terrified screams punctuated by a horrible thrashing descent, curtailed abruptly with a sickening thud far below.

Fiona lives still in the house she and Pat bought during their marriage: a vintage 1920s Tudor tucked into a quiet, winding side street in Cedar Crest.

Dont you want to sell it and start fresh in a place where there are no memories? Brynn asked, after the divorce.

Trust me, there are no real memories here.

No meaningful ones, anywaygood, bad, or even trivial, day-to-day stuff. As far as shes concerned, everything about her marriage was behind her the moment they signed the separation papers. The house itself was always just a roof over their heads and a facade behind which they could carry on the charade of marriage and family life.

The mountain cabin is even less meaningful. They bought it just a few months before the splitFiona more as an investment, and Pat because he wanted to actually use the place. As far as she knows, he rarely goes up thereand she never does. They keep the key under the doormat, and Fiona has more than once urged Brynn and Garth to use it as an escape. Mostly because she doesnt want Pat to think he has sole dibs.

Leave the kids and take a second honeymoon, she tells the Saddlers every so often. G.o.d knows they could stand a break.

But they keep protesting that they dont have anyplace where they can leave their kids, and Fiona isnt about to offer to watch them for a weekend.

Why dont you ever go up, Fee? Brynn wanted to know once.

Because I like my creature comforts. Im not the rough-it type.

Brynn laughed. No, youre definitely not.

Now, as Fiona stands in the master bedroom taking off the suit she wore to the office, she admires the Waverly floral wallpaper, coordinating draperies and area rug; the white iron bed she bought at an estate sale in Lenox, along with an antique dressing table, bureau, and wardrobe.

The first thing she did after Pat left was strip off all the old striped wallpaper, rip up the carpeting, and get rid of the bedroom suite they had bought with their wedding money.

She gave that to Sharon, who was thrilled with all those polished cherry Ethan Allen pieces.

Of course, they didnt fit in the small rectangular bedroom of her ranch house, so she put the armoire in the living room to hold her television and all those Hummel figurines she collected, and used one of the nightstands as an end table. Fiona privately thought it looked out of place beneath a stack of paperback romance novels and a ten-dollar Wal-Mart lamp, positioned beside the sagging orange and brown plaid couch.

When Sharon moved in with her daughter last month, she offered the furniture back to Fiona, who told her to go ahead and sell it at her tag sale. In the end, Sharon reported, it was hauled away by a young family in a battered pickup truck, who had paid for it mainly in ones and fives.

Fiona found some satisfaction in knowing that those people, who could never afford new furniture, were enjoying her luxurious bedroom suite.

She found much more satisfaction in mentioning that to Patrick and watching him turn purple with fury.

There was nothing in the divorce agreement that specified what I had to do with the furniture I got in the settlement, she pointed out. If you thought there should have been, you should have spoken up to your attorney. Oh, wait, I forgot Legal issues arent exactly your strong suit.

That, of course, alluded to the fact that he flunked out of law school not long after they were married. She had no idea he was even struggling, though she should probably have guessed.

When he came home and told her, she walked right out the door, with no intention of ever going back.

Fate intervened by way of a positive pregnancy test.

Oh, well. At least she wasnt stuck with Patrick Hagan forever.

She divorced him the moment her business was comfortably established, and immediately reclaimed her maiden name.

It isnt that shes particularly eager to be a.s.sociated with her estranged parents in any way, but it was better than keeping Hagan. Besides, she likes the alliteration.Fiona Fitzgerald Public Relations It really flows quite nicely.

Things have a way of falling into place.

These days, Pat takes Ashley to dinner at least once a week and she spends every other weekend with him, from after school on Friday afternoons until eleven on Sunday mornings. Fiona insisted he have her back that early so that she can take Ashley to noon ma.s.s with her. Pat was raised Catholic, too, but he hasnt gone to church in years.

Fiona stopped going, too, for awhile, after they got married. She stayed away from the church until She stops the jarring wisp of thought before it can balloon into a full-fledged recollection.

No, she doesnt like to think aboutthat .

The sins of the past belong in the past. You cant change them.

All you can do is go to ma.s.s every Sunday, and pray for forgiveness.

She still attends Saint Vincents Church, the parish where she and Deirdre made their First Communions. But she diligently avoids the ten oclock ma.s.s her parents have attended for thirty-some years. She doesnt like to see them unless absolutely necessary; nor does she want Ashley to spend time with them, knowing theyre apt to fill her ears with self-righteous garbagemost likely about the sins of her mother and aunt.

Back in her college days, Fee all but wrote off her parents when they disowned her twin sister.

She softened a bit after Ashley was born, thoughin part because she was desperately lonely, but mostly because she needed someone to watch Ashley so she could begin working as a freelance PR consultant for a small local agency. She and Pat couldnt afford childcare and her mother was willing to acquiesce, free of charge.

That worked out for awhile. Then Fiona got divorcedin her parents eyes, a crime as serious as Deirdres h.o.m.os.e.xualityand it was all over. Just as well. She certainly doesnt need anyone looking over her shoulder these days.

Hearing a cars tires crunching on the gravel driveway below her bedroom window, Fiona quickly pulls on a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt from the hook behind the closet door. She hurries down the stairs just as Ashley, giggling about something her father is saying, is opening the door.

With her dark hair and eyes, porcelain skin, and lanky figure, Fionas daughter looks so much like her father. Acts like him, too, with her increasingly lackadaisical att.i.tude. Sometimes, Fiona just cant relate to her daughterand sometimes, she secretly, ashamedly, even resents her.

Hi, Mom! Guess what? We went to Applebees! I love Applebees! So does Dad!

Fiona hates Applebees.

Thats great, Ash. She musters a thin smile for her daughter, conscious of Pat looming on the other side of the threshold. He hasnt been invited to cross it since the divorce.

Fiona flicks a lighter over a cigaretteboth because she wants one and because Pat is a militant antismoker. She turns her head to blow a stream of smoke well away from her daughters face and asks, Listen, did you feed your goldfish this morning?

I forgot.

Again? Fionas jaw tightens. Shes so much like her father. You really need to learn how to be more responsible. Can you please go down and feed it?

Right this second?

Right this second.

Okay.

Ashley won the goldfish at a carnival Pat took her to last spring. She brought it home, sickly looking, in a plastic sandwich baggy, and informed Fiona that she had already named it Bubbles La Rue.

She then begged to keep it here, rather than at Pats place, saying her father might forget to feed it. Fiona agreed, on the condition that she keep the bowl in the bas.e.m.e.nt playroom, and secretly a.s.suming the fish would last all of a day or two. A week at most.

Somehow, like a philodendron that mysteriously thrives without regular watering, the stubborn creature has hung in there ever since, despite Ashleys sporadic care.

See you tomorrow morning, Daddy. Ashley stretches on her tiptoes to kiss her father.

See you tomorrow morning, Princess.

Only when Ashley is skipping away does Fiona look at Pat. Hes already turned on his heel, about to leave.

Wait a second. She doesnt say his name. She hasnt, in conversation, since their marriage ended. Theres something too intimate, too cordial, about addressing someone by name.

He turns back. Yeah? He casts a disdainful look at the lit cigarette in her hand.

Cynthia Reynolds called right after I got home about fifteen minutes ago.

Pat waits silently for her to go on, standing on the brick doorstep, his black eyes expressionless and fixed on hers. Clearly, he knows who Cynthia Reynolds is.

Fiona didnt, when she called. Not right away. It took her a moment to realize that shes the mother of one of Ashleys friends.

For some reason, it bothers her that Pat knows that detail. Then again, he has plenty of time and attention for Ashley and her friends and their parents. What else does he have to do?

Shes taking Meg to the mall tomorrow for lunch at the new Rainforest Cafe, Fiona tells him in the brisk tone she uses with Emily at work, then to see some new Disney movie. She invited Ashley to join them.

In the next room, an eavesdropping Ashley squeals with joy.

Ashley! Go feed your fish, Fiona commands.

But I can go, right? she calls. With Meg and her mom?

Fiona looks at Pat.

Sat.u.r.days are my days with her, he growls in a low voice.

You can go with Meg, Fiona calls back to her daughter. Go feed your fish.

She hears the bas.e.m.e.nt door open, and Ashleys footsteps skipping down the stairs.

Fiona looks her glaring ex in the eye and exhales a stream of smoke in his direction. She really wants to go.

Pat curses and waves away the smoke. Dont you think it should have been my decision? Especially since she was supposed to be spending the day withme?

Youre the one who always wants her to make lots of friends and be social. You know how much she likes Meg. And anyway, if you dont want her to go shopping with her friend tomorrow,you can go ahead and be the one to tell her and break her heart, and then call the mom back and break Megs heart, too.

Pat scowls.

She can tell theres a lot he wants to say.

But he calls, Good night, Ashley, honey! Ill pick you up in the morning! in the sweet Daddy voice he uses with their daughter.

So different from the deadly cold tone he uses with Fiona.

He turns and storms away without a good-bye.

Good riddance to you, too.

She kicks the door closed with a resounding slam.

Life would be so much simpler, she thinks as she moves through the living room, smoking, straightening throw pillows that dont need it, if she and Pat didnt have a child together.

Then she could have made a clean break, picked up and moved out of town after the divorce.

Yes, Fiona Fitzgerald Public Relations would be in the heart of Manhattan if not for the relocation clause in the divorce settlement, which states that neither she nor Pat can move beyond a fifty-mile radius of Cedar Crest without reopening their case.