The Heiress Of Water_ A Novel Part 8

"A week?" Claudia exclaimed. "A week? What can you do in a week? I'll never understand you gringos, always in such a rush."

"Okay, maybe a week and a day. We'll see. I have an open ticket." He sighed. "I owe you big-time, Claudia."

After he hung up, Bruce couldn't get up out of his big chair. Drained of energy, he reached over to an end table and pulled out his humidor. He selected a genuine Cuban, smuggled in via Canada by Kevin on a business trip. He put it in his mouth without lighting it. There were no matches in the humidor and he didn't have the energy to get up. He let the cigar sit between his lips, turning it in his mouth and tasting its dry sweetness in the loose bits that spilled onto his tongue. Alma has replaced La Siguanaba as our most popular urban legend Alma has replaced La Siguanaba as our most popular urban legend, Claudia had said.

Bruce chuckled, but bitterly. He hadn't heard the word uttered in so long, the reference yielded the same eerie, evocative sensations as the old address book. Bruce had first learned about La Siguanaba, El Cipitio, El Cadejo, and other native Central American mythological characters in his culture and language training cla.s.ses at the U.S. emba.s.sy.

La Siguanaba, legend has it, had once been a beautiful Mayan princess who had an affair with a young man who was far below her family rank. For her mistake, she was cursed with immortality and the unending search for her lost, illegitimate child in the loneliest paths of the countryside. Her spirit appears young, beautiful, and half-naked to men riding on horseback in desolate areas at night. The men agree to give her a lift, only to regret it when they turn to see that she is transformed into a disfigured hag. She slashes her victims' necks and backs with her teeth and claws and leaves them injured, horseless, and lost. Bruce recalled Alma telling him that most peasants still wholly believe the native legends. Upper- and middle-cla.s.s people scoff at them, except occasionally, while walking alone through the countryside at night.

Had Alma been a bit like the cursed Siguanaba? Perhaps. But Alma didn't bite or scratch. She withdrew. She injured with her absence and unfaithfulness.

He was going to El Salvador. His indecisiveness with Monica and vagueness with Claudia was his way of staying in control. Earlier that day, his editor had given him the green light on the story. It is exactly the kind of thing we are looking for It is exactly the kind of thing we are looking for, she had said. The timing is perfect. Go for it The timing is perfect. Go for it.

He just had to figure out a way to convince Monica to drop the idea of going with him. After all, what you don't talk about for fifteen years isn't something that's going to be pleasant to examine under the harsh light of San Salvador's sun. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him that made the dry cigar fall out of his mouth and roll down his shirt to rest in the valley between his legs: Maybe she did did talk about it. Maybe she talked about it with a shrink, with Paige, with Kevin, with her boss, her dentist, and the package deliveryman. Maybe she just didn't talk about it with talk about it. Maybe she talked about it with a shrink, with Paige, with Kevin, with her boss, her dentist, and the package deliveryman. Maybe she just didn't talk about it with him him. What did that say about him, about their relationship? Who was the fragile one after all?

WHEN MONICA ARRIVED at her father's house that night, she released a torrent of questions that left him breathless. Monica was the daughter of a journalist, and so he shouldn't have been surprised that she knew how to do her homework. She had talked to Sylvia, to Adam Bank, she had called at her father's house that night, she released a torrent of questions that left him breathless. Monica was the daughter of a journalist, and so he shouldn't have been surprised that she knew how to do her homework. She had talked to Sylvia, to Adam Bank, she had called Alternative Healing Alternative Healing, contacted the director of the clinic in El Salvador. She was more than curious now. She was agitated by how little she really knew about her family history and its players.

Why didn't you tell me the clinic was actually at Negrarena? Do the Borreros still own it? Who is Leticia Ramos? Who could have found the the Borreros still own it? Who is Leticia Ramos? Who could have found the furiosus furiosus and mined it into a business? What's the big deal about not wanting me to go to El Salvador, anyway? and mined it into a business? What's the big deal about not wanting me to go to El Salvador, anyway?

When he saw doubt rising like the morning's first light in her eyes, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around all her questions in an attempt to contain them, but they spilled out like sand the more he tried to hold everything together. Even though Monica was fairly tall, she looked so small, so vulnerable all of a sudden. His paternal instincts bristled with the fear of what might be approaching.

I don't know any Leticia Ramos, he had told Monica. It's a common name It's a common name. A lie. He knew exactly who she was. She was Maximiliano Campos's estranged wife. And when Monica finished sorting through the tangle of connections that trailed out from Yvettte Lucero's veins, there would be more questions, of that Bruce was sure. Without a doubt, the clinic was somehow linked to the Borrero family. But who had pursued Alma's dream after all these years? Who, among those rapacious predators ruling above their kingdom of peasants, had the intelligence, patience, and scientific training to do it?

One day, Monica might put the pieces of the puzzle together. She might remember her tortured confession so many years ago, her plea that her father mend his crumbling marriage. Still out of her grasp was the realization that her decision to interfere in her parents' troubles had unleashed a series of explosive consequences: that her confession had enraged her powerful grandmother, whose vein-choked hand was kissed every day by a coronel coronel in the military, and that Max had been hunted down like prey. Alma had been at his side until the last, winning her escape from a society she hated by diving into the frothy wings of her beloved sea. in the military, and that Max had been hunted down like prey. Alma had been at his side until the last, winning her escape from a society she hated by diving into the frothy wings of her beloved sea.

MONICA WASN'T HAPPY that Bruce had invited Will Lucero and Sylvia Montenegro to her Fourth of July party. Her reaction took him completely by surprise. "I thought you liked them," he said, astounded. "Did something happen?" that Bruce had invited Will Lucero and Sylvia Montenegro to her Fourth of July party. Her reaction took him completely by surprise. "I thought you liked them," he said, astounded. "Did something happen?"

Monica looked as if she wanted to reveal something, but chose not to. She and Paige were sitting on barstools in the kitchen, concocting a garlic-and-whisky glaze for the pork ribs. Bruce could see Paige watching Monica's face. Overwhelmed by thoughts of Alma and travel to El Salvador, he welcomed the lightness of the party preparations. He almost felt giddy at the sight of the sunshine on the water, the hanging baskets overflowing with red and pink geraniums and brand-new patio furniture on the wood deck.

"What's the big deal about inviting Sylvia and Will? We must have bought thirty pounds of meat. There's plenty of food."

"It's just not a good idea, trust me," Monica answered, and she and Paige looked at him as if the reason were so obvious that it might insult his intelligence if they actually said it.

"Of course it's not a good idea," he said, scratching his head and leaning on one hip. "Sylvia Montenegro is obviously the type who will bring a bagful of Tupperware and leave with all the leftovers." He held his hands out. They shook their heads. He peered at the popcorn ceiling, then snapped his fingers. "Oohh, Paige wants Will and he's unavailable?" he said, lowering his head, as if to avoid a flying object that might be hurled at him at any moment. The women snickered, and Bruce held up a third finger. "This is it for sure," he said, suddenly lowering his voice and growing serious. "Our Kevin is jealous?" He pointed over his shoulder, toward the front of the house, even though Kevin wasn't here.

Paige rocked her pinkie and thumb back and forth and said, "Getting warmer."

Bruce shrugged. "I give up then. Will and Sylvia are going to Will's parents' house for most of the day and they said they'd stop by on their way back. They won't stay long." He picked a handful of olive slices off the top of the Mexican dip. Paige slapped his hand away, but not before he managed to steal them, plus a jalapeno garnish, and pop it all into his mouth. "Will and Sylvia were having a really bad day yesterday. Turns out the funds to keep Yvette in the top-notch facility she's in are drying up in a few months. Sylvia was crying, Will was screaming on the phone at the insurance company and the state social worker," he said, throwing his hands up in the air. "So I invited them over so they could get their minds off their problems. Problem Problem," he corrected himself, holding up a finger. "They really only have one. And it's a big one."

He too had wondered if it was a good idea to invite Will and Sylvia, but only after he'd already blurted out an invitation. With them around, it was hard to contain the drip of information leaking from Sylvia's discovery, not to mention the excitement he and Sylvia shared. Bruce wanted the chance to pre-inspect that information for hidden razor blades, to predigest and carefully regurgitate it in tiny doses fit for his daughter's consumption.

As he headed to the neighbor's garage to carry the extra lawn furniture they were borrowing up to Monica's deck, he pondered the viability of the cone venom therapy. El Salvador had witnessed unimaginable human suffering, but it also contained threads of the deep spiritual continuity between man and nature, man and the sea, man and the pagan spirits trapped under the crumbled civilization of the Mayas. If Yvette was ever going to emerge from her state, it wasn't going to be in a hospital in New Haven. She'd already proved that. In the El Salvador he recalled, gravity was about the only law that couldn't be broken. Perhaps in this case, that could be an advantage. If life could end so easily in the explosion of gunfire, why not its opposite?

chapter 8 RED, WHITE, AND BLUE.

As the first guests began to arrive for her Independence Day party, Monica stood at the window of her second-story bedroom. She removed the window screens and leaned them against the wall. She unfurled her American flag, dropped the wood pole into its cup. She waited until she saw the four feet of nylon drop and drape down cleanly, its colors bright and regal, its pole cap directing the eye toward the cloudless sky.

Monica heard Paige down on the deck, summoning her to come down. She waved and held up one finger, signaling her to wait a moment. Monica walked across the room to the closet and opened it. From behind her ski gear and extra umbrellas, she unearthed a second flag, which she unrolled on the rug and smoothed with the palms of her hands. It was a faded housecoat blue, made of raw cotton, half the size of the American flag. The triangle-shaped crest at the center contained the image of a range of volcanoes, the ink having been stamped a few degrees outside its intended outline. The flag had a yellowed stain in the corner where the newborn Jimmy Bray had p.o.o.ped for the first time in his life almost two decades ago. Monica drove the flag's metal pole through its cuff. She dropped the pole into a holder next to the American flag. The heavy cloth remained stiff and immobile, until the warm summer breeze managed to animate it to a tentative sway. The Salvadoran flag looked so humble and small next to the lush red, white, and blue nylon; like a disoriented brown pigeon touching down alongside a bald eagle.

Was it an indignity or a privilege, Monica wondered, for a nation's flag to serve as a diaper for one of its poorest citizens?

MONICA WOULD REMEMBER her Fourth of July party as one big blur, an evening that would mark the beginning of the second half of her life, the night the first domino fell. The afternoon began with her observation that entertaining large groups of people feels like an out-of-body experience, probably because attending to so many tasks forces abnormal shifts of one's attention every few minutes. She had to interrupt her conversation with a group from work to greet new arrivals from college. A few moments later she found herself frantically waving a dish-rag at a screeching smoke alarm because Paige had forgotten to tend to a batch of chicken wings. There were introductions to be made, endless dashes to the kitchen, gifts of liquor to be refrigerated or served, crudites to be pa.s.sed around, dips to be reheated, chip bowls to be refilled, music to be kept up, half-heard jokes to laugh at. her Fourth of July party as one big blur, an evening that would mark the beginning of the second half of her life, the night the first domino fell. The afternoon began with her observation that entertaining large groups of people feels like an out-of-body experience, probably because attending to so many tasks forces abnormal shifts of one's attention every few minutes. She had to interrupt her conversation with a group from work to greet new arrivals from college. A few moments later she found herself frantically waving a dish-rag at a screeching smoke alarm because Paige had forgotten to tend to a batch of chicken wings. There were introductions to be made, endless dashes to the kitchen, gifts of liquor to be refrigerated or served, crudites to be pa.s.sed around, dips to be reheated, chip bowls to be refilled, music to be kept up, half-heard jokes to laugh at.

The guest list was a mixed bag of fellow UConn alumni, a sprinkle of friends from high school, a few from work, plus an unknown number of Kevin's and Paige's friends. At Kevin's sage advice, Monica had invited a range of neighbors three houses thick in each direction-to insure that the police wouldn't be visiting if the music got loud. Bruce and Kevin were partnering on the grill. Paige was tending bar.

"Today is your lucky day," Paige shouted to the guests already cramming the deck. "I'm going to treat you all to Paige Norton's b.i.t.c.hin' Brew." She stirred a bowl of mysterious liquid. "But be warned-if you drink more than two, then plan on crawling home." She held up a red, white, and blue plastic tumbler. "Who's my first victim?"

"It's just a high-octane mojito," mojito," Monica said, as she pa.s.sed around a tray of stuffed mushroom caps. "Paige got the recipe from a Cuban bartender she woke up with in Miami one morning. It's a Cuban staple, but she's succeeded in convincing many an unsuspecting gringo that she invented it." Monica said, as she pa.s.sed around a tray of stuffed mushroom caps. "Paige got the recipe from a Cuban bartender she woke up with in Miami one morning. It's a Cuban staple, but she's succeeded in convincing many an unsuspecting gringo that she invented it."

Across the deck, a small crowd cl.u.s.tered around Paige's makeshift bar, and it wasn't long before she had them tipping the concoction of white rum, ice, seltzer, raw sugar, lime, and freshly crushed mint leaves. She added a few lethal splashes of tasteless, odorless, extrafine Siberian vodka-the secret seventh ingredient that allowed her, in her mind, to patent it as her own. Paige's b.i.t.c.hin' Brew had a stealthy, mind-erasing effect, and soon the guests were congratulating Paige on the brilliance of her invention. Monica put her tray down and watched her old friend hold court. Paige winked and blew her a kiss from the limelight of her social throne. She makes me more fun She makes me more fun, Monica thought. Everyone should have a Paige in their life Everyone should have a Paige in their life.

THE AFTERNOON WAS HOT and sticky and the and sticky and the mojitos mojitos were icy and clean. Two hours later, no thanks to Paige and her potion, Monica suffered the shock of seeing her father make out with Marcy on the dance floor of her deck party. Paige was so drunk that she mistook Monica's grimace for a reaction to the booze. "There's a line to get into both of your bathrooms, Mon. Just puke in the petunias." She pointed at the neighbor's garden. were icy and clean. Two hours later, no thanks to Paige and her potion, Monica suffered the shock of seeing her father make out with Marcy on the dance floor of her deck party. Paige was so drunk that she mistook Monica's grimace for a reaction to the booze. "There's a line to get into both of your bathrooms, Mon. Just puke in the petunias." She pointed at the neighbor's garden.

The party had gotten a bit out of control, with everyone bringing someone extra, who in turn brought an extra someone too; and although the "someones" were behaving, the "extras" were not. By eight, she could hear Kevin and his old frat buddies laughing and splashing just beyond the seawall, all of them nude. Monica was thankful that most of her neighbors were already too compromised to complain, especially after that game with the garden hose. She looked around and wondered if she wasn't too old to still be having the kind of parties where people wake up with regrets.

With the help of a friend, Monica walked around collecting dirty paper plates. She had committed a few party fouls of her own: she had a wood splinter lodged in the sole of her foot from dancing barefoot, and a huge bruise on her hip where she had smashed into the corner of a folding table while dancing to "Mambo Number 5."

Monica was relaxed now that everyone had eaten. She found herself scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Will. She looked at her watch. It was just past nine. She was drunk enough to let herself long for his presence, guilt being the burden of the sober. She wondered what his mouth tasted like, if he would be wild with desire after two years of nothing but stress and celibacy. She thought about his body, warm and slick with ma.s.sage oil, and how she had fought so many mental images during that session. Rubbing his neck had made her want to take his ear-lobe in her mouth, to smell his skin up close ...

She saw her father, one arm slung around Marcy, point upward. A hush spread through the crowd like a stadium wave, as the first fireworks crackled and webbed their light across the darkened sky.

NO ONE WOULD HAVE HEARD HAVE HEARD Bruce's mobile phone ring if Bruce hadn't forgotten it in the bathroom. Monica was on the toilet and had been enjoying the brief respite from the noise and chaos outside when the phone rang, startling her enough to clench up midstream. Bruce's mobile phone ring if Bruce hadn't forgotten it in the bathroom. Monica was on the toilet and had been enjoying the brief respite from the noise and chaos outside when the phone rang, startling her enough to clench up midstream.

Should she pick up? She hated the idea of talking on the phone with her shorts around her ankles. She unclenched, letting it ring a second time. But what if someone was lost and needed directions? It rang again.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Monica." Her name was p.r.o.nounced with such utter relief that she knew right away something was wrong.

"Will?" she whispered, leaning forward to cover her lap with her elbows.

"Is Sylvia there? Has she called?"

"I don't think so, there's a ton of people here and it's very loud. Is everything okay?"

There was a silence, then the sound of a dog barking in the background. He exhaled loudly, and she could tell by its m.u.f.fling that he ran his hand over his face. When he spoke, he sounded tired and far away. "I was at my parents' house all day. Sylvia arrived at Yvette's at ten this morning. She had them put Yvette in a wheelchair and said she was taking her for a walk to the park across the street like she usually does. It's after nine now, and they've been gone for eleven hours. We've looked everywhere, and I mean everywhere. I thought maybe by some remote chance she was at your party."

"With Yvette?" Monica had this flash vision of Yvette in her wheelchair out on the deck, her face frozen and her eyes roving as bodies swung and dipped all around her. Monica's heart p.r.i.c.kled and she was jolted into sobriety. "No, she's definitely not here."

"Did she say anything to you about going to that clinic in El Salvador?"

Monica inhaled, much more loudly than she meant to. She hugged her knees and didn't answer. In a moment, Monica understood that her silence had already answered for her.

"I knew it," he said.

"Let's get my dad, Will. He'll know more. Hold on, I'm in the middle of something here, hold on," she mumbled, placing the tiny, credit-card-sized telephone down next to the sink and yanking up her underwear and shorts. She put her hand on the receiver and wondered how she was going to flush the toilet without his knowing that he had caught her in the bathroom, and she grimaced at herself in the mirror. How to flush? Her fingers fumbled with the tie string at her waist as she rushed to get out of the bathroom. She reached for the mobile phone with a half-soapy hand, sending it flying over the edge. It disappeared into the basket of balled-up pink toilet tissue. Monica was about to go after it, but someone was knocking and she ran out, shouting to anyone in range not to use the bathroom yet. She scrambled out to the deck to unpry her father from Marcy's arms. Under normal circ.u.mstances, seeing her father suck face with anyone would have made her want to hide under a rock. But the discomfort flashed over her radar for a second and disappeared as her father turned to look at her with sleepy, moony eyes.

BRUCE AND WILL SAT at Monica's kitchen table at two in the morning on July fifth. Paige and Marcy were asleep, dueling snores on opposite couches in the living room. Kevin was sleeping upstairs on Monica's bed, wearing nothing but swimming trunks and someone's cowboy boots. An unidentified couple was wrapped up in a comforter on her bedroom floor next to the bed. Some of her college pals had cleaned up and skillfully consolidated the food and the guests into an ever-tightening circle. By the time the last guest had left, the party mess was contained to the center of the deck. at Monica's kitchen table at two in the morning on July fifth. Paige and Marcy were asleep, dueling snores on opposite couches in the living room. Kevin was sleeping upstairs on Monica's bed, wearing nothing but swimming trunks and someone's cowboy boots. An unidentified couple was wrapped up in a comforter on her bedroom floor next to the bed. Some of her college pals had cleaned up and skillfully consolidated the food and the guests into an ever-tightening circle. By the time the last guest had left, the party mess was contained to the center of the deck.

For the last hour and a half, Will had been on his mobile phone with various air ambulance companies, with his uncle, who was a New Haven cop, with hospital administrators and his parents. Somewhere amid the back-and-forth he discovered a new message from Sylvia, left over five hours ago but delivered by a slow satellite just minutes before.

She was in El Salvador, at Clinica Caracol. She had cashed out her retirement savings to enable the trip. She was sorry if he had suffered any worry and apologized for going against his wishes, but everything was okay, and he was welcome to join her as long as he promised he wouldn't interfere with Yvette's treatment. Yvettte would start her treatments immediately after a day or two of testing.

"Maybe it'll work, Will," Monica said tentatively. "Maybe you and Yvette will end up on all the morning shows telling your story."

Will looked at her but didn't answer. His mouth was full, he was scarfing down a pile of charred hot dogs and cold baked beans. Bruce looked at Monica, leaned his head toward Will, and said, "Nerves."

Will shrugged, kept his head down, and kept eating.

"Retirement savings. G.o.d-dog," Bruce said, shaking his head. "Who does Sylvia think is going to pay for her care when she's old?" He pointed across the table at Will. "You, my friend, that's who." Bruce was cupping a mug of black coffee. Earlier, Monica had sent him upstairs to take a shower and wash off the sweat, smoke, salt water, spilled liquor, and lipstick. Now his wet silver hair was parted on the side and he had deep bags under his eyes. His olive-colored tropical-pattern shirt was spotted with barbecue sauce, but he was otherwise back to his old respectable self.

"Sylvia and I agreed that we would never make any decisions without a consensus, but technically, I have the final say. It's frightening that my wife, whose life is in my hands"-Will raised his palms and looked at them-"a woman for whom I have an awesome responsibility ... can be whisked away to a foreign country without my consent. Or her doctor's." He banged his fist on the wood table. "How the h.e.l.l did she do it?"

"It's kidnapping," a voice said from across the room. Paige looked at them and rubbed her eyes.

"Thanks for the contribution, Paige," Monica said. "Now go back to sleep."

"Anytime."

"She's right. It's kidnapping," Will said, staring hard at the table. "What Sylvia's done is illegal."

"Never mind that," Bruce said. "Remember that Sylvia feels the same weight of responsibility that you do."

"Sylvia carried Yvettte in her womb for nine months," Monica said, her voice suddenly tense. She thumped her index finger against the table for emphasis. "It's a mother's duty to protect and care for her child. If she failed to help her child, then she'd be a lousy mother." She felt her face reddening. Marcy raised an eyebrow at Paige and they exchanged a sideways, knowing look.

"Well, I'm not going to sit here and just wait to hear how it goes," Will said, his tone softening. "So far, I haven't been able to find a flight to El Salvador until Friday-on the same flight as Bruce."

"Excuse me." Monica peered at her father and c.o.c.ked her head. "Wasn't it just last week that you said you were thinking of maybe maybe going at some point going at some point maybe maybe next month? How is it that you already have an airline ticket?" next month? How is it that you already have an airline ticket?"

Bruce looked away. "I agreed to get b.u.mped off a flight to L.A. once, and so I have an open ticket. I can use it whenever."

Monica narrowed her eyes at Bruce. Bruce shook his head and raised his hands. "Hey, I'm traveling for work."

"I have have to go," she said. "So let's figure out a way for me to get a ticket in my hands." to go," she said. "So let's figure out a way for me to get a ticket in my hands."

"Why?" Bruce said. "Why do you think you have to go? This has nothing to do with you."

Monica stood up, her eyes filling with tears. "I told Sylvia about the Conus furiosus Conus furiosus in the first place. That's what started this whole mess. And I in the first place. That's what started this whole mess. And I knew knew she wanted to go down there soon, she swore me to secrecy. But she told me she was going to go with you, Dad. I don't know why she suddenly skipped over the whole research phase." Monica covered her chest by crossing her arms and collapsed back into a sofa. "I'm so sorry, Will." she wanted to go down there soon, she swore me to secrecy. But she told me she was going to go with you, Dad. I don't know why she suddenly skipped over the whole research phase." Monica covered her chest by crossing her arms and collapsed back into a sofa. "I'm so sorry, Will."

Will shook his head. "Don't be. It's not your fault."

Monica looked up at Will, then at her father. "Sylvia trusts me. That's why I have to go."

Bruce's shoulders slumped and he exhaled and covered his face with his hands. "Not a good idea, Monica," he insisted.

"It's a great idea, and I have a ticket you can have," said another voice from the darkened side of the room. This time it was Marcy, and she was sitting upright, her face bright and sober as if she hadn't just been snoring away a hangover. "I think it's time both of you went back down there. I'm sick of living with Alma's ghost. ..." She put up her hand. "No offense."

Bruce stared at Marcy, shocked. He opened his mouth, but Marcy spoke first. "I was on the same trip to L.A. with your dad, Monica. You can have my ticket."

Monica went over to Marcy and hugged her. She felt the crispiness of Marcy's gelled curls against her cheek.

"Thank you. That's incredibly nice of you."

"You're not offended are you, Monica? You know what I mean about your mom, right?"

"I know exactly what you mean, Marcy."

Marcy put her hand under Monica's chin. "Ain't nothin', darlin,' " she said, then looked at Will, briefly pointing a finger. "Now you go easy on your mother-in-law, young man. Husbands come and go, but a mother is a mother for life."

Will sighed. "I know."

Bruce looked pale. He was staring at the floor, hands folded. "You don't know what you're talking about Marcy," he said in a tight, hard voice. He stood and walked out of the room, only to return a few moments later.

"I just hope Sylvia purchased a two-way ticket on that expensive air ambulance," Paige said. "Otherwise, how are you going to get her home?"

Will ran his fingers through his hair and looked distraught.

Marcy took a deep breath. "This may sound sacrilegious to you, Will, but maybe you should have a little faith. Yvette hasn't made any progress in two years. What do you have to lose?"

"I was just saying that earlier," Monica said.

"I say go for it," Marcy said. "Give it a chance."

Will cupped his head in his hands. "I'm tired and my head is killing me."

Monica went to the kitchen and returned with aspirin and a gla.s.s of water for Will. He was sitting on a barstool, and he blinked his eyes a few times, hard and quick, and she could see a cloud of fatigue pa.s.s over his face. He tossed the aspirin into his mouth and took the water from her. "Thanks," he said, and gave her a look of complete exhaustion, then closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "Stop looking at me like that, Monica. You didn't kidnap my wife. Sylvia did."

"I should have told you what I knew."

"Yes, you should have."

"We'll bring her home, Will. You can count on it."

"I am," he said, and stood up.

Monica and Will walked Bruce and Marcy out. After they pulled out of the driveway, Will and Monica were alone in the darkness. Despite their exhaustion and the sense of crisis, she could feel the electricity between them buzzing softly in the thick, phosphorus-scented air. She looked up at the moon. It was still full if you looked quick. She could feel the body heat radiating off Will's skin; a faint trace of his cologne triggered the image she had been replaying over and over all night, of her palms ma.s.saging his back. Her head felt swimmy again as her mind's eye shifted back and forth from memory to present.

"I think Yvettte is trying to emerge," she said, and felt a chill ride up her arms. She rubbed up and down her biceps. "I felt something when I ma.s.saged her, Will. I felt life life."

She could feel his eyes straining in the dark to see her face. "You did?"