Ashes to Ashes
Page 53
Chapter Fifty-Two
LILLIA
“DO YOU THINK WE MADE the right call with this font?” I ask. I’m at Alex’s, mounting on an easel the picture of Rennie we had blown up. I picked up the picture of Rennie from the copy shop and brought it right over so we could see how it looked. It’s her senior photo, and at the top it reads Rennie Holtz, Prom Queen In Memoriam in a scripty Edwardian font. “Should we have gone super clean, like, minimalist?”
Alex looks up from untangling twinkle lights. His mom had a bunch left over from his uncle Tim’s wedding, and the guys on prom committee are going to string them up all over the backyard tomorrow morning. “Nah. Rennie’s always liked bling. The fancy font was the right choice.”
“I hope so,” I say. Prom queen was Rennie’s dream. I want it to be just right. After all, homecoming should have been hers.
“Don’t worry, it looks great,” Alex tells me. “It’s exactly what she would have wanted.” Like always, his words have a way of setting me at ease. Which is a feat these days. I hate being at school, seeing Reeve fall apart. I have such crazy anxiety that he’s going to say or do something he won’t be able to take back. Make some kind of scene, like he did at the sports banquet.
Lately it’s been good between us. Almost like old times. I know I don’t have to say anything, but I blurt out, “This year’s been crazy, but the one thing I’m grateful for is that you and I can be friends again. I really missed you, Lindy.” Alex looks taken aback. Before he can say anything, I say, “Wait. I know I haven’t been a good friend to you. I took your friendship for granted, and I led you on because I liked the way you made me feel. You made me feel—so special . . . and I didn’t want that to end. But it was wrong. And I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to answer.
“It means a lot that you’d say that.”
“I mean it.”
“So, then, apology accepted.”
I stare at him. “Just like that?”
“Yeah. We’re cool, Lil. I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time. That counts for something. It does to me, anyway.”
“To me, too.” I lean over and give him the biggest hug I can. Then Alex goes back to the twinkle lights and I say suddenly, “Hey, what do you think about us going to prom together? I don’t have a date, and you don’t have a date, and you know our moms are going to be all about us getting pictures together either way. You don’t even have to buy me a corsage!” Alex takes so long to answer that I add, “As friends, of course.”
At last Alex says, “As friends. Sure. But don’t worry, I’ll still get you a corsage.”
I beam. I feel lighter already. “Then I’ll get you a boutonniere.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
KAT
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER I pull up through the wrought-iron gates. The place is a huge brick mansion from another time, with beautifully manicured gardens. It could be a spa, if not for the bars on the windows.
Reeve passed out cold before we even pulled onto the ferry, and he’s been snoring ever since with Shep in his lap. I park in one of the visitor spots and walk quickly up through the front door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see my aunt. Her name is Bette Zane.”
“You mean Elizabeth Zane?”
“Um, yes. Sorry.”
I sign in as Mary Zane, and then I’m pointed down a long hallway. It takes all my self-control not to run down there as fast as I can.
As beautiful and tony as this place looked from the outside, the inside looks exactly like a hospital. White walls, beeping machines, sterile.
The hallway ends at a large room with a glass ceiling. It could have been a greenhouse or something back in the day, and it’s filled with sunlight. It’s now a rec room, and patients here are quietly going about their business—a few are watching a television in the corner, one is working on a puzzle, three are playing cards. One lady is just staring off into space like she’s catatonic, but then she catches me looking at her, and she glares.
I see two nurses who are manning a pill cart look at me with suspicion and share a whisper. Probably thinking if I’m here to see someone, why am I just staring around, casing the joint? Shit.
And then, to my right, I see a woman painting at an easel.
A painting of a lighthouse.
It looks exactly like the ones in Mary’s house. Except it’s blurry. Unfocused.
I race over to her side. “Um, excuse me. Elizabeth?” She doesn’t even blink. I lay a hand on her arm. “Bette?”
She turns and looks at me, confused. Not in the Oh! Why, I wasn’t expecting company! way. In the I’m hopped up on so many drugs, I can’t see straight way. Who even knows if she’ll be able to tell me what I need to know.
Her hair is almost entirely gray, and the ends zap out, fried and dead, like she hasn’t gotten a haircut in a long time. Years, I bet. She’s thin, almost sickly-looking. She’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that are two sizes too big. She’s got the same pale complexion as Mary, and the same little nose.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a couple of questions?” That’s all I say because I don’t know whether I should call her Mary or Elizabeth or Big Easy.
She turns back to the canvas and smacks the brush against it.
“I’m hoping you can tell me what happened to your niece.”
A shock of panic bolts through her. Her paintbrush tumbles handle over tip, until it hits the floor with a splat of red. Aunt Bette grabs me and tries desperately to make her eyes focus on mine. “Why? What happened to Mary? Did she hurt someone?”
I shrink back and try to wriggle my arm out of her grip, but she won’t let go. “No. I don’t know.” Panicked, I start looking around for help. What the hell was I thinking coming to a damn mental asylum? They don’t lock people up for nothing!
“She’s here because of that boy. She won’t let him go. She won’t ever let him go.” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Reeve. “But you’ve seen her too?”
“Yes . . . I . . . We’re friends.”
The next thing I know, Aunt Bette is dragging me out of the room, her bony fingers digging into my skin. “You have to tell them! My sister, she made them think I was crazy! She didn’t believe me that Mary was back from the dead!” She’s making such a ruckus that everyone’s turning to stare.
LILLIA
“DO YOU THINK WE MADE the right call with this font?” I ask. I’m at Alex’s, mounting on an easel the picture of Rennie we had blown up. I picked up the picture of Rennie from the copy shop and brought it right over so we could see how it looked. It’s her senior photo, and at the top it reads Rennie Holtz, Prom Queen In Memoriam in a scripty Edwardian font. “Should we have gone super clean, like, minimalist?”
Alex looks up from untangling twinkle lights. His mom had a bunch left over from his uncle Tim’s wedding, and the guys on prom committee are going to string them up all over the backyard tomorrow morning. “Nah. Rennie’s always liked bling. The fancy font was the right choice.”
“I hope so,” I say. Prom queen was Rennie’s dream. I want it to be just right. After all, homecoming should have been hers.
“Don’t worry, it looks great,” Alex tells me. “It’s exactly what she would have wanted.” Like always, his words have a way of setting me at ease. Which is a feat these days. I hate being at school, seeing Reeve fall apart. I have such crazy anxiety that he’s going to say or do something he won’t be able to take back. Make some kind of scene, like he did at the sports banquet.
Lately it’s been good between us. Almost like old times. I know I don’t have to say anything, but I blurt out, “This year’s been crazy, but the one thing I’m grateful for is that you and I can be friends again. I really missed you, Lindy.” Alex looks taken aback. Before he can say anything, I say, “Wait. I know I haven’t been a good friend to you. I took your friendship for granted, and I led you on because I liked the way you made me feel. You made me feel—so special . . . and I didn’t want that to end. But it was wrong. And I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry.” I hold my breath, waiting for him to answer.
“It means a lot that you’d say that.”
“I mean it.”
“So, then, apology accepted.”
I stare at him. “Just like that?”
“Yeah. We’re cool, Lil. I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time. That counts for something. It does to me, anyway.”
“To me, too.” I lean over and give him the biggest hug I can. Then Alex goes back to the twinkle lights and I say suddenly, “Hey, what do you think about us going to prom together? I don’t have a date, and you don’t have a date, and you know our moms are going to be all about us getting pictures together either way. You don’t even have to buy me a corsage!” Alex takes so long to answer that I add, “As friends, of course.”
At last Alex says, “As friends. Sure. But don’t worry, I’ll still get you a corsage.”
I beam. I feel lighter already. “Then I’ll get you a boutonniere.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
KAT
ABOUT AN HOUR LATER I pull up through the wrought-iron gates. The place is a huge brick mansion from another time, with beautifully manicured gardens. It could be a spa, if not for the bars on the windows.
Reeve passed out cold before we even pulled onto the ferry, and he’s been snoring ever since with Shep in his lap. I park in one of the visitor spots and walk quickly up through the front door.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’m here to see my aunt. Her name is Bette Zane.”
“You mean Elizabeth Zane?”
“Um, yes. Sorry.”
I sign in as Mary Zane, and then I’m pointed down a long hallway. It takes all my self-control not to run down there as fast as I can.
As beautiful and tony as this place looked from the outside, the inside looks exactly like a hospital. White walls, beeping machines, sterile.
The hallway ends at a large room with a glass ceiling. It could have been a greenhouse or something back in the day, and it’s filled with sunlight. It’s now a rec room, and patients here are quietly going about their business—a few are watching a television in the corner, one is working on a puzzle, three are playing cards. One lady is just staring off into space like she’s catatonic, but then she catches me looking at her, and she glares.
I see two nurses who are manning a pill cart look at me with suspicion and share a whisper. Probably thinking if I’m here to see someone, why am I just staring around, casing the joint? Shit.
And then, to my right, I see a woman painting at an easel.
A painting of a lighthouse.
It looks exactly like the ones in Mary’s house. Except it’s blurry. Unfocused.
I race over to her side. “Um, excuse me. Elizabeth?” She doesn’t even blink. I lay a hand on her arm. “Bette?”
She turns and looks at me, confused. Not in the Oh! Why, I wasn’t expecting company! way. In the I’m hopped up on so many drugs, I can’t see straight way. Who even knows if she’ll be able to tell me what I need to know.
Her hair is almost entirely gray, and the ends zap out, fried and dead, like she hasn’t gotten a haircut in a long time. Years, I bet. She’s thin, almost sickly-looking. She’s got on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt that are two sizes too big. She’s got the same pale complexion as Mary, and the same little nose.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a couple of questions?” That’s all I say because I don’t know whether I should call her Mary or Elizabeth or Big Easy.
She turns back to the canvas and smacks the brush against it.
“I’m hoping you can tell me what happened to your niece.”
A shock of panic bolts through her. Her paintbrush tumbles handle over tip, until it hits the floor with a splat of red. Aunt Bette grabs me and tries desperately to make her eyes focus on mine. “Why? What happened to Mary? Did she hurt someone?”
I shrink back and try to wriggle my arm out of her grip, but she won’t let go. “No. I don’t know.” Panicked, I start looking around for help. What the hell was I thinking coming to a damn mental asylum? They don’t lock people up for nothing!
“She’s here because of that boy. She won’t let him go. She won’t ever let him go.” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. Reeve. “But you’ve seen her too?”
“Yes . . . I . . . We’re friends.”
The next thing I know, Aunt Bette is dragging me out of the room, her bony fingers digging into my skin. “You have to tell them! My sister, she made them think I was crazy! She didn’t believe me that Mary was back from the dead!” She’s making such a ruckus that everyone’s turning to stare.
