A Catch in Time Page 31

  Josiah saw her wariness and shook his head. “I found an old tape of Eli’s.”

  Josiah told Laura about Eli’s garbled descriptions that corroborated everything Laura had always said. Eli had forgotten it all, just as he and everyone else had. Everyone but Laura and Mohammed. “It’s no wonder,” Josiah said, “Eli threw the tape away. Hearing it must have scared the hell out of him.

  “I don’t think he even tried to figure out what he’d said on the first side,” Josiah continued. “And the second side—where he explains what he’s seeing—sounds so unemotional; horrible accidents, deaths, relayed in this casual voice that sounds like he’s just reading a menu.” Josiah sadly shook his head. “I should have listened to it years ago. Everything would be different now. Eli might not be dead. And Lily—”

  Laura flung her arms around him. The turmoil of emotions in her, so many of them dreadful, left her barely able to function. She clung with all her might to this moment of hope, of love. It was an incredible instant, one she’d imagined for so long; sharing the truth of the epiphany with Josiah.

  After a moment, she slowly pushed away from him.

  “Everything would have probably happened the same way,” she said. “Except our conversations would have been different.”

  “Eli’s all right,” Josiah said, awed. “He knows now that there is no void. No end.”

  Laura smiled at his joy. “I tried to tell you that yesterday.”

  Mohammed’s voice startled them.

  “But, no, Laura,” he blurted, walking in. “The path home is gone. I thought you knew this.” Then his face lit up and he cried, “Are you saying it’s been fixed?”

  Laura caught her breath. “What do you mean? It was always there—it’s the way in that’s gone, not the way out.”

  Stunned, they simultaneously realized they were both right. There was no more way in. There was no more way out. Laura dropped her face into her hands and Mohammed fell to his knees.

  Josiah looked from one to the other in disbelief. With a roar, he launched himself at Mohammed.

  Locking his hands around Mohammed’s throat, he pulled him to his feet. “He’s safe.” He shook Mohammed furiously. “Laura said he’s safe!”

  Laura jumped up and grabbed one of Josiah’s arms. “Stop it. Josiah!” She pushed him, screamed into his face.

  Kate, in rumpled plaid pajamas, pounded barefoot down the stairs, shouting, “What the fu—” She jumped the last three steps. Squirming between Josiah and Mohammed, she grabbed two fistfuls of Josiah’s hair. “Cut it out. Let go!” she yelled, shaking his head.

  Catherine, who had followed Kate, stopped mid-stairs. Her kimono robe was belted tightly and her gray hair, free of its pins and netting, flowed, uncombed, over her shoulders.

  “Stop this at once,” she commanded.

  Laura, pulling at Josiah’s arm with all her strength, stumbled backward when his hands fell from Mohammed’s throat. They stared at Catherine and couldn’t remember ever having seen her emerge from her room without every hair in place.

  Catherine, erect and satisfied, sniffed and said, “Breakfast in ten minutes.” She turned and went back up the stairs.

  “What the hell’s going on?” demanded Kate.

  Josiah shook his head. He stared at Mohammed, who looked gravely back, rubbing his neck.

  “It is the truth,” Mohammed said. “I do not make truth.”

  Laura gently touched Josiah. She saw tears in his eyes.

  Josiah limped away, paused, turned to Mohammed. “Where is he, then?” he asked. “Is he … lost?”

  Mohammed replied softly, “I don’t know.”

  They listened to Josiah’s uneven footsteps passing through the kitchen, the den door clicking shut.

  Laura sat on the couch.

  Kate asked, “What’s Josiah talking about? Who’s lost?”

  “Eli,” Laura whispered. New fear for Lily pounded in her chest.

  “Eli’s not lost.” Kate’s voice cracked. “Eli’s dead, Laura.”

  “Yes,” Laura said.

  “But, what … ?” Kate turned to Mohammed. “Explain this,” she commanded.

  “The Path is gone,” he said simply.

  “The Path? Wha—oh, Christ!”

  Laura watched Kate and felt pity. Three of us now know the truth.

  Kate marched into the kitchen, muttering curses.

  Josiah stayed in his room, and the rest picked at their breakfasts. Laura didn’t eat. She held a glass of water with both hands, forcing small sips. Conrad sat opposite her, between Fawn and John Thomas, but Laura was unwilling to look at him.

  Kate and Catherine urged John Thomas to eat more, trying to draw a few words from him. Kate threw frequent glances at Laura.

  Conrad and Fawn murmured to each other, but Mohammed ate silently. Occasionally, his fork hovered over his plate with a peculiar stillness, then, with a grunt, he would resume eating.

  Conrad pushed his chair from the table with an unintentional loud screech. “I—I guess Fawn and Ali and I will shove off. If you need some help getting stuff together …”

  Kate grabbed her plate to begin clearing the table. “Don’t do us any favors, bucko.” She snatched Mohammed’s plate, not noticing he wasn’t finished. The dishes clattered on the tile counter.

  Conrad turned to his sister. “Laura, please, you’ve got to understand.”

  “She understands,” Kate interrupted, grabbing Catherine’s and John Thomas’s plates. “She understands Lily’s with the fucking Shaitan King, and you’re leaving.”

  John Thomas’s voice trembled with anxiety. “Katie, are you going with Laura? I want to go, too. Please don’t leave me here again.”

  Kate hugged John Thomas. “Honey, we’re all going.”

  “I will go, too,” Mohammed said quietly.

  Kate nodded. She glared at Conrad. “Leave, already. The sooner, the better.”

  “Get off my case,” Conrad said angrily. “You don’t know shit.”

  “I don’t have to know shit!” Kate yelled back. “Get the fuck out of my house!”

  “What a bitch,” said Fawn.

  “Go back to your fucking Source, Mrs. Shit—your fucking Shaitan nursery.”

  Catherine stood up. “Have done,” she barked.

  Everyone froze. Conrad began to say, “It’s not that I—” Catherine sliced her hand through the air. “Enough.” Josiah stepped into the kitchen.

  “Conrad,” said Catherine tersely, “despite your sister’s pleas and your niece’s dire need, you refuse to help. We all fear that dreadful man. You’ve chosen not to share your personal encounter, leaving us to conjecture. This does not promote our sympathy. After all, you are obviously alive and whole.”

  Conrad flushed, gripped a chair with shaking hands. “Just because I’m not … dead … or missing a leg, doesn’t mean I’m not—”

  “He raped you,” Josiah said matter-of-factly.

  “Fuck you!” Conrad screamed, shoving his chair violently against the table. “You don’t know a fucking thing!”

  Josiah said derisively, “Worse things can happen, dude.” Conrad’s face contorted. “You cold bastards,” he stammered. “You’ve even fucked up Laura.”

  Laura stared at him, pale and expressionless.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Conrad’s voice pitched higher. “You always understood—”

  Kate exploded. “Lily’s her kid, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Like I said, Conrad,” Josiah continued, “there are worse things than what Mack did to you. Like doing the same thing to a little girl.”

  Laura’s moan was lost beneath Conrad’s shout. “No! It’s the same. Would you ask her to face him again after he did that to her?”

  “Get him out of here,” Laura whispered hoarsely. “Get him out of here.”

  Fawn grabbed Conrad’s hand, pulled him to the door, urged him through, then paused to face them. “He is right. Every life is precious to the Mother and she w
ouldn’t like one being sacrificed for another.”

  Kate marched up to Fawn and slapped her viciously across the face.

  Aghast and in pain, Fawn fled after Conrad.

  “Laura.” Josiah held a hand out to her. “Can I talk to you?” She nodded. “In there.” He indicated the den.

  The sound of Conrad’s truck faded as Josiah led Laura out of the room.

  “She’s falling apart,” Kate whispered. “Maybe I oughta go in there.”

  “She needs Josiah,” Catherine said. “I hope he understands how much.”

  Kate glanced at Mohammed. “You drive, Ali?” Mohammed nodded. “Okay, you and John Thomas take the Suburban around back, gas it up, and check the oil. Keys are in it.” Mohammed nodded and they left.

  “What do you think’s going on in there?” asked Kate, following Catherine into the living room.

  “Love,” said Catherine. “She’s lost Lily; she’s lost Conrad.”

  Kate shook her head. “She’s got to hate Conrad now.”

  “Perhaps. But she still loves him.” Catherine paused. “In much the same way she still loves you, despite your relationship with Josiah.”

  “What are you talking about?” Kate’s voice wavered.

  “Laura loves Josiah and you sleep with him.”

  Kate stared at Catherine.

  “You can’t possibly say you weren’t aware of her feelings.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Kate snapped, looking away.

  Catherine nodded. “Perhaps. You know Laura won’t fight you for him, Kate,” said Catherine softly, “though she needs him far more than you ever will.”

  Kate was silent.

  Catherine nodded. “You knew,” she said, gently.

  Kate searched Catherine’s face. “Why are you trying to make me feel like shit?”

  “I’m not,” Catherine said. “Laura needs Josiah. And Josiah needs Laura even more.”

  “Josiah’s got a mind of his own.”

  “Josiah is a strong man,” Catherine agreed. “However, one of his attributes now also seems to be his worst limitation. His sense of responsibility. His insistence upon being culpable for his own actions.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” asked Kate blankly.

  “Nothing. But Josiah fears having someone depend upon him for something he may not be able to provide. He doesn’t know that true love does not take, it gives.” She sighed and added, “I do know his relationship with you provides him a safety zone.”

  “Shit,” Kate finally said.

  Catherine drew Kate down on the couch next to her. “I’m sorry. I believe Josiah loves Laura every bit as much as she loves him. You must let him discover that.”

  Kate leaned into the comfort of Catherine’s arms, but she remained stiff. “This is really stupid,” she said. “It’s not like I love Josiah. It’s just …”

  Catherine hugged her tighter. “This is a difficult time for us all,” she soothed. “We feel helpless, facing so much tragedy. We all love Lily dearly, but Laura’s is the grief of a mother. We must be strong for her. And for Josiah. Because Eli was his first friend.”

  She held Kate’s face between her aging hands. “Don’t feel guilty, Kate, about any anger or resentment you may feel. And don’t act on those emotions. Please. You are such an excellent person.”

  Kate’s lips trembled. “You think?”

  Catherine chuckled. “I know,” she said. “Good gracious, I know.”

  CHAPTER 41

  LAURA AND JOSIAH SAT ON HIS BED. THE BLANKNESS in her eyes was daunting. Hold on, Laura, he thought, and heard Eli’s voice in his mind, Holdin’ on, Josiah, holdin’ on. He’d never felt so out of control, so vulnerable. He held her hand gently, helplessly.

  The items he’d spilled from his backpack were still scattered on his bed. He picked up the yen and placed it in her hand.

  “Do you remember?” he asked.

  Laura stared at the coin in her palm. Her fingers trembled. “Yes.” She struggled into the present moment. “I wondered if you were talking about the coin or yourself when you said ‘a yen for your thoughts.’ I didn’t know if you were flirting.” Her fingers curled, hiding the yen.

  “I probably was.”

  She looked into his eyes. He was as she’d always known him. She felt his presence so fully. Then he touched her, a featherlight stroke of a forefinger, beneath her chin. She felt them coming together but couldn’t bring her shattered self into focus: Lily, the void that awaited them all, Eli …

  “Eli and I had a motto,” he said quietly. “Hold on, we’d tell each other. Hold on.” He gathered Laura tenderly against him. “Hold on to me, Laura,” he whispered. “Let me hold on to you.” And his tears finally came.

  Time seemed to stop. Laura concentrated all of herself into the moment of being with Josiah. This small moment contained infinity.

  They kissed cautiously, feeling its electricity spread through them. The universe of their kiss dilated, until infinity could not contain it. Small involuntary sounds rose from Laura, urging Josiah closer, and when there was no more space between them, he urged her closer still.

  Josiah swept the clutter from the bed, and they tore at each other’s clothing, their bodies flushed. Josiah’s prosthesis fell upon the floor.

  Their hands explored each other. Skin tingled, eyes lost focus, and when their bodies would no longer contain their power, they tumbled into thunder.

  Holding each other tightly through subsiding waves, awareness of their world returned: the bed, the tangled sheets, their heavy limbs. Josiah moved to ease some of his weight from Laura, but she clutched him tighter, emptying her lungs, ready for a breath of new life.

  Faces close, small smiles, gentle kisses, silken touches.

  “I love you,” Josiah whispered. “I love you,” he said again and kissed her with such tenderness, tears filled her eyes.

  She cupped his face and said, “I love you. I will love you forever.”

  “Forever,” Josiah repeated.

  When Laura and Josiah emerged from the den, neatly dressed and combed, the kitchen and living room were empty.

  “Where is everyone?” Laura wondered aloud. They heard a thump from above, then John Thomas’s muffled voice calling out. Kate’s voice, equally muffled, answered.

  “Upstairs,” Josiah answered. He reached out and stroked Laura’s hair.

  “What are we going to tell Kate?” Laura asked.

  Josiah shrugged. “What’s to tell? She’ll know.”

  The world slowly regathered itself within them, tragedies and circumstances regaining their holds. They embraced.

  The sound of a throat being cleared ended their hug. Kate stood on the bottom step of the staircase. “I finally talked Catherine out of a suitcase,” she said, “but she’s not too happy with the duffel bag. Says everything’s gonna get wrinkled. I said, so what do you think this is? A Goddamn tour of the continent? You want I should find you a Goddamn steamer trunk?” She swung around the newel post and brushed past them toward the kitchen.

  Laura put a hand on Kate’s arm, stopping her. “Kate,” she began.

  Kate whirled and grabbed her in a crushing hug. “You don’t have to say anything, kiddo. It’s okay. All that’s important now is Lily.”

  Mack’s call came two hours later. They were all packed and gathered in the living room, waiting. Laura sat, willing the shortwave set to speak. When it finally did, she jumped.

  Mack’s voice, once so familiar to Laura, now held only cold malevolence.

  He growled a street address. Writing it down, Laura demanded to hear Lily.

  “Mommy?” The fear and hope within that one word sent Laura flying apart. Josiah pulled her to him before she could fall.

  CHAPTER 42

  LILY WAS A GENEROUS CHILD. LIKE MOST CHILDREN, she collected objects, but, unlike other children, Lily used her things to create something new. These creations she would give away. Somebody was always receiving something from Lily.
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br />   Her gifts were never random. It was how she related to others. It was how she showed them that she knew who they were. The bouquet meant for Catherine could never have been given to Laura, for Laura’s bouquet was an entirely different creation. The carefully shaped rhinoceros, made from the red clay scooped from a deposit near the creek below the house, was formed only for Josiah. Lily always had several projects under way, her creativity driven by a need to express things for which there seemed to be no words.

  At times, she’d feel a strange tickle/itch in her throat as she strained for a description of what she was perceiving. The first time she heard the expression “on the tip of my tongue,” she began using it liberally, with one slight change. “It’s on the tip of my insides,” she’d groan in frustration, unable to communicate her perceptions.

  When Lily was very young, just learning to talk, she didn’t know that some of the things she was already groping to express had no words. By the time she was four, her vocabulary was exceptional, yet many words she wanted eluded her. She had a phase, lasting about six months, when she became unsettled, often verging on tantrums. Everyone was perplexed by this behavior—unusual for her—but no one grasped the frustration that lay at the root of it. Lily wanted different words and nobody seemed able to provide them.

  At four and a half, Lily finally accepted that certain sensations had no words, but she didn’t realize the concepts she was trying to verbalize were unique to her. She began making up phrases, putting words together in odd ways that approximated what she wanted to say. Adults found her phrases charming but didn’t realize they marked a transition in her understanding. When Lily murmured, “I love you, stubble/blossom,” to Kate, Kate would laugh and kiss her. Lily presented Catherine with a scrap of board over which she had glued an assortment of stones, all smooth and within millimeters of the same size, and said, “This is for you, heart/meadow.” Catherine had accepted it with grave pleasure.

  Had Lily known the word “empathy,” it would have proven to be as woefully inadequate a word as all the others. It wasn’t that she was able to relate to feelings of others; it was that she was able to see the inner images people had of themselves—the sense of self that is as integral to every person’s inner eye as their features are to those who see them. To Lily, others’ self-images had a presence that hinted of color and sound, that had odor and texture, but were both more than that, and not that at all.