Marcellus. “Today. You realize—”
“I realize. I’ve seen your mother twice on this property and Horst has seen her, too.”
It took a few minutes, but we brought her around and told her exactly what we’d seen. She declared that someone was being punked and she quizzed us over and over, the time, the place, the clothes, whether we’d told anyone else, the same questions again and again. She placed herself across the room from both of us. Her eyes moved only a sliver as they shifted between Marcellus’s face and mine.
“Everything I say,” she said, “is under the presumption of being punked.”
“Fair enough,” Marcellus said, “but if that’s it, I’m sick of it. Maybe you can get your dad to put a stop to it.”
“I want you to see it,” I said to Dana. “She’s sad. She wants you.”
“Anyone who would punk me with this would have to be the scum of the earth.”
“Just go see her, Dana.”
“All right. Let’s do it tomorrow. Are you up in Santa Barbara yet?”
“I’m on my way today. I’ll come back down.”
“That’s too much driving. You can stay here tonight.”
The house had a couple of suites that were accessible for me; I even had a favorite. Make of it what you will. I said “Yes.”
She’ll Break Your Heart
Marcellus and I weren’t the only ones talking about the Hamlets. Down a winding dirt road from the main house through unimproved land, then around a topiary garden, a three-hole golf course, and a strawberry patch, then down a small drive, stood Polly’s cottage. It was part of the Hamlet estate. Dana always liked it because she thought it was freer and more beachy than her stone castle. It was built of warm-colored woods, and it had levels instead of stories. The beach below it was sand, not rocks, so you could play on it and wade in. Phil and his sister Laurie had spent their early childhood there. Their mother had left when Phil was three years old and Laurie was six. Laurie had stayed with Polly and grown up in Elsinore Canyon, and Phil had gone to live with their mother in Hawaii, returning to stay with Polly and Laurie for his summers, then for good when Polly’s ex-wife died in a car wreck the year before.
Laurie and Dana had dug for tiny crabs, collected shells, and built sandcastles together as kids. They had both gone to William of Bourges, with Laurie two years ahead. They were always friends, but their styles and abilities were different. Where Dana flew, Laurie was a plodder. Laurie would get where she was going on schedule, she’d do her homework and write all her thank-you notes. She joined clubs and organized people for their own good. She preferred approval to attention. But she labored for every award she got, and she faded to grey the minute Dana entered the room.
As for Phil, it was hard to believe that half his genetic material came from Polly—assuming it did. Phil was a quiet guy, eager to please, similar to Laurie up to a point, but he possessed genuine quality in ways Laurie and most people for that matter didn’t. It was hard for me to admit, but he was seriously good at surfing and music, and killer good-looking. And tall. Never bragged about his talents although he certainly could have, made all the things he was good at look easy, and never had a hard word for anyone. Girls slobbered over him and said he was sweet. In baby pictures of Laurie and Phil, she was always leading him by the hand.
Laurie had just finished her first year at the University of Alaska in Anchorage and was back in Elsinore Canyon for the same reason I was. She was cutting her visit short because she wanted to get back to her fiancé, a newly graduated senior, before he took off for Harvard Law in the fall. Clark Jeffords his name was. Another damn movie star. For months Laurie had been slathering the internet with pictures of the two of them: wearing sweaters, posing in backpacks, eating macaroni, going to a dance, decorating a Christmas tree, paddling a
“I realize. I’ve seen your mother twice on this property and Horst has seen her, too.”
It took a few minutes, but we brought her around and told her exactly what we’d seen. She declared that someone was being punked and she quizzed us over and over, the time, the place, the clothes, whether we’d told anyone else, the same questions again and again. She placed herself across the room from both of us. Her eyes moved only a sliver as they shifted between Marcellus’s face and mine.
“Everything I say,” she said, “is under the presumption of being punked.”
“Fair enough,” Marcellus said, “but if that’s it, I’m sick of it. Maybe you can get your dad to put a stop to it.”
“I want you to see it,” I said to Dana. “She’s sad. She wants you.”
“Anyone who would punk me with this would have to be the scum of the earth.”
“Just go see her, Dana.”
“All right. Let’s do it tomorrow. Are you up in Santa Barbara yet?”
“I’m on my way today. I’ll come back down.”
“That’s too much driving. You can stay here tonight.”
The house had a couple of suites that were accessible for me; I even had a favorite. Make of it what you will. I said “Yes.”
She’ll Break Your Heart
Marcellus and I weren’t the only ones talking about the Hamlets. Down a winding dirt road from the main house through unimproved land, then around a topiary garden, a three-hole golf course, and a strawberry patch, then down a small drive, stood Polly’s cottage. It was part of the Hamlet estate. Dana always liked it because she thought it was freer and more beachy than her stone castle. It was built of warm-colored woods, and it had levels instead of stories. The beach below it was sand, not rocks, so you could play on it and wade in. Phil and his sister Laurie had spent their early childhood there. Their mother had left when Phil was three years old and Laurie was six. Laurie had stayed with Polly and grown up in Elsinore Canyon, and Phil had gone to live with their mother in Hawaii, returning to stay with Polly and Laurie for his summers, then for good when Polly’s ex-wife died in a car wreck the year before.
Laurie and Dana had dug for tiny crabs, collected shells, and built sandcastles together as kids. They had both gone to William of Bourges, with Laurie two years ahead. They were always friends, but their styles and abilities were different. Where Dana flew, Laurie was a plodder. Laurie would get where she was going on schedule, she’d do her homework and write all her thank-you notes. She joined clubs and organized people for their own good. She preferred approval to attention. But she labored for every award she got, and she faded to grey the minute Dana entered the room.
As for Phil, it was hard to believe that half his genetic material came from Polly—assuming it did. Phil was a quiet guy, eager to please, similar to Laurie up to a point, but he possessed genuine quality in ways Laurie and most people for that matter didn’t. It was hard for me to admit, but he was seriously good at surfing and music, and killer good-looking. And tall. Never bragged about his talents although he certainly could have, made all the things he was good at look easy, and never had a hard word for anyone. Girls slobbered over him and said he was sweet. In baby pictures of Laurie and Phil, she was always leading him by the hand.
Laurie had just finished her first year at the University of Alaska in Anchorage and was back in Elsinore Canyon for the same reason I was. She was cutting her visit short because she wanted to get back to her fiancé, a newly graduated senior, before he took off for Harvard Law in the fall. Clark Jeffords his name was. Another damn movie star. For months Laurie had been slathering the internet with pictures of the two of them: wearing sweaters, posing in backpacks, eating macaroni, going to a dance, decorating a Christmas tree, paddling a
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