Now You See Her Page 0,33
asked suspiciously.
“Because Devon is dead,” Marcy told her.
Judith pressed her. “You’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear?”
That was exactly why she was saying it, Marcy acknowledged silently. “Devon is dead,” she repeated, each word cutting into her throat like a sharp knife, leaving large, gaping holes in her flesh.
She felt her sister nodding her head. “Okay,” Judith said, and then again, “Okay.” Another pause, another nod of her head. “So, where are you and when are you coming home?”
Marcy lied, the same lie she’d told Vic Sorvino. “I’m in Paris.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Marcy sighed. Vic hadn’t believed her either. “I’ll be home by the end of next week.”
“Wait. If you’re really in Paris, I have a great idea,” Judith said quickly. “Why don’t I book the next flight and meet you there? I’m sure Terry won’t mind if I go away for a few days. In fact, he’ll probably be thrilled. We can go shopping and see the sights, just the two of us. Come on, say yes. It’ll be fun.”
Like old times, Marcy was tempted to say, except that their old times had never involved shopping or seeing the sights. Their old times had been anything but fun. “Let me think about it.”
“What do you have to think about?”
“I’ll call you.”
“Just tell me what hotel you’re in and—”
“I’ll call you,” Marcy said again, immediately disconnecting the phone.
She pushed herself off the side of the tub and walked naked into the bedroom, stepping over the clothes she’d left lying on the floor and tossing the cell phone onto the bed. She hated lying to her sister. But what other choice did she have?
You could have told her the truth, Marcy thought, returning to the bathroom and trying to make out her reflection in the steam-covered mirror over the sink. “Who’s in there anyway?” she asked out loud, wiping the mirror clean with her forearm, only to watch it fog up again almost instantly, blending one confused feature into another before she faded from sight altogether.
The truth was that she was more convinced than ever that Devon was alive, that she’d seen her again this very afternoon, and that it was only a matter of time before they came face-to-face. After all, Cork wasn’t that big a city. Tomorrow she’d go back to the O’Connor house, wait for their nanny to emerge, spend the day following her around. She was confident Shannon would lead her to Devon eventually.
If only that damn bicycle hadn’t come flying out of nowhere to knock me down, Marcy was thinking as she lowered herself gingerly into the tub, we might already be together. She gasped as the hot water surrounded her, covering the fresh bruises that dotted her legs and arms.
She heard her sister admonish her: It’s not good to take such a hot bath.
“Go away, Judith,” Marcy told her impatiently, sinking down lower in the tub, the water rising to accommodate her as she stretched her feet out to their full length. She felt it creep above her chin to tease at her mouth, and she closed her eyes as the water reached her forehead, feeling her hair floating around her head like seaweed.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, she recited silently, recalling the last few lines of her once favorite poem by T. S. Eliot.
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown./Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
In the aftermath of the discovery of Devon’s overturned canoe, Marcy had tried to imagine what it felt like to drown. Every day for weeks she’d climbed into the tub in her master bathroom and let the water surround her, feeling it tug on her skin like an anchor, weighing her down. Then she’d slip slowly and quietly beneath the surface and open her mouth.
One time Peter had walked in on her.
He’d come into the bathroom to get ready for bed and discovered her submerged in the tub. He’d literally grabbed her by the hair and yanked her up, as if he were some goddamn caveman, she remembered thinking at the time, all the while screaming at her, “What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” Then he’d forcefully removed the door from its hinges with a wrench and a pair of pliers. The bathroom had remained doorless for the better part of eighteen months. He’d replaced it again only weeks before he moved out, as if underlining the fact that she