The View from Alameda Island - Robyn Carr Page 0,124

at heart of them all. Everyone depended on her to a fault. Her children still needed her desperately, and Don, divorced from her for over fifteen years, relied on her constantly. And God, not even Gabby knew how Elly needed her. Maybe we wore her out, Elly thought. But no. Gabby had never seemed worn. Nor even tired. Never.

“Goddamnit,” she whispered to Gabby. “I wasn’t done with you yet.”

* * *

A prominent character trait of Eleanor’s was her complete lack of sentiment. She was rarely emotional, and if she was, it was usually about something political or intellectual. It was one of the things that made her an exceptional book critic. Finding Gabby, however, made her feel twenty years older and as vulnerable as a prepubescent girl all at once. She didn’t actually cry so much as her eyes kept leaking and dripping beyond her control. Her voice remained steady and her words precisely clipped, but everything inside her quivered. She’d never felt so weak.

She stooped, hunched, as she walked out of Gabby’s house. Her legs and arms were heavy and aching. Her stomach, a problem anyway, was twisted around. Being the eldest, the one who had known Gabby longest, she would be expected to take control of this situation. To know what to do. It was doubtful, she thought.

The first thing she saw was Beth Mahoney being comforted by Sable. They sat on the edge of the planter box in Gabby’s front yard. Beth was the youngest of their group, girlish for her thirty-two years. She leaned her elbows on her knees and wept into her hands, the sound of her crying like distant bird-chirping. Sable was turned in Beth’s direction, one of her hands gently rubbing the young woman’s back while she patted her knee with the other.

Sable turned instinctively toward Elly and stood to look her over. With great relief Elly could see that Sable had composed herself on cue. It was no wonder. Sable had taught herself this trick years ago. Who knew how she was falling apart inside, how she’d fall apart later, when she was alone? If there was a vulnerable side to Sable, she kept it private. But for now, while Elly visibly sagged, Sable stood erect and assisted her toward that same planter box like she was the little old lady she felt she’d suddenly become.

“You’d better sit down,” Sable instructed. “You’re white as a sheet. You’re wobbling. You’re—”

“Please, that will do,” Eleanor said, but her usual bark was barely a growl.

“Do you need a glass of water or anything?”

“No. No. I’ll be all right in a minute. What have you told Dorothy?”

“To stay in the car,” Sable said simply. Dorothy was Sable’s housekeeper and cook. Part of the birthday surprise was to be Dorothy’s preparation of brunch followed by a thorough cleaning of Gabby’s house. Housekeeping was not Gabby’s forte. And Dorothy would get a handsome bonus from Sable for the day’s work. “Look at her,” Sable said in a low, irritated voice.

Eleanor had to once again wipe the liquid from her eyes and blink to clear her vision. Dorothy sat in the backseat of Sable’s Mercedes. She stared straight ahead, her hands poised atop the purse she held in her lap. She had tightly curled silver hair, a sharp nose and no chin. “Did you tell her what we found?” Elly asked.

“No.”

And the sight of women weeping on the planter box had not moved her to ask if anything was wrong? Would the arrival of the police and coroner cause her to turn her head? Sable had long referred to Dorothy as the kitchen witch.

“I should have learned by now, you never exaggerate,” Elly said.

A horrible insult of putts, grinding gears and angry growls caused all three women to look down the street. A partially sanded 1967 Camaro jerked noisily toward them. Barbara Ann Vaughan had a frazzled, tense look of concentration as she edged the car, gears sticking, to park behind Beth’s late-model Ford. Once there, the car died. But it got real sick first, coughing and choking. Barbara actually had a car of her own, a nice, fairly new one that she rarely drove. Someone else in her household always needed a better car and it was anyone’s guess what that would leave her to drive. Her sons were aged sixteen, seventeen, nineteen and twenty-one. They would not leave home while the food held out.

She had to reach outside the car to open the door and let herself