The Girl with a Clock for a Heart: A Novel Page 5

  “Foss, you in there?” came a yell, accompanied by a pounding on the door.

  “No,” he yelled back and dialed Audrey’s number again.

  “Get your ass down to the quad.”

  There was no answer again.

  He shed his jacket, pocketed his cigarettes, and followed the pungent smell of pot to the quad. The door was open, and all four roommates were in there, plus Tommy Tisdale, another freshman from two floors up.

  “Foss.”

  “Fossy.”

  “Look what Cho got for Christmas.” Grant held up a baggie of bright green pot.

  Cho was currently taking a long, bubbling pull from Holmes, his two-foot purple bong. The Dead noodled from the stereo.

  After a bong hit and a lukewarm can of Stroh’s, George returned to his room and called again.

  “Hello.” It was Audrey’s roommate, Emily, her voice clipped and familiar.

  “Hey, Emily. It’s George. How was your break?”

  “Hey, George. It was . . . Where are you calling from?”

  “North Hall. What’s wrong? You sound weird.”

  “Did you hear? Have you heard about Audrey?”

  George’s stomach twisted, and his mind leapt to images of Audrey with a new boyfriend, Audrey fornicating with the entire senior class. “No. What’s going on? Is she there with you?”

  Emily took a long, audible breath. “I don’t think I’m supposed to be talking to you about this.”

  “About what? You’re freaking me out, Em.”

  “Apparently . . . I just found this out . . . she’s dead, George. That’s what I heard.”

  George walked, jacketless, to Audrey’s dormitory, Barnard Hall, and encountered a surreal scene. Barnard was one of the newer dorms, built exclusively for freshman women, and a large common area had been constructed on the first floor so that all the dorm rooms were on the second floor or above. Rounding a short, flyer-plastered hallway, he entered a high-ceilinged fluorescent-lit room, filled with couches and soft chairs, to a hubbub of female voices. The space was crammed with at least two dozen freshman girls, many of whom were crying.

  Their faces turned to George; they were like pale balloons that bobbed, indistinguishable from one another. He scanned them, unable to stop himself from looking for Audrey, trying to pick her features out—hair the color of wet hay, dark eyebrows, long neck, and slim shoulders. One of the balloons floated toward him. It was Emily, preppy, snobbish Emily, mouthing words and putting her arms out as if to hug him.

  She gripped his elbow, and he felt like a pinned butterfly, trapped between her terrifying presence and the invisible wall behind him that kept him from bolting back the way he had come. She said, “Join us,” and then he knew it was real. Audrey wasn’t coming back.

  The following day George answered his ringing telephone at five minutes past nine.

  “Is this George Foss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hi, George, it’s Marlene Simpson. I’m dean of students.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  “I heard.”

  “You heard about Audrey Beck?”

  “I heard from her roommate, Emily. Plus everyone on campus knows.”

  After agreeing to join the throng at Barnard Hall the day before, George had spent a disorienting hour among the girls, some of whom seemed genuinely upset and some of whom seemed to be enjoying the dramatics, like vultures jockeying near a fresh kill.

  It turned out that Emily had received a call at her home in upstate New York the previous morning. It had been the president of the college, and he had told her that Audrey Beck was dead, apparently by suicide. She had been found in her parents’ garage, the car still running, asphyxiated.

  Audrey’s friends and acquaintances all had the same questions for George. Did you have any idea? Why did she do it? Did you speak with her over break?

  He’d answered their questions as best he could, preferring the mechanics of talking to the mechanics of thinking. One of the girls, a rectangular brunette with a long, thin chin, had brought some terrible scrapbook she’d made of her first semester at college. There were pictures in it, but none of Audrey, although some of the girls thought they could pick out her sleeve in a party shot, the back of her head from a shot in a crowded dorm room. George noted the absence of photographs because he didn’t have any of her either, and already, four weeks after he’d last seen her, he was starting to worry that he’d forgotten what she looked like.

  Later, Emily had walked George back to North Hall. He’d been relieved to enter his room to the beery snores of Kevin, who had been half in love with Audrey himself. George had no intention of waking Kevin up and going over it one more time.

  “I’d like to meet with you this morning,” the dean of students said. “Would ten o’clock work?”

  “Okay.”

  “Do you know where my office is?”

  She told him, and at ten o’clock George was there, having avoided anyone from his hall. He hadn’t been able to bear the idea of going to the dining hall, knowing that all conversations would be about Audrey and all eyes would be on him, so he’d bought a cup of coffee at a convenience store just outside of school limits.

  He’d also managed to avoid Kevin, who had probably been in the shower when the dean called. He’d learn soon enough.

  Dean Simpson’s office had windows that faced the main quad of the campus, a slanting frost-bitten lawn split by a line of elms. It was still cold that morning, but there was not a cloud in the sky, and patches of snow and ice glittered from all around the campus. Bundled-up students crossed the quad, mostly in pairs.

  “I’ve asked Jim Feldman to drop by in a little bit. He’s one of our counselors, and he’d like to make an appointment to see you. We can’t require you to see him, but we’d all be relieved . . . we’d like it if you did. We all know how close you were to Audrey.”

  George was unclear on who the “we” was, or how the college knew anything at all about his relationship with Audrey, but he simply nodded, then said, “Uh, sure. I’ll talk with him.”

  Dean Simpson was somewhere in her fifties, and just tall enough to not be considered dwarf-size. She wore a purple sweater decorated with silver thread. A cloud of gray hair billowed around her head and shoulders.

  “Good. This is such a shock to us all. We’re just now receiving details from Florida, and our primary concern is that those who were closest to Audrey remain safe. We’d like you to stay here with us at Mather for this semester and continue your classes, but we understand if you would find that hard. That’s what Jim would like to talk with you about.”

  “Okay.” He’d barely thought about his immediate plans. The prospect of leaving Mather to mourn was horrific, until it was overtaken by the more horrific thought of staying at Mather without Audrey.

  “Also, while I have you here, I was wondering what you could tell me about Audrey’s other friends. We’ve spoken to Emily of course, as you know, and there’s been contact made with some of the other girls in Barnard, but we know how traumatizing something like this can be, and we don’t want anyone to feel like it’s something they have to get through on their own.”

  George nodded, wondering when Jim Feldman was going to drop by. The bright sun pulsed against the window, and a clock audibly clicked in the office. “I don’t know. Sorry,” he said, already forgetting what it was he didn’t know.

  “And you don’t have to think about this now, but it would make sense to have some kind of memorial service for her here at Mather. I was hoping you’d agree that that is a good idea.”

  George shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile.

  The dean jutted out her lower lip and tilted her head. “Maybe now would be a good time to call in Jim.”

  “Okay.”

  She picked up her phone, and in less than thirty seconds Jim Feldman knocked once on the door and pushed it open. He shook George’s hand, placing hi
s free one on his shoulder and squeezing. The dean excused herself from her own office and left them alone.

  Two hours later, George was by himself in his room when he heard the unmistakable clop-slap of Kevin’s footsteps in the hall outside. It was early afternoon, and he had yet to see his roommate since his return from Boston. The door swung open, and Kevin swayed in its frame, already drunk; a twelve-pack of Genesee Cream Ale dangled in one of his ungloved hands.

  “Motherfucker,” he said. “You have anything to do with this, I swear . . .” He took two rapid, unsteady strides across the room and grabbed George by his shirt, pulling upward and ripping out a button.

  “Jesus, Kevin. What the fuck?”

  “You break up with her?” Kevin pulled on George’s shirt again, and the collar ripped.

  “What are you talking about? No!” George grabbed Kevin’s wrist with both hands in an attempt to pry him loose.

  Kevin, his eyes red from alcohol and crying, held on to George’s shirt, and for the first time since he had heard the previous evening, George began to cry, pledging to Kevin that he’d had nothing to do with Audrey killing herself.

  Kevin settled down and offered George a Genesee. They drank together, silent through some of the beers and talking through some of them. It got darker outside, but they didn’t turn a light on, and when people knocked at the door, they didn’t answer it.

  George hadn’t been surprised by Kevin’s outburst. He knew that in his own way Kevin had loved Audrey, but that he would never have done anything about it. “You were good to her, I think,” Kevin finally said, like a tipsy priest giving absolution. “It wasn’t you.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “What are we going to do now?” Kevin said.

  “I don’t know. My counselor—Jim—wants me to stay in school for the semester. I don’t know if I can.”

  “Just stay here. Fuck classes. We’ll drink beer.”

  “I don’t know if they’ll let me do that.”

  Kevin shrugged.

  “I don’t know what to do,” George said again. In truth, he had formed a plan earlier in the day, when he’d been walking back across campus from his meeting with the dean. The looming towers of brown stone, the brick of the dining hall, the leafless trees, and the huddled students going in and out of the indifferent buildings—all these things were utterly meaningless, almost sickening, with Audrey dead. So he’d decided to pack a small bag and go to Florida. He’d leave early in the morning, walk to the Greyhound bus station, and board the first bus going south. Eventually he’d reach Tampa, and he could visit with Audrey’s family and her friends and maybe find out what had happened. Jim the counselor would have called it closure.

  “I’m starving,” Kevin said.

  “Go get food and bring me back some, will ya? The dining hall closes in ten minutes.”

  Kevin staggered off, and George thought some more about his plan to go to Florida the next day. He wouldn’t tell Kevin because he’d want to come too, and this was something George needed to do alone.

  Chapter 6

  On Sunday, at four in the afternoon, George drove his Saab out of the city for the second time that weekend. Gerald MacLean’s house was in Newton, a moneyed suburb just west of Boston. George took Commonwealth Avenue, passing underneath the Citgo sign and past the high walls of Fenway Park. He remembered there was an afternoon game happening against the Rays. If he hadn’t run into Liana on Friday night and agreed to this fool’s errand, he most likely would have been sitting at his friend Teddy’s bar around now, drinking a cold beer and watching the game. He’d be listening to Teddy explain the finer points of why the Red Sox sucked this year, and maybe later he’d call Irene and see what she was doing for dinner, or else he wouldn’t call and he’d keep drinking beers and maybe eat Teddy’s famous calamari, Rhode Island style, at the bar. But instead, George was driving nearly a half million in cash in a gym bag to a stranger’s house.

  After George had agreed to help Liana the previous day, she’d called MacLean from George’s apartment and set up the transfer of money. He’d tried not to overtly listen as Liana told MacLean she was sending a courier, plus the money, to his house, but it was hard not to overhear everything in an apartment that could fit into half a tennis court. She said something about most of the money as opposed to all of the money, and George heard her use the word “sorry” at least twice. An agreement was made for the following afternoon. The tone of the dialogue did not sound friendly.

  Liana had also called her friend the nurse, who had told her that there was only a small chance that George’s kidney was ruptured and that he should keep an eye on the blood in his urine and make sure it was getting better instead of getting worse. George had not felt reassured.

  After making her two phone calls, Liana told George that she needed to go get the money and would bring it by his apartment the following morning.

  “Where will you sleep tonight?” George had asked, immediately hating himself for raising that question, for sounding like he was coming on to her.

  “Not in New Essex. Not with Donnie around. I’ll stay in a hotel. I’ll figure it out.”

  “You could stay here. You could stay on the couch.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Donnie knows your name now, which means he knows where you live. In fact, he’s probably keeping an eye on this place already.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t leave here at all.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve got Donnie all figured out. He’s just trying to frighten me into making a mistake, into showing him where the money is. His finder’s fee is probably a big chunk of the cash, and there’s no way he’s going to hurt me till he gets it. When I leave here I can lose him again, go get the money, then lay low till tomorrow. Is there a public place I can meet you tomorrow and hand over the money?”

  George had suggested a grocery store on Commonwealth Avenue in Boston, and they’d agreed on a time.

  “Is there any way I can reach you if I need to?” George asked.

  “There isn’t. We’ll just have to trust each other. I’ll be at the store.”

  “I’ll be there too.”

  “If I’m not there, then just assume that for whatever reason I thought it was too dangerous. And if you’re not there, I’ll understand as well. It’s a lot to ask.”

  But George, after another restless night and an aimless, jittery morning, had taken a long shower, shaved, and found something to wear that made him look like a midlevel executive on a casual Friday. He knew it wasn’t necessary to dress for his brief role as stolen-money deliverer, but if he was supposed to plead Liana’s case, he thought he ought to look presentable. He arrived at the upscale, overpriced grocery store early and wandered the aisles of organic gluten-free products, waiting for Liana. They’d neglected to figure out a specific meeting spot, so when the time came he went to the front of the store, where a number of small booths fronted the tall glass windows that looked out onto a small parking lot. Just as he took a seat he spotted Liana, dressed in the same skirt but a different shirt, casually weaving her way between the parked Priuses toward the entrance. George met her at the automatic doors.

  “Come inside with me,” she said. She carried a small purse, plus a black gym bag.

  “Everything okay?” George asked.

  “Fine. I think. If anyone followed me here I didn’t notice, and I was looking pretty carefully. Let’s sit for a moment.”

  They sat in one of the booths, and Liana put the gym bag on the laminated table separating them. George felt as though their every move was being scrutinized by everyone within shouting distance.

  “There’s exactly four hundred and sixty-three thousand dollars in there. Ten thousand of it is on top of the bag wrapped in a newspaper. That’s for you to keep. Gerry knows he’s only getting four hundred and fifty-three, so don’t let him tell you otherwise. You know how to get there?”

  “I do. I thought you’d wait to give me money when we met
afterward.”

  “It’s up to you, but I trust you.”

  With one hand on the bag, George hesitated. It was a smaller bag than he’d imagined, but it felt solid, like it was filled with chopped wood instead of paper money. “Why don’t you hold on to it? I’d rather not have it in the car when I go to the man’s house. It’s technically his money.”

  “That’s fine,” Liana said, pulling the bag toward her, unzipping it halfway, and pulling out a rolled copy of the Herald. George caught a glimpse of stacked green bills and quickly looked around to see if anyone was looking at them. Liana re-zipped the bag and pushed it back toward George.

  “Thank you again,” she said. “This is a huge relief that you are doing this. I don’t think I could bear to see him again.”

  “And you don’t think he’ll have the cops there ready to question me?” This thought had been preoccupying George since early morning.

  “Not a chance. And if there are police there, then just tell them everything. I don’t need you to protect or help me any more than you are already doing. I really don’t think anything can go wrong. Just tell the truth and return the money. And if you feel okay about it, then please tell Gerry that I apologize. He won’t believe you, but I want him to hear it. In retrospect, I overreacted.”

  She smiled, and George smiled back. Some of her calmness was rubbing off on George, who’d felt keyed up since morning. “I don’t think you overreacted. You’re definitely worth half a million dollars.”

  “You’d think, right?”

  Back in the car, George cranked the air conditioner and unbuttoned an extra button on his shirt. He wondered if he’d been foolish about leaving the ten thousand dollars with Liana. It would be so easy for her to take off with it, skip out on their planned rendezvous. But George somehow didn’t think so; in fact, he felt the opposite, that holding the money would give Liana an incentive to meet him later. He remembered how she said giving him the money was important to her, that she didn’t want to be in his debt.