Vanishing Acts Read online

  "Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asks.

  A woman with tight red pincurls nods. "We have, Your Honor."

  "What say you?"

  "In the case of The State of Arizona versus Andrew Hopkins, we find the defendant not guilty."

  I am aware of Eric crowing with delight, of Chris Hamilton slapping us both on the back. I try to find enough air to breathe. And then Delia is there, with her arms around me and her face pressed into my chest. I hold tight and I think of something Eric said, just after his closing statement. It's not a real defense, he murmured, but sometimes that's all you've got.

  Sometimes it even works.

  There is a commotion as the reporters vie for Eric's sound bite. Gradually, the crowd falls back to allow Emma Wasserstein passage. She shakes Eric's hand, and Chris's, and then leans forward to give Eric's briefcase back to him. But as she does, she comes close enough to whisper to me. "Mr. Hopkins," she says, a truth meant only for me, "I would have done it, too."

  Fitz

  I am trying to find a back exit that we might use to escape when Delia appears and throws herself into my arms. I'm still not used to that; immediately every conscious thought or rational plan flies out of my head while I just enjoy the feel of her. "Congratulations," I say into her hair.

  "I want to tell Sophie," she announces. "I want to tell her and then I want to drive straight to the airport and get on the first plane to New Hampshire."

  And what happens then? Delia, so happy about the verdict, hasn't even touched down close enough to ground to remember all that's been left behind. It's nice to know that the atomic bomb missed your house, but you will be cleaning up the rubble for some time before your front path is clear.

  As it turns out, I don't want to write the story of her life. I want a series.

  "Stop thinking," Delia says, the same advice I once gave to her. She sweeps forward and, jubilant, kisses me, which is just when Eric turns the corner.

  She can't see him; I'm the one facing the opposite end of the hall. But she breaks away from me when she hears his voice. "Oh," he says quietly. "It's like that." He looks at me, and then at Delia. "I was trying to find you," he murmurs. "I was ..." He shakes his head and turns around.

  "Stay here," I tell Delia, and I hurry after Eric. "Wait up."

  He stops walking, but he doesn't turn around.

  "Can I talk to you?"

  Eric hesitates, but then he slides down the wall to sit on the floor. I sit down beside him. In spite of my facility with language, I can't think of a single word to say to make this better.

  "Let me guess," Eric says. "You never meant for it to happen."

  "Hell, yes, I did. I've wanted her since you two started dating."

  Surprised, Eric blinks at me, and then even laughs a little. "I know."

  "You did?"

  "For God's sake, you're about as subtle as Hiroshima, Fitz." He sighs. "At least I didn't lose the girl and the case."

  I look down at the floor. "Incidentally, I never meant for it to happen."

  "I should beat the crap out of you."

  "You can try."

  "Yeah," Eric says quietly. "I just might do that." Then he glances up at me. "If I can't take care of her myself, there's no one else I'd want to take my place." He hesitates, and when he speaks a moment later, his voice is heavy with hope. "I'm going to clean up," he vows. "This time for good."

  "I want you to," I tell him. "I'd like that."

  Eric will be with us--maybe not as often, maybe not even in the same neighborhood, maybe not for a while. But we are three; none of us would have it any other way.

  He smiles, his hair falling over his brow. "Be careful what you wish for," Eric says. "I've learned my fair share about abduction."

  We sit for a few more moments, although there's really nothing left to say. This is new to me, too, an entire conversation that takes place in silence, because the heart has its own language. I will remember what Eric says even though he doesn't say a word. I will tell it to her.

  Delia

  There is one other person who hangs back in the courtroom, unwilling to face the storm of media that is waiting on the other side of the doors. My mother waits at the end of the aisle, her hands clasped in front of her. "Delia," she says. "I'm happy for you."

  I stand a foot away from her, wondering what I am supposed to say.

  "I guess you'll be going back home, then." She smiles a little. "I hope we can stay in touch. Maybe you'll come back for a visit. You're always welcome to stay with us."

  Us. At the mention of Victor, something shuts down inside of me. Eric says that we can try to press charges against Victor if the statute of limitations hasn't run out yet, that this would be a whole new trial. As much as I want him to pay, there is a part of me that wants to just put it behind me. But even more, I want my mother to believe me. I want her, for once, to take my side instead of her own.

  "He hurt me," I say baldly. "I did remember. But you don't ... so it couldn't have happened, right?"

  She shakes her head. "That's not--"

  "True?" I finish, the word bitter on my tongue before I swallow it. "I wanted you to be my mother. I wanted one so badly."

  "I am your mother."

  I think of what would happen if someone, anyone, touched Sophie. It wouldn't matter who it was--Victor, the man in the moon, Eric--I'd kill him. An icicle through the heart, a car filled with carbon monoxide. He would not take another breath if he touched my daughter; I'd find a way to hurt him that didn't show, just like he'd done to her.

  And if Sophie was the one who came to tell me about it, I'd listen.

  In this way, I am different from my mother. And for that, I'm incredibly grateful.

  When I look up at her, I don't feel regret or sadness or even pain inside; I just feel numb. "I wish I could tell you that I know you did the best you could," I say softly, "but I can't."

  As a child, what I was missing was so much bigger to me than what I had. My mother--mythic, imaginary--was a deity and a superhero and a comfort all at once. If only I'd had her, surely, she would have been the answer to every problem; if only I'd had her, she would have been the cure for everything that ever had gone wrong in my life. It has taken me twenty-eight years to be able to admit that I'm glad I did not know my mother until now. Not because, as my father suspected, she would ruin my life, but because this way, I did not have to bear witness as she ruined hers.

  My mother's sorrow is so powerful, it cracks the clay tile beneath her feet; it makes the water in the fountain behind us overflow. "Delia," she says, as her eyes fill with tears. "I'm trying."

  "Me, too." I reach for her hand: a compromise, a good-bye. Maybe this is as good as it gets.

  Eric and I sit in the anteroom of the Madison Street Jail while we wait for my father's paperwork to be completed. I am careful to keep an inch of space between us, even when we are cramped tight by others. It shifts with us, and keeps me from brushing up against him. Once that happens, I will not be able to keep myself from falling apart.

  We watch a parade of felons: prostitutes who try to come on to the detention officers; gang members bleeding from open wounds; drunks who sleep in the corners and sometimes cry in their sleep. "You know," he says, after a few minutes, "I might just stay here for a while."

  "In jail?"

  "In Arizona. It's not so bad, really. And I've got at least one judge who likes me." He shrugs. "Chris Hamilton offered me a job."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. Right after he chewed me out for not telling him I'm an alcoholic."

  I stare down at my hands. "That's not why I did it, you know."

  "That's exactly why you did it," he corrects. "And that's why I love you." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper with an address scrawled across it. "This is the closest AA meeting. I'm going there tonight."

  My eyes fill again. "I love you, too," I say. "But I can't carry your baggage."

  "I know, Dee."