Save Me - Lisa Scottoline [67]
Rose pressed END, then sank to the edge of the bathtub, her thoughts bounding back in time, a wild animal set free. She knew these woods. She had brought it on herself. She had it coming, truly. Her heart raced, she broke a sweat, and her gaze flitted around the picture-perfect bathroom, finding the his-and-hers pedestal sinks and the cornflower-blue accents in the shower curtain, which matched the hue of the thick bathtowels.
She had picked everything out for the new house, and seeing it all now, she knew she didn’t deserve any of it; neither the pretty Italian floor tiles, nor the overpriced shampoos on the rim of the tub. She’d wanted to start over, to have one last starting-over in a lifetime of starting-overs, of endless moving from apartment to apartment, and from base to base. The only difference in each place was the color of the bathtowels.
Rose blinked. Her mother lay on the bathroom floor in her robe, passed out again. She’d need to be awakened, picked up, washed off, sobered up. Long, dark hair hid her once lovely face. The bathtowels in that apartment were yellow. Then pink, then white. The bathtowels were the only thing that changed in the apartments where her mother lay on the floor, until one day, she couldn’t be awakened, at all.
Mommy!
“Mom?”
It was Melly, at the door. The door knob was twisting.
“Yes, honey?” Rose asked, coming out of her reverie.
“Why is the door locked?”
“Here I come.” Rose got up and caught sight of her reflection, but didn’t recognize herself. Her eyes, dark and blue, looked haunted.
“Alohomora.” Melly giggled, on the other side of the door.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Rose was cleaning up the dinner dishes when her phone rang, and she dried her hand hastily, reached for the cell phone, and tucked it into the crook of her neck. “Hello, yes?”
“Rose. It’s Oliver. I heard you got a visit today.”
“Yes. Did they call you? What did they say?” Rose peeked around the corner and double-checked that Melly was out of earshot in the family room, sitting at the computer desk and printing the Flat Stanley picture. John was in his high chair in the kitchen, mashing his rotini, his hand a small starfish. His palm made a bum, bum, bum sound when he banged the tray.
“They want a meeting tomorrow. Our offices, at ten in the morning. Can you make it?”
“My God, so soon?” Rose felt stricken. “What’s going on?”
“Remain calm and carry on, remember?”
“Does this mean they’re thinking of charging me?”
“It means they’re investigating the facts.”
Rose’s gut tensed. “But why so soon?”
“The sooner, the better for us. We want to meet with them while Amanda’s still alive.”
Rose shuddered. “Why?”
“As we discussed, now there’s less public pressure to charge you, and less pressure from the Gigot family. At present, the worst-case scenario is still a hypothetical. Understand?”
“Yes, but why are they moving so quickly?”
“Lots of reasons. They could be following up when your memory is fresh, or trying to show how responsive they are and how hard they work. Or they want to have their ducks in a row, in case Amanda dies.”
“Do you have to talk that way?”
“What way?” Oliver paused, his voice warmer. “Sorry. I really am a nice man. You recall.”
Rose didn’t smile. She eyed John, banging the tray. Bum!
“Rose, be of good cheer. I’d like them to hear your side of the story before they get entrenched. If we put on a strong enough case, I hope we can back them down.”
“We have to put on a case?”
“Not in a strict sense. I’ll explain when I see you. Can you come in around nine, so I can prepare you before the meeting?”
“Yes. Sure.” Rose thought a minute. “What if I can’t get a sitter that quick? What do we do?”
“Melly’s in school, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t get a sitter. I want Howard and his lackey to see what the jury will see. Bring the baby.”
“You talk like he’s a prop.”
“Well said. He’s a prop.”
“Oliver, he’s my son,” Rose said, upset. It was getting worse and worse.
“Did you speak with Leo yet?”
“No.”
“By way of housekeeping, am I correct in assuming that you’d like us