J. Jance - Edge of Evil

At the station there had always been a delayed response between what was said and what the viewers said back. This was far more immediate. It was also far more personal. Putting her fingers to the keyboard, Ali wrote an additional post of her own. She had to.

I spent lots of years in the news business, most of it in television news and sitting at an anchor desk one place or another. When it’s time to film a new set of station promos, news anchors usually resort to saying something trite about having “conversations” with their viewers. This is actually a lie. The word “conversation” implies dialogue-as in talking back and forth. What anchors do is deliver “monologues” to their viewers. By their very nature, monologues are far less inclusive than “conversations.”

What I’m having right now on cutlooseblog.com is an actual conversation. I put up a post at 2:20 P.M. Within minutes there were several responses from people who weighed in with their own opinions.

The one from Phyllis is heartbreaking. Her family lost both of their parents in a situation not too different from Reenie’s. As a result, Phyllis’s entire family was destroyed. Her e-mail makes me wonder. Shouldn’t people who are ill and dying have some say in what’s going to happen to them and how their last days on earth are to be lived? Shouldn’t there be some allowance made for self-determination when it comes to last wishes?

Tami and her drowning clickers made me laugh. It’s something I wish I had thought to do. I could have. My husband had clickers everywhere.

And then there’s Maxine. Even though everyone else seems to be convinced Reenie committed suicide, Maxine is concerned that she was murdered. She’s also worried that I, too, may be in danger. Thank you for worrying about me, Maxine, and rest assured that I’ll be keeping a sharp eye out.

And finally there’s Janelle. She’s not worried about me or about the kids. Her concern is for the cat, Samantha, who’s still sitting here in her cage, regarding me with that one huge yellow eye of hers. But Janelle wouldn’t even know Samantha existed if it weren’t for the Internet and for the powerful way it connects people and brings them together.

I have no idea where Phyllis, Maxine, and Janelle live. They could be right here in Sedona or in some distant corner of the country. Or the world. I just want to say to all of them, and to anyone else reading this: Thank you for sending your responses and comments. They make me feel like I’m less alone. They make me understand that even people who never met Reenie are capable of caring about her.

Thank you.

Posted, 4:35 P.M. by AliR

After that, Ali took a long dip in Aunt Evie’s pride and joy, the soaking tub in the master bath. Lying there amid a mound of bubbles Ali realized that her Aunt Evie’s home, complete with all its upscale bells and whistles-wine cellar, soaking tub, and all-wasn’t what members of the media elite and Paul Grayson in particular had in mind when they talked derisively about mobile homes and trailer trash. They had no real concept of what the homes were like and very little connection to the ordinary people who lived in them.

She was back in the living room and slowly making her way through Helga’s multipage form when Edie Larson arrived at the front door, carrying a steaming Crockpot and bringing with her the mouth-watering aroma of cooking meat. After setting the dish on the kitchen counter and plugging it into a wall socket, Edie returned to the living room and bent down to study the open traveling crate Samantha had yet to abandon.

“She still won’t come out?” Edie asked.

“Nope,” Ali answered. “I took a long bath and left her alone for the better part of an hour, but she still hasn’t budged.”

“In that case,” Edie said. “It’s time to take the bull by the horns.”

She reached into the crate, grasped the startled cat by the nape of her neck and pulled her out. At first, Sam struggled and tried to escape, but Edie didn’t let go. She held the animal firmly against her chest and then eased herself down onto the sofa with the cat still in her arms. Within a matter of seconds, Sam settled down against her, purring loud enough that Ali could hear her all the way across the room.

“You always did have a way with animals,” Ali said.

“Being married to your father made that a necessity,” Edie said with a smile. “And Sam will be fine now. She just needed to know she was welcome here. Which is more than I can say about you. You don’t look fine at all. It’s hitting you pretty hard, isn’t it.”

Nodding, Ali looked at her mother. Edie’s naturally silver hair was pulled back in a French roll that was held in place by a collection of antique combs. She had worn her hair that way for as long as Ali could remember. So had Aunt Evie.

“I can’t believe Reenie’s gone,” Ali said.

“I wasn’t talking about Reenie,” Edie said. “What about Paul? Were you ever going to tell us about that?”

Edie had her there. Ali had done her best to avoid the issue of her broken marriage. Now she was stuck. “I just wasn’t ready to talk about it, but I guess Chris spilled the beans.”

“He didn’t have to,” Edie said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Evie and I had Paul Grayson figured out a long time ago-before we went to London even. It was clear to everyone early on that it wasn’t working-everyone but you, that is.”

“I wanted it to work,” Ali said.

“Of course you did,” Edie agreed. “And why not? You’re not the first mother who spent years making the best of a bad bargain in hopes of maintaining some kind of financial security for her kids. And, if you weren’t your father’s daughter, you would have been out of it years ago.”

“What does Daddy have to do with this?” Ali asked.

Edie smiled. “Have you ever heard the man say he was wrong? And you’re exactly like him, Ali. Spitting image. First you let Paul Grayson sweep you off your feet, and then, because you didn’t want to admit you’d made a mistake, you tried to make the best of it-for years, and a great cost to yourself, I might add.”

Edie eased Sam out of her lap. Once on the floor, the cat shook her paws-as though the carpet somehow didn’t measure up to her expectations-then she stalked off to the far corner of the room and curled up in a corner next to the drapes.

Ali gave a rueful laugh. “So is that what you’ve been doing down at the Sugarloaf ever since I left this morning-you and Dad and Jan and Chris and anyone else who happened to come in the door-discussing me and my marital difficulties?”

“No,” Edie returned. “We didn’t, but I’m here to discuss it now. I think it’s about time you and I had a heart-to-heart chat. It sounds like you could use one.”

Considering the circumstances, it turned out to be a very nice dinner. Ali cracked open a bottle of Aunt Evie’s Seven Deadly Zins to accompany Edie’s pot roast. And they talked. Or rather, Ali talked and her mother listened all the while passing tiny tidbits of roast to Sam who had positioned herself next to Edie’s feet under the table.

In the presence of her mother’s unconditional acceptance, Ali felt her own emotional wall crumbling. Tears she had somehow held in abeyance for days, came on with a vengeance as she spilled out the whole tawdry story. Between Monday and now she had shed plenty of tears for Reenie Bernard. The tears she shed that evening were for Alison Reynolds.

When eight o’clock rolled around, Edie stood up. “I’ve got a four A.M. wake-up call, so I’d best head home.”

After Edie left, Ali sat on the couch thinking. Her parents were absolutely grounded. They clearly loved one another and they also loved Ali. So how was it that, coming from such a stable background, Ali had managed to make such a mess of her own life? How could she possibly have mistaken Paul Grayson’s phony promises for the real thing, and how could she have convinced herself to settle for whatever crumbs he was offering? Maybe I only think I’m from Sedona, she told herself. Maybe I’m really from Stepford.