Twenty-Seven—Bo
W
e were a family on the edge. Tension had morphed into bald ugliness between my father and brother-in-law, and the veins in Peter’s neck bulged as he demanded that we produce his wife.
“She’s. Not. Here,” my mother shouted, cowering behind my dad.
“And if she was,” Dad yelled over her, “I would never let you near her!”
“She’s my wife, old man! Where is she? You know something!”
Peter looked like a respectable monster—he even smelled good. He was turned out in a blue suit and tie, and not a hair on his head was out of place—something I could truly appreciate. But his eyes were venomous, and he was scaring my mom. I stepped in front of him, shaking a little but I didn’t think it was obvious. “You can’t just barge in here and scream for answers that we don’t have, Peter,” I said, as forcefully as I could muster. “What have you done that you don’t even know where your family is? What happened? Did you have another fight? Did you hurt Camille?” I said rather proud of my ruse.
Peter stepped closer and barked down at me. “Shut up! I don’t answer to you, freak-boy!”
“That’s enough!” my dad said, stepping between me and the towering Peter. It was a David and Goliath moment—my dad in golf shorts, his skinny legs probably trembling as he shouted, “You need to leave, or I’m calling the police,” he said .
“Good idea, Jack. Call them! My wife is missing, and you know where she is!” Peter boomed. “I think they’ll be very interested in that!” As he snarled, his chest expanded, and spit flew—which was particularly disgusting. It was easy to imagine Camille’s utter helplessness when confronted with this rage.
“Peter, c’mon,” I said, sounding small—and mad that I sounded small. “We’re just as worried as you are. But think about it: Why would she come here if she wanted to hide from you? I mean, isn’t this the first place you came to look for her? So, think. Where else would she go? Have you checked with her friends?”
Mom piped up, following my lead. “What about Bex? Or Darla?”
He eyed us for a moment, seeming to consider this. “Those bitches wouldn’t dare…” He started pacing.
We were startled then by a loud knock on the front door that stopped everything for a beat. Peter looked hopeful and suspicious all at once. I moved past him to the door and opened it just as Mia was fumbling with her keys. She rushed into the house, Ivy and her family following behind. Ivy?
“What’s going on?” Mia said breathlessly taking in the scene. “What’s happened? Where’s Camille?”
“Good question, Mia!” Peter bit, barreling toward her. “How ’bout you tell me? Where the hell have you been?”
“None of your business!” she sneered with her enviable overconfidence as she moved past him to my parents.
His nostrils flared. “I’m done playing games with you people!” he seethed, fists balled at his sides. “Where is my wife?” He looked at everyone else who had walked in. “Who are you?” he said to Ivy’s mom. As Bree stammered to explain, Geneva shut the door and stepped out from behind her. She was wearing what looked like an orange nightgown, and her white hair hung like a snake down one shoulder. The look on her massively lined face was a cross between concern and alarm, but somehow, I found it unimaginably calming. She stared at Peter, brought her bony hand to her chest. “ Goodness,” she breathed, looking right at him. “Has something happened to your wife? You look absolutely terrified.”
Her words seemed to disarm him. They also gentled the tangible crackle in the room.
“What?” Peter said with a weakening sneer. “I…I don’t know. I don’t even know where she is.”
Geneva nodded. “Well, no wonder you’re worried.” Without breaking eye contact with Peter, Geneva Talbot said softly, “Bo, do you know anything about this?”
Before I could answer, Mom blurted, “We don’t know where Camille is either. We haven’t seen her. We haven’t heard from her. We’re all worried sick!”
“Oh, my…” Still, Geneva didn’t let go of Peter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know you, but I can see you’re very frightened—and obviously with good reason. And clearly all that fear is fueling the fear that everyone else is feeling as well.”
Peter’s glare tried to take on rage. “I’m not afraid! Who are you?”
“I’m Ivy’s grandmother, Geneva Talbot, and I’m so sorry for what you’re going through,” she said softly, her voice steady, soothing. She’d taken control of the room, and it was a thing of beauty.
Peter looked at her suspiciously.
“I don’t know you,” she continued. “But I’m very concerned about you.”
I watched Peter swallow. “What are you talking about? Why?”
“I can’t help but notice your heartbeat. It’s throbbing in your neck. It’s…it’s beating far too fast, dangerously fast. You should sit down.”
His eyes widened, and his hand immediately found his collar. “What are you talking about? Stop it, you old witch! I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so. Surely you can feel how hard it’s working. The exertion. I’m afraid you’re compromising yourself,” Geneva said, kindly. “Please, you should sit,” she said, again. “Can I get you some water? ”
I swallowed, amazed. Had I mentioned that Peter was obsessed with his health? I must have. Either way, I knew what Peter was feeling because I’d felt that power flood through me when Geneva held my hands: An uncanny, and frankly unwelcome, but undeniable energy that flowed from her to me, and now from her to Peter. And he felt it, you could see it in his slackened features. It scared him. She was good.
“You’re whacked,” he said somewhat shakily. “I feel fine!”
She shook her head as she bore her eyes into his. “Please be careful…for your family. My dear husband died of a burst heart.”
Peter seemed momentarily lost in her warning. Then he caught himself and sneered at Geneva—or tried to. He tried to sneer at all of us, but he’d lost his edge. So, instead he lifted his weak chin at my dad. “I think I will go to the police, Jack. You people are something else.” Then, pierced again by Geneva’s unrelenting gaze, he backed into the foyer and hurried out the door. “You people are crazy!” were his parting words.
No one said anything until Peter had screeched out of the driveway. Then Geneva looked at my parents, then me. “There’s not much time, Benjamin. Where is your sister?”