CHAPTER TWENTY
Elaine’s girls were adorable, and one even looked like Alice when she was that age.
As she watched her granddaughters, she thought about the time she nearly drowned Elaine.
She was giving her a bath when she got the idea—although it was not so much an idea as it was an impulse.
Elaine was fussing around as usual and she was soaping her up, holding the back of her head and neck as she did so. She released the baby’s head and let her go under the water, assisting her by placing fingertips to her tiny chest. The baby flailed her arms, her large blue eyes looking up at her, bubbles coming out of her mouth as she cried, her muffled ‘wah’ almost making Alice giggle. Alice watched her for a few seconds then pulled her up, helping her get the water out. The child coughed and choked and cried as soon as she could.
Afterward, Alice felt nothing but wonder—wonder that she had done such a thing, wonder at what had stopped her; after all, she had not been thinking about what would happen to her when George found out, how he would feel, nor had she thought of what she would say in her defense after, what story she would have to make up, whether or not she could be charged with murder. Alice did not wonder about any of those things. She only wondered what it would be like to see her child finally go limp.
Alice felt tears form and fall and did nothing to stop them; she hardly even noticed them as she dragged herself through the memory: the pink baby, screaming her lungs out, taking in water, coming back to life. She thought about what her life would have been like had she gone through with it. While she was miserable at the time, right now, at this moment, she had no regrets about it. Her daughter had grown into a responsible adult, a good mother and wife. She had done well by birthing her. She only hoped that someday, Elaine could forgive her. And she wished she could somehow bring about that someday sooner than later.
Tears kept coming.
Alice couldn’t stop them, and didn’t want to.
“What’s the matter, grandma?”
The little voice startled her out of her state.
“Oh! Jade.” Alice wiped her face. “Everything’s all right, darling—grandma’s just a little sad, that’s all.”
“Because grandpa died?”
Jade looked up at her with curious blue eyes, holding a teddy bear close to her with one arm.
Alice put her hand on the child’s head.
“Yes, dear. That and other reasons.”
“Do you miss him?”
Alice nodded.
“I miss your mom too.”
Alice didn’t mean to say it but there was no taking it back. Besides, the child would not know what to do with the information anyway, how to process it. She would not understand the history behind it.
“But mommy’s right there!” She pointed. “How can you miss her? You’re so silly, grandma—why don’t you just go talk to her?”
Alice smiled, thinking about how similar Amber and Jade were.
“Your mom’s busy right now, sweetheart. And she usually has a lot going on. It’s okay, Jade. Don’t worry about me. Just a sad day, that’s all.”
Jade still looked at her in confusion, like she could not understand what the big deal was. To her, all problems and solutions were simple.
Once Alice composed herself, she went to the kitchen for a drink of water. She surveyed the room again and noticed that Miriam was now alone and heading for the kitchen, right for her. Alice waited until she was within a few feet away from her then called out to her.
“So Miriam—how’s Fred? How come you decided not to bring him?”
Miriam’s expression turned sober.
“Well, Alice, to tell you the truth, he doesn’t know George is dead.”
Alice felt her mouth slacken.
“What do you mean? Why haven’t you told him?”
Miriam shook her head. “Not a good idea. My dad—he’s eighty-two. And he’s not exactly senile or anything, so it’s not like if I tell him he wouldn’t understand or remember who George is. He would know it. And he would hate it. And frankly, I think he would die from it if he knew.”
Alice understood fully, and didn’t think Miriam needed to explain anymore, but Miriam wasn’t done.
“Parents don’t like to bury their children—not unless they actually hate them of course, and wouldn’t mind killing them themselves. I’m not sure how common the latter is, but it’s certainly not the case with my dad. Look, my mom was his world, and I believe she was always number one with him. When she died he wasn’t the same. He remarried and everything, but I don’t think George’s mom or anyone else was able to measure up.
“My dad and George may not have been close, but he has been wanting to reach out to George recently; make peace before he dies for not treating him well. George has been refusing to see or talk to him. Of course I visit my dad as often as I can but you know how I’m all over the place. We were all he had left, and now,
I’m
all he has left. And I’m not sure I’m enough reason for him to stick around.” Her voice softened. “And I need him to.”
Alice was struck by the vulnerability in Miriam’s voice, the vulnerability seeping from her in general at that moment, for it was the first time she saw her so raw, heard her lay her fears and emotions bare. For that moment in time, she was a normal person, a regular human being, and Alice felt herself sympathizing with her. Here was this adventurous, independent spirit, admitting guilt over not visiting her father often enough, admitting her suspicions and insecurities regarding where she stood with him, admitting her reluctance to lose him.
Alice rubbed Miriam’s shoulder in support and was about to refute her last words when Miriam said:
“I actually thought about bringing him on the reservation with me, but I’m afraid if I offer to take him out of the home now, he’ll want to stop here and talk to George first. But I really want to take him from there, especially since George won’t be visiting. Yes, it’s something for him to hang around looking forward to, but he’ll be disappointed after a while. Someone might even slip the news to him at the home, someone who might hear about this. I’d prefer he get out, stretch his legs, get one last whiff of life. Who could thrive all cooped up with nowhere to go and nothing to look at but the four corners of your room? Or at best, the two-hundred square yards of your ‘home?’ And he can’t even do that what with being blind and all. Personally, I would rather be dead.”
***
After light chatter and mingling with other guests, the boy finally made his way over to Alice while his mom stayed chatting with Mark.
Alice watched him approach, not taking her eyes off of him for a moment and he did the same.
Then Alice briefly looked around, momentarily self-conscious.
“Hi, Alice,” he said, holding out his honey-colored hand as he reached her.
She nodded in acknowledgement, ignoring his hand, still staring him in the eye.
“Hello, Rick.”
He dropped his arm to his side.
“It’s nice to see you again—even if the feeling is not mutual,” he said, giving her a wry smile.
Alice said nothing, just watched him for a few moments.
“So what have you been telling people?” she said at last, unable to get past her fear.
He smiled and looked down briefly, but it was not a smile of mirth.
“Nothing you would disapprove of.”
She nodded again, believing him, but still curious.
“But what have you been saying? Someone must have asked.”
“I just told them my mom was a friend of George’s and that I came along with her. All of it true of course. The other parts of the truth were left under rug swept, just as you would prefer it.”
Still, Alice was not satisfied.
“Did no one ask how your mother knew George?”
“Most were not so forward. For the one that was, I told her that she would have to ask my mom directly.”
Alice nodded in approval. It was probably Elaine who had questioned him.
“You’re a good boy,” she said.
His smile disappeared. “Don’t patronize me.”
Alice relaxed at last. “I meant nothing by it—honestly. I’m just glad that you were so considerate. I appreciate it.”
One corner of her mouth went up.
He gave her a skeptical look.
“Really now, my husband’s death is enough for me to deal with; I don’t need nosy people on top of it all, bothering me about details.”
He let out a breath and looked away briefly.
“It’s not my fault, Alice.”
She found herself letting out a breath as well.
“I know dear—I’m not blaming you. I try not to at least. We are both victims of the circumstances—I’m fully aware of that.”
Rick gave her a contemplative look.
“I’m not sure you are.”
When Rick left, Alice looked at the diminishing crowd once more.
Would anyone notice she was missing?
Everyone seemed deeply engaged in conversation with someone else, but surely, someone would look for her at some point.
She thought about telling Drew she was slipping out for a few moments, but he would probably ask too many questions. Elaine—well, Elaine could not care less, she was sure of it; besides, she was afraid to approach her.
Miriam was probably the best solution.
Miriam nodded in understanding when Alice told her of her plans to take a drive, but Alice knew if she had an inkling where she was actually going, Miriam would not be so understanding. Not that she would do anything to upset Miriam deliberately, but Miriam would definitely be suspicious of her intentions and would not appreciate her plan.
Or did Miriam already suspect it and simply did not mind? Alice never knew with her.
Alice got in her car and started driving. She knew that by the time she returned home, most would be gone and that was fine with her. She had business to take care of on George’s behalf for the final time.
PART TWO: GEORGE
Excerpt from Journal #9—05/22/1978:
Secrets—we all have them don’t we? Some secrets we would proudly reveal at age ninety-three, having kept something so juicy so long to ourselves, and since we would be on our way out of this life, consequences would not matter. But other secrets, we wouldn’t want anyone to find out about, even after we’re long dead. Secrets can start relationships, secrets can end them. But we all have them; there is no open book.
Excerpt from Journal #4—03/14/1974:
I always feel like he’s living a double life and that I’m living half of one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
October 27th 1973
Bloomington, Illinois
George, Robert and Mark drove around aimlessly in Robert’s brown Chevy pickup for a while. They had left The Lucca Grill relatively early with Robert drinking too much too fast, so they had more time to kill with each other before going back to their own homes and lives, but they couldn’t decide what to do next.
Usually two of them would ride in the back of the truck, but with winter slowly creeping up on them, the night air convinced them all to squeeze inside where it was guaranteed to be warmer—at the least, no assault and battery by the wind.
Robert wasn’t even driving his own truck tonight; as far as they were concerned, he was in no shape to drive, and it wasn’t just the few drinks he had—Robert was stoned.
Mark decided to pull the truck over to a spot that used to be popular with young lovers, but since the murder of a young couple not too long ago, not many ventured to go there anymore.
Tonight, it was deserted.
Mark came to a stop, parked haphazardly, and they all hopped out.
There was a streetlight somewhat nearby, shedding just a touch of an ivory glow on the area. George and Mark leaned against the truck, while Robert picked imaginary burrs off his shoe. Then he stood up and stared at the sliver of light as if it were the most fascinating thing on earth.
Mark lit a cigarette then started talking. No one was listening. George figured Mark’s plan was for them to spend a little time out there to give Robert’s high some time to wear off although he knew Mark would not let him drive any more tonight anyway.
Suddenly Mark’s monologue came to a halt and there was a long moment of silence.
Robert seemed to no longer think his clothes were attacking him and turned to George.
“Hey, what do you want to be when you grow up man?”
George was annoyed by the question, and found Robert’s sincere look punch-worthy. But he reminded himself it was a sensible question and decided to answer.
Mark even turned toward him, his blue eyes fixed in interest, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he removed his cigarette.
“Well,” said George, “although I’m the only
man
here since I got me a wife, a child and a job, I’ll tell you what I used to want to be: a pilot.”
Robert started laughing.
George ignored him.
“Still wouldn’t mind gettin’ me a license, but I got my priorities right.”
Robert eventually stopped laughing seeing that George didn’t join in.
“You serious, man? Well, why don’t you just go to pilot school then?”
“Why don’t you just shut up? I don’t have time for that extra shit—I just said I gotta take care of my family.”
George looked away for a moment, allowing himself to simmer down before turning the question back over to Robert.
“So what about you, Cavelli?” he asked.
“Me?” Robert grinned. “A cop.”
George thought Robert was just about the last person anyone should allow near any kind of force, but said:
“Well, lucky you, you don’t need a degree—or even a high school diploma—for that.” George smiled at him. Then he asked: “So why a cop?”
Robert’s grin made George think of an old toothless ghost.
“I wanna hunt down niggers like...what’s his name? The one that raped that white girl the other day? Yeah, I got somethin’ for guys like that.”
George didn’t know what to say.
“So, you just want to go after coloreds.”
“Shit, I’d git the white ones too; I’d kick anybody’s ass.”
He started laughing, his laugh part hyena, part-donkey.
George felt a change in temperature.
“Seriously though—suppose it was your daughter or summin’ like that? My sister was raped by a whole group o’ fellas a couple years back. Weren’t no negroes though. Messed her up real bad.”
George barely heard the last part of his sentence. His daughter? Raped? He couldn’t imagine it. Strangers just violating somebody like that? Somebody who wasn’t asking for it or playing coy? That just wasn’t right.
It was time to change the subject.
He turned to Mark.
“So what about you, Mark…”
The question caught in George’s throat as they all paused, hearing a rustling not far away. They turned toward the noise and watched the bushes. George thought it might be a good time for them to all to hop in the truck and get out of there, especially considering what had happened at that same spot not long ago. But neither Robert nor Mark looked particularly afraid; instead they looked riveted, curious; waiting for the mystery to solve itself.
The rustling came closer. George hoped it was a raccoon.
“Hey—who’s that?” Mark called out.
He sounded brave, but didn’t look it anymore.
The rustling stopped. They kept their eyes on the area the sound was coming from.
A figure started coming out of the shadows.
Mark quickly got Robert’s flashlight from the car. The figure put his hands up to show he was unarmed although they still couldn’t see him clearly.
Then the figure spoke.
“I…I need a ride outta here, guys—can you help me? Please?”
He sounded rather pitiful, so much so that George momentarily forgot his fear.
“You should come out into the light there, buddy,” Mark said.
The figure emerged.
Mark shined the flashlight on him.
They were surprised to see a young, black man.
He had the look of a cornered animal in his eyes, scared for his life.
George felt uneasy.
“Who’re you running from there, buddy? We ain’ gone be no accomplices.”
Mark’s voice still sounded steady.
George didn’t mind Mark appointing himself the spokesperson at all; in fact, he wasn’t even sure if his voice still worked.
“Please—I didn’t do nothin’.”
The fellow kept his hands up as if he had been confronted by the police, desperate to show he was no threat. George even thought he saw tears glistening in the fellow’s eyes.
George somehow believed him—he looked harmless enough. And scared out of his wits.
George felt his heart calm down, his pulse stop racing.
“I’m just trying to get away from them,” the guy said, pointing behind him, at nobody as far as George could see. “They’re trying to get me, but I didn’t do it!”
Mark studied him for a moment.
“Well, you seem trustworthy enough I guess. You’re unarmed and outnumbered at least, so I don’t see why we couldn’t…”
“Holy shit!”
They all turned to Robert who was staring at the stranger.
“Looks like that nigger who…”—he looked more closely—“That’s him! He raped that white girl!”
The stranger’s eyes widened and he turned as if to run but Robert was behind him in no time. He tackled him to the ground which George found himself marveling at—Robert’s frame was much smaller than this guy’s solid build.
Robert rolled with him on the ground, throwing punches while trying to keep him down.
“Let’s get ‘im!” Robert said. “He’s a rapist! And a murderer! Help me out here—I feel a gun on ‘im!”
Mark and George finally ran up to help. George felt stupid for initially taking the stranger at his word.
George held him down while Mark started to search him. The stranger was trying to say something but Robert held his face in the ground with one hand, the other trying to land some more blows.
“Come on y’all, get you some!”
George thought about Elaine and rolled him over to punch him in the stomach. Mark hesitated for a moment, then brought the flashlight down on his arm while telling him to give up his gun. Robert was landing punches and kicks where he could. He even stood to give his kicks more force, bringing his foot down on the stranger’s face.
“Hold him back! Hold him down!” he said as the young man tried to wiggle away.
Robert had gotten a good number of strikes in but the guy was still going strong.
George wasn’t sure what they were going to do with him and Mark looked like he was trapped in the same confusion. They obviously couldn’t take him with them, and George didn’t feel right leaving him there where he could pull out that gun of his and take them out one by one. Speaking of which—why hadn’t Mark found it yet?
Too late, George noticed that Robert had a large rock in his hand.
He hadn’t noticed when Robert had left for a moment to go and get it but there he was with an unnerving look in his eyes.
George understood then what people were talking about when they said the hairs on the back of their neck rose.
George finally found his voice again.
“Hey, Bobby, you sure…” but his voice quavered. He could go no further. He felt frozen in place unlike Mark who let go of the boy and got out of the way.
“Bobby, stop it—that ain’t called for…!” George found his voice at last but had to move as Robert brought the rock down. Surely, the first blow was enough, but Robert lifted and brought the rock back down again and again.
George looked away. By that time, Mark had gotten around Robert and stopped him from bring it down a fourth time.
George turned to see him throw the rock aside, but couldn’t bring himself to look at the still figure on the ground.
The rock fell to the ground with a thud. George saw Mark’s pained face as he briefly glanced down at the prone figure.
“He,y where’s that gun you were talking about?” he asked Robert, his voice sounding hoarse. He was still awkwardly holding Robert’s arms behind him.
Robert chuckled, and George’s own heart suddenly felt like a falling rock.
“He ain’t had none on him—but how else was I gonna git you guys to help me out?”
George finally forced his eyes to look at the fellow he knew would never move himself again. His lips were swollen, blood streaming down his crushed face, one eye bulging the other swollen shut.
George looked away again, feeling bile start to rise in his throat.
“Hey, we can’t tell no one ‘bout this—y’all understand that, right? Ever,” Robert said. “Served him right and all, but we might git in trouble.”
George and Mark walked slowly toward the truck as if in a funeral procession, while Robert rushed ahead. It was definitely time to call it a night.
They crammed into the truck once again, Mark at the wheel.
“What’re you gonna tell your wife, George?” Mark asked, starting up the truck but leaving it in park. “You’re a mess.”
George hadn’t thought about it.
“I’ll make something up,” he said.
“You better git your story straight,” Robert said. “Why don’t you tell her ‘bout that night in the bar. Tell her you was defendin’ Miriam. That way, you not really lyin’. Just usin’ a different date.”
It was the smartest thing Robert had ever said.
George nodded. “Yeah, that’s it. I’ll do that. I’ll do that.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Man, should we call an ambulance or what?”
Mark shook his head gravely. “Don’t look like he’s gonna need it, buddy.”
George had hoped he was wrong about his own assessment although it couldn’t be clearer the boy was dead.
George tried to rationalize.
He was a criminal. They just meant to punish him a little. Things just went too far…
“But I guess we could still call it in,” Mark said. “First pay phone we get to.”
He breathed deeply and finally put the truck in reverse. “Holy shit…” he said quietly.
No one seemed to be able to say out loud what had just happened.
“Hey, it’s all right man,” Robert piped up. “He just would’ve become a murderer anyway, that’s how it goes. My momma always said ‘a liar’s a thief and a thief’s a murderer.’ Same with that rapist. A criminal is a criminal.”
George wondered what that made the three of them.
“I don’t quite think it’s the same thing,” he said as Mark reversed out of the area and they sped off.
“Eye for an eye,” Robert insisted, making George recall the boy’s eyes—his unseeing, pitiful eyes on his swollen, bloody face.
He shook himself. He had to get a grip or Alice would suspect something. He had to stop himself from blurting out the truth.
He looked over at Robert, then Mark.
Robert looked like he had simmered down, a satisfied look in his eyes as he looked out the window like he had just eaten his fill at a delicious buffet. But Mark’s eyes stared straight ahead, focused. Burning with emotion. His mouth was set in a tight line, as if he was fighting again, but this time, himself. George knew things would never be the same between them again.