Knowing (48 page)

Although her mind was somewhat groggy, Kim was sure someone had been ringing the doorbell — then pounding at the door nonstop. She ignored it, until the banging amplified. She assumed it was Bill, excited, unable to keep their promise of not seeing each other before their big day.

Every evening this week, Bill and Kim had entertained each other with their ignorance of the Good Book, then unashamedly communicated their thoughts about it. Kim felt a surge of renewed respect for Bill, adhering to her father’s request that they read particular verses of Ephesians together. Tears of grace stood in their eyes as they prayed. It was a kind of epiphany. Rising from their knees, each agreed to wait until the wedding night to consummate their love.

Kim felt a sudden apprehension as she headed toward the foyer and heard the retreating footsteps, then faint rumblings of the elevator doors closing. She hesitated a moment, tightening the sash of her pale blue lacy-silky peignoir before unlocking the door. A large manila envelope had been left outside. Picking it up, she peered up and down the hallway, seeing no one, then locked the door behind her.

The apartment was still as she moved through the family room, past dozens of beautifully wrapped wedding gifts forming a miniature tower. Nearby, an ivory silk gown cloaked a headless, dull gray mannequin. Matching satin slippers loitered around the hem. And a masterpiece headpiece of silk roses, baby’s breath, and cascading tendrils of ribbons sat on a small table beside a pair of pearl-drop earrings.

Turning on the lights, she felt the sharp outlines of a rectangle inside the packet; it was an unlabeled videocassette. She placed the cassette in the VCR and pressed Play, smiling to herself. Curious what last-minute message Bill was sending, her eyes locked on the clock over the mantel: 1:21 A.M. But it wasn’t the smiling face of her fiancé that greeted her on the screen. The haughty voice of George Cameron stunned her. “Remember me?”

The camera zoomed in closer. His face was dark as the devil’s, his eyes frozen in menace. “Did you think I’d forgotten you? You oughtn’ta tried to fuck me over, honey, and think I’d let it slide.” He lit a cigar and took his time before continuing.

“You know that cute little Sheila Little was immensely helpful. ’Course I told her I was Bill’s former employer and wanted to surprise him tonight. Gave me the date, time, directions, to the hall where your fiancé’s bachelor party is going right now while I’m taping. So sit back and watch the main attraction, which I guarantee Bill and his friends won’t be able to tear their eyes from.” There was a brief moment of static before the scene changed to two nude panting bodies facing each other on an office desk. “Watch it, honey, don’t turn it off yet — you’ll miss the best part. This is our famous frog fucking position, remember? Gotta love it.” He laughed mercilessly. “You just fucking gotta love it!”

She cried, then laughed, tears flowing like wax over her wooden face. Halfway into a fifth of Johnnie Walker she had been willing to accept anything. Hell, I never was Snow White.

The mystic shimmer of moonlight through the naked picture windows cast an ethereal glow over Jewel Lee’s picture over the mantel. The serene beauty of her mother’s soul still shone through her features. Kim could feel it literally filling her. “Thou that believeth that there is one God, thou doest well; the devils also believe and tremble. . . . When he crieth unto me, that I will hear; for I am gracious. . . . If my people which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from thy wicked ways, then I will hear them from heaven, and I will forgive their sin, and I will heal. . . .”

For a moment, she felt a glow of hope in her heart, before the devil stepped in to laugh at her. Filled with guilt and self-loathing, she turned away from her mother’s surrealistic portrait in shame. Her life, her world, her pain, weren’t worth saving, living, suffering. She was fighting against the devil for her soul and losing. Hours passed and minutes drowned throughout the night.

Removing the prescription bottle from the medicine cabinet, she mechanically swallowed a handful of Seconal, washing it down with straight scotch. Turning out the lights in the bedroom, she sat on the edge of the unmade bed nursing her drink. Alone in the darkness, she strained to hear any sounds of life. There were no birds singing, no floorboards creaking, no one else breathing. The alcohol felt like embalming fluid seeping through her veins as she fell into a deep sleep.

Kim wanted to sleep forever. But images of her mother, father, Bill, and their beautiful wedding pressed against closed lids. Cold waves of apprehension plagued her brain. Numbness creeped into her muscles. It reached down deep into her toes, her fingertips, penetrating every pore.

She woke late that morning, aching all over, soaked in sweat. The barbiturates and alcohol hadn’t worked.

Kim felt as if she were half in and half out of a dream, unable to escape. Now, in slow degrees, she felt the courage to break the barrier binding her soul from freedom.

Searching inside the closet for her father’s gun, her body seemed to move in reverse. As her fingers touched the cold steel, she felt the shadow of death descending upon her. Suddenly her world turned black and white in the midst of dust and shadows. One moment in time, one moment before the deafening crack, shattering the calm of the closet.

Felodesefelodesefelodesefelodesefelodesefelodese;
it rang like a melody. . . .

Envisioning her mother’s face, hearing the soothing voice talk to her one last time, she felt as if her heart were bleeding, then placed the gun to her head. Her spilled blood ran like wine, raining, staining precious lace. We dream as we live, as we die, alone.

“For whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord: Whether we live therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.”

Double-zero seconds. Showtime.

“Mama, something is wrong. I feel it. Kim wouldn’t be late. . . .” Ginger’s heart pounded as she met the worried expression on Bill’s face. “Where the hell is Kim? She should’ve been here by now.”

Reach Out, I’ll Be There

Bill pressed his forehead on the white sheets, in near shock. Below him, Kim lay unconscious in the intensive care unit of Henry Ford Hospital. The prognosis was touch and go. But the team of doctors in the emergency room said that Kim was lucky she had used such a small pistol. She might not have made it to the hospital otherwise. However, the angle of the bullet’s entry suggested she might not regain all of her memory, if in fact she recovered at all.

“Mama,” said Ginger, horror still in her voice, “is she gonna make it?” They stood watching Bill fight for Kim’s life through the glass casement. He hadn’t left her side since they’d wheeled her into the emergency room.

Telephones rang endlessly outside the small cubicle. Nurses and doctors swished by hurriedly in their starched whites. Gurneys screeched by noisily, bumping and scraping against automatic doors, leaving black scuff marks along the aisle. The whooshing and beeping sounds from the respirator willing Kim back to life made Ginger dizzy.

“The mystery of death is God, just like the mystery of birth is God. Trust in him, Ginger, and pray for Kim. She’s gonna make it,” said Katherine, her voice strong and filled with conviction. But even as she prayed for her niece, she knew in her heart that the Bible was clear on the taking of life. What had prompted Kim to do such a thing?

Katherine had elected Ginger to clean up Kim’s apartment. Bill was grateful. He’d been swamped with messages from the clinic, even though he’d placed Sheila Little in charge of the small hospital, much to the chagrin of the other male psychiatrists. She was more than capable, and their short-lived romance had done nothing if not assure him that she was trustworthy. Meanwhile, he kept a day-and-night vigil with Kim, going home only to bathe and change his clothing.

Nearly a week after the incident, Ginger hired a cleaning company to come in and clean the carpeting. Even after they’d finished, however, shadows of bloodstains were still evident. The answering machine was full of messages — at least five from Randall. Ginger did her best to call and calm the well-wishers who knew Kim was in the hospital, though the family wasn’t disclosing the nature of her illness. They explained that Kim had fainted from exhaustion and was recuperating in the hospital. It was a believable story. Most of her friends knew about her going to law school and running her newly formed financial corporation from her home, while preparing an elaborate wedding. They understood and pledged their services if needed.

Ginger managed to contact one of Kim’s friends, Mabel, who still worked at Pierce-Walker, and hired her part time to keep Kim’s business from folding. Next, she contacted Wayne State University and talked to Kim’s professor, who said Kim might have to take an Incomplete if she missed too much time. He was very upset that his A student wouldn’t be back for a while, having nothing but the highest praise for his young protégée.

Katherine stayed at Ginger’s for a week, watching the children and doing the chores that Ginger was unable to do while getting Kim’s affairs in order. Secretly, Katherine counted her blessings for the excuse. Detroit Edison had disconnected her electricity back at home. Being a proud woman, Katherine couldn’t tell her daughter that she only had three dollars to her name until she received her Social Security check in two weeks.

Something struck Ginger about her mother. She seemed older. Different. And it wasn’t just because of Kim’s comatose state. It was personal. Slamming the cabinet doors, Ginger was seething as she moved around the kitchen. Tired. Hurt. She’d been through hell the past couple of weeks.

“Telephone, Ma,” said Christian, who held his breath, catching the authoritative voice on the other end.

“Yes,” said Ginger with a what-is-it-this-time? tone in her voice. Leaning over the snack bar in the kitchen, she rested her elbows on the lavender Formica.

“Mrs. Carter, I’m Detective —”

“Mrs. Montgomery, thank you.”

“Sorry. My name is Detective Ritz from the Thirteenth Precinct.”

“Has Jason gotten in trouble again?”

“Ma’am? I’m not sure who Jason is, but I assure you —”

“Then why are you calling me?” Ginger said, venom in her words.

“Your daughter, Sierra Carter —”

Ginger’s body sprang erect like a Slinky. “Sierra. Yes, that’s my daughter.” Her words jumbled. “Yes. I’m her mother. I don’t understand.”

“Slow down a moment, Mrs. Montgomery. I’ll just take a few minutes of your time. I need you to bring your daughter down to the Thirteenth Precinct to discuss a complaint filed against her and three other young girls.”

“What!”

“The complaint was filed by Mr. and Mrs. Noble. The parents of Candice Noble.”

“I still don’t understand, Detective Reese.”

“Ritz. Detective Ritz. If you could bring Sierra down at around three-thirty Friday afternoon, I’m sure we can clear all this up.” He hesitated, then said, “We’re taking depositions from the four other girls as to the amount of damage done to the Nobles’ home.” He gave Ginger a quick assessment of the damage.

Ginger mumbled something to the detective. The word
damage
stuck out in her mind. She felt damaged, but how would the detective know that?

Sierra, her petite little baby. There must be some kind of mistake. Sierra wouldn’t dare do any of those things the detective described.

The Nobles had filed a complaint against five girls who entered their home without permission, allegedly cutting up and destroying two outfits of Candice’s, a pair of orange leather jeans, and a rainbow-colored sequined slack outfit. The kitchen and downstairs bathroom carpeting were flooded by stopping up both sinks. Eggs were broken all over the kitchen carpeting and Ajax was strewn everywhere.

Sierra and the girls faced four counts: two counts of breaking and entering, one count of malicious destruction of a building, and one count of petty larceny.

Ginger thought she was losing her mind. Her twelve-year-old daughter might be placed on probation for a first offense. When Ginger called Katherine to explain what had happened, Katherine was speechless. Ginger hadn’t expected her mother to be so upset. She cried so on the phone that Ginger began crying herself. Afterwards, Ginger ran downstairs, her breathing still ragged, and tossed a frozen roast in the sink to thaw for dinner.

“Hey, baby,” said Jackson, pinching her buttocks and planting a wet kiss on her lips.

Ginger stiffened. Jackson hadn’t been this pleasant to her since the wedding. She was certain that he wanted something.

“Just in time,” Jackson finished. Yanking the last can of V8 juice from its plastic harness, he shuffled through the cabinets, making himself a tuna sandwich with onions.

Anger shot from the tips of Ginger’s toes to the crown of her head. She slammed the cabinet doors shut. “It looks like a hurricane’s been through here.” Her teeth razored against each other as she attempted to control it. “Can’t you ever close the damn doors around here?”

He rolled his shoulders back as though he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. “Baby, I’ve got half the garden picked. Think you could wash and freeze those first, before I bring in the rest of the collards?” Peeking into the refrigerator again, he picked up a bunch of grapes from the colander, dropping them one by one into his mouth.