Mother's Day (24 page)

Eddie quickened his pace. He didn’t know anything about trains, didn’t know how long it took to stop one of those babies when it was really steaming along. He crunched a potato-chip bag underfoot and released his pant leg from a rusty piece of wire it was caught on as he scrambled along the slope.

The whistle blew again and Eddie stopped and looked back. The light was pretty well visible now. What the hell, he reassured himself. If you miss this one, there will be another. From the way the house was always shuddering, and the number of times a day you had to shout to be heard, there was always another train on the way. He hoisted his duffel up and walked a little farther.

Suddenly, from behind him, he heard the crunch of that potato-chip bag. It was weird. It was as if he had turned into Superman and he had X-ray hearing. That thunderous, clanging metal dragon shimmying down the tracks seemed silent as a whooshing monorail. All Eddie could hear was the crushing chips, the crackling cellophane. There was someone behind him. He didn’t need to turn around. He knew who it would be.

“I’m going out for a little while,” Karen called up the stairs to Jenny.

“Okay,” Jenny called back.

Karen’s heart pounded as she put the snapshot of Linda in an envelope and stuck the envelope in the waistband of her shorts, under a sweatshirt. She walked out to the car and got in.

As she pulled out of the driveway, her ever-present police escort turned on his engine. Karen drove slowly through the peaceful twilight, her hands sweaty on the wheel. Finally she turned in at the entrance to the town beach, drove down near the picnic grounds, and parked her car.

A man and his dog were returning to the parking lot as she got out, the dog frisky and panting after his romp. Karen gave the man a brief, automatic smile as she passed him by. Look normal, she thought. You’re a woman out for a sunset stroll on the beach. There’s nothing odd about someone needing to take a walk, to collect their thoughts.

The soft sand sank under her sneakers as she picked her way down to the water’s edge, and then she began to walk briskly along the wet sand. There were several other people out for just the same purpose, to enjoy the waning day. A little group of teenagers sat smoking cigarettes on a rock wall behind the dunes. An old man and his equally elderly wife walked hand in hand in Karen’s direction. Karen stuck her hands in her pockets and kept her head down. The corners of the envelope in her waistband bit tiny gouges into the bare skin of her stomach.

She could remember being a teenager, coming here to meet Greg, as if it had been last week, not twenty years ago. She could recall poring over the clothes in her closet, wanting to wear just the right combination of soft lace and faded denim to make his heart stop when he saw her. They would each make excuses to their parents, arrangements with their friends, all aimed toward that moment of encounter. Karen felt hot, tingling, even after all these years, remembering how the sight of him was like a blow to the chest, how they were shy when they met, how every brushing touch was torture, and bliss. Everybody said it was lust, and it wouldn’t last. And it was lust, but it was tenderness, too. And giddy laughter. And deep peace, and desperate promises, and more, that she had never even dreamed of.

“Good evening,” said the old man, and his wife nodded as they passed by.

“Evening,” Karen mumbled without looking up.

She had always assumed she would get old with him, walk the beach like those two, hand in hand. It had always seemed the best way to prove to all those doubters, most of whom were long gone by now, that young love could be the real thing. Well, maybe the cynics would have the last laugh on her after all.

She reached the last jetty and turned around. As she looked up the beach, the weather vane atop the gazebo was visible in the distance. The irony of her mission struck her again. Here she was, doing as he asked. Trying to help him. After all that had happened. For a minute she thought about just turning around, getting back in the car, and going home.

No, give him the picture, she thought. Let him take it around to people. He’s bound to get caught. And it will serve him right. She pictured again his gaunt, weary face in the moonlight. And she felt afraid. But how dare he come to her for help? After all the lies, the betrayals. Still, in the seething pit of her stomach, she knew that he would never trust anyone else but her. The unfairness of it all made her weak.

She was walking like a robot, approaching the gazebo, and as she reached it, she saw that there was a woman and child sitting inside. Panic filled her heart. It would not make any sense to go in and sit down when it was already occupied. That in itself would look suspicious. She knew that the watchdog cop was observing her from wherever he had stationed himself. No, she would be forced to walk by, to return to her car.

Just as she was about to pass the gazebo by, she heard the woman say, “Sara, it’s time for your supper.” The woman lifted up the protesting child and walked down the steps on the other side. Karen did not hesitate. She pretended to stumble. She climbed the two steps, entered the gazebo, and sat down on the bench. She pulled her shoelace loose and then retied it. Then she sat back against the bench and looked out at the sea, rippling with gold, the horizon glowing blood orange and purple. You don’t deserve any help from me, she thought. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the edge of the bench, and her eyes filled up with angry tears. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, and then, as she lowered her hand, she reached under her sweatshirt, pulled out the envelope, leaned forward slightly, and quickly slipped it beneath the bench. For a few moments more she sat, staring sightlessly at the sunset. Then she stood up and returned to her car.

Walter Ference stared at his wife,
who sat slumped against the closet door in their bedroom. Her mouth hung open, and her head was tilted back, her eyes halfway shut. The neck of an empty bottle jutted out from beneath the ruffled organza skirt of her dressing table. Sylvia, dressed in a business suit and sensible shoes, was crouched down beside her, slapping Emily’s limp hand.

“It’s about time you got here,” she said indignantly. “I stopped by on my way home from work and this is how I found her.”

“I’m sorry. I came as soon as I got your message,” said Walter. “I am working on a murder investigation, you know.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” said Sylvia. “There’s nothing left to investigate. You’re all just waiting around for somebody to catch your escaped suspect.”

Walter sighed and crouched down beside his wife. He tapped her cheek. “Emily,” he said. “Em, can you hear me?”

Sylvia sat back on her heels. “Walter, this is a disgrace. The time has come to stop pretending and do something about this “

“Help me put her on the bed, Syl,” said Walter, lifting his wife under the shoulders. “Get her feet.”

Sylvia bent over with a grunt and took her sister-in-law’s turned-out ankles in her hands. Together Walter and Sylvia hoisted Emily up onto the bed.

“Walter, I mean it,” Sylvia continued as Walter arranged the pillows behind Emily’s head. “Now enough is enough. This woman needs help.”

“She’s going to be upset that you found her like this,” said Walter.

“Well, you certainly don’t seem surprised to come home and see her passed out on the floor. How often does this happen?”

“Once in a while,” Walter admitted. “You insisted on going to that funeral. I knew it would be too much for her.”

“Don’t blame me for this,” Sylvia cried.

“Look, I’m sorry you had to walk in on this, but she’s never been right since the accident. This is how she copes.”

“You call this coping?” Sylvia exclaimed. “That accident was fifteen years ago. You can’t let her go on and on like this. She needs to be in some kind of treatment for alcoholism.”

“I’ve tried,” said Walter. “She won’t go. She’s too shy.”

“Make her go. What kind of a man are you? You make her go.”

The phone began to ring on the bedside table. Walter picked it up. He listened for a minute and then closed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh, my God,” he said. “When…Okay. Okay. I’m on my way.”

Walter turned back to his sister. “I’ve got to go. My eyewitness just got himself run over by a train.”

“You’re just going to leave her like this?”

Walter looked ruefully at his wife, snoring slightly on the bed. “There’s not much I can do for her right now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Pack a bag for her. We have to take her to a hospital. She belongs in a detox center.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Sylvia,” Walter said evenly.

Sylvia glared at her brother, who avoided looking at her. “What’s the matter with you, Walter? Are you just going to stand by and let her drink herself to death?”

“I have to go. I’ll deal with this later.”

“I doubt that,” Sylvia sniffed. “If you haven’t dealt with it in all these years…Very well, go ahead, abandon her. I’ll take charge of it. If you’re not going to do anything, I will.”

“She’s not going to thank you for it,” he said.

Sylvia shook her head. “I’m used to that,” she said bitterly.

Walter backed out of the room, then hurried out to his car.

• • •

“I don’t know what happened,” the engineer protested tearily, wiping sweat from his grimy forehead. “One minute the track was clear, and the next minute this guy was jumping out in front of the train “

“Did he jump or was he pushed?” Larry Tillman asked. Behind them, the train’s engine sat, its dark shape menacing in the moonlight. Police cars, clustered on the road above the tracks with their lights flashing and radios squawking, looked like little pups yapping at a great bear. The passengers were being escorted off the train, up the embankment, and through the guarded opening in the chain-link fence, to be put onto buses bound for Boston.

The engineer looked at the officer in desperation. “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? I didn’t even see him for more than a second.” The man began to cry.

“All right,” said Larry, “calm down.” He turned to Walter, who was crouched beside Valerie McHugh. A neighbor had gone to stay with the children while another fetched a blanket to throw around Valerie. She was shivering in spite of the warmth of the night.

Walter motioned for Larry to leave them alone. He spoke gently to Eddie’s wife. “Did he say why he was leaving?”

Valerie shook her head and continued to sob. “He promised to take us with him,” she wailed. “He said he had to get away. He didn’t say why.”

“You know he had a court date pending,” said Walter.

“Of course I knew,” Valerie cried. “My mother bailed him out.” She looked up at Walter, her eyes wide, her face streaked with mascara.

“Did he seem depressed or anxious?”

“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

“I mean, did he indicate that he might be thinking of taking his own life for some reason?”

“He didn’t kill himself,” Valerie insisted, holding the blanket tightly around her.

“Okay,” said Walter. “Take it easy.”

Chief Matthews slid sideways down the embankment, shaking his head. “These reporters are driving us nuts,” he said, gesturing to where the photographers and reporters were crowded on the other side of the fence, held back by an officer. He turned to Walter. “Is this the widow? I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” said Valerie, and then started sobbing again. “But what are you going to do about this? Somebody killed my Eddie.”

“Somebody killed our witness,” Walter said in a low voice to the chief.

Dale Matthews kneaded his forehead and sighed. “Jesus. Are we sure it wasn’t suicide? Or he just slipped and fell on the tracks?”

Valerie leaped to her feet and began flailing out at Dale with her fists, landing little pelting punches on the back of his suit jacket. “I told you, no,” she began to wail.

Larry Tillman and another officer grabbed her arms to restrain her.

“Let her go, boys,” said the chief. “This woman is distraught.”

“I’m not dis…anything,” Valerie cried. “I’m pissed off. Why didn’t you people protect him? You put his name in all the papers as a witness, and now look…”

“All right, calm down, Mrs. McHugh. Is there somebody who you can go to, who can take care of you?”

“My mother’s coming,” Valerie sobbed.

As if in response to her daughter’s cry, Ida Pence, wearing a gray-and-purple jogging suit, a cigarette hanging from her lips, came toward them down by the hill, supported under one arm by an officer.

“Valerie, my baby,” she cried.

Valerie flung herself onto her mother’s ample bosom.

“That good-for-nothing Eddie,” Ida said wearily, enveloping her daughter’s shuddering frame in her arms.

Karen made a few stops on her way back from the beach. She went to the Giant Discount Store in the mall and bought some plant fertilizer and a new garden hose. Greg had been talking about replacing the one they had before summer. She felt guilty even spending that little bit of money, but she wasn’t going to let her garden dry up and wither away. Then she went to an all-night convenience store and got a pint of Jenny’s favorite ice cream.

It was dark by the time she headed for home. She was driving along at the speed limit, preoccupied with thoughts of the photograph, when suddenly she noticed the traffic slowing to a crawl. Up ahead, when she craned her neck out the window, she could see a glow of lights and a cluster of TV vans, police cars, and buses. All at once the traffic came to a dead stop. There were people hurrying up and down the crowded street on foot and kids weaving through the cars on bicycles.

“What happened?” she asked an older woman who was walking by pushing a sleeping child in a stroller.

“A guy got hit by a train,” the woman said.

Karen nodded and drew her head back into the car. She wished she could get home. She felt claustrophobic in the car. There was no telling how long she might have to sit here. She glanced over at the seat beside her and thought about the ice cream, melting there in the bag as she sat.

People on foot were streaming by the car, chatting and calling out to one another. Karen sighed and turned on the radio, fiddling with the buttons to try to find something she wanted to listen to.