You Only Get So Much (21 page)

Chapter 43

Minutes later I find
myself in a dark basement, knee-deep in frigid, stagnant water, with a
flashlight in my mouth as I feel around with my hands for my own safety. What
the hell am I doing?

"The main water
shutoff is in there," Aunt Ella shouts from the stairs, pointing toward a
room at the far end of the basement. Her voice is Deep South, not Midwest or
that unmistakable Minnesota accent. It's smooth and casual. "Can you see
it, then?"

Ella's standing just
above the water line and illuminated only by Libby's cell phone light, which
she is holding above her head.   

Endless debris, floating
in the inky blackness, brushes across my legs as I wade deeper into the
basement. The wet carpet clings like seaweed to my shoes. I have no desire to
see what is floating in the water—or under it. I thought I saw a rat, but
it turned out to be a ball of yarn with a tail of string. I block out the floating
trash and focus on my destination.

Once I make it to the
utility room I see the problem. A pipe on the ceiling burst and is spewing
water against the walls and floor, flooding every square inch of space with a
few feet of water. The room's ground-level rectangular window is broken.
Protruding from the opening is a piece of chopped firewood. I can see a pile of
wood stacked outside in the snow near the window.

"That damn plow
driver did it!" Aunt Ella bellows into the basement. "I told him not
to back into that cord of wood, but did he listen to me? No. He did whatever he
damn well pleased!"

I find a blue valve on a
silver pipe, which I presume is the main water shutoff. I give it a twist. It
doesn't budge. I continue to grip it, but my hands are numb and it seems to be
glued or frozen shut. Water spewing from the pipe above drenches me and I have
to take deep breaths with my mouth open because of the shock of the water
temperature.

"Do you have a
wrench?!" I yell toward the stairs, hoping I can gain some leverage on the
valve.

"It's in the
toolbox on floor by the water heater," the woman shouts down to me.

I find the water heater,
but the toolbox is fully submerged in the water with no way for me to locate
it, let alone find the right tool. I scan the room, looking for anything I can
use to help turn the valve. The water sprays my face as reach up to a curtain
rod holding several blouses and dresses. I grab one of the wire hangers and
twist it so it will fit inside the teeth of the valve knob. I wind the hanger inside
holes in the valve.

After several attempts I
get the knob to budge free. I twist it down as far as I can. Eventually the
water stops showering me and I know the main line is off. I return to the
bottom of the stairs with a smile, expecting a hero's welcome for my success.

 "OK, now you
gotta pull the drain cover so all this'll drain out," she says. "It's
in the center of that same room."  

 I can't tell if
Libby smirks at the comment, but my gut tells me she did. I reluctantly turn
back wondering why she didn't tell me to pull the drain before I stood freezing
it the water.

I return to the utility
room and feel around with my feet until I hit a dip in the floor with a circle
in the center. I reach down and lift a thin rubber saucer off the drain. The weight
of the water was holding it in place. After a gurgle of air bubbles burst
upward, I know the drain is working. My body is so frozen I don't stick around
to watch the water recede.  

Aunt Ella stares at me
when I make it to the bottom of the stairs. And then she says something I
didn't expect to hear.

"Thank you,
Bill," she says, as if she's said it a thousand times.

So, she knows who I am.
And it unnerves me.

*
* *

We trudge up the stairs,
Libby the only one among the three of us who remains dry. Libby and Aunt Ella
seem to fall into a familiar pattern, with me on the outside shivering.

Libby retrieves my bag
from the SUV and by the time I change my clothes, she's got a fire going in the
living room. I find her and Aunt Ella sitting on an ottoman in front of the
small fire. Ella is wrapped in a large blanket that makes her slight frame seem
even smaller.

"The lights went
out a few hours ago," Aunt Ella says. "I called it in, but I haven't
seen anyone from the power company yet. That window had to have been broken two
nights ago. I haven't been down there much you see, because of my back, you
know.
 
That's when the snow plow
driver came. He hit the damn window and that pipe broke because of it. He's
going to hear an earful from this lady, that's a sure thing."

So we sit in the
flickering glow of the fire. The entire house dark except the orange flames
licking at the wood inside the fireplace.
 

"Do you know
me?" I ask, after the room had gone silent for an uncomfortably long time.

Aunt Ella nods her head
yes.

While Libby is obscured
by shadows, I can see a look of surprise on her face, but the old woman's reply
doesn't surprise me. It's obvious now that I've seen her. I can't believe it,
but I know who Aunt Ella is. Or should I say I don't want to believe it,
because if what I think is actually true—and I know it is—then Jane
is more of a monster than I could have ever imagined. And the lie Libby was led
to believe can only be described as twisted.

I shake my head as the
realization sinks in.

"And do you know
why we're here?" I ask.

She again nods yes.
"But I don't want to talk about it," she says.

"What
are
we
talking about?" Libby asks. "How could you know him? I've only known
him for like two weeks."

"This isn't the
time," Aunt Ella says.

"We've traveled a
long way to be here and we're going to have this out," I say, as calmly as
my voice can be.
 

The woman raises her
finger to protest just as the power to the house comes back on. A large console
TV blinks to life in the corner, displaying a very loud episode of Dr. Quinn
Medicine Woman.

"Oh," she
says. "That's a sign. No more of this. No more."

She stands and flips off
the television.

"I won't be
entertaining you tonight," she says. Lib, your room is as you left it. You
can stay there."

Then she points to me.

"Bill, you can have
the couch."

She doesn't say another
word, but walks about the house turning off all the lights, until we're again
sitting in the dark.
 

"I don't understand
what's happening," Libby says.

I take Aunt Ella's
vacated seat next to Libby on the ottoman and put my arm around her. A door
slams upstairs.

I begin to tell Libby
everything I can remember about her mom that seems relevant to our current
situation. The flood gates open and information pours out. I tell her what she
was like to live with and how until today I didn't realize what was really
happening with her. I tell her that I'm embarrassed and ashamed for not
noticing these traits earlier. I tell her why her mother saved those
newspapers. I apologize for bringing her back here and having to face this
again. We talk about the pills and we talk about Aunt Ella.

At first she takes the
news without a word, but after a moment her face blushes with anger.

"I can't believe
it," she says through streaks of tears, but she realizes it's true.
"They both lied to me. Why?"

Aunt Ella is Libby's
grandmother. When Jane ran away from life with me, she ran back to her mother.

Chapter 44

I missed it. I missed
who Jane was, because I was only seeing the person I wanted to see. I ignored
the absences because they didn't seem like anything important, but that's only
because I was absent myself. I didn't press her about her past or her family
because I honestly didn't care. She said her parents were long gone and didn't
talk about them at all, so I never asked. Had I been the partner to her that I
should have been, I wouldn't have missed the signs. I could have helped. I
again, failed her. My fault.

She wasn't good at
keeping friends, she told me when I asked why she didn't want bridesmaids at
our wedding. What about her friends back home in Colorado where she'd
supposedly grown up? I had asked her this not knowing that it too was a lie.

"
There's nobody
worth asking
," she had told me.

The signs were there.
Had she gone missing before? Who was she before I had found her in that
dentist's office so many years ago? Did I just miss the signs?

Thinking back on it now,
there was one weekend that should have clued me in that something was off about
Jane. Something that didn't fit the character of the woman I was in love with.
But I wrote it off as a bump in the road, not a sign of things to come.

 
It was Memorial Day weekend back when we
were still dating. When everything was simple and we were in love like none
other. We were on our way out of town to enjoy the three-day weekend at Lake
Roosevelt in eastern Central Washington. My friend Joey invited us to stay at
the property his family owned. A few other couples were going to be there and I
was excited to introduce her to some of my college buddies and to get her alone
so I could finally propose to her. I was ready to get married. I'd bought the
ring a few weeks earlier and it was burning a hole in my pocket. I had planned
to get her out alone, away from the cabin and pop the question. I planned to
say we were going to take a hike or something cheesy like that. I had it all
planned out.

I was excited and ready,
but we were actually in a bit of a funk in our relationship. I was pushing
toward marriage and commitment, while she seemed perfectly content as we were.
I was busy trying to stay employed selling insurance and she was going through
the routine of the dental office. Not much excitement happening for either of
us. I thought it was just cold feet. Normal, but then I brought home a dog and
Jane seemed to change.

It was like the dog was
the final straw and she lost it. It was too much commitment for her.

The week before Memorial
Day I had brought home a little Golden-Retriever-mix puppy. Some guy was
selling the litter of pups on the side of the road. I don't know why I stopped.
I never did stuff like that, but I thought a dog would be fun and why not? We
could raise the little guy together and practice being parents before we got
the real thing. So I bought the cutest one in the bunch, a female who I
instantly fell in love with.

When Jane came home that
night, she parked her car under our carport beside the house and came in the
back door. I hid behind the kitchen counter, holding the dog, and waited until
Jane came in before scooting the dog out into her view. I found out right then
that Jane didn't appreciate surprises.

"
OH, MY GOD
,"
she screamed. "
BILL! Get in here!
"

I popped up behind the
counter.

"
What?
" I
asked. "
It's
a puppy
."

"
And what is it
doing here?
"

"
I bought her for
us
," I said, confused at her reaction toward the dog.

"
I don't even know
what to say
," she said. "
I don't want a dog
."

I picked up the puppy
who had begun to lick Jane's shoes.

"
But how can you
say no to this little face?
" I said in my best baby-talk voice.

"
No. Just like
that
," she said, walking out of the kitchen.

"
Well, I can't
take her back. She's ours
."

"
She's yours
,"
Jane said over her shoulder.

I just thought she
didn't want a dog. I mean, that's what she said, so why would I think it was
something else?

For a week, Jane ignored
the dog who I had decided to name Willie. No playful puppy time. No walks. No
little wet kisses on the cheeks. Nothing. I thought eventually Willie would
wear her down and she'd come around. It never happened, despite my best
efforts. She was the sweetest dog too. She loved everybody, even Jane who
wanted nothing to do with her.

So, when Memorial Day
weekend came, I was not looking forward to taking Willie with us, but I
couldn't very well leave her at home alone or in some random kennel. I put her
in a travel crate, filled the bottom with newspapers just in case and strapped
it down in the back seat for the drive. On our way out of town we stopped at a
bakery to pick up scones and muffins for the trip. I didn't want to arrive
empty handed and who doesn't love fresh pastries for breakfast?
 

The Rockwood Bakery is
in a residential neighborhood by Manito Park with no parking lot, so I had to
park two blocks down and hike back to the bakery, leaving Jane and Willie in
the car.

That was the last time I
saw Willie.

When I returned to where
the car had been parked, it was gone. I circled the block, but it wasn't
anywhere nearby. I walked the surrounding blocks, thinking there had to have
been a good reason for Jane to move the car. There wasn't. I tried her phone.
No answer. I started to get worried. On my third trip around the block Jane
pulled the car up next to me.

"
She got away from
me
," she said.

"
What do your
mean?
" I asked, confused.

"
She was whining
and whimpering so I thought she needed to go pee or something, so I let her out
and she just ran off
."

"
You don't have
her?
" I asked.

"
No
,"
Jane said, with no expression of concern visible on her face.

"
OK, where did she
run off? Let's find her
," I said as I got in the car to resume the
search.

"
I already looked,
I can't find her,
" she said.

"
But where? Where
did you let her out? Where did you look?
" I asked.

"
In the park
,"
she said. And we continued to sit there as she stared at me, not making any
effort to move the car.

"
Can you drive us
back over there so we can look again?
" I said. I was getting agitated
by then.

"
Oh, yeah, sure
,"
she said.

We parked by the Manito
pond and began searching on foot.

"
This is where you
let her out?
" I asked as we crossed the park.

"
Well, by that
hill over there
," she said.

"
Then why did you
park down here?
" I asked, my voice rising with frustration. "
That's 200 yards
away. She could be long gone by now
."

"
I thought she'd
come down by the pond to drink or something
," Jane had offered,
sounding defeated.

I jogged through the
park looking for Willie and asking passersby if they had seen the little Golden
Retriever puppy anywhere. Nobody had seen her, until I asked a guy flying a
remote-control helicopter.

"
I saw a lady and
a little dog by the pond, a while back
," he said, not looking down at
me, but focusing his attention on his helicopter flying.

"
When?
"

"
It was a while
ago. I don't know
."

"
Are you sure it
was my dog?
"

"
Dude, how would I
know? You gotta keep those things on a leash, you know? They bite people and
stuff
."

"
It's a little
Golden Retriever puppy
," I said, "
She's not biting anyone
."

"
Whatever
."

I had immediately
discounted the man's comments, as he wasn't really paying attention anyway. He
never looked at me once. How could he have really noticed Jane and Willie
anyway, with his eyes cast toward the sky watching his helicopter?

Yet for the briefest of
moments I wondered if he had seen Jane and Willie by the water. Why would Jane
tell me that she let her out by the hill if she let her out by the pond? Why
were they at the edge of the pond anyway?

We scoured the park. No
signs of her. Hours passed and I started going over the same path again and again.
I remember I kept checking my phone to see if anyone had found her and called
the phone number I had engraved on her dog tag, but my phone didn't ring.

"
It's no use
,"
Jane said. "
She's
gone. I'm sorry. I know you loved that dog
."

I sat back down in the
car, exhausted. When I looked back toward the crate, I remember seeing Willie's
leash and collar sitting on the seat. I had forgotten that I'd removed the
collar while she was riding in the crate. I didn't want her to accidentally get
it stuck on something and choke. Yet Jane hadn't put it back on her when she
let her out?

And then she said
something completely out of left field—at least I thought it was at the
time.

"
I guess our big
weekend is cancelled now, huh?
" she had said, but she didn't look upset
at all. She actually looked relieved.

* * *

In the grand scheme of
things this dramatic day was only a blip on the radar. I was mad at Jane for
being careless. She felt guilty and tried to make it up to me by offering to
get us a new dog to replace Willie, who we never did find. I did not think she
did it intentionally. But I do now. How exactly had it occurred? I have no
idea, but the real possibility that she drowned Willie in the pond sickens me.

She knew that the dog
meant a long-term, lasting relationship—I even told her that Willie was
practice for us having children. She also knew that I was going to propose to
her that weekend. I'd hinted around the subject enough that I know she was
expecting it anytime. I'd been looking for an opportunity. Losing Willie meant
cancelling the trip to the lake and my proposal. No long-term dog to worry
about. No more proposal around the corner and no commitment to me.

Does this make sense? Not
at all. But I'm not concerned about what makes sense anymore, because it's all
a sticky mess of lies. I just want answers and there is only one person who can
give them to me. Aunt, no . . . Grandma Ella.