by Sara Blaedel
“Paul, I mean, before he was cremated. It was hard to accept he was gone, that he wouldn’t come home, toss the paper on the table by the door. Disappear out into the yard and start the sprinklers. Paul trimmed our bushes, I used to sit up on the porch and watch him.”
She paused for a moment. “But I didn’t love him. I never did. And that’s why I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to force that indignity on him.”
Ilka tried to concentrate on the road, but it was hard not to stare at Mary Ann.
“Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Not really,” Ilka admitted, gripping the wheel tighter now.
“After he died, he couldn’t tell me not to come by and look him over. Not that I think he had anything against me doing so. But that’s such an intimate situation; it’s only for those who loved the deceased. It’s about love.”
Ilka had never thought of it that way. She’d loved Flemming, and when he died she’d sat for hours trying to memorize every last detail in his face. All his features, the small blemishes on his skin. All the beauty and unsightliness. She wanted to make sure she would always remember the man she’d loved. She wanted to store him away, so she’d be able to recall how he looked. How the small cleft in his chin created two pointed tips. She wanted it all. But Mary Ann was right: It had felt like a very private act, sitting there studying his face, because he couldn’t protest. Or decide how much of himself to give her. Flemming had resembled himself, but the intimacy involved in staring into a face that can no longer look back, that she understood.
“Our relationship was more about respect,” Mary Ann said. “Like I said, I never loved your father, not the way people desire each other. But I cared about him, a lot, and we respected each other. And maybe, when it comes right down to it, that’s more important than desire. After all, desire fades over the years.”
She seemed sad, so Ilka didn’t interrupt her.
“I was very grateful for how he handled our lives. And the lives of our children. I still don’t feel ready to bury his urn, that’s why I kept it at home. I’d planned on burying it in the yard; he loved sitting on the bench in the evening sun there. But then everything happened with the house and Davidson.”
Her father’s wife was getting emotional, and Ilka thought she might even apologize for treating Ilka so badly, rejecting her. But Mary Ann had other things on her mind.
“When this is all over, I’m moving away. All my life I’ve dreamed of leaving and not looking back.”
Ilka felt the woman’s eyes on her. They reached the driveway to Hollow Ranch, where two guards stood. She wasn’t sure they were the same ones as last time, but now they waved her through without stopping her. She was expected.
“I hope you don’t misunderstand me,” Mary Ann said, as they drove through the woods on the way to the house. “I wasn’t dreaming about leaving your father. It was the life I allowed myself to be trapped in, without putting up a fight. It’s mostly myself I want to run away from.”
Ilka parked in front of the impressive white house. Mary Ann laid a hand on her arm and held it for a moment.
“I’m sorry it turned out this way. I really am. None of us deserved what happened. Including you.”
So. An apology of sorts after all. Ilka looked her in the eye and saw no tears or regret, no sign that it meant much to her that their fates were tied together, a set of circumstances they happened to share.
Ilka got out, and right before she opened the rear door Scott Davidson appeared on the steps. She said hello and noticed him stepping back when he saw who was sitting in the passenger seat. Ilka asked him to give her a hand. He looked blank for a moment before reluctantly coming down to help.
Mary Ann was watching him. “I insisted on coming along. It’s time we talked.”
Ilka stood by the open car door while Mary Ann took a deep breath and let Davidson lift her out of the car.
“You can pull the wheelchair up the steps backward—”
“I’ll carry you up, Ilka can bring the wheelchair along.” Without waiting for her permission, he carried her up the broad stone steps.
He’d taken his guests upstairs on Ilka’s first visit, but now he led them into a spacious living room with windows facing a lawn the size of a park, stretching all the way to the woods. Ilka thought about Artie and checked the time. They wouldn’t get to the hospital as early as she’d hoped. She made sure her phone wasn’t on silent mode, in case anyone tried to get ahold of her.
For a moment she admired the view, the deep-blue sky, the treetops slowly changing into their fall colors. When she turned to join the others, she sensed the tug-of-war inside Davidson. He didn’t speak, and his movements seemed stiff as he moved furniture to make room for Mary Ann’s wheelchair beside the sofa. But he’d let them in. So far so good, Ilka thought. A maid offered them coffee, tea, or water.
“Or whiskey,” Davidson added. He looked like he could use a drink. Ilka sat on the sofa and said she would like coffee; her sleepless night was dragging her down.
“Nothing for me.” Mary Ann nodded at him. “I’ve come because I owe you an explanation of what happened the day your parents lost their lives.”
Ilka lowered her eyes. Maybe she should leave them alone? Yet she felt she had a right to hear what Mary Ann was about to say.
The maid carried in a tray, and they sat silently as the cups were set out and coffee was poured.
“I was in love with another man when the accident happened,” Mary Ann said.
Ilka noticed how Davidson’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at her candidness.
“Very much in love. I’d only been in love once before like that, when I was young and met your father. And got pregnant. I thought we were going to get married, but my father wouldn’t hear of it. I let him and his threats scare me. I was afraid I wasn’t strong enough to care for a baby alone. I was still living at home with my parents, I’d never been out in the world, and I didn’t dare take on that big a responsibility.”
Davidson was sitting now. He ignored his coffee and seemed to have forgotten about the whiskey.
“My mother stayed home after I was born, but it would be a lie to say she took care of her children. Physically she was there in the house, but the help raised us. My younger sister is made of sturdier stuff than me—she left the family the second she finished college. Packed a suitcase and headed for Europe. And she met a man and married him. She came home for Mother’s funeral, but other than that I haven’t seen her much, though we phone each other a lot. She’s my closest friend, I can tell her anything. But she’s cut off all contact with my father. The only time we see each other is when I visit her. She lives outside Lisbon.”
She gazed over at the window a moment before turning back to Davidson. “I knew my father would have made me have an abortion if I didn’t obey him. And he would have had the baby taken from me if I’d stuck with your father too. So I broke up with your father without telling him I was pregnant. I was focused on the life inside me. And if I couldn’t have the man I loved, it didn’t matter who I married. When I was introduced to Paul Jensen, I simply said yes. I didn’t consider what the consequences would be for him. Or for us.”
She moistened her lips but kept her eye on him. “Once in a while I ran into your father. We were always polite to each other, but we never talked about what happened. I’d hurt him badly. A mutual friend told me he rowed out on the lake the day I married Paul, and he didn’t come back until the next day. Then Leslie was born, and she became Paul’s daughter.”
“What about your mother, though?” Ilka said. “Didn’t she support you?”
Mary Ann’s shoulders hopped when she snorted. “There’s no way I could have confided in my mother. She wouldn’t have known what to do if I had.”
“Did you know my father’s story when you agreed to marry him?”
“I knew he was from Denmark, and he’d been married and had a child. I didn’t hear the rest until several years later
, though. He asked me once if it was okay to invite you over for a visit, but I said no. I’d made my sacrifice, and the deal was that he would too. Even though I had my little daughter, I felt like everything had been taken from me. I lost the right to decide over my life. Maybe I’m like my own mother, I can see that now, but back then it was simply the easiest solution, for everyone. We accepted it. The difference between me and my mother was that I loved Leslie. I still do. My mother never loved us.”
She glanced down at her hands. “My father was different. He cared about us a lot, he spoiled us, but we absolutely had to obey him. He turned his back on my sister when she called from Portugal and said she was getting married. I sent her money every month the first few years, but she got nothing from our parents. I knew he meant it when he threatened to disown me.”
Her eyes darted over to the window. Ilka had the feeling Mary Ann had never told her story to anyone, ever. It seemed almost as if Mary Ann herself were hearing it for the first time. Ilka noticed her face when she paused, how she let the words sink in.
“My father means everything he says, seriously.” She laughed wryly. “So I stayed. I toed the line because of my daughter. When Amber was born, our relationship changed. She wasn’t born from love like Leslie, but my father adored her. She was an accomplishment to him. At least that’s how I think he saw it. He’d forced me to be with Paul, and Amber was his proof that it was working. And really, it was.”
She glanced at Ilka. “It worked for us as a family, because Amber bound us together. The strange thing was that I gradually forgave my father. I accepted not getting the man I’d loved.”
She asked for a glass of water and drank it in small sips, then wet her lips. “Paul took care of the funeral home business, I took care of the girls. Our life worked fine, until that afternoon at the wedding reception. Where I met Michael.”
Ilka heard her breathing as she took another short break. Then she turned back to Davidson and spoke as if Ilka wasn’t there, as if it wasn’t Ilka’s father Mary Ann had deceived.
“I can’t explain how it happened. I felt the same way I did when I fell in love with your father. It was overwhelming, so pure and impossible to ignore. I don’t remember what we talked about, but afterward I had to go outside for air. I was blushing, I was afraid everyone could see what had happened. I knew it would change my life if I didn’t stop right there, but I went back inside. We sang and danced, and I’m not trying to make excuses for myself, but it was a joy to be alive. I didn’t even know I could feel that way again. So when Michael called that evening and asked if we could meet, I said yes. We went down to the lake, and…”
Suddenly she seemed embarrassed. “Really, I didn’t mean to tell you all of this. But it’s all connected, it’s part of the story of what happened that afternoon.”
Davidson nodded. At some point he’d stood up and poured himself a whiskey without Ilka noticing, and now he took a long swig and laid the glass down.
“I decided at that very moment I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. I’d never forgive myself if I let love slip between my fingers again. So, Michael and I saw each other in secret, until we decided to get divorced and start a new life together. I’d put as much money aside as I could. My father was still very generous when it came to the family he put together. And I talked to a lawyer to make sure I would get money for the house, even though my father had paid for it. I had to think about the girls’ future, otherwise I’d never be able to afford to send them to college. And yes, I felt bad about doing this to Paul, even though we’d agreed to have an open marriage. I knew he’d never leave me, though I didn’t really understand what kept him.”
Ilka knew. It was the photos Fletcher showed him of his first family. The one he’d abandoned.
“I wasn’t myself back then. I barely slept at night; I was constantly worried someone would find out before we were ready, before we could say we wanted a divorce. I went to the doctor for help. Something for my nerves, nothing serious, just to make things bearable. It worked, I could think clearly again. And then they called from the racetrack.”
Mary Ann looked away, clearly uncomfortable now. “Paul had lost all control. For the first time in a long time, though maybe I just didn’t hear about other times. Frank sounded desperate on the phone, he said Paul was betting away our house. My house, what I needed to start a new life. And he was about to gamble it all away. I knew what his gambling fever was like. I’d seen it before.”
She thought for a moment. “I was scared. I knew it could be serious for him if someone didn’t stop him. Serious for both of us.”
She leaned forward, held her face in her hands, and began to sob. Ilka forced herself to look over at Davidson. He sat frozen, watching the frail woman cry her heart out. Ilka walked over and laid her hand on her shoulder, kept it there until the crying stopped. She handed Mary Ann one of the cloth napkins the maid had brought in.
Mary Ann’s head was shaking a bit as she turned to Davidson. “I would never ask for your forgiveness, I don’t deserve it, but I want you to know how horrible I feel about the decision I made that afternoon.”
She took a deep breath and explained that she hadn’t seen the car coming. “I was crying while I was driving. I wasn’t paying enough attention, and there was a warning on the pillbox about drowsiness, that you shouldn’t drive a car. But I thought if I just drove slowly and followed all the rules, it would be okay. The pills were small, not very strong, and I hadn’t been drinking. I don’t think I saw the car until I heard it. Or maybe I didn’t really hear the crash, maybe it’s something I’ve imagined, playing it through my head all these years. I hear screams at night, and I wake up. I feel the pain in my legs, and fear, almost like I’m being strangled. I wasn’t conscious when the ambulance arrived. I didn’t hear about what happened until I woke up at the hospital.”
She sniffled but didn’t look away. “Everyone felt so sorry for me, even though two people in the other car were killed in the head-on collision. They said I was lucky to survive. At that point I still didn’t know it was your parents who were killed.”
Mary Ann laced her fingers. Ilka wondered if the woman might still be a bit confused, from back when she discovered the story about the accident had been changed.
“Everything was so chaotic the first few weeks. Seeing my girls was all that kept me going. Luckily Paul brought them to the hospital every single day. At first I couldn’t remember anything about Michael and the plans we’d made. I’d simply forgotten him, and I couldn’t remember what had made me so sad the day of the accident, either. When I learned I’d killed somebody, and found out who it was, I fell apart.
“I asked to see a doctor, and finally I realized everyone thought Paul had been driving the car. I said it wasn’t true, that I was the one to blame. But then my father showed up and said I was still confused, in shock from being paralyzed. He told them again that Paul had been driving, and I was in the passenger seat. And I kept saying he was wrong, that Paul wasn’t even in the car. By then I’d remembered why I’d driven out there. My father sat down on my bed, said he knew about my plans to leave Paul, and he also knew about my prescription for tranquilizers. Someone had told him.”
“Maggie,” Ilka murmured.
Mary Ann looked surprised, but she nodded. Her face was swollen and a bit distorted from crying. “Michael’s wife worked in a doctor’s office, she had access to my records. I could’ve been put away for five years, maybe even ten or more, if the police found out I’d been driving. It would have been first-degree manslaughter, because I was taking tranquilizers. But with Paul behind the wheel, it was only an accident. She’d followed me because she thought I was going to meet up with her husband. She knew about us by then, also our plans to get divorces. She’s the one who called for the ambulances, and then called Paul and my father. But she left before anyone arrived.”
She still couldn’t meet Davidson’s eyes, and now she began crying again. “I did it for my girls. I lied
so I could be with them.” She pointed down to her legs. “Back then I told myself I’d been punished enough. But later on, I regretted it. Many times. I should have taken responsibility for what I did, should have taken the punishment. Losing control of the car was one thing, but killing the father of my daughter, the first love of my life, I’ll never forgive myself for that. And of course for killing your mother too,” she added quickly. “And orphaning a ten-year-old boy.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I can never make up for what I’ve done. But I want you to know, I’ll stand by you now, for whatever that’s worth.”
She waved her hands around, as if she wanted to stop him. “I understand if you don’t want my help, completely understand, that’s up to you. Yesterday I told Leslie what I just told you. I doubt she’ll ever forgive me, and of course I’ll respect that. The same goes for you, I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again. But I’m prepared to lay all my cards on the table.”
She looked off into the distance. “I wish I’d been stronger and braver. And I wish I could do it all over again. But I can’t.”
For the first time that afternoon, Davidson spoke up. “And if you could, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
At first Mary Ann looked confused, then she shook her head. “No, you probably wouldn’t. I would’ve married your father, and we would’ve had more children. But then it wouldn’t be you, would it, without your mother.”
As they sat staring at each other, Ilka stood up and walked out. The mood was simply too intense.
Ilka helped Mary Ann over the step and inside the police station. She’d asked Ilka to drive her into town after leaving Davidson’s place. Ilka thought about Sister Eileen, and she almost said she didn’t have time; she also wanted to check on Artie. But she’d ended up taking her.
They approached the desk, and Mary Ann asked to speak to an officer. They were told to wait, but they’d barely reached the chairs and marked-up table covered with old newspapers when a woman in uniform called them over. Mary Ann had buttoned up her sweater and freshened her lipstick, and the female officer looked curiously at her; an elegant older lady in a wheelchair probably wasn’t a common sight at the Racine police station. Ilka spotted Jack Doonan in the enormous open work space. He hadn’t seen her, and she turned at once and followed along into a small, closed office with frosted glass that offered privacy.
