“Miraculous I stayed pregnant long as I did. Drugs killed him. Born dead. I used the cutter to cut the umbilical cord. Picked him up off the floor, the tiniest boy, still and silent.” I sat up, barfed on my lap.
“Hang on, Preston.” Smiley jumped up, brought toilet paper out of the adjoining bath, wiped my face and mouth. “Let me get towels from—”
Nothing felt more right than sitting in a pool of my own vomit, the sour vile stench radiated from my core. Smiley parked near my head, leaned against the crib. “What’d you do after he was born?”
“Born? Cooper wasn’t born. He dropped out of my body.”
“Okay, what then?”
“Funny, I can see the whole scene so well, like a YouTube video. I pulled my bloody pants back on, stuffed the box cutter in my front pocket. Because people with their load on think things like that are important.”
“Go on.”
“Tried to give him mouth to mouth, as if I knew how. I wrapped Cooper in one of the monogrammed blankets, finally out of the box. Laid him in the crib. Made a lame effort to clean up the birthing mess, smeared muck all over. I couldn’t stand seeing him so small in this big crib, alone, so I held him, already cold, stiff.” I looked around the nursery. “Rocked him in that rocker, held him close, rocked and rocked, so he wouldn’t feel scared.”
“How long?”
“All day, a couple days, who knows? My memory seems covered in gauze. I think I tried to bathe him. He stunk. Couldn’t get rid of the stench. Finally, my mother railroaded me, then my father. She broke a window to get in. I heard the crash. The alarm shrieked. I thought Armageddon landed, probably what brought my father-in-law rushing over.”
I stopped to get a breath to let my mouth catch up with my brain.
“The good chief handled our family personally,” I said. “Never sent uniforms. Mom tried to get Cooper out of my arms. I didn’t want her to take him away, so I pulled the box cutter out of my pocket. Standoff went on for what seemed like hours. Out of nowhere, my dad showed up, tried to intervene. Everybody knows what happened next.”
“You must’ve sobered up. All those days shut in.”
“Wrong. Stayed loaded the whole time. Every time I felt pain, I’d knock it back with a substance. Kept my drugs close always.”
“The written confession?”
“Mine. Not intended as one. A page ripped from my journal. I grabbed it and Cooper’s blanket when I got carted off. Only the journal made it to Haven House where it sat like a powder keg on my desk. I could’ve looked in it whenever I wanted but didn’t. No idea who ripped the page out and sent the thing to my mother.”
“What happened to Cooper’s body?”
“I don’t know. Knowing my parents, I’m sure they hoped I’d never remember. If I remembered I might want to talk about it. God forbid any fucking thing gets talked about in our family.” All of a sudden Brendan’s voice told stories in my head. “Brendan told me once he’d heard someone died that night.”
“Certainly, his parents would’ve told him.”
“No. Colleen told me Marv didn’t tell her until after Brendan’s death.”
“She didn’t know where Cooper’s buried?”
“I didn’t ask. I raced home.”
“You could ask your father or your mother, couldn’t you? Surely they’re not that heartless.”
Hearing Smiley refer to my father brought my nausea up again. Given his strange behavior, he was the last person I wanted to ask about anything.
“My mother might not remember it either.”
“Want me to dig around? I’m sure I could find out.”
“I don’t know. Probably won’t do any good. You won’t find what my parents don’t want you to find.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Smiley let me cry unimpeded for a long while.
“This is as hard as it’s gonna be, Preston. Now you can start again,” he said when I took a breather.
“As you already know, some pain is always new. To be honest, when I entered this room tonight, I came back to where I’ve always been. I’ll never get away from what happened here.”
“Feels that way now, Preston. But later—”
“If I close my eyes, I swear I can hear him cry, even though he never did.”
****
I don’t know how it happened. One minute Smiley helped me into the tub to wash off. Next minute he carried me to a guest room. His smooth cool skin calmed mine. His mouth burned hot across my collarbone. The reasons why I should’ve stopped him dissolved when his hand on my back guided my hips toward his. He entered me fast, hard, sure enough for the both of us. Of all the terrible mistakes I’ve made in my life, maybe this was yet another. My judgment only ever failed me. Didn’t matter, I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. We licked each other’s wounds, filled our empty places. On a never-before-used mattress as a battlefield, Smiley’s torment met mine on equal footing. Every sigh called out a ghost. Every shudder exorcised a demon.
The man lit me up from the inside out.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Preston
I thought Smiley would split before morning, but here he stood in my kitchen. I couldn’t read him. His silver-specked hair adorably rumpled, his face creased from sleep, but still brutally handsome.
“You ok? How you doing this morning?” Smiley said.
“Good as I look.”
My hair couldn’t look worse if I’d limbo’d underneath a barbed-wire fence. My face felt chapped, swollen, sore from tissue rubbing. Exhausted by my crying and confessions, nevertheless I’d slept fitfully. Smiley kept his thoughts to himself, stood as close to me as possible without touching me. I could feel his uncertainty. It matched my own. Smiley poured the coffee I’d made, then we both settled in at the table, drank without talking for a few blessed minutes.
“Well, now what?” I sipped the hot dark roast. Wished for a stiff Jameson kicker and a Valium.
“I’ll try to find out what happened to Cooper’s body.”
His simple sentence felt like a slap. “You’ll arrest me then?”
“Christ, no. For what?” He covered my smaller hand with his bigger one. “Stillbirth isn’t a crime, even with the drugs. Not in this state.”
“I deserve punishment, don’t I?”
“You’re doing a bang-up job of that on your own.”
“How’d you get past the guard last night?”
“I hired him. I get special privileges.”
“Why’d you come?”
“My neighbor saw a crazy-looking blonde skulking around my yard.”
Under other circumstances this discovery would’ve flattened me with embarrassment but today not so much. Smiley’d heard the worst.
“So, you don’t know any other blonde, crazy ladies?”
“Not one who drives a Range Rover,” Smiley said. “It’s a neighborhood full of cops. They don’t miss a trick. I got worried, so after some arguing with myself and losing, I drove over.”
He reached over to ruffle my wreck of a hairdo.
“I’m pretty sure Colleen left Marv, or Marv left her,” I said. “I went there right after skulking duty. She was on the way out the door when I stopped her. Their place looks like a mausoleum.”
“Not surprising. Marv’s view of Brendan was harsh. Colleen’s more forgiving. Now that Brendan’s gone I’d guess she couldn’t bear his point of view.”
“Maybe. But something’s off.”
“Like?”
“I don’t know exactly. Why would she spirit away in the dead of night? You don’t think that’s odd? Plus, she knew about Cooper.”
“Mothers usually know more than they let on.”
“Exactly. I think she, no they, know more than they’re telling.”
“Cooper’s death is a pretty bad thing to know, isn’t it? Their grandson died under terrible circumstances. I mean, that’s quite a painful secret for them to keep,” he said.
I felt my face cave in on itself.
I’d only thought about myself. Not my parents, or my husband’s parents, who’d suffered in so many unbearable ways, or my husband who died in service to me.
“I’m sorry, Preston.”
“Me too. There aren’t even words to describe how much.” I rubbed my sore eyes to keep from crying again. “So now what?” I said. “We’re still nowhere.”
“The investigation’s like running a gauntlet. Before Marv cut out he made it clear he thinks Brendan’s death was a drug deal gone bad. Which, as you know, was code for ‘Leave it the hell alone’ to the guys.”
“He could be right about the drug deal. I hate to say but he could.”
“Gang shootout at a club downtown. One of the dead is someone Marv said Brendan did business with—someone known for threats. Likely the guy killed him.”
“How likely?”
“It’s the most obvious choice.”
“What’s your choice?” I drained my cup.
“To keep looking.”
I got up to pour more coffee.
“Jesus Christ,” Smiley said. “There’s a horse in your yard.”
****
Smiley intended to leave. I intended to usher him out the door. We ended up in my bed instead. I woke up in darkness, alone. I’d spent countless days and nights alone in this room, this house, but recent events wore me down. Feeling frightened and abandoned, I pulled on my clothes and made a beeline for the kitchen.
“Hey sleepyhead,” Smiley wore his trench coat, obviously ready to walk out the door. I interrupted him gathering his stuff off the messy, kitchen table. “I didn’t want to wake you. God knows you need some sleep.”
“You’re leaving?” I hoped I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.
“There’s still an investigation underway.” His face turned the palest shade of rose. He shoved his cell into his inside coat pocket. “I got sidetracked. Now back to work.”
“Why’d you tell me you had a wife?”
Smiley fumbled with the buttons on his coat. “Habit, more than anything. That and I couldn’t stand to say I don’t.”
“I’m sorry. About what happened to her. I—”
“That all feels like a lifetime ago right about now.”
Smiley put his arms around me. We stayed pressed together for several minutes.
“That picture of you and Cooper,” he said. “Makes more sense now, what you thought.”
“I was so fucked up. Obviously, my memory of that day got mixed up with what happened upstairs. It’s why I felt so sure about Mom and my brother. That I knew the real story about his death. I thought she’d written that confession, that we’d fought over it.”
“You ever look through that journal? Might be something useful in there.”
“No, but I’ve got it here somewhere.”
Now I felt embarrassed he knew about my journal. How new agey could I be? Never mind Musings from the Dented Throne. I’d never told another living soul about my blog. I trusted Smiley. Hell, I was falling in love with him, but I wasn’t ready to talk about “The Invisible Heiress.” I fished around the pile of crap strewn across the table. Found it at the bottom, fanned out the pages.
“Someone stole this when I was at Haven House but returned it a few days later. Must’ve torn out pages. I never looked.”
“Who would do that?”
“Someone with more nerve than brains.”
“Doesn’t narrow it down much.”
“Think it’s connected to what happened to Brendan?”
So many pieces didn’t seem to fit.
“I don’t know,” Smiley said. “At first glance, it doesn’t seem to be, but you never know.” He started toward the entryway, stopped to kiss my forehead.
“Do you have a first name?” I said, thrilled he didn’t ask to take my journal.
His laugh sounded a lot like a love song.
“Yes, It’s Sean.”
“I’ll stick with Smiley.”
“What’s wrong with Sean?”
“Nothing. It’s good. But Smiley’s great. The happiest name in the world.”
“If you put it that way.”
He pulled me to him, one big hand cradling the back of my head in a way that felt protective with a tinge of sexy. I might’ve finally met the man who could declaw me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“For what?”
“A memory that’s not broken.”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Preston’s Blog
Musings from the Dented Throne
To Be Honest, I’m a Liar
I don’t think I’ve ever let so much time pass between posts. I needed time. Yes, I know a couple of months away from the blogosphere is a lifetime. Although I found that time does not heal all wounds but stretches and reshapes them into a well-fitted, permanent second skin. I remembered things about myself I can’t possibly tell you because some things feel worse for the telling.
So what do I want to talk about? Other people, that’s what. I’ve spun some unbelievable tales but none more than the following.
I’d mentioned to New Detective that an unknown, pilfering sod stole my journal during my confinement. He got the why-didn’t-I-think-of-it idea to check the cameras sure to be in the entrance of the psych ward. Turns out there were cameras, but they tape over all footage every thirty days.
Welcome to my big, fat, dead end. But it gets more promising.
Remember I told you about Shrinky’s appearances in my hood? Well, I told New Detective, who took a leisurely stroll through her financials. Large cash deposits appear in Shrinky’s account, source unconfirmed. Could be she got it from her lottery winning but now deceased mother. But from what she’d told me about the woman (yes, Shrinky unloaded on me about her stingy mama) that didn’t seem likely. Until proven otherwise the deposits are above board. New Dick’s interviews with deranged harpy also turned up zero. Shrinky’s a smooth operator.
I leveled with New Detective about the Chica’s liaisons with both the Jester and the Irishman and her appearance with the Queen at the plantation. If he disapproved of my jaunts down the hidden path, he never let on, and for now, I’ve stopped.
My handsome detective finally ran down the Chica, who coincidentally got hauled in for questioning that mostly went nowhere. The sultry siren admitted my husband had reentered the drug trade with no help from her. So far, no one’s proved otherwise. The Chica says she looked in on the Queen from time to time at the request of her mother, the Queen’s former right-hand woman.
The Queen, the Jester, and Chica’s mother confirm.
All parties deny any funny business between Chica and the Jester, or for that matter, Chica and the Irishman.
What the devil is going on?
I’m sure the Jester and the Chica still cavort undetected by the Queen. Sadly, bad taste in women is not a crime. Nor is cheating on your wife.
One final stunner: The Irishman might’ve bugged (quite the Renaissance man, my husband) Shrinky’s downtown office. No one, including the Heiress, can figure why, but I’m certain his reasons would withstand any scrutiny. No one knows for sure who killed my poor husband or why. The likelihood that drug selling took his life looks more and more convincing, which would explain the wad of cash I found in his freezer. Did I mention that? Well, no matter.
But the beat goes on.
The Jester’s become more of a pest. He’s called, left rambling weepy messages, emailed, texted. Begs to see me. I finally stopped paying attention to them. I refuse to acknowledge his efforts. My feelings for my father are complicated. While I don’t necessarily blame him for stepping out on the Queen, I’m still pissed. When I think of his bizarre, hostile exchange with New Detective at the graveside and his smarmy run at my money, my hackles rise. Before I forget—New Dick is not currently wed. He lied to disguise his heartbreak, which I get. The handsome, sad detective crushes on the Heiress, which I don’t get. How could a man of such caliber see good in a girl like me?
I rec
ognize New Detective as a man, fully formed. Not a boy, like the Irishman, who taught me a lot about love but not the Sunday kind. In my handsome detective’s arms, the world feels like an extraordinary place. Like the acrobat who danced between the Twin Towers on a tightrope, he illuminates an otherwise ordinary space—then leaves an emptiness that won’t quite recover from his absence.
The Invisible Heiress
P.S. I love my new dog. Thank you to whoever you are. The giver is yet one more mystery in my ever-mysterious life.
Not sure I want to know what you think, but let ’er rip.
Comments
Maggie May
So much has happened. Like you, I don’t know what to think. Shrinky’s in the mix now? The Irishman went on some covert operation with listening devices? Makes no sense at all. However, I’m thrilled for you and New Dick. A man like him couldn’t love you if you’re so bad. So you must be good inside. I know you love the Queen.
Reply: No motive for killing meaner than love.
4 Christ R Lord
Your sins will find you out. Your husband barely dead, and you’re defiling the marital bed already?
Reply: My sins saw me coming a long time ago. Defiling is the least of my problems.
Well Hung Jung
Just so you know, I like dogs. I think you need a spanking for letting New Dick in where I called dibs. Maybe Dick sent you the dog. Could be a whole kinky kind of dog-spank-the-monkey situation.
Reply: Why didn’t I think of that? You’re too smart for me, WHJ. If I’m ever in the market for a good paddling, you’ll be the first to know, although I gave the dog your collar. You and I are simpatico.
Well Hung Jung
Didn’t you once say Dick’s old enough to be your father?
Reply: And you thought I only had mommy issues.
Amy W.
Maybe the Irishman’s ways did catch up with him. It could be as simple as that. Is it possible Shrinky was involved in drugs? Sometimes the most obvious choice is the right one. Weird, he’d have anything to do with her office. Odd their paths would cross.
The Invisible Heiress Page 19
