by John Saul
“We’ve been talking about it a lot,” Amy told her. “And the trouble is, if you do what Adam did, you can’t change your mind later. I mean, once you’re dead …” Her voice trailed off.
“Besides,” Brenda said. “Killing yourself is wrong.”
“Why?” Josh asked.
Brenda’s eyes shifted to her son, who was gazing steadily at her, waiting for an answer.
But did she have one? She realized she didn’t know. She’d just always accepted that suicide was wrong. But why? “Well, because God doesn’t want you to kill yourself,” she said, remembering what the Catholic Church had taught her years ago, before she’d stopped going.
“My father says there isn’t any God,” Amy told her. “He’s an atheist.”
“I see,” Brenda said, though she didn’t really see at all. How could anyone not believe in God? Although she hadn’t been to church in more than ten years, she still believed in God. She was still trying to figure out how to respond to Amy’s statement when Hildie Kramer appeared at the front door, rescuing her.
“Mrs. MacCallum? I thought that was you.”
Hurriedly, Brenda got to her feet. “I just couldn’t stay away,” she explained. “I decided to drive up for the funeral.”
Hildie had spent most of the last two days on the telephone with the parents of nearly all of Barrington’s students. Now, she managed a tired smile. “I’m glad you did,” she said. “And I’m especially glad for Josh’s sake. It’ll give you a chance to see how well he’s doing.” She reached down and ruffled Josh’s hair, chuckling as he ducked away from her hand. “Why don’t you two go start making yourselves look decent, okay?” she suggested, pointedly looking at her watch. “The service is going to start at ten, and we don’t want to be late.”
“But it’s not even nine yet,” Josh protested.
“How long are you going to have to wait for a shower?” Hildie countered. “And don’t try to tell me you already took one—I can see the dirt behind your ears even from here. Now go along, both of you,” she told the children. To Brenda’s surprise, both Amy and Josh obediently trotted up the stairs and disappeared into the house. When they were gone, Hildie turned back to Brenda. “I assume you’re here because you’re worried about Josh,” she said.
Brenda hesitated, then nodded. “After what happened to Adam Aldrich—”
“Of course,” Hildie told her. “I can’t say I’m surprised to see you. You’re not the only parent who’s worried, and you have every right to be. I really am glad you’ve come. Why don’t we go get some coffee, and I’ll try to fill you in on what’s been happening and how we’re handling it.”
An hour later, Brenda, who had prepared herself for a certain defensiveness on the part of the Academy, found herself impressed by Hildie Kramer’s openness in discussing not only Adam Aldrich’s suicide, but its possible effects on his classmates. “As for Josh,” Hildie told her at last, “all I can tell you is to watch him today, and then make up your own mind about whether you want him to stay with us or not.”
In the end, it was Hildie’s decision not to pressure her to keep Josh at the Academy that impressed Brenda the most. By the time Hildie took her into her own small apartment on the ground floor of the mansion so she could freshen up and change her clothes for Adam’s funeral, Brenda was already half convinced that despite what had happened, she would not be taking Josh home with her that afternoon.
But still, she would watch Josh carefully through the rest of the morning and into the afternoon.
And only then, if she were satisfied that he truly was as happy as Hildie Kramer claimed he was, would she make up her mind.
12
Jeanette Aldrich sat in front of the mirror on her vanity table, staring at the image reflected in the glass. Could it really be her? Those puffy eyes, red from lack of sleep, and surrounded by dark circles of fatigue?
The gray strands that seemed to have salted her curly mass of chestnut hair virtually overnight? Could they really be hers?
Was it really only three days since she had not only looked, but felt, ten years younger?
It seemed more like a year, for every minute since she had gazed at Adam’s distorted face on Saturday morning had dragged by like an hour of pure torture. Always, that image hung in her mind.
Not the Adam she had known, not the beautiful, quiet boy with large dark eyes and thick curly hair that matched her own. That image, the image that smiled enigmatically at her from a framed photograph on the vanity, was gone. Gone forever, to be replaced by the grotesquely smashed face she’d seen on the gurney on Saturday morning.
All his features twisted out of position, his skin torn and smeared with blood, his hair matted, his scalp nearly torn away.
Would she ever forget that image, ever be able to replace it with her memories of the living child? Or would it always be there, superimposing itself on every memory she had of Adam?
She shouldn’t have done it—shouldn’t have insisted on seeing his body, shouldn’t have irrationally refused to accept the truth of his death until she’d seen the corpse for herself.
She shuddered at the word.
Corpse. Such an ugly word to describe what was left of her beautiful child.
But it was too late—too late to go back and choose to remember Adam the way he had been. For the rest of her life that battered visage would haunt her.
Her fingers feeling nearly as numb as her mind, she began putting on her makeup, doing her best to repair the ravages of her grief, but knowing even as she worked that it would do no good. No matter what kind of mask she put on her face, there was no way to cover the bleeding wound inside her, no way to still the pain raging within her soul.
Twelve years old!
He was only twelve! It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he have come home that night and let her take care of him? Why had he turned away from her?
Now she would never know, never have another chance to soothe him, to assure him that nothing was wrong with him, that he was a perfect child.
“Honey?”
Jeanette’s eyes shifted to the reflection of her husband. Chet was standing at the open door to the bedroom, his voice, filled with concern, interrupting her reverie. “It’s getting late. The car will be here in a few minutes.”
Jeanette nodded once, but made no move to go on with her makeup. Her eyes remained fixed on Chet. He still looked as he always had. Husky, handsome, and seeming several years younger than he was. Did he feel nothing for the loss of his son? Didn’t he even care that Adam was gone forever?
That’s not fair, she told herself, forcing her hands to return to their task. He just handles it differently, that’s all. The difference between men and women. We wear our hearts on our sleeves, and they don’t. It doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting just as much as I am.
Steadying her trembling hands, she finished her makeup, then put on the navy-blue dress she’d chosen for the funeral. As she heard a car door slam outside, and the doorbell ring a few seconds later, she started down the stairs, her eyes carefully avoiding the closed door to Adam’s room. So far, she still had been unable even to bring herself to enter the room, let alone think about the task of disposing of his things.
Indeed, she had no idea when, or even if, she would ever be able to enter his room again.
Downstairs, she found Chet and Jeff waiting for her. Automatically, she ran her mother’s eye over Jeff’s suit, reaching out to straighten his tie. “Where’s … ?” Her voice abruptly died.
“Adam,” was what she’d been about to say, the reflex of years coming to the fore even as she was departing for his funeral. But she caught herself in time, biting her lip painfully as she struggled once again to control the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Ducking her head, she hurried out into the morning sunlight and slid into the backseat of the waiting limousine, the filtered light of its darkened windows closing around her, giving her the illusion of comfort. Then Jeff was in the car, too, perching on the
seat facing her, and already exploring the controls of the car’s television and stereo system.
“Can I have a Coke?” he asked, discovering the ice bin concealed beneath one of the armrests.
“Not now, Jeff,” Chet replied, feeling Jeanette tense beside him as he settled into the seat next to her. “Maybe later, okay?”
Jeff frowned. “But I won’t be coming back with you, will I? Aren’t I going back to school today? There’s going to be classes tomorrow.”
As his parents exchanged a quick look, Jeff’s frown deepened. “You’re going to let me go back, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.
“I’m not sure we’ve made up our minds yet,” Chet told his son. His eyes flicked to the back of the driver’s head, and he reached for the button that would raise the divider window. “Your mom thinks—”
“But ifs not fair!” Jeff exclaimed. “I like the Academy. It’s where all my friends are!”
“No!” Jeanette told him, more sharply than she’d really intended. “I don’t want you there anymore. Can’t you understand that, darling? After—After what happened to Adam, I want you at home.”
“But why?” Jeff demanded, his face setting into a stubborn mask. “I didn’t do anything wrong. How come you’re punishing me?”
“I’m not punishing you,” Jeanette tried to explain for at least the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours. “Darling, you have to understand how I feel. I want you in the house, where I can look out for you. And you liked the public school—”
“I did not,” Jeff contradicted. “I hated it just as much as Adam did. The teachers were dumb, and so were the other kids. But at the Academy—”
Jeanette’s fingers tightened on her husband’s arm, and Chet held up a hand to silence his son. “Not now, Jeff,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. “Well talk about it later, and I promise you’ll have your say. But right now let’s all just get through this, okay? It’s going to be hard enough for all of us without you making it any tougher. So just drop it for now, all right?”
Jeff’s jaw tightened angrily. For a moment Chet thought the boy was going to go on with the argument, but then Jeff apparently thought better of it He lapsed into a dark silence that lasted through the rest of the trip to the chapel on the Barrington University campus.
Five minutes later the car pulled up in front of the chapel. After giving his wife’s hand one more reassuring squeeze, Chet opened the door to step out, squinting as the bright sunlight flooded into his eyes. Leaning down, he extended a hand to Jeanette, and she, too, emerged from the car, her eyes shielded slightly by the veil that draped from the small pillbox hat perched on her head.
Finally Jeff got out of the car, instinctively starting toward his schoolmates, who were gathered in front of the chapel. Before he could take even a single step, Chet’s free hand closed on his shoulder, drawing him firmly to his side. They moved toward the open chapel doors, the crowd of children, and the adults escorting them, falling silent, stepping back to make way for the bereaved family.
As Jeanette stepped through the door into the chapel itself, a face appeared before her, one that she didn’t quite recognize until Brenda MacCallum spoke.
“I’m so sorry, Jeanette. I know there isn’t anything I can do, but—”
Jeanette summoned up a strained smile. “Brenda. How good of you to come. Such a long way …” Her voice trailed off as she failed to think of anything else to say.
“I had to come,” Brenda assured her. “I mean, I know I don’t know you very well, but I feel like we’re friends, you know?”
“Of course,” Jeanette murmured. She took a tentative step, as if to move around Brenda, and the other woman, abashed as she realized she was invading Jeanette’s privacy, turned away. But then Jeanette found herself reaching out to touch Brenda’s arm, stopping her.
“I was wrong about the Academy,” she said. “I know what I told you last weekend, but I was wrong. If I were you, I’d get Josh out of here before it’s too late.”
Brenda, frozen by Jeanette’s words, stood speechless as Chet guided his wife on down the aisle toward the front pew. Then she felt Josh tugging at her hand.
“Come on, Mom,” he whispered. “We’re not supposed to talk to them until after the funeral. Hildie told us!”
With Jeanette’s words still ringing in her ears, Brenda allowed Josh to lead her into a pew near the back of the chapel. Before she went home that afternoon, she would have to find an opportunity to talk further with Jeanette. Was Jeanette simply reacting to the tragedy that had befallen her son?
Or was there something about Adam’s death that no one had yet told her?
After what seemed an eternity to Jeanette, the funeral finally came to an end. George Engersol himself had delivered Adam’s eulogy, but Jeanette had stopped listening after only a few minutes, for the Adam he was speaking of—an Adam who had been a “devoted student, whose interests were as far-reaching as the magnificent expanse of his mind”—was not the little boy she herself remembered.
She remembered the toddler who had come crying to her every time he fell and scraped his knee, the five-year-old who had always pleaded for just one more story before she insisted on turning out the lights, the seven-year-old who had resolutely decided to keep on believing in Santa Claus, even after she and Chet had explained that he was only a myth.
“But God is only a myth, too, isn’t he?” Adam had asked.
“That’s right,” Chet, the most devout atheist she’d ever known, had replied.
“But lots of people still believe in God,” Adam had argued. “So I’m going to go on believing in Santa Claus. And as long as I believe in him, hell keep bringing me presents every Christmas.”
Every Christmas thereafter, Jeanette had made certain that at least one of the packages under the tree was marked “To Adam, From Santa.” Even last Christmas, Adam had saved that package till last, grinning happily as he tore off the wrappings. “See?” he’d pointed out to Jeff. “He never forgets me. And he hasn’t given you anything since we were seven.”
Jeff, ever the realist, pointed out that the writing on the label looked suspiciously like their mother’s, but Adam had been undisturbed. “Count your presents,” he said. “Mom and Dad always give us the same number, but I always get one from Santa, too.”
Jeff had counted, and discovered—to his dismay—that his brother was right. For the rest of the day Adam had taunted him with the fact that his refusal to believe had cost him all kinds of terrific things over the years. By the end of the day, Jeff had been bubbling over with fury and frustration, insisting that his brother had figured out a way to cheat on Christmas.
Not that it had done him any good—even Chet hadn’t been able to keep from laughing at the fact that for the first time Adam had gotten the better of his brother.
And now it was over.
George Engersol had finally stopped speaking. The last prayers had been spoken over the small casket that rested in front of the altar, and the recessional music had begun. With a last lingering look at the closed coffin that contained her son’s body, Jeanette allowed herself to be guided back up the aisle toward the door, then took her place at Chet’s side to accept the condolences of the crowd of mourners.
It was even worse than she’d imagined it could be. No one seemed to know what to say to her, what words to speak to a woman whose adolescent son had chosen to take his own life. All her friends, all the people she’d known for years, now seemed to have lost their tongues, pausing only for the briefest of moments to peck her on the cheek, whisper a brief “I’m so sorry,” and then move quickly away.
Do they think it’s my fault? she found herself wondering. Do they think I failed him in some way?
But hadn’t she? Of course she had. If she’d been a good mother and given Adam all the love and attention he needed, he’d still be alive, wouldn’t he?
She tried to tell herself it wasn’t true, that Hildie Kramer
had been right when she’d assured her only the day before that there was nothing she could have done, that she and Chet had done everything they could for Adam, but that there had been forces inside him none of them had understood.
I can’t spend my life blaming myself, she repeated to herself over and over again. I still have Jeff, and I can’t stop living because of what’s happened. And I can’t make him stop living, either.
The last people in the chapel had drifted away. As Chet, Jeanette, and Jeff watched, the casket was borne up the aisle and carried to the waiting hearse. The pallbearers paused for a moment when they came to the family, and Jeanette laid her hand on the mahogany box for a moment, then quietly uttered a single word.
“Good-bye.”
As the family watched silently, the casket was placed in the hearse, and a moment later the hearse pulled away.
By the end of the day, Adam Aldrich’s remains would be cremated and his ashes scattered over the sea.
Brenda MacCallum glanced at her watch. It was nearly two. If she were to get back to Eden at a reasonable hour, she would have to leave soon. But she still hadn’t had a chance to talk further with Jeanette Aldrich, and as she scanned the thinning crowd on the lawn in front of the Academy, she was afraid Jeanette might already have left. She spotted Chet, deep in conversation with George Engersol, and Jeff, sitting with Josh, Amy Carlson, and some of the other kids in the shade next to the circle of trees they called the Gazebo. But Jeanette was nowhere to be seen.
Then, with the certainty of a mother, Brenda realized where Jeanette must be. Placing her empty lemonade glass on one of the tables that had been set up on the lawn, she set out toward the house, moving gingerly, her high heels sinking into the thick lawn with every step. She’d watched the other women ruefully as they balanced themselves on their toes, their own heels never puncturing the green carpet the way her own did. Of course, in Eden hardly anyone she knew even had a lawn, and those few were usually baked brown by the sun, the earth beneath them hard as a rock. Still, she wished she’d thought to wear flats.
