Empty Shell

by Ashley Fontainne

“Oh, a new title to add to my bag of tricks. Timekeeper. I like it.”

  I chuckled softly and headed to the shower. Timekeeper? Nope, Mindsaver is more like it. Thank you, God, for Regina.

  Sure enough, the doorbell rang at four o’clock on the dot. Regina and I were sitting at the kitchen table as I told her about my conversations with Roger and Bertrand, filling her in about our plans for next week.

  “Oh, one homemade pie coming up!” she said, bounding out of the chair and down the stairs like a little kid. The woman certainly loved her sweets.

  I heard her exchange pleasantries about the new interior with Mrs. Preston as they made their way up the stairs and into the kitchen. I couldn’t recall the last time my neighbor had been inside. Maybe three years?

  Mrs. Preston took the seat next to me. She was all dressed up with pearls, earrings, a pretty sundress and cute little sandals. She looked like she was going to church. I felt a tad embarrassed at my grungy attire of shorts and a white t-shirt, no makeup, and my hair in a messy bun. Instinctively my hands flew to my hair and I sat up straighter.

  “Oh, sugar, don’t you fret none about that,” she purred, motioning with her hand to my hair. “When my Stan passed, I don’t think I even took a shower for the first two weeks. It’s called mourning and ain’t nobody expected to put on airs. I just gussied up because I don’t get much chance to anymore and besides, can’t change tradition in an eighty-year-old woman. My momma, God rest her soul, woulda skint me alive if she knew I didn’t put on my best when payin’ my respects.”

  “Well, you look lovely and quite proper. Thank you for stopping by.”

  “And for this pie. Okay, I’m sure I’m breaking ten social protocols here, but I can’t wait. Time to share some!” Regina said, moving over to the cupboard and grabbing three dessert plates.

  “You just dive right in, sweetie. And you too, missy. Looks like you’ve missed a few meals,” Mrs. Preston said, her grin wide and proud at Regina’s excitement.

  Within the space of a minute, Regina had dished out three huge slices and passed them around the table. She dug in with gusto and swallowed two big bites before commenting, “This is the best thing I have ever eaten! Before you leave, would you please share your recipe with me?”

  “Well thank you, sweetie. Of course I will. That’s what we women do best—share. And speaking of sharing, I have some things I would like to share with you, Ms. Melody.”

  Regina was right—the pie was incredible. The bite I tasted was like a piece of sweet heaven. I was hesitant to take another nibble, preferring to wait and see if my stomach agreed with my tongue. Besides, if what Mrs. Preston was about to say centered round the subject matter of Jack’s death, I was afraid I might start tearing up again and didn’t want to choke.

  “Yes, this is wonderful. As all of your dishes I’ve ever tasted have been,” I said, hoping she’d veer back to the subject of her culinary skills.

  “Sweetie, let me tell you some things. First of all, I don’t believe what I read or hear in the news. Ain’t no story ever been reported that was the honest to God’s truth. My Stan always said that the news was a smidgeon of truth mixed with a whole lotta dirty, unsupported opinions, and I agree. I don’t know, maybe seein’ their words in print or the lights of the camera blind them. Make only dollar signs appear. Maybe one of the classes they take in school stripes them of their morality. Who knows? All I know is that I go by what my own eyes see, what my ears hear, and what my heart tells me. Now, I know from what I witnessed last Monday that you and your husband had quite the tiff about his philanderin’. Gotta say, I did smile when I saw you stand up for yourself and give him what for. Reminded me of me.”

  Regina stopped in mid-chew and I dropped my fork with a loud clang on the table.

  “Oh, don’t look so surprised, ladies. If you don’t know by now, then I’ll let you in on a little secret my Nana told me when I was approachin’ my courtin’ age. She said, ‘Jerlene, men all suffer from the same affliction. They’s born with it. It hides inside them ’til their manly hair starts growin’ under their arms. When that happens, they get TR Syndrome and it lasts until they die.’”

  “TR Syndrome?” I repeated, reaching for a glass of tea to help my bite of pie finish going down.

  “What’s ‘TR Syndrome?’” Regina asked.

  “Testicular Retardation. All men are afflicted with it. Once those little swimmer guys start flowin’ through them, they all lose their minds.”

  Regina and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. Tears of hysteria ran down our faces and Regina turned blue from not being able to catch her breath. I wrapped my arms around my stomach as great gales of laughter burst out of me.

  “Ya’ll go ahead and laugh, but I’m tellin’ you the truth! No man is immune! Even my Stan had it.”

  Regina still couldn’t catch her breath. I wasn’t doing much better, but through my laughter, I said, “Testicular retardation—it does make sense! Men do go nuts when they hit puberty.”

  Mrs. Preston took a sip of tea and a bite of pie, then continued, “That hormone starts pulsatin’ through ’em and they can’t shut it off. Oh, some men try to ignore the guttural callin’, but most can’t. Now, I tell you this because the fact of the matter is, men cheat. The right little filly sashays by and that ol’ TR Syndrome kicks up and they become slaves to their pants. Even my Stan, after twenty-seven years of marriage, fell ill with the bug. When I found out, I cured him sure enough. Just the way my Nana told me to.”

  Regina found her voice. “That is the funniest thing I have ever heard—bar none. Oh, and I don’t mean about Stan, I mean, oh, God, can I borrow that from you? TR Syndrome. Priceless.”

  “Well of course you can, sugar. I told you we womenfolk are best at sharin’. So, back to my story. I cured my ol’ Stan from his ailment by sneakin’ in the bedroom the night I found out what he’d done and cuttin’ all his hair off. Felt right like ol’ Delilah, I’ll tell ya. Men don’t like to admit it, but they’s just as vain as women, especially when it comes to their hair. Ol’ Stan, he had a head full of the thickest, blackest curls that women would kill for. The next mornin’ when he came to the kitchen for coffee and started whinin’ about what I’d done, I told him he should be thankin’ me that I cut off something that would grow back, because the next thing I cut off wouldn’t.”

  Her story brought another round of raucous laughter from Regina and me. My sides were hurting from laughing so hard. God, it feels good to laugh.

  “Now, I didn’t tell you that just to bring a smile to your face, though I’m glad it did. Laughter is just as powerful of medicine as tears. I opened with that story because I reckoned from the argument I heard and saw last Monday that your Jack had him a bout with the disease. I left a few minutes after you did to head to Shreveport, so I didn’t have a chance to tell you about the cure. But, from what I witnessed, you seemed to have a good grip on things, so to speak, so I went on my merry way.

  “Of course, then I returned and heard all the hubbub about him bein’ arrested in all. I knew it was a load of cow manure from the minute I found out. Bein’ a cheater don’t make you a killer. If that were the case, the human population would cease to exist because adultery has been a dark stain on humanity since the dawn of time. And that is the reason I’m here now. To tell you why I believe one hundred percent that your Jack didn’t hurt that girl.”

  Our collective laughter stopped with Mrs. Preston’s last comment. Both Regina and I stared at her, waiting. Her warm brown eyes moistened and she held out her bony hand and clasped mine.

  “I know I’m just the nosy ol’ lady from across the street, but I’ve been around long enough to be a great judge of character. Your Jack may have stepped out on you, but I watched him cry like a baby when you drove off. Only a man who really loves his woman sheds those kinda tears. And a man who has those kinda emotions don’t kill. Period. Somethin’ stuck in my craw the second I heard what happened. I knew
in my heart that Jack didn’t murder that girl, but it wasn’t until I saw you walkin’ this precious one,” she said, looking over at Simba, “that I remembered why.”

  My heart skipped two beats, my grip tightening on her frail hand. Regina was uncharacteristically silent.

  “What did you remember, Mrs. Preston?” I whispered through my tears.

  “My memory doesn’t always work, but if prompted, I am able to recall things. And after seein’ you with your dog earlier today, it reminded me of the Friday ’fore last. Your friend here had already picked you up. Your Jack was walkin’ out the front door when your lil’ pooch here popped out and took off down the street. I had me a good laugh watchin’ him chase her down. She kept him hoppin’ for nearly twenty minutes before she finally let him catch her. He was sweatin’ bullets by the time he wrestled her back inside. He didn’t come back out for another twenty minutes and, when he did, he was wearin’ new clothes and his hair was wet. My guess is that’s because he took him a shower after all that runnin’ around.”

  Chill bumps appeared on my arms as my adrenaline kicked into high gear. I was about to pose a question when I realized she was speaking again.

  “When that memory came back, the gnawin’ inside me got worse. I went back inside and flipped through all the newspapers I kept from last week. I’m an ol’ lady and don’t throw nothin’ away. Planned on usin’ them this winter for my fireplace. Anyway, I searched through the pages and found the picture taken at that fancy pants store. It had a date and time on it, and when I looked at it after puttin’ my glasses on, I knew it wasn’t Jack. He was here, in the street, chasin’ that cute critter down. He pulled out of the driveway at eleven fifteen. I know the time is exact, too, because that’s when my watch beeps, remindin’ me to take my pills. Sure enough, when he drove by my yard, my watch beeped.”

  Regina gasped. I let go of Mrs. Preston’s hand and slumped back in my chair. A wave of dizziness overcame me as the enormity of her words sunk in. Dear God, thank you! More answered prayers.

  The dizziness passed and my mind shifted into legal mode. I had to focus and take the proper steps to make sure that this little nugget of gold didn’t slip away.

  “Sugar, are you okay? You look kinda green ’round the gills. Here, have a sip,” Mrs. Preston said, handing me my glass of tea. “I hope I didn’t upset you too much. Just tryin’ to help ease your mind about your Jack. It’s one thing for a man to cheat, but havin’ to live the rest of your life thinkin’ he might have been a killer is another.”

  Fighting back the tears of happiness that threatened to explode, I took the glass of tea and set it back down. I leaned across the table and hugged the neck of the woman I used to consider nothing more than the neighborhood gossip monger. She’d just handed me, and Jack, a wonderful gift.

  “Oh no, Mrs. Preston. You just gave me the gift of a lifetime!” I gushed, my words stumbling out faster than I anticipated. I squeezed her frail shoulders. “I…I don’t know how I could ever thank you for what you just told me. May I ask you a favor?”

  Mrs. Preston smiled, the thin skin around her eyes crinkling, satisfied with her work for the day. “Of course, sugar. What is it?”

  I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “Would you be willing to share your recollection with my, I mean, Jack’s attorney? I’m afraid I have a hard road ahead of me next week with trying to convince them they arrested the wrong man. Anything and everything will help. Your words will give solid credence to mine.”

  “Honey, I’ll stand out in the street and shout it out while wearin’ a sign that says ‘Justice for Jack!’ on my back if it will help.”

  I clapped my hands with excitement and my dear old neighbor jumped. Regina was already out of her seat, heading straight toward my cell phone lying on the counter.

  “Let me make a phone call and get someone here to take your statement, if you don’t mind waiting a bit?” I said, taking my cell from Regina’s shaking hand in my own.

  “Sugar, I’ll stay all afternoon if you don’t mind keepin’ company with an old woman.”

  I patted her hand reassuringly as I stood. “You are a Godsend. You are always welcome in my home and can stay for as long as your heart desires! Excuse me for just a moment and let me get the ball rolling. I’ll be right back.”

  Rushing out the back door to the deck, I dialed Bertrand’s number. My fingers were shaking so much I gave up on trying to smoke; I couldn’t hold the lighter long enough to get a spark. Come on, come on, come on! It’s not even four thirty yet! Please Lord, let Bertrand pick up.

  “Bertrand LaFont.”

  “Mr. LaFont, it’s Melody Dickinson again. Listen, you said to call if any new evidence popped up, and boy, did it ever.”

  “Another dream, Ms. Dickinson?”

  If I wasn’t jumping out of my skin with joy, his little dig would have annoyed me. But I was on cloud nine and the snide remarks of a snarky lawyer wouldn’t bring me down. “No, not this time. Jack was seen at home by a witness during the time the picture at the store was taken. Not only that, the witness is here at my house, right now, ready to give a sworn statement. I—”

  “Say no more. My assistant and I will be there in twenty. Has this witness told the police this juicy bit of news yet?”

  “No. She just told me.”

  “Wonderful! I love being able to beat them to crucial evidence and then throwing it back in their faces! Hang tight. We are walking out the door now.”

  I hung up and let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding during the conversation with Bertrand. I felt silly thinking of him as Mr. LaFont now, even though it was proper social etiquette. No one other than my family knew so many intimate, shameful details about my personal life as he now did. With all he knew, I contemplated calling him “Buddy”.

  I peeked through the glass door and saw Regina and Mrs. Preston gabbing it up like two old friends from way back. Somehow I didn’t imagine that my best friend was picking the brain of my neighbor for recipes. Regina was probably asking for in-depth details of the day that Mrs. Preston threatened to castrate her wayward husband. A brief smile appeared at the thought; a new bond formed between the three of us, held together by the sticky mess of betrayal. One woman let her mate walk away, unable to forgive the act. The other took control, forgave, and stayed together until death do us part.

  Under the scorching heat of the afternoon sun, as I sat watching the two women chatter, I knew what my ultimate decision would have been had Jack lived. Grief and sadness smothered me, knowing I would never have the chance to tell Jack I forgave him or fight for my marriage.

  Jack---can you hear me? I forgive you. I love you. And justice is coming—handed to me by the Lord. I won’t fail either of you again—so long as you both give me strength.

  I won’t.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - MONDAY

  Arriving for my first day back at work a little after eight, I was greeted by a strained atmosphere. No one really knew what to say to me other than good morning. It was awkward walking through the central area where the secretaries and interns worked. Eyes were averted and voices hushed as I moved through the desks toward my office. My chest tightened when I passed the empty spot where Serena used to sit. Her desk had been cleaned off, not one picture, file, pencil or computer screen left. Had I been a new employee, I would have never known someone recently occupied the space.

  I took solace inside my closed office and tackled the stack of work on my desk. None of the other employees were proficient enough to run the monthly bills, at least not in the eyes of the attorneys. Even the secretaries of the four other lawyers didn’t run their boss’s bills. I was two weeks behind on not only billing, but all the other work I did during the course of a workday. Those things would have to wait. Invoicing for our services was top priority in the eyes of the partners. Once I opened the billing program, I shut my mind off and dove in, grateful for the temporary distraction.

  Hours
later, I glanced up from my files and checked the clock. It was after four. Burying my head in my work seemed to help the time fly by. Of course, I hadn’t left my office except to use the restroom during the last seven hours. I stretched my back, cracked my sore knuckles and buzzed Roger. “Billing is finished. I just sent out the files via email to everyone. I’m going to run to the restroom, then I’ll meet you in the conference room, okay?”

  “Sure thing. Detective Knowles should be here any minute. Bertrand is in there already and Philip just arrived, so we’ll meet you there,” Roger said, then lowered his voice and added, “Melody, are you sure you’re ready for this? I mean, it’s only your first day back after…Jack’s service.”

  Sorrow pricked my heart, but I buried it deep inside. The time to grieve had already passed for me; I had replaced my sadness with a redemptive mission of love. I swallowed the grief and forced my words to not betray my pain. “Yes, Roger. I’m sure. I won’t let my husband down again. I owe him that. I’ll see you in a minute,” I said, and disconnected the call before I said anymore.

  A surge of nervousness swam inside my stomach. I’d called Detective Knowles late last week, and he hemmed and hawed, then brushed me off. Even when Roger contacted him he balked at attending a meeting to discuss new evidence in a case he considered closed. But when Bertrand LaFont called him and spouted key words like ”police cover-up”, “miscarriage of justice” and the biggest kicker, “media frenzy” if the news happened to find out that new evidence in a high profile murder case had been overlooked, he reluctantly agreed to meet with us.

  Although my first encounter with Mr. LaFont had not gone well, I was still amazed at the amount of support he’d given to me during the last week. When I contacted him last Monday to discuss Jack’s case, he’d been more than eager to help. I doubted his willingness to assist me stemmed from any sort of altruism, though. I suspected Mr. LaFont’s support likely sprang from the fact that he would enjoy the sound of his own voice as he proclaimed his client’s innocence and lambasted the shoddy investigative techniques in front of the local police and media. Whatever the reason Mr. LaFont had didn’t really matter to me because in the end, clearing Jack’s name was my sole focus. I was simply grateful for his help and the items he’d prepared for today’s meeting, since it was taking all my energy to keep a cohesive train of thought on the tracks.