“I was hurt, because I thought you didn’t want him to meet me. And then I found out that the real reason you wouldn’t bring me home was that you didn’t want me to meet him. When you finally told me the real reason, do you remember what you said?”
“No, Allie, I don’t,” he said on a note of sarcasm. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“You said that your father drank too much, and you were embarrassed by him. You said that he was an alcoholic, and that your poor mother had to live with the stigma of being a drunk’s wife until the day she died. You said that he wouldn’t admit he had a problem, that he claimed he didn’t drink that much and could stop anytime he wanted to.”
“All right, Allie. You’ve made your point.”
“No, I haven’t,” she said. “You also told me that you would never drink as long as you lived, because you saw how easy it was for alcohol to get its claws into you—because it had ruined your father’s life, and your mother’s life, but it wasn’t going to ruin yours.”
He compressed his lips and stared across the tables to the musicians on the stage. “Alcohol isn’t ruining my life, Allie. It’s a result of our problems, not the cause of them.”
“So when you started going to Joe’s Place with your buddies after your shift, when you started having those long heart-to-hearts with Issie, you were doing it because we were having problems?”
He hesitated, started to speak, then stopped and shook his head as if the argument was too futile to continue.
“Because I distinctly remember that our problems started after you made Joe’s Place and Issie your daily habit.”
“I wasn’t drinking then, Allie. I just went to be with my friends. If coming home had been more pleasant, I wouldn’t have found other places to go.”
The blow was low, and she almost flinched with the force of it. She stared at him for several seconds, fighting the rage that seemed so familiar these days. “And why was coming home so unpleasant?” she bit out.
“Because you kept harping on the fact that you wanted to have a baby but we didn’t make enough money for you to sell the shop and stay home, that you wanted me to get a better job, that you were having to work so hard to make up for the money that I didn’t make, that the shop was barely breaking even—on and on and on. It was always the same. But you knew when you married me that I wanted to be a fireman, had always wanted to be a fireman. You don’t go into that job for the money.”
“So you were justified in going to bars every night with your friends?”
When he didn’t answer, she added, “I wonder if that’s how it started with your dad.”
She knew that would hit him where it hurt, for his father had been a fireman, too, as his father before him had been. The realities of the job, particularly the low pay, had to have caused problems in their marriages, too.
“It’s not the same, Allie. I’m not a drunk. I told you, when I first started going to Joe’s Place, I didn’t even drink. I just wanted some pleasant conversation, some companionship.”
“And you chose to have that with another woman?”
He rolled his eyes. “And here I thought we were talking about drinking.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she wouldn’t let them spill. She focused on a schefflera plant hanging from the ceiling. A soul-deep sadness filled her heart, weighing her down, and she wondered where things had gone wrong. Had she really turned into a nagging wife that made life so unpleasant that her husband had to seek out comfort in other women? Was it really her fault?
These were all issues that they hadn’t been able to deal with in marriage counseling, primarily because either of them had the option to leave when things got too hot. Now they seemed stuck together by grim circumstances, trapped, unable to leave.
Their food came, and they both picked at it as the jazz music played on. Neither of them had anything to say.
“I should call my parents,” she said finally. “Tell them we’re coming.”
“Warn them I’m coming.”
She slid her chair back and dug into her purse for her calling card. “I’ll be right back.”
“No, I’m coming with you.”
“But we haven’t paid the bill.”
“Then wait,” he said. “We’re not that far from Newpointe, Allie. I don’t want you to be alone.”
She bit back her objection and waited for their bill, amazed at his unwavering determination to protect her, even when being around her seemed painful to him. She regretted bringing up his dad’s drinking; she wished she had tried to be more pleasant, more fun to be with, but there was nothing pleasant or fun about their circumstances. It was bad enough that their marriage had come to a halt. But the added stress of the killings made things a dozen times more confusing.
She looked up at him and met his eyes-and wished she didn’t see contempt, guardedness, and anger there. Last night, when he had held her and kissed her, when she had melted in his arms, it hadn’t been there then. But that moment had had little to do with reality.
The waitress brought their bill and Mark paid it, then they both walked to the nearest pay phone.
He stood close to her as she dialed, and in her peripheral vision she noted the fatigued slump to his shoulders and the tired lines around his eyes. This was hard on him—and he didn’t have to do it. He could be in Newpointe working his shift, near Issie, but he had chosen to stay here with her. Warmth flooded through her, but she tried to shove it away.
Her mother answered on the first ring. “Mom? It’s me.”
“Allie, where have you been? We’ve been hearing all the reports about the murders, and we’ve tried to call, but we couldn’t get you—”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m in New Orleans right now, just trying to keep low until they catch the killer, but I’m catching a plane tomorrow to come there. I think I need to be out of the state for a while.”
“Yes,” her mother agreed. “Yes, this is exactly where I want you to be. But honey, be careful. If this man wants you dead—”
“Mark’s with me,” she said, not certain if that would put their fears to rest or not.
“Mark? Why?”
“He’s worried.” She met his eyes awkwardly, then looked away. “He hasn’t left my side since this whole thing started. He’s coming with me to Georgia, Mom.”
“Are you two back together?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just a safety thing.”
“What about the woman?”
Her mother was blunt, as always, but Allie hoped Mark hadn’t heard. “We’ll talk about it later, Mom.”
“So do I need to make up one bed or two?”
He’d heard that, and now he watched her, waiting for an answer. “Two, Mom, if you don’t mind.”
“I’ll tell you what, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind when I see him. You should have divorced him already, and then maybe you wouldn’t be on that maniac’s list.”
“Mom, we’re not coming to fight. Please, we’ve been through enough lately.”
“Then I have to bite my tongue?”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Oh, really, Allie, you can’t be serious.”
“Mom, there are more pressing issues to deal with right now. Be glad that I’m not coming alone.”
“All right,” her mother conceded at last. “I’m glad. But I still might tell him what I think of him if I get the chance.”
When she hung up, Allie turned back to Mark. She could tell from the look on his face that he’d heard what her mother had said.
“So, is she going to let me in?”
“Not without telling you off first. Mark, if you want to back out, I’ll be fine. Really.”
“No way. I’m going with you and that’s final. I can deal with your parents.”
“All right,” she said, “but I warned you.”
He seemed thoughtful, and she knew that he dreaded the confrontation tomorrow. They both needed something to distract them. “Let’s
go to Slidell and check on Susan,” she said. “At least we’ll feel like we’re accomplishing something.”
Chapter Thirty
Television vans filled the parking lot of Slidell Memorial Hospital, and a crowd of reporters waited outside the front door for a story. CNN was among those lined up at the edge of the lot. “CNN? This is making national news?” Allie asked.
“Take a look over there,” Mark said. “NBC, CBS—I guess it’s big-time. ‘Serial killer hitting all the wives of the firemen in a sleepy little southern town.’”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He stopped the car, let it idle for a moment. “We don’t have to go in there.”
“Yes, we do. I have to see Ray. I have to know about Susan.”
“Look at all the reporters still here—that must mean she’s alive.”
Allie’s face went from dejected to hopeful. “Do you think so?”
“Of course. They wouldn’t hang around here if there wasn’t a story. They’d be back in Newpointe.”
She studied the crowd. “I don’t know if I have the strength to walk through them again.”
“Don’t talk to them. Just stick close to me and keep your eyes on the door. It looks like the security guards are keeping them out of the hospital now, so once we’re inside we should be all right.”
She pulled down the visor and took a look at herself in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and wore little makeup. “I look terrible. I don’t want to wind up on national news.”
Mark reached across the seat and touched her cheek. “You look pretty good to me.”
Her eyes met his, and they locked there for a moment. Finally, he looked away. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”
They got out of the car, and he took her hand and led her toward the door at the far end of the building, away from the crowd of reporters. Some correspondents doing stand-ups in front of their cameras noticed them, and Mark and Allie hurried faster to avoid them.
Once inside the doors, they navigated the halls until they were at the front desk where two elderly volunteers sat. “May I help you?” one of them asked.
“Yes. We were wondering about Susan Ford. Could you tell us where she is now?”
The gray-haired woman eyed them suspiciously. “Reporters?”
“No, ma’am,” Mark said. “I’m a fireman with Ray Ford in Newpointe, and this is my wife.”
“I have to ask for I.D. before I give you any information,” one of the ladies said. “Our hospital administrator wants the media kept out.”
“Sure.” He reached into his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license, as well as his firefighter I.D.
“All right,” the woman said. “ICU is on the fourth floor, and Captain Ford is waiting in there.”
They thanked her and took the elevator up. In the ICU waiting room, dozens of people waited in various stages of weariness. They saw Ray in a little cluster of people at the back of the room and hurried through.
Craig Barnes was there, along with George Broussard. Mark slowed as he reached them, and Ray looked up at them. His eyes looked as if he’d wept an ocean of tears in the last few hours, but he managed a smile. “You two back?”
“Yeah,” Mark said. “How is she, Ray?”
His bloodshot eyes misted over again. “She ain’t out of the woods. She’s still unconscious.”
Allie turned to George and hugged him. “It’s nice of you to come here, George, when you’ve got griefs of your own.”
He swallowed. “I thought nothin’ would take my mind off my troubles like bein’ here to help a brother with his. My folks got Tommy.”
“It’s gotta be hard for you,” Allie said.
“Yeah.” George sank down onto a vinyl chair. “At least Martha didn’t suffer.”
Allie sat down next to him. She took his big hand and held it tightly as she looked back up at Ray. “Has she come to at all?”
“No,” Ray said. “Not at all. But I ain’t leavin’ here, and they promised me that if she does wake up, they’ll call me. Other than that, I have to wait until six o’clock tonight to see her again.” He blinked back the fresh tears in his eyes. “Anybody talked to the preacher?”
“He was at the meeting,” Craig said. “He can’t come, Ray, because all of our unmarried men are working to give the rest the chance to protect their wives.”
“Good idea,” Ray said. “Yeah, that’s a better use of his time than bein’ here with me.”
“I know he’s praying, Ray,” Allie said. “Lots of people are.”
Ray nodded. “I’ve tried, but it just seems like a chant or somethin’. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
“I’ve had the same problem,” George said softly. “I know who can give me comfort. I know who can give me peace. But I can’t seem to let go of all the anger and confusion long enough to talk to him about it.”
“We could pray with you both,” Allie offered.
Something about that suggestion made Mark uncomfortable. It had been a long time since he’d prayed with others…in fact, he hadn’t done a lot of praying alone lately, either. Still, he did what he knew he should do, and nodded. “Sure, we could.”
Ray sat slowly down, and Craig Barnes looked for a moment as if he might find an excuse to leave. But Mark sat down next to Ray, and after a moment, Craig followed.
For a moment, they sat there quietly, reverently, while the noise of the waiting room continued around them. Telephones rang, the intercom blared, people talked…
Mark looked at Allie; she was looking at him, waiting for him to lead them. He swallowed the lump in his throat and suddenly felt dirty, unrighteous, though he wasn’t sure why. Knowing that it was cowardly, he passed the baton to his wife. “Allie, will you lead us?”
He could see her disappointment in him, but he also saw that she wasn’t surprised. She bowed her head, closed her eyes, and began to pray.
None of their eyes were dry as she entreated God to intervene on Susan’s behalf, prayed for peace for Ray and George, and asked the Almighty to stop the killer from killing again, and to aid the police in finding him.
When the amens came, all of them were weeping. Craig Barnes was so overcome that he had to excuse himself and head for the men’s room. Allie dug into her purse and handed each of them a tissue.
“Thank you, Allie,” Ray whispered.
“Yeah, merci, darlin’,” George added. “I needed that.”
In a moment, Craig came back, his face dry, but his eyes still glassy and red. “I guess I’d better get back to the station,” he said. “I’m short on captains, so I need to be available.”
Ray shook his hand and patted his shoulder. “Thanks for coming by, man.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said. Craig turned to Allie. “You take care, okay?”
“I will,” she whispered. “We’re flying to Georgia tomorrow morning. Seems right to get out of town.”
“I think you’re right,” Craig said. “But why are you waiting?”
“Econojet,” Mark said. “They were booked till then. Anyway, we wanted to come here.”
Craig shook Mark’s hand. “See you later. Let me know if you need me.”
Mark appreciated the sentiment—but he also remembered Craig’s objection to the husbands taking off work, so he took those words with a grain of salt.
Moments later, Allie moved to sit in the empty chair next to Ray. “Where are the kids?” she asked him.
“Ben’s takin’ a shower,” he said. “We been here all night. And Vanessa…” He nodded toward a window across the room, and Allie saw the girl sitting on the sill, staring out. “She’s takin’ it real hard,” he said. “Think you could talk to her, Allie? I ain’t been able to do much good.”
“Sure, I will.”
She zigzagged between chairs and clusters of people until she came to the pretty teenager whose only concern just days ago had been getting permission to drive. She touched Vanessa’s shoulder, and
the girl looked back.
“You okay, Vanessa?” she asked.
She moved her gaze back to the window. “She gon’ die.”
“We can hope not. They’re taking good care of her here—”
“It’s my fault.”
“What? How?”
“Because I’m bein’ punished. God’s fed up with me so he’s teachin’ me a lesson.”
“What lesson?”
“That if I don’t value my mama he gon’ take her away.” She broke into a sob and turned back to Allie. “Yesterday I called her Ms. Hitler. I said I had the worst mama I knew of. I didn’t know those’d be the last words I’d ever say to her, Allie! I didn’t know she’d die thinkin’ I hated her guts! They was just words.”
“Vanessa, there hasn’t been a single moment in your life when your mother thought you hated her.” Allie’s mind drifted back to all the hateful words she and Mark had exchanged-words of contempt and bitterness. “Words can be pretty powerful, though, can’t they?” she asked weakly.
“I just want another chance,” the girl whispered. “Just one more chance, to tell Mama I love her. I don’t care if she never lets me drive.”
Allie pulled the girl into a hug and held her tightly, and they both wept.
“I can’t pray for her,” Vanessa cried. “God won’t hear me, “cause he gon’ teach me a lesson.”
“He does hear you, Vanessa. And what happened to your mom was not to punish you, honey. There’s a sick man out there, and he’s not doing God’s business for him. You can pray for your mom, and I know God will listen.”
The girl wiped her eyes and flipped her long black weaves back over her shoulder. “You really think so?”
“I know so.”
Again they embraced, long and hard.
From across the room, Mark watched. The gentle way Allie spoke to the girl made him remember how he had wanted to have children with her, how strongly he had believed that Allie would be a wonderful mother. He had almost forgotten.
Now it came back to him how those discussions had led to Allie’s desire to stay home with their children, which inevitably led to their conclusion that it was impossible because of his low income, which caused her to work extra hours at the florist to pay the bills, which caused him to feel inadequate and frustrated…
Private Justice Page 15
