by Cindy Bokma
“What?” he closed his thin papery eyelids and took a deep breath. “Why?”
“I have to know. Did you have anything to do with her death? Or the death of your stepbrother?” I was treading on dangerous ground. I held my breath as I waited for his response.
We sat outside, on the deck drinking lemonade and watching Will. He played dangerously close to Leo’s precious koi pond and Japanese garden, but Leo failed to notice, or if he did, he didn’t care anymore. After Claire was sent away to a resort for a few days, I settled down in the expansive guest room above the garage. The size of the room was equal to the entire top floor of my house back east. A queen-sized bed and a sleek dresser were the only furniture occupying the room. The walls were painted pale concrete gray, the carpet was white, of course. It wasn’t very homey, but the high thread count sheets, and the limestone and stainless steel bathroom made up for the coldness with a feeling of modern luxury. I likened the stay in the guest room to being in an ultra-chic hotel.
Will stayed in his old room, which had not been touched. He was happy to get back to his old toys, electronic gadgets, game cubes, and play-station, not to mention his small theater for movies. Still, I preferred to have him outside, playing and gathering rocks and bugs.
One day he surprised me. “When can we go back home? Back to our real house?” he asked, wrinkling up his nose. His eyes were large and solemn. I wished he would open up to me but he was pensive, quiet. I asked him questions about how he felt, what he thought, but he hung his head and didn’t answer, only shrugged his shoulder.
“A few days, honey. Let’s spend a little bit of time here with your father.” I smoothed his hair down and kissed his cheek.
“He’s sick. It makes me feel weird,” he said, blinking his eyes.
“I know, my love. It’s hard. I feel weird too. But we’re here to say goodbye.” I was at a loss for the proper words to say to a child.
Will scampered off to find his toys and books. He read to Leo as much as he could, and while he read, Leo put his head back and closed his eyes, listening to Will slowly sound out the words and phrases that had troubled him so much last year. When he had first opened his book and started to read, Will paused, waiting for his father’s biting comments and caustic remarks, but there was none of that.
And now, Leo and I sat outside under the eucalyptus and palm trees, among the carefully tended plants. Leo was next to me with a cashmere blanket wrapped around his slender form, watching Will kick a soccer ball around the yard.
“Tell me about Aurora,” I urged.
His face was pale and pinched as he sighed. Fatigue settled in pockets under his eyes and a shadow fell across his face as he muttered, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“She was found dead. Her death occurred at the same time you were away from home.”
“Years ago.”
I noted the deliberate blankness in his eyes.
“Tell me.” My voice was low.
He let out a tortured sigh. When he spoke, his voice was a whisper and I strained to hear him. “She . . . wasn’t loyal to me. Aurora was trouble; I knew it the moment we got married. She wanted to let everyone know what kind of family I came from. She wanted to take me down after I worked so hard. She thought I murdered my step-brother . . .”
“I was scared about—”
He held a hand up to silence me. “I didn’t kill her. I know you think I did, but I didn’t.”
“And your brother?”
“The case . . . was dropped.”
I opened my mouth to ask more, but he held up a skeletal hand and shook his head. I didn’t want to push.
We were silent for a while. I weighed his words. How much did I need to know? I read between the lines, sure, he didn’t kill her, but he could have easily arranged her death. He didn’t have to be the one to pull the trigger, so to speak. I had the words on the tip of my tongue, but he grabbed my hand as I was about to talk.
“Image was everything to me. I couldn’t stand to be less than perfect, you see. And my temper . . .” He cleared his throat and reached for his drink, taking a long sip.
“Leo—”
“After I found out I was going to die, I stopped working and sat in this house, alone. Thinking. Doing an . . . assessment of my life and how I’ve lived it. I knew where you were. Something shifted in me and I decided I wanted you and Will to be happy.” He coughed and held a tissue to his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was muffled and I couldn’t completely hear him. “Maybe I wasn’t the best husband,” was what I thought he said. I couldn’t be sure.
“Hey, watch this, look at me,” Will called, bouncing the soccer ball on his knees, grinning up at us.
“Great job, buddy,” I called. We both smiled and waved to our son, who ran off to the other end of the sizable yard. He crouched down to examine something in the grass.
“So, you had this epiphany a few months ago? You wanted us to be happy?”
I was suspicious of anyone who had such a radical change of heart and couldn’t help but think he was putting on an act or trying to ease his guilt. But what if he was sincere, could I find it in my own heart to forgive the way he treated me? Us?
“Death makes you look at life differently.” Our eyes locked. He still had a hold on my hand and he now grasped it with force. “I want you to know, I’m leaving everything to you and Will. More money than you will ever need, I think.”
“I don’t want it,” I said flatly. I had a little money in the bank, a job, and a house. I didn’t need money from Leo, nor did I want it. No matter what kind of a saint he was right now, he made several years of my life horrible and while I might find a way to be forgiving, I’d always be bitter. Touching a hand to my collarbone, I closed my eyes. The area was still tender. I wished there was a way to erase the bad times and leave the good ones.
I eyed the IV pole that he had to pull around with him. A crazy thought streaked through my brain like lightening. I could kill him if I wanted to. He was so weak. The medicine was upstairs, loads of it. All the memories of the years made me, for an instant, feral in my desire to end his life. I had to turn away and catch my breath.
If he noticed a change in my demeanor, he didn’t comment. “I want you to have it. And there’s a trust fund for Will. He’ll have money for college, a car, and a house, whatever he wants when he turns eighteen.”
A fleeting thought of Aunt Priscilla and Taffy, struggling to make ends meet in the tiny, offensive house in Florida flashed through my mind. My son would never have to scrape to get by and for that I was thankful.
“What about Claire?”
“She’ll be taken care of.”
Leo then leaned over, brushing his dry lips over my cheek. And then he whispered in an unsteady voice, “I’ll always love you, Delia.”
We stayed for five days. Will faithfully sat with his father every night and read to him, talked and watched television. I relaxed a little, trusting that Leo wasn’t going to pull anything on me. Still, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure so I ensured never to leave Will alone with him. When the two were together, I was always there, lurking close.
I called Clem and Vincent to let them know I would be coming home soon.
“Is everything all right?” Vincent asked, sounding deep and strong in comparison to Leo’s frail, wheezing speech. Closing my eyes, I imagined his dark eyes.
“Everything is fine,” I assured him.
“I was getting nervous when I didn’t hear from you. I thought maybe you left town for good.” He laughed, but I noticed the tremor in his voice.
The night before we were to leave, I went into Leo’s room to say goodnight. Claire would be back any minute and I was eager to say my final goodbye and get back to my life back east.
The nurse had been in earlier to administer his medications and he was tired. I leaned over to whisper and his eyes blinked open and he grabbed my hand.
“Sleep with me tonight, Delia.”
“What? No, I don
’t think so.” I pulled my hand from him and took a step back.
“No, no, not like that. I want you to sleep with me, just sleep. I want to hold you one more time,” he pleaded, looking up at me from beneath his hooded eyes. “Just . . . please.”
Thinking of sleeping in the same bed as Leo filled me with dread. The room was cold, filled with sadness and maybe I imagined it but it smelled funny, like sickness. Death. Like Will said, it was weird.
“I can’t. I’ll sit here with you until you fall asleep. It’s the best I can do.”
He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”
We were on our way out the door. My rental car sat in front of the house where I parked it days ago, gathering pollen and dust.
Claire began to speak, and then hesitated. “I . . .” She touched the diamond around her neck and stroked it absently. “Your things. I have some of your things in a box. Necklaces, a few papers, things like that. It seemed wrong to wear your jewelry and I didn’t want to throw it out . . . Let me go get it.” She left the room, her heels clicking on the floor as she marched out.
I thought of my parents. I longed for my mother many times over the years, but for some reason I needed her now. I wanted to be folded up in a maternal hug and have her tell me that I was doing the right thing, that I would be okay. I wanted to believe she was there with me when I needed her most.
“Here you go.” Claire came back, holding in her hands a container about the size of a shoebox. I took it from her and stuffed it in my tote bag
“Thanks. And Claire . . . I’m glad he has you in his life right now.”
She nodded and offered a small, insincere smile which quickly faded to a grimace. “Listen to me Delia, I want to be clear. I do not want to see you back here looking to move back into this house. You are not welcome here again. I will stay, and when Leo passes, I will keep this house. He already told me it would be mine.”
“Don’t worry Claire.” I had no plans of ever coming back to Beverly Hills. As it was, I couldn’t wait to get home.
She pointed at me with her index finger, nearly jabbing it into my chest. “I don’t want you talking to the media. I don’t want to see a tell-all book coming out, detailing your marriage to Leo.” Her hardened reserve was back, the sadness and emotion was gone. She pursed her full lips together and narrowed her lifted brows. “I hope you understand.”
“I think you know that is not my style to go to the press. Don’t worry Claire,” I assured her. “I won’t make trouble for you.” If she only knew how far I wanted to get from Leo, how I wanted to push everything to the very back of my mind and never think of him again, then she wouldn’t feel the need to tell me to stay away.
I didn’t want the steely contemporary house with the floor to ceiling windows, the walls of glass or the mirrors with their sharp edges and rude reflections. Too many memories were lodged in this house.
I much rather be back in my humble home that needed care and upkeep. A shiver went through me. I wished I could close my eyes and be back there right now instead of standing with Claire.
“I’ll be in touch when the time comes. I’ll text you,” she said, keeping her tone business-like.
“All right.” I took Will’s hand and we began to walk back to the rental car. We were halfway down the massive, shrub-trimmed driveway when Claire called out to me.
“Delia?”
I turned around.
“Aren’t you going to miss all this?” She spread her arms wide and I noted the sun glinting off the emerald ring.
I thought of my place back on the coast with the rugged rocks outlining the wharf, the charming old lighthouses and the rusty fishing boats in the harbor. Would I miss Beverly Hills?
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “I won’t.”
Chapter 21
Present
Back at the office, Clementine questioned me, equal parts nosy and concerned.
“Where exactly did you go, dear? Anne and Midge didn’t recall you mentioning relatives in California. Now, aren’t you from Ohio? Didn’t you say you lived in Florida? Who did you visit? What’s the matter? Are—”
“Clem, did you pick up those papers from the printer? And do you have the date for the Bed and Breakfast cook book?” I tried to segue into a new conversation, but she always steered back to what I was doing in California.
“Have you seen Vincent?” she asked, trying to gather information like a squirrel gathering nuts for later consumption. She needed something to grease the wheels of gossip when Anne and Midge and the other ladies congregated for their weekly “prayer” meetings at church.
“Not yet.” I typed on the keyboard, keeping my eyes focused on the monitor. “I’m seeing him tonight.”
She beamed; the women of the town would like nothing better than to marry off the resident unmarried man. I shook my head but couldn’t contain the smile that made my cheeks hurt.
Later that night, I left Will in the kitchen to work on a project for school while I went upstairs to get ready to see Vincent. All afternoon I pulled weeds and worked in the yard so I was covered from wrist to elbow in dirt. After a quick shower, my eye fell on the box from Claire, sitting in my closet, teasing me. When would I be brave enough to look inside? With a swallow, I took a deep breath and picked it up. I sat on the floor of the closet, and gently pried the lid off, my fingers shaking. I heard Will singing along to a song on the radio and knew I'd be alone for a few minutes at least.
Next to some pieces of jewelry as Claire promised, were movie tickets, photographs, a few notes I had written Leo years before, before we were even married; Will’s birth announcement cut from the newspaper, an article about Leo and I, and our marriage announcement. I would throw away the article and anything about Leo. Those mementos meant nothing to me.
At the bottom sat a small notebook, no bigger than a deck of cards. I placed it aside and moved on to the next item, a platinum band, his wedding ring. Someday I would give the ring to Will. Holding the ring up, the overhead light glinted off the metal and I closed it in my palm, uneasy feelings stirring inside. That chapter of my life was firmly over and now I was able to freely move on. Yet something held me back.
How did I feel? Relieved? Happy? Anxious? All of the above? One minute I was happy, the next I was worried, and I hated to admit it, but a part of me looked forward to hearing that he died and everything would be over forever. Until then, a little voice in the back of my mind kept asking, “What if he gets better?”
With a sigh, I picked up the notebook and flipped through it, the sloppy handwritten words blurred before my eyes. I didn’t have time to read it and didn’t want to have Leo’s words on my mind as I spent time with Vincent. I vowed to read it another time and put everything back in the box, shoving it to the back of my closet.
I pulled on a tee shirt and jeans and brushed my hair with new energy. Excited to see Vincent but nervous at the same time, I applied some makeup and tried to reconcile the reflection in the mirror with the woman who ran away from Florida and ended up in California. It seemed as though I had lived a thousand lifetimes already.
As I drew mascara through my lashes, I thought about the past few days, trying to make sense of Claire, of Leo. Was he remorseful for the way he had treated me? Did he know how his words and his actions affected me, did he even care? Did he remember my black eye? The cut on my head that required stitches? The bruises on my wrist? Did he take accountability for his actions?
Will was my main focus and when I started feeling sorry for myself, I paused and thought about what I needed to do for him. He was an innocent little boy; I’d do my best every day to create a happy life for him. I’d never regret taking Will away from Leo. I thought back to a story I heard about a woman whose husband killed her. It was her six year old daughter who found the body. I shivered thinking about it.
I ran light-colored gloss over my lips and sprayed perfume on my neck. Thoughts of Leo were not going to poison my evening with Vincent. I ne
eded to start fresh, with a clean slate. I was taking one small step at a time with Vincent, looking for red flags and warnings that he would share the same controlling characteristics as Leo.
Vincent was right on time, ringing the bell promptly. I answered the door to him holding a huge bouquet of flowers. The delicious scent of a wood burning fireplace mixed with sea air clung to his shirt as he hugged me. I inhaled deeply. My heart kicked a violent beat in my chest, equal parts nerves and worry.
Vincent told me he was afraid I wasn’t coming back. “I couldn’t bear it if you left. I don’t even know how to explain it, but I would have been devastated.” He pressed the flowers into my hand. “Which I know sounds weird considering we don’t even know each other that well, but I can’t help it.”
I shook my head. “I’m back for good. Now tell me what happened while I was gone. Fill me in on what’s going on around town. Not that I know many people, but entertain me.” I walked into the kitchen to get water and a vase for the flowers.
I turned and looked at Vincent, so adorable with his inky hair and endless, black eyes. My heart fluttered like butterfly wings. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down as if he had done it a million times before. This seemed comfortable and easy. When Will came in for some hot chocolate it was as if the three of us had been together for years. It was crazy to feel this way, wasn’t it? Was love a feeling, a flooding of comfort and excitement? After what I went through with Leo, was I ready for this?
I hardly knew him. Did love work this fast?
I enjoyed knitting, it was soothing, repetitive, and predictable. Closing my mind to troubling thoughts, I let the rhythm of the needles take me to a quiet place. I didn’t care what I was working on; it could be a big rambling blanket, a sweater, or a knitted hat. It was about the process rather than the result. As I wound the yarn, a beautiful blue, soft and silky, around the needles, I thought back to Leo laughing at my knitting habit.
