In the years immediately following Rory’s birth, those three words symbolized stolen moments of renewing their love. But in the last few years, resentment over money issues had poisoned their emotional reservoir. Stealing a glance at his wife as she shuffled through their business papers, it dawned on him that this morning’s “Let’s do it” held none of its original intent.
Ryan kept his eyes on the road. “You know what to tell them, right?”
“I’m going to request a line of credit be tied to our Lincoln Park house to consolidate our credit card bills.”
“You’ll mention the credit cards were steep because of my hospital bills.”
Laurie rolled her eyes. “You were in perfect health before your heart attack so we elected to pay a small monthly health insurance premium in return for a ten-thousand-dollar deductible.”
“And everything went to hell after my heart attack, with my prescription drug co-pays.”
“You know, I still don’t get why you won’t talk to the banker yourself.”
“You handle our checkbook, you know what to say.”
“Great excuse,” Laurie said congenially.
Ryan sighed. “Just handle this one thing for me, alright?”
“No problem,” she said cheerfully. “Talking about checkbooks, how about adding your unemployment checks to the caboodle instead of paying your bills from a separate account?”
Ryan thought fast. “This way I can keep track of what’s coming in and not have to burden you.”
“But I still receive both monthly bank statements,” she protested.
Fortunately for him, the bank no longer attached copies of canceled checks to their bank statements. “Let’s just concentrate on the task at hand, okay?”
His wife leaned towards him, as if to pursue the subject. Then unexpectedly kissed his cheek instead. “No problem.”
“You’re extra chipper this morning,” said Ryan.
“I’m ‘chipper’ because Mitzy’s bringing her detective friend on board to investigate the dead boy’s disappearance.”
Stay cool, Ryan told himself. “There’s no proof the kid was ever on our property,” he said lightly.
“What about the napkin I found listing both our Chicago and Wisconsin addresses?”
“We’ve been over this a thousand times. Odds are it fell out of Shakia’s purse or a moving carton.” Ryan deftly changed the subject. “How’s the new renter search going?”
“I placed an ad in the local paper.”
Ryan pulled her close, then tilted her face up to his. “My panic attack was a wake-up call to go with the flow. Anyway, who am I to argue? You’re paying for those rent-loss months out of the money from your father’s estate.”
Laurie snuggled into his arms. “Does your wakeup call mean you’ll be sharing all your worries with me from now on?”
“Uh huh.” His chest muscles felt tight.
Ryan pulled the minivan into a tree-lined parking lot surrounding a three-level bank building and Laurie jumped out of the car. “Wish me luck.”
Ryan gave his wife a thumbs-up. He watched her stride up the walkway and swing open the glass door. If he didn’t suit up and tell his wife the truth about Todd Gray, as well as his untimely exit from Great Harvest, his marriage would soon be in ruins.
*
Enveloped by friendly chatter, Laurie slipped into the chair facing her husband. Raising a glass of Carmel wine, she smiled at her husband across the dining room table. “I want to thank Ryan for inviting all of you to share my special night.”
“Mazel Tov, Laurie,” said Shirley Maven. “It’s a special blessing your good news falls on Shabbat.”
“Let’s get those candles lit and do the Kiddush before you start toasting the whole universe,” Harry kidded.
“You deserve it, honey,” said Ryan, his eyes twinkling as he hit the light switch. Then he flicked it on again. “Any men still need a yarmulke?”
“Our heads are all covered before the Lord, son,” said Norman. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Just checking,” said Ryan, once again dimming the lights.
A sudden hush filled the darkened room as Laurie struck a match, then lit the two twelve-inch white candles before her. Her palms hovering over the candlelight, she pronounced the ancient words of blessing. “Baruch [or Barukh] atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech [or melekh] ha-olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav, v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat.” A choral amen echoes around the table.
“Um, could you explain what those words mean in English?” asked Maggie.
“Blessed is the Lord, our God, who commands us to kindle the lights of the Sabbath,” Rory said.
Everyone raised their wine glasses as Ryan raised an ornate silver Kiddush cup. “Baruch [or Barukh] atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech [or melekh] ha-olam, borei p'ri ha-gafen.”
“Blessed are you, oh Lord our God, who commands us to drink the fruit of the vine,” Norman Atkins chimed in.
Once again, the room echoed with “Amen” as everybody took a sip of wine.
“This wine’s way sweet,” Frankie whispered to the host.
“Just be glad you don’t have to drink it every holiday,” Ryan joked in a stage whisper.
“Doesn’t seem to stop you from drinking all four glasses on Pesach,” Norman observed.
“Paysack?” asked Ryan’s personal trainer.
“Passover,” said Laurie. “Now we’ll do the blessing over the challah. Then we’re ready to scarf down the meal Mitzy and her mom prepared for us.”
“You didn’t need to go to all that trouble,” protested Ryan.
“Couldn’t have Laurie preparing a Shabbat dinner for all of us when we’re supposed to be celebrating with her,” said Harry.
“You’re going to love the Matzo Ball soup, dahlings,” Shirley joked.
Ryan handed the challah basket to the bearded man sitting next to him. “Would you lead the Chamotzi, Maury?”
“I’d be honored,” said the former Camp Briarwood director, removing the decorative covering from the challah. He tore off a handful of egg twist bread, then distributed a small piece to each person.
“Did you wash your hands?” Rory called out.
The room shook with laughter.
“Sure did,” said Maury. “Baruch [or Barukh] atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech [or melekh] ha-olam, ha-motzi lechem min ha-aretz. Amen.”
“Okay, I think I got it,” said Maggie. “Thanks, God, for giving us this bread to eat.”
“Are you Jewish, too?” asked Rory.
“This kid’s a real crack up,” said Norman, chuckling along with the others.
Shirley Maven signaled for her daughter to join her in the kitchen, protesting when Laurie attempted to rise from her chair. “Share your good news with your friends, sweetie. Mitzy and I will bring out the soup, salad, and gefilte fish.”
“What was that last thing she mentioned?” asked Frankie.
Ryan slapped the personal trainer on his back. “Ground whitefish and carp molded into individual servings. You’re paying me back for all the questions I asked you this year, right?”
“No problem, man. You never had a personal trainer before.”
“Never had a heart attack before, either.”
“That, too,” said Frankie.
“So what’s your good news, Laurie?” said Maury, leaning his forearms on the linen table cloth.
Laurie gazed at them, a rapturous smile on her face. “I finally passed my National Real Estate Exam. I start work at Coldwell Banker on Monday.”
“Took long enough,” Ryan said lightly.
Laurie blushed. She hated when he joked at her expense.
“You guys never give me parties when I pass my tests at school,” Rory pouted.
“Passing this test is very special,” said Norman. “Your mom’s going to be able to make lots of money to take care of you and your dad.”
Ryan’s eyes turned dark. “It’s not like Laurie has to totally support us. I
bring in money through my unemployment.”
Laurie cringed. Ryan’s anger was like a tornado. It blew in, then blew out in as many seconds. She just hoped this time the verbal damage would be minimal. “Your dad didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yeah, right,” said Ryan, jumping up from his seat and heading for the kitchen. “I’m going to get some more wine.”
Laurie glanced at her husband’s retreating figure, then refocused on her guests. Frankie twiddled his salad fork and Maurie drummed his fingers on the table. “It did take a long time for me to pass my real estate exam and I’ll tell you why.”
“You’re among family and friends,” said Norman. “You don’t owe us an explanation.”
She waved off her father-in-law’s concern. “The day of the first exam, I prepped like crazy.”
“What’s ‘prepped?’” asked Rory.
“Don’t interrupt your mother,” said Norman.
“My stomach felt like a balloon ready to pop!”
“My tummy feels like that when I open birthday presents,” said Rory.
“Tons of data whirled through my brain. I felt like a frog poised to jump off a skyscraper. Yet deep down inside, I knew I’d land safely. After all, I already possessed a Bachelor’s Degree.”
“I thought a bachelor’s a boy,” said Rory.
Norman signaled his grandson. “Let’s go see if they need any help in the kitchen.”
“Ryan was awesome throughout the whole studying process. He cooked and cleaned every night for a whole month. Anyway, it’s mid-afternoon on Exam Day. In ninety minutes, I’m scheduled to take the three-hour real estate exam at H&R Block not five minutes away.”
“It’s nice they got so many locations,” said Harry.
Laurie continued. “All of a sudden the doorbell rings. Rocky’s barking like crazy. I yank open the front door. There, lying on the front stoop, is Ryan. He’s clutching at his left arm. A bag of overturned fruit and vegetables dot the path leading up to our house.”
“Hey, I could use a hand here,” said Shirley, balancing a silver platter of soup bowls.
“I said I’d bring it in, Mom,” said Mitzy, following her into the dining room with filled salad plates.
Norman placed seltzer water and soda pop bottles on the table.
“To make a long story short, the paramedics took Ryan to the hospital,” said Laurie. “I drove behind the ambulance.”
“Who’d the paramedics take to the hospital?” asked Rory as he plopped a silver napkin holder on the table.
“Again with the questions,” said Norman.
“We’re talking about when Daddy had his heart attack, honey,” said Laurie. She plucked an intricately designed paper napkin, then blew her nose.
Rory’s face threatened to cloud with tears.
Laurie reached over to hug her son. “I stayed by Ryan’s side up until the doctors said he was stabilized. Then I took off.”
“You left Daddy to go take a test?” asked Rory, a puzzled expression on his face.
Laurie nodded. “I’d already paid for the exam and was scheduled to start work the following week.”
“Couldn’t you take the test another time?” asked Rory.
“This was the only time it was going to be offered near our house.”
“How did you do on the test?” asked Harry.
“When I first got to the testing center, I could hardly breathe. I did some yoga poses in the back of the store just to calm myself down. But once I began the standardized exam, all the real estate facts I’d stuffed into my noggin went poof! All I could think about was my husband, who’d probably been wheeled into surgery by this time. I failed the test miserably.”
“Fortunately, you could take it over,” said Norman.
“What happened the second time?” asked Rory.
“Let’s save that story for another time, buddy,” said Ryan. He set his refilled wine glass above his plate. “Let’s eat.”
*
“Delicious.” Maury passed his soup bowl to Laurie. Then he turned to Rory. “So how was your first camp experience this summer, Rory?”
Rory’s eyes lit up. “Sweet! I learned to wall climb and sail.”
“Is that safe for young kids?” asked Mitzy.
“Each activity is modified for a particular age group,” said Maury. “When Laurie was a camper, she made her mom crazy with her water skiing and white water rafting.”
“One big worry wart,” Laurie muttered.
“She cared about you, that’s all,” said Harry.
Maggie rested a crystal salad bowl in the middle of the table. “How many years did you attend Camp Briarwood?”
Laurie tilted her head upward. “I started the summer of sixth grade, when my parents bought the summerhouse. And I continued on, becoming a counselor-in-training, a junior counselor, and eventually a senior counselor the summer of my second year in college. So that’s like nine years all together.”
“Did the older staff members still treat you like a camper?” asked Maggie.
“Laurie inspired confidence because she knew what she was doing,” said Maury. He gave Laurie a high-five.
“Did you have a special admirer up at camp?” asked Maggie.
“My wife had her first romance up there,” said Ryan, passing around the roast beef and potatoes. “But that’s not unusual for counselors, is it, Maury?”
“You are so rude,” said Laurie, her eyes bright with fury.
“Sexual experimentation up at camp is fairly common,” Maury admitted. “That’s why we’ve adopted a zero tolerance contract on drugs, alcohol, and on-site romantic liaisons.”
“How about off-site?” asked Shirley.
“Our junior counselors are only allowed off-site at night when we bus their whole group to a particular location, like a water park in the Wisconsin Dells or a local pizza pub,” said Maury. “Senior counselors, and we’re talking college kids here, are free to leave camp most nights, but the drinking age in Wisconsin is twenty-one.”
“The sex thing is what I’m talking about,” Shirley persisted.
“Out of sight, out of mind,” mused Harry.
*
Laurie stood at the head of the table, an apple pie in her hands. “Who wants dessert?”
Harry leaned back in his chair. “I’m plotzed.”
“None for me,” said Shirley. “I’m watching my weight.”
Mitzy stared at her. “Remember we brought sugar-free, Mom?”
Shirley looked flustered. “Oh yeah, sure.”
Maury patted his stomach. “Always room for dessert. Got some nondairy whipped cream?”
“Coming right up,” said Laurie. She placed a hefty slice of apple pie before him, then spooned a glob of whipped topping on his pie.
“How come I never met my mom’s mom?” asked Rory.
Laurie and Ryan exchanged glances.
“She lives far away,” said Ryan.
“More far away than a plane ride?” Rory persisted.
An uneasy silence filled the air.
“How ’bout putting some music on?” asked Shirley.
“Mom!” admonished Mitzy. “This isn’t your house.”
“Sounds good,” said Laurie. “Let me clear the table first.”
“I’ll help,” said Frankie, gathering the dirty dessert plates and carting them to the kitchen.
“I’m full, Mom,” said Rory. “Can I go ride my bike?”
Laurie nodded.
Harry collected the used drinking glasses, then handed them to his wife.
“You can’t bring them into the kitchen yourself?” Shirley asked, her hands on her hips.
“I’ll let my wife entertain you while I load the dishwasher,” said Ryan.
Norman grabbed the napkin holder. “I’ll help you, son.”
“You make any enemies up at camp?” said Maggie, sipping her seltzer water.
“A neighbor down the road from her parents’ summerhouse had a mentally retarded gra
ndson. At the time, he was in his late teens. Arnold was hired to clean the kitchen. He developed a crush on Laurie.”
Laurie rolled her eyes. “He was a pain and a half. Followed me around everywhere. Once he wrote me a letter, ‘I love you.’ Each letter printed in big kindergarten script.”
“One night, there was a fire outside the seventh grade girls’ counselors’ cabin,” continued Maury.
“Pretty scary,” said Laurie. “Fire truck, ambulance, the whole shebang.”
Frankie snapped his fingers. “The retarded dude caught you with your boyfriend and was so pissed off, he started a fire.”
Maury leaned back in his chair. “There were rumors to that affect. Arnold was initially questioned by the police. But Helga Beckermann swore her grandson had been at her house all evening.”
“Arnold wasn’t scheduled to work dinner shift and the police couldn’t prove anything,” said Laurie.
“This Arnold still live up here?” asked Maggie.
“He’s in a group home in Oconomowoc,” said Laurie.
Mitzy gave Maggie a meaningful glance. “Check this guy out,” she mumbled.
“Sorry?” asked Laurie.
“She said she’s feeling stout,” Maggie said, laughing.
“You didn’t eat that much,” joked Ryan.
Maggie rose from the table. “Thanks for allowing me to share in your good news celebration. Lots of luck in Real Estate.”
“Thanks for joining us tonight,” said Laurie. “Have a safe drive home.”
“Now how ’bout that music?” Shirley called from the living room.
“Coming right up,” said Laurie.
22
Damned night shift detectives and their garlic breath. Maggie rubbed sanitizer over the ebony telephone receiver just in time for her first call of the morning. “Detective O’Connor.”
“Hey, it’s Carmen. I’m up to my tattoo in crank calls and mistaken IDs on that ‘TG’ case, not to mention dumb-ass calls from Helga Beckermann. Chief wants me to close this one out.”
“Got you a heads-up that Arnold Beckermann worked at Camp Briarwood same time Laurie Atkins was up there.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Remember Mitzy Maven?”
“Your busybody reporter friend from the Chicago Tribune?” sniped Carmen.
“Ex-reporter. She’s friends with Laurie Atkins. Brought me along to a dinner party. Former camp supervisor was in attendance. Evidently Arnold wrote Laurie a love letter.”
Window of Guilt Page 13
