“Yeah. I’ve always wanted to finish a novel I began in college.”
“Haven’t had the time?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself. The truth is that I just haven’t had the grit.”
“You’ve had a lot going on lately.”
“True. But I could’ve sat down and written something. I just didn’t. And now I’m going to.”
He paused and leaned against the counter. “Good. I’m glad you’re ready to tackle that dream. And I’d be happy to edit it, or whatever you need.”
“Thanks, Adam. I may take you up on that.”
He put his arms around me, careful not to squeeze anything broken. “My woman, the writer. I like the sound of that.” He kissed my forehead and paused for a moment.
It sounds wonderful, I thought as I held my breath.
“Eliza, as you make your plans, if you feel the same way about me as I feel about you, I hope you’ll keep our relationship.”
“Keep our relationship what?”
“Just keep our relationship. Sell your condo. Quit your job. But keep us.”
I nuzzled close to him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
CHAPTER 20
As soon as I could get around without much pain or medication, I asked Adam to drive me to the jail to see Cleo. I still loved her and I needed to hear what she had to say.
If I had not seen Cleo’s face in the driver’s side of the windshield as she was headed toward Adam, and if I had not seen the determination and decision set in her jaw, I would have been my sister’s strongest defender.
I sat in the room waiting for Cleo to be brought in, not quite sure what to say.
Hey, Sis, how are things going?
Look what you did to me.
Why?
The guards walked in with a woman who could not possibly be my sister. She was escorted to the chair on her side of the glass opposite me. The jail outfit hung like pajamas on her frame and made her look smaller than usual. Her face’s raggedness and uneven tones showed how tired she was, and her unkempt, loose hair partially covered her features. She sat down behind the glass and pushed back her hair, tucking it behind her ears, and I realized how much she resembled herself as a teenager, after the accident. Shunned by her friends and uncomfortable around her mourning family, she had withdrawn, slept and ate little. She looked like that tired and troubled child.
When she didn’t move, I made the first attempt at communication and lifted the phone to my left ear. I tapped gently on the glass and pointed to the phone in my hand. I saw her chest rise and fall in a sigh before she picked up the phone on her side.
“Hey, Cleo,” was the brilliant opener I had came up with. Right.
“There’s no touching allowed. That’s why we have to use these little phones. As if someone is going to slip me a weapon or drugs or something. I’m not a damn deadbeat,” she muttered.
I could barely hear her. “But at least we get to talk. Are they treating you all right in here?”
“Yeah,” Cleo replied finally, still not looking up. “It’s not that bad. Most of the women are nice to me.”
I longed for my sister to look up, to make eye contact. It was difficult to read her when I couldn’t see into her eyes, and the body language I was reading otherwise was not painting a pretty picture of her condition. Cleo was not herself, was disappearing inside her own mind, so that she was only half-conversing with me. We were both uncomfortable. I was about to excuse myself for both our sakes, when all of a sudden Cleo’s face shot up and her olive eyes met mine. She was clear-eyed and alert. She’d snapped back into life.
“I was so scared I’d hit you, Liz. The police told me I didn’t, that you fell. But when they took me away, they were putting you into an ambulance and I thought you’d be in a coma maybe forever or you’d wake up and be a vegetable and that I’d never be able to see you again. I am so sorry that you got hurt. So sorry. I should have stopped quicker. Driven slower. Or come earlier. Something. I just didn’t know you were going to be there. And the police were following me. They’d figured it out. I think the police were in touch with my boss or someone. Maybe somebody at work was scanning my computer to see who I’d been tracking or something. I don’t know how, but they knew. They’d connected me with the others. I just feel so bad that you got hurt. That is the last thing I wanted.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. That was what she was sorry for? That I happened to be there and that I personally got hurt? “You were going to kill Adam. That’s what you should be sorry about! You didn’t even hit me!”
Cleo squinted, confused. She lowered the phone for a moment and looked to the side as though she were trying to comprehend what I had just said. Then she pulled the phone back to her ear. “Adam was cheating on you. You said so yourself in that message. You left a couple of upset messages and you said Adam was cheating.” She nodded, as though that was a reasonable explanation.
“I never said you should hurt him!”
“I know. I was trying to help. You can’t just say someone is hurting you and expect me to be okay with it. I’m your sister.”
“I was venting…like I always do!”
“You vent, but you never take action. He deserved a payback and I knew you couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give that to him. So I did. He deserved it, Liz.”
“He wasn’t cheating. I was mistaken.”
“But you told me he was cheating on you.”
“Jorge was cheating on you and you didn’t go after him!”
“It wasn’t like that with Jorge. He kept my secrets.”
“I thought I was your confidant.”
“Not about this kinda stuff. He knows people who have helped me out.”
“With what? What exactly could Jorge’s friends do that was so important?”
“They could fix up my cars. Take some apart. Move them down to Mexico. Make them disappear when they needed to disappear. He’s a different kind of confidant.”
“God, Cleo, this sounds so shady! This isn’t you.”
“Listen, Liz, the point is that no one hurts my sister.”
“Lots of people hurt me! Lots of people hurt everyone! It’s just a part of life!”
“Who else has hurt you?”
“Lots of people! You know that. And lots of people hurt lots of other people, too. You can’t get around that!”
“But who hurt you? Give me a name.”
I paused before answering. “You have.”
She blinked and began to put the phone back in its cradle.
I looked around and wondered if the phone conversation was being recorded. I tapped on the glass and pointed to the phone again. She picked it up and I continued the conversation. “The other hysterical voicemail I left you, it wasn’t about Adam. It was more important and I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but I am not hesitant about it now. I thought an author had killed Rain, and had hit Liam, so I was looking through a list of authors who had been rejected to see if any might be Rain’s murderer when I came across a manuscript submitted by…Dad.”
Cleo shuddered. To keep her safe from another bout of depression, I rarely spoke about Dad. Now though, I figured things couldn’t get much worse. She surprised me by replying calmly, “Yeah, I know.”
“It was submitted recently…”
“I submitted it.”
I was my turn to be speechless. I set the phone on my lap and looked at the counter. Cleo assumed my question correctly: Why?
She tapped on the glass and mouthed something I couldn’t hear. I lifted the phone to my ear.
“Because I knew I’d be rejected and I needed that letter.”
“To put on Rain’s car?” I looked to the cameras.
“I wanted it to look like an author. You know, so you wouldn’t be a suspect. Same reason I waited until you were on vacation.”
Not a suspect? I’d wavered between feeling like a suspect and a potential victim because of her terrible planning. “Cleo, you’ve b
een doing so well for all these years. You’d seemed to get over the accident. You did so well in school, in college, at work. You’re this sophisticated woman with a great job. What happened?”
“Was I ever really fine? Just because we never talked about it doesn’t mean I was peachy-keen, Liz.”
“I still deal with all the sadness, too, but we’ve both been functioning all right. So what happened?”
“I got a letter. Actually a card. From the guy who killed Dad. The guy who hit our car. He went on about how he’s been carrying around all this guilt and felt that writing an apology would be ‘healing’ or something.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He wanted ‘closure.’”
“Closure for himself. Reopening a wound for you.”
“Exactly. It opened an old wound that I’d hoped had been scarred over forever. That guy was so selfish, acting as though curing his guilt was worth wounding the victim again. It just got me thinking about you and Mom. I wanted to be sure that I could protect my remaining family.”
“But we’re okay, me and Mom.”
“But you guys weren’t! And Mom is half a world away.”
“That’s her life, Cleo. It isn’t your responsibility.”
She ignored my rebuttal, and continued on her original train of thought.
“I used my connections in the government to have Mom transferred to a safer place in Botswana, just doing some office work for the organization and not out at the school or the center. And I wanted to keep an eye on you. You weren’t standing up for yourself, so someone had to.”
“I was fine. Maybe a little bored with life, but never in danger.”
“Bored with life? Your life was at a standstill and you were burying yourself in work so you didn’t have to deal with your issues with your boss and Liam. Not only that, you purposely put yourself in harm’s way!”
“Please! When did I put myself in harm’s way?”
“By helping that intern. Her boyfriend could have found out how you had helped and gone after you. I read about that kind of thing happening all the time. You should have let the girl deal with her own issues. But no, you couldn’t leave it alone. So I had to clean that up, too.”
“Donnie?” Who is this woman caged in glass, and where is my sister?
“To protect you,” she answered.
I shook my head, getting frustrated with Cleo. “Of course, when you were trying to hit Liam, he was in my car. You could have hurt me in your twisted plan to protect me.” My shoulder ached.
“I made sure his car would be in the shop. Or, should I say, I had friends make sure. Knowing him, I knew he’d beg you to use your car. And knowing you, I knew you’d let him, because you let him walk all over you.”
Cleo’s eyes were fast becoming dazed again. I nearly expected her to rattle off her crimes one by one, right here and now.
“I’m sorry about your car, but because it was yours, you weren’t blamed, right? Plus, I didn’t have a vehicle available that could do enough damage if he were in his sturdy little SUV.”
I stood up and motioned to the guard. “I think she’s getting tired or something. She shouldn’t be talking right now.” I spoke into the phone while still standing. “Cleo, you need some rest.”
“You’re leaving?”
“You look tired, and you’re saying…you’re just saying stuff you probably should discuss with your lawyer or something. I’ll see you soon.”
I stayed on the phone as the guards moved toward her. She mumbled to me, “Did you get your car back?”
“I thought I’d told you that I had.”
“Can you look for my CD before you have it towed away? I think I’d like it back now.”
“Which CD?” I asked, though I knew the answer.
“You’ll know it when you see it. I put it in the car when it was in the impound yard after the accident. I wanted to put it in the CD player, but there was blood all over the dash and I couldn’t touch it. It should be in the CD case. I just wanted you to think that Liam—”
She struggled with the guards for a moment and the phone fell to the tabletop. She was led out the door.
I sat in the chair a moment. I wanted to put my head in my hands and bawl my eyes out. But I realized that I shouldn’t. Not right now. I didn’t need to break down. And I realized that I could control myself. Oh, I’d cry later. There was nothing wrong with showing my sadness and hurt. But Adam was waiting in the parking lot, and I was in control of myself. So I got up slowly, with dry eyes, and made my way to the door.
* * *
In his new metallic blue hybrid, not yet pasted with bumper stickers, Adam asked if there was anything I needed. Anywhere I wanted to go. Anything that would make me feel better.
“I’m not in a huge amount of pain anymore, Adam. I’m just bummed.”
“My offer still stands. Is there anything that would make you feel better? Anywhere you want me to take you? Anywhere at all?”
I thought for a moment. “Could you take me to the Amtrak station?”
“Leaving town, are you?”
“I want to go up to Orange County.”
“I can drive you up there.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I need to go up there alone.”
“Then to the train station it is. Call me when you get back and I’ll pick you up.” I was thankful he didn’t push the question about where I was going. It was hard to lose my freedom by losing my car, but at least I didn’t have a nosy taxi driver.
* * *
I spent the train ride trying to remember the exact location of where I was heading. Directions from the train station. Whether I could walk from the station or if I’d need to hire a taxi.
I ended up hiring a taxi, mainly because it had been a while and I wasn’t sure I could find my way and didn’t want to be wandering around trying to find it while I was still in a moderate amount of pain. The taxi driver knew exactly how to get to the cemetery, and the ride there was short.
I hadn’t been to Dad’s grave in years, but had no trouble finding it. I was surprised to see fresh flowers in the inground vase next to the headstone—roses—but as I came closer I could see that they were silk, in varying degrees of fading. I pictured Dad’s friends here, bringing him flowers that couldn’t die, wondering why they never saw his wife or daughters visiting anymore.
I used to come here every day after school, but after graduation my visitation dropped to once a week, then once every other week. Once I began college, I’d visit infrequently, wanting to spend my time at home with my mom and sister instead of sneaking away to see Dad’s grave. It always felt like sneaking, because I was afraid Cleo would find out and sink back into the depression that she was slowly emerging from.
Now, as I lowered myself to the grass next to the flat headstone in the ground, I felt guilty for how I’d treated Dad’s memory. Dad, who was always laughing and joking and enjoying life. I’d hidden my hurt, but also my entire memory of him, just so that Cleo wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.
From the start, I should have brought up good stories about him with Cleo. It would have hurt for a while, but she would have been comforted with the good memories at least. Instead, Dad’s memory only invoked guilt and pain for her.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said, touching the smooth dove-gray marble that lay flush against the recently mowed grass. My fingers traced his name, Sharif Tahan, over and over. “I was still a kid…I didn’t know the best way to help Cleo deal with her guilt. I didn’t know the best way to deal with my own grief.”
I crossed my legs under me, positioning myself for the least amount of pain. I touched the silk roses in the vase. “Who brought these for you? Smart idea—the silk ones last longer. Was it someone from church? Work? You touched so many lives that it could have been anyone.”
I began pulling out the most faded rose. The silk petals were graying now from too much time under the sun, but as it emerged from the vase, I saw that the plastic stem r
emained a rich green. I pulled it out the rest of the way and was surprised to find a small, winkled piece of paper wrapped around the stem. Not tissue paper, but notebook paper. I unwrapped the paper gingerly, careful not to rip it, and set the rose aside.
Unfolding the page, I smoothed it flat. I saw the writing, but had to look carefully to read it, as the ink had run.
My eyes skimmed the page, left to right. Left to right. Left to right. Over and over was written, “I’m sorry.”
In Cleo’s handwriting.
She had come to Dad’s grave. She’d left him a silk flower and a note. And she’d filled the entire note with her apology.
I set the note aside and chose another silk rose at random and unwrapped the paper around it.
I’m sorry.
I grabbed another rose and another and another.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I continued until the vase was empty of flowers and my eyes were full of tears. She’s been coming to see you, Dad? For how long? Since the guy who hit you sent her that note? Since…forever?
Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sat clutching notes full of apologies in each hand, surrounded by silk flowers and more apologies. “She’s sorry, Dad. Look at these notes! Couldn’t you have just made a quick appearance to tell her she’s not to blame? Tell her you’re okay and to live her life? Tell her not to hurt anyone? Couldn’t you have done something?”
I gathered up the notes and stuffed them to the bottom of the vase. “Why did you let her drive without her glasses? Why didn’t you notice the truck before it hit you and tell her to stop? Why didn’t you pull through and recover after the accident? Don’t you see how this has destroyed your daughter? Your daughters?”
I stuck the roses back into the vase, and they sat higher than before, perched on the wadded-up papers at the bottom. “Can you see from where you are what Cleo’s done? What she did? With all she’s been through?”
There was no answer from above, and no ghost-version of my father appeared next to me. I wasn’t expecting either to happen. I knew there weren’t any answers.
Best of Luck Elsewhere Page 24
