After the Fall

by Patricia Gussin

  “You told me your son and your wife don’t get along. Too bad. And what about that baby, your granddaughter, don’t you want to see her?”

  “Yes. When I see my granddaughter I want you to be with me, as my wife.” There, Jake had said it. Marriage.

  Addie set down the flatbread she’d been munching. Jake could see her features transform. Pretty became grim. She enunciated her words clearly through gritted teeth. “You keep saying you’ll divorce her. When, Jake?”

  Addie had no idea that divorcing a woman like Karolee would be like descending into hell. All those things that had attracted Jake to Karolee when they’d met at college now tormented him. She had family money she’d parlayed into a trendy Bethesda restaurant, a money machine. Aggressive, demanding, loud, opinionated, domineering. That was the consensus. He would add paranoid and downright stingy. No limit on what Karolee could spend on her hair, her clothes, her house. But let him overspend his share of their income and all hell broke loose.

  No, you don’t divorce a woman like Karolee. Far too difficult navigating the legal system. He’d simply terminate her. Combining the skills of a Marine with his project management ability, he’d come up with a plan. And—happy thought—he would finally get his hands on her money. Even though Karolee was always threatening, he didn’t think she’d made a will. She despised her daughter-in-law, so she wouldn’t leave her wealth to Mark. Baby Amanda was far too young to be considered, so it would all default to him as her husband.

  “Soon, Addie,” Jake said. “I’m getting the papers drawn up. She’ll be away until Friday. I’ll get it through court quickly. Then we can be together.” A pleasant thought slipped into Jake’s mind: with Karolee’s money and Addie’s, he’d be a truly wealthy man.

  “Addie, I want to marry you. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “I don’t know, Jake.” He watched the anger dissipate, replaced by a spark of hope, but then frustration. “I’m really worried about my family. Do you think the government people you know could get my family to the United States? I mean, if things get really bad there?”

  “I can work on it,” Jake said, as if he had contacts in the State Department. He’d now taken her hand, was squeezing it.

  “I’m so confused,” she said. “I want to stay here. Maybe if we get married, I can. I won’t be a disgrace to my family. But I would be a disappointment. They want to pick my husband, a Muslim, of course.”

  “Addie, if you want me to—”

  “But first,” she interrupted, “I have to get that money from Immunone. Tell me. Now. What is happening?”

  Jake couldn’t dance around her demand. As soon as the waiter laid out the spicy Middle Eastern food, he told her about the “problem.” FDA couldn’t find key data. Now, with their lead researcher dead, he didn’t know how long it would take Keystone Pharma to respond to the missing data requests. He was making it up as he went. But, in reality, Jake Harter was in the perfect position to make data disappear to fit his needs. He needed to keep reminding himself of that.

  Addie stopped eating as he explained. Her face was set in stone, but no tears. As Jake enjoyed his tender, slow-cooked, expertly seasoned chicken, she sat in silence, staring at him over the plate of lamb she’d barely touched.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18

  Laura awoke to dusk settling on Philadelphia. She must have slept about five hours. Before she spoke—before they even knew she was awake—she counted all five adult kids. And Tim, of course. Tim, who had proposed to her. Had that been only two nights ago? Would he still want to marry her now that her career was over? Tampa City Hospital would let her stay on as chief, at least for a while, supervising, strategizing, administrating. But sooner rather than later, they’d replace her with a hotshot surgeon who had two good hands.

  The pressure in Laura’s head had scaled down to a dull thud like a severe tension headache. She’d had her share of these, a single mother with five kids and a brutal job. She could deal with the headache, but not the fiery pain raging from her right hand to her shoulder. Dr. Corey, the hand specialist from Colorado, told her that compounding the fractures, she had compartment syndrome. Translation: disastrous tissue damage. Pressure rapidly builds up in the small compartments, creating an inflammatory cocktail that eats away at tissue and destroys nerves. They’d done a fasciotomy to relieve the pressure, so her hand had been carved up and splayed out under the bandages, with the result being unbearable pain.

  She couldn’t hold off too long before asking for more pain meds, but Laura did need to release Tim and let the kids go back to where they belonged. She’d insist that hanging around made no sense.

  “I’m okay, everybody.” She turned her head and opened her eyes as wide as she could. “But not for long. My hand is killing me, and I’m going to ask for pain meds.”

  Kevin bolted up. “I’ll get the nurse, Mom.” He headed for the door.

  “Not yet, Kevin. Sit back down. I have something to tell you.”

  “You okay, Mom?” Patrick asked.

  No, I’m not okay. “I’m going to be okay,” Laura said. “Look, guys, I know my hand is injured beyond repair. I have no illusions about what that means. I’m not going to be able to operate in the future. Okay? I get it. I’ll be okay with that.” Or will I?

  “How can you be sure?” Natalie interrupted. “Dr. Corey said that—”

  “I am sure. Let’s just all accept this. I need a fresh start in my life. Once I get out from under this god-awful pain.”

  Kevin was on his feet again, “Mom, I don’t want you to suffer like this.” His eyes traveled to her bandaged, elevated arm. Of all her kids, he was the most squeamish. Took a lot of teasing from the medical siblings who enjoyed freaking him out with details of blood and gore.

  “Not yet. I have a request—all of you.”

  “Whatever you want, Mom,” Natalie inched closer to the bed, adjusted the sheet. Laura did not have the heart to tell her that any miniscule impact sent flames down her arm. The twins may be med students, but they still had a lot to learn about pain—as did she. Only with Laura, that education would be first person, real time.

  “I want you all to go home. Patrick, back to your classes in Manhattan. Kevin, back to Princeton and your architect practice. Mike and Natalie and Nicole, back to work. You’re local, so you can come visit tomorrow night. I think I’ll be a lot better by then, less pain. You can keep Kevin and Patrick up to date.”

  “No way!” Patrick and Kevin tried to keep their decibel levels reasonable. “We’re staying.” Patrick spoke for both.

  Laura felt her strength dwindle as the burning pain from her arm spread across her chest and into her abdomen. “Kids, this is not a suggestion. It’s a serious request. You know how much I love you, how much I appreciate your being here, so I hope you understand when I tell you I need some time. To process this…catastrophe.”

  She hadn’t wanted to describe events that way, end with that word, but isn’t this what she was facing? She had worked so hard to be a surgeon, sacrificed so much, and now…

  “Okay, Kevin,” she said as she looked around at the stricken faces, “please go get the pain nurse. Never thought I was such a wimp, but I really need that stuff.”

  Kevin returned, following a nurse carrying a prefilled syringe. As the analgesic infiltrated the IV tubing, the kids all gathered on the opposite side of the bed, thankfully not leaning in to touch her.

  “If that’s what you want, Mom.”

  “We love you.”

  “Get well soon.”

  Tim waved them off so they didn’t kiss her. They left as a group, blowing kisses.

  The drug started to take its blissful effect, but not before she heard Tim say, “I’m staying right here, Laura. With you. No matter what.” Drifting off, Laura realized she’d not sent Tim away with the kids. What did that mean?

  She was out before she could tell herself the answer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WE
DNESDAY, FEBRUARY 19

  Jake almost left his apartment without checking the messages on the answering machine in the kitchen. Halfway out the door, he’d felt a weird twist in his gut.

  Other than quick stops to pick up extra clothes, he hadn’t been home in three days. Not since his trip into Philadelphia on Sunday. He’d spent his free time and his nights with Addie, and now was absolutely determined to spend every possible moment with her for the rest of his life. She made him feel young, vibrant, whole. Sum it up in a word: happy. A word he hadn’t thought to use for longer than he could remember. And now he was looking forward to two more nights of sensational lovemaking. Or so he thought, before Karolee’s messages—she was coming home early. Today. She told him to pick her up at the airport at four p.m.

  Six messages starting at five last evening. One at eight. At nine. At eleven. At midnight. At one a.m. Each one louder, angrier. Seems their son Mark and daughter-in-law had asked Karolee to leave. Claire, a mini-bitch herself, ordered Karolee, the bitch-of-all-bitches, out of her house. Now wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? And when Karolee called home and didn’t find her husband, her obscenities blasted through the answering machine.

  “Fireworks tonight,” Jake said aloud. His stomach clenched, but only briefly, till opportunity began to replace dread. This explosion of Karolee’s may offer him just the excuse he’d been looking for—an appropriate time to confront her, to parlay her anger into what he wanted: a divorce. But a surge of reality quickly replaced any sense of optimism. Jake was an ex-Marine, but when Karolee flew into attack mode, his only strategy was avoidance. “Yes, ma’am” her and go off to work during the day, hang around the house at night when she’d be at her la-de-da restaurant. Go to bed before she got home. Leave in the morning before she got up. That was an MO he could handle. Until now. Addie had changed everything.

  Jake needed to reconfigure his day. At work, he’d planned another delicate manipulation of the Immunone data files that only he could do. Jake did not believe Keystone Pharma had an understudy to replace Minn in the pivotal Immunone approval role, so losing one day shouldn’t screw up his plan.

  Jake had to concentrate only on Karolee from this moment until her touchdown at the airport. His stomach again seized, and a wave of acid shot up his esophagus. Acid reflux. He’d call in sick; an attack of severe gastritis.

  Unpleasant as it was, he needed to talk to Karolee at Mark’s house. Find out her arrival details. Jake gritted his teeth for the call. His excuse for last night? He didn’t have one. He’d make one up as he listened to her opening round.

  Mark answered. “She’s pissed, Dad, off the wall this time. Didn’t think things could get worse, but they did. Why didn’t you pick up when she called you last night?”

  “Where is she now?” Jake asked. He hoped to hell she was in bed, that Mark could let him know her travel arrangements.

  “Still asleep. Kept us up most of the night with her ranting and raving. Baby in the house is noise enough. We don’t need a crazy grandmother. The woman smokes like a chimney, and you know how that sets off Claire. Passive smoke for the baby. Mostly, Mom took the smokes outside. But not happily. That was the root cause of the first row she and Claire had, until Claire lost her cool when she found Mom smoking in the guest room. Gotta say, I stick by Claire on this issue. Bad enough I’m gonna have shitty lungs based on Mom smoking when I was young.”

  “The smoking, that’s why she decided to leave?” Jake asked. Karolee was one of those women who would never stop smoking. Don’t even ask her about it, she’ll bite your head off. And her daughter-in-law, a zealous anti-smoking advocate.

  “Oh boy, Mark, not a great week for the new dad, huh?”

  “Claire insisted that Mom leave after that incident. Made me do the honors. Put me at the top of the shit list—until you didn’t answer the phone last night.”

  “Maybe I should speak to her,” Jake said, trying to take back the words even as he uttered them.

  “Oh no, Dad, not after that rant last night. Don’t ask me to wake her up. We’re going to let her sleep as long as possible. Then I’m assigned to take her out for a late breakfast before dropping her at Miami International. I had to take off work. No way I could leave her with Claire.”

  “Should have moved farther away, son.”

  “Listen, her Delta flight gets to LaGuardia at 4:10. I’d suggest you be there, Dad, with a helluva good excuse.”

  “I’ll be there,” Jake promised. And I’ll have more for her than just an excuse.

  “Mom did do something for the baby though. She set up a trust for Amanda’s education. Knowing how she hates Claire’s guts—well, I was blown away. A hundred thousand bucks. That’s a side of Mom I never saw. The generous side.”

  Uncharacteristic, for sure. “Hmm,” was all Jake could come up with. Karolee scored high on the miser scale. Was a grandmotherly side of Karolee coming through? Jake leaned against the kitchen counter. At least the baby girl was too young to recognize the words Karolee had yelled into the phone last night, but weren’t infants sensitive to tone of voice? Karolee’s would have been terrifying.

  After the call to Mark, Jake methodically erased the answering machine messages. Not really sure if police had a way to restore deleted messages, he’d just get rid of the machine altogether. Anyone wants to know, he’d say it’s broke. Why hadn’t he thought of that when he was talking to Mark? Should have told him the damn thing was out of commission, that’s why Karolee’s calls had not been picked up. Shit, did any of this make sense? Phone machines working, not working? He had no time for fine points. Jake could push paper at work, but at his core, he was a Marine. Marines deal in physical punishment. His move would be fast and final.

  Since meeting Addie, Jake had fantasized endlessly about killing Karolee. Now the fantasies were morphing into solid plans. Only the details had yet to solidify. He couldn’t get that song “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover” out of his brain. He was leaning toward a quick, effective kill mode. The killing part didn’t faze him whatsoever. He was prepared. He was a Marine. He had an arsenal. He’d kept in shape.

  Karolee was five foot three, a hundred and ten pounds.

  Before last Sunday night, Jake had killed twice. Never in combat, he conceded. In Vietnam, he’d worked communications, far away from the battle fields, but his first kill had been a fellow Marine, a disgrace to the uniform. Happened outside a house of ill repute in Saigon. By mistake, Jake had walked into a client room as the asshole was brutalizing a very young Vietnamese girl, beating the shit out of her. Jake had backed out, bringing no attention to himself. Leaving the brothel, he’d waited. When the guy staggered out, Jake struck him in the solar plexus, shoved him into a dark corner, and slipped his Gerber Mark II out of its sheath and slit the bastard’s throat. Took less than a minute. No man—especially a Marine—should beat up a woman. He considered that kill righteous. There had been no repercussions.

  Second time, maybe not so righteous. Ten years ago, he’d taken out a brawny, mouthy guy who cheated him at cards. Repeatedly cheated. Jake had drowned the drunk at the guy’s own fishing camp. Again, no repercussions. He’d covered his tracks.

  Sunday night, his weapon had been his Jeep Cherokee. Did the job. Another clean kill. For Karolee, he wouldn’t need a two-ton machine.

  This time, more important than weapon of choice was crafting a plausible scenario surrounding her death. That was the trick, a feasible plan: hit-not-miss—ready to go in seven hours.

  What if: He feels better this afternoon and goes to the office, hell-bent on his important Immunone project. But he starts feeling really sick again and nods off at his desk. Only wakes up at four-thirty—too late to pick up my wife, he tells his colleagues; she’ll catch a cab home from the airport.

  At the airport: He pictures Karolee at the arrival gate, looks around for him, more agitated, royally pissed—he’s not there! She takes the escalator to baggage claim, hauls her luggage off the belt, still no Jake, gets
more pissed. She finds a pay phone, calls home. No answer. No answering machine to record her royal tantrum.

  Her timing: a half hour to get luggage, make calls, grab a cab; a forty-five minute trip home, more for bad traffic. Karolee walks in the door at quarter past five, give or take.

  His timing: couldn’t leave work too early, people would take note. Their house was fifteen minutes from the FDA along a route where traffic moved predictably well. Stay in his office until a quarter till five. Create a diversion on his usual route home. Traffic delay to support his story that I got stuck in the traffic jam caused by…fill-in-the-blank.

  Jake had made himself a mug of instant coffee. At the kitchen table, face in his hands, fingers pressed against closed eyes, he concentrated. A bomb? A fire? A hit-and-run? A fallen tree? A broken water main? Live electricity? A load of whatever dumped in the middle of the street? An escaped convict?

  A headache derailed his train of thought. Jake’s doctor had warned him he was borderline diabetic. Was he experiencing hypoglycemia? Maybe he should get something to eat.

  Two pieces of wheat toast, a hunk of cheddar, and slugs of orange juice later, Jake sat back down. He would defer the question of how to cause a traffic delay and focus on what he had to do before going in to work in the afternoon.

  Now it was 9:30 a.m. Plenty of time to get set up. This phase would be easy. He made a list: Go through each room of the house. Take items of obvious value. Leave a burglary mess everywhere. Take the loot to the dumpster behind the gym across town where he’d been a member. Break a window to document the burglar’s entry… Jake kept writing until he had two single-spaced pages of action items. Like the project manager he was, he sorted them chronologically, worked out a complicated time line. Done, except for the diversion component that would alibi him from the time he left the FDA to the time he arrived home to find Karolee…

  Keep that on the side for now. He’d been in situations before when the answer popped up at the last possible moment. Now he had to get moving on his action list.