Amidst the glass fragments lay a brick with a piece of yellow legal paper wrapped around it fastened with a thick, rubber band. I reached for the brick.
"Don't touch it! You'll disturb the fingerprints." Marcus cried.
Trembling with fear, I ignored him and picked up the brick anyway, pulling off the rubber band and the paper.
In heavy black, felt-tip marker, someone from my past, someone I hoped never to see again, had written, Bitch, I’m watching you. Remember that. Always.
I knew immediately who sent that evil message. I crumpled the note in my hand and tossed it into the fireplace.
"What are you doing?" Marcus cried.
I took a match from the mantel and lit it, tossing it onto the note. The paper ignited and burned quickly; the glowing cinders were sucked up the flue.
"You're destroying evidence! What did that note say?"
I turned to Marcus. "Nothing important. Nothing that the police need to know. "
"And I'm the Goddamn pope! Kay, who threatened you?"
"Nobody threatened me. I don't know who that note was directed toward, but it wasn't important."
"Why don't you let the police decide what's important?"
"This is my house. I'll make those decisions."
"Kay, you could be making a big mistake here."
I looked up at the stair landing into my son's terrified eyes. My children didn't know I’d been married before their father. It had been a small stupid mistake, and there was no need to tell them, even when he left such a cruel calling card. It would only serve to scare them and insert doubt into a situation already filled with uncertainty.
How did he know I was back in town? After all these years why did he still hate me so? It didn't make sense, but I wasn't going to scare the hell out of my kids by making it into a bigger deal than it needed to be.
"No, I'm not. Hand me the phone, and I'll call the police. Nobody, but nobody says anything about the note."
* * *
Within the week, I had a new pane of glass put in the living room window. Although Marcus wanted to say more he wisely kept his mouth shut.
The housing authority acted as he had expected: Aurora had thirty days to fix the place, or it would go to the courts. Members of the literacy center staff and others gathered together clothes, food, and cash donations for the family. We wanted to use the cash to repair the plumbing, but felt doing so would get Aurora development off the hook. So instead we bought food.
As word of the renovation spread, other Aurora tenants began to show up at the literacy center and the newspaper, until Marcus and I were fairly overrun with stories from other south side residents that paralleled Elizabeth's.
"I can't believe this, Marcus," I said, tossing another stack of letters across my desk at him. "These people have been so brutally treated. They're completely cut off from the rest of the world!"
"What I want to know is why none of them went to the prosecutors or the housing authority? It's a fairly routine complaint to file. Why hasn't anyone acted before now?" Marcus thumbed through the stack of letters. "I can't get Rathke to comment on who’s behind Land Management Limited. And, from what I can gather without a subpoena, it's a pretty involved tangle of sham corporations from out of state."
"Yes. Who wants to be recognized as a slumlord anyway? We can't fix up every one of these houses through donations, Marcus."
"I know."
Still, as that summer began to wind down, we tried. There were clothing drives and canned-goods collections from church groups who had read Marcus's story. But after a while, even they fizzled out after no single owner could be found who would claim to own that tangle of buildings.
And, as the August heat continued to swelter, we waited for repairs to be made. Who ever was behind Aurora Development didn’t care that this woman and other South Side residents just like her were living in squalor. That disgusted me most of all.
* * *
It was late August, just about a week before school started. I was surprised, when my secretary, Barbara, showed Mother into my office. Clutching her purse tightly under her arm, Mother looked nervously at her surroundings.
The center wasn't the Trump Tower; it had been reincarnated at various times as an elementary school, a settlement house, a Holiness church, and a mattress warehouse. The scars of its many lives showed throughout the interior, and only the surrounding neighborhood poverty made a fresh coat of exterior latex look like urban renewal. I could only hope that I would be here long enough to do some measurable good; I had made such a small start so far.
"Surprise, surprise! What brings you here?" I stepped from behind my battered, metal desk to hug her.
"Be careful, dear. I just had my hair done. Is the Mercedes safe outside?"
"Mother, just because people here are poor doesn't automatically make them thieves, too. Have a seat." I gestured toward a padded, metal chair in front of my desk.
Mother wrinkled her nose in disdain. "I don't think so. How can you stand—"
"Don't start."
"Oh, all right. I only stopped by to take you to lunch. Can you join me? I’ve got a little surprise for you."
"Sure. I guess so.” Surprises from my mother usually didn’t involve good things, at least to my way of thinking, but she’d come down here to see me. How could I say no? Calling out my plans to Barbara, I grabbed my purse and followed Mother out the door.
"There is something very important we need to talk about, Kay," Mother began, as she put the Mercedes in gear and pulled away from the curb.
"Oh?" I held my breath and pretended to arrange the shoulders of my suit jacket. She knows about Marcus and me.
"I have been asked by more than one person—" She steered the big car into traffic.
Here it comes.
"And not just Lovey, mind you."
Shit.
"—Whether or not you are going to put Andrew into Walshingham Academy this fall. I have it on very good authority that they have only a few spots left in their second grade program, and it would give Andrew the very best start on his education."
Air rushed from my lungs, and I began to laugh.
"Kay, I'm serious! You can't possibly consider placing my grandson in Jubilant Falls public schools!"
"For God sake, the schools here aren't that bad. You didn't have any problem sending me."
"That was before busing and drugs."
"Drugs came in with a court order as well?" I teased, giddy Marcus and I had not been a topic of country club conversation.
"Kay, be serious. The public schools still provided an education back then. And, besides, Jubilant didn't have any private schools at that time."
"Almost. We just had all the upper-class white kids at my school and all the lower orders as you like to call them going to school down here on the South Side." I shook my head. "No wonder the courts brought in busing."
Mother harrumphed and pulled the Mercedes into Hawk's parking garage. "The Colonial Cafe is all right, I trust? Or is that too far above your egalitarian tastes?"
"It's fine, Mother."
Inside the restaurant, she became oddly silent until the waitress took our order.
"I'll have the diet plate and a cup of coffee, please." Mother slapped her menu closed and glared at me.
"Burger and fries, please." I handed the menu to our waitress. "Mother, what is with you?"
"I think you are doing your children a grave disservice."
"I can't afford private school. Not with Paul's expenses in Korea right now." I remembered my first lunch here with Marcus and felt guilty just saying Paul's name. It had been over a month since I had even spoken to my husband. He had written the kids a few times, and they had answered his letters, but I had never bothered to put pen to paper.
"Do you think for one moment that I was asking you to pay for it?" Mother raised her hands in disgust. "Of course, I would pay the tuition. But if you're set on destroying their
education, I can't do anything more."
"Stop it."
"Fine. The conversation is closed."
The waitress came with our lunch, and silently we began to eat.
"So, how is Paul?”
"OK, I guess. I haven't heard."
"Does he anticipate getting orders for Symington, after this little tour?"
"I have no idea where he plans on going after Korea."
"But you'll follow, correct? Just like the good wife that you are?"
Now it was my turn to be sulky. "Yeah, right."
Mother laid her fork down. "Kay, I know that you two are having problems. It's to be expected in any marriage."
"What's your point?"
"The point is life is nothing but problems. Do you think your father and I always had a smooth time of it? Men who intend to make something of themselves often give their wives and family short shrift while they are pursuing their careers."
"This has nothing to do with his career."
Mother ignored me. "Do you think I was always gracious and understanding every time a patient called in the middle of the night? Do you think I smiled politely, every time I had to hold his supper and put you to bed before he even came home?"
"Don't you get righteous with me!" I exploded. "You still don't cook, and Novella tucked me in!"
"That's not important. You simply have to understand while your husband is climbing to the top, you're going to have to sit back and wait for him. When he is promoted to general, then you'll be able to enjoy each other."
"Yeah, right!" I hooted derisively. "What about all the time you and Daddy had to enjoy each other? Wasn't it fun finding him dead on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night?" My voice escalated; people were beginning to look at us, but I didn't care. "The man worked himself to death—and for what? That mausoleum you called a house? That Mercedes? Yeah, he's enjoying everything, six foot under."
"Lower your voice. There's no need for this," Mother’s voiced dropped to an ominous whisper. "I don't know what the problem is between you and Paul, but I do know this much—you better work it out, before any more gossip about you and that nosy reporter gets back to me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I clenched my napkin in my lap.
"I don't know and I don't want to know what's going on. But while you're righting the world's wrongs, I suggest you preserve your own wedding vows and make sure your children are cared for in the best possible way—by making sure they get the best education Jubilant Falls has to offer. If this gets ugly, you'll at least have Walshingham Academy on your side. I'm doing this for your own good, Kay."
"You like to think everything you do is for my own good, don't you? I want to know who told you. It was that old battle-axe friend of yours, Lovey, wasn't it?"
Mother froze, and an odd, hunted look came across her face.
"No. It wasn't Lovey."
"Then who? I think I have a right to know who's spreading these lies about me." God, I hope I sounded convincingly pious.
"I can't tell you."
“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not like it’s national security or anything. What if something like that got back to the literacy center board?”
“You’d probably lose another do-gooder job, but that’s not important.” Mother sipped her coffee, gazing over the rim of her cup like a grand duchess. “It’s beyond me why you’ve got an education degree, but you insist on behaving like some government social worker. The important thing is making sure that my grandchildren aren’t being shuttled between divorced parents. Or worse, that I only get to see them during summer break because their mother was behaving like a whore and lost custody.”
I leaned across my plate, twisting my napkin in my lap. She hit the bull’s eye, and she knew it.
“Alright. I’ll take Andrew to Walshingham Academy first thing tomorrow,” I agreed. “I’ll even let you and your filthy money pay for it all, because appearances are so damn important to you.“
“I’m only thinking of the children, something you haven’t done since Lovey saw you here with that weasel of a reporter.“
“So it was she.” Mother didn’t answer, but I had all the confirmation I needed. “And you’ve got the nerve to believe her above your own daughter! You won’t ask me if it’s true—you just assume it is. You don’t care if I’m having problems in my marriage. Just patch it up. Don’t let anybody see what goes on behind closed doors.“
Mother paled and put her perfectly manicured hand to her throat. I rolled my eyes.
“Oh don’t be so puritanical. Just once in my life I’d like to know I can come to my mother when I’m having problems and get a little support. That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you. And you know what? I’ve never gotten it. Never in all my years have you supported anything I wanted to do!“
Mother exploded. “And you’ve made such lovely decisions my dear! The kind any mother would be proud to hold up to her friends.” Her voice moved up a bitter octave. “‘Mother, this is Grant Matthews. We got married last night. Mother, I’m calling you from the emergency room. Grant broke my nose. Mother, I’m at the emergency room again and this time they’re stitching up my face. Mother, I need money for a divorce lawyer.’ Can you see why I’m concerned about how everything looks? You insist on sinking to the lowest level, Kay, and this time you’re not going to do it! Not if your actions will cost me my grandchildren! I’ll do anything I can to stop this foolishness of yours.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably across the table. As if to break it, the waitress approached our table, smacking her gum.
“Ya’ll are finished here, now?” she asked, reaching for my plate. “Is this separate checks, or how we gonna do this?”
“We’re finished now,” I said, glaring at Mother. “We’re really finished.” I stood and threw my napkin on the table, then fished around in my purse for a ten-dollar bill. “I’ll find my own way back to the office, thank you,” I said, slapping it on the table. I turned to go.
“Kay, wait! You don’t understand. It’s for your own good!” Mother reached for me, as I stepped away.
“You really, really believe that, don’t you?” I stopped.
“Yes, Kay. Yes I do.”
“Then that’s your mistake this time, isn’t it?”
I turned on my heel and walked away.
* * *
But I was so happy with Marcus! Our relationship was a sweet, safe cocoon, swaddled in all the buffers that romance brings. The years between us had evaporated, and as time passed I realized my decision to come back to Jubilant Falls was the best I ever made.
It was too good to last.
In mid-December, I waited with the kids in front of the airport's plate-glass window. My stomach churned in guilt, dread, and horror as the small commuter plane rolled across the tarmac. That morning, a telegram came announcing Paul would be coming home for Christmas:
Kay, Will be airborne by the time you receive this. Will arrive in Jubilant Falls 16:25 local time. On leave until 15 Jan. Merry Christmas! Paul.
There hadn't been time for the answer I wanted to send: "Don't bother!" Instead, I stood awaiting his arrival, mute and guilty.
"Daddy! Daddy! Look, Mommy, there's Daddy!"
Involuntarily, I sucked in my breath as Paul disembarked from the plane and walked to the gate, two bags of gifts in his hands. He was dressed in tight jeans, his broad shoulders nearly bursting the seams of the brown leather aviator jacket. No wonder everyone thought he was a hero; every inch of him looked the part.
I smiled appropriately, as he came through the gate and stood stiffly as he hugged me, the shopping bags banging between my shoulder blades.
"God, it's good to be home, Kay." Paul's lips moved dangerously close to mine, and a deep, familiar need crashed against a deeper scar of betrayal somewhere deep inside me. I turned my head quickly, offering only my cheek for his kiss.
His green eyes hardened for a moment,
then clouded over with hurt.
"Let's go get Daddy's luggage!" I called out brightly, leading the procession to the baggage claim carousel. Andy, still in his Walshingham School uniform, and Lil chattered excitedly behind me with their father.
We spoke very little to each other in the car. We couldn't even if we had wanted to; the children's babble would have prohibited anything deeper than "How was your flight?" or "Was the food any good?" Lillian stood in the back seat with her arms around her Daddy's neck, with Andy seated firmly on Paul's other side, trying to out-shout his sister as they filled their father in on what had happened during the last six months.
I kept my stiff smile plastered across my face, saying as little as I could. How could Mother ask me to live up to my vows with a betrayer, a cheat, and a liar like Paul? I hated the sight of him, but until we were alone no one else would ever know.
That night, we lay side by side in that old cannonball bed, staring silently at the cold moonlight tracing across the ceiling the naked branches of the oak outside the window. Paul rolled over and embraced me, kissing my neck. His hand slid to my breast, and his powerful leg eased over mine. His erection pressed against my thigh, and I felt sick.
"Mmmmm. I've missed this," he purred into my neck.
"Stop it." I pulled the covers up to my shoulders and turned away.
"What is this? Punishment?"
"I was under the impression you weren't coming home for another three weeks and then only for a few days. That was our agreement."
"I had an opportunity to come home, so I took it. Jesus, I thought you be happy to see me."
"You guessed wrong."
Paul was silent for a moment. "What's his name?"
My reply wasn't convincing or quick enough even for me. "What's whose name?"
"The other guy."
"What other guy?"
"You're a very poor liar, Kay. You always have been. I had two letters from you in the last five months, you hardly talked to me on the phone the last time I called, and now that I'm home you're cutting me off cold. What else could it be?"
"Are you sleeping with her?"
"Jesus, Kay, don't be ridiculous. I don't even know where she is. If I knew—"
The Major's Wife (Jubilant Falls series Book 2) Page 9
