Mrs. Rusher had not cried once since Lola’s body had been discovered. When the news came she had been preparing an elaborate meal for her husband in order to celebrate nothing but the fact that they still loved each other after so many years when Sheriff Handow showed up with Pastor Reed to deliver the unimaginable news. Mrs. Rusher had intimate experience in the field of death and knew that when the Sheriff and the pastor showed up to the door that it could not be a good thing.
Not again, she thought.
First, she assumed that they were coming to tell her that she had somehow lost her husband too. He had not yet made it home from work. Maybe a car accident or a mysterious shooting, but they assured her that her husband was fine. Next, her thoughts raced to her son Leo, to lose one child was hell, but to lose two would be unbearable. When they told her that Leo, too was fine the woman stood in the doorway with her eyebrows drawn in complete confusion with one oven mitted-hand holding the door and a spatula in the other.
“Well, what is it? Tell me, for God’s sake before I have a damned heart attack, Joe,” Mrs. Rusher said to the Sheriff whom she had known her entire life.
“It’s Lola, Gloria,” He told her.
“What?” she asked. Gloria Rusher had no need to look down; she felt her heart drop out of her chest and she was sure that it was now laying next to her feet, with its blood splattered across her pedicured toes, pulsing in disbelief.
“She’s dead,” Sheriff Handow told her before the excitement of the possibility of a living daughter had a chance to fill her, which would have been unnecessary cruelty. Gloria stood in the purgatory of her foyer with her spatula still in hand, a million hands grabbing ravenously at her, pulling her in every direction, threatening to rip her into as many pieces as stars in the sky. Closing her eyes, the woman steeled herself, fighting off the growling, spitting demons of guilt, doubt, and helplessness.
“How?” Gloria needed to know.
Sheriff Handow adjusted himself by shifting his weight to his other foot and wrestling to get his gun belt in a more comfortable position. The weather was filled with the threatening chills that foretold winter, but somehow the Sheriff’s forehead still glistened with sweat. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his forehead three times from right to left.
“Maybe we should wait until Bert gets home.” Desperately the Sheriff tried putting off the unbearable news.
“Joe, you tell me how my daughter died, right now.” Gloria told her high school classmate without the slightest expression of emotion.
Joseph Handow swept his eyes across every surface wanting them to fall anywhere but into hers.
Cheese n’ crackers, why in God’s name did I ever take this job? He secretly asked himself.
“Right now looks like blunt force trauma to the head and she may have been stabbed.” He finally mustered the courage to tell her.
Gloria pictured her daughter being hit over the head, screaming, before hitting the floor and then begging for her life.
“And …” The Sheriff had debated in his head over the past several seconds whether to tell her everything and had determined that no matter how bad, she had a right to know and in Black Water, she would find out sooner rather than later.
“And …” Gloria repeated him, goading him mercilessly to speech.
“Her body was dismembered.” He spit before he had any more time to think about it. Gloria Rusher felt the heat begin churning in her chest until it was a full blaze inside of her head making her eyes burn. It was difficult for her to hear anything that was said after those words. He spoke and she watched as his lips moved, laying out all of the known details of the murder of her daughter, but she was already gone.
“Do you want me to pray with you?” Pastor Reed finally asked her after Sheriff Handow finished speaking. Gloria Rusher fixed her eyes on the man of God.
“No.” Gloria responded resolutely. She would speak to God when she was ready.
“Please go now. Come back tomorrow when my husband is home.” She instructed the two bearers of the news as she closed them out of her home politely. The woman walked into her formal dining room that had been set for a beautiful dinner with her husband. With a piercing battle screech, she used the spatula to topple the champagne glasses, sending them shattering to the floor. One at a time, she drove the plates into the dining room walls with a scream for each dish. Gloria destroyed everything in the room that she possibly could before sliding down one of the walls until she sat with her legs spread out against the hard wood floor. In the next room, a beautiful dinner sat untouched on the stove. Gloria reviewed the damage that she had done and despite the fact that she did not feel one ounce better she still did not cry.
Despite all of the phoned-in condolences, despite all of the depressing flower bouquets with apologetic cards, despite the barrage of dry casseroles and flavorless meatloaves that had arrived at the front door, Mrs. Rusher had managed to keep the tears inside. She managed to push all of the memories, the rage, the sorrow, the hopelessness, the helplessness far enough down inside that she could pass the time in the day without thinking of the many ways to bring her own suffering to an end.
A gunshot would be simple, but too messy, slicing her wrists just seemed too dramatic; maybe she would just hold her head under the water in the lake, she thought. Before she could get too precise in the planning, she would see her husband, a man whom she did not always see eye to eye with, but who had always been there for her, provided for her family and had been her best friend since they were teenagers.
Mrs. Rusher saw the face of her son, the beaming brown-eyed boy who was now a man and had already had to endure too many years being on his own while she chased a ghost, a man who now had a son of his own. As much as she loved Lola, somewhere along the line, she had realized that Lola was gone, but that she herself was still here; that her family was still here. All of these years she thought that it had been the not knowing that was worst of all, that at least finding her beloved daughter or knowing what happened to her would make the situation better somehow, but now she knew that was bullshit.
She spent years chasing the dragon of closure, but now that she had cornered it, walked upon it and laid her eyes on it, there was nothing but a puff of smoke.
Losing a child was like being an alcoholic; you just have to live with it, fight with it, sleep with it, and struggle with it every day, she concluded. The first time around, Mrs. Rusher had been forced to deal with the fact that her daughter was gone, but now she was forced to live with the fact that she was dead, dead, mutilated, and had been buried not even fifteen miles from her front door step all of this damn time.
That was the killer part!
Her daughter had been right under her nose and she had not even smelled her rotting corpse.
Lola was not here, but the fact that Regina was now standing at her doorstep just made the situation real all over again. It replayed in Gloria Rusher’s head from beginning to end in a flash. Though Mrs. Rusher still had not come to full terms with the discovery of her daughter’s mangled body, she had learned the most painful, but most enlightening lesson of all; that life was for the living and she was glad that Regina was alive and that was the reason she finally cried.
Bert Rusher hurried into the foyer when he heard his wife’s cries, the cries that he had been waiting for, the ones that told him that his wife was not stone cold, the ones that confirmed that she was still human. He held his wife for a moment and allowed the relief of his wife’s tears to wash over him.
“Regina,” he called when he saw her. Both of them grabbed Mrs. Rusher, as it seemed her legs would give out any moment, and helped her past the stairs and into the living room, comforting her until she was able to gain some semblance of composure.
“Oh, Regina,” she cried.
“I know, I know.” Regina knew nothing, but she felt it was the right thing to say, she realized that somewhere along the way she had begun to cry as well as tears streamed down her sof
t freckled cheeks.
“I am just so happy to see you.” Mrs. Rusher spoke while dabbing her red-rimmed eyes with a white Kleenex.
“I am so happy to see you because I just can’t help thinking that I’m glad it wasn’t you. Not that I wanted this to happen to my daughter, but…but…it could have just as easily been any one of you and I am just glad that you are alive.” Mrs. Rusher experienced the deepest sorrow and the most gleeful joy in one agonizing and triumphant, all-consuming moment.
Tears burst into Regina’s palms as she hid her face in her hands, and now, Mr. Rusher sat comforting both women holding, grappling at the last strands of his own diminishing countenance.
After a barrage of tears and decaf coffee, the trio was able to actually exchange words not drowned in complete and overflowing grief. The mourning mother took an elegant sip of her coffee before setting it down on the table and clasping her hands in front of her chin.
“Leo is here.” Mr. Rusher smiled heavily.
“How is he?” Regina’s face lighted at the memory of the crush she once had on Lola’s older brother.
“He is good. He has a wife and a son. They’re at the park. He will be so glad to see you.”
“Wow, it has been a long time. Leo with a little boy …” Regina fought back the tears evoked at the thought of all the lost time.
“I’m glad you came.” Mrs. Rusher cut her off as if she had to get the words out before they got stuck in her throat.
“She would have wanted you here, Regina.” Mrs. Rusher looked into Regina’s glittering rusty brown eyes.
“You were her best friend.” She affirmed.
“I had to come.” Regina replied simply.
“Regina, let me ask you, do you remember anything? Anything about …”
“Gloria.” Mr. Rusher’s voice was firm. He placed a comforting, but restraining hand on his wife’s back.
“Bert,” she shot back. “I just have to ask.”
“It’s OK,” Regina assured them both.
Gloria finished “You were her best friend. Did you notice anything different about her? The way she was acting? Did she say anything to you? I know we have been over all of this a million times, but I can’t help but ask.”
Regina closed her eyes and thought with intensity before she responded, she searched every corner of her brain, every shadow in her heart, every pit in her stomach, every crease in her soul. Her eyes fluttered rapidly under her soft lids, she searched and searched, questioned, reflected, and debated before opening her eyes, her quivering lips opened slowly and the words that she waited to hear waltzed on the tip of her tongue as the Rushers’ hung on every breath, blink and sigh.
Regina was jolted when a series of noisy dings and dongs infiltrated the rooms of the house.
“I just don’t recall anything like that.” Regina’s words exploded into the air and she was crying again. Mrs. Rusher pulled her close as Mr. Rusher hurried to the door.
Stifled voices were exchanged in the foyer. From the couch, Regina could see Sheriff Handow and a short, stout woman in a navy blue suit with a purple sweater underneath coming down the short hall and into the living room.
“Gloria,” Sheriff Handow greeted the woman with a hug.
“Joe,” she responded.
“Mrs. Rusher,” said the stout woman as she wrapped the other woman in a sincere, but somewhat awkward embrace.
“Mayor Parks.” Mrs. Rusher accepted the hug.
“Regina, correct?” Sheriff Handow looked Regina over.
“Yes, I am Regina.”
“I recall now. Good to see you home.” He told her.
Regina gave a slight nod.
Sheriff Handow had questioned her when Lola first vanished. He questioned loads of other students at Oakley High School that knew Lola, but everyone’s story was the same. Almost everyone Lola knew was at the home of Stephen Mitchell for a party that night and no one wanted to hurt Lola Rusher.
Now Sheriff Handow stood before her once again and had hardly aged in the past six years since Regina had left the town.
“Regina, this is Mayor Parks. Mayor Parks, this is Regina, she was one of Lola’s best friends. They were friends ever since they were children. She has come home for the funeral.” Mrs. Rusher introduced her to the mayor of Black Water instantly reminding her yet again of the size of this speck on the map that they called home, considering the mayor came to your house personally if someone died.
“Nice to meet you.” The short blonde woman shook Regina’s hand lightly, using the same smile that she had undoubtedly used while she was running for mayor, one much too pleasant for this occasion.
“Would anyone care for some coffee?” Mr. Rusher offered. Both visitors needed coffee to brush off the freeze of oncoming winter and the grizzly circumstances of the matter at hand. Mr. Rusher retrieved mugs from the kitchen, poured two new steaming cups of coffee, and topped off the others.
“Is there something new?” Mrs. Rusher asked.
“Well, no.” Mayor Parks looked over all of the parties, allowing her gaze to linger on Regina a second longer than the others.
“It’s OK,” Mrs. Rusher assured her, perceiving her hesitation. “We don’t have anything to hide from Regina; she’s like family.”
Mayor Parks seemed relieved. Sheriff Handow cut into the conversation.
“Gloria, there is nothing new, but Mayor Parks and I were talking and thought about maybe calling off some of the Halloween festivities this year in light of everything that has happened. Everyone knows and everyone is discussing Lola’s discovery. Of course, the children would still trick or treat, but maybe the parade or the festival. I just…We just …” Sheriff Handow couldn’t quite figure out an acceptable way to end the sentence.
“We just don’t want the memory of Lola to be associated with Halloween and turn into some insensitive town ghost story.” Mayor Parks finished. Mrs. Rusher abruptly rose from the couch and walked around it to stare out the large window that overlooked the pool in the backyard.
“We don’t want to take Halloween away from the kids.” Bert Rusher argued.
“My husband is right. Lola is already a town ghost story; she has been since she disappeared eight years ago. Besides, she loved this holiday. We wouldn’t dare.” Mrs. Rusher turned to face her guests and was now speaking faster and more matter-of-factly. Mayor Parks allowed the silence in the room to gel before speaking.
“Well OK then. We will respect your wishes,” the mayor said with a forced smile.
“Do you mind if I go up to Lola’s room?” Regina asked Lola’s parents, trying hard to extract herself before she had to be part of one more round of the depressing conversation.
Everyone stared at her for what seemed like hours before Mrs. Rusher answered.
“Sure, go ahead.”
Regina could still hear remnants of the cancelation of Halloween conversation as she climbed the stairs, which moaned occasionally under her feet. She looked around the home as if this was her first time seeing the place. It had recently been remodeled; as a result, everything was new and beautiful, but she knew, as the groans under the stairs confirmed this was the same old house. Lola’s door was cracked open; Regina walked in and was startled by the figure on the bed.
5
A sixteen-year-old Lola sat on the bed with her head phones plugged into her ears, painting her toenails a bright tangerine color, layers of coruscating black hair lay flat against her shoulders, her white teeth were shifted slightly from their straight position since she had recently lost her retainer as she did at least once a year. Lola’s gentle face lit up at the sight of her best friend and Regina flounced across the foot of her bed as she had done hundreds of times. Regina closed her eyes and took ecstasy in the moment, but upon opening them, she was alone in the dark, haunted room.
Lola had vanished again and it was no less devastating the second time.
Regina looked around the room once more for the first time in so many years and unli
ke the rest of the freshly remodeled house, this room remained exactly the same. Her walls were a delicate garden green accented with mellow yellow drapes framing the windows where the sunshine used to pour in during the summer months. Sunlight probably came nowhere near this room now. The green comforter with white polka dots was fluffy and fresh as if it had been washed just a week ago, which it probably had been. Regina gathered all of the discombobulated parts of herself from the bed and strolled over to the dresser where she caressed Lola’s intimate possessions, her silver jewelry box and her hair brush. On the corner of Lola’s dresser sat her favorite perfume, La Beaute, which Regina had banned her from wearing while in her presence because it made her cough uncontrollably.
I’m allergic to you! She always teased Lola when she insisted on wearing the perfume whose aroma was a heinous mix of rotting roses and Irish bar soap.
From one end of the room to the next, Lola had strung clothesline, and used clothespins to attach Polaroids evenly along the lines. Regina admired the photographs that had hung on that clothesline unmoved for years. Some of them were beginning to fade into a yellow fog, distorting their doppelganger images, threatening to choke them out of the pictures altogether. In one photo a younger Lola was leaning over her mother, who sat in a chair on the front porch, Lola was smiling wildly in her usual excited, cheerleading personality.
How was it possible to be so happy? Regina wondered.
Another was a picture of Lola, Regina, Nikki, and Natalie, taken one Sunday afternoon at the lake when they were just girls. They looked jovial but their faces were drawn in subtle expressions, tiresome and wilted. Regina could still smell the summer flowers. The sun was fiery that day, but a cool breeze brushed over the land a couple of times every hour making the afternoon bearable.
Lola’s father was at the barbecue pit giving instructions to Regina’s father on how wonderfully tender he was able to make the ribs. At a picnic table, the wives sat chattering. Gloria Rusher was handing out paper plates and napkins. In the glow of the July sun, she looked vibrant; she wore a brightly colored scarf around her head to keep her gleaming black hair from tumbling down into her jovial face. As a young bride she had begun having her children early and was a few years younger than the other mothers at the table, but she fit in so well it was seldom that anyone remembered the age gap. The other women hardly noticed the difference in Gloria’s age, but the girls did. Mrs. Rusher was cooler than their mothers, not better or more loving, but more exciting. The Rushers had a trampoline and they would let the girls jump off the roof onto the trampoline, causing them to flare with exhilaration. Lola’s mom and dad did things that the other girls’ parents would not have given second thought to and the girls loved every second.
Black Water Tales: The Secret Keepers Page 5
