Mr. and Mrs. Wrong

by Fay Robinson

  “He’s so prolific I’ve had to store a lot of his work at my house,” Mrs. Harrison said.

  “There’s more?”

  “Much, much more. Each time I visit he gives me a little something to take home as a present. He’s very generous.”

  Terrell was working at a table by the window, and he didn’t acknowledge them.

  “Terrell, it’s Aunt Leona.” She went to his side. “I’ve brought someone with me today who wants to talk to you.” He turned the page of his sketch pad but didn’t look up.

  Lucky couldn’t hide her amazement at the beauty around her. The drawings were wonderful, the paintings as lifelike as any she’d ever seen. Landscapes. Portraits. Many were scenes of the town or of the river. And people. My God, the people he’d drawn!

  She studied the loose drawings pinned to the walls, then looked through the larger ones and the water-colors that had been matted and shrink-wrapped. He’d captured Byrd squeezing lemonade—and he’d done it better with paint than anything she’d ever done with film.

  “These are exquisite. I’d heard as a child that he was gifted, but I never dreamed he could do such beautiful work.”

  “He has an incredible memory for detail.”

  “I can see that.” Her heart wrenched painfully at the thought of this wonderfully talented man being institutionalized for half his life.

  “What I find so fascinating is that some of the people he draws he hasn’t seen in years,” Mrs. Harrison was saying. “Like Mr. Byrd. Terrell was only a tiny child when his mother had to stop taking him to the drugstore. He was terrible about pulling away and getting out in the street, you see. He didn’t understand the danger.” She pointed to a painting above his desk of an elderly woman. “Oh, and like that one. Do you recognize her?”

  “Yes, it’s Mrs. Baker-Simms, who used to be the librarian at the elementary school.”

  “She’s been dead for years, yet he painted that last month. I thought it was so lovely I had it matted. When I can afford to, I’d like to have it framed.”

  “It’s exactly what she used to look like when she was younger. Even the expression is perfect.”

  “He enjoys painting people. I think he does it very well.” She turned back to him. “Terrell, this is Mrs. Cahill. Her name used to be Lucky Mathison. She lived in that big white house over on Brighton Street.”

  Lucky bent down to try to see his face. Lord! How old he looked up close. He was Leigh’s age, but he appeared forty-five or more.

  “Hello, Terrell.” She took the handkerchief out of her purse, removed it from the plastic bag and held it out for him to see. “Do you remember giving me this? I was in my boat and I cut my head. You let me borrow it. I’ve come to give it back.”

  He didn’t hesitate in his work for even a moment.

  “Perhaps,” Mrs. Harrison said, “we could stay and visit with you. I’m sure you’d like that. You haven’t had any visitors but me since your dear mother passed away.” Directing Lucky to sit on the edge of the nearby bed, she took a seat next to her.

  Lucky chatted endlessly to him about everything she could think of—herself, her family, her cabin, even Beanie—trying to connect.

  “I’m afraid it’s hopeless,” Mrs. Harrison said. “I believe he understands I’m a friend, but I don’t think he knows who I am.”

  “He knows me. Look at what he’s drawing.” He’d sketched a full-length portrait of a pregnant woman. The second piece was a little girl with long, dark braids. “That’s me today. And me as a child.”

  “My heavens, it is!”

  “He’s telling me he remembers me from childhood.”

  She took a chance and moved to the chair across from him, where he could see her better. She laid the handkerchief on the table where he could see it, too.

  “Yes, that was me when I was younger,” she told him, smiling. “I had long hair and my mother used to braid it and put bows on the ends. I liked different-colored bows, though, and you’ve drawn them that way. How clever of you.”

  He didn’t respond. She could only pray she was reaching him.

  “Do you remember Miss Eileen?” she continued. “She was your friend. She was my friend, too. Terrell…do you know what happened to her? People think you hurt her, but I don’t believe you did. I’m sorry I ever said you weren’t her friend. If you saw what happened to her, please, please find some way to tell me. Draw it if you can.”

  They waited, but nothing happened.

  Frustrated, Lucky turned to Mrs. Harrison. “The drawings at your house—are any from back then? Maybe they contain clues about what he saw.”

  “They don’t. At least not that I’ve been able to determine, and I’ve looked at all of them very carefully. They’re mostly like the ones here, different views of the same spot, various poses of people he’s come in contact with over the years or knew as a child. Only once has he painted a disturbing picture.”

  She told her it was a watercolor of Miss Olenick and described how it showed her dead.

  “When was this?”

  “A couple of months after he was moved here.”

  “So when he was back in the community. Maybe coming here triggered a memory and he was trying to tell you about it.”

  “I don’t know. To my knowledge, he’s never done a portrait of her before. He doesn’t like unhappy things. He prefers subjects that are pleasant. See all the bright colors he uses?”

  Mrs. Harrison was right. The landscapes were all sunny and vibrant. No storms. No dark clouds. The people were happy and smiling.

  Lucky tried again, reminding him that Miss Eileen liked bright colors, too. “She always wore such fun clothes. And her hat—do you remember her hat, Terrell? Do you remember where you picked it up?”

  He turned the page and started on a new picture with a pencil, making Lucky’s pulse speed up, but as he progressed, she realized the drawing was only of the old railroad depot and couldn’t have anything to do with Miss Eileen. That place had been torn down years ago. A shopping mall now occupied the land. Terrell seemed to like old buildings. The earlier versions of his work were pinned above the bed.

  They stayed another hour, but it was wasted. Terrell sat and sketched without the slightest indication that he heard her or had anything to reveal.

  “I told you this wouldn’t do any good,” Mrs. Harrison said. “Whatever he knows will be locked forever in his mind.”

  Regrettably Lucky knew she was probably right.

  When they made motions to leave, Terrell got up, went to the wall and took down a drawing. He laid it on the bed.

  “My gift,” Mrs. Harrison said. “That’s his way of telling me he wants me to take it.” She lifted it up and showed it to Lucky. A man with a hoe worked among a row of garden squash.

  “Your husband?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Terrell. It’s lovely.”

  He went to the matted paintings stacked against the wall, searched and brought one out, laying it on the bed as before.

  “I believe that one’s for you,” Leona Harrison said.

  Gingerly, using both hands, Lucky picked it up. The springtime scene was beautiful. Wild dogwood dotted the bank of a pond. The color of the water was a bit off, too bright and blue, but nonetheless, his technique was impressive.

  “I’ll treasure this,” she said, but he’d already gone back to the table to continue his drawing.

  She said goodbye to Mrs. Harrison outside. Disheartened by the morning’s events, she sat in her car for a long time, fighting tears. The past, it seemed, would always haunt her.

  SHE WENT TO THE OFFICE and stayed until four. That was longer than she normally worked lately, but tomorrow was her last day and she wanted to make sure everything was in good shape for the part-time help.

  She was about to leave when the police radio went off, reporting suspicious activity at the high school. Closed since yesterday for the Christmas holiday, the school should be empty.

  Since it was on her way, she grabbed h
er camera and left. Patrol cars and unmarked cars were already on the scene. She clicked off a few shots at the barricade, but that wasn’t good enough.

  “Can I go through?” she called to the officer at the door.

  “Let me check.” He got on his radio.

  As she stood there, her back began to ache. The pain spread to her side, then along her stomach. She opened her door and sat sideways on the seat to release the pressure.

  A couple of minutes later, Deaton came out of the building and walked over.

  “Nothing to it,” he told her. “The janitor thought he heard someone breaking in through the boiler room, but it turned out to be a stray cat running around. She has kittens.”

  “Oh, poor thing. Who’ll take care of her over the holiday?”

  “He loaded her and her brood up in a box and he’s going to take them home. He’s got four kids, so I guess they’ll have an extra-special Christmas.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Speaking of broods, you look like you’re about to whelp a litter any minute.”

  “I feel like it. I’m even bigger than a house now, huh?”

  “A whole apartment complex.”

  She laughed and it felt good. “Thanks. I needed a chuckle. I’ve had a rotten day.” She told him about her visit to Terrell Wade. “I’m sure I connected with him before, Deaton. If I could spend more time with him, I believe I could find out what happened.”

  “Lucky, I wouldn’t go within ten feet of that guy. They didn’t put him away for nothing. He got violent, didn’t he?”

  “Not really. Do you remember much about when Miss Eileen disappeared and what happened after?”

  “Some, but I was only nine or ten, so what I know is mostly what I’ve heard over the years.”

  “He didn’t get violent, he got disturbed, and there’s a big difference. If you’d seen somebody murdered and couldn’t communicate it, wouldn’t you act out?”

  “Probably, but you still don’t know that’s what happened. If I had to bet, I’d say he killed her and hid her body.”

  “Well, maybe, but I don’t think so. After Christmas I’m going to try talking to him again. I’m sure he remembers something.”

  “Does the captain know what you’re up to?”

  “No, nobody does. And don’t you tell a soul. Jack already thinks my pregnancy’s made me a little loose in the head, and I don’t want him hearing about this. Besides—” she frowned “—we’re separated again…temporarily. He’s renting a room by the week at the Magnolia Motel. He checks on me through my parents. We don’t talk directly.”

  “Oh, hell, Lucky, I didn’t know. When did this happen?”

  “Before Thanksgiving. Keep it between you and me, okay? I’m sure he wouldn’t want people at work finding out, but you’re my friend so you don’t count.”

  “Hey, I’m really sorry. He’s tough as a boss, but he’s an okay guy. And of course you know how I feel about you.”

  “Yeah, I do.” She looked at the threatening sky. “I’d better go. Even though the storm’s passing, the roads are still muddy out my way, and I don’t like to drive them after dark.”

  “How bad’s the river up at your place?”

  “To the top of the pier. It’ll probably crest another foot before it goes down, so I won’t be fishing for a couple of weeks. I’m thankful the rain has stopped, though.”

  “Me, too. It’s been hell working in it.”

  “I don’t know how much more battering my poor old seawall can take. I’d planned to shore it up while the water was down this summer, but I had other things on my mind and forgot.”

  “I know how that is. Well, you better get going.”

  “Yes.” She pulled in her legs, closed the door and rolled down the window. “Oh, Deaton, I wanted to ask you. Did you and that Conservation officer ever find out who’s been digging on federal lands?”

  “Captain told you about that, huh?”

  “A little. He thought I might help. I’m surprised you didn’t call me.”

  “I almost did, but I wasn’t sure he’d like it.”

  “Did you find out anything?”

  “Nothing but rumor and hearsay, but that’s not unusual in these kinds of cases. Following the leads takes months. I’ve got three possibly stolen pots, and nobody’s sure where they came from or who dug them.”

  “Mississippian pots?” He nodded. “That’s my speciality. I’d be glad to help. And I’d love to look at them—on the sly if you think Jack wouldn’t like it.”

  “Thanks. After we get past this holiday, I’ll give you a call.” He leaned in and kissed her. “You take it easy. If I don’t see you again before Christmas, have a good one.”

  “You, too. Remember, you can’t tell Jack what I did today.”

  “You can trust me.”

  “I know I can.”

  THAT NIGHT Lucky moved one of the lamps and propped her painting on an end table so she could study it. Incredible. She felt as though she was in the scene.

  Beanie growled and Lucky jerked, making a pain shoot along her right side from her back to her stomach. She put her hands under her belly and held her breath until it went away.

  “What is it, girl?”

  Flipping on the outside lights, she looked through the kitchen window toward the driveway. The moon had come out to splash the storm clouds with silver, but it barely penetrated the dark woods below.

  A low growl rumbled in Beanie’s throat. This time the fur on her back stood up.

  Lucky cracked open the window. “Ray, is that you?” she called out. When Ray didn’t come forward, Lucky’s uneasiness heightened. “Terrell?” A shiver ran through her body as old fears surfaced.

  She checked to make sure she’d bolted and chained the door, then settled on the couch again. Not two minutes later a hard knock sounded on the screen door and Beanie went wild. Lucky peeked out.

  “It’s Leigh. Let me in.”

  Relieved, she unlocked the door, but then remembered the painting. Quickly she put it out of sight in the closet. Then she hurried back to release the eye bolt on the screen. “Hey. What are you doing here this late?”

  “Mom sent me out. She’s fretting about Christmas. She asked me to talk to you in person.”

  “Come on in. I was about to fix some hot chocolate. Um, did you just get here?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  She shrugged. “Beanie thought she heard something a few minutes ago. Must’ve been a coon after the trash. Where’s Susan?”

  “She’s spending the night with one of her friends. They’re out for Christmas vacation.”

  Lucky heated the milk and they sat down at the table. “About Christmas…you have to come, Lucky. That’s all there is to it. Mom’s making herself crazy about it and driving everyone else crazy. And you don’t really want to stay here brooding all day, do you?”

  “No, I—” Another pain hit her side. She winced and, in a reflex action, put her hand there.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “My back again.”

  “I thought your back had quit hurting.”

  “It had, but today, for some reason, I keep getting these sharp pains. They don’t last long, but they run along my side and double me over.”

  “Ooh, that sounds like labor. It often starts with lower back pain.”

  “No, it can’t be labor. I’m not due for another two weeks.”

  Leigh laughed at that. “Babies don’t have calendars or watches, silly. They come when they want to.” She stood. “Pack a bag. You’re coming home with me tonight, just to be on the safe side.”

  “No, I’ll be okay.”

  “This isn’t up for debate. You’re going home with me and that’s final. I’ll drag you out of here if I have to. In fact, I think you should pack enough for several days and stay with me until the baby’s born. You shouldn’t be alone out here.”

  “But Beanie…”

  “Bring her food and bed. We’ll take her with us.”


  Lucky gave in, and an hour later she was comfortable in the frilly bedroom of Leigh’s daughter. They’d put Beanie’s pallet in the kitchen and blocked the doorway with the baby gate Leigh still had from when Susan was little.

  “She’ll be okay,” Leigh reassured her for the fifth time.

  “You must think I’m crazy, but she’s old and gets confused. I don’t want to upset her.”

  “I’ll check on her before I go to bed. Don’t worry.”

  Lucky snuggled into the warmth of the quilt. “This is nice. I like how you’ve redecorated the room.”

  Leigh put an extra blanket at the foot of the bed in case she needed it. “Susan thinks she’s too old for baby stuff, so I tried to make it look more feminine.”

  Her baby deserved a pretty room like this. “Will you help me finish the nursery? Jack and I started it, but—” Memories overwhelmed her and she burst into tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, swiping at them with one hand. “I just miss him so much. Even saying his name makes me cry.”

  “Oh, Lucky…” Leigh sat down on the side of the bed and hugged her. “I’ve never seen you more miserable than you’ve been in the past few weeks.”

  “It’s like…like someone has ripped me in half.”

  “I know. But it gets easier. I promise.”

  Did it? How, when she hurt more every day?

  Leigh left and came back with a box of tissues. “Quit crying before you give yourself a headache. We’ll have no sniffling in this house tonight. It’s nearly Christmas and you have a baby about to be born. This is a happy time. Chin up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She blew her nose.

  “Any more pains?”

  “No, I think it really was my back.”

  “Well, I’ll leave the door open, so if anything happens during the night and you need me, call out.”

  Lucky hugged her again. “I’m so glad you’re my sister.”

  “Me, too. Now get some rest. You look exhausted.”

  Lucky turned off the light and within minutes she’d fallen into a troubled sleep. She dreamed she was in the water, but a strange kind of water, so thick she could hardly move her arms to stay afloat, and the bright blue color of it was wrong.