Night of Reunion: A Novel

by Michael Allegretto

  “Good morning!” she said, bustling in, tossing her coat on the rack. “Hi, Sarah. Hi, Linda. Hi,” she said to Veronica, whose name she didn’t know. “God, I need some coffee. Sarah, wait till I tell you what happened last night at the house. It was like a fu—Oops,” she said, touching her fingers to her lips and glancing at Veronica. “I mean, it was like a gosh-damn Three Stooges movie. Come on, Linda, and we’ll get you shampooed.”

  Kay flounced toward the back, clicking and clattering her numerous colorful bracelets. She paused at the stereo only long enough to turn up the volume three or four notches.

  After Kay returned to the front and sat her customer before the mirror, she told Sarah what had happened last night.

  “Katie, my oldest, had a boy over from school—Wayne or Dwayne Somebody—so she could help him with his algebra for a big test they’ve got tomorrow, and she’s probably the smartest one in the family, so it’s no wonder other kids want her help. Rick’s out in the living room with me, and he’s saying probably what the kid wants is to get into Katie’s panties, which is ridiculous, but that’s Rick. Anyhow, they were in the kitchen at the table with their schoolbooks and Cokes (thank God they’re still drinking it and not snorting it) and some cake when Mr. Moto, our black lab, strolls in and decides he’s so fond of this boy, Wayne or Dwayne Whatever, that he pees all over the poor kid’s pant leg. Well, Katie starts screaming at the dog and throws her glass of pop at him, and Rick hears her screaming and thinks the kid has finally begun to molest her, so he goes charging in, steps on an ice cube from Katie’s drink, and slips and falls right down on his ass right onto a big hunk of broken glass. He starts yelling bloody murder and the dog is barking and Katie’s boyfriend is standing there with dog pee on his pants and he doesn’t know whether to faint or run for his life. Meanwhile, Rick is bleeding like a bastard, and I ended up driving him to the hospital, and all the way he’s pissing and moaning and trying to sit on his side. What really got him going, though, was they had to shave some of the hair off his butt to get him patched up. All the way home he’s cussing about Wayne or Dwayne, about how it was his fault that the whole thing happened. I go, ‘Rick, do you think that poor kid wanted Mr. Moto to pee on him?’ and he goes, ‘Some kids are like that, Kay, and you can bet I’m going to ask him about it the next time he walks into my kitchen,’ as if the poor kid will ever come within a mile of our house again. Plus, he’s probably flunking his algebra test even as I speak.”

  Sarah had to wipe the tears of laughter from her eyes before she could continue cutting her customer’s hair.

  “So anyway, Sarah,” Kay said, “what’s new with you?”

  “Nothing much.” Then Sarah remembered the letter from Joseph Pomeroy. “Nothing’s new,” she said.

  Sarah steered the Wagoneer down the quiet, dark street.

  She was getting home later than she’d expected, because King Soopers had been packed with people. It had looked as if everyone in town had chosen this evening to nudge their overflowing food baskets through the checkout lines.

  The streetlights cast impenetrable black shadows behind every tree and bush. The neighborhood would have looked forbidding except that every house Sarah glimpsed through the trees seemed alive with warm yellow window light. She noted with pleasure that a few of her neighbors had already hung strings of colored lights on their shrubbery. It reminded her that Christmas was barely three weeks away. It also reminded her that this morning in the car she and Brian had discussed buying a Christmas tree. Had she promised him they’d buy it tonight? She hoped not, because it had been a long day, and she wanted nothing more than an evening of doing nothing.

  She unlocked the front door, a bag of groceries tucked under her left arm. She’d barely closed the door behind her when Brian came down the stairs and ran into the foyer, his cheeks flushed, his eyes aglow.

  “Hi, pumpkin,” she said.

  “Dad says we can get our Christmas tree tonight, Mom!”

  “He did?”

  Alex entered the foyer from the kitchen hallway.

  “Yeah!” Brian said. “So can we?”

  “Well …”

  “Your mother looks kind of tired,” Alex said, rescuing her. He gave Sarah a kiss on the forehead, took the grocery bag from her, then looked down at Brian. “Maybe we should wait till tomorrow.”

  Brian’s face fell. “Tomorrow?”

  “I promise there’ll be a perfect tree just waiting for us. Okay?”

  “I guess,” Brian said, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the tile floor.

  “Well, wait,” Sarah said, unable to resist the downcast look on her son’s face. “How about if you give me an hour to get my second wind and then we can go.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure, why not?” she said, answering Brian but looking at Alex. “You’ve heard of Supermom, haven’t you?”

  “Isn’t she on TV on Saturdays right after Lord Doom?” Alex asked, then said, “Look, if you’d rather not do it, just Brian and I could go.”

  “Are you kidding?” Sarah gave him a look of exaggerated shock. “You think I’d trust you two alone with something this important?”

  “Silly of me,” he said. “However, I take it that even Supermom requires nourishment.”

  “She does.”

  “Well, soup’s on.”

  “You have dinner waiting for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “What a guy. What are we having?”

  “Like I said. Soup.”

  Alex carried in the rest of the groceries and helped Sarah put them away. He’d already set out a pair of place mats with plates and bowls, napkins and silverware. He’d also reheated the remainder of the vegetable soup that they’d made and frozen last Sunday.

  Sarah sat at the table while Alex warmed some sourdough rolls in the microwave oven. She could hear Brian thumping around upstairs.

  Alex glanced at the ceiling. “I already fed him.”

  Sarah smiled briefly, searching the countertop with her eyes. She noticed that the envelope from Joseph Pomeroy was no longer where she’d put it. Alex was watching her, and he apparently guessed what she was thinking.

  “We need to talk about that,” he said.

  “I know. Even though I don’t know what it’s all about.”

  Alex nodded. “It’s … complicated. Some of it I should have told you before, but—”

  They both heard Brian clomping down the stairs.

  “Later,” he said quietly.

  After Sarah and Alex had eaten and Brian had sat fidgeting at the table, barely able to contain his excitement, they all went out to get a tree.

  Alex drove them to a lot near the north end of town, just off Fillmore Street. The lot was surrounded by a tall, temporary wire fence that sagged between wooden posts and threatened to collapse at the first loud sneeze. Inside the enclosure, which was strung with bright, naked light bulbs, were scores of evergreens nailed to crude wooden stands. They stood crookedly at attention like poorly trained soldiers in uneven ranks. Brian went on an immediate and thorough inspection tour.

  Naturally, he was looking for the largest tree on the lot, regardless of its shape or fullness. Alex trailed behind him, scrutinizing each tree. He seemed more concerned with symmetry than size.

  It took nearly an hour for Brian and Alex to systematically examine every last tree. Sarah was stamping her feet from the cold and beginning to wonder if Christmas would come and go before a decision was made.

  Finally, Brian announced his choice—a lopsided giant that Sarah doubted would fit under their ceiling. And Alex proclaimed his—a perfectly shaped beauty not much taller than himself.

  Sarah tried arbitration to no avail.

  The lot owner, a big-bellied man wearing a peacoat and an orange ski cap with “Denver Broncos” stitched across the front, suggested with a grin that they could purchase both trees. Sarah gave him a look. He stepped back, held up his mittened hands, and cleared his throat.

  Then h
e pointed out to Brian that although his giant tree appeared to be the biggest around, the trunk would probably need several feet cut from it because it was so crooked. In addition, some of the branches needed trimming because they stuck out too far, and there was a large bare area on one side, so when you got right down to it, it wasn’t so big, after all. But right over here was a fine tree, nearly as big as his first choice, with a much better shape.

  Then he pointed out to Alex that although his tree appeared to be perfect, in fact it was noticeably thicker on one side. In addition, a tree this size looked best in a small apartment, not a house, and for almost the same price you could get a much larger tree with the same shape.

  “For instance,” the lot owner said, “that one over there. The one your son’s looking at.”

  Brian was standing before a seven-foot pine, as wide as it was tall, with evenly spaced branches thick with soft needles.

  “What about this one, Dad?”

  “Good choice,” he said.

  Alex and the lot owner carried the tree to the Wagoneer, hoisted it on top with the tree trunk pointing forward, then secured it with some lengths of old clothesline. Alex paid the man and climbed in the vehicle with Brian. Sarah hung back for a moment, then slipped the lot man an extra ten-dollar bill.

  “What’s this for?”

  “For keeping me from freezing to death out here,” she said. “Merry Christmas.”

  When they got home, Alex parked the Wagoneer in the driveway. Then all three wrestled the big tree off the roof, dragged it along the stone walk to the front of the house, and pulled it onto the porch, leaving behind a scattering of pine needles.

  “Can we get it through the door?” Brian asked somewhat fearfully.

  “No problem. But do we want to do it tonight?” He was looking at Sarah.

  “Yes!” Brian said.

  “What do you think?” Alex asked Sarah.

  “I think, number one, I’m pooped, and number two, it’s too close to bedtime for school-age children.”

  “Aw, Mom.”

  “Your mother’s right, Brian. Besides, I’ll need time to cut a bit off the bottom of the trunk to square it up. And we’ll have to buy a tree stand, won’t we?”

  “We’ve got one,” Sarah said. “That is, I think we do. We may have to search the basement.”

  She remembered that when they’d moved in they’d let the movers haul a lot of things through the side door into the basement. And there had been a lot. “Junk grows,” her mother had once told her, “and if you don’t believe me, wait until you have to move it.” Sarah hadn’t thought that she and Brian could have accumulated so much stuff. However, they were both the types who would shove something in the back of a closet before they’d think of tossing it out. Sarah knew that she still had things from her early days of marriage to Ted, from before she’d gotten pregnant with Brian. And she was fairly certain they had some of Ted’s old stuff, packed in cardboard boxes and sealed with tape.

  When Alex had moved into Sarah and Brian’s small house right after their marriage, he’d kept his apartment as a place to store all of his “dear junk.” A month later, when the big house was ready for them to move into, he’d had everything hauled over, along with all of Sarah and Brian’s things.

  Maybe if the house weren’t so big, Sarah thought, they’d have held a garage sale before the move or given things to Goodwill. As it was, they had more room than they needed, and perhaps they’d felt obligated to fill up all that empty space. In fact, they’d been “forced” to buy a few more roomfuls of furniture for the big house.

  Yes, she thought, and smiled to herself, the tree stand was most probably in the basement. There might be a problem finding it, though.

  They laid the tree against the house next to the front door. Then Alex parked the Wagoneer in the garage, and Sarah took Brian upstairs and tucked him in bed. While she was still in the bedroom, Alex came in to say good night, with Patches trailing behind.

  Sarah left them all together and went down to the family room.

  Although it was a large room, it usually felt cozy to Sarah, with its stone fireplace, thick carpeting, and comfortably over-stuffed couch and chairs. But now the room seemed bleak and cold. The picture window, which during daylight gave a sweeping view of the backyard and trees and the mountains beyond, was now black and featureless.

  Sarah sat on the couch and waited for Alex.

  When he walked into the room, she saw that he had the envelope with him.

  5

  ALEX SAT BESIDE SARAH on the couch. He held the envelope on his knee, away from her. He looked at it and said, “Brian’s so excited about the tree. Was he like this last year?”

  Sarah shook her head no and smiled briefly. “Last year he didn’t get to help pick it out.”

  Alex nodded, his eyes still on the envelope. They sat for a few moments in relative silence, the only sounds being the occasional creak and groan of the old house settling in for the night. Sarah started to reach for Alex’s hand, then stopped when he spoke.

  “This is difficult, Sarah.” His voice was strained. “It …” He shook his head as if to clear it. Then he took a deep breath and began again.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. She was remembering several years ago when Ted had spoken those words, or ones quite similar. He’d gone on to say that he was in love with another woman and that if Sarah wanted a divorce he would oblige. Sarah had known, or at least strongly suspected, that Ted was seeing someone, and when he’d finally admitted it, it had been more of a relief than a numbing blow. But Sarah felt numb now. And she was fairly certain that whatever Alex was about to tell her had nothing to do with infidelity. But he was speaking, his voice low, and she’d missed his last words.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “I said, I lied when I told you that my first wife and our son died in an automobile accident.”

  “What?”

  He nodded.

  “How did—”

  “It wasn’t a car accident, Sarah. It was … more terrible than that.”

  Sarah held her breath.

  “They were murdered,” he said. “Butchered.”

  Sarah felt a chill go through her.

  “My God.”

  “I know I should have told you the truth long ago, but it was something I’d been trying to forget, trying to put behind me.” His words came in a rush. “I wanted to start over, to make a new life, and when I met you, I knew we were meant to be together, and I didn’t want to have anything bad between us, so I lied. It was the wrong thing to do, I know, and I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand. “I swear to you, Sarah, I’ve never lied about anything else, and I never will again.”

  “It’s all right,” she said softly, although she was shocked by Alex’s words. “I trust you, Alex. I love you.”

  And she did, more than anything or anyone in the world. She loved him as much as she loved Brian. And she could understand why he’d lied to her. It didn’t matter; it changed nothing between them. However, she knew that he wasn’t finished. There was more.

  Alex looked in her eyes. “I love you, too, Sarah, so very much.”

  Then his eyes moved away from hers and fell again on the envelope.

  “I have to tell you how they died,” he said.

  “Alex, you don’t—”

  “No, I do. For you to understand, especially about Christine.”

  “Who?”

  “Christine Helstrum, the … psychopath who murdered them.”

  Sarah felt another chill. She’d expected him to say that his family had been killed by a man, possibly a mugger or a burglar, or even a street gang, but not a woman.

  “It was about five years ago,” Alex began, “when Laura and I were married. When we learned that she couldn’t have children, we decided to adopt.”

  Alex and Laura found one-year-old Timothy at a state a
gency in Albany and immediately fell in love with him. They were told, however, that Timothy would probably have to overcome emotional problems, because he’d been abandoned by his father and physically abused by his mother. Alex and Laura were prepared to deal with that. They were prepared to give Timothy a safe, secure, and loving home.

  Unknown to Alex and Laura at that time—but all too well known to them later—Timothy’s natural mother, Christine Helstrum, had been convicted of felony child abuse and sent to prison for a year, with psychiatric treatment recommended. After her release, she began looking for her son. When the adoption agency refused to give her the name of Timothy’s new parents, Christine returned to the agency at night, broke into the building, and ransacked the files.

  The next day, she confronted Alex on his own doorstep. She was screaming that he’d stolen her son and that she’d come to take him back.

  When he told her to leave, she knocked him aside and charged into the house, searching for Timothy. Alex grabbed her from behind, fought with her, and physically threw her out of the house while Laura phoned the police.

  Christine was arrested. She was charged with assault and felony menacing, then, mistakenly, released on bond. That she was on parole had somehow escaped the attention of the authorities, or she would have been held until her court appearance and then, most probably, returned to prison. Of course, a spokesman for the city said, in defense of the system, that a return to prison might have delayed Christine’s act but wouldn’t have prevented it.

  In any case, the mistake had been made.

  That night, while Alex was away from home playing poker with friends, Christine broke into the house.

  Laura was in the living room watching television, and Timothy was upstairs, asleep in his crib. When Laura heard a noise in the kitchen and went to investigate, she found Christine standing before an open window, a butcher knife in her hand.

  Before Laura could think or act, Christine attacked her, stabbing and slashing her. Laura tried to get away, but Christine grabbed her by the hair and stabbed her repeatedly from behind. Laura fell, bleeding from numerous wounds. Christine left her on the kitchen floor and went upstairs. Laura was in shock and extreme pain, but she was conscious. She knew what was happening. She struggled to her feet, her hands slippery with her own blood, and stumbled to the stairs. She left her blood on the walls and the carpeted steps and the banister. When she finally reached the top of the stairs, Christine was coming down the hall with Timothy under her arm.