“These,” she said, shoving the undergarment toward his face. “How in the hell do you explain these?”
Shuffling back, Jeff grabbed the panties and held them up with both hands. “Well, not that I’m an expert on women’s underwear, but I think they call this little number a thong. So if you’re asking my opinion, let me go on record as saying I prefer those black, lacy things you had on the other night.”
Emily snatched the thong back. “You’re making jokes. You think this is funny? You’re an even bigger jerk than I imagined.” She drew back her hand, still holding the thong, to slap him. He grabbed her wrist.
“Whoa there, Em. I don’t know what this is all about, but I think it’s time for you to tell me exactly what’s got your panties all bunched up. Forgive the pun.”
His joke was the final straw. “It’s over, as in I’m over you. How’s that for an explanation?” She spun around and plowed back through a crowd of smokers toward the pub until Jeff seized her arm.
“Let go of me,” she demanded. “You’re hurting me.”
“I’m not letting go until you explain what the hell has gotten into you besides too much alcohol.”
Tears welled up in Emily’s eyes. She threw the panties, and they landed on his shoulder. “These are what has gotten into me. I found them in my car.”
With a look of befuddlement, Jeff removed the thong clinging to his corduroy shirt. Either he was the best liar she had ever met or he really didn’t comprehend where she was going with this.
“In the back seat.”
Still nothing.
“After you borrowed it.”
Suddenly, a look of enlightenment flashed over his face.
“Em, you don’t honestly think…I mean you couldn’t possibly believe that I…and in your car for Christ’s sake? What kind of lowlife do you think I am?”
Exactly! Emily bit the inside of her bottom lip. Perhaps if she hadn’t had the evidence with her she might have expected a denial, but seriously, who did he think he was fooling?
“Listen, Em. These aren’t mine.”
“Well of course they’re not yours. Hell, I think I could handle it if they were yours.”
Jeff smiled and again his cavalier attitude drew Emily’s wrath.
“How can you make light of this? Seriously. I trusted you.” Defeated and on the verge of tears, she looked down and whispered, “You were supposed to be different from the others.” Emily was crying now, and this time when Jeff took her hand, she didn’t resist. Instead she melted into his arms, burying her head in that comfortable nook between his shoulder and chest.
“Em, I swear on my life, I have no idea where this thong came from. You’ve got to believe me. I borrowed your car, drove it to work, and then drove it home. It sat in the parking garage all night until I returned it to you the next day.” He reached down and cradled her chin, gently forcing her head up until their eyes met. “You’re it for me.” He pinched her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger as if for emphasis. “Understand? You, nobody but you.”
Emily wanted to believe him. Her heart said yes, but her head kept bringing up her questionable track record with men. She had a knack for picking losers. Why should Jeff be any different simply because he was beautiful and signed the initials M.D. after his name?
He stroked her cheek. “We’re going to figure this out,” he reassured her, his voice taking on a graver quality, a seriousness that gave Emily the eerie feeling he wasn’t merely referring to the thong and their relationship. “But right now I’ve got to get back to the bar. There’s a guy there waiting on me, someone I’ve got to talk to. It’s important.”
“And I’m not.”
“Of course you’re important. But so is this. You’re just gonna have to trust me.”
Trust. Wasn’t that the whole problem?
“Who’s the guy?” she asked, remembering the dude with the goatee, not a clean-cut, academic type Jeff usually hung out with.
“Just a co-worker.”
“Hospital business in the pub?”
“It’s a long story, but I promise we’ll discuss all this later.”
Emily’s head hurt. Her earlier buzz had worn off, and now she needed either the consolation of another drink or the comfort of her bed. The first wasn’t an option. A paradox of jumbled thoughts, she needed time to think and suspected she’d have more clarity after a good night’s sleep.
Jeff escorted her to her car. With her back against the Camry, he leaned into her, and the familiar weight of his body made her want to fling her arms around him and pretend none of this had ever happened. She could hear Shauna’s disapproval in her head, but it wasn’t her fault. Jeff made her whole body tingle.
“You okay to drive?” Jeff asked.
Emily nodded.
Cupping her head with both hands, he guided her face toward his and kissed her. She didn’t reciprocate, but she didn’t resist.
“Jeff,” she called as he hurried off to the entrance. “If Shauna’s still there, tell her I’m sorry and that I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Jeff raised his arm and gave her the thumbs up.
* * * *
The knocking at the door woke Emily. Sunlight poured in through her bedroom window. She squinted in order to see the clock. Ten after eleven. Had she really slept that long? Her mouth felt pasty, and when she sat up a mild wave of nausea made her pause while it passed. What on earth had she been thinking, two beers on an empty stomach, and then half a bottle of wine after she got home? Of course then it hit her like a severe case of the shits. She’d been thinking about her two-timing boyfriend.
The knocking at the door continued. “I’m coming,” she yelled then cringed at her own voice.
“Em, it’s me. Open up.”
Shauna. She’d called her friend’s cell phone when she’d gotten home, but there had been no answer. At the time, she wasn’t too concerned. But now with Shauna frantically knocking at the door, her pulse raced.
“Coming. I’m coming.”
She slipped on a pair of fluffy slippers and then proceeded downstairs. Each step sent another wave of nausea rippling through her. At the bottom of the stairs, she briefly caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked like a corpse.
When she opened the door, it worried her to see Shauna looking almost as ragged as she did.
“Jeez, what’s wrong?” Emily asked.
“Oh, thank God. Then you haven’t heard?” The possibility seemed to make Shauna calmer.
“Heard? Heard what?”
“You better sit down. It’s Jeff.”
“Is he okay?”
“No,” she said. “He’s gone. He took an overdose of codeine.”
By the time Shauna had told her the details, Emily felt as though the breath had been sucked from her lungs. Suicide? Could it be true? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine the sensation of Jeff’s weight pressed against her body as he tenderly kissed her on the mouth, his smell filling her head with thoughts she didn’t want to admit, especially to herself. How could someone so alive just hours before be dead? And not just dead, dead as the result of an overdose. Dead, as in really dead. The word stuck in her mouth like a bad aftertaste, and she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“Just one last thing, Em,” Shauna added, interrupting her thoughts.
Emily glared up at her friend. There couldn’t possibly be more.
“I hate bringing this up now, but better you hear it from me.”
Emily’s balled-up fists clenched the bottom of her nightshirt.
“They, the police, found some things in his bedroom.”
“Things? What sort of things?”
Shauna glanced down at the floor. “A woman’s negligee.”
This time, the wave of nausea actually made Emily gag. She wanted to claim the negligee was hers. She couldn’t. She rarely slept at the uncomfortably small apartment Jeff shared with an equally low-paid fellow resident. When they slept together it was in her townhou
se. There was no way the negligee could be hers.
She drew her knees into her chest and rocked back and forth, trying to make sense of it all. The thong, the pills, the suicide, the negligee.
“But Shauna,” she said after she’d had a few moments to digest it, “how do you know all this? Maybe you’re wrong.”
“Oh, sweetie, I wish I was.” Shauna reached out and slid her arm across Emily’s shoulder. “Last night I had to finish up some paperwork at the hospital. Tina, the pharmacy tech on duty, is dating a police officer. The weight-lifter type with the mermaid tattoo? I introduced you to him at Troy’s barbeque over Labor Day.” Emily nodded and motioned Shauna to keep going. “Anyway, he shows up shortly after I do and starts to tell Tina about his last call. Said some guy called 9-1-1 after coming home from his shift at the hospital and finding his roommate unconscious.”
“Unconscious.” Emily realized that she sounded hopeful, as if she didn’t already know the outcome.
“Yes, sweetie. He was still breathing when they found him. They tried pumping his stomach, but…”
Emily gasped as she imagined Jeff’s colleagues, men and women she had likely met at some social function, trying desperately to save one of their own.
“It was Jeff,” Shauna continued. “I went down to the ER myself. I had to find out for you.”
Emily’s whole body went numb. Shauna stroked her hair.
“One last thing, Em. The police will need to talk to you.”
“To me?”
“You’re Jeff’s girlfriend. Don’t worry. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Shauna’s arm tightened around Emily, who again felt thankful for her best friend. At least she wouldn’t have to face this nightmare alone.
* * * *
The coroner’s office eventually ruled Jeff’s death a suicide. On the morning of St. Patrick’s Day, the hospital had suspended Jeff, pending further investigation of his role in a case involving inappropriate behavior with a female patient. The guy with the goatee at the bar, a young nurse’s aide assigned to the ER, was later accused of touching and filming a sedated patient’s breasts. One of Jeff’s patients. Had Jeff participated in the molestation? Or was he, as chief resident, merely guilty of neglect for not following up and properly reporting the rumors that such a video existed? What was behind that meeting in the bar—was he confronting the guilty aide with his crimes? Or making sure he and his partner in crime had their stories straight?
Four months after Jeff’s death, Emily still didn’t know and had to accept that she probably never would. And while Jeff had never seemed suicidal, he came from three generations of doctors. Medicine wasn’t just Jeff’s job, it was his life. Maybe the prospect of losing the right to practice could push even someone as stable as her ex-lover to desperation.
At least the police had never identified the owner of the negligee, saving Emily the humiliation of their friends learning Jeff had been unfaithful. In fact, his suicide had saved her the humiliation of a break-up, and in that small way she felt Jeff had made some small retribution for his indiscretions. Rather than being pitied and whispered about behind her back, she was treated with respect as the innocent, bereaved girlfriend. The only person who knew better was Shauna, who would never tell.
Emily was adjusting the calla lilies and a few sprigs of baby’s breath in a flower arrangement when a car horn jolted her from her reverie. Shauna was right on time. Carrying the flowers, Emily headed outside, opened the back door of Shauna’s Mazda, and secured the arrangement. Emily knew Shauna thought she was overly sentimental, especially considering Jeff had cheated on her. In Shauna’s mind, he got what he deserved. “Karma,” she’d say whenever Emily started to over-romanticize the relationship. But she’d agreed to stop by the cemetery on their way to a wine festival, so Emily could leave the flowers on Jeff’s grave. Emily’s heart rose a little, knowing she had a best friend who would always be so considerate of her.
During the drive to the cemetery, a steady stream of classic rock took the place of conversation. Shauna waited in the car listening to the music while Emily visited Jeff’s gravesite. It had been almost a month since her last visit, and the previous bouquet had turned brown and withered in the summer heat. She felt a little guilty for not coming sooner. She exchanged the fresh flowers for the dead ones, letting out a long deep sigh. She wished she had something to say, but knew it had all been said before, so instead she just pulled a few weeds that had sprung up around Jeff’s tombstone and returned to the car.
A little later they stopped at a gas station, and Shauna went in for snacks and a bathroom break. She left the key in the ignition so the radio continued to sing out familiar tunes in her absence, typical thoughtful behavior for Shauna. Everything was going great until Survivor’s “Is This Love” played out over the car’s speakers. It was the first song Emily and Jeff had ever danced to. She didn’t want to cry, but after the cemetery, the impulse was simply too strong. She burst into sobs. She searched her purse for some Kleenex to blow her nose. When none could be found, she tried the glove compartment, hoping for at least a napkin.
Unlike the spotless interior of the car, the glove compartment was cluttered, jammed full with lipsticks, maps, sunglasses, and slips of paper that spilled out as soon as she opened it. Emily was collecting the loose pieces of paper, including receipts and even a few parking tickets, when one of them caught her eye, a piece of notepaper with a list scrawled on it in red marker:
Percocet
Vicodin
Oxycontin
Codeine
The first three lines had been crossed out. Codeine had been circled several times in overlapping strokes.
Emily stared out the window, then back down at the paper. Codeine, the same drug that had killed Jeff. What could it mean? Shauna had always disliked Jeff. And she had access to codeine at the hospital. And Jeff hadn’t seemed suicidal.…
Emily shook her head. Shauna was a pharmacist. She probably had lists like this sitting all around at work. Codeine was a popular drug.
Just then Emily noticed Shauna walking back toward the car, a coffee in each hand. She crammed the papers back into the compartment and slammed it shut. Still tissue-less, she sniffed hard and wiped whatever was left behind on her sleeve. Desperate times required desperate measures.
“Hey,” Shauna said, climbing into the Mazda. “Two creams, no sugar.” She handed Emily one coffee.
Emily felt like such a traitor. How could she have allowed such awful thoughts into her head? Shauna was her friend, her best friend: the kind of friend who would do anything for her. It was a coincidence. Plain and simple. Clearly the visit to the cemetery had affected her judgment. She wasn’t thinking rationally. She sipped her coffee and sloshed the warm silky liquid back and forth in her mouth, trying to focus on the rural scenery outside, but she just couldn’t stop thinking about the list no matter how hard she tried.
“Hey, Shauna,” she said, when she could no longer keep her thoughts to herself, “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
“I figured. You looked as if your brain had shifted into overdrive. Shoot, sweetie.”
“I was just thinking about the suicide.”
Shauna’s expression soured. “Aw, come on, Em. It’s been four months. I kind of understand this whole ritual with the flowers and the cemetery, honestly I do. But eventually you’re going to have to let it go. Jeff’s gone.”
Suddenly Emily felt on the defensive. She knew that Shauna disapproved of her visits to Jeff’s gravesite, and she especially disapproved of the flowers.
“Listen. It’s not that you shouldn’t grieve,” Shauna was saying. “Grieving is natural, but this, this whole thing, this is way beyond grieving. You’re idealizing Jeff and your relationship, remembering them both as something they weren’t.”
Emily frowned. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. “I really don’t think you can be objective,” she muttered, more out of spite than anything.
“Excuse me?” Shauna said.
“Oh, never mind.”
The next several miles passed in a stiff, uncomfortable silence. Then at a stoplight, Shauna reached over and placed her hand over Emily’s. “After everything that’s happened, you have to realize he didn’t deserve you. He was a jerk, a criminal even.”
“They never proved—” Emily began to say, but Shauna didn’t let her finish.
“Please, Em. Save it. You can’t fool yourself forever, and you certainly can’t fool me. Even if he wasn’t involved in the videotaping, he was a narcissist. And the worst thing is that he would’ve married you. He would’ve married you and dedicated the rest of his life to making you miserable, and judging by how you’ve been acting these past few months, you would have let him.” Shauna held up her hand when Emily opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal. “Don’t even try to pretend you would’ve ever left him. I know you, Em. You would have stayed, made excuses, idealized the good times no matter how few or infrequent they might be, just as you’re doing now. Don’t look at me like that. You may think this sounds horrible, but I think his death is the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Emily couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re actually saying that you’re glad he’s dead?”
Shauna’s eyes stayed focused on the road. “Yes. When I think about what he would have put you through eventually, yes.”
Emily didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m saying this as your friend,” Shauna added. “Someone who realizes just how special you are. Someone who will always do everything she can to protect you.”
Emily could feel herself starting to tear up.
* * * *
A little before midnight, on their way home from the wine festival, Shauna pulled into a rest stop. “If you gotta go, this is it till we get home.”
Homicidal Holidays Page 5
