Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  Cynthia stood at his side, looking simply marvelous. Her red velvet sheath showed off her figure, and her hair was arranged in a cascade of loose curls held in place by a giant diamond pin. A ruby pendant dangled on her neck, calling attention to her cleavage. Cynthia certainly knew how to garner attention.

  “Darling,” Cynthia took David’s hand in hers as two women approached. “You remember Ruth Davis and Ann Wilson?”

  “Good evening, ladies.”

  Ann Wilson, a striking strawberry blonde socialite flashed David a practiced smile. Beside her, Ruth Davis was standoffish. Her coal black eyes failed to return his smile. He guessed she was older than Ann, in her late thirties or early forties. Her short dark hair and lanky build made her attractive in an aloof sort of way.

  “Would you be a doll and get us drinks?” Cynthia flashed David a bright smile. “A martini for me. Ruth? Ann?”

  David dutifully sauntered off to fill their drink order. Three martinis: one for him, Cynthia, and Ann. A gin and tonic for Ruth.

  “My, he is the handsome one,” remarked Ann. “You’d better keep a close eye on him, Cynthia darling. I can’t help but think of all those gorgeous single nurses milling around him all the time.”

  “Ann, stop,” Ruth chided. “Cynthia’s the gorgeous one. You look just divine tonight.” She moved closer to Cynthia and slipped an arm around her waist. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that nonsense. David doesn’t deserve you.”

  Cynthia smiled full force at Ruth. “My goodness, that’s wonderful to hear. David’s a very attractive man, I know that,” she said. “My main complaint is that he’s married to that hospital. But he is the chief of surgery. That’s what I wanted for him.”

  “Look over there,” Ruth cut in. “Raymond Walson and his wife. She’s a medical student, isn’t she, Cynthia?”

  “And who is Raymond Walson?” asked Ann, searching the crowded room.

  “Raymond and I are law partners,” Ruth replied, pulling her arm away from Cynthia as David approached, leading a tuxedoed waiter carrying a silver tray with four drinks. After glasses were clinked, David picked up the conversation he’d barely overheard.

  “Does that make you an attorney?” he inquired, intrigued with Cynthia’s friend. There weren’t many female law partners in this city. With her lanky figure and sharp features, she might look imposing in a business suit confronting a legal opponent. Tonight she wore a simple deep blue gown without any accessories but black pearl earrings.

  “Yes, it does.” Ruth responded coolly. “Patterson, Stewart, and Mays. Do you know the firm?”

  “I can’t say that I do. But in my line of work, that’s probably a good thing.” He smiled.

  Ruth did not smile back. “You don’t have to worry. We specialize in labor negotiations and union contracts.”

  “Good,” he said, shifting his gaze in the direction where his wife stared. Surprised, he recognized one of his students, the lovely woman carefully removing her full-length black sable coat to reveal a sequin studded red silk sheath. Vicky Walson, one of the smartest, if not the smartest in the class, looked stunning. Her long platinum hair hung shoulder length and was brushed back over her ears to highlight huge Burmese ruby earrings.

  Taking her arm, Vicky’s escort headed toward them.

  “Hello, Ruth. I didn’t think either of us would make it.” Turning to the rest of the group, he explained. “We had an arbitration that had to be settled before we could leave the table. If it weren’t Christmas Eve, we’d still be in there now, I’m afraid.”

  “Let me make the introductions,” Ruth offered. “Ann, Cynthia, David, this is Raymond Walson, and his wife.”

  “Mrs. Walson, we’ve met,” David said, smiling brightly.

  “A pleasure to see you here, Dr. Monroe.”

  “So you two know each other?” Raymond Walson prodded.

  “Yes, indeed,” David responded. “Mrs. Walson, I believe that you are one of the top students in the freshman class.”

  Raymond beamed at his wife as she blushed at the compliment. “She works really hard, I assure you. But I must say that it’s great to have my wife over the holidays. I know once classes start up, I’ll be back on bread and water with an occasional frozen dinner.”

  “You? A medical student?” Cynthia Monroe suddenly asked, eyeing Vicky with one of those head-to-heel looks that only women can affect.

  “Yes,” Vicky responded just as coolly.

  “How can you do that?” Cynthia demanded.

  “Do what?” Vicky said simply, reaching for Raymond’s hand.

  “Well, I think it’s a disgrace,” Cynthia huffed. “Taking up valuable places meant for men who will make real contributions to medicine.”

  Vicky’s cheeks flushed with anger. She opened her mouth to reply, but Raymond broke into the conversation instead.

  “Great meeting you, Dr. Monroe. Take good care of my wife, she’s a hell of a hard worker. She’s also a fabulous dancer, and I want to get her out on the floor before the orchestra quits. Come on, darling.”

  David’s jaw clenched. Cynthia tried to snuggle up to him, but David held her stiffly at arm’s length, willing himself not to renounce her then and there. Instead, with an exaggerated effort, he glanced at his watch and announced that he had to check in with the hospital. Cynthia trailed behind him. Reaching for his sleeve, she suggested that he return quickly.

  “I’ll not be back,” he seethed between his teeth as he pulled out of her reach.

  Cynthia followed David out of the elegant ballroom to the bank of phones discreetly located in a small alcove. As he picked up a receiver, she grabbed his arm.

  “Listen, Cynthia, I’m serious.” David hissed. “Your rudeness to my student was inexcusable.”

  “But darling,” she attempted.

  David cut her off and wrenched his arm from her hold. “I’m too angry to discuss it right now. Go back inside. I have an important phone call to make.”

  “I’ll just bet you do,” she retorted hotly, grabbing him again by the sleeve.

  David yanked his arm from her grip. “It’s Ed Collins. I’ll be spending the night at the hospital, so find a ride home. Tell your friends I had an emergency. In fact, make up whatever story you want, I don’t care.”

  “How could you?” Cynthia’s right hand flew up and struck him across his face.

  David calmly and firmly pushed his wife aside. He quickly retrieved his black cashmere overcoat. Instead of calling the hospital, he’d head right over.

  Cynthia, suddenly alone in the alcove, struggled to pull herself together. Angry tears welled in her eyes, threatening to destroy the carefully applied make-up. She headed for the powder room, a forced smile on her face. Image was everything, after all. The Monroes were the perfect couple. David, the perfect gentleman. Always impeccably dressed. Always exuding charm. Cynthia couldn’t erase the image of Vicky and her handsome young husband. It made her feel old and ugly. One hand moved slowly down her torso as she turned sideways to view her profile in the mirror. Her four-inch spike heels started to wobble, and she leaned on a satin covered chair to steady herself.

  “Cynthia, are you all right? Ruth was waiting outside the powder room when Cynthia emerged several minutes later, a forearm crossing her abdomen protectively. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Let’s sit down.” Ruth nodded toward a table in an adjacent empty ballroom. “Something’s terribly wrong, isn’t it?”

  “It’s David. He had to leave for the hospital. Of all nights, Christmas Eve,” Cynthia stammered as she sat down.

  “Some kind of an emergency?” Ruth pulled up an identical chair. She sat down and placed her hand over Cynthia’s.

  “No, not really. I mean, I don’t know. Yes, that’s what he said,” Cynthia contradicted herself.

  “Maybe it’s for the best,” Ruth said soothingly. “I felt the tension between you, and I couldn’t help but notice the way he treats you. You deserve much better than that,” Ruth inched her ch
air closer and placed an arm around Cynthia’s shoulder.

  “Everybody is always saying how wonderful he is. But I can tell you, he’s no saint.”

  “Of course he isn’t. Doesn’t he realize how beautiful you are?” Ruth stroked Cynthia’s smooth bare arm.

  They ordered drinks from a roaming waiter and after their glasses had been drained, their conversation strayed to vacation and travel talk. When Ruth offered to drive her home, Cynthia gratefully accepted. The two women left the ball together following their requisite farewells. Upon arrival at the Monroe estate, they had another drink in the candlelit living room, Vivaldi playing softly in the background.

  Ruth’s consoling embraces soon progressed to a sensual exploration of Cynthia’s soft, silken body. After a few tentative moments, Ruth held Cynthia close and they kissed. Arm and arm, they climbed the stairs to Cynthia’s suite. Slowly and deliberately they undressed each other and lay down on the bed. Through a fog of alcohol, Cynthia glimpsed backward through the years to her days at Smith. She recalled intimacies shared with her roommate, Elsie Vane. Elsie had short hair, like Ruth’s. But they were much, much younger then. Cynthia reached for Ruth.

  The next day at noon David returned home physically and emotionally drained. Up most of the night, he had lost his friend and colleague, Ed Collins. With a heavy heart, he showered, shaved, and dressed. Reluctantly, and with trepidation, he headed for Cynthia’s room, tapping lightly on her door, expecting an ugly scene.

  In the past, the Monroes had visited David’s brother, Nick, his wife, Denise, and their four children on Christmas Day, an annual outing that had grown to be nothing more than a source of contention. Cynthia considered Nick and Denise beneath her social class and had no interest in their children. David fiercely loved his brother and admired his sister-in-law, but mostly he adored his nephews — Jonathan, Paul, Scott, and little Bobby. After that scene last night, David assumed that Cynthia would refuse to go. They’d have an argument. He’d go alone.

  “I’ll be down shortly, darling,” Cynthia responded. “We’re heading out to your brother’s, right?”

  David was baffled by his wife’s pleasant response but too exhausted to dwell on it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  On Christmas morning Laura waited until after they’d returned from Mass and all the presents were opened before approaching Steve about Aunt Hazel’s surprising story the night before. Experiencing an uncommon reprieve in her morning sickness, she suggested to Steve that they take a walk. The boys were mesmerized by their gifts, and this was the first opportunity to have any real privacy with Steve since their arrival.

  “Your Aunt Hazel is quite a character,” Laura began.

  Steve wrapped an arm around his wife as they walked down the driveway. “You can say that again.”

  “She told me some things about the family after everyone was asleep last night.” Laura felt Steve suddenly stiffen. “She told me about Phillip.”

  Steve froze in his tracks, looking down at his feet.

  “Why hadn’t you ever told me?” she asked softly.

  Steve’s voice cracked when he finally spoke, “Because I’m still ashamed. Even though I was only a kid, ten years old. No one ever talked about it after it happened, so I never told you. I never told anyone.”

  “I’m your wife, why don’t you tell me now?” Something must really be wrong with their marriage. She’d been in the dark about how Steve’s twin had died. He’d never know how she’d been raped. Or how she had killed.

  Slowly, tentative, with eyes cast down, Steve spoke in a monotone.

  He and Phillip were identical twins. Phillip had been the aggressive one, outgoing and charming; Steve was quiet and timid. Phillip had always made the decisions: what games to play; what they wanted for dinner. Steve was like the perpetual shadow. Not that Phillip was cruel, he just expected that Steve would follow.

  One day the twins were playing cowboys up in the tree house their dad had built for them. They loved to play there with their new puppy, Lucky, a yellow Lab that the twins took everywhere. Steve adored Lucky with a special passion. Perhaps he related to the puppy’s subordinate status. And perhaps, in retrospect, the twins should have been given two puppies rather than one to share. There was a scuffle over which twin Lucky loved best, and uncharacteristically, Steve shoved Phillip. It was an angry, forceful shove, strong enough to propel Phillip backward and through the opening in the railing at the ladder. The fall was only ten feet; but Phillip’s neck snapped on impact, and he died instantly.

  Steve’s mother had not been home. Aunt Hazel was visiting and was watching the boys while Helen had her hair styled for a Knights of Columbus dinner. His mother returned home to the flashing red lights of emergency vehicles. Phillip lay lifeless under the old oak tree. His father was on his knees, his face blurred by tears, leaning over his dead son. Steve was huddled in Aunt Hazel’s arms in the rocking chair on the large back porch, moaning, “I didn’t mean to hurt him.” And he hadn’t. He had just wanted to show Phillip that he would not be bullied when it came to Lucky.

  Steve wasn’t really sure what happened next, but his mother was hospitalized. They called it a nervous breakdown. For two months, Aunt Hazel stayed with Jim and Steve.

  “She told me, Steve. How at first she was restless, not used to confinement in a small town and anxious to get back to her job as a fashion coordinator for Macy’s in New York City. About how she fell in love with your father. About how they had an affair.”

  Steve admitted that he became very attached to his aunt during that time. She gave him love and attention in a way he’d never received. Just him, no competition with Phillip. As for his father and Aunt Hazel, he’d only been ten, but had suspected an intimate relationship, and when his mother returned home, Hazel left Traverse City. Steve sounded so terribly sad when he explained how his parents never again mentioned Phillip. For some time, Helen wanted nothing to do with Steve. She made him feel like a ghost, as if he were invisible. His dad made the meals and took him fishing, but he was always sad. He dismantled the tree house and, worst of all, got rid of Lucky. Had his parents known the tussle was over Lucky? Steve didn’t know.

  His mother slowly improved, Steve said. The depressive episodes became shorter and less frequent, and he and his father learned to tiptoe around her moods. Steve told Laura that he coped by trying to be the perfect son. Compliant with rules, afraid that if he upset his mother, his dad would take her away and leave him alone. An irrational fear, Steve now realized, but it was real back then. Steve said that a childhood like that made him want to be a strong father to his own sons.

  “You are a wonderful father,” Laura wrapped her arms around Steve, kissing him on the forehead, and with a mittened hand she wiped tears from his eyes. “Honey, why didn’t you tell me this yourself? I mean before? It would have helped me understand your parents.”

  Steve pulled back to face her. “Don’t you understand? This is about me. I killed my twin brother. I live with that shame every day. I don’t want anyone else to know. Especially the kids. You have to promise me.”

  “Oh Steve, I’m so sorry,” Laura said.

  “I don’t want your pity,” Steve said, reaching to take her back into his arms, holding her tightly in the still, white wilderness. “I just want your promise.”

  “You have my word,” she whispered, letting loose a steaming, frigid breath.

  Following their walk together on Christmas morning, Steve became distant and introspective. He brooded for the next few days, and Laura went out of her way to appear cheerful and affectionate. But once they left Traverse City, Steve snapped back into his normal self, horsing around with the boys, grumbling about the striking Detroit newspapers.

  Steve’s story had served to distract Laura from her most grievous concern, but only temporarily. What if the baby was not Steve’s? She simply couldn’t cope with that possibility. Since there was absolutely nothing she could do but wait, she forced herself to bury her ter
ror in a dark compartment deep inside.

  “Okay, little guys, vacation’s over,” Laura announced on Tuesday morning, the second day of 1968. She tried to sound cheery and upbeat. “Mommy has to go back to school today, and you guys get to go upstairs. Carol’s waiting for you.” She forced a smile at a sleepyeyed Carol, who stood at the top of the stairs holding her son, Teddy, still in his pajamas. Laura kissed both her children goodbye, trying not to impart to them the fear roiling inside her.

  Steve had already left for a caseworker conference in Lansing where he’d been asked to recruit administrative assistants to take some of the load off the social workers. The only junior social worker asked to attend, it was a welcome boost to his ego.

  As she pulled out of her icy driveway, Laura headed directly to the Lodge Expressway. Susan had called last night to say that she was staying with a friend downtown and would find her own way to school in the morning. Laura couldn’t help but wonder if that “friend” was Dr. Will Cunningham. With Susan on her own, Laura would have the very rare chance to be alone, if even for an hour. She desperately needed that time after that phone call this morning. Compartmentalize, she told herself. This was her defense mechanism: one thing at a time.

  But the moment she’d started the Falcon, a cavalcade of thoughts competed for her attention. She’d seen her doctor. Yes, she was indeed four months pregnant.

  She gripped the wheel of the car tightly as she drove south on the freeway. Since Christmas Day, she had begun to feel somewhat better, experiencing less nausea and vomiting, but she knew she’d start to show soon. Would she be able to continue school? If she told no one, she could finish the semester, but what about the next one? She’d be just about at term, waddling around with a bulging belly. Could she get by wearing those ugly loose muumuus?

  “Face the real issue,” she said aloud. “Quit putting it off.” There was a fifty-fifty chance that her baby would be biracial. Laura had no idea how she would handle this. At the moment, she could only beg God that it wouldn’t happen. No matter what, she would love the baby and protect it. Of that she was certain. But how would Steve react?