Funny, the thought of “fatal attractions” brought me back to Mark. We had worked together for so long now that we could very nearly read each other’s minds when it came to the projects at hand. I couldn’t help but think of the time when he took me with him to Long Island, where we met with some Kennedy cousin or in-law. She wanted to write a book about being a nobody in a family of somebodies. Mark and I listened to her thoughts on what she wanted to write and almost immediately had the same idea for how the book might come together. That happened a lot.
We liked a lot of the same books—the same foods. I had little trouble talking to him about anything . . . so long as it wasn’t personal. We could discuss history, politics, movies, and of course books, and never feel a moment’s unease. But just let the conversation drift into personal experiences . . . family . . . relationships, and I was lost. I tried to imagine myself explaining my trepidation about this trip. How could I open the crypt to the family skeletons and not expect Mark to go running in the opposite direction? He was a good man, but he wasn’t perfect. No one was. Well . . . Mark would try to remind me that God was perfect, but even God turned away that night fifteen years ago.
Closing my eyes, I tried not to think of those last days at the summer house, but I couldn’t help it. I could see it all as if it were yesterday.
“What’s Daddy doing?” Geena had asked.
We girls were gathered on the upstairs landing that overlooked the open downstairs living area. “He’s making Momma her cocoa,” I told them.
“I want some,” Piper said, her six-year-old voice a little louder than I would have liked.
Of course, given the fact that Momma was playing her rock music as loud as the stereo would allow, I didn’t figure Dad would hear us.
“We’re supposed to be asleep,” eight-year-old Geena said.
Just then our father crossed the room to switch off the music. I fully expected our mother to complain, but there wasn’t as much as a word. I couldn’t tell if she was even still in the living room. Maybe she’d gone to bed.
Without the music playing, however, I could hear another sound. It was our father and he was muttering and talking to himself. He was also crying. At least that was what it sounded like. I heard him sniffing and saw him wipe the back of his hand against his eyes.
“Why is Daddy crying?” Geena asked in a hushed whisper.
So it wasn’t my imagination. He really was crying. I’d never seen this before and it scared me. Something must have been very wrong if he was that upset.
“I have to do this for the girls.” His words were as clear as those Geena had just spoken. I shook my head and leaned closer to the rail.
“It’s for them. They will be safe.”
He took a prescription bottle from his pocket and opened it. I was mesmerized by the scene. What was he doing? What did he have to do for the girls—for us? I suppressed a yawn and watched as he crushed the pills and sprinkled them in the hot chocolate.
“What’s he doing?” Piper asked.
I pushed her back and put my finger to my lips. Returning my attention to the scene below, I watched as our father mixed the medication into the drink. I was old enough to know that something was desperately wrong. I wanted to go to Daddy and offer him whatever comfort I could, but instead I sat frozen in place.
“It has to be this way. I must be strong and see this through,” our father said. He put the spoon aside and squared his shoulders. He stood completely still for a few moments. I guessed that he was calming himself and getting his tears under control.
“Tony? What happened to the music?” our mother questioned. She sounded far off, and I figured she was probably in the master bedroom. “Tony, you know how important it is.”
“I was afraid it would wake the girls,” Daddy called back. “I fixed your hot chocolate while you were showering. It’s ready if you want it.”
Momma said something I couldn’t understand and Daddy picked up the cup and moved out of sight. I punched Geena lightly.
“We need to go back to bed.”
I hoped that Daddy wouldn’t hear us scurrying across the floor. I waited until Geena and Piper disappeared into their rooms before heading into mine. What was going on? What had we just witnessed?
The scene faded from my thoughts and I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt like they were weighted down. I could hear my mother humming as she often did. She told me this was to keep the FBI from reading her mind. She said they were trying to find her—to use her against her will to help them solve a crime. I couldn’t remember the first time she’d told me this, but it seemed I’d always known it.
Now I was walking down the stone steps to the beach. My mother’s humming grew louder. I called to her—at least I think I did. Everything seemed so confused and obscured. A hazy darkness seemed to settle over my vision as I lifted my gaze to the water.
“Bailee?”
I opened my eyes to find Geena tapping on the window and calling my name. I unlocked the door and she slid onto the seat.
“Here’s your coffee. It tastes pretty strong so I put quite a bit—” She stopped in midsentence. “Are you all right?”
I shook the scene from my mind, straightened, and put the seatback upright. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You look like you just saw a ghost.”
I cast a quick glance behind her. “Where’s Piper?”
“Restroom. What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “I was just thinking back to that night.” I took the coffee from Geena. “I closed my eyes and that’s what came to mind.”
“I suppose it’s only natural.” She looked out the front windshield to the back of the SUV in front of us. “Why do you think Dad’s arranged this?”
“No idea.” I sipped the coffee and grimaced. It was strong even with the cream Geena had thoughtfully added.
Geena turned to lean back against the door. She fixed me with a hard stare. “You don’t suppose he’s going to tell us the truth, do you?”
It had crossed my mind. “I don’t know. I suppose better late than never, but I can’t imagine he would.”
“Piper thinks he might. We were talking about it on the way to the airport.”
I tried to put it all in perspective. “But why now? Why after all this time would he finally be willing to talk to us?”
“Maybe he’s feeling guilty. Maybe he plans to come clean.”
I couldn’t imagine the family secrets being laid out on the table—not even for us. Piper popped out several vehicles ahead. She seemed to have lost track of where our car was. I leaned out the open window and waved.
“Over here, Piper!” I called. She heard me and made her way over.
“He didn’t sound guilty,” I said, turning back to Geena. “He sounded strange—not at all like himself.”
“I know what you mean. He did lack that businesslike determination when I talked to him on the phone. He almost sounded—”
“I couldn’t remember what kind of car we rented,” Piper declared as she got into the back seat. Neither Geena nor I said a word. She looked at us and the smile faded from her expression. “You’re talking about it, aren’t you?”
“It? Have we really reduced that night to nothing more than It?”
Piper crossed her arms and sat back. She looked irritated. “I don’t know why we have to be quiet about that night. It’s been fifteen years. We ought to be able to ask Dad to explain what happened.”
“We ought to be able to do a lot of things,” I replied, feeling more frustration than I cared to admit. Piper had been so young and all I had wanted to do was protect her. I still felt like that was my number one job in the family.
Geena, ever the realist, glanced over her shoulder at Piper. “Our father killed our mother. What’s to explain?”
Chapter 3
For several minutes none of us said a word. It was as if the truth, spoken aloud, had somehow caused us all to go mute. Pain in my hands made me realize I
had gripped the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. I loosened my hold, but it didn’t do much to relax me.
“Look, I know we made a promise to never talk about it—to never ask Daddy about it,” Piper began, “but I can’t help but think enough time has passed. We’re all grown, after all.”
“I doubt any amount of time is enough when a murder was committed.” Geena turned to me. “But I do agree with Piper. Enough is enough. We have to confront him. We have a right to know what happened that night and why.”
“But we know what happened,” I said, shaking my head. “Confronting Dad won’t change that, and it very well might ruin our relationship with him.”
“Relationship?” Piper asked. “I have more of a relationship with his checkbook than with him.”
I shrugged. “Well, it will put us all in an awkward position.”
“More awkward than what we’ve already known?” Geena asked. “Come on, I think we all know this family can’t get much more dysfunctional.”
“Things can always get worse,” I muttered.
Piper surprised me with her growing irritation. “But I would like to know the truth. Look, Dad probably wants to tell us as much as we want to know. Can you even imagine carrying something like this around for all these years? I think it would be a relief to share the story.”
I felt my stomach lurch. I was either becoming seasick or talking about that night was getting to me. I sipped my coffee and closed my eyes. Coming here had been a bad idea. A really bad idea. And I found myself simply wishing I could talk . . . not to my therapist, but to Mark.
Where had that idea come from? Was it now, when I felt time and memories ganging up on me, that I would admit my longing for Mark Delahunt’s comfort? I chided myself silently. Next thing you knew I’d be thinking about God as well. Better to put an end to such thinking here and now.
People were returning to the cars around us, and all I could think of was how glad I’d be to leave this ferry. The walls had closed in on me.
“I think we should just go slow with this,” I finally replied.
Geena rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a stick of gum. “Dad said he wanted all of us here for some announcement. It could be he does want to talk about that night, but it could also be that he has something else in mind. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”
But that was just the problem, I thought. I hated surprises. Hated anything out of the norm. I had come to depend on my schedule and order over the years to keep me on an even keel.
Geena secured her seatbelt. “We’ve spent a lifetime keeping this to ourselves. What’s a few more days or years?” Sarcasm laced her words.
I noted the bitterness in her tone, but I said nothing. I had no desire to get into this further. In fact, I wished fervently that I could forget we’d ever brought the subject up.
Geena had already plugged in our address on the GPS, while I maneuvered through the ferry traffic to disembark. Lights glittered from the buildings and reflected on the black waters of Sinclair Inlet. It felt hauntingly familiar. I followed the other cars onto Washington Avenue without another word.
This was a huge mistake, I told myself. Over the years I’d learned to live with our family secrets—our life of unspeakable questions. What in the world was Dad thinking to bring us all here now? I felt my chest tighten.
“At the next street make a right onto the Manette Bridge,” Geena instructed about the time the GPS announced the same.
I suddenly felt exhausted. A sort of oppression had settled over me—weighing me down, stealing all of my residual energy. I heard the siren before I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance pop around the corner ahead of us. I braked hard and waited for it to pass, but in my mind I saw the ambulance in the tree-lined driveway of our summer home.
I could still hear the paramedics calling out numbers, orders, concerns.
“She’s not breathing. We’re going to need to intubate.”
“She’s not responding.”
“There’s no heartbeat. Charging the paddles. Clear!”
“You can go now.” Geena’s voice came through the muddled images in my mind.
I looked at her for a moment. From her expression I knew she had no idea where my thoughts had taken me. I nodded and made a quick glance over my shoulder before pulling out.
For the first time in years, I really found myself wishing that I had faith in God. Mark always seemed so strong in his beliefs, but I couldn’t help but equate God to a sense of betrayal and church to the scorn my mother had faced—that we all had faced.
“I don’t remember any of this,” Piper announced from behind me as I turned onto the bridge.
“I know what you mean,” Geena said. “Most of it is a blur. But wait! Look on the other side of the water—there’s a restaurant there. I remember going there a long time ago. Oh, what was it called—the Boat House?”
“The Boat Shed,” I replied mechanically.
“That’s it!” Geena seemed so excited.
I found myself sharing aloud what my therapist had said. “Dinah thinks that coming here is a good idea. She said there will most likely be many visuals that will help with unlocking memories, and in turn, help with healing.” Why didn’t I believe her?
Geena ignored my comment and continued to give directions. “You’re going to angle over and get on Eleventh Street.”
I had never driven this route, but I had ridden it many times before. Our house was on the east side of Bremerton, facing the water. Dad had purchased the house long ago as an investment and getaway for the family. Momma hated the area’s rainy weather, but she always seemed to like the seclusion this beach house offered. She told me once that it was safe here. I never really understood what we were safe from.
“At Trenton, turn left. Then you’ll stay on that for a mile or so,” Geena instructed.
“Do you suppose any of it will look familiar to us?” Piper questioned.
I felt fairly confident that far too much would look familiar. “I think we’ll be able to gauge that better in the light of day,” I answered.
It seemed appropriate that we should return to this place under cover of darkness. It was rather like naughty children sneaking back into their rooms—like we had done that fateful night. I sensed, more than remembered, that we were getting very close. I followed Geena’s directions, turning first right and then left again. When Geena declared with the GPS that we were arriving at our destination on the right, I was already starting to turn. How could I have known? I was just a little girl the last time we’d made this turn.
Our house was set on a rocky ledge that rose about fifteen feet from the shore. The drive to our home was narrow and steep, and dropped down considerably from the higher roadway. We were canopied by trees of various types, their branches stretching at awkward angles along the way. From the road there was no indication of a house below. For all intents and purposes, it looked like an abandoned, heavily forested piece of property. Exactly the reason our father had chosen it.
“This is really creepy,” Piper said from the back seat. “The trees are snuffing out all of the light.”
“Not that there was much to begin with,” Geena interjected.
The last of the streetlights faded from view as the driveway curved and declined in a steep grade toward the bay. I couldn’t see the house or the water yet. The thickness of cedars, firs, yews, and alders blended as one in the limited illumination of the car’s headlights. I didn’t remember it seeming so frightening.
We passed a small building to the right. I figured it must have been the guest cottage Dad had contracted a few years back when tourism in the area really began to build. There had always been a small building there, but it wasn’t used for guests until Dad had it rebuilt. Now caretakers rented the cottage and beach house out to vacationers. Dad said it was quite profitable; he was actually thinking of acquiring additional properties.
“Sure glad the rain hasn’t made it too mu
ddy,” Piper said.
“Dad had the drive packed with rock,” Geena threw out. “He said it was nearly as solid as asphalt and that we shouldn’t have any trouble.”
We rounded the last bend to see lights shining from the house. Dad had said he’d arrange with the caretakers to have the place readied for our arrival. I supposed that meant leaving the lights on for us.
I pulled to a stop outside the garage and turned off the engine. For a moment none of us moved. I figured we all had that same strange sense of returning to the scene of a horrible accident.
Glancing up at the house, I remembered someone describing it as a two-story Alpine saltbox style. You found a lot of saltbox houses back east. They had been a popular Colonial period design. Here, however, I thought the house looked displaced. Perhaps that’s why Dad had purchased it. Maybe it had reminded him of his childhood in New England.
“Well, the car won’t unpack itself,” Geena said, opening the car door.
Piper quickly followed suit, leaving me to decide whether to remain seated or do likewise. I moved rather stiffly to open the door. My senses were assaulted by the damp, earthy scents. We gathered our things from the trunk and hurried up the stone walkway to the front door.
“I have the key,” Piper offered. “Dad gave it to me just before he flew out on business.” She edged past Geena to unlock the door.
We might have hesitated to enter, but the rain was now falling in earnest, sending us quickly inside. We maneuvered in just far enough to close the door behind us, however. I momentarily forgot about Piper and Geena as my eyes caught sight of the surroundings. Despite at least two remodeling jobs on the main house; the place had an odd feeling of familiarity.
House Of Secrets Page 3
