“It’s over, Paige. Nothing we do or say will bring Karen back.” I could feel a lump of emotion building in my throat as she continued. “You have a wonderful family to focus on. Don’t let Karen’s death take you away from them.”
I was on the verge of collapsing into sobs when I stood up. “Yeah… you’re right,” I croaked. “I’d better let you get back to your workout.”
“It’s fine. I think I’ve done enough for today.”
“I’ve got to go, anyway. Spencer has a dental appointment at two, so I need to pick him up from school.”
She walked me to the door. I turned around and squeezed her hand. “Thanks for listening. I’m really going to try to move on.”
“Please do,” she said, with a sympathetic smile.
“Oh… one more thing,” I added. “You haven’t heard of any radio contests where you can win a backstage pass to a Christina Aguilera concert, have you?”
Chapter 26
On the twelfth day after my meeting with Troy Portman, I broke down and called him. “Hello Detective,” I said formally. “It’s Paige Atwell calling.”
“Oh… uh, hi.” He sounded uncomfortable. I could just picture Detective Conroy sitting across from him, asking “Is that your girlfriend calling with more of her crazy ideas?”
I maintained my professional composure. “I’m just calling to check on the results of the paternity test we discussed a few weeks ago.”
“Right…” I heard him shuffling through some papers. “Those results are not available at this time.”
“Oh. When will they be available?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Troy,” I said shrilly. “Are you blowing me off?”
“Let me call you back.” He hung up.
What was going on? Did he just hang up on me? Was he mad at me? Embarrassed by his earlier admission? Or was the case now closed so he didn’t want to waste any more of his precious time talking to me? The phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“It’s Troy.” I could hear traffic noises in the background. He was obviously calling me back from his cell. “I couldn’t really talk in the office.”
“Is Conroy still insisting on closing the case?”
“Yeah… but I’m stalling him. I’ve got the DNA in the lab.”
“Hooray! I mean, thank you, so much. Once we prove Javier’s the father of Karen’s baby then we can look at him more closely. Did you know that the leading cause of death in pregnant women is murder by the baby’s father?”
“Yes, Paige.”
“I mean… we already know Javier’s a liar, and a pretty convincing one at that. I suppose it’s a pretty big jump—from lying to killing—but he would have had motive right? Maybe he didn’t want the responsibility of a baby? Or, he could have been enraged if Karen chose to raise the baby with her husband. Of course, we can’t discount Doug Sutherland either. He’s got a new girlfriend, you know.”
“You mentioned that.”
“So… how long do you think it will take to get the results?”
“I really can’t say. The lab’s backed up and this case is no longer a high priority.”
“Well, the sooner we know, the sooner we can—”
“Paige.” He cut me off.
“Yes?”
“There is no ‘we’. We’re not a team on this case. You are not a detective.”
“I know,” I said, slightly hurt, “but you said yourself that I was the most tuned in to what had been going on with Karen. I was the only one who knew about the affair.”
“And I appreciate your input, but it’s not safe for you to get involved in this. You need to leave it to the professionals.”
“But most of the professionals think it was a simple accident!” I cried. “There was someone there, Troy. I know it!”
“I’m going to have to go, Paige. I’ll call you when the results come in.” He hung up.
Now, that was definitely a blow-off. I could sense that Detective Portman was beginning to think I was some bored housewife who dreamed of being a glamorous P.I. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I couldn’t wait until this was all over and I knew what had happened to my friend. But I had to admit, these test results meant more to me than just solving the mystery surrounding Karen’s death. They were the key to getting Javier out of my life.
Placing the receiver back on the base, I returned to the kitchen where I had been assembling a lasagna. It was a time-consuming project and the surrounding area looked like a tomato sauce bomb had exploded, but it was Spencer’s favorite. Plus, Paul had called and said he’d be home in time for dinner tonight. I was looking forward to sitting down with my entire family and enjoying a delicious, high-carb meal.
Sprinkling the last layer of noodles with mozzarella, my mind drifted back to the paternity test. It had taken two weeks to rule out Doug as the father; how long would it take to incriminate Javier? I couldn’t help feeling that I was living on borrowed time. When I’d last seen him, Javier had promised to stay away from my house if I agreed to come see him again. I had no intention of keeping my end of the bargain. Why would I? At best, he was a liar: at worst, a killer. There was no way I was going to pursue a friendship with someone like him—if friendship was really what he wanted. No, I needed to ensure that he stayed away from me.
But when the police confronted Javier with the fact that he was the father of Karen’s child, he would know that I knew. Portman would undoubtedly tell him I’d provided the straw for DNA testing. Even if he didn’t end up in jail, Javier would never want to see me again. Until then, I lived in fear of finding another pressed rose or pansy in my mailbox.
I put the lasagna in the oven and began the arduous task of cleaning up. Paul had promised to be home by six, which gave me enough time to scrub the kitchen, toss a salad and put a little makeup on. Since it was Friday night, I’d bought us a nice bottle of cabernet to share. We would enjoy some special family time and when the kids were tucked into bed, maybe some romance.
But six o’clock came and went… then six-thirty. At six forty-five, the children began moaning about dying of starvation, so I fed them. Finally, at seven twenty, I heard my husband’s key in the front door.
“So much for our nice family dinner,” I grumbled, loud enough for him to hear. “I guess it was silly of me to have dinner ready at six o’clock just because you promised to be here. I hope you like crunchy, dry lasagna.”
Paul walked silently into the kitchen. He was carrying a large basket of Scentual Woman bath products. “Oh, honey,” I said, feeling instantly sheepish for complaining. “That’s so sweet of you.” I took the overflowing wicker basket from him. “You shouldn’t have.” I kissed him. “This must have cost a fortune.”
“Uh… yeah.”
Tearing off the crisp plastic wrapping, I dug in. “Oh! Sensual massage oil!” I winked at him. “Edible body powder!”
“Paige…”
“I got us a bottle of wine.” I moved seductively toward him. “Why don’t we have a bite to eat, a couple glasses of wine, and when the kids are asleep, we can try out some of these products?”
“It’s not from me.”
“What?”
“I came home and the basket was sitting on the doorstep.”
Oh God. My heart began to beat erratically. He couldn’t have, he just couldn’t have!
“There’s a card.” Paul’s face was a mask, his demeanor impassive.
“Right,” I said, looking at the small, white envelope nestled next to the chocolate-flavored body mousse.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Of course,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “I wonder who it’s from?” The shaking of my hands was barely perceptible as I slid my thumb under the seal of the envelope. I extracted the tiny card. It was made of high quality, ivory paper, embossed with an S for Scentual. I flipped it open. Paul stood close, reading over my shoulder. In familiar handwriting, it said:
I C U ?
J.
“Oh,” I said, feigning realization.
“What? What does it mean?”
“It’s from Jane,” I explained. “It’s a… thank-you present.”
My husband’s posture relaxed instantaneously. “That’s nice of her. What is she thanking you for?” He moved into the kitchen and fished in the cutlery drawer for the corkscrew. “You said you bought wine?”
“On the counter…” I gestured to a far corner. “I’ll get the lasagna out before it’s too dry. So… how was your day?”
“Good… good.” He extracted the cork from the bottle. “So what did you do for Jane that warrants such an extravagant gift?”
Placing the lasagna on the counter, I reached for two wine-glasses. “Oh, I helped her with some PR stuff for a fundraiser she’s working on.”
“That was nice of you.” He took the glass I proffered and filled it. “What’s the fundraiser for?
“Oh… uh…” I took a sip of wine, stalling for time. “It’s for the uh… ICU!” I said it almost triumphantly. “Yeah, it’s for the intensive care unit at Children’s Hospital.”
“Great.” He moved towards me and kissed my forehead. “You’re a good person, Paige. I’m going to go upstairs and see the kids.”
Oh yeah. I was a good person all right. What kind of good person received a gigantic basket of sensual bath products from another man? I was positively seething at Javier as I chucked the card in the garbage. I was tempted to throw the whole basket in the trash, but that would arouse Paul’s suspicions. How dare Javier go back on his promise to stay away from my house! For all he knew, I was still planning on coming to see him at The Old Grind. Was he trying to ruin my marriage? Or was there a more sinister message in this gift?
The guilt and anger ate at me all night—especially when Paul insisted he wanted chocolate body mousse for dessert. I tried to let go of my fury as my husband licked the artificially flavored edible oil product from my stomach and breasts, but I really couldn’t get into it. It just felt… icky. Not physically: physically it felt kind of greasy and a little bit sticky. But on an emotional plain, it upset me to think that this chocolate-flavored body mousse was a gift from Javier. I put on a sufficient show of enjoying it, at least enough to fool Paul, but I couldn’t quell the sick feeling in my stomach.
The next day I stuffed all the body products into the darkest recesses of my linen closet and tried to forget about them. I really had no other recourse. I wasn’t going to see Javier: it would only encourage his stalkerish tendencies. And I couldn’t bug Troy about the paternity-test results again. It was evident from our last conversation that he was beginning to think I was a bit stalkerish as well. I would wait for the results to come in and Javier to be confronted by the police. Until then, I’d just have to find multiple reasons to poke my head out the front door checking for any unwanted gifts.
The rest of the weekend passed without incident. When Paul went back to work on Monday, I continued my manic cycle of checking the phone for messages from Detective Portman and the front porch for romantic presents from Javier: Neither arrived. But on Tuesday, the phone rang.
“Hello?” I answered, hopefully.
“Oh good. You’re there.”
“Oh, hi Jane.” Oops. I hadn’t meant to let disappointment seep into my voice.
It was evident in the tone of her reply that she’d picked up on it. “I was calling to ask if you wanted to join me for a power-walk, but maybe you’ve got other plans?”
“No! Sorry! I’ve just been waiting for this, uh… plumber to call me back.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah… I just need an estimate for this thingie… It’s no big deal.” Lying was beginning to feel unnervingly comfortable.
“So are you up for a walk?”
I wasn’t, really. I wanted to stay in the house, running between the phone and the front porch like some deranged hamster. But it was beginning to feel a little OCD, and I knew I’d been neglecting my friendships of late. Besides, my mother always said a watched pot never boils. Maybe if I left the house for a while, Troy Portman would finally call. “Sure,” I said, brightly. “Just give me a few minutes to change.”
It had been months since I’d gone power walking with Jane. Our every-second-Friday routine had fallen by the wayside after Karen’s tragedy. But judging by Jane’s pace and enthusiastic arm-pumping, her exercise routine had not suffered as mine had. In fact, I was struggling to keep up with her in the first five minutes. Thankfully, conversation was slow.
“How are the kids?” She asked, as we began the descent toward Rosedale Elementary. The slope allowed me somewhat of a reprieve.
“They’re good. … Yours?”
“Good. Enjoying pre-school… and swimming lessons.”
“Great. … You haven’t heard of any radio contests where you can win backstage passes to a Christina Aguilera concert, have you?”
“No.”
“I want to get Chloe a really amazing Christmas gift that doesn’t cost a fortune.”
“You’ll think of something.”
We rounded the bend past the school and enjoyed a long flat stretch. Despite the fact that I was breathing easily again, our discourse had not revived. Something was amiss with Jane. She seemed a little cool, distant, maybe even ticked off with me.
“Listen,” she said, jarring me from my internal hypothesizing. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way… As harsh as this sounds, I’m coming from a place of caring and love…”
Well, this couldn’t be good.
“We’re all concerned about you.”
“Concerned? About me?”
“Yes. You’ve been really … different, lately”
“Different? How different?”
“When Margot came to coffee the other day…?” Her tone implied that that one sentence fragment explained everything.
“I was very nice to her!” I replied, defensively.
“It was obvious you didn’t want her there.”
“No it wasn’t. I handled it very well, I think.”
“So you admit you didn’t want her there?”
“Well… I just think it’s too soon to be replacing Karen.”
Jane sighed with exasperation. “Why do you insist on looking at it that way? It’s not healthy.”
My back was up. “What way?”
“Inviting someone new to coffee doesn’t mean we’re replacing Karen. She was one of a kind! Irreplaceable! But we have to go on living, Paige. It’s okay to make new friends. Trudy, Carly and I all agree.”
I was beginning to feel a little picked on. “I don’t get this. Why does everyone think it’s perfectly fine for Doug to have, like, a two-week grieving period, but when I want a few months, I’m not healthy?”
“Come on, now,” Jane said, chidingly. “Doug took more than two weeks to get over her.”
“Well, I can’t help the way I feel. I think it’s too soon to be bringing someone else into our group when we’re all still trying to heal.”
There was a long silence before Jane said, “Okay… I suppose we should respect your feelings and give you a little more time.”
“Besides,” I said, skipping a little to keep up with Jane who, despite our passionate diatribe, was power-walking faster than ever, “what about Trudy and Carly? I mean, they’re acting like they’re Doug’s live-out nannies. They cook for him, clean for him, do his grocery shopping, pick up his dry cleaning…”
“That’s different,” Jane said. “Those two have got the disease to please.”
It sounded quite accurate. Jane’s pre-emptive marriage counseling sessions had provided her incredible insight into the human psyche.
“They’re classic people-pleasers,” she continued. “They’re reveling in their care-giver roles. Trudy has her own family to take care of, but Ken’s gone so much that she doesn’t get the appreciation she craves. And Carly… well, she just really loves being needed
again. This tragedy has given her a real purpose in life.”
“Yeah…”
“I’d like to see those two get together one day,” Jane said, leaning into the incline for maximum gluteus toning.
“Who?”
“Carly and Doug. That probably would have made Karen happy, to see Doug with one of her dearest friends.”
“Really? You think so?”
“Of course.” She shrugged. “I mean, if I died, I think it would be nice if Daniel ended up with one of you.”
Eww! Daniel was so… old.
“If you were single, of course. I mean, who better to love your family in your absence?”
“I guess so,” I managed weakly. I felt especially thankful that Paul had promised to mourn me forever if I were to die.
“But, unfortunately, Doug would never be interested in her in that way.”
“No?”
“Come on,” she said, shooting me a look, “you know what I mean. Doug is a good-looking, successful guy, capable of attracting hot women. Karen was hot. Even Jackie Baldwin is hot in her own, obvious way. Carly is lovely but… I don’t think she’s his type.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I admitted.
“But enough about that,” she said, and her tone became gentle. “I’ll talk to the girls and we’ll try to be more understanding of your feeling. But… do you think you might like to talk to a professional? To help you move beyond Karen’s accident?”
“I think I’m fine with it… really.”
“We don’t want to stick our noses in where they don’t belong, but we’re worried about you. You seem almost… obsessed with it.”
“I’m not. I just… well, everyone grieves in their own way, Jane. I really need to feel the pain and the loss, to surrender to my emotions. I need to own the grief in order to move on.”
Luckily, Jane had not watched the same Dr. Phil episode on dealing with grief that I had. As I had surmised, she was appeased. “I understand. But I want you to know that you’re not alone. If you need any help… any comfort or support…”
We stopped at the edge of my driveway. “I’ll call you,” I said.
“We’re always there for you—Trudy, Carly and me.”
The Secret Desires of a Soccer Mom Page 23
