by Lisa Djahed
“No, no, not that, could I stay over at Drew’s, you know I lived in that house for so long it really does still feel like home to me.” Ewww. Gross. I felt slimed upon. There was really no way I could say no, but it felt like I should, just out of respect for poor Drew who surely would turn over in his grave if he knew.
“I suppose it would be ok, we do have the keys” I said somewhat reluctantly.
After getting settled in for the night I slept so hard and quite peacefully until Iheard our dog Bear barking up a storm. I mean he was barking, like aggressively, like he does when someone comes to the door in a uniform.
But it wasn’t anyone in a uniform, it was Bev, in a nightie, with blood dripping down her hand, yelling:
“Help me, help me, someone tried to stab me,” as I pushed open the door shushing Bear and getting him out of the way at the same time. I ran and got a towel for Bev’s hand as Ben ushered her inside.
“What happened?” Ben nearly screamed at her as I went to wrap her hand in the towel so she didn’t stain our rug with her blood (Oh the things you think of.) And I heard something, someone, in the hallway, when I came out, it was dark and someone was there, and I screamed and that’s when I felt them jab at me, I put my hand up to ward them off,” she cried a bit too hysterically.
“Honey, call 9-1-1and ask for Officer Krumpke, I mean Nunez, I don’t know if he’s on, but tell them that he’s working this case and would want to know.” I said to Ben wanting to get him away from the lady who was bleeding and crying and being way to revealing in her little nightie.
Just as I did I saw both kids come sleepily out of their rooms. “It is ok kids, go back to sleep, it is just Bev.” It is just Bev who was stabbed next door I thought. We were getting far too used to strange around here. Normal for us was a night with the cops, how did that happen? Speaking of that:
“Did you see who it was?” I asked wondering if it was the same person who hit Ben and who shoved me.
“No, but they weren’t that big, you know, kind of small.” I had thought the same thing the more I thought about our encounter at Drew’s the other night. The person had been on the slight side. Not big like Ray (I didn’t think Ray would attack Bev anyhow) but small like a kid size small.
I took Bev into our bathroom to clean out the cut and see how bad it was, poor thing was really shaking, AND to get her a robe although she seemed perfectly happy prancing around in her little purple nightie, I wasn’t, especially with my husband around and cops on the way.
I took her hand in mine and rinsed it under the sink, it was a deep cut, probably would need stitches, but not incapacitating. It was odd to be this physically close to her, taking care of her, her hand in mine, I really didn’t know Bev that well but for all her hutzpah and strutting around, she was actually quite fragile. I suppose that too was part of her appeal to men. I think men want a woman to take care of. It was hard for me to relate to that, since I was raised the way I was raised by a feisty hard working mama who taught me that it was useless to rely on anyone, that taking care of yourself was the most important thing you could do. She taught be to work hard, to be nice (always), to treat people the way you wanted to be treated but always, always to be independent. It was hard for me, to this day, to “let” Ben handle things. I had to make a conscious effort to “let” him take care of me and of our house and to let go of control. I worked hard to appear to need help and Bev just needed help, it was odd thing that what came natural to me was so different from what came natural to her. It is funny when you feel superior to a person and then realize they too can teach you something. Maybe Bev could teach me a thing or to about “needing” a man. If you look hard enough, everyone has something to teach you about yourself. I wonder what Doris, Countess Von Stinker, has to teach me. Patience maybe.
Lost in my reverie as I bandaged up her hand, I heard Ben out front. Judging from Bear’s mad barking, someone in a uniform had shown up.
It turns out it was the same cop that took our report about the dead fish. It was starting to get hard to keep track of how many times in the last two weeks we had “been” with cops. There was Drew’s death and Officer Krumpke, there was the breakin at Pam’s that was not technically a break in and the grumpy officer from that day, there was the dead fish officer who was now back. There was the hit on the head at Drew’s house and the lady cop who took that information. Four cops in two weeks. Before that, nothing. Oh, and my DUI. Five cops. We’d have to be careful or we’d start getting a reputation like Taylor’s mom. Except we weren’t dealing drugs. Just dealing with violence and breakins. In suburban Palm Bay. White fenced yards, nicely manicured lawns, and a crime rate unparalleled in the country. Some people blamed it on the low housing prices, during the real estate boom this was a key area for development and tons of developers swooped in and built affordable homes for the working poor. Many flocked from bigger cities in and around central and south Florida drawn by the same things that drew my husband to the area, low prices, nice houses, good neighborhoods. Except they imported themselves and their delinquent kids and suddenly housing prices stalled and fell and unemployment rose and we were in a tsunami of a economic storm that seemed to rock the very foundation of our suburban world. Breakins were on the rise, small theft, drug dealing, on the rise. I suppose it came with the territory but being a city girl myself I never expected to move to suburbia and see the amount of crime that I had. It took me a while to readjust my thinking about this corner of the world.
Dead Fish Officer was none too happy to see us. He knew, of course, about Drew’s death, knew of the breakin and clonk on the head from the other night and of course, the dead fish, and now this.
“What is it about you two, I’ve seen more of you than I should in the last few days,” said Dead Fish.
Ben just nodded. Being woken up at 4 a.m. in the morning was definitely not his cup of tea, speaking of which I should go make some, I thought.
“Officer,” I added. “We had nothing to do with this, she was attacked in her old house and came over and asked for our help.” I felt I needed to establish that we were not the culprit is here.
They took Bev’s statement, she refused to go to the hospital for her hand, claiming she’d take care of it tomorrow, knowing the state of the emergency room (having been there recently) I didn’t blame her. But she did want to stay on our couch for the remaining of the morning. Since we’d pretty much be up, and as long as she left her robe on, I didn’t mind all that much. Although I was certainly getting my fix of Bev-time. She did want to go back over to get her phone and things from Drew’s house and both Ben and I agreed to go with her since she didn’t want to wander around that house alone. And that’s when we heard the squeal from her in the bedroom.
“OH my gawd,” she squealed. “It is RAY. He called three times.” And she rushed to call him back. We ushered her back out the door and onto our front porch while we left her to talk to Ray. He had been missing almost three days, ends up calling her at 4 in the morning, AFTER she’s been attacked. Coincidence? Both Ben and I whispered about this sipping coffee on our back porch. It was turning out to be not only a long night, but a long day.
“He’s coming, he wouldn’t say where he’s been but is taking a taxi here as soon as he can.” She exclaimed in much too high a voice for 5:30 in the morning.
After she rushed around prettying herself, taking over my bathroom and hair products to do so. She was ready when he came through the door.
“Ray, oh honey I’ve missed you, where have you been?”
“How’s your hand, who did this to you” he said taking her hand gingerly. And Bev went through the whole story again, throwing in
Ben’s encounter the previous evening in the same house. With the same assailant?
“Hmmm. Now that is interesting.” Ray said thoughtfully. He was much more quieter and less antagonistic than the last time I had seen him.
“Well, that certainly adds to the mystery. Wait to you hear what I’ve been do
ing.” He said ominously. And find out we would.
Chapter Thirteen
Amidst the potatoes and eggs and toast I had prepared for our newly expanded household on this rainy morning, Ray outlined what he had been doing for two and half days. And it boiled down to this, following Pam.
“Saturday after the funeral, I went over to Pam’s. I thought she’d be busy at the funeral and didn’t count on you two being there.” He said, giving us a disapproving look. “I went over there because I suspected something. And I think I’m right.”
“I think Pam might have been the one to kill Drew.” He said with a sincere and deep tone to his voice.
Bev gasped. Ben took my hand and squeezed it.
“What makes you think that?” Ben asked. After all, Pam had an index card in our cards of suspects and she regularly scored low on all categories, ability, motive. Motive being the prime one.
“Because, when I broke into her house, I wasn’t looking for a key.” We knew that. We suspected him of just such a thing.
“I was looking for something else. Some proof. And I think I found it. At least I thought I had.”
“What?” Bev said nearly jumping out of her seat.
“A bottle. A prescription bottle of sleeping pills. It was in Pam’s house and I took it.” Both Ben and I blanched since it was the same prescription bottle we took from Ray’s house. Let’s see, Pam takes it from Drew, Ray takes it from Pam, we take it from Ray. For one small bottle it certainly did get around.
“Where is it?” I asked knowing full well exactly where said prescription bottle was.
“Well, that’s the thing, now I can’t find it.” Ray did seem sincere but Ikept looking to try and read if he knew what we knew —that we had taken the bottle.It didn’t seem like he did. Phew I thought.
“How do you go from one prescription bottle to killing Drew? I thought it was the Drano that killed him?” asked Ben.
“Well, see, the bottle was empty. Why would Pam have an empty prescription bottle of Drew’s?” he asked somewhat rhetorically.
As we looked into our plates I knew Ben and I were thinking the same thing. These were the same questions we had had about Ray. Was Ray trying to throw us off? Did he know we knew? Did he suspect that we knew what we thought we knew? This was getting complicated.
“It was the combination of the two that killed him. The sleeping pills kept him sedated, while the Drano burned his insides.” Ray said off handedly. I winced when Iheard it, it is such an awful way for anyone to die, never mind someone you knew.
Bev helped me clear the dishes and her and Ray were soon on their way. The sooner the better as far as I was concerned. Not only had I had my fill of Bev but Ray’s bombshell was still laying flat on the table.
“Did you get that?” I asked Ben.
“Yeah, what do you think?” Ben asked me back.
“I don’t know, I don’t know who to believe, maybe he knows we have the bottle and is throwing us off his track.”
“Maybe” was all my husband added.
And with that we turned our focus to getting on with our day. Wednesday was supposed to be pool league night. I had three projects to design today.Jules and Yaz needed to be up and getting ready for school. I could hear Yaz in her room, but Jules was unsettingly quiet.
“Jules, get up for school. Are you getting ready?” “I’m not going, I’m sick.”
“You are too going. What’s wrong?” And with that I went into the forbidden territory, her room. Figuring what happened next I should have just walked away and let Ben handle it. When, oh, when will I learn?
“I’m sick, GET OUT OF MY ROOM.” She yelled and threw a pillow at me.
I wanted so badly to yell too. To engage. To throw something back at her. How come I was treated like an adult the minute she needed something but the minute she didn’t I was an interfering annoyance in her life. It is like my money was good enough for her to spend but be civil to me, no. She couldn’t afford that.
“Ben, come take care of your daughter,” I yelled emphasizing the last two words: YOUR DAUGHTER. Not mine.
“Jules, honey, what’s wrong?” I heard him go into her room. While I stomped off to get ready myself. After the night we had, I didn’t need the extra stress of a teen tantrum. I just didn’t. Not today. It was bad enough I had to get up and go to work and pretend to be normal.
“What did you do?” Ben came yelling into our room. He never or rarely yells and when he does it is hard to hear because 1) he’s loud and 2) he’s scary.
“What do you mean, what did I do?” I yelled back.
“She says she wants to go live with her mother. What did you say to her?”
“Nothing, I asked her why she was sick. That’s it. Go ahead, blame me, sure that’s the thing, something’s wrong with JULIE so it must be Bee’s fault.” I was livid. Let the brat go live with her mom was all I was thinking.
Ben could tell I was furious, a state of being I rarely visit. We generally don’t fight. We are both past that point in our lives. We like peace and quiet and nice mornings and hello and goodbye and the niceties. Both of us had spent too many unhappy hours in our past marriages to let that kind of thing ruin our present marriage. When you’ve been through the ringer, like both of us have, you tend to be a little more patient and forgiving. The only thing we ever fought about was Jules. And here we were again.
I let Ben take care of whatever situation was brewing or had brewed while I got ready and waited for Yaz to get on the bus. I simply left for work not knowing the outcome of whatever situation was going on in my own home. Did bio-parents have these situations? In tact nuclear families, did the kids pit each parent against each other. I suppose it happened in those situations too. I guess no one was immune from teen anger. Least of all me. Why did I expect civility from Jules? What is it that makes me the target of all her anger? What is it in me that illicit such behavior and responses?
These were my questions as I designed a brochure at work. I decided it was time that I paid a visit to my uber-therapist. Dr. Wisewoman (WW). She was the one that successfully navigated me through the grief of three miscarriages and the one who guided me through the landmines that were Jules and I relations. Now I only saw her during “trying times” kind of like pulling in for a checkup or getting your oil changed. She was middle-aged, smart as a whip, and funny. Many times our sessions were as brimming with laughter as they were tears. She knew I loved laughing at myself, and helped me along by showing me the fun-house mirror effect that my emotions sometimes produced. She wasn’t one of those let’s dig down in the past kind of therapists, the past was the past, and was only good if it helped provide reference for something in the present. Plus, she gave homework.
“So what brings you here today?” She said after we exchanged formalities.
“Jules, what else?” I could have brought up the breaking and entering, the DUI, Drew’s death, any of it. But no, with me, it is all the domestic drama that sucks my energy. The other stuff seemed trivial compared to loudness and volume of teen anger and angst in my life.
“She claims that she wants to go live with her mom.” Scratch scratch went WW’s pen.
“And why don’t you let her?” She asked somewhat rhetorically, but also speaking practically.
“Why don’t we?” Was my answer, it seemed so simple. If the child hates living with Dad and likes living with her permissive mom, why would I block that, especially when there was so much peace and sanity to be had. I didn’t want to lose, that’s why. As we worked through the session, it became apparent that I was in a war of wills, completely futile war of wills. That by letting Jules move in with her mom, she, the child, was getting to dictate the rules of her life.
“So what?” asked WW. And she was right. So what if Jules wanted to leave us. To be away from me. It was a personal insult, that’s why. I considered myself a nice person, easy to get along with, funny, warm, open. The fact that Jules looked at me like I was the devil really got under m
y skin. Was I that self-centered and that much of a people pleaser that I had to have everyone in the world like me at all times? In her own “pointing out the practicality” way, Dr. WW let me see that the fight I was waging was not even my fight. Jules was not my daughter. I was the stepmom. The one that came between her mom and dad (according to her version). And that in order to have peace in my house I’d have to let go of whatever Jules thought of me and let her and her dad work things out. As far as Jules was concerned, I really was a nonperson. It is so sad that so many step-parents are regulated to this nonbeing twilight zone, but there we are. Scratching our heads, wondering how on earth we landed here.
I left Dr. WW’s office feeling both bolstered and defeated. It was a feeling I was used to, this kind of ultimate surrender. That I didn’t have control over any situations in my life, and that was a good thing, or was supposed to be. It was just my personal make up that made it hard for me to relinquish control like that.
And to my relief, when I got home Jules had decided and convinced her dad to let her stay at her mom’s for the weekend. All without a lick of interference from me. Good riddance I thought. I just wasn’t up to having anything else thrown at me.
Settling down for dinner with Ben and Yaz was nice. I had made a Russian dish that Ben liked with a potato bread and fish. (I was cheating since I had already had the potato bread in the freezer but he didn’t know that, he just thought I whipped it right up.) Just as we were clearing the plates we heard someone at the front door.
Ben got up to get the door and greeted a very flustered looking Ray (with no Bevin tow).
“Ben, I need to talk to you, alone if possible.”
My danders went up since Ben and I shared everything, especially juicy gossip.
Ben led Ray out to the back porch while I pretended to clear up from dinner, when in fact I was straining to hear what they were discussing. I got a flash of brilliance just then and opened the window from the kitchen to the back porch. I could stand and do the dishes and listen in. I ushered Yaz off to do homework as I settled in to a very long tedious bout of dishes. Scrubbing as slowly as was humanly possible.
