A few minutes later, he heard David’s voice coming from the heat vent in his bedroom but he couldn’t make out the words. He hurried across the room and sat down on the floor with his head tilted toward the vent.
David was shouting at Annie. “Well, what does that tell you, Ann? I have to be drunk to have sex with you!”
Lawrence was appalled. What a horrible thing to say to Annie, he thought. He doesn’t deserve to have her! How can he not realize how lucky he is? I would never talk to her that way. I would thank God every day that she was my wife. He pressed his ear up against the vent, straining to hear. He couldn’t make out the rest of what David was saying. He sat there, on the floor, for a long time. Then, just as he was about to get up, he heard the muffled sounds of Annie sobbing. She sounded so sad. He wanted so badly to comfort her.
I wish there was something I could do, he thought. He pictured himself dashing into her apartment and rescuing her from her undeserving, cruel husband. He smiled as a thought occurred to him. I’d be her hero like a cowboy on a white horse riding in to save the day. I’d be her hero and she’d fall in love with me and, like in the old movies, we’d ride off into the sunset together and we’d live happily ever after. He sighed. If only … .
Every woman he had ever desired had rejected him. I know what it feels like to be unwanted, he thought. To want someone so badly and have them turn their back on you or, even worse, humiliate and ridicule you. That’s what David did to Annie. I would never do that to her. I would love her, protect her, and take good care of her. She shouldn’t be with him. She should be with me. She needs someone who would appreciate her, someone who’s mature, someone older and wiser; she needs me. But how could he convince her of that? Therein lies my dilemma, he thought, as he got up slowly from the floor and went over to his bed.
He lay back against his pillows and stared up at the ceiling for a long time. “Think positive,” he said aloud over and over again. Focus on the solution, not the problem, he silently told himself. Think about Benjamin Franklin. He had trouble relating to people all of his life until, when he got older, he realized that he had to change. He was determined to lead a happy life and he did.
And, what about Abraham Lincoln? Same story, really. He was a bit of a hothead in his youth and even in his twenties and thirties. However, like Ben Franklin, he turned his life around. Many famous people throughout history led ordinary, even boring lives but, usually in their forties, fifties or sixties, they made up their minds to change their lives and they did. Damn it, he thought, it’s not too late for me to change and have what I want in life.
He closed his eyes, fantasizing about what his life with Annie would be like and how happy they would be together. But, after several minutes, he still couldn’t sleep; he was too agitated. I think I will go out, he decided. Maybe that will help to clear my head.
He got out of bed, put on his clothes and tiptoed out of his bedroom. He made his way through the apartment in the dark. He didn’t have to worry about bumping into any furniture because it was arranged to allow enough space for Olivia to maneuver easily in her wheelchair. Years of practice had taught him which floorboards creaked and he was careful to avoid them. He had to be quiet; he didn’t want to disturb his mother.
Annie doesn’t love me yet, he thought, as he grasped the solid oak banister and headed down the stairs. But, if I try hard enough, I know I can find a way to make her love me.
* * * *
Olivia heard the click of the latch as Lawrence closed the living room door behind him. Evidently, he was having another one of his restless nights. That seemed to be happening more frequently lately. She’d never asked him why he sometimes sneaked out in the middle of the night because she didn’t want to invade his privacy; she knew that he was a person who needed his space, his alone time, and she’d always tried to respect that. I know there’s something bothering him, she worried. I wish he’d confide in me. But she knew that she wouldn’t ask him; if he wanted to talk, he would come to her.
Chapter 22
Thursday, October 30th
WHEN THE ALARM WENT OFF the next morning, Ann felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her body ached and she had a nagging headache right between her eyes. That’s what happens when you cry most of the night, she thought, recalling the humiliating scene with her husband the night before. I felt like such a fool, practically begging him to have sex with me and then having him reject me. It hurt so much; it still hurts. All I wanted was to have the closeness back between us.
Well, she told herself, no time to feel sorry for yourself now. It’s time to get going. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she realized with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that today was the day she would start her new job.
When she walked into the kitchen, Danielle and Davey were putting on their jackets, ready to leave for school.
“My God, what time is it?” Ann said aloud.
“Hi, Mommy!” Davey said, as he rushed toward Ann and hugged her.
“Dani, where’s your father?”
“Daddy set the alarm for later for you, Mom. He said you needed extra sleep today because you’re starting your new job.”
“Yeah,” Davey whispered, “Daddy told us to be real quiet.”
“You don’t have to whisper now, you dork,” Danielle said.
“What about breakfast? Did you eat breakfast? Did Daddy give you lunch money?” Ann asked.
“Daddy fixed us breakfast and packed our lunches,” Danielle replied, holding up a lunch sack. “We have to go now. Hope you have a nice day at work.” She blew her mother a kiss and ushered her little brother out the door. As she turned to leave, she said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Daddy left you a note.” She pointed toward the refrigerator. “Bye, Mom.”
After the kids were gone, Ann sat down at the kitchen table, rubbing her temples with both hands. “Coffee. I need coffee,” she said aloud. She went over to the counter and filled a large mug with coffee, adding sugar and creamer. As she leaned against the counter, sipping her coffee, she spotted David’s note. She pulled it loose from the magnetic clip that was holding it to the door of the refrigerator and unfolded the paper.
“Dear Ann,” she read. “I am so sorry about last night. I hope you know how much I love you. I never mean to hurt you, I swear. Please forgive me. Good luck today! Love, David.”
A tear slid down her cheek. What a weird day this is starting out to be, she thought. She sat back down at the table and thought about the night before. Where did I go wrong? she wondered. I did everything Dr. Thatcher told me to do, but it didn’t work. What do I do now? When she’d finished her coffee, she took the empty mug to the sink. She couldn’t believe her eyes. The dishes from breakfast were washed and stacked to dry and the counter had been wiped clean. Definitely a weird day.
An hour later, she left the house. It had felt so good not to have to rush for a change. Thanks to David getting the kids ready for school, she’d been able to take a long, hot shower and take her time getting ready. By the time she walked out the door, her headache was gone.
As she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she looked up at the branches of the tall maple, oak and elm trees that lined both sides of the street. Vibrant shades of red, yellow and orange leaves were silhouetted against the cerulean sky. As she passed her neighbors’ houses on the way to the church, she breathed in the cool, fresh air. She shuffled her feet through the dried leaves that had fallen and accumulated on the sidewalk, smiling as she listened to the crackling, rustling sound.
A few houses up the street she paused to gaze at the row of brilliant red burning bushes in one of the yards; the sight was breathtaking. She watched a young man in faded jeans and a tee shirt as he unwound a garden hose and squirted several window screens that were lined up and propped against his house. I guess it is time to put the storm windows in, she thought, wishing that summer had lasted longer, knowing that winter was on its way.
She stopped to admire the purple and yello
w pansies in full bloom in another yard. Next year, she decided, I’m going to plant some pansies and maybe some mums around the front of the house. I think Olivia would enjoy that. It’s so nice to see flowers in bloom at this time of the year. What a beautiful day to be alive, she thought, and what a pretty, peaceful neighborhood.
Suddenly it occurred to her that somewhere nearby, possibly in one of the houses she was passing, a killer was waiting for his next victim. She shrugged the thought away and continued walking briskly. She refused to let any negative thoughts ruin her day.
When she arrived at the church, she paused for a moment, marveling, as she always did, at the beautiful, old stone building with statues of St. Peter and St. Paul flanking the main entrance and colorful stained glass windows sparkling in the sun. They don’t build them like this anymore, she thought, as she rounded the corner and saw Father Andrew coming toward her, his coat and scarf draped over his arm.
“Good morning, Ann,” he said, smiling. “And how are you today?”
“I’m fine, Father. It’s such a pretty day, isn’t it?”
“Yes it is; it’s a glorious day. I decided to take the long way to work,” he said, grinning. “Usually, I go in the rear door, a few yards from the rectory. That’s the nice thing about living behind the church; on rainy or cold days, I can get here in a minute. However, today, I wouldn’t have minded a longer walk. So, I thought I’d stand out here for a while and wait for you to get here. I wanted to take a little time to appreciate the day.”
“I don’t blame you. It’s hard to be inside on a day like this, especially at this time of year. I doubt if we’re going to get many more of these.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right. Winter will be here before we know it. Well, much as I hate to say it, we’d better go inside and get you started. We both have work to do.”
He opened one of the massive oak front doors for Ann and ushered her inside. They passed through the narthex, or foyer, into the nave where she and her children sat in the old oak pews every Sunday for mass. Father Andrew pointed to their right, indicating that she should go through one of the two doors. When she reached the door, she tried the doorknob but the door wouldn’t open.
“Here, let me get that,” he said. He pulled out a set of keys from his pants pocket and unlocked and opened the door. He held the door for her and then led her down a long, dark hallway to the connecting one-story brick building that had been added on to the original structure in order to accommodate the church’s offices. He opened another door and flipped the light switch.
She looked around the room. It was a small, rectangular space with dark paneled walls and hardwood floors. The only furniture was an old, mahogany desk, its surface marred with scratches and chips, a padded swivel chair with numerous cracks in the leather and a few black filing cabinets. How dark and depressing, she thought. Thank God, it has a window. She went over and pushed the heavy, drab draperies aside, just enough to see outside.
“This will be your office,” he said, “such as it is. My office is right down the hall. It’s the second door on the right. Here, let me take your coat.”
He hung her coat on the coat tree next to the door and, for the next half hour, he showed her the filing system, taught her the proper way to answer the phone and answered her questions.
“I apologize for the antiquated typewriter,” he said, taking the cover off of an old Smith Corona. “With any luck, in a few months, we’re going to join the rest of the world in the twenty-first century and get a computer. But, for now, this is it.”
“Honestly, Father, I’m no computer whiz anyway. The extent of my experience is taking the kids to the library and using the computer there. It’s been so many years since high school and my first job that I’m sure I’ve forgotten anything I learned.” She nodded toward the typewriter. “This is just fine with me.”
“Well, good then. I’ll leave you to get settled in. If you have any more questions or need me for any reason, I’ll be in my office until noon.”
She spent the rest of the morning answering phone calls and thinking about what she could do to spruce up the bare office. When I get my first paycheck, she decided, I’ll buy a few inexpensive watercolor prints and a couple of plants. That’ll give some personality and warmth to this space.
And, if the job works out and I stay here a long time, she thought, I’ll ask Father if I can paint the walls, maybe a bright, sunny yellow like the walls in my kitchen at home, and take down these awful drapes and put up mini-blinds and a colorful valance. She laughed to herself. This is your first day and already you’re mentally redecorating.
At noon, Father Andrew stopped by her office to let her know that he had some errands to run. “I’ll try to be back before you leave,” he said.
She retrieved the sack lunch she had packed for herself and leisurely ate her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and apple while she sipped a can of Diet Coke. It was so quiet, almost eerily quiet. She felt like she was the only person in the old church. It was kind of spooky. Surely, Louise is here, she reassured herself. She’s probably off cleaning in another part of the building.
As she was wadding up her lunch bag, she heard a noise in the hall. She waited a few seconds, craning her neck to hear. “Who’s there?” she called. “Louise, is that you? Father?”
There was no answer. She got up and hurried to the door. As she peeked around the corner, she saw a tall figure in a long black trench coat and black hat standing several feet from her door. His back was to her so she couldn’t see his face.
She took a step toward him. “May I help you?” she asked.
The man didn’t answer. He just stood there, not moving and not turning around.
Ann cleared her throat. “Excuse me, sir. Is there something I can do for you?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he immediately started running toward the fire exit door at the end of the hall. He flung the door open wide and ran out. The door slammed shut behind him.
Her heart was beating fast and, as she returned to her office, she realized that she was shaking. Who was that? she wondered. And why did he run away from me? She sat down at her desk and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. The announcer’s words on the radio ran through her head, “Another woman was found strangled … . Police are urging all women to exercise extreme caution … .” But those women were found in their homes, she reasoned. Not in a church. And, thank God, the man did run away from me.
By the time Father Andrew got back, she had calmed down considerably and was feeling a little foolish for having reacted so strongly to what was most likely nothing at all. Still, she decided, she should tell the priest what had happened. He had a right to know. After all, it was his church.
“I’m so sorry you were frightened,” Father Andrew said. “I would imagine it was just some poor soul looking for the comfort of the church. It’s my fault. I’m sure I neglected to lock one of the doors from the nave. Perhaps he was looking for me or he simply lost his way. You know, we always leave the front doors to the church unlocked. No one should ever be denied access to pray.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sure you’re right, Father,” she said. “I guess I overreacted. I feel so much better now that you’re here.”
Chapter 23
IT WAS AFTER THREE O’CLOCK when Ann left the church. As she went out the door, she took a deep breath. The apprehension and nervousness about starting her new job and the fear she’d felt when she confronted the stranger in the hallway, had all disappeared. Now, she felt relieved and even exhilarated. She’d made it through her first day!
She decided to stop at the cemetery to visit the grave of her grandmother before she went home. She headed down the hill and made her way through the headstones, careful, as always, not to step on anyone’s plot. She stooped down and brushed a pile of dried leaves from around her mother’s and father’s headstones as she passed by. Then, she walked a little further, to the edge of the woods, which bordered the cemete
ry, and sat down on the concrete bench, which was only a couple of feet from where her grandmother was buried.
She leaned forward as she read the headstone. “Marnie Ann Riley,” she whispered. “Nana.”
She sat there, remembering the weekend visits she, her sister and her parents had made to Dayton, Ohio to visit Nana when she was a little girl. I guess I drove my parents crazy, she thought, with my constant, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” The drive was probably not much more than an hour, she realized, but back then it seemed like it took forever before they pulled into the alley behind her grandmother’s house and parked the car.
Funny, she thought, how certain things stand out in your mind. She could almost smell the delicious aroma of bacon frying as they walked in the front door and headed for the kitchen. She closed her eyes and pictured Nana, wearing a long, baggy apron with a bandana wrapped around her head, standing at her old-fashioned gas stove using a metal spatula to flip eggs in her cast iron skillet. She saw the long kitchen table covered in blue and white checked oilcloth and the five of them sitting there, eating, talking and laughing. After they finished breakfast, the grownups would linger over coffee and Marnie and Annie would go out the back door to play hide’n seek among the rows of tall corn in Nana’s garden. Those were such happy times.
But there were sad times too. She thought back to when her parents were killed and Nana sold her house in Dayton and moved to Cincinnati, into Ann’s parents’ house in Westwood. It couldn’t have been easy for her to leave her own home and all her friends, she thought, but she always put us first. She didn’t want us to have to give up anything else. She tried so hard to help us deal with our grief. She smiled, recalling how Nana had completely redecorated their bedroom to try to cheer them up. She’d painted the walls a pale lilac, hung white lace curtains on the windows and put up shelves on the walls to hold Marnie’s books and Annie’s toys.
Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) Page 12
