He shifted restlessly on the crate. What am I going to do? How can I make her trust me and love me? I don’t want her to be afraid of me. I want her to want me but how could that ever be possible? I know what I look like. Why would she ever find me attractive? Why would she ever want to be with me? How can I make her see that she should be? And, what if she never does? What if I have to spend the rest of my life without ever being with her?
Even if I could somehow, by some miracle, get Annie to love me, what about my mother? He sighed, recalling his mother’s words. “Lawrence, you need to remember that Ann is a married woman.” I understand how she feels about me loving a married woman, he thought, but Annie is so unhappy in her marriage. Her husband treats her so badly. My mother likes Annie a lot, I can tell. I know she wants to see her happy. But how can I convince her that I could make Annie happy?
It must be the curse of the Bergers to love someone they can’t have, he thought. My mother is still in love with a man my Grandfather didn’t approve of and forbade her to see. She defied him and saw my father anyway but it ended badly. She’s spent her whole life missing my father and wanting to be with him. If anyone can understand about love, she can. Surely, I can make her understand that I feel the same way about Annie as she does about my father. I’ll just have to figure it all out. I have to think.
He rubbed his temples, aware suddenly that he was getting another one of his headaches. White, jagged lines zigzagged in front of his eyes. He knew that he should hurry upstairs and take one of his pills before the migraine got so bad that it blurred his vision and made him sick to his stomach but he hesitated, feeling on the verge of a solution to his problems.
You can’t force the answer, he reminded himself. When you have a problem to solve, you need to “put it on the back burner” as his mother said. Let your subconscious do the work. Distract yourself with other things. Think about something else. But what?
My trip! That’s it. I’ll think about my trip. I leave tomorrow for the convention in Chicago. I have a lot to do before then. I have to pack and decide what coins I’m going to take to sell or trade. Which reminds me, he thought, maybe this trip I’ll get lucky and find one of the 1863 Double Eagle twenty dollar Coronet type gold pieces that I want to give my mother for Christmas to commemorate the year our house was built. I know that would mean a lot to her.
Then, let’s see, my suitcase is in storage in the attic. It’ll probably be coated with a layer of dust because it’s been months since I used it. I’ll have to clean it. I’ll be gone for two days so I’ll need clothes, shaving gear and a good book to read in the evenings in my hotel room. Also, I’ve got to remember to bring a souvenir back for my mother. Maybe I’ll look in the gift shops at the airport for a pretty knick-knack. I wouldn’t dream of going away without bringing something back for her.
Wait a minute, he thought, that’s it! My mother! She believes that she and my father will be reunited in death. That’s what’s kept her going all these years. He remembered the day when he was six or seven years old and came home from school crying.
“Why don’t I have a daddy like all the other kids?” he asked his mother. “It’s not fair!”
“I know how hard this must be for you, Lawrence,” she’d said, gently patting his arm. “I’m so sorry. It’s just … your father can’t be with us in this life but we’ll all be together in the hereafter. Close your eyes and picture this: the three of us, walking side by side in a beautiful green meadow. The sun is shining and the sky is blue. In Heaven, all of our illnesses, imperfections and deformities will be gone and we’ll be a family forever.”
He smiled. That’s it! That’s the answer. In the afterlife, I won’t be an albino freak. I’ll be strong, healthy and handsome. Most importantly, in death, I’ll finally have my Annie. She’ll look up to me, love me and want me. He pictured the two of them, walking hand in hand. No longer was his hair white, his eyes pinkish and his skin pale. He had hair the same color as hers, a rich dark brown, and eyes as deep blue as the ocean. Annie looked up at him and he could see that she wanted him.
However, his elation faded quickly. Annie’s young, he thought, and I’ll probably be around for a long time too. According to my mother, longevity runs in our family. She’s waited to be with my father since before I was born, sixty-two years ago. There’s no way I can wait that long to be with Annie. I want to be happy now! His head started to pound. Feeling hopeless again, he stood up slowly, massaging his temples, and stumbled toward the stairs, the last line of one of his favorite poems by Elizabeth Barrett Browning echoing in his mind, “I shall but love thee better after death.”
Chapter 30
SUSAN THATCHER WAS HAVING A HARD TIME falling asleep. It was past two a.m. and she’d tossed and turned since ten-thirty when she’d turned off the television and climbed into her four-poster queen-sized bed. “Shouldn’t have watched the damn news,” she mumbled, as she punched her pillow and fell back against it.
No wonder you can’t sleep, she thought. All that talk about the Westwood Strangler is enough to make anyone uneasy. And the nerve of that so-called psychologist! Promoting his own book on the air, helping himself, when he was supposed to be helping the women of Westwood! What a pompous ass! Between his book tours and television appearances, I doubt he even has time to see any patients. All he did tonight was contribute to the media hype that has local women terrified.
It was a serious problem though, she knew. The past few weeks, nearly every female client she’d seen in her Westwood office had brought up the subject. Everyone was on edge. Women were afraid to go out alone at night and afraid to stay home alone too.
This would make an interesting case study, she thought. Westwood Strangler Syndrome: the psychological effects on women. In WWSS, the threat of an attack produced the same symptoms as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder where the terrifying event had already taken place: constant anxiety, nervousness … .
Enough! she told herself. You have to go to sleep. This is ridiculous! You’re a trained psychologist. Use the techniques you know. Close your eyes. Relax. Clear your mind of all thoughts. Visualize something peaceful and soothing. You’re in the pool in Cabo, lying on a float, gazing out at the sun shimmering over the Pacific Ocean. You look up, to your left, and marvel at the majestic cliffs. When you close your eyes, you can hear two waiters conversing in Spanish at the pool bar and the distant music as the mariachi band practices for their dinner performance. You reach into the water and splash some on your legs. It cools your burning skin. You’re floating … .
“Damn it!” she said aloud. “Give it up!” May as well face the facts: you can’t sleep. She sat up and switched on the bedside table lamp. Soft, warm light flooded the room. She looked over at the beautiful cherry built-in shelving unit across from her bed. I paid a fortune for that, she remembered. But it was well worth it. Lining the shelves was Susan’s doll collection, a large variety of dolls she’d purchased on her travels all over the world.
Her eyes scanned the faces of the dolls. There were porcelain dolls with large, realistic eyes, cloth dolls with painted or sewn on features and even one doll whose head was made from a coconut. She smiled. They always had that effect on her; the dolls made her happy. Well, I think I more than made up for my childhood, she thought, remembering the one doll she’d had as a child, a rag doll named Molly. I loved Molly so much and, just because I left her lying on my father’s favorite chair that day, she’s gone. Daddy tossed her into the fireplace and made me stand there with tears running down my face, watching her burn.
“Maybe now you’ll remember to pick up after yourself,” he’d grumbled.
Well, Daddy, I don’t have to pick up after myself now. I have a housekeeper who does that for me, she thought. And, living with you in that house, where we had so little in the way of material things and even less in the way of love, I learned a lot. I made up my mind, a long time ago, that I was going to be rich when I grew up and that no one would ever again treat me the wa
y you did. Mama was cold and distant but you were downright cruel. Being poor was one thing but feeling unloved was far worse.
I suppose I owe you a thank you. If it hadn’t been for the way you raised me, I may not have gone into psychology. I was so determined to figure out what made you the way you were. It’s turned out very well. I love what I do, helping people, and, although I’m not rich, I make a lot of money and I can do and buy pretty much whatever I want. These dolls, she thought, are a symbol of my success and my independence. Or maybe, a little voice inside her head whispered, they represent the babies you never had.
She could almost hear her ex-husband’s voice, “We will start a family, Susan. I promise. It’s just not the right time yet. Let’s wait another year. Let’s get established in our careers first and save some money. Then, we can think about having a child.”
But, she remembered, that year had come and gone and Jack had another excuse. And the following year there was another excuse and another excuse. As her biological clock ticked away, she’d begged, she’d pleaded with him. She wanted so badly to have a baby, to be a real family. She’d considered tricking him, going off of the pill, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to be that deceitful. She wanted him to want a baby too.
She leaned back against her pillows and stared up at the ceiling. What’s wrong with you tonight? she silently asked herself. Your life is good now; you have everything you ever wanted. You have a thriving practice with an office on the Eastside and one on the Westside and you’re earning a very good living. You have a gorgeous, spacious home filled with beautiful antiques and a view overlooking the Ohio River that is to die for. You have the freedom and resources to travel whenever and wherever you choose and a wardrobe that most women would kill for. So what’s wrong? What are you missing?
Tears welled up in her eyes. Without her consciously thinking it, the words formed on her lips, “I miss having someone to share it all with, someone to love and to love me back,” she whispered. The realization hit her like a thunderbolt. “Oh, my God!” Immediately, she thought of her ex-husband. No, it’s not that. I don’t miss Jack, she realized. I did love him once but he made me miserable most of the time with his lying and his cheating. I honestly wouldn’t want him back now. What I miss is the way it was when we were first married. I miss the companionship. I miss having someone to talk to at the end of the day.
It hurt so badly when he left me for someone else that I had to work really hard to get over that. When he married the other woman, it hurt so much but, when I found out that they were expecting a baby, the pain was so intense I wasn’t sure I’d survive. Pain was all I knew for so long. I never wanted to hurt like that again so I convinced myself that my independence and the peaceful life I created for myself, free from all that turmoil, was enough. I wrapped myself in a protective cocoon and that’s where I’ve been all this time. At first, it was enough, I guess. Maybe it isn’t now. Maybe it’s time to venture out and take a chance. She thought of the words she’d said to so many of her clients through the years, “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
She got out of bed and shuffled down the carpeted hallway to her state-of-the-art kitchen with its stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. As she poured milk into a pan and heated it on the stove, Ann Kern’s face popped into her head. Wow, your mind is really jumping around tonight, she thought. She filled a coffee mug with warm milk and went over to her desk to retrieve the notes she’d taken immediately after her session with Ann. She sat at her kitchen table, sipping warm milk and reading her notes. Here it is, in black and white, she thought. Classic alcoholism. There’s no doubt, David Kern is an alcoholic and Ann is suffering from the effects of the disease.
And I told her to clean up the house, dress sexy and seduce him. Basically, I told her to do the exact opposite of what she needs to do. I put the responsibility for David’s behavior onto her. The poor woman must be so frustrated that she can’t see straight. And she’s afraid, she realized, remembering Ann’s nervous mannerisms and the expression in her eyes as she’d sat across the desk from her. There’s no doubt, she thought, that Ann’s worried about losing her husband and, like everyone else, knowing that there’s a lunatic out there killing women has her on edge. But there’s something else that she’s afraid of. I just don’t know yet what it is.
Well, at least I know now what’s got me bothered, she realized. That’s why I can’t sleep. Good old fashioned guilt. I lost all professionalism with that woman because I was jealous of her. She has what I always wanted but don’t have: a husband and children to love. My God, how could I do that? How could I project my feelings for my ex-husband’s girlfriend onto that poor, desperate woman? What kind of doctor am I?
Ann’s not the only one who’s been afraid, she admitted to herself. I’ve been afraid too: afraid to live, afraid to take a chance, afraid of rejection and pain. I avoid meeting anyone new. How many times have my friends had someone they wanted me to meet? How many times have I said, “No”? Truth is, I’ve never said, “Yes.” Well, it might be too late for me to have children but it’s never too late to find love. There are plenty of good men out there but, if I want to meet someone special, I have to start making some changes in my life and the sooner, the better.
But, first things, first. I definitely have to correct this thing with Ann Kern as soon as possible, she resolved, gulping the last of her warm milk. I owe her a big, fat apology and some real honest to God help. She rinsed out her empty mug in the sink and went back over to her desk. She opened drawers and rummaged through stacks of papers and pamphlets until she found what she was looking for. Tomorrow, she decided, I’ll make things right with Ann. I’ll do what I should have done in the first place: I’ll help her.
Chapter 31
Friday, October 31st
ANN ROLLED OVER ONTO HER SIDE and watched the lighted numbers on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand next to her bed click to three fifteen, three sixteen, three seventeen. There go the minutes of my life, she thought. She sighed. Is David staying out all night again? she wondered. Where is he and what’s he doing?
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” she said aloud, flipping her pillow over and readjusting her covers, trying to get comfortable. If I don’t stop thinking, I’ll never get to sleep. You’ve got to get some sleep, she told herself, but she couldn’t seem to make the thoughts stop.
Could David be with another woman? The image of her husband with someone else sickened her. She pictured a long limbed blonde with silky waist length hair and the slender, yet curvaceous, body of a model. David and the blonde were in bed, entwined in each other’s arms, caressing each other and kissing passionately, the blonde’s long, shapely legs wrapped around David. Stop it! she told herself. Why are you doing this to yourself? You don’t know that he’s with someone else. Stop torturing yourself. As far as you know, in all the years you’ve been married, David has never cheated on you. What makes you think he would start now?
But a little voice in her head said, “Look how he’s changed lately. And how about his lame excuse the other night? ‘I fell asleep in my car.’ Honestly, that’s like the old ‘we ran out of gas’ excuse we used when we were teenagers and missed curfew. And what about sex? You and David used to have a good sex life, didn’t you? When was the last time, when he wasn’t drinking, that he wanted to have sex with you? Do you honestly believe that a man his age is doing without it? And,” the voice persisted, “he was always so sweet and caring, a wonderful husband and father. But he hasn’t been that way for a while, has he? He’s changed. Maybe he’s changed in other ways too. Maybe now he is a cheater.”
So, she thought, what if David is with someone else? Maybe she means nothing to him; maybe he considers it just a harmless affair. But, is there such a thing as a harmless affair? Would I be able to deal with that? Would our marriage have a chance if I knew that he’d slept with someone else?
And what if he does care about her? What if he loves her and what if he de
cides to leave the kids and me to be with her? What then? Although he never wanted to talk about it, she knew that, when David was a little boy, his father had left his mother for another woman. Fear and anxiety gripped her. What if he follows in his father’s footsteps? What would I do? How would we make it without him? She tried to envision what life would be like without David. She couldn’t. A tear slid down her cheek. More than fear, more than anxiety, she felt sad. I love him, she thought. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t ever want to lose him. I just want the old David back.
She flipped over onto her back and pulled the comforter up to her chin. She stared at the ceiling for several minutes. If David’s not with a woman, then where can he be? she wondered.
What if he was mugged and beaten? He could be passed out in an alley somewhere and I wouldn’t even know it. Or, what if he was in an accident? What if he’s hurt, even unconscious, and there’s no one there to help him? Oh, my God, what if he dies? Please God, don’t let him die. I don’t want Dani and Davey to grow up without their father, like I did.
She closed her eyes and saw David in their car, careening around a sharp bend in the road, misjudging the turn, his face contorted with fear as he realized he had lost control. She saw the car, toppling end over end down a steep embankment and flipping upside down as it hit the trunk of a huge tree at the bottom of the hill. Flames burst from the car. She could see David, trapped inside, trying to force the door open but it wouldn’t budge. She could hear his screams, “Help me! Someone please help me!”
No! No! No! she told herself. You’re doing it again. Stop it! If something were wrong, the police would notify you. You have got to stop this and get to sleep! You’re so tired that you’re not thinking straight. David’s fine. Everything will be fine. She opened her eyes and turned to look at the clock. It was four a.m.
Mixed Messages (A Malone Mystery) Page 16
