Talking to the Dead

by Bonnie Grove

  He pushed partway off his chair, hands on the table, leaned in, and squinted. “You’re bruised.”

  I looked away, ashamed somehow of the marks on my face. As if I had been responsible for them. Yet I wanted him to see them, a witness to my encounter with his father’s God. “I covered it with makeup as best I could.” I stole a glance at him.

  Jack sat down hard, as if he’d deflated. “Kate, I’m so sorry.”

  I nodded, but in my mind, I was back there, reliving the incident. “He shouted, called me filthy.” My lip and chin trembled. “He said God had talked to him, shown him that I was a sinner. Is that what you believe, Jack? Would you say I’m a sinner?”

  Jack’s chin dropped to his chest; he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll never call you names, Kate.”

  “Obviously your father’s God hates sinners like me.”

  His hands clenched to fists on the table. A whisper. “No, Kate—”

  I could almost feel his giant hands rocking me side to side, his deep voice rolling over me like an endless echo. “He kept yelling ‘Come out!’ as if he thought I was—” I couldn’t bring myself to say the word. “My life has fallen to pieces and God’s answer, it seems, is to blame me.”

  He kept his head down, jaw pulsing as he bit down over and over. “God loves you.”

  Love? What kind of love was it that made The Reverend bruise me? Would love spit words of hate and judgment in the face of someone who had come for help? Is that what love is to God? I shook my head. Was this the kind of love The Reverend had taught to Jack?

  “Well, Jack, I don’t want anything to do with a God who loves like that.”

  “It’s like a devil gets inside my head sometimes,” Kevin says as he runs his hand down my cheek, wiping the tears there.

  We’re in his car, parked on the side of a street we don’t live on, somewhere on the west side of town.

  “Let’s go for a ride,” Kevin had said, and I had jumped up, nearly ran to the car, anxious just to be near him for a while.

  Ten minutes into the drive I had said something I shouldn’t have. Actually I asked him a question. Sometime between “I do” and today, Kevin had started hating questions. At least the ones I asked. It hadn’t even started out as a question.

  I said, “You’re doing so well at the bank, Kevin. I’m proud of you.” And I should have left it there, let it lie, let it go. Should have known he was still upset I’d quit my job. “Don’t you think it’s time we start our family?”

  His reaction was as sudden as a summer storm. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Then slammed it again. For a moment he rocked back and forth in his seat, then formed a fist and punched the dashboard. “Why do you do this to me?” he roared. “Push, push, push, that’s all you know how to do.”

  I cowered in my seat, pressing myself against the door. “I just meant—”

  He stood on the brakes, throwing me forward. The seat belt burned into my neck and shoulders. The car idled in the middle of the road. After a long moment he pulled the car over to the curb.

  I started to cry.

  He reached over to touch me and I shrank away without thinking. A flash of pain crossed his face. “Come here.” He touched my chin, my jawbone, my cheek. “It’s like a devil gets inside my head sometimes.”

  At his confusing words I say nothing. I feel afraid. Afraid of him and his anger. Afraid of losing him and everything we have.

  He sits back and puts his hands on the wheel. A long, slow breath pushes out his mouth. “The last thing in the world I want is to hurt you. You know that, right?” He turns to look at me. “You know it, Kate, right?”

  I nod. “I know it,” I squeak.

  He nods, assured. “And yet, here I am, hurting you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me. You hit the dashboard, not—”

  He interrupts. “Kate, I want a divorce.”

  33

  I stared at the blinking red light on my kitchen phone until it was like a heartbeat in my mind. I had turned the ringer off after my lunch with Jack. That was two weeks ago. Two weeks of hiding out in my house, not knowing what to do. Two weeks ago I thought I could choose between medical therapy and spirituality. Now I had neither. I’d managed to rouse the ire of God by my sin, and Dr. Alexander by my missed appointments.

  But instinct told me who had left messages. Mom, Heather, Dr. Alexander’s receptionist. I didn’t want to talk to any of them. And Maggie. I hadn’t spoken to her since right after the car accident. A slice of guilt cut through my gut. She deserved better. They all did. I’d pushed them away for something they had nothing to do with—had no control over. In the case of The Reverend, they didn’t even know what had happened.

  I snatched the receiver and punched the code to access my messages: Mom, calling twice, just checking in, “Are you eating?”

  Then Maggie’s voice: “Kate darling, I’m just calling to see how things are going. Your mother tells me you’re seeing a doctor in the city. Do call.” Maggie again: “Kate? I hope all is well. I understand you’re seeing a psychiatrist. I’d love to hear how it’s going for you, dear. Do call.”

  Laura-Lea’s voice came on. “You’ve missed two group sessions. Please call me when you get this message.” As an afterthought she said, “I hope everything’s okay.” I jotted down her number, but what would I say? That I was avoiding group therapy because I didn’t want to bump into the pastor that hung around the building?

  In truth I longed for group therapy—missed them all, but if I went to Glen Hills, I would see Jack, and I couldn’t face him. Couldn’t face talking to him about the God he served. The God that didn’t want anything to do with a sinner like me. He was an angry bully, not a loving God. Jack said God loved me, but he also said God was holy. The Reverend showed just what holy really meant: angry. God was a bully. And I was getting tired of bullies.

  The bullies of the past few weeks stood up for roll call in my imagination: Kevin, my lover and tormentor, killing me with his kindness, and then with his violent words and accusations—and lies. Blair, and his lies of omission. Donna, the worst sort of adversary, hidden in dark corners, sabotaging from invisible places. And now Rev. J. D. Slater Sr., whose only saving grace was his inability to outrun me as I fled for my life.

  Yes, it was time to start standing up for myself. To stop letting bullies push me around. I snatched up my keys and headed for my car.

  I backed out of the driveway and sat for a moment, deciding if I should do what I was thinking of doing. My gaze followed the line from the front lawn up to my bedroom window, its screen missing. Maybe there really was a devil in me.

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. The Reverend seemed to believe there was.

  I clutched the steering wheel, hands shaking. I tipped my head back against the headrest and tried to clear my mind. A question floated to the surface: Why no phone message from Heather? It wasn’t like her not to call.

  I swatted the question away and put the car in drive. I had more pressing matters to consider, like confronting the harlot who had slept with my husband. I steered the car toward downtown, toward First Bank and Donna Walsh.

  34

  I felt the familiar blast of cold air as I walked into the bank. I resisted the urge to bat it away with my hands. No need to draw undue attention to myself. Especially since my intention was to sneak into Donna Walsh’s office without being noticed. I eyed the surveillance camera on the ceiling pointed straight at my face. I ducked my head.

  Bunhead sat at her desk, looking down, the Reception sign still poised above her. I was glad for her aloof manner. It would make it easy for me to slip by her and find Donna’s office.

  I only got a few feet past a sign that read Personnel only when I heard her sharp “Hey!”

  I sped up, made a fast left down a hallway lined on both sid
es with closed doors. I had no idea which one belonged to Donna. Why don’t they keep their doors open? I had to read the names on the doors and outrun Bunhead at the same time. I glanced back. She was in hot pursuit, hollering “Hey!” every third step.

  I reached the end of the hallway—a dead end—without locating Donna’s office. I turned, made what I hoped was aggressive eye contact with Bunhead. I walked toward her. “I just want to see Donna. None of this concerns you.”

  Undaunted, Bunhead planted her feet, hands on hips. “You can’t just barge in here.”

  I stopped in the middle of the hallway, a few feet in front of her. I needed to see Donna, but antagonizing Bunhead wasn’t going to help me get what I wanted. I changed tactics. “We got off on the wrong foot here, and I’m sorry about that. I just really need to talk to Donna. I’m sure it’s fine if I just—”

  “It’s not fine. Donna is in a meeting. She cannot be disturbed. And you have no right to be back here.” She reached out as if to take my arm.

  I took two steps back. “Disturbed? I have no right? That woman was sleeping with my husband, and you are telling me I have no right?”

  She glanced at something behind me. “Keep your voice down.”

  I balled my hands into fists by my sides. “Don’t tell me what to do!” I heard a click from behind me; the sound of a door opening.

  I turned. Donna stood in the hall, closing her office door behind her. She eyed me with weary indifference, then looked past me. “I’ll deal with this, Linda. Go back to your desk.”

  Linda made a face that said, “Are you sure?” and then took a few steps backward down the hallway as if inching away from a shootout.

  I turned to Donna. “I want to talk to you.”

  Donna leaned against her door, the personification of impassive. “I figured that part out myself.”

  We stared at each other in silence, and then I jerked my head at her office. “Can we go in and sit down?”

  “No.”

  I tossed my head back in surprise. “No? You want to stand in the hall and do this?”

  Donna sighed. “There is no ‘this,’ Kate. There’s nothing to talk about. You should just go home.” I thought she’d go back into her office, but she didn’t move. She held up a finger. “There is one thing; you left your driver’s license the last time you were here.” She arched an eyebrow. “You can pick it up at the reception desk.”

  I made a fast mental list of all the driving I had done since the day at the bank. Oh man.

  Donna’s eyes ticked through my features one by one. Her dull expression told me what she thought of what she saw. She smirked. “Good-bye, Kate.”

  I planted my feet. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I understand you’ve been on medication since the funeral.”

  I wouldn’t have been more surprised if she’d pulled a gun and demanded, Your money or your life. “That’s not true.”

  She crossed her arms. “Really? I have it on good authority.”

  Authority? Who—?

  “You’ve been hearing voices.”

  My heart pulsed like water bursting from a pipe. “You don’t know anything—”

  She pulled a face, like she had swallowed something distasteful. “I know a great deal. From a great many sources. Not the least of which was Kevin.”

  Where was this coming from? When had I lost control of the conversation? From the moment you arrived. “You’re sickening.”

  She sighed. “I’m not. I’m realistic. I see the facts, and not some fantasy.”

  Fantasy? “I’m not—”

  Donna held up a hand. “You act as if it’s surprising Kevin would turn to me. His life had changed. I was his mentor, his confidant, and he told me many things. Such as his frustrations with his marriage.” She said the last sentence with slow deliberation. “He couldn’t believe how thick-skulled you were when it came to making changes. I’m starting to see what he meant.”

  I felt strange, off center. This wasn’t how I intended this conversation to go. I’d come here to confront her; somehow she’d gotten the lead. “You’re the one who pushed the changes on him.”

  She twirled a bony hand in the air. “No. I was the one who noticed Kevin’s potential.” She shook her head, as if words failed her. “He was something to watch, Kate. His energy. But you never knew that, did you?”

  “You seduced him,” I said. I was supposed to ask the questions, not her.

  She laughed. “Oh please. He pursued me. And no wonder. He was tired of playing house with a woman whose biggest dream—” she tapped her chin with a long finger, “—only dream, really, was to be a mommy.”

  “He wanted a family too.”

  Donna tossed up a short laugh. “You’re still living in a fantasy world. Did you know he put your house up for sale?”

  I choked. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That can’t be helped.” She touched one finger to another, as if she were about to list numerous points. “He’d already arranged for a real estate agent. He’d been planning to tell you; he needed your signature in order to sell. But he passed away before he had the chance.”

  All the muscles in my body contracted at once. Sell the house? Why would he sell the house? Unless he’d already bought another house somewhere else. And wasn’t that always part of the plan? To buy a larger house and start a family? Just because I didn’t remember him putting the house up for sale didn’t mean he hadn’t told me.

  I cursed my spotted memory. No, it didn’t mean anything. I righted my shoulders, pulling my spine up. “We’d always planned on selling our house. Kevin simply found another one for us and wanted to move quickly.” I eyed her. Did she know I was lying? Not lying exactly. Just making it up, based on the bits and pieces I could remember.

  Donna pushed away from the door and stood straight, assuming the casual stance of the unaffected. “I’ve been promoted,” she said conversationally. “An excellent position at corporate headquarters in the city.”

  Why tell me? What did I care if she moved to the city or to a cupola in Tiananmen Square?

  She shook her head ever so slightly. “I’d been given the green light to handpick my support staff. Kevin had been at the top of my list.”

  A jolt ran through my bones. “He was moving us to the city?” I sounded like a lost child. My mind raced, grasping at the darkness of my past for some memory I could use to orientate myself. Nothing.

  Surprisingly I noticed a hint of uncertainty creep into Donna’s gaze. “The details hadn’t been finalized.” She shrugged. “Kevin didn’t want to hurt you. He had even talked to Blair for advice on how best to break the news to you.”

  Blair’s name rolled off her tongue. Like a friend’s name would. Further evidence of how fully she had infiltrated my life.

  Donna picked a thread off the arm of her tailored suit. “He was concerned about your situation. He wanted to make sure you would be taken care of. It was touching, really, on some level. His last words were of you.”

  It was a sucker punch to the solar plexus. I hinged over. His last words had fallen on her ears. His dying hand had held hers, sought its warmth and comfort. It was Donna who served as the keeper of his secret thoughts, the priest of his last confession. My lips trembled. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, then twenty. I’d fly to hell in a paper plane before I’d allow myself to cry in front of her. As much as I hated her, hated that I had to ask her, I needed to know.

  “What did he say?” I bit out the words.

  Her eyes appeared unfocused, as if looking through me. “He said, ‘Don’t tell Kate.’” She gave a quick shake of her head. “Not very profound for someone’s last words, I suppose. But he knew he was dying. He wanted to protect you from the truth, in order to secure your future.”
/>   “My future?”

  Her head dipped, another nearly imperceptible movement. Her expression clouded. She whispered, “He didn’t want there to be an investigation. Insurance companies have extremely stringent rules.”

  My eyes widened with realization. “The forms I filled out stated Kevin had died at work, at the bank.” My stomach churned, debating what to be horrified about first. “He was with you. That’s why they didn’t give me his belongings. They never had them.”

  Donna’s gaze fell to the floor, silent for a long moment. Then, “It’s in your best interest to say nothing,” she said quietly, returning to the role of the cool, efficient banker. “The payout on Kevin’s insurance policy was so high precisely because they understand he died at his workplace.” She lowered her voice. “If they get word of a problem, they’ll start an investigation.”

  I didn’t care about any of that. I didn’t move. “You have his watch.”

  She sighed. “I have work.”

  “You’re sick.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Stop throwing insults around. It’s a difficult enough situation without—”

  “I’ll say what I please,” I hollered.

  She leaned forward. “Lower your voice.”

  I waffled. If I kept provoking her, she’d stop answering my questions. But I was reluctant to relinquish the bit of control I’d managed to gain over the conversation. “I’ll pitch my voice where I choose,” I said, my voice firm but low.

  She looked away, head high. “Go home, Kate. You’re like a child.”

  “You’re a thief. And a liar!” I shouted.

  Suddenly her office door opened. Someone inside had opened it, but I couldn’t see who. Donna took a full step back and glared at whoever it was. “Close the door and sit down. I’ll be right in.” She gave me a cold look. “We’re done here.”