by Lada Ray
“Now you have us. You are welcome to join the group any time,” said Anne encouragingly.
“He kicked,” suddenly whispered Shawna, her left hand on her bulging stomach. “He just kicked! Oh, my God, again! And again!”
Knitting abandoned, all the ladies gathered around her, buzzing excitedly and touching her stomach in the hopes of experiencing the miracle of new life inside her.
“Mine has been kicking like crazy lately,” announced Karen proudly.
“When did yours first kick?” asked Shawna.
“About two months ago. Yours?”
“One and a half.”
“What about you, Jade?” Karen turned to me.
“Oh, should it start kicking already? I haven't felt anything. Maybe, I should see a doctor?” All of sudden, I felt alarmed.
“Wait, there is probably nothing to worry about yet,” said Maria reasonably. “Shawna is six and a half months pregnant and Karen is over seven. And you are what? Only four?”
“Four and a half already,” I responded meekly.
“Then yours will kick very soon, at around five months. If everything's all right, that is,” concluded Shawna with a sunshine smile.
“If everything's all right?” I asked, beginning to worry again.
“Oh, don't listen to them,” said Anne. “Stepford is a virtual paradise, marvelous for raising a family. Everything will be fine.”
I exhaled, relieved.
The women went back to their knitting, all the while chatting away about this and that, the latest neighborhood news and the freshest bits of gossip. I sat there half-listening and nodding distractedly. Shawna was knitting a baby blanket in cornflower blue and Karen, a baby hat in bright pink. Their fingers moved swiftly, neat rows appearing like magic from under their clicking needles. I better learn to knit like that soon, I thought. The baby sure could use a soft blanket or a little pretty hat.
And then another thought slithered into my mind. Congrats Jade, it teased me, you've just landed yourself in pregnant housewives' paradise. But then again, the thought continued, at least I won't be alone any more. And who knows, perhaps, it'll even be fun.
Chapter 2
We gathered a bit early at the Bean Counter coffee house. It was Saturday and the plan was to visit Adelaide today. Everyone was in a good mood, giggles and jokes flying around the table. We all ordered coffee and waited for Maria, who was running late.
The coffee house was permeated with the otherworldly aroma of freshly ground dark roast. I inhaled the divine scent, like a junkie deprived of her drug of choice, while sipping my coffee slowly, deliberately. For a brief few minutes (too brief, unfortunately) I allowed myself to linger in heaven. Since finding out I was pregnant, I was on a strict chamomile-slash-peppermint-slash-green tea regime, to avoid making my future baby hyper. But today, with five women around me savoring the steamy brew, temptation was simply too much. Oh well, I was entitled to a treat once in a while, wasn't I?
The door opened to let Maria in. The strange expression on her face made everyone sit up.
“Any news?” immediately asked Beth.
“I know what's going on with Adelaide,” said Maria in a hushed voice, looking around conspiratorially. “Jason, her son, is back.”
“You mean - from jail?” gasped Shawna, a look of horror on her face.
“Yes,” whispered Maria. “Can you believe it!”
“So, what does that mean,” said Karen, her eyes as big, as saucers. “Is he going to live in Stepford?”
“That's what it looks like.”
Apparently the news was rather bad, because the ladies at the table all lowered their heads and drank their coffee silently, pensively. There was a marked change in the atmosphere, as if the excitement and joy of only five minutes ago was suddenly zapped out of the air.
“Excuse me,” I said. “But what happened with Adelaide's son? Did he commit a crime or something?”
“Yes, he did,” said Maria, shaking her head sadly. “And what a crime!”
“See, Adelaide lost her husband, when Jason was just a teenager,” explained Anne. “After that, she became what she called especially protective of her only child. But in many people's opinion, she simply spoiled him rotten.”
“Jason was a handsome boy with lots of charm,” chimed in Beth, “and girls simply adored him. Almost thirteen years ago, when this whole story started, he had just turned eighteen and Adelaide had given him a new silver Mercedes convertible for his birthday.”
“She has money then?” I asked.
“Her husband left her a nice fortune,” said Anne. “But of course, with all the lawyers' fees – defending Jason and all – I bet it has diminished somewhat.”
“She still has plenty,” said Cathy wistfully. “She is quite wealthy, you know.” The other women nodded in agreement.
“So,” continued Anne, “Jason was very popular and he was often seen driving girls around in his new car. One evening right after graduation, a girl, named Rebbecca Gilman, took a ride with him. That was the last time she was...she was...” Anne's voice wavered and she fell silent, apparently unable to find the right words.
“And then what happened?” asked Shawna, holding her breath.
Anne hesitated, throwing a doubtful glance at Shawna and Karen's bulging stomachs. Then, her keen eyes circled the table. Six pairs of our eyes peered back at her with rapt attention.
“Anne works at the police station,” whispered Shawna to me by way of an explanation.
“That's right. I've been there for, let's see, almost eighteen years now,” confirmed Anne. “And I remember that day all too well. The whole department was looking for Rebbecca. They found her in the bushes by the lake. She was severely beaten and raped, had some broken bones and internal bleeding, but thankfully, she was still alive.”
Karen's eyes went wide and Shawna's face drained of color. Even the more seasoned Beth and Cathy had horrified looks on their faces.
Anne noticed that. “Are you, girls, all right? You sure you want me to continue?”
“Yes, please do!” The response was as unanimous as the terrified expressions.
“It was a gruesome crime. Are you sure you are up to...”
“We are fine! Please go on,” firmly said Beth, while Karen and Shawna nodded energetically.
“All right then,” reluctantly agreed Anne. “If you're sure... Here goes. Jason was the only suspect, since he was the last person seen with Rebbecca. As I recall, bloodstains were found in his car. DNA match showed that the stains belonged to both him and the girl. It seemed clear, he was the one who did it to her. But he denied it emphatically. He said that when they parked at the lake and he tried to kiss her, they got into a terrible argument, she scratched him very painfully on a cheek, he got mad and slapped her hard in response. Blood from his cheek spilled in the car. Meanwhile, her nose started bleeding and so, that could have accounted for her blood. That was Jason's version of the events.”
“Then what happened?” prompted Shawna.
“Jason also said that after realizing that Rebbecca was bleeding, he came to his senses and withdrew. But she still ran out of the car and before he could stop her, disappeared. He tried to call after her and even looked around the bushes, but there was no sign of the girl. So, assuming that she ran back home, he drove away.”
“Except, that's not where she ran, it seems,” said Maria pensively.
“Right,” nodded Anne. “They found her unconscious and bleeding not far from the spot Jason indicated as their place of argument. It was in the opposite direction from Rebbecca's house and in a very secluded area. So, based on evidence and in the absence of witnesses, no one believed Jason's story.”
“But what about Rebbecca?” I blurted out. Everyone turned to me in surprise. I didn't know exactly what made me continue, but feeling a bit self-conscious, I pressed on nevertheless. “Didn't you say, Rebbecca was alive? If so, surely, she could've explained what really happened back there?”
“Unfortunately,” said Anne with a sad smile, “she couldn't. She was alive, just barely. The doctors saved her life and she got better in time - physically anyway. But the trauma of the beating and rape had done something to her mind. All attempts by police to get a statement caused her to go into hysterics and try to commit suicide. Finally, doctors prohibited further questioning. Later, she withdrew completely into some kind of inner world and stopped speaking all together.”
“What a tragedy,” whispered Karen.
“It gets worse,” said Maria. “Rebecca's mother got ill after the incident and died soon after. And her father, having essentially lost his daughter and his wife, had a stroke and had been confined to a wheelchair until his death five years ago.”
“So, Jason was convicted, of course?” I nodded.
“Well, the trial was very emotionally charged. The whole town was in shock about this hideous crime. Chief Nordini - a very nice man with lots of experience, who felt badly for Adelaide - personally spent day and night searching for evidence, hoping for anything that would confirm Jason's story and point in another direction. But,” Anne shook her head, “everything seemed to be pointing at the boy.”
“What was the charge?” I asked.
“If I remember correctly,” Anne knitted her eyebrows, recalling, “it was rape with aggravated assault and attempted murder. Prosecution was able to show that not only was Rebbecca cruelly raped and beaten, but that she was also deliberately left for dead. Due to the seclusion of the spot, it was by pure chance that she was found when she was. Just half hour later and it might have been too late, hence, prosecution argued, it was an attempted murder. Once the “M” word was uttered, there was no turning back. Adelaide hired the best lawyers from New York that money could buy. She spared no expense. And even though the evidence was irrefutable and prosecutors wanted Jason's blood... well, at least twenty years of it, his hot shot lawyers managed to reduce the sentence by almost half and Jason got twelve years as a result.”
“So now that his sentence's up, he's returned to his mother,” said Shawna, cringing.
“Is he planning to stay here?” whispered Karen, her saucer-like eyes full of fear.
“I sure hope not!” exclaimed Cathy indignantly.
“Well, there is only one way to find out.” Maria resolutely got up. “Time to go, ladies!”
Chapter 3
Adelaide's house was a mere ten minutes walk past the old, overgrown cemetery. In this town oozing with history and antiques, the impressive white colonial looked very much in place. Peonies and roses came to life in its extensive and well tended front garden and a majestic oak on its right lent shade and protection to both the garden and the house. The front porch had an inviting set of wrought iron settees and a coffee table surrounded by potted geraniums. An impressive crystal chandelier illuminated the entrance hall and the furniture inside was, predictably, antiques.
The woman sitting in a comfortable, meticulously restored Queen Ann chair, knitting on her lap, still preserved some traces of beauty from the long bygone era. Her looks were probably quite exceptional some forty years ago. Her old charm still showed in a delicate ivory of her skin and those clear, porcelain-blue eyes. There was still a certain regal curve to her neck and a straight posture. But wrinkles around her eyes and sadness around her mouth betrayed her share of loss. She got up to greet her guests and I noticed that she was leaning on a cane.
I definitely liked this woman; there was some sad and quiet dignity about her. And despite her disability, she was a gracious hostess. Within ten minutes, tea was brewing in a teapot. Fruits, lemon slices and sugar biscuits appeared out of nowhere, while the cranberry cake brought by Maria, sat in the honorary central position on the dining table. It seemed, Adelaide was glad to see us.
Why did she disappear from the group? Oh, she was just sitting it out, since walking is so hard for her. Would she like someone to pick her up and bring her to the next meeting? Oh, how nice, but perhaps, she could make it on her own. She was a sweet lady.
We were about to sit at the table when her calico cat, a brown, orange and white medley of pure fluff, leaped lightly into view and fixed her bottomless eyes, which were the incredible shade of green turquoise, on each of us in turn. She rounded up her inspection of our group by sniffing each guest and apparently satisfied, settled herself on the table.
After a brief introduction, Adelaide seated me on her right and I found myself positioned next to her cat, who purred at me invitingly. I gently stroked her silky fur and the cat responded with an even louder purr sending wonderful vibrational waves through my entire body. It felt surprisingly good.
“She's a magician, that one,” said Adelaide, watching me with approval. “Makes you forget all your worries and pains.”
She petted the cat lovingly. The purring intensified further. “Do you have a cat?”
“No, I don't. I used to work abroad and move from place to place a lot, so I couldn't...”
“Jade's a journalist from New York City,” announced Karen. “She recently returned from Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“Yeah, that's right. Thanks, Karen,” I said. “Now that I'm settled down, I might get a kitty.”
“So,” said Adelaide, “your husband's a journalist, too.” It wasn't a question.
“How did you know that I have a husband and that he's a journalist?”
“That's not a hard one to figure out, my dear,” said Adelaide with a shrug. "Although you are hardly showing yet, you're definitely pregnant and have a trace from a ring on your ring finger. Probably took it off because your hand is a little swollen. That's quite natural, of course. You're the city type – a New Yorker – and wouldn't have settled here unless a husband insisted that you needed some peace and quiet for the baby. And I have a hunch that you're staying here while he's away, otherwise, you'd likely be spending a Saturday with him, not with us. Since you've been to Iraq and Afghanistan… and looks like for a while, judging by your tan, you must have married there. Now,” she looked at me appraisingly, “military is definitely not your cup of tea, therefore, he must be a journalist.”
“Everything's exactly as you said,” I laughed. “You are good!”
Adelaide smiled at me. “I've been around the block quite a few times, my dear.”
“Yeah, you are right,” I said. “My husband's on an assignment to Africa. So, he insisted I move here during my pregnancy.”
The moment I started my explanation, the cat perked up her ears. But as soon as I was finished, she jumped off the table as if now she knew everything there was to know about me and anything else would've been superfluous. She stretched luxuriously and made herself busy playing with the ball of yarn left by Adelaide on the floor. Watching her graceful moves and funny jumps, Shawna giggled and the rest of us applauded. As if to receive her due, the cat sat on the floor like a chiseled calico statue, her four snow-white paws forming a perfectly round pedestal, which caused another round of applause. The atmosphere in the house was so peaceful, so relaxing that it seemed impossible that anyone unpleasant or, worse, sinister could live in such environment.
“What's her name?” I asked.
“Ah, of course, how could I forget! Let me introduce my pride and joy. This is Lily, also known as Princess Lily.” Upon hearing her name, the cat turned with a pleased meow and two shimmering pieces of green turquoise stared at me.
“She has gorgeous eyes,” I said to Adelaide.
“She does. In fact,” Adelaide looked intently into my eyes, then back into Lily's, “this is incredible, but her eyes are a lot like yours.”
“You are a beauty,” I said, smiling at the cat. “And it's very nice to meet you.” The cat smiled back at me.
There was a sound of the opening door and a man came in. He was tall, lean and strong. His dark hair was shoulder length, gathered in a ponytail. A tattoo with a skull and two crossed knives was peaking through on his muscular arm, where the short sleeve of this tee shirt ended. H
is right hand came into view as he lifted it in order to take a black messenger bag off his shoulder. It was a large, capable hand - a hand, used to manual labor. And it was all covered with rough darkened skin and what looked like a number of cuts and calluses inflicted by years of hard work, neglect and possibly, injuries.
He was probably in his early thirties, but somehow he made an impression of an older man, mercilessly beaten down by life. His forehead was cut with untimely zigzags and his mouth, which a long time ago was probably considered sensuous, drooped down in a kind of permanent fatalistic expression that said, I have nothing to live for and won't be surprised by any shit that comes my way. There was a definite family resemblance, but his face possessed no spark, no intelligent curiosity Adelaide’s face shone with. The man certainly was her son, yet very much unlike her.
Seeing him come in, Karen and Shawna involuntarily shrunk in their chairs. Cathy, Beth and Anne watched him with different degrees of suspicion, and even Maria had a faint trace of disapproval in her eyes.
The man's downcast eyes quickly surveyed the landscape and immediately turned away from the group. Call it journalist's instinct, but I knew that however quick and general that glance was, it noticed everything there was to notice.
“Good day,” he mumbled in our general direction, hardly bothering to open his mouth and not really looking at any of us. His frowning expression told us that in his opinion, the day was anything but... Without so much as a fleeting glance in our direction, he shuffled up the stairs.
“Good day,” responded some of the women uncertainly to his retreating back, concluding in a chorus, “how are you, Jason?”
No answer. The shuffling had trailed away.
“Jason, dear,” called Adelaide after her son coaxingly. “Would you like a nice cup of tea? Look, the ladies brought cranberry cake, your favorite!”
