Just then her phone chimed, and she glanced down at yet another text from Derek:
I’m sorry, Gabs. Please call me and we can work this out.
“Fat chance,” she said to the empty room. She didn’t bother texting him back.
In the cellar, she grabbed a bottle of German wine that she couldn’t pronounce and poured herself a tall glass, wondering what she should do. She drank it down without tasting it much and glanced out the kitchen window facing the driveway.
Her phone chimed again.
I’m coming over there, Gabs. We’ve got to talk.
She took the gun out of her purse and double-checked the windows and doors. When she was sure that everything was locked up like Fort Knox, she retired to the living room where she could watch the street in the darkness.
Never in her life had she wanted her big sister with her so badly.
The phone went off again, startling her and causing her to spill wine on her blouse.
I’m on my way.
Derek again.
“Fuck you!” she screamed into the phone. She proceeded to write a long text that described in detail how Maggy would castrate him slowly, but then she deleted it all and wrote, I’m calling the police, and returned to her window vigil.
If he shows up, I’m going to shoot his dick off, Gabby told herself, though she knew deep down that she probably couldn’t do it. Likely she would freeze up just at the wrong moment.
Maggy and Gabby’s father used to take them hunting once in a while, and while Maggy had never hesitated to take down the prey, Gabby had choked every time. Yet still, it felt good to hold the cold steel. She might not have the guts to shoot Derek, but she had no qualms about riddling his piece of crap truck full of holes.
Chapter 9
Gabby turned from the sink with a start—someone was knocking at the door.
She glanced out the window quickly, thinking that Derek had made good on his promise to show up, but instead, she found the blinding misery lights of a police car parked right out front.
Again came the knock at the door.
Gabby got up to answer it but then realized that she was still holding the loaded gun. Frantically she stashed it in the refrigerator before answering the door.
When she opened the door, a hard-eyed cop with a chiseled chin eyed her. His female partner offered her a kind smile.
“What happened?” Gabby asked. “Is it Derek?”
“Are you related to Margaret Cross?” the male officer asked.
“Yes . . . she’s my sister . . . my name is Gabriella Cross. What . . . what happened? Is she all right?”
Her pleading gaze swept over the stone-faced man and the sympathetic woman, but no answer came.
“May we come in?” he asked.
Gabby’s mind raced as she let them in.
“Please,” said the officer, “you should sit down.”
Gabby took a seat at the kitchen table, her dread growing with every passing moment.
“What happened to my sister?”
The male officer sat next to her, while his partner stayed on her feet.
“I’m sorry to have to relay this terrible news. Your sister was found dead in front of Steele Tower in Chicago. She and her personal effects are at the mor—”
“No . . . no, no, no . . .” Tears streamed down Gabby’s face, and she shot up from the chair. “You’re a liar!”
“Ms. Cross, please,” said the officer, rising. “I’m sorry, but it’s true.”
“Stop saying that!” she cried, and began pummeling the big man.
The officer grabbed her arms and pulled her close, saying that he was sorry for her loss. She fought against his iron grip for a time but then fell apart there in his arms and began to sob.
***
Gabby felt numb. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her mouth was dry. The sense of dread burrowing deep in her chest burned like a hot coal, and the lump in her throat was nearly suffocating.
The police officers were quiet as they rode into the city toward the morgue.
For the first time in years, Gabby prayed.
She knew that there must be some kind of mistake. Maggy was the toughest person she knew. She was larger than life—invincible. Sure, she had gone missing, but there had to be some other explanation. Perhaps some other woman stole her purse—Gabby liked that idea. And it would explain why her sister hadn’t called. Yes, some other woman had stolen her purse and then had somehow gotten herself killed.
That had to be the answer.
When they pulled into the lot, the sky broke. Rain dribbled down the window, turning the hospital into an oil painting. The lights of the building melded into one giant glare as tears once again pooled in her eyes.
The female officer opened the door for her and offered her a kind smile.
Gabby hated that smile.
She walked through the rain slowly, not caring if she got wet, not wanting to enter the hospital. She wanted to run far away. She wanted to wake up and find Maggy cooking breakfast and listening to Bob Marley.
The male officer led them into the hospital.
Rain and lamp-lit night were replaced by sterile white walls and ceilings, shiny tile floors, and fluorescent lights. The squeak of shoes echoed down the corridor as they turned a corner to the elevator. She was led past a waiting room, where some of the people looked bored, others tired, and some scared.
Inside the elevator, the male officer pushed the button with the letter B on it.
Too soon the door opened. Gabby froze. The officers gently coaxed her into the morgue to stand before a metal table with a thick sheet covering a human form. No shock of hair spilled out from beneath, and no flesh was visible around the edges—there was only the lifeless, covered figure.
The mortician stood on the other side of the table with a face as sterile as the room.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
Gabby shook her head no. She felt a hand gently squeeze her shoulder, steadying her.
The female officer took her hand and gave a small squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said softly.
Gabby would never be ready, but still, she had to get it over with. With a final calming breath, she nodded to the mortician.
He slowly pulled back the sheet.
Chapter 10
“No . . .”
Gabriella stared at her sister’s lifeless face and swooned. Strong hands helped her stand.
“Can you identify the body?” the male officer asked.
“It’s not a body,” Gabby heard herself say. “She’s my sister . . .”
The room spun, and a nauseating sense of horror and loss consumed her. A world without Maggy in it was unimaginable. She turned from the cold metal slab that her sister had been laid out on and ran to the elevator. Frantically jamming the buttons, she cursed the lift to move. Tears blurred her vision, and the female officer was there with words of consolation.
Gabby cried in the woman’s arms, unable to breathe, unable to think.
***
The ride to the police station was a blur. When Gabby closed her eyes, she saw her sister’s face—devoid of life, pale, cold. Gabby wanted so badly for it all to be a bad dream. She couldn’t comprehend that she would never again see her sister’s beautiful smile and would never hear her sing. They would never laugh together or cry together. Maggy had always been there for her little sister, and without her, the world seemed like a darker place.
The world beyond her window echoed her bleak despair. A fog permeated the slick streets. People walked hunched beneath umbrellas, hurriedly scurrying to find shelter from the harsh world. The rain beat on the roof of the police cruiser with such violent veracity that at one point Gabby was forced to cover her ears from the thundering, lest she cry out for it to stop.
The police questioned her for nearly an hour, asking her everything she knew about the men that Maggy associated with at the strip club and the man whom she had been out on a date with the night
before. Gabby answered truthfully, but in the end, she wasn’t much help to them. She and her sister had been drifting slowly apart over the years. Gabby realized that it had been her fault. Derek had been so possessive and so controlling, and he had hated Maggy—though the feeling had been mutual.
***
When the police brought Gabby back to Maggy’s house, she looked upon it differently. No longer did it seem like the haven it had always been. Now, without her sister in the world, the house seemed like a lonely place—but she had nowhere else to go.
She was escorted quietly to the door, and once again, the male officer asked her if she had anyone who could stay with her. Gabby told him that she did—though she didn’t. They seemed uneasy with the answer, but they finally left her in peace.
Gabby closed the door behind her and slowly began to weep. She shook her hands and paced mindlessly. Her breath came in ever more urgent gasps, and gut-wrenching pain threatened to tear her apart. Sobbing and half-blinded by tears, she rushed to Maggy’s bedroom and tore her sister’s robe off its hanger. After wrapping herself up in it, she buried her face in the soft cotton and fell onto the bed.
Gabby thought vaguely of the fact that she had never cried so many tears in her life as she had that week. She was surprised there was anything left. She had spilled many over Derek, but now those testaments of sorrow seemed trifle things indeed. Compared to the loss of Maggy, the loss of Derek had been a blessing.
Maggy’s scent was still strong on the robe, and Gabby desperately breathed her in, trying to touch the spirit left behind.
Chapter 11
Gabby didn’t get out of bed at all the next day. Her phone chimed a number of times, but knowing that it wasn’t Maggy on the other end, she had no reason to answer.
Hunger did nothing to rouse her when the sun set. She only wrapped herself up deeper in the robe, clinging to the fading scent of her sister that was slowly being dominated by her own. It only reminded her of her loss, and eventually she tossed it across the room in a fit of rage. She screamed at the top of her lungs, cursing God and whoever had taken Maggy from her.
Her anger finally roused her like hunger could not, and she frantically moved to the liquor cabinet, intent on drinking herself into a stupor. The cap to the vodka bottle couldn’t come off fast enough, and she tipped it back, taking three long gulps that left her gagging.
On the counter, she found a pack of Maggy’s cigarettes and lit one up, reveling in the choking smoke—anything that would take her thoughts away from the maddening loop they had been traveling.
She armed herself with the .38 Special, and together with the vodka bottle, she returned to Maggy’s room and locked herself in.
***
The next morning, Gabriella awoke to a pounding at the door to match the one in her temples. She reluctantly answered it, wearing her sister’s robe tightly around her body.
“Gabriella Cross?” asked a man in a suit.
“Yes?”
“Hello,” he said, extending a well-manicured hand. “My name is Mark Ferringer. I’m your sister’s lawyer. I’m sorry about your loss. May I come in? I have some papers for you to look at.”
Gabby let him in and offered him coffee. When he agreed to a cup, she started a pot. While it brewed, she excused herself and went to the bathroom, where she downed four Tylenol and tried to make herself more presentable. Her eyes were hopelessly puffy, and her hair was a rat’s nest. When she returned, the coffee had finished brewing, and she reluctantly joined Mr. Ferringer at the table, where he had laid out two small stacks of papers.
“This would usually take place at my office, but since no one else is mentioned in the will, I thought it best to come to you. I could not find you at your residence, and your husband informed me that you were most likely staying here.”
“What else did he say?” asked Gabby, thinking once again that it was possible that Derek had killed Maggy.
“He offered to take me here, but I told him that I could find my way. I think he may have been drunk.”
“Figures,” said Gabby.
“Yes, well, continuing on.” He handed her a copy of the will for her inspection.
Maggy had left her everything: the house, motorcycle, car, small camper, and surprisingly, the $50,000 in her savings account. Mr. Ferringer also informed her that Maggy had a $500,000 life insurance policy, of which she was the sole beneficiary.
Gabby was shocked. She knew that her sister was frugal, but she was surprised to learn that she had saved so much money. The life insurance policy was pure Maggy—always trying to look out for her little sister.
At the moment, Gabby would give it all and everything else she owned for one more minute with her sister.
“Also,” said Mr. Ferringer. “I was to give you this key.”
He held out a large, old-looking key. Gabby took it, wondering what door it might open.
“What is the key to?” she asked.
He offered her a shrug. “I do not know. Nothing more is said about it.”
When she had signed the papers and the lawyer had finally left, Gabby made herself a Bloody Mary and considered the strange key. Later she went about the house, searching for its keyhole, but to no avail.
Leave it to Maggy to be so eccentric, Gabby thought.
She searched the house and garage for the rest of the day but still found nothing. That night around dinnertime, she gave up her search for the time being. She hadn’t really been intent on the task, but rather had been using it to avoid doing something she dreaded—visiting her father and relaying the news about Maggy.
Chapter 12
Gabby pulled up to the retirement home and parked far away from the entrance. There she sat for a good half hour, dreading what she had to tell her father.
The day was overcast, much like her mood.
When she finally found her courage, she made the long walk across the parking lot and went inside. At the reception desk, she was greeted by Jamya Phillips, a plump African-American nurse she knew well who particularly adored her father.
“Oh, child, come here,” said Jamya with open arms.
Gabby had thought to keep her shit together, but when the loving nurse embraced her, she melted and began crying like a baby against the woman’s bosom. She was led into a vacant room and helped to sit on the bed. All the while, Nurse Phillips held her close.
When Gabby got control of herself, she looked the woman in the eye. “Does he know?”
“The police came by the other day and told him,” Jamya said with a look of concern and shook her head. “The poor man cried all night long. But then, yesterday mornin’ he had forgotten what they’d said. Told me you and Maggy would be comin’ to visit him today.”
“Should I tell him again?” Gabby asked.
“You know he ain’t going to remember. Why put him through all that again?”
“Is that your professional opinion, Mrs. Phillips?” said Dr. Gupta, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway to the room.
Jamya regarded him over her shoulder and turned back to Gabby with an irritated scowl. Her face turned kind again when she looked upon Gabby once more. “You need anything, you just let me know, sugar.”
“Thanks, Jamya.”
The nurse left, eyeing the doctor for a moment as she passed by, her plump figure causing him to move back into the hall to allow her passage. He entered the room, shaking his head slightly. When he stood before Gabby, he was all seriousness.
“I am sorry to hear about your sister. Everyone loved Maggy.”
“Thank you, doctor. I really wish the police hadn’t told him . . .”
“Yes, I apologize for that and take full responsibility. The staff should know better.”
“Nurse Phillips said that he has already forgotten. Do you think that I should tell him again?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Gupta. “I find that it is best to remind patients like your father of the reality of the world around them.”
“But won
’t it be like hearing it for the first time for him?” Gabby asked.
“Yes, and no. It depends on the person, the day, and the level of Alzheimer’s. For your father, I believe that it is best that he is reminded. After that, tell him when he asks about her, like your mother.”
“I want to bring him to the funeral.”
“Of course. That will not be a problem.”
***
Gabby knocked on the door to her father’s room. He was sitting in front of the television playing solitaire. An old western was on the TV, but the volume was turned down. On the radio beside her father’s bed, an old fifties song played.
“Dad, it’s me, Gabriella.”
He turned his head and looked at her. To her surprise, his face instantly shone with recognition. “Come in, Gabby, and please, close the door. The Peeping Toms around here love open doors, unless they’re taking a shit.”
“I don’t think they’re spying on you, Dad.” Gabriella closed the door nonetheless.
“Sure, sure. There’re cameras everywhere these days.” He pointed at her cell phone, which she had a habit of carrying in her left hand. “Put that thing in your pocket. Don’t you know it’s got a camera on it?”
“Sorry,” said Gabby, putting her phone away and kissing her father on the cheek. She sat at the small table with him.
“How are you doing, Dad?”
“Well,” he said, laying five cards on an ace and opening a spot on the board. “Solitaire’s a lot like life. You usually lose. But I’m doing all right this go of it.”
Gabby didn’t know if he meant the game he was currently playing or life in general.
“I’ve got some bad news, Dad. Maggy . . . she was killed.”
He stopped cold, the jack of spades in midturn. He stared at the card, and it began to tremble. “The knave of spades,” he said under his breath, almost inaudibly.
“Did you hear what I said?” Gabby asked gently.
“What? Of course I heard you,” said her father, snapping out of his pondering. “I know what happened to your sister. The police were here yesterday. They told me all about it.”
A Cross to Bear Page 4
