Artistic License

by Julie Hyzy

  Mid-sentence, she’d yawned for the third time. Sam had gotten up and pulled a quilt over from the loveseat to cover her, before moving into the kitchen.

  She’d stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, hearing him open and close cabinets and drawers. Part of her wanted to get up and help him find whatever he was searching for, but she didn’t have the energy. As the noises quieted and she heard him turn on the stove, her eyes became heavy and she dozed.

  When Sam came into the living room, he sat on the coffee table and placed a cup of blackberry tea on it next to him. “I thought that maybe this would help you sleep, but it looks like you might be able to relax a little after all.”

  Annie boosted herself up on one elbow and tried to find the words to thank him for being part of her life. None came.

  “It’s okay,” he said, as if reading her mind. “And I’ve been thinking. Your uncle gave me his number when I saw him at the station. I’m going to have him come over and sit with you for a little bit while I take care of a couple of things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Well, for one, we need to change your locks.”

  Annie reached for the tea, boosting herself up a little more. “Why?”

  “You talked about that Pete fellow, and how he gives you the creeps. Well, he might very well have Gary’s keys right now and I don’t think you want him popping in here to surprise you.”

  Annie’s eyes strayed to the corner of the room, at the big white leather vibrating chair. “I hadn’t thought of that. But my door takes a special kind of lock. That’s why I never replaced it; it was too expensive.”

  “I have a friend who can work his way around any lock. Did all mine at Millie’s. They’re tough, heavy-duty, the kind that would take a professional all day to pick. The only way to get past them is to virtually break down the door itself. I’ll get him out here and have him change them tonight.”

  He’d mentioned a couple of other stops he planned to make, then got up to call Uncle Lou. Within minutes, the older man had arrived and the two of them talked in low murmurs in the other room. Still reeling from the ordeal at the police station, Annie had closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to escape reality and to let the two wonderful men in her life take care of her.

  She remembered that feeling now in the middle of this quiet cemetery, as the wind whipped around them, its brisk fingers snatching away the priest’s words, even as he raised his voice to compete with Mother Nature. Annie didn’t care, really. She didn’t need to hear the blessings. Blustery sounds of the air shot through the branches overhead, making the leaves reach and twist in the breeze, providing enough background noise to allow her thoughts to take flight. She knew Karla was thinking about her right now. She’d wanted to come, but she was due to deliver any minute, and Annie had refused to let her take the risk.

  Beneath the overcast sky, the small group stood in a semi-circle along one side of the casket, the spray of red roses resting atop, their unmistakable scent hitting her with a vengeance, only to vanish as quickly when the wind changed direction. Annie felt her hair dancing in the sharp breeze, making movements above her head like that of a wild campfire. Uncle Lou kept his head bowed, the breeze unable to do much more than lift the back flaps of his suit coat. Sam stood silent as well. He’d been with her yesterday as she made the arrangements, to lend moral support and, she suspected, to make sure she held up.

  With a sprinkling of holy water that missed its mark, flying instead against Annie’s cheek, the priest closed his small black prayer book, and stepped backwards. She accepted the holy man’s condolences before he walked away to his car.

  It was over.

  Uncle Lou and Sam moved toward her, both of them wearing the same look of fearful anticipation.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Annie stared straight ahead as they made their way back to the car, turning only briefly when she heard bumping metallic noises behind her. Two men dressed in gray stood at either end of the casket as it lowered into the ground.

  Sam drove home, the three of them silent, Annie deep within her own thoughts. She was supposed to feel something, wasn’t she? They’d been married for five years and even produced the child she carried. But that fateful night had been an accident, an anomaly. Gary’s death had rattled her, to be sure, but what she felt was guilt rather than sorrow. Guilt at knowing, deep in her heart, that she wouldn’t miss him. For all the time they’d been separated, she’d never once hoped to stay married. Even that fateful night that they had gotten together had been more about her needs than about Gary. She leaned on the armrest built into the car’s rear door and she watched out the window, seeing nothing. Feeling empty. She’d been married to the man for five years and was surprised she felt so little.

  * * * * *

  Detective Lulinski didn’t seem overly interested in the fact that Annie’s elderly neighbor had seen a man trying to get into her house through a side window. Upon examination of the front door, it appeared as though he’d attempted to jimmy the lock first. Mrs. Trumbull, the neighbor, had been out sweeping her front steps when she’d seen a man balanced on a trash can, trying to reach the side kitchen window.

  Mrs. Trumbull had been more than happy to talk to Detective Lulinski, assuring him that while her eyesight wasn’t great, and admittedly, she hadn’t been wearing her glasses, she knew what she had seen. A tiny woman with pale white hair, she spoke whirlwind fashion, having to wipe at the corners of her mouth every so often at the spit that gathered there. “I shouted at him,” she said, the pride evident in her voice. “And he took off like a bat outta hell. Just like that.” She snapped her bony fingers with a solid crack.

  Her exclamation as she crossed the street had surprised the man and he fled before she’d been able to get a good look at his face. From what she could tell, however, he was of average height and build, and she thought he might have dark hair. Probably somewhere between twenty and fifty years old.

  Annie, absolutely certain it was Pete, found herself discouraged by the detective’s reaction. Average height and build didn’t give him much to go on, he’d said. “Half the population fits that description.”

  He’d walked around the house, taken a look at the garbage can that had been dragged from the alley, and made a few quick notes.

  “Don’t you think it’s suspicious that Gary’s apartment was broken into and now an attempt has been made on my house?” Annie asked.

  The detective had smiled at her, in a way that made her feel small, like a child. “Only if someone knew he’d left his old apartment to move in here. And this Pete fellow—you don’t happen to have remembered his last name, do you? If this Pete guy was his roommate, then I don’t see him breaking in at either place. He’d know where Gary was living, and he probably had keys to both places.”

  “Sam changed my locks. Just a couple of days ago.”

  “Well now,” the detective said, in a slow, patronizing voice, “that was probably a real good idea.”

  Annie blew out a breath of frustration. “What I mean is, even if Pete had the key, he wouldn’t have been able to get in. Maybe that’s why he tried the window.”

  The detective had stood up and closed his notebook. “I appreciate you calling me to let me know this latest development, but truthfully, I don’t see that it holds much bearing on your husband’s homicide. But, we’ll look into it. Let me know if anything else happens though, okay?”

  Just as his hand reached the knob, Lulinski turned around. “That day you and your husband went to lunch. At . . .” he consulted his notes. “Donagan’s?”

  Annie nodded.

  “Bunch of elderly folks were there too, right? Having lunch?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Turns out they go there kinda regular. So I stopped and talked with a couple of them. You know, just to see what their observations were.” Lulinski’s eyes were steady beneath his gray brows. “Nothing official, mind you.”

  Annie didn’t
know where this was going.

  He squinted. “You talk with any of them?”

  “One of the older ladies came in to talk to me,” she said, adding, “in the bathroom.”

  “What about her husband?”

  Annie tried to remember. “No. I don’t think I said a word to him.”

  Flipping to the next page of his notebook, he read for a moment, then looked back up at her. “That’s funny,” he said. “The old guy distinctly recalls you saying, ‘I’m going to kill him.’”

  Lulinski tapped his fingers to his forehead in a mock salute, and left.

  Sam shut Annie’s front door behind the detective’s departing figure.

  “Well,” she said.

  Sam shrugged. “Let it go, Annie. We know you didn’t do it. Let’s just be patient here. We can get through this.”

  Annie noticed that Sam used the word “we.” Something about that made her feel good. Hopeful. Despite Lulinski’s attitude. She walked back into the kitchen and started to clean up. They’d offered the detective coffee, but he’d declined. “Want some?” she asked, holding up the pot. She took her time pouring both mugs of coffee and pulling out the cream from the fridge. Sam stood, leaning against the countertop with his arms crossed in front of him, looking exactly how she felt, confused.

  “What now?” she asked as she sat down.

  Sam pulled out a chair across from Annie. “Not much, I suppose. But I have to tell you, whatever the detective says, I think this is somehow related to whoever killed Gary. And I think Lulinski thinks so too. He just doesn’t want to tip his hand.”

  “Why not?”

  “Annie, we’re suspects, both of us. Whether we want to believe it or not, he thinks that we might have done Gary in because we’re having some torrid love affair.” Sam made it sound matter-of-fact, but she heard the anger in his voice.

  Annie sipped her coffee. “Okay, let’s say that the two burglaries are related. What do you think they’re looking for? I don’t have anything of value. I don’t think that Gary did either.”

  Sam shook his head. “I know that I’m not comfortable with you staying here alone. Makes me nervous.”

  Annie reached across the table to touch his hand, causing him to look up. “Thanks, Sam. It means a lot to know you care.”

  Sam’s face reddened slightly before he changed subjects. “I ought to get going. Lots of stuff I’ve let slip through the cracks.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said as she stood to walk him to the door, “I’ve taken up so much of your time.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad I was able to help out in some small way. Your uncle told me he’d stay here with you the next couple of nights, just to make sure everything is okay. But you feel free to call me anytime, all right?”

  Annie nodded. Bright sunlight shone in through the crystal panels of the front door and made tiny rainbows on the side of Sam’s face. He seemed reluctant to leave. “By the way, have you told the DeChristophers what happened?”

  “I called Gina on Monday, but didn’t say a lot. I told her I wouldn’t be over for a few days due to a death in the family. Didn’t mention it was Gary, though. Maybe because she met him, maybe because I’m embarrassed to say that my husband was killed gangland style and that I’m a suspect in his murder.” She felt her voice rising as she spoke, but quelled herself. “I’ll eventually have to tell them, of course.” Annie stopped for a moment, thinking. “You know, I wished so hard that I didn’t have to deal with Gary or with the divorce or with Mr. DeChristopher as my lawyer.” She made a noise that attempted to be a laugh but came out a sob, instead. “Teaches you to be careful what you wish for, huh?”

  When Sam opened his arms, Annie felt as though she’d come home. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held her head against his chest. The room was so silent she could hear his heart beat. He was warm and solid, and when his hands gently rested against her back, pulling her in ever so slightly, she felt her body mold itself to his.

  She didn’t want to let go, but she didn’t want to hold him back from his responsibilities either. With a sigh, she pulled back, but he didn’t.

  She looked up into Sam’s face. His blue eyes stared at her, holding a look of such intensity it caused her heart to lurch.

  With the tiniest of movements, Sam’s head bent as Annie reached up. Their lips met in a soft, moist kiss, and as they drew away, their eyes searched each other’s and in a moment they came together again. They held each other gently at first. Annie could feel a pull in her heart, as though there were nowhere else she’d ever want to be again. Her right hand caressed his cheek, then slid around the back of his neck, drawing him closer as she parted her lips. He gave a groan of pleasure as his arms pulled her in, hard, till every inch of their bodies touched one another’s.

  “Oh,” she said as they parted.

  Sam pulled back, blowing out a ragged breath. He looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  Annie cleared her throat. “Don’t be.”

  “It’s too soon, Annie.”

  Even though her mind knew he was right, her body rebelled. It felt as though a delicious hot fluid was coursing through her veins, reaching every extremity, making her tingle. She reached up with both hands to touch his face, and stared into those beautiful eyes. Her voice cracked as she spoke, “I want to be with you, Sam.”

  He held her with one hand, and brought up the other to push a stray hair out of her face. “Someday, Annie, we’re going to look back on the first time we were together. And we’ll want to remember the beauty of it, the newness of it. We won’t want to have that memory overshadowed by all that’s happened recently.” He smiled a little. “We’ll wait. Till the time is right.”

  He kissed her again, this time chastely on the cheek. “I’ll call you later,” he said.

  She stood in the doorway and watched him leave, wondering how life could be so cruel and yet so beautiful at the same time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gina met her at the door.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Gina said. “How did it happen? He was so young.”

  Annie stepped around two burly men hoisting a roll of new carpeting into the living room and foyer area. The floor had been stripped clear of the old carpet and wallpaper had been torn from adjacent walls.

  “What happened here?” Annie asked, as Gina led her to the kitchen.

  “That Timothy,” Gina said, rolling her eyes. “He’s such a good guy, but doesn’t have a lot of brainpower, you know? He was here, watching the house the other night and my mother called him to bring little Drew’s teddy over to her house. So he goes upstairs to get it, right? With a friggin’ Bloody Mary in his hands. And on the way back, you guessed it, he spills it everywhere.”

  Annie thought it was amazing that one spill could warrant new carpeting and wallpaper, but she kept quiet. Maybe if she had their kind of money, she’d spend it freely, too.

  Gina continued as they sat at the table. “And I thought Dickie would go through the roof, but he handled it like it was no big deal. Men,” she said, derisively. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.” She looked up at Annie. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. That was kinda thoughtless of me. Tell me about your husband now. What happened?”

  Annie struggled to find the words. “He was shot, then dumped in an industrial yard, not far from his apartment. I have a hard time talking about it. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all, sweetie. And I thought the two of you made a cute couple, you know?” Gina poured Annie a glass of water and herself a diet pop before sitting back down at the kitchen table. Noise in the background grew steadily louder till Gina stood up and walked over to the basement door. She opened it and screamed for the boys to be quiet, before turning around and smiling at Annie again.

  Annie had been going stir crazy at home. Between Uncle Lou and Karla calling every few hours to make sure she was all right, and the after-funeral paperwork and bills that needed to be done, Annie
knew that the best thing she could do to keep her mind off her troubles was to get back to work. In some ways she was sorry, though. By the end of the week, the dinosaur project would be complete and she’d have to start cultivating more jobs.

  Gina wrinkled her nose. “So it looks like you won’t be needing a divorce attorney after all, huh?”

  Taken aback by her forthrightness, Annie lifted her water, taking a sip. She nodded. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let your husband know.”

  “Let me know what?”

  Richard DeChristopher strode into the kitchen, having made his way noiselessly from the adjacent hallway.

  Gina reached for her husband’s hand, pulling him to stand by her chair. “Oh, terrible news, Dickie. Annie’s husband died. That’s why she hasn’t been here for a few days.” She stage-whispered, even though Annie was right there. “He was shot.”

  DeChristopher’s face underwent a change. “Shot? When did this happen? How did he get shot?”

  “Dickie.” Gina said, chastising, “she doesn’t want to talk about that. It’s been hard on the poor girl. She’s been through enough. And she’s pregnant, besides.”

  Annie thought DeChristopher’s next movements looked orchestrated, as though he were striving for nonchalance when really he came across wound tight as a drum. She wondered briefly what could be causing the strain that telegraphed from his eyes. Wrinkles bracketed his lips, more so than normal, and his mouth drew tight. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Anne. Excuse my ignorance. Must be the attorney in me, always trying to find the answers.”

  Annie murmured something incomprehensible, even to herself.