Kuneman wondered if the murderer was glad to leave Smith’s Grove behind. Or if he worried about spending the rest of his days in solitary confinement. Somehow, Kuneman had the impression nothing mattered to him now.
Nothing ever would.
* * *
From the vantage point of her pickup truck, Laurie watched as the transport bus approached the perimeter of the state hospital’s grounds and stopped briefly while the gate trundled open. She closed her eyes.
Could she free herself? Let it go?
Let the moment pass unwitnessed…?
The self-enforced darkness became a suffocating eternity.
She opened her eyes and grabbed a miniature airplane bottle of whiskey from the glove box. Her hands shaking, she fumbled with the cap for a moment before dropping it on the floor mat. She raised the tiny bottle to her lips and downed two quick sips.
Then she stared as the bus turned onto the state road, turned toward her and rumbled closer to her parked pickup truck, while she sat hypnotized—paralyzed.
“Death is the only solution for Michael. Quiet death before it kills again…”
Holding her breath—
—unable to blink—
—staring at the row of dark, reinforced windows—
—wondering if he stared back at her—
The transport bus rolled past her, “Illinois Department of Corrections” painted on the side and the back door, belching a plume of dust in its wake that, moment by moment, coated her pickup truck in a gritty layer of filth.
In that instant, Laurie found her breath.
And she screamed at the top of her lungs, louder than she’d screamed in the last forty years, until her throat was raw, and she was convinced blood would spray from her ruptured lungs and splatter her dusty windshield—
Tossing the empty whiskey bottle aside, she plucked the revolver from her lap, gripping it in her sweaty palm as she pressed the tip of the cold barrel to her temple.
—and she continued to scream.
But no one on the departing bus—and no one inside the state hospital—heard her primal roar. No one came. She sat outside the hospital parking lot, lost in private torment as the gate closed.
9
Per Allyson’s request, her mother had made reservations at Ristorante Bellini, located at the short end of an L-shaped strip mall. Despite the modest surroundings and a parking lot in need of resurfacing, Bellini’s had an intimate candlelit ambience and pleasing Italian fare. Framed paintings of the Italian countryside along with several old-world-styled maps decorated some of the walls, but their table was in the main room, Allyson’s favorite, near the wall of lit candles. All the glowing candle flames not only gave the room a calming vibe and warmth but also, for Allyson at least, each flame represented a symbol of hope, comfort from the various storms of life, burning bright.
While Allyson enjoyed the chicken parm and other dishes, her real reason for choosing Bellini’s for her celebration dinner was the atmosphere. She always felt relaxed and unhurried at Bellini’s. No matter how busy they were, the staff remained calm and efficient. With enough space between tables and booths, she never worried about ducking a serving tray or having to pull her chair extra close to the table. Bellini’s had a way of making her lingering anxieties fade away.
Mostly, the restaurant offered an opportunity for Allyson and her mother to put on pretty dresses—Allyson’s accessorized with her gold Honor Society stole—and enjoy a special evening as a family. And what better way to introduce Cameron to everyone than on a celebratory occasion with good food in pleasant surroundings.
Cameron had pushed Allyson’s Honor Society trophy—a modern, laser-inscribed clear obelisk—to the far end of the table, opposite the side where the server had set an extra chair for Laurie, to avoid an accident. After intermittent text notifications from school friends kept popping up on her cellphone, Allyson flipped it face down and slid it over to Cameron to place beside her trophy. They’d finished their meals, for the most part, with an occasional bite from their cooling dishes, and everyone was laughing, having a good time. But Bellini’s soothing atmosphere hadn’t been put to the test, because Allyson’s grandmother—a potential source of conflict with her own daughter—hadn’t showed. Allyson focused on the positives of Cameron not freaking out over meeting her parents and their nonjudgmental acceptance of him, rather than on her grandmother’s absence.
As Cameron told them about his family, Allyson reminded herself, Stay in the moment.
With a broad smile, Ray said, “You’re telling me! You know I went to school with your father. He used to sell me Peyote.”
“Dad!” Allyson said, mortified.
“It’s true,” Ray said. “I learned a lot about myself from tripping with Lonnie.”
“Didn’t say you were lying,” Allyson continued, keeping her voice especially low compared to her father’s outburst. “Just—embarrassing.”
“Your father has no filter,” Karen said.
“What?” Ray said, feigning innocence.
“Come on, Ray,” Karen said, chuckling, “that’s like a massive over-share for our new friend.” She turned her attention to Allyson and Cameron sitting together on the opposite side of the table. “Do you two have any special Halloween plans?”
Allyson shot Cameron a look.
“I hear there’s a teen activity at school,” Karen said, teasing. “What is it, a costume party or something?”
Karen and Ray smiled knowingly.
Cameron deferred to Allyson, who rolled her eyes at their lack of subtlety. “Obviously, you guys know about the costume dance,” she said. “But how?”
Karen shrugged. “Moms talk too.”
“What are you dressing up as?” Ray asked them.
Cameron looked to Allyson. “Should I tell him?”
“Sure.”
“Bonnie and Clyde,” Cameron said.
Ray clapped his hands together, pleased. “Classic!”
“That’ll be cute,” Karen said. “That’s fun!”
Enzo, their server, swung by the table to top up water glasses, creating a lull in the conversation. Everyone smiled, faces aglow in candlelight, Ray and Karen sipping from wine glasses. It was a companionable silence. Finally, Allyson could hold it in no longer. She had to know. “Mom, have you heard from Grandmother?”
“No,” Karen said. “I haven’t—not recently.”
“She said she would join us,” Allyson said. “She came to my school. We had a nice talk.”
“I don’t know, Allyson,” Karen said. “Maybe something came up.”
The look that flashed across her mother’s face told Allyson that her mom knew she’d been caught in a lie earlier, but she projected sincerity this time, as if to make up for the earlier deception.
“So, you didn’t get into an argument or try to scare her off?”
With a definitive shake of her head, Karen said, “Nothing of the sort.”
“Hand to God?” Allyson asked, teasing.
“With a fist bump,” Karen replied.
“Cross your heart?”
“Hope to fry!”
“Pinky swear?”
“With a round of hand jive.”
“I have the old polygraph in the trunk of the car,” Ray said. “I could wheel it in—if Mrs Bellini doesn’t mind.”
“Dad!”
Cameron leaned toward Allyson, back of his hand covering his mouth. “Your dad keeps a lie det—?”
“He’s joking.”
“What?” Ray said with a shrug. “I can’t play?”
“Okay,” Allyson said to her mom.
“Okay?” Karen asked. “So, we’re good?”
“One question,” Allyson said with a nod. “Where is she then?”
Karen’s mouth opened—
And Allyson heard her grandmother’s voice as she approached their table: “Jesus,” she said, a little breathless and twitchy, sniffling. “There you guys are. Where were you?”
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Karen swiveled around to look at her mother, concerned but also a bit exasperated. “Mom?”
Laurie ignored her for the moment and addressed Allyson. “I went to the high school. Couldn’t find you guys. But either way… I’m here.”
Glancing at Karen with what might have been a silent plea for forgiveness, she turned her attention to Cameron. “And you must be the new heartthrob. What’s your name?”
“Cam—” Caught off guard by the sudden attention, Cameron started over. “Cameron Elam. Nice to meet you.”
Laurie extended her hand.
Cameron rose a bit from his seat to accept and shake it.
“He’s got a firm handshake,” Laurie said, nodding her approval. “Not wet and clammy like Ray’s.”
Rolling his eyes, Ray said, “Wonderful to see you, Laurie. We’re getting to know Cameron here and we’re having a nice little celebration in honor of Ally—”
Allyson’s peaceful state of mind began to exhibit a few cracks. She hadn’t expected rainbows and unicorns when—if—her grandmother showed up, but she’d hoped everyone could remain civil for one night.
“We’ve all got something to celebrate tonight, don’t we?” Laurie said, circling the table to place her hand on Karen’s shoulder. “How was the ceremony?”
“It was very nice,” Karen replied. “Want to have a seat, Mom?”
“I’m good.”
Laurie dipped her finger into Karen’s wine and tasted it.
Taken aback, Karen whispered to her mother, softly enough she hoped Allyson and Cameron couldn’t hear, “What are you on? You promised you weren’t drinking anymore.”
The comment wasn’t soft enough to escape Allyson’s ears, but her senses were attuned to the prospect of tension between her mother and grandmother. For his part, Cameron acted as if he hadn’t heard, but she couldn’t be sure. Maybe he’s just being polite.
“I’m not,” Laurie said, with no attempt at discretion and seemingly unaware that her behavior indicated otherwise.
Allyson thought of the expression “liquid courage” and wondered if her grandmother had decided she needed a drink or two to get through a social situation with her own daughter.
“But I think I should,” Laurie continued defensively. She sat in the chair between the two women and faced Allyson. “This is a celebration, right?”
Karen turned to Ray, maintaining her low tone. “And she wonders why we don’t reach out.”
But you’re both making it worse, Allyson thought.
Laurie reached across the table and picked up Ray’s glass to sample his wine. After she moved the glass away from her mouth, Laurie noticed the disapproving stares from everyone at the table, including Allyson herself. Allyson wanted to scream at her grandmother, Why are you doing this to yourself—to us? You’re going to ruin everything!
“I’m used to it,” Laurie said, her voice rising. “I’m a bad mom when I don’t show up, and a bad mom when I do. You don’t know who I am.” She shook her head and her voice continued to rise. Abruptly, she stood again. “I don’t know who the fuck I am.”
Now the stares came from Bellini patrons at nearby tables.
“Stop it,” Karen said firmly, palms planted on the table. “Reset. Let’s start over.”
“Yes, I agree,” Laurie said. “I want a soda water with a lime. I mean, if I look the part… Right?” Turning away from the table, she called out to the server—any server—in a loud, commanding tone. “Hello? Waiter?” When no immediate response was forthcoming, she sighed to indicate her vast disappointment in Bellini’s staff. “Does anybody work here?”
“Stop it,” Karen said again, frustrated to the point of gritting her teeth to keep her own voice level. Her forced smile bordered on terrifying. “There’s water right here.”
“I said, ‘a lime’!” Laurie exclaimed, as if that slight misunderstanding demonstrated in microcosm the entirety of their troubled relationship.
“We were just about to get the check actually,” Ray said.
“Shut up, Ray,” Laurie said brusquely. “I’m here because I love my granddaughter and want to celebrate. I’m here on this planet—in this moment—because I love her.”
Cameron stared, mouth agape.
“Mom!” cried Karen.
“That’s enough, Laurie,” Ray said, exasperated at last. “Get a hold of yourself!”
“Mom,” Karen said, overlapping Ray’s admonishment. “Mom!”
A hush fell across the restaurant.
Tranquility shattered, Allyson thought, lowering her head. Hard to remember I ever felt relaxed here. And it was all her fault. Trying to force her mother to invite her grandmother. Inviting her grandmother without telling her mother. What could go wrong?
She wanted to hide under the table.
Breaking the abrupt silence, Karen spoke to her mother in a tone that had the air of finality. “Remember what you said? You said you were going to put your past behind you. Do it now.”
Embarrassed, or maybe defiant, Allyson could no longer tell, her grandmother couldn’t look Karen in the eye. But when she spoke, her voice dropped to a pained whisper. “I can’t.”
After the rollercoaster of emotions, Allyson’s eyes filled with tears. It was too much. First, she’d been disappointed that her grandmother hadn’t shown up, followed by a warm sense of relief that she’d come—better late than never. Then everything crumbled into more disappointment as the family gathering hadn’t turned out anything like she’d hoped. And if that hadn’t been bad enough, now she had to deal with public embarrassment in front of Cameron and the entire evening crowd at Bellini’s—all before her grandmother even had time to take a bite of food at their table. She wondered if she could ever show her face in Bellini’s again.
Without saying another word, Laurie turned and walked out.
Not wanting to face Cameron, Allyson looked through the window to follow her grandmother’s retreat across the parking lot toward the busy boulevard. A moment later, Allyson clutched the edge of the table. Her grandmother stepped off the curb without even acknowledging traffic. A car swerved. Multiple horns blared.
Laurie caught herself, stepped back up onto the curb, as if only then realizing where she was and where she’d been about to walk. Something in Allyson jarred her out of her own embarrassed paralysis. Scooting out of her chair and ignoring the voices of her family calling after her, Allyson hurried through the door, across the lot, and made her way across the street—after checking traffic—to join her grandmother by her pickup truck.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around the older woman, who hugged her back as fiercely. For the moment, Allyson’s embarrassment was gone. Her grandmother was safe. Right then, nothing else mattered.
10
After the Wildcats game, fourteen-year-old Kevin and his father stopped at Parisi’s Pizza Palace for an early dinner of their “world famous” deep dish pepperoni and sausage, which had become a bit of a tradition after they attended one of Northwestern’s games. Though, with each passing year, Kevin viewed the “world famous” claim with a little more skepticism. But the trips were infrequent enough to stir a bit of nostalgia for father and son, which made it worth sitting in traffic and waiting for a table.
By the time they began their return trip home in the old Bronco, the sun hung low in the autumn sky. Within thirty minutes, darkness fell, and the weight of the long day settled in. Traffic thinned to the point of occasional headlights becoming lonely beacons zipping by in the northbound lanes while, in front of them, the scattered string of red taillights dwindled to single digits.
Still miles from home, Kevin realized they were alone by the time his father turned onto a state road that would complete the final leg of their journey. Without streetlights, the rural road gave the impression that they were driving across an uninhabited island of encroaching darkness. The Bronco’s headlights revealed the dashed line in front of them separating the two lanes of the road, narrow dirt and gravel
shoulders on either side edged with tall grass and weeds. But beyond the reach of the headlights and immediately behind them, darkness ruled. The science geeks in school would probably love the lack of light pollution. Perfect for stargazing, they’d say. Fine, if you didn’t mind a swarm of bugs eating you alive.
Rather than gaze up at the stars, Kevin imagined what would happen if his father’s old Bronco broke down out in the boonies, and what a massive pain in the ass it would be to walk home. Because he had no doubt cell reception would suck—if it existed at all out here. No chance of calling a tow truck to rescue them from bugs-burg.
Radio stations had become few and far between. As one faded, the next was slow to come into range. His father worked the radio dial, searching for anything that sounded better than an annoying jumble of static punctuated with snippets of news programs or blips of top-forty radio. But static ruled the night.
“I can’t get reception on this thing,” his father grumbled, “ever since the antenna was bent at the car wash.”
“Maybe there’s nothing out here,” Kevin said.
“Oh, there are plenty of signals, believe me,” his father said. “I should’ve made the car wash pay for a new antenna.”
“On this car?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s old, Dad.”
“Vintage.”
“Fancy word for old,” Kevin said. “You could buy a new radio.”
“How many times—?” his father began. “It’s not the radio. It’s the antenna.”
“Whatever.”
“Now that I think about it, maybe you’re right,” his father said. “Maybe I can get them to pay for a new radio. That’s what I should have done. But no, try to be the nice guy. Oh, no big deal, just an antenna. Don’t worry about it, Mr Carwash Owner.”
Kevin chuckled. “You called him that?”
His father frowned. “No, of course not. Don’t know the man’s name. I just—didn’t want to make a fuss.” Sighing, his father gave up searching for a station and turned the static down to a soft buzz, hoping something would resolve. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Great, Kevin thought. First the radio craps out. What next? Maybe it’s a warning, a bad omen or something, that the Bronco is about to throw a rod or explode or something. Weird how the darkness—the complete isolation—made him worry. He’d heard the expression of whistling when you walked past a graveyard, a way to avoid dwelling on unpleasant thoughts. And Kevin kept circling back to the idea of the Bronco dying and him becoming an unwilling blood donor to the airborne bug population of Illinois, so he was happy to talk about his favorite subject. College football. “Can you believe that game?”
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