I had never kept anything from Jon. Now, I found myself keeping more from him all the time. In truth, Jon and I shared little these days. I hardly spoke to Di anymore. I used the excuse of our busy schedules and her new relationship with Chris, but I knew better.
Jon, at least, sensed the distance. I wrestled with that, not just the angst of the Stitsill mystery and Rosie’s imminent death.
Maybe I should confide in Jack. Becoming a loner couldn’t be healthy. Tomorrow at work, I’d tell him what I’d been up to. He’d get me back on track. I could hear him already.
As I pulled into the driveway, the kids arrived. With the end of the school year, all of their extracurriculars were winding down. On this glorious eighty degree day, I slid out of the van, walked over to the water spigot, and turned on the sprinkler. The kids raced into the house to change into their bathing suits. Lizzie wore her favorite polka dot two–piece, Nick and Will in knee length neon trunks, and Annie and Marie in their itsy bitsy string bikinis that made them look far older than their thirteen years.
They behaved like toddlers, picking up the sprinkler and turning it on each other, screeching and squealing the entire time. I sat in my front porch rocker, beer in hand, taking stock as I watched them.
I had changed a lot over the past few months. Increasingly wrapped up in the other Stitsill family and less in my own, I now saw the left turn my life had taken. I cautioned myself to stop and circle back around, to refocus my energies on my real life. Jon didn’t even know I tutored Joey. As far as he knew, I worked after school with some nameless kid. The school year would end soon. I silently resolved to place all of my eggs back in the right basket. I would leave the Stitsill family alone, center on my own, and use the summer to get my act together. Enough of this.
As the kids wore themselves out and spread out their wide striped towels to sun their young bodies, I headed inside to start dinner. I cracked another Corona as I plucked a package of ground turkey from the freezer, threw some pasta water on to boil, and started to brown the meat. After I was organized, I strolled to the front door and made an announcement.
"Kids!" I yelled out the front door. "Twenty minutes! Then, come inside, change clothes, and help set the table."
"It’s Nick’s turn to set the table," Annie yelled. She always kept track.
They began to bicker. Nothing new there.
"Enough already. Pipe down or you’re all coming inside right now."
They undertook a temporary armistice. There is a God.
The phone rang as I turned into the front hall.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Hi, honey, it’s me," Jon said.
"Hey, babe, what’s up?" I answered, adding a cheerful tone to my question.
"Bad news. I have to leave town the end of next week." Jon sounded sad, but not as sad as I felt. All of a sudden, tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t speak.
"Sam, are you there?"
Jon knew what the silence meant. He knew he couldn’t fix it either. I needed to pull myself together and let him off the hook, but I couldn’t. I took a steadying breath.
"I’m here. I’m tired, Jon. Tired of working and being a single mom who has a husband. A husband who’s rarely here. I’m not sure where he is, but I do recall getting married eleven years ago, and I don’t remember a divorce, so there should be a husband somewhere. I can’t seem to get my head above water. I wake up every morning, climb out of bed, go to work, come home, take care of the kids, fix dinner, do homework, make sure they bathe, and handle all of their emotional upheavals. Then, I wake up and do it all over again. Oh yeah, I do the laundry and the grocery shopping, too."
"By the way," I continued in a non–stop rant, "the repair shop called and your mower is history." My tears choked me. I gulped a slug of beer, hoping it would calm me down.
"I’m sorry," Jon said.
"I know you are." Big Deal. "Are you coming home?" I couldn’t seem to locate my nice button.
"I should be there in about an hour. I’m just wrapping up things here." He sounded sheepish.
"Dinner will be ready," I said, voice sharp, and hung up the phone. I’d felt so peaceful out on the porch. Not fifteen minutes later, I felt like heaving my guts out. I needed some rest. Just three more days to go till the weekend. Then I’d feel better, I told myself.
Lizzie and the girls tumbled through the door, giggling and shrieking as Nick chased and slapped them with his wet towel.
"Get upstairs and change," I barked.
They knew that tone of voice. They quieted down, but stuck close.
"What’s the matter, Mom?" Lizzie asked, resting her head against my chest and wrapping her arms around me.
"I’m just tired, honey. Dad’s going to be late, so there is no big rush for dinner, but I need you guys to help out tonight. Marie, please make the salad. Nick, butter some bread and throw some garlic on top. Lizzie, set the table, put out the salt and pepper, and grate some parmesan cheese. Will and Annie, make sure the suits and towels are in the dryer, and that it’s turned on. Can everybody pitch in without a problem tonight?" I tried to smile, but my irritation with Jon and his endless absence shone like a lighthouse across a stormy sea.
"Sure, Mom," they answered in unison. They knew when to pull out all the stops and help their faltering mother. I sank into a chair, counted slowly to ten, and forced myself to draw in some extra oxygen.
An hour later, a pretty decent dinner sat on the table. Jon showed up with a bouquet of flowers and an expensive bottle from my favorite winery, a Cakebread Cellars Cabernet. A good bottle of wine can cure the worst of a wife’s ire. An intelligent man, that Jon.
Chapter Twenty–Two
AT 4:45 A.M. I slid out of bed without waking Jon. Even in the dim reflection of the night light, I could see that my attractiveness quotient had dwindled in the few hours I’d spent sleeping. The bags under my eyes cast a purple glow in the oval mirror above the sink. I brushed my teeth, threw on a sweatshirt over my pajama top, slipped on my flip flops, slung my backpack over my shoulders, and kissed Jon on the cheek as I headed out. I needed a morning swim more than ever today.
I’d decided to afford myself this small treat, swimming with my colleagues, since Jon was in town. We showed up in the school lot at 5:45 a.m. this morning, all still in our pj’s. No friendly banter, just grumbling and moaning as we approached the school’s entrance. I unlocked the door with my stolen master key, reset the antiquated building alarm, and we stumbled down the long, dark hall. Just the emergency lights illuminated our path. This allowed us to remain in our early morning stupor for a few minutes longer, before we took the plunge into the seventy degree water.
Chlorine had been my high of choice for years. Swimming created euphoria in me that I didn’t get from much else. All those studies about the effects of exercise and the releasing of endorphins proved true. I pulled on my lap suit, tugged my cap down over my ears, fit my goggles into place, and dove in. The steady freestyle soothed the tumult in my mind. I focused on my stroke, scraping the bowl as I lifted my elbow up and over in a fluid movement. My breathing became even and regular. A new woman after thirty minutes, a hot shower further soothed me as I chatted with my swim buddies.
"So, Stitsill, what are you up to this summer?" Cathy Hall, the counselor, asked.
"Not much. Just the same old. Going to play the role of a single mom and love it."
"I don’t know how you do it, Sam. Hell, when Pete’s gone just for a couple of days, I can hardly cope." She passed me the shampoo, and I scrubbed my head for a few extra minutes.
"It’s a lifestyle I thought I could handle. We developed a system that seemed to work for us, but lately I can’t seem to keep up my end."
"What do you mean?" She cocked her head and her expression invited me to pour out my soul to her.
"Let’s save that conversation for another day, and over a few beers. Good news is, my in–laws will take the kids to the cottage with them for a few weeks. Maybe then I’ll
have the chance to recharge." I rinsed the suds from my hair and wrapped a ratty beach towel around my dripping body. Anxious to get down the hall and speak to Jack before the kids arrived, I left her standing in the shower. I needed counseling, but not the kind Cathy could provide. I needed Jack.
I reached his room with time to spare and discovered him at his desk, stacking papers in prescribed piles. My predictable Jack. His solid, straight thinking would serve to be my cure.
"Hey, Stitsill, how’s it going?" He passed me a glance but stayed focused on his mission.
"Can we talk?" I swung my backpack off my shoulders and planted myself on the edge of his desk. He stopped his paper stacking to lean back in his desk chair. I thought about how cute he looked for a second, then I mentally slapped myself back to reality.
"What’s up?"
"Well, you know the Stitsill thing?" I recapped the letter, phone calls, and conference night. Jack nodded as I spoke, but he looked a little bored.
"I’m with you."
"I’ve also done a few other things that I’m not exactly proud of, but they seemed necessary." I paused. "You know, to the case."
"What the hell do you mean, ‘the case’?"
I had his attention now. "I’ve been doing a little detective work. I’ve seen the dead guy a few times outside the Stitsill house." I looked down. His silence conveyed his unhappiness.
"What dead guy? Shit, Sam, what are you into?" he demanded in a hushed voice. Then, he crossed the room and closed his classroom door.
"I went there after dark, once with Di and once by myself. That equals two sightings of a supposedly dead man, the one known as Jon Stitsill." I expected Jack to be furious with me.
"Are you sure it was him?" He shook his head. "You took Di with you? What are you, nuts?"
"Yes, but only once. Hell, I’m tutoring Joey now, and I haven’t said a word to her about this in weeks. She’s dating Chris, Maria’s brother, so she’s no longer involved. The thing is, I am involved, and I don’t seem to be able to turn it off."
"Have you talked to Jon about this?"
"No," I admitted.
"You and Jon talk about everything!"
"I’m not sure he’d understand." Then, I admitted, "Jon’s not around much."
"Yeah, but you guys are tight, right? You’ve always been tight, the model married couple. You can’t go changing that on me, Stitsill. I mean, you and Jon are the poster couple for the happily marrieds."
"No, no, it’s not like that. Jon and I are just having some trouble managing the amount of time he has to be away. We’ll figure it out. He’s going to be gone again before the end of the school year. It’s a pain in the ass, and I’m not dealing with it well. I can’t spring all of this on him right now, and I feel split down the middle. I should be focusing on work and home, but I can’t seem to turn off my inner detective."
"Sure you can. Stay home at night, for God’s sake. Concentrate on the last few weeks of school. Then, you can relax and enjoy the summer with your kids."
"I can’t, Jack." I paused, but just briefly. "I think this other Stitsill guy is killing Rosie. She told me that he tried to kill her once. He’s definitely not dead. What if he’s the reason she’s dying? And what about her kids? What if he goes after them?"
"Stitsill, call the cops. That’s the logical step right now. Stop this amateur spy bullshit and let them handle it. Stop now, tell Jon what’s going on, and let the authorities protect Mrs. Stitsill and her children. It’s the right thing to do."
"I can’t always do the right thing, Jack. You know me. This is my mystery to solve. If the cops get involved, they could totally screw it up. Hell, they didn’t even believe me when I told them about all the creepy shit going on with the passport and all of those international phone calls. You think they’re going to believe me when I tell them Stitsill is alive, and that I just happened to be sitting out front of his home when I witnessed his comings and goings?"
"Probably gonna think you’re crazy."
"And there’s something else," I said. "Rosie said that some attorney contacted her a while back and claimed to have witnessed her husband’s so–called suicide. Except it wasn’t a suicide. There was someone else there."
"Do you believe her?"
"I don’t have a reason not to, but then again, who knows?"
"So why didn’t the guy come forward sooner? And why didn’t he go to the cops then? It’s not like this happened yesterday. He’s waited eight years to come forward? Do you even know who he is?"
"No," I answered.
"Drop it, Sam," he ordered.
I agreed with Jack. The story was preposterous. Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing but trouble would come from this. Nothing.
"You need to get yourself out of this before bad shit starts to happen. What the hell? Do you want to get yourself killed?"
Jack looked at me like I had cracked. I began to think he might have a point. "Alright, alright."
"Tell you what," he said. "Let’s make a pact. You back off, but if something comes up that you can’t resist or means possible trouble, you’ll let me know so I can call the cops if you’re threatened or injured."
I slowly nodded. "It’s a deal. Thanks, Jack."
He was right. I should heed his advice. Maybe tomorrow.
Chapter Twenty–Three
I DIDN’T NEED much of an excuse to stop by Rosie’s house. With exams right around the corner, I decided to drop off an extra study guide for Joey. No one would be the wiser. Luckily, I found Rosie holding her own and at home rather than strapped to a hospital bed. Although she didn’t answer my knock on the door, she called for me to come inside. Her voice sounded strong and pleasant.
"Hi, Rosie," I said. "It’s Samantha Stitsill. Sorry to bother you, but I thought Joey could use this extra study guide for his Social Studies final."
"Come in, come in. How nice of you to bring it by. Joey went to Bradley’s house for a while after school so he won’t be right home today." Rosie smiled as she pulled herself upright on the family room sofa and clicked off the television.
"How are you feeling?" I handed her the study sheet, then sat on the edge of the wing chair adjacent to the couch. I squirmed a little, since I was in her home under false pretenses.
"Today is a good day," Rosie said. "I never have much energy, but as long as I don’t have pain, it’s a good day."
Rosie’s direct gaze convinced me that she’d become a straight shooter. Today, as she looked into my eyes, I saw honesty. No evasion. No pretense.
"Good, I’m glad. You’re entitled to some good days." I paused, mentally double–checked my approach, and then moved ahead. "Rosie, I know it’s probably none of my business, but I’ve been thinking a lot about our last conversation. After you talked about your husband and his attempt to poison you, I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s a chance he’s poisoning you now. Could he have caused your cancer? I know it’s unlikely, but…"
I found myself leaning forward, wanting to reach out to her.
"I’ve asked myself the same question," she admitted. "I’m not 100% certain he’s dead. He’s been gone for a long time, so there are long periods when I feel safe, but I’m not even forty years old and I’m dying. There’s no history of cancer in my family, so if Jon is still alive, he may still want me out of the picture. But, why?"
As we looked at each other, it was apparent she had faced the fact that her fate was sealed.
"Shall we problem–solve a little?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"If he’s alive, could he be poisoning you? Since the boys are well, he would have to be doing something that specifically targets you."
She shook her head. "The boys and I do everything together, especially since my diagnosis. When I’m not at the hospital, I’m at home."
"Let’s think back in time. Once you became ill and were diagnosed, he wouldn’t need to be around, would he?"
"If he’s alive, do you think he knows that I’m sick
?"
"Good question," I said. "Have you ever thought you’ve seen him? I know that after I lost someone close, I’d occasionally spot someone who looked like them, or just catch a glimpse and be reminded of them. Have you ever had that happen?"
"I’ve been looking over my shoulder for a long time, but I’ve never specifically felt his presence or seen any signs of him."
"What about the garage door that leads outside? Is it locked at night?"
"What makes you ask that?"
Double–clutch. I didn’t want Rosie to know what I knew about Jon. Think fast.
"This is a puzzle, Rosie, and it’s got a million pieces."
"I know you must think I am an idiot, marrying such an awful man and then not taking my boys and running when he tried to hurt us." Tears brimmed in her eyes.
"Rosie, I would never judge you. You did the best you could under the circumstances. Fortunately, the boys are alright."
She nodded. "I blame myself. Now, my boys will have no mother or father. I won’t ever get well." She began to sob.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her tiny frame. "You’ve been a great mother. The boys are amazing. You formed their core. They have a solid foundation. They’ll miss you and yes, they’ll struggle, but they will be okay. In my heart of hearts, I know that."
She gazed at me through tear–filled eyes. "Would you keep an eye on them?"
"Of course, I will." My words seemed to soothe her, and her sobs eased.
"You asked me about the garage door that goes to the outside. I don’t keep it locked. I leave it open for the boys so they can get into the garage if they come home in bad weather. I don’t want them standing outside."
"Could someone get into the garage without you knowing about it?"
"Of course," Rosie said.
Weighing the knowledge that Rosie’s dead husband still lived and the fact that she would soon be dead, I decided not to tell her that I’d seen him lurking around her place. What purpose would it serve?
Identity Issues (The Samantha Series) Page 12
