Identity Issues (The Samantha Series)

by Whitsitt, Claudia

  At the Sign of Peace, both men turned around to shake my hand. They definitely did not belong in this crowd. They were better suited for a scene from the Godfather. I checked out their coats. Bulges in each jacket. One on the side, one in the back. My stomach flipped.

  The priest concluded the Mass and nodded to the funeral director, who provided the schedule—the vehicle procession to the cemetery, the interment, and a luncheon reception.

  Joey and Emilio led the procession. Grandma followed. The casket came next, then the priest. I pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the tears that spilled onto my cheeks. I hated this. Shit. What a waste of a life.

  I followed the assembly, noticing McGrath near the rear of the church. I nodded in his direction. He passed me a faint grin.

  I fastened my seatbelt and took a sip from the bottled water on my passenger seat. Horrified, I rolled down the window and spat. Water. The thing that had started this mess. I couldn’t drink another drop. What if this didn’t end with Rosie’s death?

  Chapter Thirty–Two

  NUMB WITH GRIEF, I fell into bed early. I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of the sump pump alarm shrieking and droning. I loathed that sound. Rain pounded against the rooftop and windows, competing with the blaring alarm. All I could envision was a flooded basement.

  "Damn it." I swung my legs over the side of the bed, slid my feet into my slippers, and plodded downstairs. I gripped the rail, cursing the whole way. I didn’t go into the sump room. In fact, rule number one at our house is, ‘Mom doesn’t do the sump room’.

  Pitch black darkness always cloaked the sump room. I shivered just thinking about it. Mice lived in there, too. Some dead and some alive. Spiders and their intricate cobwebs maintained permanent homes there, and it reeked of mustiness and mold. I don’t do sump rooms. I didn’t like any of this. Not at all. I hadn’t even had my coffee yet.

  Digging in the back hall bench, I located a pair of earmuffs and pulled them down over my ears. The now muffled alarm helped me to think more clearly. Next, I grabbed a pair of jeans from the laundry room and tugged those on, tucking in my nightgown. Nice look, I thought. I went into the kitchen, fumbled around, and started the coffee–maker. This mission called for reinforcements and caffeine.

  While the coffee brewed, I located Jon’s phone number in Japan. He could tell me which wire to remove in order to stop the dreadful wail of the alarm. I removed the earmuffs, stepped into the garage with my coffee, dialed an endless stream of numbers, and finally heard an Asian voice.

  "Yes, hello," I said, feeling all hope drain out of me. I sipped my coffee, and continued slowly, "I’m trying to locate my husband. Jon Stitsill. S–t–i–t–s–i–l–l." No answer. "Hello?" I repeated.

  "Mushi mushi," said the voice on the other side of the globe.

  Now we’re getting somewhere. I knew that meant ‘hello’.

  "Konbanwa. I would like to speak to Jon Stitsill. He is a guest staying at your hotel. Jon Stitsill," I said again.

  "Hai," came the answer. Then, the disconnected buzz.

  I felt the blood rise to my cheeks. I took another gulp of coffee and punched in the damn numbers yet again. New approach.

  "Mushi mushi," I began. "Do you speak English?"

  "Hai," the gentleman responded.

  "Jon Stitsill. I need to speak with Jon Stitsill." I pleaded.

  "Hai," the response came again.

  I sensed that I was being put on hold. I waited with as much patience as I could muster. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard an English speaker say, "Hello, may I help you?"

  An English speaking voice. I breathed a sigh.

  "Yes, hello. Thank you. I need to speak with my husband, please. Jon Stitsill." I spelled it again.

  "I’ll connect you," the voice answered.

  I relaxed and took another swallow of coffee.

  "Hello?" a groggy female voice answered in English.

  "Yes, hello," I said, a bit startled. "I’m trying to reach Jon Stitsill. Is he there?"

  "No, I’m sorry, he isn’t. He’s still at the plant," she said.

  "Okay, thank you," I said and hung up. There is such a thing as auto–pilot. I was on it.

  I stumbled inside, set my coffee mug onto the table and sat down hard. I gripped the table with both hands to steady myself. I had just reached Jon’s room in Japan. A woman had answered and told me that Jon was still at the factory. I knew two things. One, I’d reached the right room. Two, a groggy sounding woman had answered Jon’s phone. From the sound of her voice, I could only assume she’d been asleep, and that I’d awakened her. The room spun. I couldn’t focus. I lowered my head to the table and took several deep breaths. Outside, thunder crashed and lightning flashed. Inside my head, too.

  I still needed to turn off the damned alarms. All of them.

  Not possible. I returned to the garage where I dialed the number again. This time, when I finally reached the room, the woman answered again.

  "Who are you?" I asked.

  She slammed down the phone.

  I walked inside and turned my attention back to the demanding sump alarm, took a final gulp of coffee, pulled on the earmuffs, and plodded down the stairs, flashlight in hand. I descended slowly. When I hit the bottom step, I heaved a sigh, turned the corner, and put my hand on the knob. As I turned it, I steeled myself against the heightened sound about to slam into me.

  Please God, don’t let mice skitter across my feet. Please let no cobweb skim my face. Let me discover the light string without delay. Then help me to understand how to turn off the blasted alarm. And then, please give me the strength to face the day ahead.

  I opened the door, shone the beam toward the ceiling, and located the light string. When I pulled it, the light came on. My eyes darted around the floor for the hole. Cover, thank you very much. Several boxes sat next to it. I assumed these boxes held the alarms.

  I started punching buttons. My button pushing accomplished nothing. The alarm’s piercing wail continued. It pissed me off. Damn you, Jon. Where the hell are you when I need you? Where else? Out of town. With a woman. God damn you, Jon.

  The button routine failed, so I started pulling wires. After all, the basement was still dry. I pulled the green wire, then the blue one, and then the red one. Nothing worked. I turned to the next box. I yanked out wire after wire. Nada.

  I repositioned, squatted, and turned myself headlong into a cobweb. A long sticky string clung to my cheek. I yelped and grabbed for it. I couldn’t get a hold of it. It stuck to the fuzzy earmuffs, so I tore them off. The alarm’s shrieking continued. I jerked the blue wire from the third alarm.

  Blessed silence. I’d done it.

  I jerked off the light and scrambled out of the little room as fast as I could, tightly shutting the door behind me. I fumbled in the dark. Something blocked my path to the stairs. I couldn’t move. I reached down and encountered fur. Rich golden retriever fur.

  "Thanks a lot, Rex," I said. "Good timing. C’mon, boy. Upstairs."

  Rex and I climbed the stairs. Such a gentleman, he allowed me to go first. I let him outside. I turned away from the door, aware that I gripped the door frame and the wall to steady myself. I eased over to the coffee, poured another cup, and sank down into a chair at the kitchen table. I had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Thirty–Three

  I LET REX in and dried his paws. Sump crisis averted, I curled up on the couch, listened to the rhythm of the rain, and clutched my coffee cup. Rex, as if sensing my melancholy mood, climbed up next to me and put his head in my lap. Rex wasn’t allowed on the furniture. Today, I didn’t care.

  "What’re we gonna do, old boy? It’s too nasty to go for a run. I’ve had too much coffee to sleep. I don’t want to think about the fact that there’s a woman in your dad’s bed. What are our other options?"

  Rex’s big brown eyes looked up at me. Sad. Like he understood the weight of my words. Heavy words. Dad overseas with someone else. I tried logical thinking. Maybe
the maid just happened to be English speaking. Maybe she had a cold and that’s why she’d sounded groggy. There were all kinds of reasonable explanations. One of which being that Jon had a woman. Another one besides me.

  I exhaled. The balloon I normally kept airborne, suddenly deflated. Sure, I’d batted at it now and then to keep it afloat, but I did that mindlessly. Now, though, the air slowly, ever so slowly, whispered out.

  My life instantly altered. I had a husband, five kids, a dog. A family. Alone for the first time in years, I also had wolves at my door. Not just a wolf. Wolves. They were all dressed up like Jon Stitsill.

  Life was hard. I knew that. Expected it. I realized it turned tough when you least expected. I had a new albatross to deal with. Maybe I hadn’t loved Jon well enough. Maybe he was lonely, too.

  I stroked Rex’s head. No matter what, I had Rex. Reality interrupted when the phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Hey, Stitsill, what’s up? Were you asleep?" Jack asked.

  "No, I’ve been up for a while. Why?"

  "You sound like shit. Are you sure you’re awake?" he asked again.

  "I’m awake. I’ve had a rough morning. I had to go into the basement and disconnect the sump alarm."

  "You don’t like the basement, do you?" Jack laughed. "You alright? You survived, you know, if you’re talking to me. How’d you figure it out?"

  "One of the wires I ripped out of the system made the sound stop, so I turned out the light and closed the door. I’m not going back down there. Ever."

  "You crack me up. You can do the toughest job in the world, raise five kids, swim for miles, but you can’t go into your stupid basement and take care of business."

  "Hey, who the hell do you think you’re talking to? It’s done. No more alarm going off," I grouched.

  "Boy, you are in a bad mood. That’s not like you. This basement thing really is an issue for you."

  "Yeah, so don’t bug me about it."

  "So, whachya got goin’ on today?"

  "I’m gonna try to sort out why a woman answered Jon’s phone in his hotel room in Japan."

  Awkward silence.

  "Look, it must have been some kind of mistake. Jon’s crazy about you. It was probably housekeeping," Jack consoled.

  "Trust me. I want to believe you, but somehow I don’t." I stood, shuffled to the sink, and rinsed out my mug.

  "Believe me," Jack said.

  I knew Jack didn’t do well with sad women. Di had cried on his shoulder when she went through her divorce. It had freaked him out.

  "I need a cigarette," I said suddenly.

  "You don’t smoke."

  "I know. But if I did, a cigarette would be good right now. You know me, Jack. I only like stuff I can do something about. I can’t check out what’s really going on with Jon from this side of the planet."

  Jack ordered, "Go for a run. You’ll feel better."

  "Good idea. Talk to you later."

  "Yeah, later."

  I donned my running gear, laced up my shoes, and snapped the leash on Rex. Once we headed out the side door, I broke into a jog, Rex following with joy. I wished I was a dog. Rex was happy all the time. His life was simple. We ran for five miles before it occurred to me that Rex could use some water. I found a large puddle and led him to it.

  "Here you go, boy."

  Rex lapped up a long drink, and then we headed for home. The air smelled fresh, and sunshine polished the sidewalk. With Rex by my side, I decided I could face anything. I wasn’t alone in the world. I had my puppy, and I had to keep it together for my kids.

  After we rounded the corner into the backyard, I gave him another drink, from the hose this time. Once inside, I called Di.

  "Hey, it’s Sam."

  "How are you?"

  "Out of sorts."

  "Then we should do something. How about canoeing? There’s a livery down by the Lexington Bridge on the other side of Worthington," Di suggested.

  "I can be there in about an hour."

  "We have a plan," Di said.

  "See you there."

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Surprisingly, Di and I climbed into our rental canoe without tipping it. The river, swollen from all the rain, contained a fair amount of debris, but the ride was mostly smooth as Di and I established an easy rhythm.

  "That’s so sad about Rosie, isn’t it?" Di asked. "I couldn’t bring myself to go to the funeral. Did you go?"

  "Yes. But I’m taking a break from all things depressing today. Alright with you?"

  Di nodded.

  "So," I said, "tell me. How are things going with Chris?"

  She got this grin on her face. A dreamy grin. The grin that made me remember how I must have looked when I’d fallen in love with Jon. The grin of possibility. Somehow, it seemed sweeter the second time around. Partly because I hadn’t expected it to ever happen, and because Jon seemed so much better than my first mistake. I longed to feel that way again. The way that Di felt. Could I? With Jon? With McGrath?

  "You’re in love with him, aren’t you?" I asked before she could speak, and before I dealt with my own private thoughts.

  She nodded. "How did you know?"

  "It’s written all over your face. You’re radiant."

  "Really?" she asked.

  "Really."

  "I feel so lucky. Here I thought it would never happen for me. And now look at me. More in love than ever before."

  "Funny how that works, isn’t it? You were in the depths of despair not long ago, and now you’re on top of the world."

  "You told me it would happen. I didn’t believe you, but here I am. In love. Happy. With a future." She beamed.

  "I’m so happy for you. You deserve it, Di," I said. "Do I hear wedding bells?"

  Without any warning, the canoe jerked sideways. Di lost her paddle and then her balance. I followed a second later. The canoe flipped over, spilling us into the current. Gurgling and laughing, we both bobbed up like corks.

  "That’s enough! No more being in love!" I yelled as I grabbed my oar and then reached out to hook an arm over the side of the canoe, which had mysteriously righted itself.

  Di reclaimed her oar. Together, we pushed the canoe over to the riverbank.

  "Thank God no one can see us," she hollered.

  "I just love the scummy feel of my hair."

  Di snickered again. I knew I looked like a drowned rat. She did, too.

  We dragged ourselves and the canoe onto the bank and collapsed, still howling with laughter.

  "Good thing we’re such hot chicks. Even at our worst, we look good," Di said.

  I glanced at her, noting the muddy water that oozed from her clothes and hair. "Yeah, Di, you look so hot."

  "You ladies alright?" a male voice called out.

  I looked up. He stood at a railing about twenty feet from the bank where we sat. I turned, shielding my eyes from the sun. His voice sounded oddly familiar.

  "We’re fine," I said. "Just a minor calamity."

  "Yes, we’re fine," Di verified.

  "Need any help?" he asked.

  He started down the deck steps, heading our way. His stride set off an alarm bell in my head. Please God, no.

  I moaned.

  Di glanced at me. "What’s wrong?"

  "Nothing," I whispered. "Not a damn thing."

  A few moments later, I looked up into the eyes of Jim McGrath, his dimple–bracketed mouth smiling down at me.

  "Let me help you." He extended his hand to me.

  I took it.

  Di and I trudged up the riverbank behind McGrath, who’d offered us towels and a ride back to our cars. After we dried off on his deck, Di asked to use his facilities to freshen up. This gave McGrath and me a few moments alone. I could barely look at him. First, I was embarrassed at the state of my appearance, wet t–shirt adorned with a mucky lanyard and my keys, mousy hair plastered to my now itching scalp, and second, my attraction for him took the form of a goofy grin that I didn’t want Di to ‘get a fe
eling’ about. Thank God she’d gone inside.

  He smiled at me and I melted. Damn it.

  "Can you stop by later?" he asked as he draped our wet towels over the deck railing.

  I’m sure the look of shock on my face flashed like a neon sign. "Stop by?"

  "I’ve been looking over some notes on the Stitsill case. I’d like to talk to you about them. If we do it here, as opposed to the coffee shop, we won’t have to worry about anyone overhearing our conversation. We can speak freely." His dimples deepened every time he smiled. His crisp white dress shirt strained over his pecs. And I was way more than a little pissed at Jon. A very dangerous combination. Whistles. Train coming. Get off the track, Samantha.

  "If you think I can be of some help." Lame. Did I really just say that?

  "Say around six?" He smiled again.

  I nodded quick agreement as I heard Di push open the screen door.

  Chapter Thirty–Four

  MCGRATH RETRIEVED THE canoe, strapped it on top of his Jeep with some bungee cords, and delivered Di and I back to the livery. We thanked him before saying goodbye and somehow I accomplished avoiding any conversation about his rugged good looks with Di. Thank the good Lord, she was so enamored with Chris, she probably hadn’t even noticed.

  I showered, dressed, and then drove back to his place after running several errands later that afternoon.

  McGrath held my attention in many ways. I longed for a break in the Stitsill mess, and I was not unhappy to spend more time with him.

  I pulled into his drive and parked in front of his unattached garage. I took a few moments to give his house the once over. It was an older home, built in the fifties. A quaint little bungalow with clapboard siding, towering pine trees dwarfed its frame against the backdrop of the river rippling over the rocks. Well kept, but a man’s place. Lawn cut, shrubs trimmed, and a few carefully placed boulders adorned the outdoors. Nothing signifying a woman’s touch.

  I made my way to the front door, rang the bell, and tried to appear calm as I waited for McGrath to answer. I wore flip–flops, a pair of jeans, a scoop neck tee, and a narrow belt. My hair, pulled back into a ponytail, had a lot of sheen but not much else.