Uncharted Fate

by Racette, Cynthia

  The face of the newsman came into focus and she stared at him without really seeing him. Then slowly, the words he was speaking began to sink in, and on the screen, there flashed a picture of Mike. Next came a picture of Mike’s car. She'd never seen it.

  Feeling as if someone punched her in the stomach, she stared at it, horrified, mangled and snow-covered on the side of the road. She caught the words of the newsman.

  “. . . was indicted by a Grand Jury today for a number of felonies as a result of an accident that claimed the life of Lockheed Martin design engineer Michael Lamoreaux. Smith was charged with robbery, assault, and manslaughter after he was apprehended and arrested yesterday by city detective Jeffrey Thomas as a result of a robbery and assault in a convenience store followed by a high speed chase which ended in the death of Lamoreaux. A trial date will be set for January of next year . . .”

  Anna jammed her thumb on the control unit, missing the button in her distress as the screen showed a film of Smith being led out of the courtroom by police. She jammed it again and again until the set finally blinked off. Then she rolled over and cried herself to sleep.

  When the alarm woke her up the next morning, Anna moaned and stumbled out of bed, still dressed in Mike’s bathrobe. Last night she’d sunk into an exhausted, restless sleep. Her dreams had been twisted and tormented with images of Mike and the tangled wreckage she’d seen on the news. It left her nearly as tired this morning as she'd been the night before.

  Getting Mallory and Brian off to school was a hassle. Mallory dressed in a brazen manner, her day-glo ‘OZZIE’ tee shirt and decrepit jeans an outfit Anna had forbidden her to wear to school. There wasn’t time to make her go change. Brian silently nibbled his way through a piece of dry toast, without bothering to put peanut butter on it as he usually did.

  Anna breathed a sigh of relief when Brian headed out to the corner to wait for the school bus. She made a pot of coffee and poured it into the red mug decorated with white hearts that she’d given Mike two years ago. For a long time, she sat at the table and sipped her coffee, trying not to think about the mug. It didn’t work because she couldn’t bear not thinking about it. It only took a glance at the coffee cup to remember the day she’d given it to him.

  “It’s Valentine’s Day," he'd said. Reaching into his pants pocket he'd pulled out a small box, wrapped in silver paper with a blue bow on top.

  “Oh,” she had grinned, “looks wicked. You open your present first.”

  He tore the red paper off and opened the box, pulling out the red mug. “Hearts? I love it. Honey, I don’t care if I ruin my macho reputation. I’m taking it into work, anyway. It’ll remind me of you while I’m there.” He’d kissed her again. “Thanks. Now open yours.”

  He smiled when her eyes lit up as she opened the box and saw a cultured pearl pendant and matching pearl stud earrings. The delicate gold of the chain glistened on its velvet bed as it caught the light.

  She had stared at him in amazement. “Michael. You’ve never given me anything like this before on Valentine’s Day. This . . . is beautiful. Oh, Mike.”

  She ran around the chair and threw her arms around his neck, a surge of love and joy sweeping through her. They had kissed, long and tender, and she leaned back for a brief, shining glance at his loving face. “Oh, I love you.”

  “If I’d known I was going to get this kind of reaction, I’d have given you jewelry sooner.” This time when he’d kissed her, the tenderness turned to passion, and they stood, swaying, in the middle of the kitchen floor.

  Big, slow tears coursed down Anna’s cheeks as she remembered how wonderful the morning had been—a magic time stolen out of the humdrum routine of everyday life. She ran her forefinger around the rim of the shiny red mug. Most of Mike's things that had been delivered to her by a colleague from his office were pedestrian and thrown out right away, but a few, like this mug, she had kept and would cherish.

  A sharp knock on the back door startled her. Shuddering, Anna pulled herself out of the past and into the present. She pulled Mike’s handkerchief out of the pocket to blow her nose as she rose and went to the door.

  Rose, her next door neighbor, stood there. She hesitated, fingering the handle of her purse. “Do you want me to come back later, Anna?”

  “No, please. Come in. I need some company.” Anna noticed Rose’s light blue wool suit with its matching hat covering her gray hair. “You look as if you’re on your way somewhere. I don’t want to hold you up.” She blew her nose again and stepped back to let Rose in. “Forgive me, I must look awful.”

  “I’m meeting Harry for lunch later. I have plenty of time to chat.” Rose patted her hand to reassure her. “You’re going through a rough time. No one expects you to look like a fashion model.”

  “No, a human being would be nice, though.”

  Rose frowned. “Are you holding up okay?”

  Anna shook her head wearily. “Barely. It’s really hard. This hit me like a Mack truck. I wasn’t prepared for it.”

  Rose gave Anna’s hand a squeeze. “No one ever is. We always think these things happen to other people, not to us.” She stood and moved to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee and refill Anna’s mug. “How are the kids doing?”

  Anna raised her eyes skyward in distress. “They could be better. It seems as if we’re all reacting differently and each of us is rubbing the other the wrong way. Brian walks around the house like a zombie, and Mallory is like a wild child. There was a blow-up this morning because she didn’t like seeing me in this.” She flipped the collar of the robe with her thumb.

  She looked at Rose, a worried expression wrinkling her brow. “Do you think I’m off the wall doing these things—for wearing his bathrobe and using his cup?”

  “Of course not. I’d probably do the same thing. In fact, I always wear Harry’s bathrobe when he’s away on a business trip. It makes me feel closer to him.”

  Anna unclenched her fingers from the mug and relaxed. “I’m glad you told me. It makes me feel better.”

  “Just remember, these things are crutches. If they’ll help you cope with your grief during these difficult days, use them.” Rose’s worried eyes pleaded with Anna. “But listen, Anna, don’t let something like this get out of hand. Crutches are okay when you absolutely need them, but they can become a handicap if you use them too long. It would really be tragic if you were still wearing his bathrobe six months from now. If these things upset Mallory, though, it might be best to wait until she’s in bed or at school.”

  Anna nodded. “Oh, I know. I won’t let it happen again.” She looked around at her ultramodern kitchen. “You know it’s funny. Everything is kind of weird. On one hand, I derive comfort from surrounding myself with his things, and on the other hand, some familiar objects are so painful I almost can’t stand them.”

  Anna’s eyes closed and her hands started to shake as they clutched the mug. “I saw on the news last night about how the man who caused Mike’s accident has been indicted for vehicular manslaughter. I hate him. I hate him for what he’s done to us. He took my husband away from me and he took my children’s father away from them.” She stared vacantly. “I wonder if he knows, really knows, what he’s done.”

  “I think he knows.” Rose tapped her fingers. “The paper said he’s been overcome by guilt. Apparently, the robbery went way wrong when the clerk tried to rush him, so he hit the guy to lay him out so he could take the money. That's when Mike came in. The robber just panicked completely. He'd been out of work for two years or something and he needed money for food. He intended to take mainly food but your husband fled and he didn't have a chance to grab anything. Not even the money.”

  “He should be overcome with guilt. I’m sorry, that doesn’t sound charitable. I’m not feeling very charitable these days.”

  Rose looked at Anna, obviously trying to
decide whether to tell her another bit of news. Finally, she nodded her head. “The police determined that the man was at Mike’s funeral, Anna.”

  “He was? I don’t believe it. What gall. I didn’t see him there.” She dropped her forehead into her palm.

  “You weren’t looking for him. And he kept out of the way. But the police attend the funerals of victims in case the perpetrator is there, and he often is, out of a sense of guilt or bravado. That’s why I came over. I was afraid if you saw it in the paper, or if someone told you in a less-than-kind way, it would upset you.”

  Anna rubbed her temples. “We don’t get the morning paper anymore. I saw him on the news last night.”

  They sat for a few minutes, sipping coffee, not saying anything. Then Anna leapt to her feet and put her cup in the sink. “I’m going to take a shower and get dressed. I have to go to the grocery store. We’re out of milk and eggs and stuff.”

  Rose stood, too. “I could go for you, if you want me to.”

  “Thanks, I’ll go. I’ve got to get out of this house. Plus, I think I'll stop at the police station and see if I can talk to the detective about how they caught the man and what's going to happen next.”

  After dressing in something attractive because she was sick of sitting around in jammies, Anna went to the station and asked for Detective Thomas. The desk clerk directed her to an office in the back corner of the first floor. She knocked on the open door and he looked up.

  "Mrs. Lamoreaux. Come in. Have a seat. What can I do for you today?"

  She sat in a plastic chair in front of his desk and fidgeted nervously for a moment. "I—ah, saw on the news last night that you caught they guy that killed Mike. It kind of threw me."

  "Damn. I was afraid you'd hear that way. I'd have been there last night to tell you what happened but I got called out on a case and couldn't go. Then, I was going to take a long lunch and stop by to make sure you were okay."

  "I don't think I am, really. I've had a hard time holding back tears since I saw the news. It was pretty awful."

  He got up and came around the desk to her, taking her hand. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I should have been."

  His hand felt warm and solid but it also made her feel guilty to accept his comfort. She pulled hers away. "Please. Just tell me what happened."

  He did, in gentle tones, but she wanted more.

  "Do you have a picture of him? I want to see what he looks like."

  "You didn't see him on the news last night."

  "No, I turned it off."

  "I'm not so sure it's a good idea for you to see him. It might prove to be very traumatic."

  "I have to see him, Detective. It'll help give me closure. I know it'll be painful, but in the long run . . ."

  He gave her a long look before pulling the man's mug shot from a folder on his desk.

  Anna stared at the man, and could see he looked thin and gaunt. He had long scraggly hair and glasses held together by masking tape across the top. She guessed he was about forty years old.

  She didn't even notice that her breathing was getting fast and frantic, but Detective Thomas apparently did.

  He gently pulled the photo out of her nerveless fingers and she didn't realize at first he’d taken it. Tears coursed down her cheeks and she leapt out of her chair, throwing a glance back at Thomas, who was sitting with his elbows on his desk and his eyes looking sad.

  "I'm sorry. I have to go. Thanks . . ." And she flew out of his office and ran to her car, collapsing in a puddle in the front seat, sobbing with great wrenching sounds as her head rested on the steering wheel.

  The passenger door opened and Detective Thomas slid in. His strong arms pulled her over the console, onto his lap, and he sat with his arms around her as she cried her eyes out on the front of his dress shirt.

  Neither of them said a word.

  Chapter 3

  Thanksgiving had been depressing and dismal. At first, Anna attempted to make the holiday without Mike as normal as possible. However, nothing went right. She prepared a turkey dinner as usual but the bird overcooked because she forgot to put the dressing in and the meat had fallen off the bone. It did taste good but no one had an appetite for dinner without Mike.

  Because of the debacle that was Thanksgiving, Anna gave up and called her mother to ask if they could all come there for Christmas. Her mother was thrilled. She often got a little lonely at Christmas since Anna’s father suffered a heart attack five years earlier.

  Despite not being home for Christmas Eve through Boxing Day, Anna decided they should at least decorate. She'd bought a tree, something Mike always did, and the kids helped her put it up the week before Christmas. It’d taken her over an hour to get the trunk straight by adjusting the screws in the tree holder. Everyone went through the motions of decorating it and they tried to get into the spirit, but no one seemed to be able to, despite the Christmas carols she’d insisted on putting on the stereo.

  Then they’d awoken the next morning to find the tree sprawled across the peacock-blue carpet, with the tinsel, lights, and ornaments in a tangled heap beneath it. Anna had sat, crossed-legged in the middle of the floor, sobbing over the fragments of a tiny glass ball she and Mike bought for their first Christmas tree fifteen years ago. She and the children managed to re-stand the tree and tighten the screws again. But, after the fall, no matter how much she fussed with the tree, it looked as if it’d been caught in guerilla cross-fire.

  She’d also cried over returning the beautiful powder-blue cashmere sweater she’d bought for Mike in early November. If she hadn’t needed the money that badly, she could never have made herself return it. Dreadfully short of cash, she had no choice.

  The day before Christmas, Anna gave up trying to maintain the façade of a happy family holiday, and took the children cross-town to stay with her mom. Things improved some after that. At least around her mother’s house there were not as many memories of Mike and of Christmases with him.

  Her mother had only partially decorated her tree and she asked the kids to help her finish. Anna groaned, remembering their dismal attempt with their own tree, and how sad it had made each of them feel.

  She sat Mallory and Brian down on the couch and gave them a humongous bowl of popcorn to string. They’d often done this when they were little. Mallory's eyes sought hers with desperation and, while Anna understood how her daughter felt, she couldn't do much without hurting her own mother's feelings. She gave Mallory a small shrug and shook her head.

  Her mother brought them needles already fitted with long pieces of thread. Brian and Mallory gamely started to thread popcorn and Anna got her own smaller bowl and needle to help out. From the kitchen, they could smell mincemeat and apple pies her mother was finishing.

  For a while they all strung popcorn, creating longer and longer strings. The kids even started to talk a little. Anna ignored the occasional kernel of popcorn Mallory flicked at Brian because he flung them back at her just as often. At least they were acting like siblings.

  Brian had about six feet strung and Mallory eight, when she flung a handful of popcorn right in his face. She laughed but he yelled, brushing popcorn off his shirt. The handful he threw at her wasn't as effective as hers because he had smaller hands. So he grabbed two handfuls and hurled them at his sister. Popcorn flew everywhere.

  Mallory squealed and tossed more at him, scooping it up from the bowl as if it was water to splash him with.

  "Hey!" he yelled, and tried to stuff kernels into her mouth.

  "You little scuzzball! Stop that." She grabbed his waist and pulled him to the floor and kept shoving popcorn everywhere she could find—his mouth, under his shirt, down his pants.

  "Stop that. Cut it out. Mo-om!" They rolled around on the floor wrestling and screaming and laughing, popcorn flying everywhere.

 
Anna was laughing as hard as they were but decided it was time to intercede before they ruined her mother's carpet completely. "Hey, you two. Up." She grabbed them by their shirts to pull them apart, but was laughing too hard to accomplish much.

  Her two hooligans, instinctively smelling weakness like a wild dog searching for the runt of a litter of rabbits, looked at each other and attacked her as one unit. Knowing how ticklish she was, they went right for her most vulnerable area. Anna let out a loud yelp when Mallory got hold of her foot, took off her sneaker and held it steady while Brian tickled her sole.

  One loud screech brought out her mother, who stood gaping at the slaughter before her. She calmly watched Anna get massacred, shrugged, and went back into the kitchen without glancing once at the mess on her expensive carpet. "We still keep the vacuum in the front closet," she called over her shoulder, wiping flour on her apron.

  After the children realized Anna could barely breathe, they let up on her and, unsteady, she stood. Her knees were wobbly and her breath came hard. Mallory and Brian sat cross-legged, both proud of their conquest. They gave each other a high five as Anna sank into the nearest chair.

  Then they looked at the carnage of their popcorn battle—kernels everywhere, especially ground into the rug. Their grandmother's favorite white afghan lay on the floor, also covered with popcorn. Books and magazines from under the table beside the couch were strewn with abandon amongst the rest of the mess.

  "You heard your grandmother. The vacuum is in the closet. I'll straighten everything else up and you two vacuum up all that popcorn," Anna instructed.

  With an obedience she hadn't seen in years, they cleaned up everything and even got on their hands and knees to pick out small kernels that didn't vacuum up from the carpet. They went to their rooms to give Anna and her mother some peace and quiet and time to prepare the traditional Christmas Eve dinner.