by Mary Deal
“Then the medication's doing its job.” She stared at the monitor for a while. “You rest easy. Would you like some juice?”
Abi nodded and the nurse left. “What time is it? How long—”
Joe glanced at his watch. “Nearly six in the morning.” He yawned and stretched like his joints ached.
“The morning?” She changed her position and struggled to sit up without getting tangled in all the lines monitoring her vitals. “What did I do last night?”
“According to the doc, they were able to avert a heart attack.” Joe pressed the control button to raise the head of her bed.
She gingerly poked her chest. No incision, nothing that serious. “How?”
“Medication. Massive doses.” They had knocked her out for nearly twelve hours. He sat on the edge of the bed. “You're running yourself down, Abi.”
“I'll be okay.” Yet, she wondered how serious this episode had been.
“You have to slow down. Your doctor said you have vasospastic angina.” He plumped her pillow and stuck another behind her. “Episodes like this can happen at any time and any one of them can be fatal.”
“I-I know that.” Now that Joe had spent the night at her side, she was sure the doctor filled him in on her condition, something she never fully disclosed.
“You're going to have to let Emery and me and the police do what's left to be done.”
“Me? Sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring with periodic reports. Me? Sit back and wait? I won't.”
“You're exhausted, Abi. You need to conserve your strength for when Becky comes home.”
She would conserve her strength. She would try not to worry. She would get more rest, but she would not lie in a bed anywhere and wait.
Spring turned to summer. All the while, Abi read court documents from Becky's trial to learn anything she might. Joe stayed busy managing Margaret's trips to her psychiatrist and other whims. Seaport joyously celebrated the Summer Solstice while the day seemed as arduous as any other to her.
Margaret's memory was improving. At times, she could actually be nice and spent many hours on the patio with them. Several times, they enjoyed meals together, although the mood was strained because Margaret's intolerance for the heat always made her insist they eat indoors. She tried not to let the sun hit her face so that the skin bleaching creams could turn her tanned face back to peachy white. Actually, nothing could help Margaret's ruined facial skin.
Thinking that Margaret's long-diminished beauty would discourage any rekindled feelings in Joe was the only way Abi was able to let go of her fears of Margaret getting her hooks into him again. That worry, above all else, may have been what drove her to the brink of a heart attack. Joe tried diligently to prove he no longer had feelings for his old flame. With the way he had stuck by her, then abandoned Margaret when he had to choose between the two of them, what additional proof could she wish for?
Finally, Joe accepted several new projects that took him out of town one or two nights at a time. He had to. Not working was driving him nuts and Margaret's care might soon drive him to the poor house.
Not enough about Becky's case came to light to keep Abi occupied. Following her doctor's insistence that she get more exercise, she began a regime of Tai Chi, consulted a hypnotherapist for stress management, and went back to work part-time. All that heaped on top of her more frequent medical checkups could not mask the gnawing concern over Megan's future. She stayed busy and hid her dizziness and shortness of breath by sitting still and applying calming hypnotherapeutic techniques. After Megan would be freed, she would go for the tests the doctor mentioned. For now, the tests had to wait. Besides, the doctor had not been insistent about scheduling them.
Abi's summer rituals in the afternoons were to visit the inmate, then return to comb through Emery's thousands of pages of court documents and records available from the public domain, still trying to find some new bit of information that would help. Abi came to recognize Emery as being very astute. Together they spent weeks pouring over police records, trial transcripts and all the appeals. Every time facts and information the least bit questionable turned up, Megan had already found them as well and those issues were addressed in past appeals, to no avail. At least the time Abi spent in Emery's office and with Megan gave her hope. It made her feel she was doing something that would soon prove fruitful. Finally, she knew as much detail about the case as Emery and the information cast a dubious shadow over Megan's guilt. Why couldn't anyone else see it?
After arriving home emotionally drained, she had little time for continuing health regimes. She would have to become a devotee of exercising or of hypnosis in particular, in order to receive positive effects. Concentrating on letting it all go from her mind, if only momentarily, was nearly impossible. For the time being, too much took precedence over trying to find the peaceful center of her being.
With the arrival of September, Abi decided to celebrate Megan's false birthday. “Joe, if she's really Becky, we can do it again in April, when she gets….”
“She'll make it that far. She'll have many more birthdays.”
They took gifts of art books, toiletries and underclothes, and a tiny pink cake with yellow flowers and lavender candles made of sugar candy. At the checkpoint where they were always scanned for weapons, the cake was x-rayed.
Megan was surprised and in her excitement proclaimed, “This is my last birthday as Megan Winnaker.” Somehow, it didn't sound the way she intended.
Other than the excitement of the birthday, the end of the summer season passed with a long hot spell during which everyone who could stayed as still as possible in order to avoid heat exhaustion. Then, almost overnight, fall rushed in and turned the leaves.
The seasons went by too quickly to be enjoyed. Too quickly for the little headway they had made. Obscure details came too slowly to light. Fragments of hope midst old memories teased, like fallen leaves now littering the yards, sidewalks and streets, bantered back and forth on the lazy gusts of the first winds of autumn.
Abi had given permission for the lab in Lawton to release findings of the DNA comparisons to Det. Britto. He finally called with word about the test results. “We have a match. Printouts will be sent to you in the mail.” His tone said he was neither elated nor sad. He clearly did not know how to react and ended the call quickly.
A copy of the DNA printouts arrived in the overnight mail. All Abi could do was sit and stare and compare the little blotches and other data and give thanks for modern technology. At last, she had found her daughter.
One half of Becky's DNA prints matched Abi's pattern. Without a sample of Preston's blood, the other fifty percent was assumed to be his. They belonged to Preston since he was the only man other than Joe with whom she had shared a bed.
When told about the printouts, Becky showed little interest in seeing them. Even though Abi could not bring them with her into the visiting room. Emery could. “DNA always comes through when you need it.” She might have shown a little more relief but didn't care to even discuss them. What was that about? At times, her attitude was flippant to the point of being unnerving.
A week before Thanksgiving, Joe announced he would cook the dinner. “We're going to celebrate.” He sounded upbeat as he peered into the refrigerator.
“Okay, we do have a lot to be thankful for.” Still, Abi couldn't smile when she said it. Being jovial and the happy memories they had built together seemed another lifetime.
“Emery shocked us all, didn't he, by making a TV appearance on Missing Persons.”
Abi filled the coffee maker with water for decaf. “I wondered what more he might be up to.” Emery never reported the results of his investigations. It would simply take too long to recount. She thought it strange how family members were usually interviewed when Missing Persons aired stories. “I wonder why no one contacted me.”
“Does seem strange.” The show simply portrayed Emery as looking for the Ulrich girl, something brief. They didn't want to s
care away any leads by mentioning anyone like Abi or the Aryans. The only news Abi heard afterward was that the show's ratings skyrocketed.
“Becky's old drawing of Tess is the only thing they had to do a computer aging from.” She smiled sadly remembering an art form with which she had so abruptly become familiar. “Det. Britto tells me they're getting some leads.” She watch Joe poke around inside the freezer. Then he studied the spice cabinet. “Hey, where are you?”
“Didn't realize I'm out of sage.”
The coffee began to drip. “What's troubling you?”
“Nothing.” He closed a cabinet door a little too hard and went to the pantry.
“Come on.”
“Well, it's Margaret. I'm not waiting any longer. I'm calling her family.”
That's what Abi needed to hear. “When?”
“I dread dealing with them.”
“Time, Joe, can change people.” She pulled coffee mugs from the mug tree.
“Perhaps.” He seemed pensive. “As a last gesture, I think we should invite Margaret to Thanksgiving dinner.”
Chapter 40
Finally, Margaret pretty much knew who she was and about her history with Joe. “She still treats me like I'm in the way.”
Joe's expression seemed particularly smug. “I have a feeling she puts you out of mind quite easily.”
Abi knew that to be the truth. “Like last week at the piano?”
Joe curled up the side of his mouth. “I hated to have you witness that.” Playing the piano beside him helped Margaret to remember more.
“Is that what used to happen when you two played together?”
Joe rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at her cautiously. “Yeah, we used to play together.” Then he burst out laughing. “But I don't remember her ever tucking her hand into my groin back then.”
Abi laughed. “She really doesn't see me in the picture.”
“I'm sure she feels awkward here, despite how it seems.” He accepted the mug of coffee then set it down to quickly jot a list of items to buy.
Awkward, yes, now that Margaret found herself in a Catch-22. What memory she had retrieved thus far was about Joe and of her life thirty years ago. “She's faced with the same dilemma all over again.”
“And that is?”
“That she's got it all back home, and you don't.” Margaret still treated the situation as if she had to choose between her father's money and Joe.
Joe smirked and shook his head. “That's just like Margaret. The moment she remembers her father's millions, she quits The Beacon because it's beneath her.”
“She said she quit because she thought she had replaced me.” Margaret had the nerve to tell Abi that she could have her old job back.
“She evidently hasn't remembered everything. She did similar work years ago and called it charity.”
Margaret seemed fairly happy as long as she could maintain a feeling of superiority over others. “In her uppity way, she confided in me once.”
“In you?” He seemed amused as he double-checked his list. “What was that about?”
“She said she couldn't stand being around the homeless because it reminded her that she was one of them, and it wasn't going to take amnesia to help her forget.”
“Not the meek stray you and Edith spoke with, right?” He threw the pen onto the countertop.
“Right, remember, Joe?” Abi was having difficulty understanding what would keep Margaret from accepting the circumstances of her plight. “The other day when she joined us on the terrace for tea, remember? You heard what she asked me. 'How soon will you be moving out?' ”
“I almost choked.” Joe grinned ear to ear. He took another sip of coffee and savored it.
“It wasn't the question, Joe, but the way she said it, as if I was in her way.”
“Ah-ah! Paranoia!”
She chuckled. “Oh, shut up.”
“I'm glad to see you wearing something other than somber looks.” He nudging her chin. “We should invite her anyway. She'll be gone soon.”
“Why don't you call her husband today?”
“The doctor hasn't released her.”
“Why not?”
“Who knows his reasoning? Probably wants to hang in there for the bucks.”
“Do you think her family will reimburse you?” It had not dawned on her till then that Joe had footed the entire bill for Margaret's psychiatric visits as well as all the rest of her care. He had been allowed to list her as a dependent on his insurance policy because she lived at his home and was responsible for her total support. Even so, the co-pays and the cost of her personal necessities were phenomenal. To think he complained about her cashing in some stocks and taking out a second mortgage. “She can see a psychiatrist back home and pay her own bills.”
“Oh sure. Heaven forbid the details of her wanderings should get out in her hometown.”
“Now who's paranoid?”
“Not me, Abi, her family. If they have to admit that she's been on the streets—”
“What kind of people are these?”
“Her kind. I want her well enough so I'll never have to deal with any of them again.” He walked into the living room and she followed.
“With all their money, I wonder if they really tried to find her.”
“I wondered too.” Joe paused in front of the sofa and then motioned that they sit to relax a bit.
What Margaret remembered was that her marriage had been deteriorating. She had been drinking and thought the car hit a fence or a pole out on a deserted stretch of road. She vaguely remembered banging her head, then wandering through a field.
“Totally disoriented, no doubt.”
“That's the way she tells it.” She couldn't recall much of anything after that, except being dumped by a man in the homeless camp and living there till Joe found her. “What I gathered from the doctor's responses—not that he really divulged anything—he thinks she endured a lot of rapes and beatings.”
“Oh, no!” Abi's sympathy welled up. She covered her mouth and shook her head in denial.
“The doc convinced her to have HIV tests. Luckily, she's okay.”
After wandering four or five years, she had been in Seaport over three, and also remembered bits and pieces of having lived with a trucker.
“You know, Joe? I'm seeing a lot of stoicism in Margaret.”
“Sure, that's why one moment she can love someone and the next walk away.”
Margaret's memories of Joe were too strong at present. “Will she misinterpret the invitation?”
“Regardless, Abi, I think we should include her. You did say we've got a lot to be thankful for.”
“Yes, I did.” Abi was having a change of heart. “I didn't mean to sound cruel.”
The day after Thanksgiving, frustrated and tired of Margaret's holier-than-thou attitude, they went to Joe's office for privacy. He wanted to handle the situation the way he wanted it handled. In preparation, weeks earlier he had located one of his former friends, and then had to explain the situation to get him to help locate Margaret's family's phone number. Now he punched the number in with some urgency. When it seemed Joe had the proper person on the line, he broke the news gently.
Abi sank into the overstuffed leather chair listening and realized Joe wanted to end the conversation soon and hang up. Each time he said goodbye, evidently the person on the other end had more to say. Several times Joe let out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair.
When he finally hung up, his expression was sour. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He shook his head and shoulders in disbelief. “Excu-use me!”
Abi had to laugh. “That bad?”
“I think the stuffy old fart doesn't want her back.” He simply stood in place, as if in shock.
“You're kidding.”
“No. All he talked about was how they had all resigned themselves to living without her. They had all made these difficult adjustments and would have to go through further s
trenuous changes with her unexpectedly showing up again.”
“He said that?”
Now Joe paced, carrying himself with a haughty attitude. “J. Bertrand… Thorndyke… The Third.”
“Did you know him?”
“Ha! Her father must have imported him when he found no hometown bachelor wealthy enough to become his son-in-law.” Joe stood and stared out the view window. “If old Thorny doesn't want her, at least he can divorce her instead of waiting a few more years to have her declared dead.”
For a while Abi said nothing. She knew Joe was fighting a battle within himself. He, too, did not want Margaret to stay, but was sympathetic enough to want her to go back to people who loved her.
“What about her parents, Joe?”
“It sounded like her mother has passed away and her aging father's been sort of adopted into the Thorndyke household.”
“Didn't you once say she had a brother?”
“Oh, get this. Margaret's brother was killed in the same accident.”
“No!” She went to stand beside Joe. He would have known Margaret's brother. Surely Joe's feelings about the whole mess were gnawing at him.
“Evidently this Thorndyke character was able to get an investigation squelched—”
“What investigation?”
“Leaving the scene of the accident. They found both her blood and her brother's in the car and a bloody trail into a field, where they found her brother's body.” Joe stepped behind Abi to wrap his arms around her. They stared out the window at skeletons of trees that still held remnants of foliage resisting autumn. “They don't know who was driving because the car landed on its side and they both climbed out the driver's side window. Blood from both of them was everywhere. The investigation was left dangling. The Police believed she wandered away and died even though their dogs lost her scent.”
“They just dropped the search when they didn't find her body?”
He turned to face her as they talked. “Guess the case went cold.”
“Has Margaret remembered her brother being in the car?”
“Probably really suppressed that memory.” He paused again with that familiar pensive expression. “She'd been wandering more than five years. Ol' Thorny wants me to be the one to tell her everything about the accident that she doesn't recall. I'm not doing it. The best would be that she uncover the memories for herself.” He waved a hand in the air as if he wished to erase it all away. “If that husband of hers is anything like he sounds, it would be just like him to take her wealthy aging father under wing.” He went to sit again.
