Lying With Strangers

by Jonnie Jacobs

  “Did you get his name? Maybe we can sue him.”

  “It was the lawyer’s son.”

  Trace snapped his fingers. “Better yet.”

  “He’s only seven. He didn’t mean to hit me.”

  Trace looked at her like she was a dimwit. “So what?”

  “I’m not suing a kid for riding a bike.” Especially not the kid of the man you shot, she added silently. “If I’d been paying attention, I’d have gotten out of the way.”

  “You can’t do anything without screwing up, can you?”

  Chloe closed her eyes. She could have used a dose of Diana’s sympathy about then. Diana had been so kind, even when Chloe’s dirty and torn jeans messed up the smooth leather seat in her car.

  “The woman, the lawyer’s wife, she felt really bad about it,” Chloe said. “So did the boy.”

  “Or so they said. Don’t think they weren’t worried about a lawsuit.”

  “They were nice, both of them.” Despite the pain and fear at being found out, Chloe had felt a sort of peace sitting in Diana’s kitchen.

  “What did you do, hang around and have tea with them?” The sarcasm in Trace’s tone wasn’t lost on Chloe.

  “Milk and cookies,” she told him.

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet. All chummy and feel good. But at least you got inside. Did you take a good look around?”

  Trace was like a dog with a bone he wouldn’t let go. “No, I didn’t look around. I was hurt.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell them your name.”

  “Only my first name,” Chloe said. “They don’t know where I live or who I am.”

  Trace tossed down the TV remote in disgust. “Still, it’s not like you can go back there without drawing attention to yourself. We’ll have to go in without casing the place first.”

  “I’m going to go to bed, Trace. My whole body hurts.”

  “Fine, whatever.” He turned his attention back to the TV with a loud sigh. “I swear to God, Chloe, sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

  She undressed with difficulty, discovering new sore spots with every twist and turn. She took the piece of paper Diana had given her with Diana’s phone numbers on it—house and cell—and slipped it under the lining of her bureau drawer, then crawled into bed.

  She thought about the little boy, Jeremy, whose father lay in a coma because of Trace. And about Diana whose world had been turned upside down.

  She stroked her belly. “What are we going to do, Erin? How did this happen?” And then, tentatively, she tried it a second time. “What are we going to do, Aaron?” Chloe called up a picture of Jeremy and conceded that having a baby boy would be pretty nice, too.

  Chapter 18

  The call Diana had been dreading came at 2:46 a.m. Wednesday. She was aware of the precise time because she looked at the clock. Looked at the clock and then took her time answering, intentionally stalling the inevitable. Good news did not arrive at two in the morning.

  It was a doctor she’d never met, probably one of the young residents nearing the end of a long shift. His words, no doubt scripted for just such occasions, were meant to convey compassion, but what Diana heard most clearly was the exhaustion in his voice and his aversion to the task.

  He explained that Roy’s heart had stopped, that they’d been unable to revive him despite intense efforts from the entire hospital team.

  “No,” Diana whispered. “That can’t be.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Walker. We did everything we could.”

  “But his heart was strong,” Diana insisted. “Dr. Peterson told me so the other day.”

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “Sometimes these things happen. In medicine, nothing is one hundred percent predictable.”

  Which pretty much echoed what every doctor she’d talked to had said. Diana wondered if they’d been taught that caveat in medical school or if they’d learned it in the trenches of patient care.

  She sat on the edge of the bed for a long time after she’d hung up the phone. The window was open and the night air felt chilly. She thought about putting on a sweater or climbing back under the covers, but she did neither. Outside in the distance she heard the wail of an ambulance. Another death? Or a life saved?

  She knew she was supposed to feel something, probably many things—sorrow, anger, despair, fear. But she felt nothing. She wasn’t a screamer or a wailer or a fainter, although she wished for a moment she were. Surely something as momentous as the death of a husband deserved some discernible reaction.

  She knew there’d be pockets, probably even oceans, of raw grief and agonizing loneliness in the weeks ahead. Long dark hours when she’d miss Roy so much the pain would cut like a knife.

  But right now, at ground zero, the shock waves hadn’t yet reached her.

  *****

  The four days that followed were a blur of phone calls and arrangements and condolences, and Diana moved through them as though she were an automaton. It was, she supposed, a measure of self-preservation. Don’t think, don’t feel, just do what needed to be done. But there were moments she wished she could simply fall apart and let others carry on.

  She’d dreaded breaking the news to her children, especially Jeremy, but she’d plowed through the ordeal with the same sense of detachment. She was both participant and observer, two people at once, and yet not entirely whole. She wondered briefly if she might be headed for the nut house.

  Emily flew home from school Wednesday afternoon. After her initial accusatory outburst—“You didn’t tell me he was going to die!”—she’d sunk into a sullen petulance that seemed intended, by some weird machinations of the mind, to punish Diana. Jeremy’s moods were all over the map—demonstrably forlorn one minute, withdrawn the next, and then bouncing about with Digger as though nothing had changed. Diana wasn’t sure he fully understood that death was forever.

  On Sunday, the three of them sat together in the front row of the community church for the funeral. Allison and Len sat to their left. They had been by Diana’s side practically nonstop.

  The church was full—friends and acquaintances of Diana’s, and colleagues of Roy’s, along with the mayor of Oakland and a host of county dignitaries. She knew Jan, Roy’s secretary, and Alec Thurston, Roy’s boss, and others from his office, but there were a lot of people she didn’t recognize. She wondered how many of them were reporters. Members of the media had been leaving messages on her phone ever since Roy was shot, but the number of calls had doubled after he died.

  And she wondered if one of the unfamiliar women could be Mia. It felt terribly wrong to be doubting her husband’s fidelity at his funeral, but she couldn’t help it.

  She’d clung to the hope that someone from Roy’s family would show up, or at least get in touch with her. She knew that Roy’s parents were dead and that he was estranged from his extended family. They weren’t part of his life anymore, Roy had explained before they were married, and in a tone that didn’t invite questions. Diana gathered there’d been a blowup of some kind but she never did get the details. In the beginning of their relationship, it bothered her that Roy wouldn’t elaborate, but she hadn’t thought about it for quite some time. In truth, she found it easier not having to deal with in-laws and distant relatives. But with Roy’s death, she felt a need to connect. His family deserved to know what had happened to him.

  She had run a death notice in several of the newspapers around Grand Forks, North Dakota, where he’d grown up, and had hoped the news of his death might prompt a short note from someone in the family.

  After the burial, during which Jeremy had stood stoically by Diana on one side while Emily fidgeted on the other, a small group of friends gathered at Diana’s for drinks and a light buffet. Diana couldn’t eat. In fact she’d lost four pounds in the four days since Roy’s death, but she reached eagerly for the glass of wine Len handed her.

  “You look like you could use it,” he told her.

  “Most definitely. I could probably u
se the whole bottle, if truth be told.”

  Len had been a godsend at the funeral and burial, hovering by her side and fending off members of the media. And he’d stepped in to oversee the gathering at the house and make sure that people got food and drink.

  “You’re holding up remarkably well,” he told her.

  “I am?”

  “From outward appearances, anyway.”

  Diana took several large sips of wine and felt its magic instantly smooth the rawness inside her. “I guess I’m good at coping, or seeming to.”

  “Roy’s death is a tremendous upheaval in your life. You can’t expect to jump right back into the swing of things.”

  She understood, but that didn’t make her heart ache any less. “I wish you and Roy had gotten along better.”

  Len looked surprised. “We got along fine.”

  Diana’s glass was half empty. She’d have to slow down or she would go through a whole bottle. “Been better friends, then. I never could understand what it was between you two.”

  Len rocked back on his heels. “What did Roy say?”

  She shrugged. “That you’re different sorts of people.”

  “That about sums it up.” Len paused. “That doesn’t mean I’m not terribly sorry he’s dead. It’s a tragedy what happened. And I feel awful for you and the kids. Anything I can do, you let me know.”

  Diana gave Len a warm hug. “I know that, and I appreciate it.”

  Allison swooped in to join them. She’d forgone the usual bright colors she favored in clothes, opting for black instead, and Diana thought she looked striking.

  “The entire day seems surreal,” Diana said.

  “Of course it does. Funerals aren’t supposed to feel normal.”

  Len excused himself and took the bottle of wine and headed into the room to refill glasses.

  “Len’s been a big help,” Diana said.

  Allison laughed half-heartedly. “Nice to know he cares about someone.”

  “Oh-oh, do I detect a note of bitterness in that comment?”

  “It’s no big deal. Just that the bloom has faded from the relationship, I guess.”

  It seemed like a big deal to Diana. “Since when?”

  “The last couple of weeks. Or maybe I’m imagining things. We’ve all been pretty torn up about Roy. Anyway, I didn’t mean to unload on you, especially today.”

  Diana felt a niggle of guilt. She’d been so involved with her own problems, she hadn’t really been much of a friend. “Let’s have lunch soon. Maybe we can figure out what’s going on.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Emily, backed into a corner by an overbearing woman who’d worked with Roy at the DA’s office. “I’d better go rescue Emily,” she told Allison. “But don’t worry about Len. He adores you.”

  Allison snorted. “That remains to be seen. But go liberate your daughter and we’ll talk later.”

  Emily gave her a grateful smile when Diana pulled her away, saying she needed some help.

  “That woman never stops talking.” Emily furtively pulled her cell phone from her pocket to quickly check for messages. At least she’d left the iPod in her bedroom for the afternoon.

  “She thinks she’s being nice.”

  Emily rolled her eyes, then looked around the room. “How long before people leave?”

  “Soon, I’d think.”

  “Funerals are kind of ghoulish, aren’t they? Kind of an orgy of public grief.”

  “I suppose you could look at it that way.”

  Emily twisted her watch band. “I wish I’d known Roy was going to die. I should have come home and gone to see him.”

  Diana put her arm around Emily’s thin shoulders. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to feel guilty. “He was in a coma, honey. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

  Emily pulled away, flipping her straight, blond hair in a gesture of protest. “It would have mattered to me. And it might have mattered to Roy. You aren’t the only one who misses him, you know.”

  When Emily walked off, Diana swallowed hard. Once again she’d managed to say the wrong thing to her daughter.

  *****

  People had begun to leave. Diana said goodbye to Jan, promising to stay in touch, even though they both knew that wouldn’t happen, and to Alec Thurston, who told her once again what a wonderful man Roy had been to work with. Diana’s editor, Jack Saffire, gripped her hands in his and told her to call him if there was anything he could do to help.

  “I know what it’s like to lose a spouse,” he said. “How difficult and lonely it is.” His usually gruff demeanor softened when he spoke to her, and Diana was touched.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate it. And I appreciate your coming today.”

  Len was busy cleaning up, carrying glasses into the kitchen and wrapping the leftover food. Diana was ready for everyone to go, even Allison and Len. She suspected they were lingering because they thought she didn’t want to be alone.

  She poured herself another half glass of wine. When everyone was gone she’d spend some time with the kids. Just the three of them. They’d watch a movie, or maybe she’d read to Jeremy while Emily barricaded herself in her room with her iPod. Diana would have to make an effort to connect with Emily, too. She understood her daughter’s outward coolness masked a well of sadness. What she didn’t understand was how to comfort someone who kept her at arm’s length.

  Eventually, Diana could retire to her room and stop pretending to be strong. Her personal retreat, where she and Roy had made love, conceived their son, shared fears and hopes, and planned their future—sometimes in drifts and dribbles, other times with the energy of a full-out assault, but always presuming a future they’d both be part of.

  The phone rang and Diana ignored it. Whoever it was could leave a message. It was probably someone from the media anyway. She had nothing to say to any of them. And she couldn’t bear another condolence call.

  “Mom,” Emily called from the den. “It’s for you.”

  “Take a message, honey. I don’t really want to talk right now.”

  Emily stood at the doorway, phone in hand, looking a little dazed. She covered the mouthpiece. “I think you’d better take it. It’s someone from North Dakota.”

  Diana grabbed the receiver and moved to a quiet corner in the hallway where she leaned against the wall.

  “Are you the person who placed the death notice for Roy Walker in the Grand Forks Star?” a woman’s voice asked. Thin but with a decided Dakota twang.

  “Yes, I am,” Diana replied eagerly. “Did you know him?”

  “Is this your idea of some sick joke?”

  “What?”

  “Your notice. What are you trying to pull?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Barbara Walker, Roy Walker’s mother.” The woman’s voice had grown stronger, and louder.

  Mother? Roy had told her both his parents were dead.

  “Mrs. Walker, I don’t know what happened between you and your son, but—”

  “What happened is that my son died.”

  “Yes, that’s why—”

  “He died twenty-two years ago when a drunk driver with four prior arrests crossed the double line going forty miles over the speed limit. He died a week before his eighteenth birthday. We buried him right here in Grand Forks. How dare you make a mockery of his death.”

  Stunned, Diana didn’t know where to begin. “We must not be talking about the same person.”

  “Says right here when he was born. That’s my son’s birth date.”

  “There must be some mistake.”

  “I know when my son was born! Five-thirty-two in the morning right here in Grand Forks.”

  “But I married Roy—”

  “I’m telling you right now, you better stop this harassment or I’m taking legal action.” The call ended with a loud click.

  Diana held the receiver in her hand and stared at it. Two Roy Walkers born on the same date in the
same small town in North Dakota? How likely was that?

  “What is it, Mom?”

  Diana shook her head. Could Roy’s differences with his family have been so great they’d figuratively killed him off? No. The woman’s voice had been filled with pain, even now, twenty-two years after her son’s death.

  What did it mean? Was this something else that Roy had lied about?

  For the first time since she’d gotten the phone call telling her that Roy had been shot, Diana lost it. She slid down the wall, curled into a ball on the floor, and wept.

  Chapter 19

  Diana’s mind was a swirl of raging emotion. She felt as if she’d been sucked into the eye of a twister and, like Dorothy, whisked far away from all that was familiar. Roy was her anchor. The force through which she pulled together and processed the world. How could he have lied to her about so much? How was it that she hadn’t known him at all?

  She had known that marrying Garrick, her first husband, was a bad idea. She’d gone through with it because she was pregnant with Emily, because she couldn’t bear her mother’s smug “I knew you’d mess up,” and somewhere deep in that bottomless well of eternal hope, she’d thought it might work out.

  Despite her leap of faith, she wasn’t at all surprised when Garrick walked away four years later. In retrospect, it surprised her he’d stayed as long as he had.

  But Diana had felt from the first moment she met Roy that he was someone she could trust. It was in the softness of his blue-gray eyes, the quirky way the corners of his mouth lifted when he smiled, the way he listened for the meaning behind the words, and the way he looked into her eyes as though nothing else was important. And she’d known after their first date that she’d found Mr. Right.

  She had been part of the secretarial pool in the DA’s office, filling in for the secretary to one of the senior attorneys, when Roy came by to check on the status of a case. He told her later that he’d felt weak in the knees when he’d seen her. Like some dumb, love-struck teenager, he said.

  Diana hadn’t seen any of that, but then she’d been pretty weak-kneed herself.