“No, of course not, sweetie,” I said, hugging him with one arm while I tried to slip out of my jacket.
“Mommy is sad because of Daniel’s dad, not a dumb movie,” Lucy announced in her best imperious big-sister voice.
“It’s not dumb,” Matthew protested. “Mommy, Lucy thinks it’s dumb. Finding Nemo isn’t dumb, is it?”
“It’s not dumb, you are,” Lucy said before I could respond.
“Lucy called me dumb!” Matthew wailed, face turning red as he waved his index finger at his older sister as if it were a wand. If only I had a wand to make these arguments magically disappear.
“Don’t call your brother dumb,” I said automatically, stepping around them to hang my coat up in the hall closet. Michael had offered to drive the babysitter home, smartly managing to avoid the chaos. I tuned out the kids’ arguing, trying to decide what to make for dinner. Just as I was closing the closet door, I heard a pinging sound and realized I’d left my phone in my coat pocket. A text from Sarah. It said simply Watch this! with a link to a local CBS affiliate. If I’d gotten it in an email I would have assumed it was spam and deleted it. I pressed the link and it opened, a broadcast from last night. “Police are releasing video tonight of slain plastic surgeon Dr. Viktor Lysenko’s final drive—”
“What is it, Mommy? What are you watching?” Lucy hung on my arm trying to pull the phone down to see.
“—along I-279. Dr. Lysenko was killed in an apparent carjacking over a week ago and police are actively looking for—”
“Nothing, it’s not important,” I said, quickly shutting it off and slipping the phone in my pocket. “Let’s go see what we can make for dinner—or are you too full of junk to eat anything else?”
“Too full of junk,” Matthew agreed with a laugh, bouncing along next to me as I headed into the kitchen. What was on that video and where had it come from? Were there cameras along all roads, even the small roads outside of the city? We should have thought about that the other night, we should have realized that Viktor’s drive home had probably been recorded. And what about our driving? Had we been recorded? I felt sick as I scoured the cupboards for something quick to feed my family.
* * *
“Mac and cheese?” Michael’s reaction wasn’t nearly as enthused as the children’s had been. He stood in the kitchen surveying the empty cardboard cartons that were still on the counter.
“We saved some for you, Daddy!” Matthew exclaimed, waving his spoon around excitedly in the air. Exactly how much sugar had Kristi given him?
“Thanks, buddy,” Michael said with a forced smile, taking a bowl down from the cupboard.
“There’s also some salad,” I said, indicating my own bowl of greens. “Of course, you’re welcome to make something else.” I was proud of keeping my tone light, when what I wanted to do was lash out at him because of the stress.
Michael halfheartedly offered to do the kitchen cleanup and I accepted with alacrity, hurrying the kids upstairs for their baths and feeling very grateful that they were past the age where I had to worry about them drowning. Lucy had refused to keep bathing with her brother almost two years earlier, which meant that I’d usually stagger their baths, but not tonight. I needed some privacy, so I told Lucy to bathe in our large master tub at the same time that her brother was in the bath down the hall. To inspire cooperation and minimize complaints, I said they could each have a bubble bath. It worked. Ten minutes later they were in their respective tubs, happily flicking bubbles, while I pulled out my phone in the privacy of my bedroom and clicked open the link from Sarah.
“KDKA is the first to bring you this footage of carjacking victim Dr. Viktor Lysenko’s drive home from Pittsburgh’s East End to his home in Sewickley Heights.” The announcer’s voice was breathless, as if something super exciting were being shown, but all I could see was grainy footage of cars zipping along a stretch of road. This was I-279, the announcer said, before the film slowed down and then I could make out the vibrant green of Viktor’s Mercedes. What time had that been? Were they going to talk about drive time between the city and Sewickley and the discrepancy between the times he’d been on that road and when the police supposed the carjacking had taken place?
“Police are hoping that the drivers of the vehicles surrounding Dr. Lysenko’s Mercedes, especially this black Ford Escalade,” an arrow appeared above an SUV tailgating the Mercedes, “will come forward to help with the investigation.”
Wait a minute—did that mean what it sounded like? I peeked into the bathrooms to check on the kids, who seemed fine, although there was an ominous-looking bubble island growing on the tile floor in the main bath. Ducking back into the bedroom, I called Sarah’s cell phone.
“Yes, they think that SUV could have been involved in the carjacking,” she said excitedly, agreeing with me.
I felt a tiny bubble of optimism forming, but it popped just as quickly. “Aren’t those tapes time-stamped? Surely they can figure out that he was on I-279 much earlier in the evening.”
“If that’s true, then wouldn’t they mention that?” She made a sound; was that a hiccup? “Maybe there was no time on the recording.”
“Or maybe the police haven’t released that information. Anyway, even if they don’t know the time, once the other drivers come forward, they’ll figure it out.”
“If the other drivers come forward. That’s a big if. The cameras don’t pick up the license plates, so the police can’t find them that way. And it doesn’t mean anything even if they do come forward—Viktor still could have been carjacked by someone else.” She paused, and I thought I heard her swallowing something, before she laughed again. “Releasing that video means that they believe it—they think he was carjacked.”
“Mommy!” Matthew yelled from the bathroom. “I’m done!”
“I’ve got to go, Sarah.”
“Sure, but cheer up, okay? You’re the one who came up with the carjacking idea—and you were right, they believe it. You should be happy.”
“I am,” I said, though “happiness” didn’t really describe it. It was more like a knot being loosened, this slight lessening of the constant tension that had plagued me since that late-night call from Heather.
chapter twenty-one
JULIE
The funeral two days later was mobbed. The viewing had been crowded, but because the service was also being held in Ambridge, ten miles down the Ohio River from Sewickley, I hadn’t anticipated the standing-room-only crowd. St. Michael’s was a huge old Ukrainian Catholic church, the stone still black in spots from the soot left by long-closed mills that had once blanketed the region. That soot couldn’t be simply washed away; it had to be sandblasted off, a costly procedure that often left remnants, black lace etched into the façade. As if to compensate for the stone that wouldn’t come clean, there were gold and gleaming onion domes perched on top of the building, like headlamps on coal miners.
The inside was lit almost solely by candles, waxy pillars on iron stands flickering at the end of every pew and rows of votives glowing like little suns beneath flat-faced, sloe-eyed portraits of Jesus with his apostles or Mary and her infant son. The stained-glass windows were a riot of jewel-toned colors, and at the front of the church, surrounding a gilt-draped altar, were screens covered with life-size icons of Jesus, discernible from the other pale and bearded men because of the nail wounds.
The sight was quite a lot for people used to the spare décor and simple spires of the Presbyterian Church. Brian and I were as dumbstruck as the kids, staring at everything with the openmouthed awe of tourists.
We’d come early and gotten a pew toward the front, which might have been a mistake, I thought as I put a hand once more on Aubrey’s leg, quietly urging her to stop kicking the pew in front of us. We’d decided to bring the children because Heather was bringing Daniel and we thought it would be good for him to see his friends. Other people had the same idea; despite the distance, all around the church were familiar faces from the elementar
y school. Of course, Sarah and Alison were there with their families. I’d seen Sarah and Eric when we walked in, but when Brian started in their direction I hesitated and then led the way toward a pew across the aisle instead.
“What’s up?” he asked in a low voice, after we’d excused our way past several old women wearing head scarves and dour expressions. We settled into a pew with the children. “You don’t want to sit with them?”
“Might get too rowdy with the k-i-d-s,” I said, only to have Aubrey proclaim, “K-I-D-S. Kids!” She looked at both of us with a beaming smile.
“Yes, kids, very good, sweetheart,” Brian said.
“Julie, hi!” I heard a stage whisper and I turned to see my neighbor, Christine Connelly, slide into the pew next to me. “Whew, I’m glad I made it—I almost didn’t find the place,” she said, breathing hard and fanning herself with a program. “This is some church, isn’t it?”
I nodded, trying to offer a welcoming smile, while regretting not choosing the seats next to Sarah and Eric. Christine sidled closer on the pew, giving me an expectant look while tucking strands of graying hair behind her ears as if desperate not to miss a word of the conversation I didn’t want to have.
“I didn’t realize you knew the Lysenkos,” I said.
“Oh, I know everybody in Sewickley,” she said, waving a little hand airily, before adding in a lower tone, “Or I know of them.” She gave me a conspiratorial look. What did it mean?
Christine always made me feel off-balance. Before I could think of a way to ask what that meant, she said, “I see you brought the kids—you don’t think all this talk about the d-e-a-d is too much for them?”
“D-E-A-D. Deed!” Aubrey proclaimed.
Before I could stop her, Christine said, “Close, sweetie, but that spells ‘dead.’”
Brian and I exchanged a look as Aubrey’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to ask something, but Christine got her question in first, for once saying the right thing. “How old are you now?”
Aubrey ducked her head shyly against her father, but held up one of her chubby little hands like a starfish, fingers splayed.
“Five?”
“Yes!” Aubrey flashed a quick smile. “But on my next birthday, I will be this many.” She held up the index finger of her left hand next to the starfish.
“My goodness, six years old!” Christine said, and then to me, “She’s clearly feeling better—so it was nothing serious?”
“Serious?”
“Her late-night fever? I saw you leaving for the emergency room that night, remember?”
Color flooded my face—I could feel the heat. I’d completely forgotten about the excuse I’d given her. Worse, Brian was listening to the conversation.
He said to me, “You were at the ER? When was this?”
“It’s nothing,” I said. “Everyone’s fine.” I looked past him, feigning concern. “I think Owen might have to use the bathroom—can you ask him?”
Brian looked confused, but he dutifully turned to our son as Christine chattered on, oblivious to my discomfort. “You can never be too careful with a fever,” she said. “Could have been meningitis or one of those terrible staph infections. Although you would have been better off taking her to the doctor—you pay so much more if you go to the ER.”
“Were you ever a patient of Dr. Lysenko’s?” I asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Julie! Really, what kind of question is that?” she said in a shocked voice, giving a flustered laugh and fanning herself again with her program.
“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Not that there’s anything wrong with plastic surgery,” she said. “No one wants to talk about it, but everybody gets a little work done, don’t they?” Another laugh as she self-consciously touched the skin at her temples. She looked around for a moment and then down at her program. It was clear that she was now the one desperate to change the subject. “So sad about his son,” she said, tapping the program, which had a grinning photo of Viktor on the front with flowery script below it that read, “Loving son, husband, and father.” Anna Lysenko had made it clear that she came first for her son even at the end of his life. “But from what I hear things weren’t exactly happy in that marriage.”
“Really?” I tried to keep my voice and expression neutral, but I was immediately on alert. “Where did you hear that?”
“Oh, come now, you’re friends with his wife—I’m sure you know all about it.” She gave me an expectant look.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, darting a quick glance around to see if anyone had overheard her. “They seemed happy to me.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Christine said.
Just then Aubrey, who’d clambered up on the pew and was looking toward the back of the church, spotted Daniel entering with his mother. “Daniel!” she shouted, pointing. “There’s Daniel! Hi Dan!” Her cries echoed through the church as I pulled her down, clamping a hand gently over her mouth.
“Shh, you can’t shout in church,” I said, trying to pretend that I didn’t see Christine staring at me, waiting.
The organist saved me, playing a few heavy chords, a welcome signal that the service was about to begin. We stood as one, the noise like a startled flock rising, the sound echoing up through the painted wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. A choir entered in a procession, singing a sad song in Ukrainian and then in English, the congregation stumbling through the unfamiliar notes that had been provided in the program. A bishop wearing an elaborate mushroom-shaped crown and flowing gold-embossed robes followed them. He carried a gold shepherd’s crook up the aisle, flanked by robed priests swinging metal incense balls from chains, the heavy, spicy smoke wafting over the congregation and setting off a torrent of muffled coughing. Two altar boys came next, bearing gold candlesticks with lit pillars, and then came the coffin, draped in a white cloth that had a red and gold cross embroidered on its center.
Processing slowly behind the coffin, which was wheeled on a metal stretcher by eight pallbearers, were Heather with Daniel and Anna, and then Olga, Irina, and a small group of other people I assumed were the rest of Viktor’s family. Viktor had been strikingly handsome, but perhaps his genes had come primarily from his father’s side, because Anna stuck out for all the wrong reasons in a shiny, tight black dress and heavy makeup, gold jewelry weighing down her neck and arms, and her head covered with a lace mantilla that reminded me of a Spanish bullfight.
Heather, in contrast, wore a plain black dress, the simple A-line design serving to emphasize her willowy figure, just as her blond hair pulled back in a loose chignon only highlighted her fine, long neck. The only things marring her looks were her red nose and eyes, and she clutched some tissues in one hand and held on to Daniel with the other. As I mentally applauded her acting ability, my gaze fell on Daniel, and sudden tears flooded my own eyes at the sight of this small boy walking behind his father’s coffin.
They processed up the main aisle, filing into the front pew. Viktor’s mother wept loudly as the pallbearers left the coffin at center stage in the aisle and took their seats.
“Mommy, he’s got a funny hat,” Aubrey said of the bishop, and a ripple of nervous laughter floated through the crowd around us. “Shh,” I whispered, digging in my bag for the books I’d brought to entertain her. “Here, look at these.”
There were numerous references to Viktor’s happy family life, and Christine nudged me. “Hardly, right?” she muttered, giving me a wink.
It was a relief when the service was finally over and we filed out into the cold, windy day, blinking in the hard light. I tried to lose her in the crowd, but Christine followed close on my heels. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead,” she said in a low voice as we watched the coffin pass by on the shoulders of the pallbearers. “But the living aren’t off-limits, right?” She gave me another wink and a little grin. “I know you have some stories to tell.” She stared at me with that sa
me glint in her eyes.
“Sorry, Christine, I’ve got to get the kids home,” I said, giving Brian a little push. “Let’s go,” I muttered.
“What? Don’t you want to go to the wake?”
“No, the kids are restless—let’s go. No one will notice if we’re missing—not with this crowd.”
The hot and heavily perfumed air, along with Christine’s comments, had given me a headache, which only got worse when I spotted one of the detectives in the crowd as we left. “Let’s go,” I said, urging Owen to walk faster as I swung Aubrey up into my arms.
“What was Christine talking about?” Brian asked, hustling to keep up with me as I wove between cars in the parking lot. “You took Aubrey to the ER one night?”
“I think she confused me with another neighbor,” I said. “She does that all the time—maybe it’s early dementia?”
He accepted this, thank God. A momentary feeling of relief washed over me once we were all actually in our car and driving away. Nobody knew anything, I reminded myself. The video Sarah sent proved that. And it was done now. Viktor was gone and buried, and while the police might keep searching for his carjacker, plenty of cases went unsolved. I just had to keep reminding myself of that. Random acts of violence happened every day; why shouldn’t Viktor’s death just get chalked up as one of those? These first few weeks after his death would be the worst, but the stress was almost over.
I didn’t realize until later that day that this was only the beginning.
chapter twenty-two
ALISON
In that sweltering crush of mourners, I’d broken into a sweat, remembering another funeral, years ago, in a church that I could barely remember. It was all just a blur of dark wood and flickering candles, except for my very clear memory of the lifelike crucifix hanging over the altar, a frail Jesus dangling from what had looked at a distance like real nails.
“Suffer the little children.” I could still remember the breathless voice of a large woman who’d attempted to comfort me and Sean, bending over with clear effort in front of our pew, the skirt of her immense dress fluttering against me like a great black moth as she tried to stroke my head. She’d meant it kindly, but I’d flinched from her, leaning against my brother. I remembered the way she’d exchanged glances with a man standing next to her, and I could still hear that voice, her labored whisper, saying to him, “See them?” Pausing to breathe heavily. “What’s going to happen to these poor children?”
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