Conundrum (43 page)

Jeremy took me through the rest of the house. It was a bit smaller than ours, but had a big garage and a large bathroom with a walk-in shower. I took it all in as Jeremy showed me around, talking about the hot water heater capacity and the sprinkler system and things I really didn’t need to know about, but
he
seemed pleased to rattle off all the details. He sounded like a realtor showing a property.

The moment we arrived home, he called Mr. Reynolds and told him we’d take the house. We could move in anytime, he said, which
shook
me with the realization I would have to pack and take down curtains, peel the pieces of myself off the wall
s
and empty
out
closets, only to fill another house with all our stuff. The idea seemed daunting. But I could take my animals with me
—
although I decided to let Shayla go to the interested woman. That would make the most sense, since I knew Shayla would pick on those two horses, wanting to be the boss of the pasture. She needed someone who could devote time and attention to her, which I seemed to lack these days.
I felt comforted knowing I could still foster my remaining critter
s
, unless others responded to my ads and wanted to provide homes for them. The less animals I had to take care of, the more time I could focus on our marriage and rebuilding our lives.

It struck me in that moment that I
would
survive this betrayal
of my mother’s—that it might actually be possible.
Sadness and hurt
instantly
welled up, as if someone had switched on a fountain
of pain
in my heart. How many years would it take to get over my hurt? Would I ever?

But what was I really losing?
Criticism
, harsh judgment, the constant feeling of failure and guilt? Those were all burdens. What I was really missing was the love, support, and gentleness I had never received from my mother in the first place. I’d only thought I had those things because I was told I did.
The emptiness that hollowed out my stomach was not so much from this recent loss but the excavating of an empty place that had been hidden deep inside me my entire life. Maybe now that this cavern had been exposed and uncovered, I could fill it with something else—like self-esteem, confidence, a sense of worthiness and purpose. All things that were never present because the place in
to
which they fit had been sealed off.

“A couple of guys at work said they’d come over and help us move. We’ll just rent a big U-haul and make a couple of trips. Should take a day at most.”

“I guess I need to start packing
.
 
.
 
.
”

Jeremy gathered me in his arms and studied my face. “Are you okay with this, really? I want you to be happy. I know this is hard, all this work we put into
our
home
, the gardens, the pond, years of work
—
”

“It’s okay, really. I love the
rental
; it’s perfect. I’ll be happy anywhere, as long as you’re there with me.”

Jeremy laughed.
“
Yeah, m
e and a few goats and ducks and dogs.”

Jeremy walked over to the fridge and got out a decanter of orange juice. “Well, I should get to the store. I can grab a muffin on the way. And you
.
 
.
 
.
I guess we’ll need to get boxes and start packing.”

“I can do that.” I got out two glasses
,
and as Jeremy poured, I noticed the red light blinking on the
answering machine
. Someone must have called while we were out, but it was
barely
eight o’clock. I wondered who would have called so early.

Raff’s tired and raspy voice came out the
small
speaker. Even Jeremy stopped in his tracks, halfway to the table.
Before I could think through why Raff would be calling me so early, his words, short and pointed, struck me like a knife in my heart.

“Lisa
.
 
.
 
.
I just wanted to say
.
 
.
 
.
well, say good
-
bye.” There was a long pause and Jeremy caught my eye, his expression full of alarm. I thought Raff had ended his message,
but t
hen
his
voice came out, barely a whisper, choked-up words full of pain.

“So, good
-
bye, Lisa. Know I will always love you. I’m so sorry
.
 
.
 
.
sorry
.
 
.
 
.
”

With a click, t
he line went dead, and the silent
,
pulsing
red light on the machine
stopped blinking
.

Chapter 27

“Just ignore it, Lisa. It’s melodrama. The more
we
pay attention to Raff’s histrionics, the more he sinks down.
He is the actor on a stage, and wants us to join him, playing these roles that t
he doctors
say
.
 
.
 
.
”

I heard Kendra’s words, but they sounded like gibberish. As I held the receiver to my ear, tapping my foot impatiently, I wanted to scream.
Her mollifying and
unperturbed tone
reminded me of a hypnotist trying to put her patient under suggestion. Her patient
,
meaning me, and I wasn’t buying that. Kendra knew the statistics—bipolar patients usually made good
on
their threats—at some point. If Raff was talking suicide again, then why wasn’t anyone paying attention? The suicide success rate for manic
-
depressives was off the charts.
My anger grew along with my fear.

I couldn’t bear to listen any longer and interrupted her oratory.
“Where is he? Do you know?”

“He left for work early today. He should be at the office.”

“Have you called to see if he’s really there?”

I could almost hear her shrug
,
and it made me want to kick the wall. I would accomplish nothing by lecturing her, and it would only waste precious time.

“Never mind,” I said a bit curtly. “I’ll find out.”
And if I get around to it, I’ll let you know—as if you really cared.

Before Kendra could even say good-bye, I hung up and dialed Raff’s
work number
. I looked at the time—8:44. Raff’s
ninth-floor
office, in a posh section of the downtown
financial
district
, was in a well-secured building. Entrance required keys for the elevators from the underground parking lot
,
and security maintained cameras and guards throughout. When Raff failed to answer his phone, I was at a loss how to reach the security office for his building. I only knew the address and the company name. Maybe I could call one of the actual bank branches and get a phone number. But as
I
considered
I
the time it would take to try to get
a
hold of someone to
locate the right number
, I
knew the effort
would be futile. They probably woudn’t have these phone numbers for the corporate office.

I called Information
,
and they gave me some general numbers for the
corporation
. No one answered as I waited impatiently for nine o’clock to roll around, thinking at any moment someone would arrive, would pick up the phone. But after numerous attempts, I grew too frantic. Alarms went off inside me
,
and I grabbed my purse and ran out to my car. I told myself I was being stupid, that Raff was probably there, brooding or just staring at a wall. Or maybe he
hadn’t
even go
ne
to his office. I might drive all the way to the city, hassle with finding a parking space, and
tromp up the stairs—only to find his office vacant.

Where would he go? I racked my brain as I drove a bit over the speed limit, on autopilot heading for San Francisco. Fog draped the freeway and the visibility was poor, so the traffic dragged as I climbed the hill out of Sausalito to the Golden Gate Bridge. Mist condensed on my windshield and I ran the wipers, letting the gloomy day add to the misery I felt in my heart.

I let my mind wander back to our childhood, trying to remember Raff before things got bad.
Memories surged like a tide, washing in images of us playing board games and building forts in the backyard and riding bikes in circles in the cul-de-sacs
with Kyle and Ann
e
. Raff studying thick books on strange topics, reciting all the time—poetry, facts, trivia, snatches of dialogue from plays, Kentucky Derby winners and their jockeys, the names of all the presidents in order and the terms they served,
the capitals of every state and every country. I could hear Raff talking in a voice not unlike my uncle Samuel’s, measured, confident, soft.

Hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember any girls he dated or had a crush on in high school. He’d been fairly shy; all that bluster and bravado only served to cover his insecurity around
girls.
I kn
e
w he’d met Kendra at college during one of his manic periods, those months earmarked by
unexpected overconfidence and flagrant risk-taking.
The few times I had witnessed Raff in the height of a manic phase of his illness
, I was shocked and hardly recognized him as my brother. Kendra’s words then made sense to me—his acting and melodrama. Life became a huge stage upon which he starred, and everyone around him became a pawn for his reckless imagination. Maybe after so many years of enduring Raff’s roller-coaster emotions, Kendra
had refused to take part in those “productions” any longer.

But I couldn’t brush off Raff’s ominous tone and enigmatic farewell as mere acting. Maybe bipolar people often
threatened suicide to get attention, or to emote. Maybe, as perhaps Kendra saw it, Raff was the proverbial boy who cried wolf. Yet, at some point the wolf
did
come, and when no one believed him, he got eaten alive. Sure, it was the boy’s fault, for broadcasting so many false alarms, but did he deserve to be eaten
because of
that?

I only had to drive a few blocks past Raff’s office before I found a paying lot that still had
empty spaces
. I took
the
ticket
the machine
spit out
and found a spot, then hurried
along
the sidewalk, pulling my coat tightly around my neck. The fog soaked my face with moisture as I ran
—as if the city
were
collectively weeping—
and I wiped my eyes with my sleeve as I pounded the sidewalk, weaving among the crowds of people heading for work.

I arrived breathing hard at the security counter in the
ornately
tiled lobby. One of the two uniformed men asked my business
,
and I explained
my
need to find my brother. An emergency, I told them. I
showed
my ID while the other guard attempted to buzz Raff’s phone. They had no record of him coming in, but Raff wouldn’t have come through the front door; he
always
parked below and took the elevator straight to his floor.

“I’m sorry
. H
e’s not answering
—
if he’s there.”

“May I please go up and check on him?” I wondered if these men knew about Raff’s previous episode
of
attempting to squeeze out the window. If they did, they showed no concern.

“We can’t let you go unauthorized—”

“I know that. Can one of you escort me up there? Look, he’s got
.
 
.
 
.
emotional problems. And it’s his birthday and he gets depressed. I’m worried about him.”

One of the guards came around the counter and gestured me to follow him to the elevator. Unexpectedly, my heart started thumping hard as the elevator doors opened.
My face flushed and nausea hit me like a
punch to the gut. I shut my eyes and wal
k
ed into the elevator car, willing my breathing to slow, counting to ten silently, trusting the elevator to speed to Raff’s floor. Ten seconds; I could do this.
Fear welled up, irrational and insistent. Hadn’t I already worked this conundrum through and mastered it? Obviously not.