Hiding in Plain Sight (13 page)

I wish you and my mom could have known each other. She was one of those people who knew how to listen — really listen. She loved her family and friends fiercely and she never failed to do little things to let you know she was thinking of you, that she was on your side
.

Sounds like I'm trying to immortalize her — I'm not. She was my mother, and she's gone and I miss her. That's all. It seemed like it was time to tell you a bit about her
.

Why now? Maybe it's easier to say some things from a distance. Maybe it's because I miss you so much. But I think the truth is that it's because you somehow got into that locked place — got in with-out trying, by quietly, gently, sweetly, being you. The girl I love
.

I got thinking all these things, and I thought you should know
.

Always,

Greg

I read it twice, and by the second time tears were running down my face. Mom turned and looked at me in alarm.

“Sweetheart, is something wrong?”

“No,” I sniffed, “everything's fine. In fact, it's perfect.”

I
managed to bring myself back down to earth when Mom dropped me at the hospital with Mr. Stanley's fruit basket, though it wasn't easy after reading Greg's letter. I was so happy I felt like dancing along the corridors, though I managed to suppress the urge.

That came to an abrupt halt just outside Mr. Stanley's door when I heard a woman's voice, clearly choked with emotion.

“I hate this, I just hate it.” A pause came then, followed by a deep intake of breath. “If there was
any
other way,
any
option, but there isn't and we have to face the facts. This is the third time, Dad. We just can't keep taking chances; our luck will run out one of these days. I'm too afraid of what could happen the next time.”

“There, now, it's not the end of the world,” Mr. Stanley said soothingly.

“You're just trying to make it easier on me,” she said, sounding almost deflated. “I know it's not what you want.”

They exchanged a few more words while I stood there feeling like an eavesdropper, which I guess I was. I was thinking maybe I'd better just leave the fruit basket for him at the nurses' station and go, when a woman emerged from the room.

She walked past me without so much as a sideways glance in my direction. She was short and a little plump, with pale hair and skin. Her face showed the distress I'd heard in the conversation, and she paused partway down the corridor and dabbed at each eye with a Kleenex.

Still a little unsure as to whether or not I should go in, I stepped cautiously around the corner and peeked at Mr. Stanley. His shoulders were a little slumped and his face was expressionless.

“Mr. Stanley?” I said quietly, taking another step. “I brought you some fruit, but if this isn't a good time I'll just leave it and come back tomorrow.”

“Don't be silly, child, you just come along in,” he said, motioning me inside. He looked the fruit basket over, his eyes growing moist. “You've been awful good to me and I thank you. Why, a person hears this and that about young folk these days, but I never did cot-ton much to that kind of talk. People don't change, really. I reckon your generation is as good as any that's
come along yet, considering there's always got to be some bad seed. And here you are, proof of the good of today's youngsters.

“I guess you overheard my daughter and me talking,” he said, switching topics then. “Well, it's not going to get
me
down, nosirree. There's lots worse.”

“I only heard the last minute or so,” I said quickly, not wanting him to think I'd have stood out there and listened any longer than I actually had. “Your daughter seemed upset, so I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Well, it isn't great, but I'm sure there are pluses, too.”

“What isn't great?” I asked. My throat felt all squeezed, and I thought he was going to tell me that there was something wrong with him that was more serious than a broken hip.

“Well now, she's decided — that is,
we've
decided — that I can't be living on my own any longer. This isn't the first time I've taken a bit of a tumble, and she's worried that one of these days I'll fall and not be found right off.”

“That would be horrible,” I said, shuddering at the thought of him suffering alone.

“I suppose it would,” he said, as though it was of small consequence. “In any case, it'll not happen because I'm to be shuffled off to a home.”

“Which one?” I asked. There are a few senior citizens' homes in Little River, some better than others.

“Depends where there's a bed first, I guess.” He smiled, and the lines around his eyes deepened for a few seconds. He couldn't maintain it, though, and sadness crept back onto his face. “Doesn't make much nevermind, where I go. Long as I have somewhere to lay my head, I'll be fine. Only thing I really mind about it is Ernie.”

“Ernie!” I gasped, realizing for the first time that this was going to mean he'd need a permanent home.

“I don't suppose you'd be wanting to keep him on?” he asked.

“Well, I…”

“Wasn't fair of me to ask,” he said quickly. “I'll figure something out for the rascal.”

“No! Don't do anything until I have a chance to ask my mom,” I said. “She's really warming up to Ernie. I think there's a chance she'll say yes.”

“I know he's an awful scallywag at times.” A low chuckle came from his throat. “Only when he's awake, though. I'll sure miss the little guy.”

“Maybe I'd be allowed to bring him to visit, once you get settled in wherever you're going,” I suggested.

“No sense jumping the gun, now,” he said. “Best to wait until you have an answer from your mother before we get to making plans. Could be that she'll have enough sense to turn him out.”

“He's kind of growing on her,” I said, almost laughing at the thought of how he'd won her over by breaking something.

“Edrie was like that with animals,” he said, his eyes drifting off to a time in the past.

“Was that your wife?” I asked.

“Of forty-two years.” He nodded. “She was a good woman. A good wife and mother.”

“How long ago did she die?” I asked.

He reached a thin hand for the ever-present cup of water and ice chips on his tray, taking several sips before answering.

“Four years this October. It came sudden like, the end for my Edrie. Liver cancer.”

“I'm sorry,” I said, feeling awkward. It wasn't that I didn't want him to talk about his late wife, but that I didn't know what to say in reply.

“My biggest regret is that she didn't get her last wish,” he said, his voice dropping. “She wanted to die at home, in her own bed, with all the familiar things around her. The doctor told me, though, that to control the pain and keep her comfortable at the end, she had to be in the hospital. I did what he told me, thinking that any suffering I could spare her was best, but I've wondered since whether or not I did the right thing.”

“Well, you did it out of love,” I said. “So that makes it the right thing, no matter what, don't you think?”

“I never thought of it that way before,” he said, and his face seemed to soften a little, like some strain had been taken away.

“And anyway, the forty-two years you were married is what counts the most,” I added, thinking of Greg and wondering how long our relationship would last. I know we're just in high school, and maybe we'll even break up eventually, but it's hard to imagine that right now, with everything so perfect between us. Couldn't we be one of the rare couples who end up together right from the start?

That got me curious, and I asked Mr. Stanley if Edrie had been his first love.

“First? Well, now, I guess she was. I called on a few other gals before her, but I don't rightly think I loved any of them, though I nearly fooled myself once or twice. In the end none of that mattered. She was certainly the one that counted.”

“How'd you first meet?” I wanted to know.

He sipped more ice water and cleared his throat. “We met back in 1952, at a supper they were holding over at the old Presbyterian Church on Weaver Road. It's gone now — burned down sometime early in the sixties and they never did rebuild it. Most folks could travel by car by then, though that wasn't the case when the church was first erected back around the turn of the century.”

I was itching for him to get to the romantic part but knew from experience that you can't rush a story.

“So, anyway, they were holding this here supper and my friend Eddy Hosford and I went. We went mainly for the girls, if you want the whole truth,” he chuckled, “though there was always good pie and such at those events. That made it worthwhile in itself, lemon pie that would nearly melt off your tongue.

“Well, one of the girls serving at the supper was Edrie. Edrie Ellen McKibbon, it was back then. I recall saying her name to myself and feeling just grand for the sound of it.”

“Did you ask her out the night you met her?” I asked. It seemed as though he meant to skip through some of the story, which made me feel cheated.

“Well, now. I put the big rush on her, won her over right quick. We were crazy about each other pretty much from the get-go and we just knew that we'd marry. It was an understanding, mind you, not an actual engagement. I was in no position to take on a wife and home at that time.

“I went to Ontario for three years then, to apprentice as a smithy, and well, that was rough. We wrote a lot the first year, but by the second year it was down to a letter every two or three weeks. Came a time it looked like it was all over between us. Finally, she wrote and told me she was stepping out with another.”

“Were you heartbroken?” I asked, swallowing hard. It was ridiculous to feel sad, since I already knew the story had a happy ending.

“I don't rightly know what I felt. Seems it was more like a letdown than anything else. You see, by then I'd almost forgotten what she looked like, aside from pictures, if you know what I mean. It seemed as though it had all just fizzled out.”

“But it hadn't!” I said.

“When I got back here to Little River I'd finished out my training. I set up shop, and one day I saw her going by and I went to the doorway and said hello. We got to talking and I found out it hadn't gotten serious with the other fellow.

“Well, I don't know how these things work, but something just swelled up inside me that day, seeing her and standing close to her like that. I up and asked her right on the spot to marry me, and she said yes without hardly a second's pause. So that was it. We married a few months later and I'd say we were happy, though we had our share of hard times and troubles.”

The story made me feel good, but almost a bit scared, too, when I thought about how close they'd come to not getting together. I wondered if something like that could ever happen to me and Greg.

A
s I walked toward Betts's place I had a strict talk to myself about getting more focused on the whole robbery thing. I might as well admit that the main reason I'd been allowing myself to get so distracted was that I'd gotten to the place where I felt it was totally hopeless.

A quick mental review of the facts didn't help, but I reminded myself that writing things down has always been helpful to me in the past. I'd made notes at work of anything remotely pertinent, but I hadn't taken the time to sort through everything and do up a written overview of what I knew.

The first thing I did when I got to Betts's place was ask her mom a few questions. She agreed, as Darla had told me, that everyone had left at five on the night of the robbery.

“So, you locked up the main door?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What about when people stay late … how do they lock up?”

“It's the kind of door you can lock either from the inside or with a key from the outside.”

“And the conference room door?”

“That one has to be locked with a key,” she answered.

“Is there any way someone could have done some-thing to prevent it from actually locking without you realizing it?”

“Absolutely not. The key turned normally. If some-thing had been preventing the bolt from moving into place, I'd have known it.”

“Are
both
of those locks changed every few months?”

“Yes. They're always very good quality, too, pick-proof tubular locks.”

I wished I hadn't brought up the locks again. All it did was discourage me. I decided to switch topics a little.

“Do you happen to remember who was the last person in the conference room that day?”

“I don't think anyone used the room in the after-noon. I doubt if anyone was in there after lunch, though most or all of us would have gone in to get things out of the fridge at noon. The lunchroom was being painted, so the fridge was in there at the time.”

“I saw that in the photos,” I said. “And Janine told me the fridge had leaked.”

“Yes, the carpet was wet. I called a repairman, but to be honest that was the least of my worries at the time. And I didn't know I was a suspect until a day or two later, when everything started to pile up. But I was naturally very upset and concerned about the loss the company was facing with that program gone.”

I sighed. I wasn't getting anywhere.

“Aside from the fridge, the room was exactly as it is now in the pictures,” I said. “It's just not telling me anything.”

“Well, it's a pretty bare room. A conference table, desk, filing cabinets, and a safe.”

“There's a water cooler too,” I reminded her.