Identity Issues (15 page)

Okay, I told myself, slow down.

"I’m sorry," I said, "I’m asking all these questions, and it’s really none of my business."

"It’s all right. I need to talk about it. My mother is the only one I have. She has enough to worry about with my illness and the boys. I don’t have much time left, and, if you don’t mind, I need to get a few things off my chest." Rosie paused to take a deep breath. "The last time I saw him, Jon told me that he wouldn’t be coming back. I had no idea he meant to kill himself. I thought that he would move away. He had been threatening me, telling me that he hated me and the boys, that we made his life miserable, and that he didn’t know why he had married me. I was exhausted and afraid."

Defeat punctuated her words. When she looked at me again, tears filled her eyes. She blinked them away and squared her shoulders.

"How have you been able to make ends meet?" I asked her.

"Jon left money when he disappeared. Hidden."

"Money?"

"I discovered it a long time ago. He kept more than one box. There is a door behind the freezer in the basement, a wooden door with a simple latch. The door leads into a small cubbyhole. I found several metal boxes filled with large sums of cash," she whispered.

Where did it come from?" I found myself whispering, too.

"I don’t know, and I don’t want to know."

"When you spoke to me that night at conferences, you said that your husband was an engineer. Do you really believe that?"

"That’s what he told me, but now I’m unsure."

"Has anyone ever come for the money?" I studied her, not wanting to miss any clue she might be able to provide.

"No one," she answered, "although a few friends have stopped by asking for him. I guess they hadn’t heard that he had died." She was just reporting now, emotion absent from her voice.

"If he had cash is such large quantities, his dealings may have been illegal. Other people might have been involved."       

"Probably. I… I just couldn't face that," she admitted. "I decided to keep quiet, because I needed the money to raise the boys. The men who came looking for him were very unsavory…kind of like the mobsters you see on TV."

I nodded, sobered by what she’d experienced.

"It’s difficult for me to admit, but I didn’t know my husband very well when we married. He took me in with his charm and good looks. He made me feel pretty. I was under his spell, I think." Her tears spilled free.

"We all pick the wrong guy. At least once, I’m afraid. But I hate for you to be sad today. You’re looking forward to your bike ride with Joey. I’m sorry if I’ve brought up unsettling memories."

I reached out and rested my hand gently on her arm. She didn’t pull away.

Rosie lifted her gaze to mine. "There’s something else," she said.

I nodded, waiting.

"Before I approached you about my husband, an attorney telephoned me. He claimed to have witnessed Jon’s murder. He was emphatic that Jon had not killed himself."

I narrowed my eyes and stared at Rosie. Was he the guy McGrath had mentioned to Jon? "Tell me, please," I said.

"He was at the scene, he said, a self–proclaimed drunk who simply sat and watched one man shoot another."

"Does that make sense?"

"He explained that his life had taken a bad turn some years ago. He’d lost his family and his job."

"Go on," I encouraged.

"He was making amends. Part of his journey, he said, was to get in touch with me. He’d witnessed Jon’s murder and had done nothing to stop it. He wanted forgiveness."

"Sounds a little farfetched, don’t you think?"

"Maybe," she conceded. "But he also claimed that he’d spent years getting his life together, reclaiming his career, and finally looking into who I was and locating me. The most interesting part of his story was that he’d seen two men sitting in Jon’s car. Not one. Not a suicide."

The pegs began to slide into the proper holes. Her husband had murdered someone else, setting up his own suicide. "Do you think that’s possible?"

"I never viewed Jon’s body after his death. I often feel as if someone is watching me. I’ve chalked it up to paranoia, but after all of this…" She looked at her desecrated hands, and touched her bald scalp. "…I don’t know what to believe."

I inhaled. Talk about a defining moment. Should I tell her about her husband? What purpose would it serve?

Just then, Joey’s tennies squeaked against the linoleum, and he appeared in the doorway. "Ready, Mom? I got the tires all pumped up."

I wanted to ask Rosie for the lawyer’s name and phone number, but that question would have to wait.

Rosie turned her face away from Joey’s, and brushed aside her tears. When she smiled at him, I swallowed hard, the depth of her love for him utterly heartbreaking.

"Just a moment, sweetheart. You know how ladies can be when they get to chatting."

"Are you alright?" I asked, leaning forward.

She nodded, pushed back her chair, slowly rose to her feet, and squared her slender shoulders.

She looked drawn and exhausted. I longed to usher her out into the sunshine and force life back into her failing body. We made our way out of the back door together. After I patted her on the arm, Joey guided his mother toward the bikes with obvious anticipation.

I climbed into the van, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway. Through my rearview mirror, I watched the two of them ride off in the other direction. Then, I sobbed as I drove home.

I
DRIED MY TEARS as I slowed down to exit the freeway. I searched for and found the word of the day. Questions. They festered like a nagging child as I lay in bed each night, tossing and turning, struggling for some much needed rest. Questions plagued me by day, as well. Exhaustion dominated my attempts to maintain the normal life of raising my family, complete the school year, and make sense of my marriage. At every turn, I plunged ever deeper into the Stitsill’s life.

I had never kept anything from Jon. Now, I found myself keeping more from him all the time. In truth, Jon and I shared little these days. I hardly spoke to Di anymore. I used the excuse of our busy schedules and her new relationship with Chris, but I knew better.

Jon, at least, sensed the distance. I wrestled with that, not just the angst of the Stitsill mystery and Rosie’s imminent death.

Maybe I should confide in Jack. Becoming a loner couldn’t be healthy. Tomorrow at work, I’d tell him what I’d been up to. He’d get me back on track. I could hear him already.

As I pulled into the driveway, the kids arrived. With the end of the school year, all of their extracurriculars were winding down. On this glorious eighty degree day, I slid out of the van, walked over to the water spigot, and turned on the sprinkler. The kids raced into the house to change into their bathing suits. Lizzie wore her favorite polka dot two–piece, Nick and Will in knee length neon trunks, and Annie and Marie in their itsy bitsy string bikinis that made them look far older than their thirteen years.

They behaved like toddlers, picking up the sprinkler and turning it on each other, screeching and squealing the entire time. I sat in my front porch rocker, beer in hand, taking stock as I watched them.      

I had changed a lot over the past few months. Increasingly wrapped up in the other Stitsill family and less in my own, I now saw the left turn my life had taken. I cautioned myself to stop and circle back around, to refocus my energies on my real life. Jon didn’t even know I tutored Joey. As far as he knew, I worked after school with some nameless kid. The school year would end soon. I silently resolved to place all of my eggs back in the right basket. I would leave the Stitsill family alone, center on my own, and use the summer to get my act together. Enough of this.

As the kids wore themselves out and spread out their wide striped towels to sun their young bodies, I headed inside to start dinner. I cracked another Corona as I plucked a package of ground turkey from the freezer, threw some pasta water on to boil, and started to brown the meat. After I was organized, I strolled to the front door and made an announcement.

"Kids!" I yelled out the front door. "Twenty minutes! Then, come inside, change clothes, and help set the table."

"It’s Nick’s turn to set the table," Annie yelled. She always kept track.

They began to bicker. Nothing new there.

"Enough already. Pipe down or you’re all coming inside right now."

They undertook a temporary armistice. There is a God.

The phone rang as I turned into the front hall.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hi, honey, it’s me," Jon said.

"Hey, babe, what’s up?" I answered, adding a cheerful tone to my question.

"Bad news. I have to leave town the end of next week." Jon sounded sad, but not as sad as I felt. All of a sudden, tears spilled down my cheeks. I couldn’t speak.

"Sam, are you there?"

Jon knew what the silence meant. He knew he couldn’t fix it either. I needed to pull myself together and let him off the hook, but I couldn’t. I took a steadying breath.

"I’m here. I’m tired, Jon. Tired of working and being a single mom who
has
a husband. A husband who’s rarely here. I’m not sure where he is, but I do recall getting married eleven years ago, and I don’t remember a divorce, so there should be a husband somewhere. I can’t seem to get my head above water. I wake up every morning, climb out of bed, go to work, come home, take care of the kids, fix dinner, do homework, make sure they bathe, and handle all of their emotional upheavals. Then, I wake up and do it all over again. Oh yeah, I do the laundry and the grocery shopping, too."

"By the way," I continued in a non–stop rant, "the repair shop called and your mower is history." My tears choked me. I gulped a slug of beer, hoping it would calm me down.

"I’m sorry," Jon said.

"I know you are." Big Deal. "Are you coming home?" I couldn’t seem to locate my nice button.

"I should be there in about an hour. I’m just wrapping up things here." He sounded sheepish.

"Dinner will be ready," I said, voice sharp, and hung up the phone. I’d felt so peaceful out on the porch. Not fifteen minutes later, I felt like heaving my guts out. I needed some rest. Just three more days to go till the weekend. Then I’d feel better, I told myself.

Lizzie and the girls tumbled through the door, giggling and shrieking as Nick chased and slapped them with his wet towel.

"Get upstairs and change," I barked.

They knew that tone of voice. They quieted down, but stuck close.

"What’s the matter, Mom?" Lizzie asked, resting her head against my chest and wrapping her arms around me.

"I’m just tired, honey. Dad’s going to be late, so there is no big rush for dinner, but I need you guys to help out tonight. Marie, please make the salad. Nick, butter some bread and throw some garlic on top. Lizzie, set the table, put out the salt and pepper, and grate some parmesan cheese. Will and Annie, make sure the suits and towels are in the dryer, and that it’s turned on. Can everybody pitch in without a problem tonight?" I tried to smile, but my irritation with Jon and his endless absence shone like a lighthouse across a stormy sea.

"Sure, Mom," they answered in unison. They knew when to pull out all the stops and help their faltering mother. I sank into a chair, counted slowly to ten, and forced myself to draw in some extra oxygen.

An hour later, a pretty decent dinner sat on the table. Jon showed up with a bouquet of flowers and an expensive bottle from my favorite winery, a Cakebread Cellars Cabernet. A good bottle of wine can cure the worst of a wife’s ire. An intelligent man, that Jon.

A
T 4:45 A.M. I slid out of bed without waking Jon. Even in the dim reflection of the night light, I could see that my attractiveness quotient had dwindled in the few hours I’d spent sleeping. The bags under my eyes cast a purple glow in the oval mirror above the sink. I brushed my teeth, threw on a sweatshirt over my pajama top, slipped on my flip flops, slung my backpack over my shoulders, and kissed Jon on the cheek as I headed out. I needed a morning swim more than ever today.

I’d decided to afford myself this small treat, swimming with my colleagues, since Jon was in town. We showed up in the school lot at 5:45 a.m. this morning, all still in our pj’s. No friendly banter, just grumbling and moaning as we approached the school’s entrance. I unlocked the door with my stolen master key, reset the antiquated building alarm, and we stumbled down the long, dark hall. Just the emergency lights illuminated our path. This allowed us to remain in our early morning stupor for a few minutes longer, before we took the plunge into the seventy degree water.

Chlorine had been my high of choice for years. Swimming created euphoria in me that I didn’t get from much else. All those studies about the effects of exercise and the releasing of endorphins proved true. I pulled on my lap suit, tugged my cap down over my ears, fit my goggles into place, and dove in. The steady freestyle soothed the tumult in my mind. I focused on my stroke, scraping the bowl as I lifted my elbow up and over in a fluid movement. My breathing became even and regular. A new woman after thirty minutes, a hot shower further soothed me as I chatted with my swim buddies.

"So, Stitsill, what are you up to this summer?" Cathy Hall, the counselor, asked.

"Not much. Just the same old. Going to play the role of a single mom and love it."

"I don’t know how you do it, Sam. Hell, when Pete’s gone just for a couple of days, I can hardly cope." She passed me the shampoo, and I scrubbed my head for a few extra minutes.

"It’s a lifestyle I thought I could handle. We developed a system that seemed to work for us, but lately I can’t seem to keep up my end."

"What do you mean?" She cocked her head and her expression invited me to pour out my soul to her.

"Let’s save that conversation for another day, and over a few beers. Good news is, my in–laws will take the kids to the cottage with them for a few weeks. Maybe then I’ll have the chance to recharge." I rinsed the suds from my hair and wrapped a ratty beach towel around my dripping body. Anxious to get down the hall and speak to Jack before the kids arrived, I left her standing in the shower. I needed counseling, but not the kind Cathy could provide. I needed Jack.