Killer's Cousin (11 page)

“She was twelve years older than Lily,” I said. “Lily was a big surprise—Kathy had been the only child for so long. Vic and Julia had all these plans for Kathy.” I hesitated.

Raina dried the last dish and I let the water out of the sink. As it gurgled down the pipes, Raina said, straight out, “Kathy killed herself, didn't she?”

“Yeah,” I said. I looked out at the living room. I felt cold. “She dropped out of college after her freshman year, and she lived here. Vic renovated this attic for her. She had a job, I think at a health club. She was learning to give aerobics classes, stuff like that. She had a boyfriend. I guess he dumped her. I don't know the details.”

“Oh,” said Raina. She, too, looked out at the living room. She said, “You must think about her a lot, living here.”

“No,” I said uncertainly. But my mind leapt unbidden to the humming shadow. I could almost see Kathy's twelve-year-old face, when I, at seven, had adored her. “I barely knew her.”

“I would think about her,” said Raina. “It's only natural.”

I shrugged. I moved back to the living room and Raina followed me, close.

“How'd she do it?” she asked softly.

I turned to face her. “She took an overdose of something. That's all I know.”

Raina wrapped her arms around herself as if she were suddenly cold. She started to say something and then stopped. Impulsively, I put a hand on her arm. “I'm sorry. You did ask. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It's okay,” said Raina. She looked at me, her eyes and lips level with mine. My head swam. And then I thought of Emily. I stepped back.

Raina made a small gesture with her head. She moved her shoulders. She turned away, and then half turned back. “Um. When are your parents leaving?”

“Sunday.”

“Well … you want to see a movie Sunday night?” Her eyes met mine straight on. “Like, um, a date?”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted so much to say yes. “I don't know,” I said. “It's not you, it's … I … I'm sorry.”

Raina reddened. “That's okay,” she said. “Forget it.”

I couldn't bear it. I didn't have anybody. I said, “Can we just go and see a movie, and not call it a date?”

For an excruciating moment I thought she would say no. But then she nodded, and I could breathe again. “Okay. An early movie, then?”

I nodded. Somehow I composed myself enough to add, “Can we see something really dumb?”

“No,” said Raina firmly. She even smiled a little. “There're some short student art films at the museum.”

I groaned, but it was just for show and we both knew that. “Okay.”

We stood a bit awkwardly, listening to my parents' footsteps as they climbed the stairs. And then they came in, and Raina said good night and left.

“Any luck with Lily?” I said to my parents. I hoped to forestall any comments about Raina.

“Well,” said my father, “eventually she opened the door a crack and said that we'd woken her up and she hated us. I don't think she really was sleeping, though. Her light was on the whole time. You could see it under
the door.” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “She'll need a good week of sulking, I'd guess. Maybe two. Then she'll snap out of it.”

“Yeah,” I said, but privately I doubted it.

My mother was looking at me. “David? I was wondering—why do you want Kathy's picture?”

“No reason,” I said uncomfortably. “I just remember her.” And then I said something that, until that moment, I had not realized I knew. “Kathy died
here
, didn't she?” I said. “Here, in this attic.”

“Yes,” said my father.

“She died here alone,” I said. I felt as if a piece of a puzzle—a puzzle I hadn't known I was working on—had slotted into place. “All alone.”

There was a little silence.

“Why, no,” said my mother. “Not alone. I thought you knew. Lily was with her.”

I
sat down. “I don't remember. You'd better tell me.”

My father nodded. We looked at each other straight on for possibly the first time that weekend, neither of us looking away.

He said, “I was at the inquest. It—Kathy's death—was ugly. She ingested a glass of cleaning solvent. Ammonia of some kind. She was taking a bubble bath, and apparently had the glass all ready next to the tub. She drank half of it—more wasn't required. It burned out her throat, and she sank down under the water. The actual cause of death was drowning. There was water in her lungs.

“And Lily … Well, Kathy had locked the door to the attic but Lily knew where the key was. She had sneaked in before. She liked to hang out here when Kathy wasn't in.”

Now, that sounded like Lily to me. “So she thought Kathy was out?” I asked.

“I think so,” said my father. “Her testimony was a little confused. She was only seven. The judge was very gentle with her.”

“What did she see?” I asked.

“At first she didn't realize Kathy was there. The bathroom door was closed. Then she heard a noise … probably the glass crashing to the floor.” My mother made a sound, a soft involuntary mew, and my father paused for a moment, glancing at her, before continuing.

“Lily said she burst into the bathroom—yelling ‘Boo!' or something. The bathroom door wasn't locked. You understand that it would all have happened very quickly. Kathy would have been beneath the water already. Lily said she thought Kathy was playing a game, holding her breath under the water. But she didn't come up.”

“Lily got all wet,” said my mother. “She tried to pull Kathy out …”

The ice cream I'd eaten earlier threatened to push its way back up my throat.

“Lily even tried to pick up the glass,” my father said. “But of course it had shattered on the tile when Kathy dropped it, so Lily's hands got cut up. And her knees … She kept saying it was her fault. Children that age, they often think they're responsible for everything.”

I had a vivid picture of Lily kneeling on the shards by the tub, pulling desperately at Kathy. “Okay,” I said. “That's enough.” But then I thought of something else.
“This was about Kathy's boyfriend?” I asked. “The one who dumped her?”

“Yes,” said my mother.

“Well,” said my father, the stickler for detail, “that's what the inquest concluded. The letter from him was on the kitchen counter.”

I asked, “Did Kathy write a note or something?”

“No,” he said, then added, “I wish she had. It would have been … not easier, perhaps, but more final.” He shrugged. “People usually leave letters, but not always. This could have been a sudden impulse. Probably Kathy didn't really intend to die. Just to get sick. To scare her boyfriend, perhaps. And maybe Vic and Julia, too. They'd been fighting.”

I found myself staring across the room into the bathroom. Its door was ajar, and I could see the edge of the tub inside.

“Why were Vic and Julia fighting with Kathy?” I asked.

“They'd been fighting since she dropped out of college,” my mother said. “She'd been commuting to U. Mass., Boston. Do you remember?”

“Something, yeah,” I said. What I suddenly did remember were my mother's comments about it.
Julia won't pull her claws out of Kathy. Mark my words: That girl will never get away
.

“So they were angry at Kathy for dropping out of school?” I asked.

“Yes. They'd been letting her live here rent free. But when she dropped out and got a job, Julia said she had to start paying.” My mother's tone dripped disapproval.

“That doesn't sound unreasonable,” I said, and heard my father's grunt of agreement.

“She wasn't earning very much money,” retorted my mother. “And I think, with a little understanding and support, she would have gone back to school. But Julia's attitude made her dig in harder. Julia always makes you want to do the opposite of what she says.” That was true. I moved on. “So they fought about college and about rent money? And Julia and Vic were in agreement?”

“Well,” my mother said. “My brother …”

I waited.

“At first, Vic didn't take the rent money from Kathy. She'd give him a check and he'd deposit it, but then he'd give her back the cash. Julia didn't know.”

“Tell him, Eileen,” said my father.

“I was going to!” my mother said. But then she sighed. “Oh, God. This is embarrassing. David, it was my idea. Vic asked me about charging Kathy rent … he wasn't sure … so I told him to give Kathy back the money. Secretly.”

“It was a spectacular piece of meddling,” observed my father calmly. “Your mother outdid herself.”

“I was only thinking of Kathy!” my mother protested.

“You were thinking of needling Julia, and you know it.”

“Oh, and you're so perfect yourself!” Then her voice changed. “I've said I was sorry. I've said it again and again … to Vic, to Julia. I couldn't be sorrier.”

“Julia found out?” I asked, even though I already knew. It explained so much.

“Naturally,” said my father.

“Shut up, Stuart,” said my mother. “Yes, David, she found out. Kathy told her—yelled it at her—in the middle of a fight.”

I could picture it. Perhaps they had had that fight right here, in this living room. Perhaps Julia had said,
Your father and I
… and Kathy had flung back,
Dad doesn't agree with you! He agrees with me! Do you know what he does? Do you know
…

It was odd. I could almost hear her. Almost see her as she screamed at Julia, her shoulders stiff like Lily's so often were.
Kathy?
I thought.
Kathy, are you there? Are you here?

I heard it then, plainly. Clearly. The humming.

“David?” said my mother.

I looked up. “Yes?”

“Julia has never forgiven me,” my mother said. “But I am most sincerely sorry. I've told her. I told her then, and after Kathy … and I've written …” Her voice trailed off.

“I understand,” I said.

“I
thought
I meant well. But your father is right, too. Julia and I … I'd gotten into the habit of, well, I was always trying to score points … It went too far.
I
went too far. I know that.”

I said, “It's okay,” and I heard her sigh. I listened as my mother told the rest of the story.

After the incident over the rent, Kathy had begun paying for real. Julia collected the checks, and kept a sharp eye on the checking account to ensure that Vic gave Kathy no extra money. My mother believed that this, and not Kathy's death, was the true beginning of
Vic and Julia's estrangement. And then Kathy's new boyfriend had entered the scene.

“He wasn't a nice Catholic boy,” said my mother. “Or even a nice Jewish boy. But I don't know a lot about it. My brother … wasn't talking very much to me right then. He had long hair. The boy, I mean.” Her eyes skittered away from my own hair, longer than it had ever been. “An earring too. Of course no job. And of course they were …” She gave me a quick look, swallowed, and finished bravely. “… having sex.”

It was an odd moment to realize I loved her, my sturdily Catholic—despite the conversion—mother. I grinned at her. For a second, as our eyes held, I thought we might both laugh. Then she ducked her head. “Well. It was all perfectly ordinary, really. Julia overreacted. Anyway, it only lasted three months. But by the end, nobody was talking, even to argue.”

Nobody talking. Typical Shaughnessy. Typical Yaf—

I said quickly, “And then Kathy died.”

“Yes,” said my mother. “Yes.”

That was all.

After a while, my parents went to bed, and I flung myself onto the sofa. Then I got up, and prowled into the bathroom; looked at the tub. It needed a good scrubbing. I had never bothered.

If I closed my eyes I could almost see Kathy there. See the shadow; hear the humming.

All at once I couldn't bear being in the house. I put on my running clothes and headed out, fast.

The Shaughnessy apartment was dark. The only indication that Vic and Julia were there was the fact that their bedroom door was closed.

Lily's door was also shut. For some reason I paused outside it for a few seconds. It wasn't all Lily's fault that she was so odd. Terrible things had happened in her short life.

I was halfway down the stairs when I realized that I hadn't asked my parents about Lily. What had been going on with her while Kathy quit school, got a job and a boyfriend, and fought with her parents? Very likely my mother and father would not have known. What was there to know about a seven-year-old? That she had been in second grade? That she had liked to sneak into the attic where her big sister lived, to play at being grown-up?

I should live here
, Lily had said of the attic, on the day I moved in.
It's all wrong
.

And then I wondered: Why would she want to live in the place where she'd seen her sister die?

O
n Monday, I found myself whistling as I arrived at medieval history. Raina had kissed me, gently, the night before when we got back from seeing the student films. For a long moment it confused me. I couldn't respond. And then I could.

It was so sweet.

I barely knew Raina. I didn't believe she could honestly be attracted to me. Most importantly, more deeply, it felt wrong to think I could be with her. Or anyone. Very wrong; evil, almost. There would always be Emily, and what had happened.

What I had done.

Still, irrationally, I felt amazingly good. I decided not to talk myself out of it yet.

I entered the classroom a full three minutes before the bell, and found Frank Delgado already slouched in his chair at the front. He was reading. Just as predictably,
no one else, not even Dr. Walpole, had yet arrived.