Life Penalty (23 page)

“I’ll let you know,” Gail told her, eager to get off the phone. “Actually, I was just on my way out the door.”

“Okay, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you haven’t forgotten about our lunch today.”

“Lunch?”

“At Nancy’s club. You remember … you don’t remember. We decided months ago. October 15. The fashion show at Nancy’s club. You promised you’d go with me.”

“I forgot,” Gail said honestly. “It totally slipped my mind.”

“No kidding. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad I caught you before you went out. I’ll pick you up about twelve-thirty.”

“Laura, I can’t go.”

“Of course you’re going. You promised.”

“I have an appointment.”

“I’ve reserved two seats.
And
paid for them. You have to go. Make the appointment for another time.”

“I have nothing to wear. You know how all those women will be dressed.”

“I’ll pick you up at twelve-thirty. Come as you are.”

The phone clicked in Gail’s ear. She looked down at her oldest, sloppiest pair of slacks and her ragged black turtle-neck sweater. Sure, she thought, replacing the receiver and wishing she hadn’t stopped to answer the phone, come as you are.

Gail was struggling with the zipper of a red linen dress when she heard the doorbell. She looked at her watch. It was only twelve and it was unlike Laura, who was usually late, to be this early. “Laura?” she asked into the intercom.

“Sheila,” the voice informed her coolly.

Sheila? Her mother-in-law? What was she doing here?

“I’ll be right down,” Gail said quickly. “Just a minute.”

She gave her zipper a final tug and then ran down the stairs. What did her mother-in-law want? She opened the door. “Hi,” she greeted her pleasantly.

Sheila Walton stepped inside. She wore a dark brown mink coat and a sour expression. “You’re a difficult girl to get ahold of these days. I’ve called many times …”

“Jack and I were away for the weekend,” Gail explained, hoping that would satisfy the other woman. When she recognized it hadn’t, she continued. “And I’ve been busy; I’ve had to go out a lot.”

“So I gathered.” Sheila Walton glanced at the old coat slumped over the hall chair. “Going out again?”

Gail retrieved the worn gray cloth coat and returned it to its place at the rear of the closet. “Well, not in that coat,” she said, trying to smile, feeling increasingly defensive.

“But you are going out.” It was a statement, not a question.

“In half an hour.”

“I’ll try not to keep you.”

“Please come in.” Gail motioned toward the living room. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“No, thank you.” Sheila Walton sat down on the sofa. “I don’t want to hold you back, keep you from whatever it is you have to do.”

Gail braced herself for the neglected-mother-in-law routine, aware that Sheila Walton had at least some justification. “I’m sorry I haven’t called you,” she began. “I’ve meant to. How have you been?” Gail had never felt too comfortable with Jack’s mother, who was a cold woman at the best of times, and who since the death of her only grandchild, had become even more withdrawn. This aloof quality had never bothered Gail before. She knew it was,
as Jack had explained, the way she was with everyone. Since her husband had passed away—she was one of those people who always said “passed away” and never “died”—she had traveled extensively, going on two around-the-world cruises and flying off to Europe or the Orient whenever things got too routine at home.

“I’ve been fine,” the woman answered. “And you?”

“All right. How was your trip?”

“Japan is always nice. I’ve been back for several weeks now. I called, spoke to Jack. You were obviously too busy to return my call …”

“I’m sorry,” Gail apologized. “There’s no excuse, I know. Just that I’ve been very preoccupied lately.”

“Where are you off to today?” The question was more of an accusation.

“A friend called and invited me out to lunch. Laura. You’ve met her, I think.”

“Yes, the blonde. She’s very attractive. I hadn’t realized that you had such an active social life,” Sheila Walton continued. “I always had this image of you as the little housewife, singing in the kitchen, waiting for her children to come home. You know, the perfect mother …”

“I never claimed to be perfect,” Gail said defensively, growing uncomfortable, wondering where this conversation was headed.

“But you go out to lunch,” Mrs. Walton went on, ignoring the interruption. “You’re too busy to call and say hello, to ask how I’m doing, find out about my trip. You have friends to see, places to go.” She stopped abruptly. “You were out shopping that afternoon, weren’t you?”

“What afternoon?” Gail asked, already knowing the answer.

“The afternoon that Cindy passed away,” Sheila Walton said, and Gail knew that she had been waiting a long time to voice these words.

“What are you trying to say?” Gail demanded, feeling her knees starting to shake, her hands to tremble. “That I’m responsible? That what happened was my fault?”

“Of course not,” Sheila Walton demurred, realizing that perhaps she had gone too far. “I’m just saying that you’re a busier person than I envisioned, and that it’s a shame that you had to be out having lunch with a friend, shopping for clothes, on that particular afternoon.” She swallowed hard and looked toward the door. “I’m sure I’m not saying anything to you that you haven’t said to yourself at least a hundred times.”

Gail looked around the room helplessly. “Why are you doing this?” she asked. A hundred times? The number was more like a hundred thousand.

“My only grandchild is dead,” the woman said simply.

“A child you saw two or three times a year,” Gail reminded her pointedly, seeking to wound, pleased when she saw that she had.

“That’s as much as your parents saw her,” Sheila Walton countered, as if that made everything right.

“My parents live in Florida. You live around the comer!”

“Don’t you dare try to tell me I didn’t love my granddaughter!”

“I never said you didn’t love her.”

“I loved her very much.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“‘I wouldn’t have let her walk home alone from school, you could bet on that. I never let my son take risks like that. I made sure that I was always home for him, just as I would have made sure that somebody was there for Cindy. I wouldn’t have been out gallivanting around …”

“Why are you saying these things?” Gail pleaded, unable to listen to more.

“How dare you,” Sheila Walton glared across the room at her daughter-in-law, “how dare you suggest that I didn’t love my grandchild.”

“I never suggested any such thing,” Gail cried.

“How dare you,” Sheila Walton muttered.

“Please … just get out of here before we say anything else,” whispered Gail.

“Oh yes, I almost forgot about your lunch.”

Gail suddenly threw herself at the seated woman and pulled her to her feet. “Get out of here,” she shouted, unable to control herself any longer. “Get out of here before I kill you. Do you hear me? Get out!”

She half pushed, half carried the frightened woman to the front door.

“I’ll never forgive you,” Jack’s mother’s voice trembled as Gail forced her outside.

“I’ll never forgive
you
,” Gail answered, collapsing on the other side of the door.

Fifteen minutes later a smiling Laura Cranston arrived to take Gail to lunch.

G
ail was still shaking when Laura’s car pulled up in front of The Manor. The valet, a slim young man in his early twenties with neatly trimmed brown hair, ran to open Gail’s door. Gail pressed the automatic door lock.

“What are you doing?” Laura asked, startled to find herself locked in.

“I can’t do it,” Gail whispered. “Please, Laura. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

Laura twisted her body around to face her friend. “Of course you are. Come on. It’ll take your mind off what happened.”

“She said such awful things, Laura. She practically accused me of engineering my daughter’s death.”

“She was just feeling neglected, and angry because you’re going out. She probably has her own demons that she hasn’t come to terms with. She wasn’t exactly the old-fashioned granny with milk and cookies, was she? She has a lot of her own guilt to deal with.”

“I shouldn’t have said the things I did to her.”

“So, you’ll call her later and apologize. It’s never too late to apologize. Besides, you expect too much of yourself. You always have.” Laura reached over and took Gail’s hands in her own. The valet stood beside the locked door and watched the scene with growing interest. “Listen to
me,” Laura continued, ignoring his prying eyes. “You’ve handled this awful thing that’s happened to you remarkably. Maybe even too remarkably. Outwardly, you’re the proverbial pillar of strength. What’s happening inside you, Gail? You’ve been bottling everything up. There has to be a whole lot of rage, and it’s going to come out in one way or another. It has to. That little scene you played with your mother-in-law was bound to happen sooner or later. It’ll probably happen again with someone else.”

“God, I hope not.”

“People who love you will understand.” Laura looked toward the impatient young man waiting by the car door. “You ready?” Gail nodded, and Laura pressed the appropriate button to release the lock.

The valet promptly held open Gail’s door, staring at the two women uneasily.

“You gettin’ out?” he asked almost timidly.

Gail studied his face, the small brown eyes and long, even nose. His skin was fair, almost baby smooth, and he had large, straight teeth. She studied his hands on the car door. They were big hands with short, fat fingers and nails chewed down to the skin. She pictured those hands around her neck. “Gail,” Laura called, coming around to her side and watching as Gail stepped onto the sidewalk. “Nancy’s going to love those shoes,” she said, trying to smile.

They had to wait in line, and when they were finally led to their table, they found themselves seated with ten other women, none of whom Gail recognized. She felt grateful.

Gail looked around the room as discreetly as she could, keeping her eyes down, willing herself into invisibility. There were approximately two hundred women present, each one extravagantly turned out and glowing with anticipation.

Gail searched the room for Nancy but couldn’t find her.

“Have some wine,” Laura advised softly. “It’s nice and dry.”

“Where’s Nancy?” Gail asked.

Laura looked around. “Probably backstage organizing things. You know Nancy. She likes to be in total control.”

“Total control,” Gail repeated, taking a sip of her wine, thinking how meaningless those words really were.

“Your husband’s a lawyer, isn’t he?” one of the women asked Laura from across the table. Laura nodded, a crooked smile crossing her face. She had never liked to be known for her husband’s occupation. “I’ve been called for jury duty …” the woman continued.

“She’s been called for jury duty,” another woman at the table repeated loudly for the benefit of the others who might not have heard.

“Hang him,” someone said immediately.

“I don’t want anything to do with him,” the first woman whined. “I want to know how I can get out of it.”

“You can’t,” Laura told her with casual authority, “unless you can prove that it would cause great hardship to your family or to your health. It’s your patriotic duty.”

“Damn,” muttered the woman. “Have you ever served on a jury?”

“Can’t,” Laura reminded her. “Like you said, I’m a lawyer’s wife.”

“That disqualifies you?” Gail asked, suddenly interested. She realized she knew little about how the legal system actually operated.

“Apparently, the logic is that I know too much. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, that line of thinking. Also, the fear is that with a husband who is a lawyer, one might be unduly influenced by his opinion.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to talk about what went on,” someone said.

“You’re not supposed to do a lot of things,” Laura told
her, and, as if on cue, each woman turned away from the table to pick up the trail she had left behind before the sudden burst of conversation.

Gail looked down the long, rectangular table. They were seated six women to a side. She noted a total of twenty such tables on either side of a newly erected runway that ran down the middle of the large, ornately decorated room. In the middle of each table sat a centerpiece of fresh flowers. The dishes were of delicate Lalique china. A small champagne glass of fresh fruit sat on each plate, but no one made a move to begin. Gail wondered if they were waiting for someone to say grace.

“So tell me all about your appointments,” Laura said suddenly, turning back in Gail’s direction, catching her by surprise.

“Oh, they weren’t very exciting. Just job interviews. Nothing special.”

Her response had been too weak and Laura was too smart and too persistent to let it go at that.

“What kind of jobs? Who have you seen? Where are they? Come on, details, details.”

Gail forced a smile. “I’ve seen so many people about so many different types of jobs …”

“Such as?”

“Secretary, receptionist …”

“I didn’t know you could type or take shorthand.”

“I can’t,” Gail laughed. “Maybe that’s why I’m not having any luck.”

“Tell me about your weekend.”

Gail caught a momentary glimpse of Jack, his nude body covered with the crumpled bed sheet, his shoulders slumped, his posture defeated. “It was fine,” she said. “Cold. Very cold.”

“Whatever happened to Indian summer?” Laura wondered aloud.

“There’s Nancy,” Gail said abruptly, pointing through the crowd toward the head table where Nancy Carter was stepping up to the microphone.

There were a few more minutes of frenzied conversation before everyone quieted down and allowed Nancy to speak. Nancy was resplendent in a bright red taffeta blouse and black skirt. Understatedly overpriced, Gail thought. When Nancy began to speak, her voice was steady and strong.

“She missed her calling,” Laura muttered as Nancy finished her welcoming speech and admonished them all to begin lunch and enjoy the show. “She should have been Queen.”