Magdalene (50 page)

I called the Minden half of Vorcester &
Minden, introduced myself, and told him to expect me Tuesday.

“Thank you, Ms. St. James. Thank you!”

Huh. Such obsequiousness usually made me
roll my eyes, but this was too desperate, too relieved,
too...sincere.

“Susan,” I said without preamble when I
turned around and called her right back. “Have a couple of tech
guys meet me in Mobile on Tuesday morning, and get me some lawyers
on retainer down there. The usual collection, but make sure at
least one has some decent criminal law experience.”

“Uh oh,” she said absently while she typed.
“Somebody’s going to jail.”

“Never hurts to be prepared for all
contingencies.”

Not ten minutes after that, I got a call
from Prissy.

“So your first duty as bishop’s wife is to
go take a book to a sister in the hospital who is now blind and
read to her.”

My stomach dropped into my pelvic girdle.
“Uh...”

“It’s not a calling, Cassie, and it’s not
official. It’s just something nice you can do and I didn’t figure
anybody would tell you about it, all things considered.”

“Won’t the Relief Society do that?”

“They’ll take care of feeding her family and
getting the children babysat and to school and whatnot. We tend to
focus more on the pragmatic and not so much on just keeping someone
company. There are a lot of different levels of service and
sometimes the littlest, most mundane things get overlooked in favor
of the more visible. After I had Calvin, I was really sick and
Louise called me the night I delivered him to make me laugh. Once I
got home, she just showed up one day with a cherry limeade to talk
and make me laugh some more. It was all I needed. I will
never
forget her kindness as long as I live. I can’t
remember who brought food, but I do remember that.”

Oh. Interesting. “Okay.”

Mitch was in his lab and would not be
disturbed, so I wrote a note and left it with his assistant. Then I
went to do one of the most draining things I have ever done.

“Sister Reyes? Lena? I’m Cassie Hollander.”
The “Hollander” rolled off my tongue as if I’d been saying it for
years instead of for the first time ever.

She was young, too young for the
neurosurgery that had taken her sight, a surgery necessary to give
her a chance to live longer. That was the hope, anyway.

Her brow wrinkled above her sightless eyes,
as if by squinting she could see me. I tapped the back of her hand
lightly, and she took it, grasped it as if she would never let go.
“Cassie Hollander? I didn’t know Mitch had relatives in the
area.”

“I’m his wife. As of last month.”

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, how
wonderful
.”

“Thanks. Um, I’m kind of new at this
bishop’s wife stuff. I brought books to read to you in case—”

“No, please. Just talk to me. Tell me how
you met Mitch.”

I was only a few halting sentences into it
when something I said—“salsa dancing at Cubax”—made her start to
cry, then her fears began to bubble over.

And, as I had done for years, I simply
listened, long into the evening, then night. It was nineish when
Mitch walked into the room quietly, in a suit, his second counselor
following closely behind. They sat, Mitch drawing up a chair to sit
beside me and hold my other hand, twining his fingers with
mine.

After a moment, she stopped speaking
abruptly and wiped her eyes. “Who’s there?”

“Bishop Hollander, Lena. Brother Noble. Your
husband asked us to come and give you a blessing.”

A what?

I looked at Mitch questioningly. He mouthed,
“Watch,” and arose to stand on one side of her bed while Brother
Noble went around to the other side.

It was a ritual like faith-healing, but not.
The other man took out a small vial attached to his key ring and
put a small drop of what seemed to be oil on the crown of her head,
rubbed it in a little, then he placed both his hands on her head.
Mitch placed his hands over Brother Noble’s. They bowed their heads
and closed their eyes. Brother Noble said a few words that sounded
ritualistic, but then he was done and they lifted their hands—only
to change places. Mitch laid his hands on her head, while Brother
Noble placed his on Mitch’s.

And he began to speak to her.

My breath came short at his low voice, what
he said, how he said it, with a lyricism and poetry I didn’t know
he was capable of. He didn’t promise her the return of her sight or
a long life. He didn’t promise her anything at all, much less
healing, much less a miracle.

He reassured her of the Lord’s love and
protection for her family, advised her to accept all the help she
was given, as it was from the Lord, and to make an effort to learn
how to live without her sight. He wanted her to use the other
senses the Lord had given her, to find ways to bless others through
her adversity, to let go of any bitterness she might have.

He then instructed her to learn how to dance
blind, to trust her husband to partner her well, and let the music
into her soul to guide her feet.

I bowed my head, humbled to my core, feeling
terribly petty that I’d found fault with his garments.

Mitch finished with a ritualistic close,
then stopped talking in that beautiful syntax. Now he talked to her
normally, asked her how she was doing, if she needed someone to
stay the night with her.

“No,” she said, laughing a little through
her tears. “I’ve taken up enough of Cassie’s time, crying all over
her, feeling sorry for myself.”

He cast me a quick, warm smile, but turned
his attention back to her. “You’re allowed. Don’t hesitate to call
me if you need anything else. I’ll stop by tomorrow sometime to
check on you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, so grateful, so
reassured. He hadn’t said anything to assuage the fears she had
poured out to me, but she seemed to believe he had. “Thank you,
Cassie. Go on home now. I’ll be okay.”

Another round of quick hugs and Mitch and I
walked hand-in-hand through the hospital and out to the parking lot
without speaking. I pointed to where I’d parked and he handed me in
without a word, that warm smile still on his face when he reached
out to touch my face with the pad of his thumb, then put it to his
mouth as if he were tasting something. Then he murmured, “See you
at home.”

I was in our bedroom and nearly undressed
when I heard him come in the front door and shed his keys and
wallet on the front foyer table where he always left them. Then I
heard his footsteps on the stairs, then coming down the hall to our
bedroom. I found myself holding my breath, waiting for the moment
he would come in and wrap his arms around me...

...and released it in a whoosh when he did
exactly that. He hummed into my neck, my jaw, as he kissed and
licked and nibbled. He said nothing as he finished undressing me,
helped me undress him, drew me into bed and made love to me with a
tenderness beyond anything I’d known, even from him.

Bishop
Hollander asked nothing from
me but to lie back and be pleasured and he did oh so well as if
he’d had years and years of practice with me, knowing exactly what
to touch and how.

Three weeks.

It had taken three weeks for him to become
the most perfect lover I had ever had.

* * * * *

If We Work Hard, If
We Behave

April 10, 2011

A ringing phone in the middle of the night
never brings anything good, especially if the ringtone belongs to
one’s teenage stepson who is supposed to be home in bed.

I snapped out of sleep and snatched the
phone to my ear, mid-“Allentown.”

“Trevor?”

“Cassie!” After that one word, the boy
launched into a panicked rendition of...something. He was
hyperventilating, about to cry, and the only words I could pick out
were
Hayleigh Sitkaris
and
accident
.

My heart stopped.

“Trevor. Trevor! TREVOR!” I shouted, and was
finally able to get him to listen to me. “Where are you?”

“I’m— Um... Uh... I don’t know, um... I
couldn’t— I tried the mill— My dad, I...”

Mitch was at the foundry casting ingots and
wouldn’t be home for hours.

I heard the faint wail of sirens. “Trevor,
focus. Listen to my voice. Can you see the ambulance?”

“No. Only hear.”

“If they ask you if you want to go to the
hospital, say yes and go with them. I’ll meet you there. Can you do
that?”

“Yes.”

Trevor, he made me I’m sorry he made me I’m
sorry please forgive me Trevor I didn’t want to he made
meTrevorI’msosorry

What the fuck? Whose slurred voice was
that?

Sit down or something, Hayleigh... Right
here’s good...

“Trevor!”

The siren abruptly stopped, and I could hear
the clank of doors and gurneys, the shouts of paramedics.

He didn’t answer. I tried again. “Trevor! Is
Hayleigh there right now?”

“She did this,” he said vaguely, as if he
weren’t quite conscious. “She— I— Hit her.”

I didn’t want to do it Trevor you have to
believe me he made me do it please believe me

I believe you don’t worry

“Did you hit your head?”

“Yeah. Think so. Windshield cracked. Um...”
His piece of shit truck was so old it didn’t have airbags.
“Hayleigh’s hurt, too.”

There was a rustle and a thump, a grunt, and
a clatter that hurt my ear.

“Trevor!”

No answer.

Trevor Trevor please wake up Trevor please
help him he won’t wake up please help us

I couldn’t breathe.

Miss, don’t worry about him. We’ve got it
under control.

But he— I didn’t want to he made me do it
please help Trevor please ohTrevorwakeup!

Come with us, miss. We’ll tend
to—Trevor?

Yespleasehelpus

“Hello? Who’s this?”

I blinked, shocked at the female voice in my
ear. “The boy’s stepmother. Cassie Hollander. You’re the EMT?”

“Yes. We’re taking him and the girl to
Lehigh Valley Hospital.”

The line went dead.

I glanced at the clock as I threw on some
clothes and slapped a ball cap on my head. Almost one a.m.

Car.

Trevor had called the mill, but I didn’t
know if he’d spoken to anyone who could get Mitch the message. It
would be pointless for me to try.

GPS.

I refused to think about anything beyond
getting to the hospital, but my heart thundered.

Hospital.

I walked in that place like I owned it.
“Where is my son?” I demanded.

The emergency room clerk was not impressed.
“And...you would be?”

“Cassie
Hollander
, looking for Trevor
Hollander
. How is he?”

Hollander Steelworks: The biggest employer
in Lehigh Valley. It got her attention and she signaled to a
nurse.

“He’s getting a CT scan at the moment,” she
said. “You’ll need to do the paperwork, but you can do that in his
assigned room.”

Ah, no privacy hassles, then. Either the EMT
or Trevor had let them know to expect me.

They had me fill out innumerable papers. I
knew he was on the mill’s insurance, but I didn’t have that
information and I’d just pay the damn bill anyway.

Soon he was wheeled into the room, and I
helped the nurse get him into bed. He was in a hospital gown with a
bandage on his forehead, and we struggled because he was half
asleep and couldn’t help. He gave me a wan smile.

“So,” I said briskly as I drew up a chair.
“You and I are going car shopping this week.” And Hayleigh Sitkaris
was getting out of that house.

I held up my hand when he opened his mouth
to speak. “I know you love your truck because you bought it with
your own money, and that shows you aren’t a trust-fund brat and
you’re proud of that. But it’s worthless now and I won’t have you
going without airbags. If you or your father have a problem with
that, you can both kiss my ass.”

He started to laugh, but then groaned and
clutched his head.

“The cops are here. Have you talked to them
yet?”

He shook his head and went to sleep. I know
it’s an old wives’ tale about letting people with head injuries go
to sleep, but it didn’t stop me from wanting to keep him awake. Ah,
but the police took that decision out of my hands when they showed
up to interview him. He wasn’t in critical condition and they had
no compunction about requiring him to think and speak to them.

The tale was slow to emerge, but Trevor made
an effort to work through his haze and articulate it with some
logic.

He’d left Scarlett’s dorm around
twelve-thirty and was driving down I-78 at a good clip when someone
zipped past him, slipped into the lane in front of him, and stomped
on the brakes.

“You know the other driver, I take it?” the
officer asked Trevor matter-of-factly.

“Yes,” he croaked. “She—” He cleared his
throat. Took a drink. “She was following me. Waiting for me to come
out of the dorm. She’s been following me around for the last week
or so, I guess.”

It was the first time I’ve ever wanted to
kill someone badly enough to think about doing it, but not
Hayleigh.

No.

I knew whose hand was up the back of that
poor little poppet.

“I saw her—watched her, I mean, go around
me. I slowed down when I figured out what she was going to do.”

“How fast were you going, do you think?”

“I was doing a little over seventy when she
passed me. Had to slam on my brakes.”

“So when you hit her, how fast do you think
you were going?”

“Maybe forty-five, fifty.”

And hit her hard enough to send his head
into the windshield and crack it. If he’d been going any
faster—

The officers traded glances. They didn’t
believe him. Now. They would when they did the calculations.