Truths of the Heart (41 page)

She said to his face, “How's the heat down there, you bastard?”

Before calling 911, she went to the kitchen, sat at the counter and
went over a story in her mind:

Carl out of town, I went to Houghton Lake, went there often to relax,
do some research, writing. When I returned, I found him like this. I saw the
upstairs railing broken. He probably, from the looks of it, stumbled, fell
accidentally. He has been distraught, frustrated with everything, the Senate
investigation, his job in jeopardy, he has been drinking heavily.

She thought of T.S. Eliot in the Saab trunk and began to sob but
stopped abruptly and said, “Call 911.”

She started for the phone. Stopped.
Change your clothes.

She showered quickly, dressed in white slacks, maroon short sleeve shirt,
deck shoes, then, in the kitchen, dialed 911. Within minutes an emergency
vehicle arrived. The paramedics pronounced Carl dead. Shortly thereafter two
police officers showed up, were informed of the death, and notified the proper officials.
The officers advised Rachelle that a detective was on the way.

Rachelle went to the kitchen and micro waved water for a cup of
hazelnut cappuccino. Her mind raced with surreal images, thoughts darted in and
out of reality:

I didn't mean for it to be like this … what if the press … M.S.U.
Professor Dr. Rachelle Zannes, wife of sport's icon Carl Bostich, caught
playing around with a student, Carl finds out, conveniently has an accident....

She put her finger tips to her lips. “You pushed him.”

Don't tell me you think this was your fault? Just stop it! The bastard
gutted T.S. Eliot! He tried to kill you! But if I hadn't … hadn't what? Hadn't
what, Z? Sinned? Don't be turning this into a novel. He was a philandering
abusive son of a bitch. What did Seth say about the Egyptian army being drowned
in the Red Sea. That was deliberate. This was an accident, he fell, that's all
(I pushed him). He would have fallen anyway. It was only a nudge. Last great
tackle in the sky. Not funny. He killed my T.S., he was trying to kill me. I'd
do it again. Bastard!

She whispered, “Seth.”

Half hour later a detective by the name of Nick Frajoli, arrived with Medical
Examiner Judy Filheart. While Filheart did her work with the corpse, Frajoli
began to ask questions.

Rachelle invited him to the kitchen.

He looked at her admiringly, then followed her, she asked if he'd like some
cappuccino.

“Sure.”

“Please sit.” She got a cup and prepared his drink.

He sat, “So what happened here?”

Rachelle brushed an imaginary tear and requested a moment.

“Sure, sure, take your time, I understand.”

Preparing his cappuccino, she told him the out-of-town story, Carl gone
away, Frajoli must have seen the news about the Senate investigation, NFL
insider gambling.

He had seen some of the stuff on TV.

Rachelle put the cup of cappuccino in front of him, sat at the table,
and continued: She had gone to their summer cottage on Houghton Lake, relax, do
some quiet work. Returned, found Carl, railing broken....

She put her fingertips to her lips.

“Take your time.”

Rachelle, “He had been drinking heavily for the past few months and … I
can't believe that this is happening.”

Frajoli, making notes, noticed T.S. Eliot's food bowl. “Who's T.S. Elliot?”

A pause then Rachelle said, “My cat.”

“No kiddin, I got two cats, I love cats, where is the little bugger?”

Rachelle looked around, “He's probably upstairs, under the bed, doesn't
like company.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Frajoli made a few notes, then stood and called
to Filheart. “Where are we in there Filly?”

Filheart called from the front door, “Morgue boys are here.”

Filheart then appeared and said as if ordering at a drive-up fast food
window: “Neck is broken, spinal shock, died instantly.”

Frajoli turned to Rachelle, “Morgue boys will be taking the body,
autopsy has to be done, red tape, you know.”

“I understand.”

Frajoli closed his report book. “If there are any questions we'll be in
touch, looks like an accident, open and closed to me. We’ll see what the
coroner’s office says after the autopsy, but I don't see any problems. I'm
sorry. Will you be okay here, I mean, do you have family?”

“Oh, yes, I'll be fine, thank you.”

“Let's go, Filly.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Next Day

Sitting at his kitchen table, Seth read the Lansing State Journal:

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The day after Carl's death, Rachelle had wrapped T.S. in a brick
weighted towel, taken him out on
Percy Brysse Shelly
to the middle of
Lake Lansing and gently slipped him into the water.

The following days—M.S.U. staff phone calls, letters, neighbors, cards,
funeral parlor, cremation—more than once Rachelle started to enter Seth's cell
phone but didn't.

She donated Carl's life insurance to the Salvation Army, sold his BMW.

Then the day arrived when she could wait no longer. She called Seth.
What had he been doing?

“What else, going crazy thinking of you.”

“Me too.”

“Can we meet somewhere?”

Rachelle suggested tonight, Rodin Spot. Midnight.

She bathed, rinsed with a cool shower, out of habit began to insert a cervical
cap, then smiled and stopped. The Houghton Lake great escape, Freudian slip or
not, a home pregnancy test positive, she didn't need one. Wondering if she
should tell him now or wait, she blow-dried her hair and dressed in tan walking
shorts, navy polo shirt, and slipped on her white running shoes.

Seth showed up late. She said, “You know I'm the one who is supposed to
be late.”

He put his arm around her, pressed his lips to hers, and they lingered breathing
in each other.

Finally, she whispered, “I’ve been thinking....”

“Uh oh.”

“With everything that’s happened, so many ... you still want to go
away?”

“More than ever.”

“Remember I told you I took a sabbatical, taught at Auckland University?”

“When do we leave?”

“I'm sure I could get a position there. You could paint, write.”

“Drive a taxi.”

They discussed plans. He would check flights. She squeezed his arm.

“There's a problem.”

“What?”

“Flying.”

“How did you get there?”

“Water.”

“You swam.”

“Smarty. Ship.”

“We could do that.”

He would check ship passage to Auckland. She would list the house with
a real estate company, close bank accounts, sell her car. She would give
Percy
Bysshe Shelley
to Kim. She could never part with
Esther II
, would
keep the cottage at Houghton Lake for now, who knows, later maybe they would
want to come back.

She said, “Do you need some money?”

“No.”

She gave him a hundred-dollar bill.

“I don't need that.”

“Take it. I'll feel better.”

“No.”

She put it in his hand and whispered, “Seth, are we evil?”

“Of course not.”

Rachelle thinking,
Tell him you’re pregnant
, he said, “There's a
problem.”

“What?”

“Laura.”

“What!”

“She showed up at my apartment. She shot that video Carl showed you.”

Rachelle slammed her fists to his chest and gushed in a whisper, “I
knew it … I hate that bitch of yours. What is it with you and that bitch and
you!”

“She's insane.”

She began a quiet chuckle that turned into a laugh. Holding it back,
she began to cry, “Oh my God, this is all so insane.”

“You okay?”

“Delirious.”

He said, “What did you do with that video?”

“I ate it. No, I have it tucked safely away, why?”

“Laura wanted to know why there was nothing in the media about it, if
the police had found it.”

“It doesn't exist.” She looked at him. “She didn't have another copy,
did she?”

“I don't think so, she didn't say.”

“She must love you madly.”

“I think it is more a case of getting what she wants, possessing,
another conquest.”

“Bosh, she loves you madly and you know it.”

“That could be, but I love only you.”

“You sure?”

“You don't have to ask that.”

“So what did you tell her?”

“I told her what happened, it was an accident. Even if there was a
video, what you reported, the police determined it to be true, Carl's death was
accidental.”

“Did you tell her he killed T.S. Eliot?”

“She would have liked that.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Rachelle, Laura is history, I told her I never wanted to see her
again, why do you persist.”

“I'm jealous of anything that touches you, even a thought.”

That distilled between them, she said, “I'll talk to Dean Rait
tomorrow. Tell him I have to get away, he'll understand.” She paused, “I'll
call you, let's have dinner tomorrow night.”

He hesitated, “Maybe we should, you know … with Laura snooping around....”

She looked at him quizzically.

He said, “I'm just thinking it might not look … who know what she's up to.”

She studied his eyes, “Carl's death was an accident, Seth.”

“You're right, it was, what can she do, let's have dinner.” He took her
face in his hands and kissed nose, cheeks, lips, chin, neck.

She said, “Remember the first night we made love?”

“How could I forget?”

She took his hand and led him to the secluded spot.

“Isn't this dangerous?”

“Yes,” amazed even her.

Later, after driving Seth to his apartment (she wanted to spend the
night, he thought not a good idea), driving home, she wondered about his
concerns, had he seen her final nudge of Carl? Was he still seeing....

Stop that, he loves me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Seth up early, thoughts of Rachelle—waking next to her every morning, her
fresh smells, touching her, tasting her—he began ordering things in his mind
for departure.

He would give his paintings to Tony Leeoda. He would go to his Math professor,
tell her the facts of life, he would never pass the course, he would
respectfully ask her to just give him a D. If she wanted to hold him up, deny
his graduating, so be it.

He would write the Art Institute and defer attendance. Advise da
Vinci's he would be leaving.

He couldn't believe it was really happening. It was almost like
something in a novel, he might write about it. Time to paint, time to write, he
paused for a moment to survey his apartment.

The place he had lived in for the last three some years, so much had happened.
Parts of him would always remain there. He looked out the window. It had begun
to sprinkle. He went down to the deli to tell Tony he would be moving out sooner
than expected.