The Dearly Departed (25 page)

“He likes it rarer than most people,” Regina offered when he'd gone outside.

“I used to like it
bleue,
myself, but even medium these days . . .” Dr. Ouimet began, his voice fading.

“Are you okay?”

He raised his chin and said, “I stopped by Margaret's house earlier today.”

“Did you see Sunny?”

“I did. I didn't get to talk to her at the funeral.”

“Except for your beautiful eulogy.”

“My ‘beautiful eulogy,' ” he repeated disdainfully. “Ask my wife how beautiful she found my remarks.”

Regina said, “I guess I know the answer.”

“I embarrassed her in front of the entire community. I ‘e-mo-ted.' I ‘wore my heart on my sleeve.' Can you imagine criticizing someone for his heartfelt tribute to an employee? What kind of person says something like that after the fact? When the words have already been spoken? It's very cruel. Heartless, really.”

Regina nodded sympathetically. “How was Sunny today?”

“Subdued. Heartbroken, of course. But still very hospitable.” Dr. Ouimet's chin began trembling.

“I should call her,” Regina murmured.

“Who?” asked Randy as he came through the back door, a charred hamburger on the end of a long-handled spatula.

“Sunny.”

“I just saw her at the club. In fact, I was going to tell you that we may have buried the hatchet today.”

“What hatchet?” asked the doctor.

“The old one, from high school. Some pranks we pulled.”

“Who's ‘we'?”

“The guys on the golf team. We thought we were riotously funny.”

“What happened at the club?” Regina asked.

“I gave my side of the story, which was that she could have been a better sport, and I conceded that we guys could have been a little more inclusive.” He smiled. “Chet fine-tuned some of the sticking points, but we ended up in what I judged to be a sincere handshake.”

“Hard to believe,” said Regina. “Unless she felt too worn down to argue her case.” She turned to the doctor. “Was her mother working for you back when Sunny was being harassed?”

“What year?”

“It started her freshman year . . . fifteen, sixteen years ago?”

“Yes, she was. But it was so like Margaret to leave her problems at home.”

“She didn't know the whole story,” said Regina. “Partly because Sunny didn't want to upset her and partly because she knew Margaret would go to the principal, who'd call in the coach, who'd squeal to the boys.”

“I think I can speak for the boys,” said Randy. “She was an easy target, because she was so serious about everything and knew the rule book, chapter and verse—”

“Then it's even a worse disgrace that she wasn't the captain,” said Regina.

Dr. Ouimet was chewing slowly, as if it required thought. He swallowed, then said, “I do remember Margaret wearing a Lady Terrapins sweatshirt to work the day after Sunny got her letter of intent from Maryland, but otherwise she was very professional. Very discreet.
Always.
”

Randy glanced across the table at his wife.

Dr. Ouimet confided, “There's a chance—very slight, and I hate to take credit for today's summit—that Sunny was feeling a bit stronger after my visit.”

“Because . . . ?” Regina prompted.

“I brought her a check, which represented Margaret's unused vacation pay, accumulated sick pay, and what would have been her Christmas bonus. A not-insubstantial amount.” He turned to Regina. “This might ease your mind a bit.”

“I wish you'd consulted me first,” said Randy.

“About what?” asked Regina.

“Writing checks for not-insubstantial amounts.”

“Why would you care if he paid Sunny what was due her mother?”

Randy looked to Dr. Ouimet, who blotted his mouth, then said, “I'd be comfortable taking Regina into my confidence. The whole town will know sooner or later.”

“Know what?”

The doctor sat up a little straighter. “After twenty-eight years of marriage, I may have walked out on Mrs. Ouimet today.”

“ ‘May have'? You don't know?”

“I did it in the heat of an argument. She is doubtless convinced that I am merely out on my walk, blowing off a little steam.”

Regina reached over and picked flecks of corn from the baby's hair. “But you left. For good?”

“I didn't know it myself until I'd passed my half-mile mark—the hydrant in front of Wheeler's Garage—and then I said, Do you know what you just did, Emil? You left Christine. You said what you've wanted to say for a very long time—”

“Which was . . . ?” asked Regina.

When Dr. Ouimet hesitated, Randy said, “I'm sending him home, irrespective of his wishes to run in the opposite direction.”

“You'd want to anyway, wouldn't you? You can't just leave and never go back for your stuff,” offered Regina.

“I'm sending him to Marc Weiss in Keene,” Randy told Regina.

“When you say ‘go back,' you understand that I won't be sleeping in Mrs. Ouimet's room, correct? Or trying to patch things up. You're not suggesting that?”

“Are you?” Regina asked her husband.

“If Christine knew I was discussing such deeply personal matters with strangers . . . well, I can't even imagine the force of that blast.”

“Except,” said Regina, “the irony here is that Mrs. Ouimet knew a lot about us.”

“She did?” asked the doctor.

“Sure. Personal medical stuff. She's the one who got all the test results back and called us. Or didn't call us.”

“She's a registered nurse,” said Dr. Ouimet. “In fact when I was doing my surgical rotation at the Brigham, she was head nurse on that service.”

And an utterly unsympathetic one, thought Regina. Her mother had changed doctors and driven all the way to West Lebanon for her appointments because of Mrs. Ouimet's imperious gatekeeping. “Will she be devastated?” Regina asked.

“Of course,” said the doctor. “As will our boys.”

“Nothing has happened,” said Randy. “This may still prove to be a spat. Doc may feel completely different in the morning.”

“May I be frank? Now that my cards are on the table?”

“Absolutely,” said Regina.

“Ordinarily I wouldn't discuss this in mixed company. But I feel as if there's been a sea change in me, that some vein has been tapped here and I can talk freely for the first time. Not that Margaret's death didn't break my heart, but another part of me has been resuscitated. And eventually I might have to testify to this in a court of law.”

“Testify to what?” Regina asked.

Dr. Ouimet shielded his words from the baby and whispered, “Mrs. Ouimet and I haven't had marital relations since June of nineteen ninety-six.”

Neither Regina nor Randy responded immediately. “Have you been keeping records?” Randy finally asked.

Dr. Ouimet tapped his temple. “Only up here. I remember the date because we went to Colonial Williamsburg that month, then toured Civil War battlegrounds. Our second honeymoon.”

“Memorable,” said Randy.

“Of course, Christine's view may well be that I haven't been keeping up my end of the marital bargain.”

The baby dropped his chewed-up ear of corn over the side of his high-chair tray.

“Yuck,” said his mother.

Robert bent over to study the corn cob on the floor, his arm hanging longingly over the side.

“No turning back now,” said his father.

“All gone?” said the baby.

“Correct. On the floor.”

“All gone,” the baby wailed.

“Maybe he dropped it by accident,” said Dr. Ouimet.

The baby straightened up and blinked at his new ally.

“Finish your hamburger,” said his mother.

“Caw,” he said mournfully.

“Cute as they come,” said the doctor.

“We think so,” said Randy.

“Where do the years go?” asked the doctor. He'd eaten his hamburger, bun and all, with a knife and fork, which were now crossed, tines down, on his plate.

“Another burger?” Randy offered.

“Absolutely not,” said the doctor. He patted his still-convex abdomen. “You may have noticed a change for the better.”

Regina felt an uncontrollable smile coming on, so she took the baby's hand and cooed some nonsense.
Not keeping up his end of the marital bargain. No sex since Gettysburg.

I'm no lawyer, she thought, untying Robert's bib. I didn't promise confidentiality. Besides, Sunny won't tell a soul.

“Maybe I'll give Sunny a call after I put the baby down,” Regina murmured.

“No bed!” pleaded Robert.

“Of course you'll send my warm regards,” said Dr. Ouimet.

 

E
ven though
VACANCY
flashed in halfhearted amber, the King's Nite office and all its units were dark, including number 1, where a blandly sleek and gleaming white rental car stood parked at an inexpert angle.

“How does this woman expect any drop-in business without even a porch light on?” Fletcher complained to Sunny, next to him in the Volkswagen.

“She doesn't want to be woken up. Besides, tourists don't come to King George. Not on purpose, anyway.”

Fletcher ejected a tape from the player, read the label, and shook his head. “
Sinatra at the Sands.
Why am I not surprised? Miles had, like, three tapes in here. He who always claimed to be a big music lover.”

Sunny didn't comment. She peered straight ahead at unit 1. “Isn't she expecting you?”

“She's doing wounded and withdrawn. C'mon. No way she's asleep.”

“I'll wait here.”

“You were the whole idea,” said Fletcher. “That you'd be here to defuse things. She cannot possibly decide to sue me or seduce me in the face of our obvious and joint sorrow.”

Suddenly, Fletcher was smiling and pronouncing words through clenched teeth in the manner of a bad ventriloquist. “Don't look now,” he said. “Window.”

A face was peeking out from the space where two halves of the beige drapes failed to meet.

“Is that Emily?”

“Emily
Ann.
You're not allowed to partition it.”

“Or else?” said Sunny.

“She corrects you until you get it right. C'mon.”

“Should we knock?” asked Sunny as they stood before the door.

“She's studying you intently,” said Fletcher.

“How long do we wait?”

Fletcher landed two staccato knocks on the door.

“I'm thinking,” said Sunny, “that if she ever opens the door, you should introduce me as your half-sister. Like immediately.”

“Exactly what I had in mind.” He wiggled his fingers in a coy wave, and the figure retreated. “Probably calling a consultant,” he said.

“Or putting on lipstick,” said Sunny.

Another half minute passed. Fletcher called her name. Emily Ann finally opened the door, wearing what appeared to be baby-doll pajamas in pale blue cotton. “Fletcher?” she asked, covering herself with dingy tan drapes.

“Didn't we just speak on the phone?” asked Fletcher.

“You said you were going to call first. Besides, I didn't recognize the car.”

“Sunny Batten,” said Sunny, extending her hand. “I think he did mention on the phone that he had a new apple-green vehicle.”

“Meet my long-lost sister,” said Fletcher. “If you turned on your porch light, you'd notice the uncanny resemblance.”

Emily Ann shook Sunny's hand and said, from her funeral playbook, “Please accept my heartfelt condolences over the loss of your mother.”

“Do you want to invite us in for a nightcap?” Fletcher asked.

“There's no room. There isn't even a chair, let alone a sitting area. I asked for an upgrade, but there's no such thing.”

“Maybe this is a bad time,” said Sunny.

Fletcher nudged her with his elbow.

“Or maybe just the opposite,” she said brightly. “Maybe you're feeling claustrophobic and would like to get out.”

“There must be a bar open somewhere,” said Fletcher.

“There's an ice cream stand on Route 114 that used to stay open till midnight,” said Sunny.

“I doubt very much whether Emily Ann eats ice cream, short of a political necessity,” said Fletcher.

“Yes I do. Besides, I didn't have any dinner.”

“Easily remedied,” said Fletcher.

Sunny said, “Emily Ann? Did you catch what Fletcher said before? That I'm his half-sister?”

Emily Ann frowned. “Did I not react? Is that why you're asking?”

“Put some clothes on. We'll wait in the car.”

Sunny climbed into the backseat. After a dry silence, Fletcher asked, “See what I was up against? That much charm and that degree of warmth in a political candidate?”

“So? No one's charming when she's angry and in pain.
And
feeling betrayed. Not to mention jobless and a stranger in a strange land.”

“You are,” he said. He examined the plastic bud vase mounted on the dashboard, then opened the glove compartment. He brought forth a leatherbound manual. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to read about my new chick car.”

“I think you should drop me at my house,” said Sunny. “Sister or no sister, she was expecting you unchaperoned—if her outfit meant anything.”

Fletcher tapped the manual triumphantly. “That sound I heard when I was on the highway? It must have been the retractable spoiler. Available only on a diesel.”

“Don't look now,” said Sunny.

Emily Ann was wearing a charcoal-gray suit with a short skirt and ankle-strap high heels.

“Ever seen such skinny legs?” Fletcher asked.

Emily Ann hesitated beside the car for a few seconds, as if not accustomed to opening doors herself.