Things I Want to Say (18 page)

“You remember the stuffed lamb?” I said after a moment. “The one my father gave me, that I carry in my suitcase?”

Alice didn’t look up or answer, but I kept talking. “In spite of all he did, I wanted so much to love him.” A lump rose in my throat at the memory of how much I had longed for even the smallest gesture of affection from my father. “Your children want that, too,” I continued. “They can’t help it. If you’ll keep trying, I know you’ll get through to them.”

“You can’t know that.” She buried her face in her hands.
“I’m going to die knowing my children hate me. And I don’t blame them. I deserve their hatred.”

“Don’t say that,” I protested. “It isn’t true. Everyone deserves forgiveness.”

Alice raised her head and stared at me, her eyes burning. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You never did anything in your life that needed forgiving. Not the way I do. You’d never abandon your own children.”

I laced my fingers together, so she wouldn’t see how badly my fingers were shaking. “You’re wrong,” I said. “I may never have abandoned children, but I’ve done bad things.” I swallowed hard. “Horrible things.”

“Name one.”

I stared at her, heart racing, unshed tears burning my eyes, a lifetime of denial a vise around my chest.

“You can’t think of anything, can you?” She turned away. “You don’t know anything about the awful things people can do to each other.”

Oh, but she was wrong. I took a deep breath, the truth crowding my throat until it was a physical pain that had to be relieved. “I’ve done bad things,” I repeated.

She didn’t raise her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” I wet my parched lips, and closed my eyes against the images that loomed up from my memory. A picture of Frannie, standing before the kitchen stove in the house on Amaranth Avenue, a small glass vial in her hand… Frannie smiling to herself as she stirred the pot of stew on the stove…. Me standing by the door, waiting for my father to come home…knowing what was happening but refusing to believe it…watching the scene unfold and doing nothing to stop it.

“I did the most horrible thing you can imagine,” I said.

Alice shook her head. “No. You couldn’t have.”

“Yes.” I took another deep breath, struggling for air, then let the words out with a rush, each one like a physical blow.

“I killed my father.”

I closed my eyes, terrified of the consequences now that I’d said the words out loud. Alice sat with her head buried in her hands, not looking at me.

“Did you hear me?” I said, my voice stronger now. “I killed my father.” As horrible as the words were, each time I said them I felt something loosen inside me.

Alice lifted her head and stared at me. “You’re not serious,” she said.

“Frannie killed him, actually.” I straightened my shoulders, as if shrugging off that terrible burden. “But I knew and I kept quiet. That makes me just as guilty.” A guilt I’d tried to deny for far too long.

“But…” Alice shook her head. “How?”

“Poison. Something she got from the pharmacy where she worked.” I sighed. “She put it in some stew she heated for his supper one night. She told me what she was going to do and I didn’t try to stop her.”

“And it killed him?”

I nodded, cold calm stealing over me. Even after all these years, the memory of that night was crystal clear. Standing in the hallway, peering around the doorway, watching my dad eat the stew… Numbing horror filling me as he grew pale and clutched at his chest…the sound of my mother’s screams turning into the wail of the ambulance…the pain
of Frannie’s fingers digging into my arm as she dragged me to our room…the smell of onions on her breath as she put her face close to mine.

“Tell no one,” she whispered fiercely. “Not a word. Ever. Do you understand?” She squeezed harder, her fingernails cutting into my skin.

I nodded, more terrified of her wrath than of the consequences of silence.

“Good.” She straightened and smoothed my hair, the weight of her hand heavy on the top of my head. “Just remember, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

But now, talking to Alice, a different numbness settled over me—a weariness and profound relief.
This is how criminals on the run must feel,
I thought.
When they finally surrender and are taken in.
My voice was flat and calm as I continued my story. “All the men in his family died young of heart attacks. Everyone assumed that that was what had killed him. Ridgeway was a small town then, and the police force didn’t have much experience with murder.”

“Did your mother know?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.” No one knew but me and Frannie, and we’ve kept the secret all these years.

“That’s why you left town right after the funeral?” Alice asked.

I nodded. “Frannie was scared. She wanted to get as far from Ridgeway as possible before anyone got suspicious.”

Alice looked at me, her eyes soft with compassion. “He was a horrible man. He made your life hell.”

“That doesn’t mean he deserved to die. Or that we had the right to sentence him to death.” Or to sentence ourselves to living with the knowledge of what we’d done.

“What a terrible secret to keep all these years.”

It was terrible, and I had paid a heavy price for my guilt, afraid to get too close to anyone who might learn the truth,
hiding behind a shield of fat and trusting no one. Only when I’d lost the weight and moved out of the familiar confines of the small world I’d built in Bakersfield could I confront what I’d done all those years ago.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” Alice said.

I nodded. “Frannie and I never talk about it. It’s a relief to have it out in the open, really.”

“Will you tell her you told me?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know.” Would it make any difference? If Frannie knew our secret wasn’t so secret anymore, would it shake her out of her denial? Would it help her see all that was wrong with the way we’d been hiding ourselves from the world? “But I don’t know if I can go back to her—not to live. I…I don’t want a life like that anymore, always hiding, always holding back.” I could see now how pathetic we’d both been, cutting ourselves off from everyone and everything, nursing our guilt. I couldn’t go back to that.

Alice put her arm around me. “Oh God, we’re a pair, aren’t we?”

I nodded. “The question is, a pair of what?”

She took a deep, watery breath. “A pair of women who’ve made mistakes.” She looked at me. “Big ones. And we’ve suffered for our crimes.”

I nodded again.

“Will you tell Frannie you told me about your father?” Alice asked again.

“I just don’t know. All these years, we’ve never talked about it at all. Not a single word. It’s as if we’ve been pretending it never happened. That the first sixteen and nineteen years of our lives never happened.”

Alice sighed. “If only we could go back in time and do things differently.”

“I wish I knew for sure that given the chance I would act differently,” I said. “That’s maybe the worst part—I don’t know that I would. I was afraid of my father and part of me
hated him. In a lot of ways my life was easier once he was gone.”

“If I had another chance, I wouldn’t leave Bobby,” she said. “No man was worth what I gave up.”

“You can still have a relationship with your children,” I said. “Not the one that could have been, but a relationship. It’s not too late.”

“Maybe it is.” She sighed. “I’ll try again, I promise, but not today. Maybe in a few days. I thought I was prepared, but when I heard the hate in her voice…” She shook her head. “God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything in my life.”

We held each other and cried for a while. “It’ll be all right,” I whispered over and over. A stupid, foolish promise, but the only one I knew to make. If I said the words often enough, maybe I could make them true, like an incantation to ward off evil, to erase the bad things we’d both already done.

Martin called that afternoon, but when I saw his number on the screen I let the call roll over to voice mail. I couldn’t face him right now, not with my confession to Alice still ringing in my ears. I wasn’t ready to reveal that much of myself to Martin, yet to talk about inconsequential things with him right now would feel like a lie. I needed more time to sort out my feelings—about myself and about Martin.

Alice and I didn’t talk any more about that afternoon, though we were both more kind and considerate of each other in the days that passed. Alice bought a used car and I moved into the tiny spare bedroom of the apartment. I ran the flower shop long distance, as I’d been doing for weeks now, and I didn’t call Frannie or answer her calls to me. I didn’t want to talk to her again until I had my feelings sorted out in my mind.

At the end of my first week in Ojai, Alice asked me if I would drive down to Santa Barbara and pick up a part for
the dishwasher. “The landlord says he can fix it right away if we pick up the part,” she said. “Otherwise, we have to wait a week for them to ship it. You can use my car. I’d go, but I’ve got a job interview that afternoon.”

“Sure. No problem.”

The next morning, I wished Alice luck with her interview and headed to Santa Barbara. I picked up the part at the supply house, then treated myself to lunch and some shopping. Traffic was heavy and it was late afternoon before I made it back to find the house silent and deserted.

Cocoa greeted me at the door, beside herself with joy to see me and unwilling to leave my side as I unloaded the car and went into the kitchen to make tea. “Have you been by yourself all day?” I asked, rubbing behind the pup’s soft ears. “Maybe Alice had errands to run, or they asked her to start right away.”

But when six o’clock rolled around and I still hadn’t heard from Alice, I began to worry. Surely she could have called and left me a message. Then again, I was only her houseguest. Maybe she didn’t feel she needed to explain her whereabouts to me.

“I hope she’s not at some bar drinking,” I told Cocoa as I gathered her into my lap. “She hasn’t said anything, but I know she’s depressed about the situation with her children. Who wouldn’t be?”

A chill went through me as I thought of what a terribly depressed person might do. One who thought she had nothing to live for…

I shoved Cocoa aside and began to pace. What should I do? I could call hospitals, looking for her. I could call the police, but I doubted they’d do anything about a grown woman who had failed to show up in time for dinner. Besides, though I knew the local police had no inkling of the crime I’d committed in my youth, I didn’t want anything to do with the law.

In the end, I went next door and knocked. An older woman with oversize glasses answered. “Hello?” she asked cautiously.

“Hi. My name is Ellen and I’m staying next door with my friend, Alice. Have you seen her today?”

“An ambulance came in the middle of the afternoon and took her away,” the woman said.

“No!” I steadied myself against the door frame and tried to breathe normally, which was impossible. “Where did they take her? What was wrong with her?”

“I don’t know any of that. I think she was still alive, though. They had one of those oxygen masks clamped over her face.”

“Th-thank you.” I staggered back into the house and searched for a phone book. Of course there wasn’t one, because Alice still hadn’t had a phone installed.

I grabbed up my cell phone and dialed directory assistance. “I’m in Ojai and I need to find the closest hospital,” I gasped.

“You need to call 9-1-1,” the operator said.

“No, I’m not the one who needs the hospital. I mean, my friend was taken away in an ambulance and I need to find out where they’ve taken her.”

“Do you know the name of the ambulance company?”

“No. Could you just give me the numbers of all the hospitals in the area?”

The list was short and I found Alice with my first call. “Yes, she was admitted this afternoon,” they said. “Are you a relative?”

“No, just a friend. Thank you.”

I left Cocoa chewing on a piece of rawhide and set out for Ojai Valley Community Hospital. After a few wrong turns, I found it and raced into the lobby. “Can you tell me where I can find Alice MacCray? She’s a patient here.”

The efficient woman behind the desk consulted her computer. “Third floor. Room 316.”

I didn’t bother to ask if Alice was allowed visitors. If she was on a psych ward, maybe not. I had the vague idea that was where they consigned attempted suicides. But maybe I could sneak in for a few minutes to see her…

As it was, I was able to walk right into Alice’s room. All my courage left me at the door. The woman in the bed looked so small and frail, her skin only a shade darker than the sheets that were tucked around her, tubes leading from her nose and her arm.

I must have made some noise, because she turned toward me. “Ellen?” she whispered.

I came to stand at her bedside. “What’s going on?” I asked.

She waved her untethered hand vaguely in the air. “Cancer. I had a bad spell and got scared. Had to call the ambulance.”

“Oh, Alice. I had no idea it had come back.”

“More like it never really left.”

I took her hand and held it gently. “I’m glad you’re here where they can look after you. You beat this before. You can do it again.”

She looked at me sadly. “It’s in the lungs now. Doesn’t look good.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I continued to hold her hand, stroking it softly. “Should I call your children and tell them?” I asked after a while.

“Why? They don’t want to hear from me.”

I squeezed her hand. “No matter what, you’re their mother. They deserve the chance to make peace with you….”

“Before it’s too late.” She finished the sentence and closed her eyes. “I’ll call them. I don’t want them hearing this from a stranger.” She smiled. “Or at least not from a stranger who isn’t related to them.”

This was the Alice I knew, still joking. Tears clogged my throat and I swallowed hard. “I’ll let you get some rest now,” I said. “Is there anything you need from the house?”

“No, I’m fine. I had a bag packed that I brought with me.” Her eyes met mine again. “I had a feeling something like this might happen.”

I thought back to all the times on the road when she said she wasn’t feeling well. Was it the cancer making her sicker?

I promised to come back the next morning and drove back to Alice’s apartment. Once there, I held Cocoa close and cried. The little dog licked my face and whined, which only made me cry more.

All that night, I tossed and turned, thinking about Alice, and my own life. If I knew I was going to die soon, what would I do differently? Would I find the courage to accept my past or change my future? Would dreams that had seemed impossible now be within my reach with that change in perspective?

Would I know what I needed to do, instead of struggling with paralyzing doubt?

The third day after Alice entered the hospital, Frannie called me and I answered. I knew it was long past time for us to talk. “You’ve got to come home, Ellen. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

The panic in her voice rattled me, and I gripped the phone tightly, as if trying to hold Frannie herself steady. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I got a call just now, from the cemetery people. They want to dig up Mama and Daddy.”

I steadied myself against the counter, reeling from the impact of the words. “Perpetual Rest Memorial Park called you?”

“That’s what I said. They want to dig up Mama’s and
Daddy’s graves. They need to move them because of some highway expansion.”

“The state’s building a bypass around town,” I said, recalling the construction I’d seen while I was there. “Then I guess we have to let them move them.” It wasn’t as if either of us ever went back and visited. “I can’t see that it makes any difference.”

“But what if they d-decide, as long as they’re dug up, to do an au…an autopsy or something?” Frannie’s voice shook so badly she could scarcely get the words out.

“I don’t think they can do an autopsy on a body that’s been buried twenty-two years,” I said. “And why would they want to?”

“Somebody new could be at the police department, going through old cases, getting suspicious.”

“You’ve been watching too many detective shows on television,” I said. Frannie had always been prone to mild paranoia, but this new anxiety worried me. “Just give your permission to move the graves and that will be the end of it.”