“And meanwhile, you acted as if you knew nothing? You told me how worried you were about the girls, when all the time you knew where they were.”
“The moment Parminder put the plan in motion, I knew I had to start acting as if I had no idea about anything that had happened. I had to imagine exactly how I would have felt and behaved if I really didn’t know what was going on. I did it with you and I did it when I went to see Mrs. Clark. I knew before I set the balling rolling that if I didn’t come across as worried, or surprised, I might slip up in some other way. But it was the weirdest thing because the more I did it, the more I just fell into believing the role I was playing. Part of me really was scared that she’d taken them out of state, and I felt genuinely surprised when she said someone had taken them. I know you think I was acting with you, but in a way, I really wasn’t.”
I put tea bags in the steaming mugs and place Barker’s in front of her. What she’s saying makes sense. When I was with Daria, she was so jealous, sometimes I’d make up something to appease her, and then I’d forget I made it up. Once when a work colleague gave me an expensive perfume, I told Daria I bought it myself on a whim. The following week when my colleague commented on the perfume I was wearing, I told her I’d treated myself to it. “Oh, it’s not the one I got you then?” she asked, and I realized what I’d done. So I sort of understand what Barker’s saying. But there’s still so much more I don’t understand.
“The photographs. Did you tell John what you wanted him to do?” I don’t know how to ask how she can justify what she did to them without sounding judgmental.
“His name’s not John,” she whispers. “And believe it or not, he’s a good guy. I knew he wouldn’t be violent or anything like that.”
“But they’re fifteen…”
“Weren’t you sexually active at fifteen? You know you were, and so was I, and so are they. We don’t have to kid ourselves about that.” It’s true. When I was growing up, we were proud to mess around with older boys and even young men. I remember having a twenty-six year old boyfriend when I was sixteen, and I thought I was the coolest thing around. He would show up on my doorstep in a tailored white suit, looking every bit like a Greek John Travolta and Mom would welcome him in with her standard pot of tea and digestive biscuits, before sending us off dancing. I certainly didn’t think of it as abuse or statutory rape. I was rather proud of the fact that somebody that mature took me so seriously. But things are different these days and Barker knows it. Does she really believe what she’s telling me? For now, I let it go, although it makes me wonder about the plan that’s been forming in my mind.
“Okay. I get that you were sick and tired of birth moms not having to answer for their shortcomings. I get that at some point you got so burned out that you just snapped. But why not just leave your job? Why hang in there if you were so done with it? And why work so hard to become a supervisor, when that would have been just as bad, if not worse, than what you do now?”
“Because we couldn’t afford for me to leave my job. Not with you doing your jewelry.”
“But why not ask me to give up my jewelry? Surely you know I wouldn’t want you to be miserable at work?”
“But that’s the weird part. I’m not miserable. Not all the time anyway. There are parts of my job that I love. I do care about the kids and I do want them to have good homes. Even in the middle of this whole mess, when Parminder told me she thought I was burned out, I was shocked.”
There is still another piece, the one I dread asking her about. But that will wait until tomorrow.
Slowly we climb the stairs to our bedroom. As we get into bed, Barker turns toward me and takes my hands in hers. “Wynn, I…” tears are falling down her cheeks.
“I know you do. I love you too.”
“But I—”
“I know you didn’t. I forgive you.”
“There’s more I need to tell you.”
“Tomorrow.” I am so tired I can’t keep my eyes open. I know that tonight I am going to have a long, dreamless, rejuvenating sleep.
Chapter Thirty-three
Wynn, June 30
I sleep solidly until ten in the morning, and it’s not because I’ve stopped taking the Aricept. I open my eyes and stretch out. Barker’s side of the bed is empty, which doesn’t surprise me, as she never sleeps past eight, even on a weekend or holiday. I suspect also, that she may not have slept as well as I did. For the first time in a very long time, I feel grounded and secure which is ironic, given that only two days ago, I discovered that my girlfriend had set me up as a suspect in a crime and also made me appear like a demented loony. But it’s all over now, or at least, it’s almost all over. We have some talking to do, fairly intense talking, I might add. But I know that Barker will do the right thing.
I pull myself out of bed, aware that the long hours lying down have exacerbated my arthritis, and stumble to the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, I can see that something in my demeanor has changed. All those years with Daria took their toll, but when I moved in with Barker, I thought I was done with the mousy, insecure person I’d been. I see now that I wasn’t. Today is the first day I can look at myself and see a wise, even beautiful, older woman. As I try to bring order to my unruly tresses, I notice that somewhere along the line, my hair has transformed from the mealy oatmeal color it was, to a beautiful silver. As I look at my eyes, I see new lines around them, but they are lines etched from maturity, not age. Now I must use that maturity to deal with the one topic I avoided yesterday.
In the kitchen, Barker has laid out a delicious breakfast of granola and strawberries with fresh croissants that she must have bought this morning. From the lack of barking, I surmise that Barker is out with the dogs. She walks in just as I am pouring almond milk onto my granola. Queen and Latifah jump all over me and I tousle their fur before standing up to give Barker a hug. I chop up the strawberries and she goes to the fridge to pour herself a glass of juice. I know she is waiting for me to say something, and I also know I can’t make small talk.
“I could ask you questions, tease it all out of you, but why don’t you just tell me, piece by piece, why you set me up.” Earlier, I thought about how I wanted to hear it, and what I wanted to hear, and I realized that it would only make sense if I got the whole story at once.
“When did it start?”
“Months ago.” She brings her juice to the counter and sits on a stool. “Or perhaps years ago, when I watched your mom decline. I remember the early signs that we both ignored. We used to laugh at how disorganized she was and make jokes about her hopeless memory. After she was diagnosed, I told myself I wouldn’t let that happen with you. I knew that women whose moms have Alzheimer’s have a higher risk of getting it themselves, but I had no idea that you weren’t genetically related. So I suppose I became extra vigilant, and the more I watched, the more I saw. You kept forgetting things, you’d muddle up times, space out when I gave you information, and then swear I never told you.”
“But that’s nothing new! I’ve been doing that for years.”
“I know. You’ve always been ditzy. Everyone always calls you the absent-minded professor or asks whether you have attention deficit disorder. But for me, it felt like it was getting worse. That time we went to Pelican Bay and you said you didn’t remember ever being there, that was scary. When I’d come home from work and find you’d forgotten to walk the dogs, I got nervous. I even asked Dot and Evie to keep an eye out and see what they thought. And once I did that, it was like we all noticed more things, like that time you came to the wrong restaurant.”
“And the following week? Did I really get the time wrong, or were you trying to prove a point to Dot an Evie?”
“I—I may have told you the wrong time. But then when I saw you, your pants were stained and you had on winter shoes even though it was a hot summer’s day. All I could think of was how your mom started to get confused with her clothes and not know how to dress appropria
tely.”
“But didn’t you notice all the times that I did dress properly? And that I did get to the right place at the right time?”
“No, I suppose I didn’t. I was too focused on looking for mistakes. Like when you put the wrong initials on Dot’s necklace, I felt terrible. I still wasn’t completely convinced, but then when we went to see Dr. Larson and you acted so weird, I truly thought you were going downhill.”
“But I’m sure you told me we were paying a social visit!”
“Honestly, sweetheart, I didn’t. However, I think when you’re really focused on your jewelry and are busy making up some design in your head, you just don’t pay attention to what I’m saying. We socialized with a couple of people when I thought I had a chance to get a promotion, but I told you why we were going to see Dr. Larson.” I break off a piece of croissant absent-mindedly, and then think about all the other things I do without really paying any attention.
“Do you still think I’m in the early stages of Alzheimer’s?”
“I’m not sure. Do you think so?”
“No. I admit that when you suggested I take medication for my memory, I thought it might be a good idea, and maybe it still is. But that’s all it would be for—to help my memory. I don’t have any difficulty with cognitive processing, and I don’t have any serious deficits. The other day I went back to Dr. Larson—”
“You did? She never said anything.”
“No, because I asked her not to. I scored perfectly on the mental status exam. She admitted that it might be because I was on Aricept and we agreed that I should stop taking it and she’ll re-test me. But I’m pretty sure that even if I score 28 instead of 30, I’m just fine. You just have to accept, like you always have, that sometimes I don’t pay attention, sometimes I’m distracted, and sometimes I just don’t remember things.”
Barker sighs. It’s been the one area in our relationship where we’ve sometimes had disagreements. She has a hard time believing that even when I try, I just can’t hold on to information. She can’t believe that I don’t notice things that need doing around the house and need to have them pointed out to me. She thinks everyone is like her, detail-oriented and fully engaged in their surroundings.
“I’ll try,” she says.
I look at the clock. We are meant to be joining Dot and Evie for a tour of one of the local historic mansions, but we aren’t done yet. Now I must turn to the more difficult question.
“Assuming that you thought I had Alzheimer’s, I’m still not sure I understand why you would set me up as the villain in your foster-kid scheme.” It comes out a little harsher than I mean it to, but I can’t help it. Even though I trust Barker, I still have a hard time believing she put me through this.
“It was the finances. We used up everything to keep your mom in that nursing home. I kept going over in my mind what would happen to you when your condition deteriorated, which it seemed to be doing. I knew that I couldn’t give up my job to stay home and look after you because we’d have nothing to live on. I had to keep working. But as long as we had my salary, I knew you wouldn’t be eligible for state help. So I couldn’t see how I could make it work: I wouldn’t be able to afford to look after you, but I also couldn’t afford to put you in a facility. Then I started having all those thoughts about Kallie’s mom and how mad I was at her for pretty much ruining Kallie’s life. I decided I wanted to get back at her, and all the other moms, but I couldn’t figure out how to go about it without putting suspicion on someone other than myself. Then I realized that if you got charged with a crime, and you were already on Aricept and had a diagnosis, instead of taking you to prison, they’d put you in a locked facility, which is where you’d need to be anyway once the Alzheimer’s got really bad. I know the facilities they use for people in that situation, and there’s a really good one locally, nicer even than some of the nursing homes where paying clients end up. So I thought it would be the perfect solution: you’d be well cared for, I could use money from my salary to bring you anything you needed, and I’d be able to see you as often as possible.”
I put the breakfast things away, and pile my dishes and mug into the sink. I think about her explanation. I pay attention to every word, every nuance. All I can hear is love and concern. “Nonetheless, it was crazy,” I think, and then realize I’ve said it out loud.
“And you think I’m the one who’s demented!” I punch her lightly on the arm. She shrugs and sighs at the same time.
“Why didn’t you talk to Dot and Evie about it? Why keep all the crazy thoughts inside so that they warped your whole thought process?”
“I figured if I told them, they’d offer to pay for whatever we needed. It’s one thing to let them pay for dinner, quite another to pay for a top quality nursing home.”
“That’s what friends are for. I’m not sure they would have offered that much, but if they did, it would be because they wanted to support you, support us both.”
“I guess it’s just me, trying too hard to be independent.”
I nod in agreement. “So what happens now? You’re going to get me out of this fix I’m in, right?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says. “Somehow we can get this worked out.”
“What’s to work out? You’ll have to go to Detective Gordon and tell him the truth.” She falls silent. “Right? I’m sure they’ll take it easy on you, with your background.”
“Maybe.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I guess so.”
“When I talked to Dr. Larson, I asked her whether depression could make people do things that are out of character. She said it can do all kinds of crazy things to a person. I think you’re depressed, and I bet she would agree. That would make for mitigating circumstances. I’m sure between that and everything you’ve done throughout your career, you could get some kind of plea agreement.”
She puts her head down, deep in thought, then looks up. “I’ll have to do it. What I’d like to do is cancel with Dot and Evie and enjoy the rest of the day with you today. Tomorrow I’ll go back to the retreat center for a day to get myself truly centered and calm, and then Monday, I’ll turn myself in. How does that sound?”
To show my agreement, I unbutton her shirt. Then I lead her back upstairs and for the first time in a long time, we make love, tenderly and fiercely, as if it were the first time and the last time, all rolled in to one.
Chapter Thirty-four
Barker, July 1
On the short flight from Florida to Guatemala, I order a vodka and tonic to calm my nerves and ask for extra peanuts which I eat one at a time, trying to steady my shaking hands. When I exit the airport, I pick up the rental car I booked online. The road out of the city is a reasonable two-lane highway but as I make my way into the hills, it narrows into a one-lane highway and then to being simply one lane. Every time there is a bend in the road, I’m terrified that a car will come whizzing around it and crash right into us. But I am the only one not used to driving these narrow, hairpin bends. The locals take it in stride, honking to let cars on my side of the bend know they’re coming. In two hours, I have made it to a small village which is my signal to turn onto an unpaved road that goes into the hills. A few bumpy miles later, I see a small sign for the Proyecto Juvenil de la Paz, the Peace Youth Project.
The project is located on the side of a hill made green from the summer rain. I drive through a small wooden gate, and up a driveway lined with a profusion of wildflowers. It’s even prettier than I remember it from fifteen years ago when I came and I am glad Parminder’s last weeks were spent in such a beautiful place. There is no formal parking lot, so I park the car inside a grotto of banana trees where the profusion of vegetation hides it from sight. I can still remember the layout of the ranch and even though there are some new buildings now, the chapel is still in the same place. To one side of it is a separate cabana for the younger children who don’t yet attend the Sunday morning mass, and as I hear American-accented Spanish wafting through the window, I know I’ve found my prey. I
wait in silence for the activity to end. When it does, a rush of small children come tumbling out of the door, running toward the dining room across the pathway. Through the window, I see Parminder gather up their papers and straighten the little chairs back into a row, before finally exiting the room. I walk to the front of the building and grab her shoulder from behind. She spins around.
“What the—Barker? What are you doing here?” I can see she doesn’t know whether to look pleased or concerned and that she’s trying to keep that cool social-worker look on her face to display no inappropriate emotion.
“You have to leave here Parminder, as soon as possible!” I tell her. “We have to go to your room and pack your stuff right away.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Wynn. She’s gone totally crazy. She’s convinced that you framed her—I can’t even begin to explain it all. Those girls you picked up were kidnapped and the police arrested her but she’s certain you were behind it all.”
Parminder nods her head. “Yes, I know. I spoke with her once by Skype. But what’s that got to do with me leaving here?”
“Wynn’s told everyone she can that you’re the mastermind to the abduction. No one believes her of course, since we know it’s not true. So now she’s decided if no one will do anything, she has to do it herself. I told her I was going back to the retreat center so I could come and rescue you.”
“But what does she want to do to me?” Parminder’s voice is a little hesitant, but she’s working hard to stay calm. Clearly, she thinks she could handle anything, even her ex-supervisor’s paranoid lesbian partner.
“Crazy stuff. Last night she kept mumbling things about how she wanted to make you suffer. She used words like torture and murder…she wouldn’t even tell me what her plan is.”
Along Came the Rain Page 18