The Betrayed Wife

by Kevin O'Brien

  Sheila tried the number listed online for Sid Parsons, the Bristol Apartments caretaker who didn’t have much to say in the guest book. To her surprise, someone answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hello, is Sid Parsons there, please?”

  “Speaking.”

  “Hi, Mr. Parsons. My name’s Sheila, and I understand you’re the caretaker at the Bristol Apartments.”

  “Yeah . . .” he answered warily.

  “I was hoping you might be able to tell me something about a resident there who recently passed away, Antonia Newcomb.”

  “Are you a reporter or with the police or something?”

  “No. Actually, I’m sort of a distant relative—by marriage. Antonia’s daughter, Eden, has become my responsibility. I’m looking after her now. But to be completely honest, I don’t know much about the girl or her relationship with her mother—”

  “Listen, I have one foot out the door here,” he interrupted. “I can’t talk now. But I have some of Antonia’s personal effects. It’s not much, just a couple of boxes of old photos I found when I was cleaning out the built-in hutch. They’re just in the way here. Do you or the girl want them? I’ll be back here after two-thirty, if you want to come by and pick them up.”

  Sheila hesitated. Was she willing to take an impromptu trip down to Portland?

  “Ah . . . yes. Yes, I think I can get there later this afternoon,” she said. “Listen, I was wondering if Antonia was close friends with anyone in the building. I’m hoping someone there could give me information about how she died. The newspapers were so vague about it—and so was Eden, for that matter.”

  “I’m the one you should talk to,” Sid said with a hint of self-importance. “I saw her fall. I’ll tell you about it when I see you this afternoon. I’ll be around from two-thirty on. Now, I hate to cut you short, but I really need to get going.”

  “I’ll see you this afternoon, Sid.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” he replied. Then he hung up.

  Sheila immediately went on the internet and checked Alaska Airlines for available flights to Portland.

  *

  Sheila booked herself on a flight to Portland that departed shortly after noon. She figured she could be at the Bristol Apartments by two-thirty. She might even have time to swing by the Hilton before catching her return flight. She’d be home by seven.

  Getting dressed, Sheila felt as if she were losing her mind. She couldn’t find her purple coat, and a pair of shoes was missing. They’d been in her closet just the other day. She immediately thought of Eden. But what would the girl want with a coat and a pair of shoes?

  She could hear Gabe downstairs yelling to Dylan from the kitchen door: “Hey, Dad! I’m ready! I need to get to the game!”

  “Give those scallywags a good thrashing!” Steve called in a fake British accent. He and Gabe had heard that once in a movie and thought it was hysterical. Now Steve said it to Gabe every time he left for a game.

  “Let Hannah know we’re leaving in three minutes!” Dylan called. “I’ll be right there!”

  Sheila heard the kitchen door slam, and this triggered Trudy next door to bark.

  “Hey, Hannah, we’re leaving!” Gabe screamed. “Shake a foot!” Gabe still didn’t have all his sayings down.

  Dressed and ready, with the memorial service guest book in her big purse, Sheila hurried downstairs to find Gabe pacing by the front door. He had two backpacks with him. “Sweetie, what’s the second backpack for?” she asked, smoothing his unruly hair to one side.

  “I’m spending the night at Jimmy Munchel’s,” Gabe explained. “Remember, I told you on Wednesday?”

  She felt like a negligent mother for not remembering. “Of course,” she said, crouching down to zip up his jacket. “Well, be careful.” It was a stupid thing to tell him on his way to a football game, but she always said it anyway. “And if I’m not seeing you until tomorrow, I need an extra-strength hug and a kiss.”

  Gabe complied. “Can you tell Dad to hurry up?” he asked, breaking away.

  Sheila headed through the kitchen and out the door. “Gabe is chafing at the bit,” she announced to Dylan, who had put the lawnmower away. “He’s doing his pacing routine.”

  The dog started barking again. “Hey, it sure looks great out here!” she said loudly so the three of them could hear her past Trudy’s barking. “Thanks for cleaning up that mess. Can we delay getting to the garden until tomorrow? Hallie has an emergency and asked me to teach her lessons today. I’ll be gone until seven. Do you guys mind ordering pizza again?”

  Steve turned to Eden. “Do they even have vegan pizza?”

  “No sweat,” Dylan said, approaching her. “In fact, as long as you won’t be around, I might hit the gym this afternoon.” He turned to glance at the house next door. “God, I understand what you mean about that stupid dog.”

  “No kidding. It’s not the poor dog, it’s her,” Sheila said. Then she yelled: “FOR GOD’S SAKE, WILL YOU GET THAT DOG TO SHUT UP! AND DON’T HIT IT! JUST TRY A LITTLE KINDNESS AND PATIENCE, YOU MORON!”

  Steve seemed embarrassed and flabbergasted at her outburst. Then he and Dylan and Eden all exchanged looks, and they started laughing. Even Sheila realized how crazy she sounded, and she had to giggle. Dylan rubbed her arm. They were both smiling at each other—for a change.

  “Don’t forget to pick up the laundry,” she said. “See you tonight.”

  Then she kissed him. It was just a quick good-bye kiss, but their first since Monday. Five days without a smile or a kiss or sleeping in the same bed. She’d broken her moratorium. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way he looked in his sweatshirt and fall jacket, with just a little perspiration on his forehead. Or maybe it was because she was getting on a plane soon, though he didn’t know it.

  “Bye, babe,” he whispered.

  Sheila realized the dog had stopped barking. She glanced across the way to see the woman next door on the rooftop deck. Her hair ruffled in the slight breeze. But the sun was behind her, so Sheila couldn’t quite see her face.

  Still, Sheila felt the woman glaring at her—just as she had last night.

  Dylan still had a hand on her shoulder when he looked up toward the neighbor. “Well, I think she got the message,” he said under his breath.

  Even with the woman’s face swallowed up in shadow, Sheila felt her contempt. It was all there in the stiff posture and tilt of her head.

  “Bye, Mom!” Steve called.

  She blew him a kiss and turned to Dylan. “See you tonight,” she said. Then she started down the walkway on the other side of the garage toward where the Toyota was parked in the turnaround.

  Somehow, she could still feel that woman’s hateful stare.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Saturday—11:39 A.M.

  Dylan dropped off Gabe and Hannah at the grade school. Gabe’s teammates were already boarding the bus, parked across from the school’s main entrance. Hannah’s crush was parked three cars behind it. Dylan caught a glimpse of him from a distance. He was a slick-looking, dark-haired kid, driving an old red VW bug with the side mirror held up by duct tape. The guy scored some points with Dylan because he actually got out of the car and opened the passenger door for Hannah. But then Dylan wasn’t quite sure if the kid was naturally well-mannered or if the gesture was just a fake-polite, Eddie Haskell thing he’d done because he knew her father was watching.

  Dylan drove around the block until he found a parking spot. It was across the street from a playfield. Three teenage boys tossed a football back and forth on the leaf-covered grass. Dylan stayed in the car and took out his phone.

  He would have the whole afternoon free. He’d given Steve $40 to take Eden out for lunch as a thank-you to both of them for helping with the yard work. After a rough start, Eden was now looking and acting more human. Dylan had also noticed his family seemed to be warming up to him again. He’d even gotten a kiss out of Sheila this morning. It felt like life might be returnin
g to normal.

  The only thing gnawing at him was this business about Sheila’s sister.

  He couldn’t figure out who would have texted Steve about his Aunt Molly—or why. Eden had told him that she didn’t know much about Sheila at all. Maybe some friend of Toni’s was behind the text. It had to be the same person who had sent the text to Sheila last week along with the article about Toni’s death. Maybe you should ask your husband about this. That was awfully similar to Ask your mom about your Aunt Molly.

  Was it that Brodie character Eden had been hanging around with, or someone else? Dylan couldn’t think what the person sending the texts looked to gain. What was the point in dredging up a lot of painful memories?

  He’d always felt Sheila had gone about it wrong, dealing with her anger and grief by totally cutting Molly out of her life.

  Dylan told himself that Steve was a good kid. He wouldn’t say anything to his mother about Molly if he thought it would truly upset her. Still, Steve had to be curious as hell about this aunt whose existence they’d kept secret from him and his siblings. If he’d tried to look up Molly online, he probably hadn’t had any luck. Dylan remembered how most of the newspaper accounts of her death referred to her as “Mary Michelle Driscoll.” “Molly” was just her nickname.

  Dylan remembered her wake. Sheila had been close to catatonic. He’d made all the arrangements for the wake and the burial. Since Sheila’s family was Catholic and Molly’s death was an apparent suicide, Dylan had gotten into a big hassle with some pigheaded old priest about Molly being buried beside her dad in a Catholic cemetery. But they’d finally straightened it out. At the funeral parlor, Sheila was like a zombie, sitting in a chair near the closed coffin. People tried to talk to her and give their condolences, but she barely responded. They were lucky to get a nod out of her. A bunch of Molly’s college and old high school friends had shown up. Dylan hadn’t known anyone, and at one point, he desperately needed to get out of there. Outside, near the funeral home’s side entrance, he saw two guys, old high school chums of Molly’s—a couple of dirtbags, really. One of them hadn’t even worn a tie or a jacket for the service. They were having a smoke.

  “I can’t remember,” the one who was wearing a tie said to his friend. “Did you fuck her, too?”

  The guy laughed. “Yeah. Shit, man. I was going out with her for like a month. But I’m sure half the guys in there right now banged her at one time or another. Man, she was crazy—I mean, fun, but really screwed up in the head.”

  “Yeah, but you know what they say—crazy in the head, crazy in the sack . . .”

  This got a chuckle out of the one without the tie. “No shit.”

  Clenching his fists, Dylan had wanted to defend his sister-in-law’s honor, go over there and punch their lights out. But it would have caused a terrible scene at an already awful occasion. Sheila was on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Another incident, even a small one, could have pushed her over the edge. Besides, the two dirtbags were right. Sheila’s sister was promiscuous—and a bit crazy. Even Sheila knew that.

  Sometimes, Dylan thought that craziness ran in the Driscoll family. He often wished he were with someone who wasn’t so complicated, someone who was fun.

  And sometimes, he just couldn’t help who he was attracted to. Right now, more than anything, Dylan wanted to be with Brooke. He texted her:

  I have the afternoon free. Can u break away and meet me? I’m alone right now if u want to talk. Would love to hear ur voice

  He pressed Send. Just a minute later, his phone rang.

  Dylan saw it was her, and he answered. “Hi, are you free?”

  “No, Paul’s in the shower right now, so I can’t talk long. How are you? I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. Can you get away?”

  He heard her sigh on the other end. “We’re supposed to go on some Puget Sound cruise this afternoon. It’s a work thing he’s got to do. I could fake a headache and try to get out of it. If he doesn’t give me an argument, then I’ll be free. But—well, there’s another problem. Remember how I’ve told you a couple of times I think that someone’s watching us?”

  “Yeah?” Dylan replied warily.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s a woman,” Brooke said. “Was your wife asleep last night around four in the morning?”

  “Why do you ask that?”

  “Well, I got a strange phone call. It woke me up. Thank God, Paul slept through it. A woman was on the other end. She said, ‘You’re just a whore.’ But she sort of sang it, like it was part of a rhyme, or something. It was so creepy. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I checked my Caller ID, and the call came from a public phone. I hate to ask, but was Sheila home last night around four in the morning?”

  “I think so,” Dylan said. “But I can’t be a hundred percent positive. We’ve been sleeping in separate quarters lately.”

  It was strange, but Dylan found himself trying not to be furious with Sheila. The thought that she might be tormenting Brooke infuriated him. Brooke hadn’t done anything to hurt her—except exist. It certainly seemed possible that Sheila had snuck out of the house in the middle of the night while everyone slept. After all, she hadn’t gotten out of bed until ten this morning.

  “Listen, I caught a glimpse of this woman who might have been following me yesterday afternoon,” Brooke whispered. “I saw her outside my apartment building, and then later in the underground parking lot at the hospital. At least, I think it was the same woman. I didn’t really get a close look at her. But do you have a photo of your wife on your phone that you can send me?”

  Dylan hesitated. He didn’t want to give Brooke a photo of Sheila. He wanted to keep the two of them as separate as possible.

  “You know, I’m not exactly dying to see what she looks like,” Brooke explained. “But I want to determine if she could be this woman.”

  “Let me put you on hold while I find a picture,” Dylan sighed. He tapped into the photo gallery. Practically all of the pictures of Sheila showed her with one or more of the kids. He didn’t want to send Brooke any of those. He didn’t want to send her a shot of Sheila looking too pretty or sexy, either—and of course, those were the photos he’d saved on his phone. He finally found a remotely cute shot of her holding a pumpkin she’d carved last Halloween. He sent it.

  He got back on the line with Brooke. “Are you there? Did you get it?”

  There was silence.

  “Brooke?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’m looking at her right now. She’s pretty. I didn’t think she’d be this pretty. The woman I saw in the parking garage might have had lighter hair. I don’t think this is her.”

  “You don’t sound certain,” Dylan said.

  “Well, to be perfectly honest, I’m not certain. I guess there’s still a chance it was her. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Maybe I’m making too much out of a stupid phone call someone made while drunk. Anyway, I’m going to delete this photo right now.”

  “Good.”

  “Maybe I’ll forget what she looks like,” Brooke said. “I don’t want to be thinking about her while I’m with you later this afternoon—that is, if I can get out of this cruise.”

  “You have to get out of it,” Dylan insisted. They’d have at least three hours. Maybe he could get a hotel room downtown.

  “Like I said, Paul might give me an argument . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I just heard the shower go off. I better go. If I can meet up with you, count on me calling in about forty-five minutes or less. Okay?”

  “Terrific,” he said.

  “Bye, Dylan,” she whispered. Then she hung up.

  He clicked off and set the phone on the passenger seat. Dylan smiled.

  But then he thought about that crazy phone call from a drunken woman at four in the morning.

  *

  “That was actually kind of fun this morning,” Eden admitted.

  Steve sat next to her on the number 49 bus. He’d offered her the window seat, but s
he’d told him to take it. His dad had given him forty bucks to treat Eden to lunch. The bus was headed toward the Broadway shopping district, where Steve remembered there was a vegan restaurant.

  “I never had a backyard,” Eden continued. “We always went from apartment to apartment. So it was cool to be out there with you and your dad—our dad. I’m still not used to that.” She turned to smile at him. “I never had a brother growing up, either. It’s kind of weird going to school and being in some of the same classes as you.”

  “Did you get into a lot of trouble for what happened in Ms. Warren’s class?” Steve asked, wincing a bit.

  She shrugged. “Your dad—our dad, I mean—he tried to pull this tough-guy act with me about it. I still don’t really know him yet, so I half-expected him to beat the crap out of me. But then I realized he’s not like that. He’s kind of a softy. I can tell he feels like a real shit because he didn’t even know I was alive these past sixteen years. Anyway, I think he wants me to like him. So he cut me some slack.”

  “Well, let me know if you need any help with your report on The Scarlet Letter,” Steve offered.

  She shook her head. “I’m not worried about that.”

  It was like she had no intention of even writing it. But Steve didn’t say anything.

  He thought about how she had to keep correcting herself not to say “your dad” when she was talking about their father. Steve understood completely.

  If that wasn’t enough, as of two hours ago, his dad—their dad—had just confirmed that Steve had an aunt he never knew existed. And she’d had problems. The type of problems that could lead to suicide.

  He almost wanted to say something to Eden about how her mom and his aunt had died the same way. But then he remembered his promise to his dad not to talk about this mysterious, long-dead Aunt Molly. Besides that, he was pretty sure Eden wasn’t exactly eager to talk about how her mother had taken a half gainer from the roof of their apartment building. So he just kept his mouth shut and looked out the bus window.