Two Widows: A totally gripping mystery and suspense novel

by Laura Wolfe

  Then I’d turned to the ladies at First Lutheran, the ones in my Bible study group, but even they’d grown weary of the subject after several months. Mary Ellen Calloway announced midway through one of my memories of Charlie that we should cut back on personal anecdotes and stick to the Bible. Jane Perkins had mumbled “agreed” as she stared down her pointy nose at me. To her left, Barbara Grant nodded along with the other women at the table, a self-righteous sheen in her eyes. It was clear they hadn’t wanted me there.

  A few uncomfortable Bible study meetings later, Mary Ellen announced they’d created the committees for the church’s annual fundraiser, The Fall Carnival, and posted it in the hallway. After the meeting ended and the members had gone their separate ways, I’d stayed back, my eyes traveling down the lists, scanning for my name. My chest heaved when I realized it wasn’t there. I’d been omitted. They’d excluded me, even though I’d made a point to turn in my form a week early, even though I’d served on the decorating committee the previous three years. It could have been an oversight, I supposed. That’s surely what Mary Ellen would claim if I’d confronted her. But there’d been something about the edge in her voice and the twist of her lips when she’d announced the lists. She hadn’t been able to meet my gaze. She’d done it on purpose. That’s when I’d stopped going to the meetings, although I should have quit long before that. Those women were the reason I’d lost touch with Ethan in the first place.

  I studied Beth’s busy fingers. She was here all alone, and she needed someone to talk to. “How did he die, dear?” I leaned toward her, encouraging her to open up. I hadn’t meant to pry, but she’d agreed that talking about her late husband might make her feel better. The wine was meant to help her words flow easier.

  “He—I mean—Jason, my husband,” she paused, biting her lip, “there was a freak accident.” Beth squeezed her fingers around her opposite arm, her hand quivering. “We were on a boat, a yacht, actually, on Lake Huron and something happened. A wave hit the boat. He fell into the lake and drowned.” She shook her head and glanced away, her eyes brimming with water.

  “I’m so sorry.” I gave her hand a squeeze. What a tragedy to lose the love of her life so suddenly, and while he was in his prime. Her entire future had been torn away, just like that. “How long ago did it happen?”

  “About ten months ago.” She turned to face me. “It seems like a bad dream sometimes.”

  “My heavens! It’s still so fresh for you.”

  Beth suddenly appeared more like a broken little girl than an independent woman, and I wondered if I’d pegged her all wrong. She lifted her glass and swallowed the last of her wine.

  “I know how you feel,” I said, refilling her glass. “It’s already been two years since I lost Charlie. Colon cancer got him. He was in stage four by the time he was diagnosed.” A rush of emotion filled my throat and I gulped it back. “I wish I could say it gets easier.”

  A gentle wind bristled through the leaves of the trees on the other side of the front meadow. Purple and yellow wildflowers rippled among the tall grass, and the afternoon sun shone across the pearly bark of the birch trees. Charlie had brought me to a beautiful spot.

  “Was your husband a writer, too?” I asked, making a conscious effort not to hog the conversation.

  Beth coughed out a laugh. “No. He was in finance. He had his own business.” She closed her eyes and paused before she opened them again. “The yacht we were on that day belonged to one of his investors.”

  “Did you ever find out what happened? I mean, how he fell overboard?”

  “No one saw him go in. Jason had been drinking.” Beth set down her wine glass and lowered her voice. “We both had.”

  My gaze traveled to the bottle, and I feared the wine might have been a bad idea.

  “The police said he’d been smoking and must have wandered to the back of the boat when he lost his balance. He hit his head on the boat before his body went into the water.” She inhaled deeply, then peered at me. “At least, that’s what the autopsy showed.”

  “I’m sure there was nothing anyone could have done.”

  “I should have been there for him. Instead, I was in the cabin above making small talk with a bunch of people I barely knew. I didn’t even notice he was missing until we were almost back to the marina.” Beth covered her eyes with her hands and breathed in and out deliberately several times, the way people do at the doctor’s office.

  “There, there. It doesn’t have to be anyone’s fault. Sometimes horrible things happen to good people.” I’d read a whole book about that, so I knew it was true.

  She looked up at me, her eyes wide and pained. “After the funeral, as if it hadn’t been bad enough losing my husband, people started posting horrible things online. People who didn’t even know me. I had to shut down all my social media accounts. Even my friends stopped asking me to hang out, like I’d done something wrong.”

  “That’s terrible!” I stood up and hugged her. “You poor thing.” Beth’s body was radiating heat, her muscles twitching. She felt fragile, as if I were to squeeze her any tighter, she might fall apart.

  Beth pulled away from me. She smoothed her hair back and straightened herself, wiping the moisture from her face. “Thank you for listening, Gloria. I’m sorry to lay all this on you, especially on the first day we’ve met. You just seem like such a nice person. And when you said your husband had died… I thought you’d understand.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “I bought the tiny house to get a fresh start, so I can travel around to places where no one knows me.” She glanced in the direction of her trailer. “I spent five months in Colorado and Utah, but work brought me back to Michigan.”

  All at once, Beth’s nomadic lifestyle made perfect sense. Of course she’d want a change of scenery after what she’d been through.

  “Well, this isn’t Colorado, but you never know, you might like it here.” I winked at Beth. “It really is a nice place to spend the summer.” As I said the words, the awful, murderous headline about the unidentified woman surfaced in my mind again.

  Beth bit her bottom lip as her watery eyes flickered toward the horizon.

  “Now, I don’t want you to worry about that woman on the beach. They’re saying her death was an isolated incident. That’s what I heard on the news. Someone must have had a personal vendetta.” I patted her arm. “We’re perfectly safe way out here in the boonies. You should try to settle in a little bit. Make some friends while you’re here.” So you don’t end up old and alone like me, I thought, my jaw tightening. I forced a smile and cleared my throat. “There are plenty of nice people your age, especially closer to town with all the city folks here for the summer.”

  Beth frowned. “I’m not sure I’ll be here long enough.”

  A whisper of despair blew through me at the thought of Beth leaving. The empty apartment hovered in my peripheral vision, and I turned toward it. “The woman who used to rent the apartment over the garage was about your age. She was nice enough. Amanda. Amanda Jennings, or Jenkins, I think. She only rented from me for a few months. She works over at The Tidewater in Petoskey.”

  Beth slid forward in her chair. “The Tidewater?”

  “Yes. I believe she was the concierge.”

  “That’s one of the resorts I’m profiling for my new article.”

  For the first time since we’d taken our seats on the porch, I detected a glimmer in Beth’s eyes. She was passionate about her career.

  “Ask for Amanda. Tell her that you know me. I bet she’ll take you on a tour and give you the inside scoop.”

  “Thanks, Gloria. I’ll look for her tomorrow.”

  “My son always liked the food at The Tidewater.” I thought of Ethan and the two years he moved back in with us after he’d graduated from college and couldn’t find a job. He’d majored in Buddhist studies, so it wasn’t a wonder. Ethan had always marched to the beat of his own drum. We’d taken him to The Tidewater on his birthday and he’d r
aved about the fried perch. That was before he’d told us his secret and moved to San Francisco. Before the women at First Lutheran started asking questions about him and giving me sideways glances. Before I’d pushed him away one last time. I wish he was here on the porch with us now. Maybe then he’d understand how much I’d changed.

  “Does your son live nearby?”

  I studied my hands. “No. He moved to San Francisco seven years ago.”

  “Cool city. I’ve been there a few times. Only for work, though.” Beth looked at me expectantly. “What does he do?”

  “Something for an online book sales company. He’s explained it to me a number of times, but I don’t really understand it.”

  Beth smiled. “Ah. One of those jobs that nobody understands. I love those. Do you get to see him much?”

  “No. Not really.” I could feel the smile disappearing from my face, and Beth’s face mirrored my own. “He came back for Charlie’s funeral, but we haven’t spoken much since then.”

  Beth frowned. “Why? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

  I stared out at the rippling leaves dancing in the sky. “He made some lifestyle choices that I disagreed with.”

  “Drugs?”

  “What?” I straightened up in my chair, as I realized what she meant. “No. It’s nothing like that.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Beth shook her head.

  We both sipped from our glasses, the wind brushing against my skin and the birds chirping in the distance.

  “Is your son gay?” she asked.

  I swung my head toward her, amazed at her forthrightness. With my palms, I flattened down the wrinkles in my pants. “Well, I guess you can put two and two together, can’t you?”

  Beth set down her glass. “Being gay isn’t really a decision, though. It’s like being born with blue eyes, instead of brown.”

  “I’ve come to realize that.” My face swelled with heat. “A little too late, I’m afraid.” This wasn’t a subject I was used to discussing, especially with a perfect stranger. Yet Beth didn’t seem uncomfortable in the least. I swallowed the last of my wine.

  “I have a few gay friends,” Beth said. “Most of them said they knew from a very early age. I’m talking four years old.”

  I nodded, finding her bluntness strange and refreshing like she’d cracked open a jar that had been sealed shut for years. Ethan had said as much to me the night he came out—that he’d always known—but I hadn’t wanted to hear it. What I wouldn’t give for Beth to have been there to counsel me back then before I’d listened to the not-so-subtle hints from Mary Ellen Calloway. She’d made a point to mention the Bible’s warnings against homosexuality at every meeting, her clique of friends nodding along. She’d never said Ethan’s name directly, but, in hindsight, I could see what she’d done. I’d been outnumbered, made to feel ashamed. They’d all been so sure of their beliefs, and I’d remained silent, not having the courage to question them.

  One day before Charlie passed away, someone had left a pamphlet sitting on the table in the church hallway directly beneath my coat. The pamphlet wasn’t from First Lutheran. Pastor Mark wouldn’t have approved of that type of thing. The ad was from a ministry over in Kalkaska that claimed to cure people of homosexuality through prayer. My hand had been shaking as I raised the pamphlet close to my eyes, reading the promises of “complete transformation” and “eternal salvation,” along with glowing testimonials from relatives of people who’d been successfully converted. The words made my stomach convulse as if I’d swallowed a bad piece of chicken.

  I’d rushed away in my Buick, my face twitching in anger at the thorny situation. I’d been torn, not knowing who was right and who was wrong, but not strong enough to take a stand either way. I arrived home and tucked the pamphlet underneath a stack of real estate fliers, deciding not to mention anything about it to Charlie. He’d been very sick by then, and I hadn’t wanted to burden him with anything else.

  Ethan had expected us to accept him instantly, to be proud of the fact that he was gay. Charlie was more adaptable, but I hadn’t been able to jump on board as fast or as completely as Ethan wanted.

  Then Charlie died. Ethan had immediately flown back for the funeral. He rose above our differences and acted as the perfect son, comforting me, sharing his favorite memories and listening to mine, and tying up loose ends with the funeral home. The morning before he was scheduled to return to San Francisco, I felt closer to him than I had in years. I’d wandered down to the kitchen tightening my robe around me. He’d been eating cereal, his spoon dinging against the bowl every few seconds, followed by loud crunching.

  “Good morning.” I plodded toward the coffee maker comforted by the familiar noises of everyday motherhood I’d taken for granted for so many years.

  Ethan shuffled through a pile of newspapers as he ate. “Morning.”

  I poured my coffee and turned toward him just as the papers became still. He stopped chewing, the room silent. The brightness in Ethan’s eyes faded like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. A look of disbelief stretched over his face. The silverware dropped from his hand and clattered against the porcelain cereal bowl, letting out the hollow ring of a broken church bell.

  My eyes followed his gaze to the newspaper in his hand, wondering what could have knocked the wind out of him so fiercely he couldn’t hold onto his spoon. Only it wasn’t a newspaper he’d been reading; it was a stack of old real estate fliers.

  My breath stuck to my lungs. My body felt like it was plunging through the kitchen floor into frigid water. He’d discovered the pamphlet. I couldn’t move or think of any words to say. The pain in his eyes paralyzed me.

  “Is this a joke?” His voice was strained and his features sunken. He waved the brochure in the air. “Is this what you really think? That you can convert me?”

  “No, honey.” I shook my head. “Someone at church… I don’t know why I kept that.”

  “This is who I am, Mom. It’s not something you can pray away. Don’t you get that?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  He slammed the literature down on the table and stormed upstairs, refusing to meet my eyes. He’d gathered his things and called a taxi to take him to the airport while I crouched in the corner like a potted plant, silent and motionless.

  Now almost two years had passed since I’d seen him.

  My hands trembled at the memory of the wound I’d inflicted on my son. I splashed the last of the wine into my glass, and then looked at Beth. “A couple of the women in my Bible study group led me down a bad road with Ethan. I guess I was to blame, too.” Even with the alcohol loosening my tongue, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Beth about the pamphlet. “My views have changed since then. I still have my faith, of course, but I don’t go to Bible study anymore.” I pulled in a long breath and looked at Beth. “I’m afraid it’s too late to repair the damage I’ve done. Ethan won’t even pick up the phone when I call.” It had been Christmas the last time I’d attempted to contact him. I’d hung up in a panic when I’d reached his voicemail, not knowing the right words to say.

  Beth lifted her glass and swirled the liquid around. “It’s not too late.” She leaned to the side and rolled her eyes. “Besides, everyone knows the Bible is meant as a guide, not taken literally. If the people at your church are your friends, then they should understand and support you.”

  I swallowed, realizing what different worlds Beth and I must come from. I envisioned Mary Ellen Calloway’s pinched face, her matching jewelry sets, and her chipper voice that always carried an air of superiority. “They’re not true friends. They use my son as gossip. They whisper about me behind my back. Do you know how terrible that feels?”

  Beth stared off toward the horizon for a moment, her lip quivering. “Yes. I do.”

  I held my breath. I’d said the wrong thing again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  She held up her hand. “It’s okay. I know I just met you, but, for what it’s worth, I think you should rea
ch out to your son. I realize I don’t know the whole story, but if I had a son, I wouldn’t lose touch with him for any reason.”

  My muscles stiffened at Beth’s pronouncement. What did she know about raising a son? I clutched the arm of my chair, reminding myself that Beth was only trying to help. But her words had ignited a fleeting pain somewhere deep inside my flabby belly, a prick of a needle tearing open a wide, gaping hole. The branches of the oak tree creaked in the distance, the noise filling me with the sickening realization that it might not be many more years before I’d be buried under the tree right alongside Charlie. Then it would be too late to make amends with Ethan. I swallowed, my throat scratchy and dry. Suddenly, the only thing that seemed unnatural about Ethan was that he had a mother who hadn’t chosen love, a mother who hadn’t been able to reach out and admit she’d been wrong. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shuddered.

  “I suppose you have a point.” I lowered my arms and steadied my hand long enough to raise my glass to her. “Some things are too important to put on hold.”

  Beth smiled at me, her dark eyes pulled down by the weight of her own loss. We sat in silence, staring at the swaying tree branches in the distance and sipping what was left of our wine. Our conversation left me feeling simultaneously invigorated and drained. Still, I was thankful for her company. Beth had opened up to me. She’d listened to me and offered advice. That’s what friends did. It felt like we’d known each other much longer than one day.

  When Beth had taken her last sip, she straightened up and turned toward me. “You know, if you’re not busy tomorrow, you should have lunch with me at The Tidewater. We can take two cars, so I can do my research after we eat.”

  I raised my shoulders and tugged the edge of my shirt, not wanting Beth to see how flattered I was by her invitation. “Well, I’ll have to reschedule my plans to weed the garden, but I can push that until the afternoon.”