Butterfly Suicide

by Loesch, Mary Ann

  Shaken, I hold onto the receipt, go up to my room, and wait for my father to come home.

  ****

  “Monica!” Daddy knocks on the bedroom door and turns the knob without waiting for me to answer. My stomach twists into nervous knots. I sit up on the bed and grab a pink fuzzy pillow so my hands will have something to hold on to. “You got a minute?”

  He needs a shave. Is that a streak of gray in his hair, too?

  “I see you survived the day.” He sits on my bed, making the mattress dip slightly. Though exhaustion seeps from him, his eyes are kind. “I’m glad to see you.”

  He hasn’t “seen” me in so long. But he’s definitely been seeing someone else.

  Give him a chance to explain.

  “I know I haven’t been myself lately,” he says, “but despite what you might think, I do worry about you.”

  A lump grows in my throat.

  “I’m sorry about you and Mom,” I whisper.

  “Not your fault, darlin’.” For a moment, he looks unbearably sad. “Your mother and I have had our issues for a long time.”

  “Is there…are you…in love with someone else?”

  “No.”

  But I don’t believe him. Staring at Daddy, watching him avoid my gaze as he looks around my pink nightmare of a bedroom, I see him as a man, as a person separate from the guy I used to know. Right now, he looks older, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders and there’s an easy lie on his tongue. He’s not the person who used to carry me on his around on his back or read me bedtime stories. Daddy is a stranger and I’m not sure what to believe anymore.

  “What about Karen Valley?” I ask, boldly.

  There is a long pause.

  “What are you talking about?” Daddy shifts and looks at the ground. “What did your mother say to you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then where did that question come from?”

  “Why did you pay for Stephen’s medicine?” I ask, holding up the crumpled receipt I’d been hiding in my hand. He squints at it, guilt flashing across his face as he realizes what it is. “I thought you hated the Valleys. How did you even know Stephen needed it? You acted like you didn’t even notice his bruises when I brought it up this morning.”

  “I happened to be at the drugstore when Karen came in.”

  “So, let me make sure I understand. You paid for medicine that would help the brother of the kid who murdered your daughter—the brother I’m not supposed to have anything to do with?”

  He studies me, perhaps trying to gage how much of his secret life I’ve figured out.

  “Did you know her before May?” I ask when he doesn’t answer.

  “This is a small town. I grew up with her, Monica. I also knew Bud, her husband.” He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “What are you implying?”

  A part of me wants to let him off the hook, wants to just let it go and pretend like I don’t know anything.

  “Who says I’m implying anything?” I ask. “Is there something you’re not telling me? There’s a difference between growing up in the same town versus hanging out with someone. I mean, how well do you really know her?”

  “Yeah, how well do you know her?” My mother leans against the doorway. “Tell the kid all about it. I want to hear, too. I’ve always enjoyed a good fairy tale.”

  “Shut up.” My father’s gentle voice is gone in the blink of an eye. “You stay out of this, Stella.”

  “Aw…what’s the matter? You afraid to admit the truth about you and your precious Karen?” Mom saunters into the room. “Or are you afraid to admit what you did to your daughter, to Simone? What was going on in your head, Simon? Were you thinking it was romantic to see our child dating the son of your old flame? Or did you let her date him because you thought it would hurt me, that seeing the two of them together would remind me of how much you wanted to be with Karen?”

  “Stella, you know I didn’t want them dating. You better just stop right now. We’ve talked about keeping our dirty laundry away from the girls.” Daddy warns, his face turning red. “Don’t say or do anything you might regret.”

  “Regret? Now there’s a funny word.” Her laugh is callous. “You know what I regret? Marrying you!”

  I’m stunned. Mom can’t mean that.

  But she keeps on laughing, and her eyes sparkle with undisguised loathing. She stands in front of Daddy, her hands clenched into fists at her side, and though I am a little distance away, I can smell the liquor.

  She tilts her head.

  “I would have been better off if you’d left me for Karen when you had the chance all those years ago.” Her voice is deceptively soft. “I may have been alone, but at least, I wouldn’t have wasted the best years of my life on you! And maybe, just maybe, our little girl would still be alive. It’s your fault she’s dead! You and that whore—“

  Daddy slaps her. Her head snaps back, the imprint of his hand red and nasty on her cheek. For a moment, she is silent, but then the fury punches forward, rising out of her, and battering against my father.

  “Dammit!” she shrieks. “Son of a bitch!”

  She runs at him, but he grabs her arms before she can scratch his eyes out or maul him in some way. I can’t breathe as I watch them in a struggle, a battle years in the making as they shout at each other. The words are high pitched, practically nonsensical—or is it that I’m so freaked out by my parents’ actions that I can’t comprehend anything but the physical violence they are locked in? I know I should do something, but what? Do I get in the middle? Do I try to shove them apart? Do I scream?

  Mom grabs one of my belts lying on the floor and snaps it at Daddy like a whip, licking against his cheek, drawing blood.

  Oh god. Make it stop. Make it stop!

  A high-pitched wail fills the room.

  I can’t comprehend where it is coming from. However, it is disturbing enough for my parents to stop their fight and stare at me. Daddy comes towards me. His lips move but I can’t make out the words.

  That’s when I realize the sound is coming from me.

  I turn and run out, taking the stairs two at a time. I don’t think about what I’m doing—only that I need air, that I need to go, that I need to run as fast and as far as I can.

  But where do I go?

  As badly as I want to, Stephen’s house is not an option. Not right now. Besides, his mother would just call Daddy.

  And I don’t want to see my father. Or Karen Valley.

  Don’t think about that. Get it out of your head.

  I end up sitting on the same park bench I shared with Stephen earlier. The hard wood scratches my skin as I sit in the twilight and listen to the call of the birds. Earlier, it had smelled like a barbecue, but the scent is gone. Now there is nothing except for a hot and sticky breeze.

  And that suits me fine. A little bit of nothing after everything is fine.

  I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them, resting my throbbing head on my knees. My whole body shakes. Every nerve is exposed.

  For the first time since May, I wish I were my sister. She’s untouched by this chaos. She’s safely dead and buried. She’s blissfully unaware of the implosion of our family. Simone is six feet under.

  Right now, I wish I were, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STEPHEN

  “Where is she?”

  Mr. Monroe pushes through the unlocked front door of our house, barreling into the living room. I’d been lying on the couch, watching Survivor and thinking about how skimpy some of those bikini bottoms were, but all thoughts of that leave when I look at him. There is a wicked cut on his cheek.

  “Mom!” I call out, struggling to sit up. To Mr. Monroe, I say, “What are you doing here?”

  “Where is she?” he asks again.

  Who does this guy think he is? What gives him the right to barge in like this?

  “Stay away from my mother,” I warn, clutching my ribs as I stand. “She doesn’
t want anything to do with you.”

  “What is it, Stephen?” Mom hurries in, takes one look at Mr. Monroe, and turns bright red. “What are you doing here, Simon?”

  “He just barged right in, Mom!” I’m already heading for the phone. “Should I call the cops?”

  “Simon, what’s the matter?” She ignores me and goes to him, looking for all the world like she gives a damn about his feelings. Gently, she touches his face, frowning at the cut. “Something’s happened.”

  “It’s Monica,” Mr. Monroe says. “Is she here?”

  Mom glances at me.

  “No,” I say. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “She’s not here.” Mom handles him with surprising patience. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “She saw something she shouldn’t have.” His fists flex at his sides. “A fight.”

  “Between you and Stella?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Monroe looks at Mom, his eyes rounded with sorrow. “It was bad, Karen. Real bad.”

  Mom lowers her voice. It’s not enough. I can still make out the words.

  “Does she...does she know?” she asks.

  My heart sinks, my suspicions confirmed. They did have some sort of relationship between them. Monica must have gone home and stirred the pot. Oh shit. Was I wrong to tell her my thoughts?

  “I’ve got to find her. Things got so out of hand. I hit…I slapped Stella. Monica saw.” Mr. Monroe runs his hand through his hair, making it stand on end when Mom gasps at his admission. “She’s probably scared to death. I thought she might have come here.”

  “Stephen, can you think of anywhere Monica might be?” Mom asks, turning to me.

  “I don’t know.” Even if I did know, I’m not sure I’d tell. “Have you called her other friends?”

  “No,” he admits. “She hasn’t been as close to any of them lately as she used to be.”

  My mother and Mr. Monroe talk to each other as if I’m not there, and it hits me like a ton of bricks: Mom hasn’t just secretly been hanging out with Mr. Monroe. She’s been sleeping with this guy. There is an intimacy to them, which tells me loud and clear they’ve been doing the horizontal mambo. She has secrets, secrets I never would have begun to guess until today.

  Did Jude know? Is it possible this has something to do with why he killed Simone?

  Doesn’t matter right now. I have to put aside my shock and go find Monica.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mom puts a hand on my shoulder as I struggle to bend over and put on my Converse. My ribs scream in protest. “You can’t leave right now.”

  “I need to find Monica.” I manage to tie my shoes. “I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  “Where are you going to look?” Mr. Monroe asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  He studies me, indecision flickering in his eye as he looks at my bruised face.

  “Stephen, what if you run into those boys again?” Mom asks. “You’re already in bad shape.”

  “I can handle myself. I’ll be careful, stick to the shadows, that sort of thing.”

  Neither of them looks impressed with my efforts at bravery. That’s okay. I’m not exactly impressed by either of them. Bunch of liars.

  “Maybe I should drive you?” Mr. Monroe suggests. “We could look together.”

  Just what I want. To spend time with Monica’s dad. A man who hates me and who apparently has been banging my mom on the sly.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, fighting to keep control, to not show them how pissed I am. “She left your house upset? Sounds like she doesn’t want to see you right now.”

  “Stay here, Simon. Please.” Mom puts her hand on Mr. Monroe’s shoulder. The small gesture rankles me and I have to look away. “You need to calm down.”

  “Yeah, do that.” I try not to look at them as I brush past. “I’ll be back.”

  As the door slam shuts behind me, I hear my mother start to speak. For a fleeting second, I wonder if I should stay around, eavesdrop on their conversation. But the thought of Monica upset and alone tugs at my stupid heartstrings, overriding the urge to spy. There will be plenty of time for questions later, and man, do I have a ton of them for Mom.

  I slip into the darkness, head down but alert.

  Rockingham in the evenings is kind of peaceful. Since it’s a school night, there aren’t many kids out. Most of the shops are closed already. Of course, places like the Taco Shack are still open, ready to support any customer in their need for a steady diet of grease and fried food. Pinbalz Palace looks deserted, but then again, it’s only really jumping on the weekends.

  Monica would not go someplace she might attract attention.

  I walk on, staying out of the light, hoping no one from school drives by and hassles me. Drawn to the park we hung out earlier, I look around there. It’s doubtful she will be there, but who knows? It’s where I would go if I wanted to be truly alone.

  To my surprise, I spot her right away, sitting on the same park bench beneath the willow tree that we shared earlier. Her arms are wrapped around her legs with her head resting on her knees. The sultry breeze blows the long limbs of the willow tree the same direction as Monica’s hair, and for a moment, it’s as if the two are one.

  “Hey,” I say, sitting next to her. “You okay?”

  “No,” she whispers, looking lost. “I’m not.”

  “What happened?”

  “My parents...,” She’s been crying. Even in the dim light of the nearby lamppost, I can see her red-rimmed eyes. The pain in them socks me in the gut, and I put my arms around her, hugging her. Monica buries her face in my chest, but I can make out her muffled words. “They were hitting each other, screaming.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of...because of your mom.” She lifts her face, stricken. “They are more than friends. Your mother and my father.”

  I nod. The knowledge rockets through me again, twisting me up inside, making me angry.

  “He paid for your pain pills,” Monica says.

  “Who?”

  “Daddy. I saw the receipt.”

  “Are you sure it was for me?” But I remember that feeling I’d had after waking up from my dream of Jude that night. I thought someone else was in the house. God, had Simon Monroe come home with my mom from the store? Or did he drop the medication off? Did they…ugh…while I was sleeping, were they…I can’t even finish the thought.

  “It had your name on it,” she said. “And my father’s signature.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “That’s what I asked. He wouldn’t tell me.” She sniffled. “Then mom came in and everything went to hell. According to her, Daddy has had feelings for your mother for a long time.”

  I try to wrap my mind around that, but it’s just so…weird. Mom has never brought home a boyfriend. Jude would never have put up with another man in the house. He was so insanely jealous of anyone trying to get close to her. He’d even run off a few of her close female friends because he decided they took up too much of our mother’s time.

  Keeping this secret from Jude and me—not to mention Monica’s family—must have taken so much effort.

  “Do you remember anything odd when Jude started dating Simone?” Monica asks. “How did your mother feel about it?”

  “Mom didn’t really like Simone.”

  “Everyone liked Simone,” Monica says, sniffs. “Everyone.”

  “Yeah, I know. But my mom…she…I think she made Jude break up with her.” I shrug. “I thought it was kind of weird, but now that we know about…well, the thing between our parents, maybe it makes more sense.”

  Monica squints her eyes, thinking. “Let’s imagine for a minute Jude found out about this secret relationship. Maybe he caught them together or something. Why would he kill Simone over it? Seems like he’d take his anger or frustration or whatever out on my dad or your mom.”

>   He never did like having competition for Mom’s attention. Maybe killing Simone was his way of punishing Simon Monroe for daring to be the man in my mother’s life. Jude was just psycho enough to think like that. He described Simone’s friends as gossips. If Simone had confided in them about the affair, Jude might have killed them in order to wipe the slate clean, keep the affair secret.

  With Jude, any line of reasoning, no matter how far-fetched, is possible.

  However, I sort of thought…well, based on what I’d seen…that he sort of loved Simone—as much as someone like him is able to love anyway.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “We don’t know for sure if Jude even knew about our folks.”

  “You could...you could ask him,” Monica whispers, lowering her head. “Do you ever see Jude?”

  “No.” Except in my nightmares.

  “Does your mom see him?” she asks.

  “No,” I hesitate, “but he does want us to visit. She’s tried to reach out before, but until a few days ago, he never responded. The lawyers know him better than we do right now.”

  “You should go.” Monica puts her legs down and sits up straight, hope in her eyes. “You could find out if he knew about them.”

  Seeing Jude... I don’t know if I can. Not even for Monica.

  “Earlier today you asked about Jude’s notebook.” Even as I say the words, I regret them. I’m inviting trouble in. “It’s filled with drawings and crazy Jude thoughts. Some of these drawings make the ones the police found in his locker or the even the ones he did of me look like the work of a deranged two year old. He would have done what he did regardless of our parents. If he hadn’t done it in high school, he would have done it in college or he would have waited and gone crazy in a mall or some other public place.”

  “But something must have triggered him, Stephen! Something had to have happened.”

  “Look, no reason will ever be good enough. He made a choice.” I stand. “I couldn’t stop it.”