Window of Guilt

by Spallone, Jennie

  “Perhaps your brother joined your parents in New Orleans, after all.”

  “Todd e-mails me twice a week. He would have mentioned he was going and asked me to come along.”

  “You’re welcome to come up here to view the body, but from what you say, odds are your brother voluntarily tripped out of sight for awhile,” said Carmen.

  The young woman’s words came fast and hard. “Todd went to see the health insurance adjuster to convince him to reconsider a heart transplant. The insurance company refused to cover it.”

  “Why would the insurance company deny coverage for a heart transplant?”

  “The first surgery, including the hospital bill, cost like a million dollars. Todd developed complications and needed to stay in the hospital for several days. The insurance company told my parents there’s a million-dollar cap on Todd’s policy.”

  Carmen spoke in a reassuring voice. “First thing you need to do is hop a Greyhound bus up to Milwaukee. Let me know when you arrive and I’ll meet you at the station.”

  “Thanks for your help, officer.”

  “By the way, your brother ever take the Greyhound?”

  “Nope. Todd’s got a red pickup truck. He treats that thing like a baby. Doesn’t even let me drive it.”

  “Where’s the truck now?”

  “Like I said, he was supposed to be in Chicago. Can you run his license plate number?”

  “If you can’t make a positive ID, all else is moot.”

  “What if the pickup truck is missing?”

  “One thing at a time.” Officer Gomez replaced the receiver. It was going to be a long day.

  *

  Ryan stood in the darkened kitchen of his Lincoln Park home, swatting at Rocky as the dog inched towards the remainder of his son’s Dairy Queen vanilla milkshake. “After you peed in the car on the way home from Wisconsin? I don’t think so.”

  Tomorrow he’d bring Rocky to the vet and find out what the hell was wrong with the dog’s bladder. They’d only been home for three hours and already the house was beginning to smell like a dirty urinal. Reaching into his pants pocket, Ryan scattered a handful of dog biscuits several feet from the dog. The little dog raced across the ceramic tiles, his rabies tag clanging through the silence. Ryan paid no attention. His focus was elsewhere.

  Ryan assumed that once his family returned home to Chicago, Todd Gray’s death would resemble a cavity whose decay had been drilled out and replaced by a new porcelain crown, all sparkling and white. Yet he was consumed by the nagging certainty that his moral fiber had been drilled away along with the decay.

  Moral chaos swirled inside him. As a recovering heart attack patient, he didn’t need this stress. The worst part was that he’d brought this misery upon himself. Ninety-nine percent of the population would have called the police upon finding a dead body on their property. Why did he have to belong to the one percent who chose an alternate path?

  Initially, Ryan had planned on depositing the wheelbarrow’s contents farther down the block, but when he’d discovered the drapes drawn across the picture window of his nemesis, he’d felt giddy with pleasure. If anyone deserved to have a dead body dumped on her driveway, it was Helga Beckermann. Each morning, the Nazi stared out at him as he made his way down to the beach. Her disapproving frowns and grimaces were enough to make even the most stoic man develop hardening of the arteries.

  When it came to making bad choices, Ryan was no virgin. He could enumerate them, one by one: quit company, harbor secrets from wife, download Department of Insurance fraud form, then fail to fill it out, neglect to notify police about dead body on property, and transport dead body to neighbor’s driveway. He’d even torn up the Greyhound ticket receipt he’d found mashed in the young man’s pocket. And he’d tossed the empty canteen in a Chicago dumpster when he and Laurie had returned home from summer vacation. You’re a real prince, he castigated himself with such fury that Rocky cocked his leg on the kitchen cabinet.

  “No!” Ryan hissed, not wanting to awaken his family. The dog scooted into the dining room, his tail between his legs. Ryan dabbed a wet paper towel with dishwater detergent and commenced to wipe down the offending site. Although he’d done his best to shield his family, it was just a matter of time before the veil would be lifted and his wife would see him for who he really was. A piece of shit.

  Ryan suddenly felt his heart pounding, his breathing getting shallow. A whimpering Rocky edged towards him. Roughly pushing his dog away, he glanced at the neon framed kitchen dock. I am not going under again. But dread was already clawing its way into his innards, shutting the faucet of reason. One o’clock a.m. His breath was coming short and fast now. Sweat poured from his body like a tsunami.

  Phone nine-one-one. Sinister memories of being attached to an intravenous unit and strapped to a gurney while ambulance sirens blared him into oblivion. No way was he entering Round Two.

  His ribs pinched his chest like a walnut chopper. Panic infiltrated each breath. Who to call? He wasn’t planting a land mine at the exit of his dad’s sweet dreams. He racked his brain. No buddies from grammar school dotted his path to manhood. No fraternity brothers he’d kept in touch with after the fuzz of alcohol had lost its appeal. No business colleagues whose friendship he’d secured with Cubs games tickets and barbecues.

  Ryan’s chest was aching like a battlefield gone asunder. He fumbled around in his robe pocket for a nitroglycerin tablet. Shit. He’d left it upstairs in the bedroom!

  Rocky was whimpering now, his paws on Ryan’s knees. Ryan inched forward to comfort the dog but pain whispered sweet nothings in his ear as it encased his chest in a cement corset. “Laurie!” Ryan called into the void. Their bedroom was down the hall and up twelve stairs. No way could she hear him.

  Fear cloaked his consciousness like undersized jockey shorts. Only one person to call. Ryan dialed his number. The seconds stretched like Silly Putty as he waited for someone to pick up. For three weeks, he’d ridiculed his wife when she insisted she’d found a young man lying on their lawn. He’d ridiculed her when she claimed to have discovered a folded napkin upon which was scrawled both their home and summer addresses. A napkin he’d not detected. What would she say when she learned of his duplicity?

  “Yeah?” mumbled a drowsy voice.

  “Hey, man, it’s one o’clock in the morning. See you at the fitness center in the morning.”

  “Don’t hang up. Can’t breathe.”

  The voice sounded more alert now. “Take your nitro?”

  “Can’t get to it.”

  “Wife there with you?”

  “Upstairs asleep. I’m alone in kitchen.”

  “You call the paramedics?”

  Panic stroked the contours of Ryan’s body. “Help me.”

  The voice was more forceful now. “Hang on. I’m calling nine-one-one. In the meantime, use one of the calming visualizations we practiced.”

  Ryan pictured himself and Laurie walking along the beach, cool breeze in their hair, sun beating down upon their tan shoulders. That image ceded to reality where fiery words over money problems volleyed for serve.

  “You still there, dude?” the voice asked, concerned.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Full body breathing. Lie down on the floor or couch,” the voice commanded.

  “Gonna pass out.”

  “The ambulance will be there in a few minutes. Lie down, man.”

  Ryan positioned himself between the kitchen table and the refrigerator. Better to die than burden his wife. Laurie, so upright and true. Laurie, to whom honor and saving face meant everything.

  “You lying down, Ryan?”

  “Uh huh.” Too late to confide in Laurie his work was a sham.

  “Good. Close your eyes now. Breathe in from your toes all the way up through your legs, pelvis, stomach, and chest.”

  Ryan breathed in but panic engulfed his efforts.

  “Still there, man?”

  “Not working,” he gasped. Too late to tell
her what he’d done to keep her and Rory safe.

  “Hang in there, dude,” the voice consoled him. “The paramedics will be there soon.”

  A high-pitched tone rang through his dizziness. Too late to tell her she was all the friends he needed. “Can’t make it to the door,” he mumbled into the phone.

  Suddenly, Laurie and the paramedics were running towards him. His wife’s frightened glance sent a sharp pain through his heart. “I’m all right,” he protested weakly. A whiff of orange essence was the last thing he remembered before losing consciousness.

  13

  The trees were decked out in their fall costume of reds, oranges, and yellows. Unusual for early September. A brisk rustling of trees accompanied squeals of laughter as little feet pumped their swings skyward. Laurie breathed in the palpable energy that zipped its way through the playground as a handful of fearless girls and boys navigated the nine-foot climbing wall.

  “Faster, Mom, faster,” Rory yelled, as his black tire swirled like a Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “You go any faster, you’ll zoom off into the universe,” Laurie joked, giving the tire swing a hefty push.

  “We should have brought Rocky,” Rory giddily shouted.

  “Rocky would pee up a storm,” his mother laughed. Once home from Wisconsin, Ryan had planned to bring their pooch to the vet. That plan had morphed into an emergency room visit. “We’ll take him for a nice long walk along the lake tonight.”

  “Dad too?”

  Laurie’s face fell. “Probably not.”

  “Pizza always makes me feel better.”

  “Daddy needs to cut back on cheesy foods.”

  “But you’re still making it for me, right Mom?

  “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Spin me again,” Rory called out.

  Laurie eyed her watch, then turned away from the tire swing. “Time to leave, kiddo,” she called over her shoulder.

  Her son kicked the pebbles beneath the stalled tire. “But we only just got here.”

  “We’ve been here an hour. It’s already five o’clock.”

  Rory followed her out of the playground. “You’re sad about Daddy.”

  “Yep.”

  “I got a question.”

  Laurie sauntered past professionally landscaped flower beds. Horrible to admit, sometimes widowhood didn’t look so bad. The freedom to come and go as you please. Eat whenever. Raise her son in a peaceful environment where daily arguments didn’t ensue.

  She stopped to extract a water bottle from her purse when she felt a sharp pinprick on her hip. “You pinched me!” she said in anguished surprise.

  Rory’s lip quivered as he threw his arms around her waist. “You’re not listening.”

  Then again, there were the nauseating images. Single mother. Sole decision maker. Sole financial provider. Sole soul. Laurie angrily removed her son’s small hands from her clothing. “Monster child.”

  Rory began to cry. “I’m sorry, Mom. Will you forgive me?”

  She was a sucker for her son’s tears. She knelt down and took him by the shoulders. “And I’m sorry I called you those mean words. No more angry touches, got it?”

  He nodded and she took him into her arms. “Tell me.”

  Rory pulled away from her embrace and looked at her, his eyes the color of a foggy sea. “I’m in third grade now, Mom. I wanna have sleepovers at other kids houses, not just our house.”

  Laurie sighed. “Fine, as long as I meet their parents first. Make sure they can be trusted.”

  “You met my camp counselors, but you still made me come home every day. Nicky and me were the only campers who didn’t stay overnight.”

  “His mom and I felt you guys were too young to stay overnight for a whole month,” she said, dabbing her eyes at the thought of him sleeping away next summer.

  “You treat me like a baby, Mom,” Rory sniffled. “Like you don’t think I can handle it.”

  “Maybe next year.”

  Rory hesitated. “When you meet someone, how do you know you can trust them?”

  “You got me there, kiddo.” A profound question. How did you ever know if someone was authentic, no matter how long you knew them? Like husbands who say they’re working late but are actually carrying on with their mistresses.

  “Why do you have to meet my friends’ parents before I stay over at their houses?” her son persisted.

  Laurie’s face paled. Did Ryan actually have a mistress?

  “Mom?”

  Laurie forced a bright smile. She needed to stop obsessing over her husband’s motives and focus on her son. Already her only child was growing away from her. “Because that’s what caring moms do.”

  “Jay’s mom lets him sleep over at kids’ houses without meeting their parents. Does that mean she doesn’t care about him?”

  “Enough!”

  “Okay, okay.” Rory grabbed her hand. “I’m hungry.”

  Laurie tousled his hair. “Beat you home!”

  Ryan complained she focused too much on Rory. That she needed to go out with her girlfriends more often. Yet after ten years of marriage, Laurie had lost touch with most of the people with whom she’d gone to school. She’d checked out Classmates.com. Everybody was in their own world.

  Playing at the park. Engaging in an impromptu discussion about growing up. This was why Laurie elected to work from home. To be there for her son. More selfishly, to be there for herself. To vicariously experience what it felt like to have a parent attend to your every need when you needed it.

  As she and her son raced down Fullerton Avenue, Laurie racked her brain for the memory of a similar playful moment with her own mom. None came to mind. Her mother had been one of those ’80s women who worked for intellectual and social stimulation as well as a paycheck. At 6:30 pm each night, she disembarked the 147 bus and walked the half-block to their two-bedroom Lakeview apartment.

  Laurie would sit on a kitchen barstool and recount her school yard misadventures while her mom made macaroni and cheese and cut up celery and carrots for the two of them. Laurie’s dad worked six days a week as a sales manager for a Ford automotive dealership. She was asleep by the time he got home from work.

  “Hey!”

  Her heart banging in her chest from the unexpected thump on her back, Laurie fearfully glanced behind her, then screamed, “You’re wicked!”

  “Doesn’t take much to make you wet your pants, does it?” giggled her friend.

  Laurie stopped to rub her aching back, then hugged Mitzy. “Next time lighten up on the back slam, okay?”

  “You got it. How’s Ryan doing?”

  Laurie jogged in place. “He says he feels fine but he looks like shit. Rory, wait up!”

  “Don’t rein him in. I’ll jog home with you,” Mitzy offered.

  The two friends ran in comfortable silence.

  “What you doing all the way down here?” Laurie finally asked, breathing hard.

  “Took a private detective class at the Discovery Center.”

  “You switching careers again?” Laurie asked incredulously.

  “After teaching school for one year? I’m not that mishugina. But I do want to better understand what Jeff does.”

  They slowed down in front of Laurie’s bungalow. “You mean you want to better understand how to poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Why not? Detective Jeff and I will eventually mend our relationship,” said Mitzy, leaning against a tree as she stretched her Achilles’ heel.

  “Yeah, right.” Laurie fumbled in her blue fanny pack for the house key.

  “Hi Aunt Mitzy,” Rory hugged his mom’s friend. Then he turned to his mom. “Hurry. Rocky gotta go out.”

  Laurie tossed the silver key to her son. “Since you’re in such a hurry, you open the door.”

  In a flash, the little white dog was out the door, sniffing Mitzy, then Laurie as he wagged his whole body to and fro. Then he cocked his leg alongside a willow tree.

  “You ever m
ake it to the vet?” said Mitzy.

  Laurie shook her head. “I did talk to Dr. Block on the phone, though. Wants to run some tests. She also asked if he experienced some recent trauma.”

  “What did you say?”

  “‘Like discovering a dead body on your master’s property?”

  “You didn’t.”

  Laurie giggled. “Barring any physical problems, she suggests a low-dose tranquilizer.”

  “Wanna stay for dinner?” Rory asked. “We’re having pizza.” Laurie ruffled her son’s hair. “Actually, we’re having vegetable stir-fry. You’re welcome to stay. Ryan’s resting upstairs so we’ve got to be quiet.”

  “Great, but my car’s parked on a side street near the Discovery Center.”

  “You park in a No Parking Zone?”

  “Do I look like I have a death wish?”

  “Then you’re fine. If we get too drunk over dinner, you can sleep over.”

  “One drink is my max. I’m not driving up to Lake Forest during morning rush hour.”

  “One drink of soda is all you get?” asked Rory, frowning.

  Laurie laughed. “Who’s going to help me cut the veggies?”

  “I got a math page to do,” said Rory, quickly exiting the kitchen.

  “Guess you’re elected,” Laurie said. She grabbed two paring knives and cutting boards from an oak cabinet overhead.

  “So what’s the scoop on Ryan?” asked Mitzy as she vigorously chopped away at the celery and carrots.

  Laurie slid several hunks of tofu off her cutting board and into the heated oil. “The docs were confident Ryan had a panic attack, but they kept him in the hospital overnight for observation, just to make sure it wasn’t diabetes or a stroke. I brought him home this morning.”

  “He’s dropped a lot of weight this year,” observed Mitzy.

  Laurie extracted a bottle of Merlot from the refrigerator. “Fifteen pounds since he started working with his personal trainer last spring.”

  “Did your little sojourn to the summerhouse rekindle the old flame?”

  “If anything, it doused the fire,” Laurie said wryly. She removed browned tofu chunks from the wok and placing them on a paper towel.