The man was young. Very young. Sweat ringed his collar and stained his armpits. His light blond hair was cropped close. I studied his freckles, his lanky body, and his St. Jude medal that swung from his neck. I noticed every detail about him, but avoided thinking about what news lurked behind his cold, professional expression.
“I understand you’re Mr. Russell’s close friends? He has no family in the area?”
We both nodded woodenly.
“Is he going to be okay?” Her cheeks glistened with tears as hope.
“I can’t give you a conclusive answer yet. The symptoms presented were indicative of a heart attack. The pain, the location, the timing. But his EKG was normal; as was the ultrasound we just finished. We’re testing his cardiac enzymes, of course, but the lab is backed up. We’ve scheduled a heart catheterization tomorrow morning at eight, to be certain. But I have another theory that might explain his symptoms.”
“What’s that?” I said.
The young man covered a yawn, playing with his stethoscope. “I suspect gastrointestinal reflux disorder, commonly known as GERD.”
Maddy’s jaw dropped. “That sounds horrible.”
“No, no. It’s very treatable. Quite common. But it can cause terrible pain.”
“He’s talking about heartburn,” I interjected quietly.
“Heartburn?”
The doctor nodded. “I think so. But we have to be sure. It was a tough decision, but since two of Joe’s uncles died of heart attacks, I think an angiogram would be a good idea, anyway. There are risks involved, but if we’ve missed anything, it could prove fatal. I believe the risk is worth it. And Joe agreed.”
Maddy looked doubtful, then straightened. “Isn’t that the procedure where you snake some kind of wire up through his leg and into his heart?”
“Well, er, yes. Essentially.”
“Aren’t there risks that come with it? Like stroke, or worse?”
He nodded. “Yes, but I reviewed them with…”
She interrupted him. “My friend’s husband died on the table during that type of procedure, doctor.” She glared and became all business. “I’d like to see Joe. And I think we’re going to need a second opinion. I intend to spend the rest of my life with this man and I don’t want to hear about ‘risks’ right now. Take me to him. Now. Please.” The ‘please’ was added as an obvious afterthought.
The young doctor huffed, rose, stood awkwardly for a minute, and then caved. “All right. I guess it would be okay. He told me you were his fiancée, after all.”
She sat still in her chair, but I sensed a rush of emotion rolling through her.
“Fiancée?” she repeated. “Uh, yes. That’s right. I’m going to marry Joe Russell.” She reined in her excitement and stood up as if she hadn’t just heard the news she’d longed for the past few years. “Okay then. Let’s go. Chop-chop! Come on, young man. I can’t sit around here forever. Take me to my man.”
Chapter 75
Joe lay back in his hospital bed. The gown exposed his burly arms and legs. Black hair curled up over the neck of the flimsy outfit. His roommate snored behind a drawn curtain and the television squawked in the background.
Maddy trotted toward him, grabbed his face, and kissed him on the lips. “You! You big lug. You gave me the scare of my life.”
Joe blushed, smiling. “I’m feeling really stupid. The doctor said it might just be heartburn. He said the aspirin I took might’ve made it worse. Might be why I had that second attack. Can you believe it?”
I sat down on the chair at the foot of Joe’s bed while they chatted.
He smiled at me once in a while, and then held up his hand to stem the flow of Maddy’s words. “I need to say something. I know this isn’t the time or place, but I can’t wait another second. And Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“I want you here, too. So stay put. Maddy, give me your hand. I can’t exactly go down on one knee, but… ”
Maddy shivered with anticipation, fluttering her eyelashes at Joe. “Go ahead, Schnookumberry. I’m listening.”
Joe held her hand and leaned forward. He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Maddy, I don’t want to wait another minute. I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. What do you say? Will you marry me?”
The answer resting on Maddy’s lips sprang to life. “Yes! Yes, my dear teddy bear. I will marry you.” She leaned forward to kiss him again. This time, it was with passion.
I stood and looked out the window to give them some privacy. After a few minutes, they called me back over and I shook Joe’s hand. “Congrats, big guy.”
He smiled sheepishly. “Thanks. Bet you didn’t think I’d ever pop the question, huh?”
Maddy was on the phone with Camille, squealing about a wedding dress and white orchids. I laughed affectionately and shook Joe’s hand again.
“You’re a lucky son-of-a-gun,” I said. “That woman will keep you smiling. She’s one in a million.”
He gazed at her. “Yep. One in a million.”
I sat down again and studied him. His color was better now. “Hey, I just realized. You’re gonna be my father-in-law. That’s pretty weird.”
“Stranger things have happened, Gus.”
“How are you feeling now, anyway?”
“I’m okay. They gave me something to cut down the acid.”
“Well, that’s good. Did Maddy say anything to you about that cardiac test tomorrow morning?”
Joe shook his head. “Nope.”
“She thinks you shouldn’t have it. Wants you to get another opinion.”
“It’s not a bad idea. I was kind of nervous about it, anyway. Maybe I can give Doc a call. Do you think he’d mind?”
I pictured our local country doctor, Doc Mattson. The man was a throwback to the old country doctor who visited patients in their homes, and we cherished him. Doc had been a port in the storm over the years for me. He knew of my aversion to hospitals. He’d also been part of Joe’s AA group, and they’d become good friends.
“Let me give him a call, Joe.”
He settled back against the pillows. “Okay, thanks. I trust him.” His eyelids were growing heavy.
Maddy hung up and trotted back to Joe’s side. “Oh, baby. You look tired,” she cooed. “Okay. Gus and I are gonna get out of here and let you rest. We’ll be back in the morning.”
After a few more mushy kisses between the two newly engaged sweethearts, Maddy and I left him to sleep, ambling side by side toward the parking lot. She talked about the wedding all the way home.
Chapter 76
Maddy dropped me at home at half past nine. Our power had been restored, and I welcomed the sight of lights winking from the porch and barn. The weather had turned mild again and a warm breeze ruffled my hair when I got out and headed up to the house.
All was quiet.
I tripped over Shelby’s shoes and coat, picked them up, and hung them in the mudroom with my own gear. Max trotted over to me and licked my hand as if I’d been gone for years, not days. I sat on my heels and patted his sides until he was satisfied.
Mrs. Pierce’s door was closed. Behind it, her soft, rhythmic snoring reverberated.
After stoking the woodstove, I headed upstairs to check on the children. Freddie lay in her big bed, circled by Johnny and both baby girls. Celeste sprawled on her back on top of the covers. I sneaked the comforter over her chubby legs and drew it up to her chin. Freddie stirred, but didn’t wake. I closed the door quietly, then tiptoed down the hall to check on Shelby.
My daughter lay in her own bed in her mother’s arms. Both of them were out cold, snuggled under the blanket. I turned off the light shining from the computer desk, then padded down the hall to my bedroom.
I peeled off my two-day-old clothes, showered, and put on my flannel pajamas.
My stomach growled. I went back downstairs and opened the fridge. Apparently the generator had done its job to prevent spoilage. I didn’t smell anything rotting and e
verything looked in pretty good shape. I rummaged around for a while, then backed out with turkey, cheese, lettuce, mayonnaise and whole grain bread.
“Is there enough for two, Professor?”
I turned to find Siegfried standing in the doorway. “Of course,” I said with a grin. “Come on in, pal.”
I dropped the food on the table and met him halfway. He crushed me in a bear hug.
“It is good to have you back,” he said. His eyes were worried as they searched mine. “Is Joe…?”
“Looks like he’ll be okay. We’ll know more in the morning. And how about you? You must’ve been worried sick.”
His eyes widened for a split second, then lowered. “Ja. I saw Shelby. I saw a picture of her in my mind. She was under water. It was black.”
I looked at him, surprised. His sense of intuition had often flirted with psychic talent, but he’d never shared the subject of visions with me before.
“Wow.” It was all I could manage. “What you saw actually happened. She’s okay, though. She’s safe. Did Camille tell you what happened?”
I should have called him. My lifelong best friend had worried himself sick.
“No. We had no time. Mrs. Pierce made a supper. Shelby and Camille brought it upstairs to the bedroom. They needed to rest.”
I stared at his worried face.
“Shelby’s father is dead. He drowned.”
“Oh, that part. Ja.” He nodded and looked down at his hands. “Maddy told me.”
“He tried to kill her, Sig. It was awful.”
Empathy flooded his eyes. He rested his massive hand on my arm. “He was a bad man. I am glad he is gone.”
“Yeah. You and me, both,” I whispered. I sat at the table and began to make sandwiches. “Are you very hungry?”
“Ja. Ich habe grossen Hunger.”
I smiled. There were certain phrases Sig never spoke in English. After all these years, “I’m starving” was one of his favorites.
He took two plates from the cupboard and laid them on the table, then grabbed glasses from the dishwasher and filled them with milk. I slapped the sandwiches together, and he opened the oven and took out an apple pie Mrs. Pierce had baked for our homecoming.
My stomach growled again.
He laughed and cut two generous slices.
“Here. Put them on napkins. We’ll save dishes that way,” I said, handing him a bundle of napkins from the holder.
“Ja, okay.”
We went about the simple tasks of preparing a meal, and with these everyday simple motions, the stress of the last few days melted away. The aroma of wood smoke, the thump of Max’s tail on the linoleum, and the genuine laughter of my friend worked together to drive me to a better place.
I finished up the meal, said goodnight to Sig, and stumbled upstairs to bed.
Chapter 77
I lifted the rumbling chainsaw to a cracked tree limb and started to cut through it. Chips flew and spit against my goggles, and finally, the heavy branch splintered and fell with the pungent scent of sap and sawdust drifting on the air.
One down, ten million to go.
I removed my goggles and rubbed the condensation from the inside. After snapping them back in place, I picked up the saw and moved to the next branch.
The temperature had hovered in the forties all week, causing more snow and ice to melt. Water bubbled from brooks and streams, flooding the roadways. We’d survived on Sullivan Hill, but still faced two acres of heavily damaged trees.
Siegfried wound the lawn tractor around the corner, stopped by the fire pit, then shut the engine off and began to unload branches from the cart. While he built a teepee of branches and readied it for the fire, I thought back over the past week.
At Doc Mattson’s suggestion, Joe received a gastroscopy instead of the angiogram. Doctors threaded a tiny camera down his throat, which illuminated sores in his esophagus caused by acid reflux. He’d been released the next day with a heavy-duty prescription and diet recommendations. His days of coffee and salsa were over.
Maddy flitted about like a butterfly just released from a sticky cocoon. She spent hours poring over magazines filled with bride-this and wedding-that. The publications, tattered and worn from months of ogling, remained folded under her arm or open on her desk at the university. The wedding date had not yet been set, but would take place “sometime soon.” Joe relinquished complete control of the arrangements to his fiancée, and happily sat by as she fussed over him. He moved into her small white Cape Cod and put a “for sale” sign on his trailer in the woods.
Freddie and Adam quietly arranged their own wedding. It would be held in our house, with just family and a few friends. They talked about August of this year, just a little over six months away. Freddie seemed more grounded these days, secure in the knowledge that her life and family were whole again. Adam dove right into the role of “Daddy” with Johnny and the twins. He was patient, hard working, and good at the job.
George Martinelli had been convinced he’d found a religious master in Greg Robinson. He’d turned over tens of thousands of dollars for the “church” that was promised. His intentions had been pure, but his judgment flawed. It was Martinelli who arranged the retreat house at the abbey for Greg in his “time of need.” Greg had convinced Martinelli he needed time to reconnect and bond with his daughter, and the obsequious follower had willingly paid and arranged for the remote location.
Camille’s hip healed slowly. The slug of antibiotics Doc prescribed had helped kick the infection, and although she still limped, it improved day by day. As the days passed, the knowledge of Shelby’s safety became reality. Greg would no longer threaten them. It showed in her eyes, in the way she laughed with abandon, and in the way she loved me at night. The fragile spirit who’d controlled my wife disappeared along with the menace who sunk into the black icy water.
The tractor started up again and Siegfried headed in my direction. Shelby waved from the back porch, then trotted toward us. They reached my side simultaneously and began to pile branches into the cart.
Something fundamental had changed in Shelby. Something deep and full of meaning. Something important.
Gone were the foul moods, selfish tantrums, and shallow obsessions. She pitched in around the place with enthusiasm, helping with the babies, doing dishes with Mrs. Pierce, and especially helping us with the outdoor cleanup.
She pushed her red wool hat up an inch to see better, then ran to the tractor and called dibs. “My turn, Sig,” she laughed, cranking the engine and driving it forward. Siegfried followed behind her with his ground-eating stride.
I surveyed the trees that needed attention and realized the job would take months, not weeks. As I was about to take down one more limb, tires crunched on gravel. Adam’s cruiser wound around the curves of the driveway and parked beside the barn. He and Joe got out and ambled toward me.
“Hey, guys,” I said. I’d been ready to start on another branch, but a certain look on Adam’s face caught my attention.
“Hey,” Adam said.
Joe nodded and smiled. “Gus.”
“What’s up?”
Adam cleared his throat and looked toward Shelby to be sure she couldn’t hear him. “They did the autopsy today.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yeah. I just got the report.”
He held a report and a notebook in his hand. I remained silent.
He lowered his voice when he spoke to me. “Well, er. There’s just one thing you might wanna know.”
Joe spoke up. “Geez, Adam. Just spill it.”
Adam flushed, then nodded. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. Um, well, Greg Robinson had cancer.”
“What?” I said. “He really was sick?”
Adam picked up the report. “It was a fast-growing melanoma. He had only a few months left, according to the prison doctors.”
I collapsed onto the nearest log. “Wow. I can’t believe it. He told Shelby the truth about that. I just thought it was another ruse
to get her sympathy.”
Joe sat beside me. “It probably was a ploy to get her sympathy. And it worked. But, maybe that’s why he decided to end it all under water, instead of in a hospice.”
I grimaced. “Yeah. It almost makes sense. But why would he drag Shelby under with him? What kind of father would… ”
Joe interrupted. “There’s more.”
Adam looked at Joe and then forged ahead. “Apparently he was obsessed with… um… hatred.”
“Hatred?”
Joe cleared his throat. “It was you, Gus. Since you married Camille and adopted Shelby, he’s been on a rampage to get even. We found a journal among his things. It was buried at the bottom of his knapsack in the car at the cottage. It was disturbing, to say the least.”
Adam handed me the notebook. I opened it to the first page and was horrified to find a picture of me crisscrossed over and over again with a red pen. The next page, and the next, were similar. There were variations on the drawings. One showed a noose. The other depicted a bullet streaking through the air toward my head. The pages were scored in some places, due to the heavy pressure. I recognized the headshot from the WRLN website. There were sections of scribbles in between the photos. I flipped through the rest of the book. It was chock full of writing and annotated photos. Of me. He’d printed them on a laser printer. About three dozen times, from the looks of it. I handed the notebook back to Adam.
“I thought you should know. He also wrote about Lisa May Albertson. Or Lisa May Robinson, depending on how you look at it. He did have a ceremony and married her. Illegal, of course, but she didn’t know that. Looks like she found out about the money he was bilking from his ‘followers’ and was about to turn him in.”
Adam stepped in. “It enraged him, according to his very talkative cell mate.”
Joe added, “If she’d spilled the beans, he’d lose the support of George Martinelli, the goose who laid the golden eggs.”
Under the Ice Page 25