Night of Reunion: A Novel

by Michael Allegretto

  “Gotcha!” he said.

  Sarah smiled. She was still aware of Christine waiting in some corner of her mind. But she had a stronger awareness now, one that overpowered any images of Christine—the awareness of home and family.

  She’ll never take them from me, Sarah thought. She may cause me anxiety and even fear, but she’ll never take away my home and my family.

  And then Sarah was struck by an odd notion. The more she considered it, the more it disturbed her:

  Christine Helstrum had helped create this home and this family. If she had not brutally murdered Laura and Timothy Whitaker, then Alex would never have moved here. He would have remained in Albany, New York, a happy father and husband.

  And me? Sarah wondered. I’d still have Brian. But I wouldn’t have Alex. And I probably wouldn’t be living in this house or sitting in this room.

  Sarah tried to push these thoughts from her mind. They preoccupied her, though, and she idly moved her last king into the path of certain death.

  20

  SHE STARED OUT THE window and thought about her son.

  He was born early in the morning, she thought, just like this, cold out and barely light enough to see the black trees and the snowy ground.

  She shivered and hugged herself. She never took off her coat anymore, because she felt cold most of the time. And what made it worse, she ached. The dull pain had begun in her back because of the awkward position in which she slept. But now her hips and legs hurt, too. And her neck was always stiff.

  She pictured the face of her son and smiled.

  I wish he were with me, she thought. Then I could leave this place. We could leave together. We’d go someplace far away from here, someplace where no one would find us, someplace where we could be together forever. Someplace warm.

  Her breath had fogged the window. She started to wipe it with her hand, then changed her mind.

  If only he weren’t dead, she thought, then everything would be all right.

  She turned her back to the window and walked a few steps into the room. Then she stopped as suddenly as if someone had struck her. She’d had a thought that was so staggering, so powerful, so insightful, that for a moment she couldn’t move. It had been a revelation. And it was so simple, so pure, that she wondered why it had never occurred to her before.

  Her son was alive.

  Timothy was alive.

  Her mouth hung open in amazement.

  They’ve lied to me all along, she thought. They’ve made a fool of me.

  She considered her facts. She examined them like a jeweler examining the facets in a stone—looking for a flaw but hoping none would be found. After the fight with Alex’s wife, she and Timothy had gone to her apartment and she’d put him to bed. Then the police had come in and taken him away. They’d told her that he was dead. But they’d never let her get close to him after that, never let her touch him. In fact, she’d never seen him at all after that night. She’d never even seen his body.

  Had they even told her where he was buried? No. All during the time she’d been locked up, they’d never told her that. Never even hinted at it.

  And what if I had demanded to see his grave? she thought. Oh, they’d have shown me one, all right, but it would’ve been empty. Or if there had been a body inside, it would’ve been some other two-year-old boy, not Timothy.

  No, he’s alive, she thought. Except he’s not two years old anymore.

  She tried to remember how long it had been since she’d seen him. What does he look like now? she wondered. And where is he? She began pacing the room to help herself think. Then she stopped, stunned by another thought.

  They’ve got him.

  Now it became clear to her, the full depth of their plan and the cleverness of it. They’d made her believe that her son was dead so that they could lock her up. Then Alex and his wife had been free to take him away to another state.

  She turned toward the window and the gray morning light.

  It’s early, she thought. They’re probably still asleep. I could go into their house right now and kill them both for what they’ve done. Then I could take Timothy with me. Except ….

  She was thinking that Timothy might not recognize her. In fact, he might be afraid of her and not want to go. Of course, she could force him to go with her, but that wouldn’t be right.

  I’m his mother, she thought, and I shouldn’t have to force him. He should go with me because he loves me. Because he trusts me.

  She frowned.

  Wait, now, wait. They’ve probably lied to him. They’ve made him trust them.

  She paced back and forth, her hands jammed deep in her coat pockets, her head bent in concentration.

  I’ll show him how weak they are. I’ll show him that I can do whatever I want to them. Then he’ll see that I’m the one who’s strong. I’m the one he can trust.

  She let her pacing take her out of the room and into the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she studied her dim reflection in the mirror. She touched her hair.

  And I’ll make sure he’s not afraid of me, she thought. I’ll make myself pretty for him.

  She smiled broadly.

  She’ll make me pretty for him.

  21

  THE NEXT MORNING, BRIAN wanted to know why Sarah was riding with him and Alex.

  “It’s, ah, the other car won’t start,” Sarah said.

  Even though it was a small lie, it made her uneasy. She’d never lied to Brian before. She’d always tried to answer truthfully—although not necessarily in complex detail—every question he’d asked. Until now she’d never consciously kept anything from him.

  But how could she tell him about Christine Helstrum? How could she explain the fear that she and Alex felt?

  “You see, Brian,” she’d have to say, “a very bad lady may try to see me today, so some policemen will be hiding outside my shop ready to arrest her. But if she somehow sneaks past them, your father will be there to protect me. It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  She couldn’t say any of that, she knew. Nevertheless, she felt uncomfortable lying to her son.

  When they got to Brian’s school, Sarah walked him inside. She spoke for a few minutes to his teacher, reaffirming another lie, the one Alex had told the teacher about an ex-wife. Back outside, she saw Alex standing across the street next to a police car. He leaned over to speak to the officer inside, then crossed the street and climbed in the Celica.

  “All set?” he asked.

  “Yes, I … yes.”

  He put his hand on her leg and squeezed it gently through her coat.

  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  Sarah nodded but said nothing.

  They drove to the shop in silence. When they got there, Kay Nealy was unlocking the front door. Alex parked beside her car. Sarah scanned the parking lot, looking for the police. There were a number of cars scattered about, but none of them were police cars, and none of them seemed to be occupied.

  Kay smiled and waved at Alex, assuming, Sarah knew, that he was merely giving her a ride to work. Then Kay frowned briefly when Alex shut off the engine and climbed out with Sarah.

  “Hi, Alex,” she said. “Sarah.”

  “Good morning.”

  “Are you here to get a quick trim before going off to the blackboard jungle?”

  “Not exactly,” he said.

  Sarah and Alex followed Kay into the shop. Kay switched on the lights, then took off her coat and hung it on a hook. She hugged herself.

  “God, it’s cold in here,” she said.

  She turned up the thermostat, then went to the back to make coffee. Alex sat in one of the chairs against the wall and shuffled through magazines in the nearby basket. Sarah stood at the desk and looked down at the appointment book, which was open to today’s date: Thursday, December 10. She had Donna Rothman at eight, cut and perm. She’d blocked off three hours, which would give her enough time to get Donna out of the shop before her eleven o’clock appointment w
ith … Mrs. Green. She checked her watch: 8:01. Less than three hours now.

  Kay came into the room.

  “Are you going somewhere this morning?” she asked Sarah, then nodded toward Alex.

  “No.”

  “Oh …”

  Kay waited for Sarah to say more, and when she didn’t, she said, “So Alex just came in to read our magazines, right?”

  Sarah gave Kay a brief smile.

  “This is … awkward,” she said. “To explain, I mean. Alex is here to …”

  She looked at Alex, who had put down his magazine and faced them across the room.

  “Alex is here in case there’s trouble,” Sarah said.

  “Trouble?” Kay almost laughed. “You mean like if one of our customers starts to bitch about her perm?”

  “No,” she said. “It’s Chris—It’s Mrs. Green I’m worried about.”

  “Who?”

  “She was in here Tuesday, remember? The strange woman with the—”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah,” Kay said, grinning from ear to ear. “The loony tune with the blow-dried clothes and the permanent-press hair.” She looked from Sarah to Alex, expecting a laugh, getting none.

  “I’m afraid of her,” Sarah said. “We’re afraid.”

  “Are you kidding?” Kay’s smile began to fade. “Hey, come on, that woman was weird, maybe, weird looking, anyway, but you don’t really think she’s dangerous, do you?”

  “We think she might be,” Sarah said.

  Kay looked at her carefully.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Kay swallowed, then glanced at the front door.

  “Well, what … who is she?”

  “She—”

  Sarah stopped and looked toward Alex for help. He lowered his eyes to his magazine, as if to say that any explanation should come from her. Sarah didn’t know how to tell Kay part of it without telling her everything. And she wasn’t prepared to describe Alex’s traumatic past, not with him sitting right there.

  “We think she broke into our house,” Sarah said.

  “What?”

  “Last Monday. Someone came in the back door while I was in the living room.”

  “My God. Did you see her?”

  “No, but … one of our neighbors did,” she lied. It surprised her how easy it was to do once she got started. “They described her to me and, ah, after Mrs. Green came in the next day, I realized how closely she fit the description.”

  “Jesus, Sarah. Did you call the police?”

  “Yes. They’re looking for her.”

  Kay glanced at Alex, then back at Sarah.

  “She has an appointment with you today? You think she might come in?”

  “She might,” Alex said, and they both looked at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

  Kay started to say something, then stopped when the front door opened and in walked Jerry Calveccio. They all three knew that this wasn’t something to discuss in front of customers.

  “Hiya, Kay. Hiya, Sarah. Hiya,” he said to Alex, then plopped down in the chair at Kay’s station.

  Jerry was one of Kay’s favorite customers because she thought he was funny as hell. He was a salesman—Sarah was never quite certain what he sold—and he tried his best to keep up on the latest jokes, or at least on the latest versions of old jokes. Even Sarah sometimes found him funny, if mildly so.

  Not today, though. Today all his supposedly humorous stories sounded silly and insensitive, or even downright cruel. At least they did to Sarah. Apparently, though, Kay thought differently, or else she was covering her tension with loud laughter.

  Sarah endured Jerry’s wisecracks and forced herself to smile, checking her watch every few minutes. Donna Rothman was already late, and Sarah wanted to be finished with her well before eleven o’clock. She wanted to be prepared for Mrs. Green, prepared for whatever might happen.

  Finally, at 8:35 Donna walked in. She was a dowdy young woman who always seemed to be caught up in herself. She did not apologize for being more than half an hour late.

  Sarah led Donna to the back room, where she shampooed her hair, then wrapped it in a towel. She brought her out to the front and sat her down at her station. While she combed and cut Donna’s hair, she tried to ignore the jokes and laughter coming from Kay and Jerry.

  At 8:45, Kay took the smock from Jerry and gently shook clipped hair to the floor. Sarah watched her brush off his neck and shoulders and hold a mirror up for him to admire the back of his head. She was relieved he was leaving except for one thing: It meant that nearly an hour had passed, an hour less, to separate her from … that woman. And what if she really is Christine Helstrum? Sarah wondered.

  Sarah went to the back room for a basket of perm rods and a dispenser of end papers, brought them out front, and gave them to Donna.

  “Would you hand me a paper one at a time, please?”

  Sarah took an end paper from Donna, placed it around the tip of a strand of her hair, then rolled it up on a small plastic rod and fastened it in place. She took the second end paper, then glanced at her watch: 9:20. Less than two hours left.

  Kay’s next customer burst through the door, and Sarah winced. When she glanced at Kay, she could tell that her partner felt the same way.

  The customer’s name was Jane Newhouse, and Kay referred to her—behind her back, of course—as “Jane the Pain.” She was a complainer. Nothing was ever right as far as she was concerned, and she made sure that everyone heard about it. Worse yet, she always brought along her sons, Billy and Lenny, one five, one six, both with flaming red hair and big, splotchy freckles. As far as Sarah could tell, the boys never walked or talked—they always ran and yelled.

  Today they ran directly through the shop to the back, one chasing the other, both waving large plastic guns, both screaming at the tops of their lungs. One of them stopped at the doorway to the back, turned, and fired his gun at Alex. A Ping-Pong ball flew across the room, barely missing Alex’s head.

  Kay winced and smiled and invited Jane Newhouse to sit at her station. She began preparing her for a tint.

  “Be careful of my ear,” Jane said, “because of my infection. Didn’t I tell you about that? Well, my doctor says it’s nothing, but what does he know, I mean, I’m the one with sharp pains, not that it hurts all the time, you understand, but sometimes it’s very painful, take last night, for example …”

  Sarah finished rolling Donna’s hair in rods. Then she put protective cream and cotton around her neck at the hairline and draped her in towels and a plastic cape. She led Donna to a chair in the back and found Billy tugging at a basket of rods in the open cupboard. Kay was looking over the room divider and saw what was about to happen at the same time Sarah did and said, “Um, Jane, could you tell your son to …” just as Lenny yanked on his brother’s hair, pulling him back, along with the basket, sending perm rods scattering all over the floor. Billy jumped up crying and banged his sibling across the knee with his gun.

  Jane Newhouse yelled at her sons to shut up, which only made them cry louder.

  “Sorry about all this,” Sarah said to Donna, then began applying the perm solution. When she was finished, she covered Donna’s head with a plastic cap, had her sit under one of the beehive-shaped driers, then set the timer for fifteen minutes. Kay and Jane walked past her to the shampoo bowl. Sarah picked up all the rods from the floor and returned them to the basket and the cupboard. She went out to the front and sat beside Alex.

  She glanced at her watch. It was 10:14. Sarah was beginning to think that this was not such a good idea, simply waiting for “Mrs. Green” to show up.

  Maybe we should just leave, she thought, leave now, get in the car and drive home …

  “Are you okay?” Alex asked her.

  “Those kids,” she said under her breath. “I don’t know how much more of them I can take. Not today.” She glanced at her watch: 10:15.

  Alex took her hand in his.

  “I’m ri
ght here with you,” he said, smiling faintly.

  But his smile vanished when Billy and Lenny came running into the room, hurled themselves at the basket near Alex’s chair, and began pulling out magazines as if they were digging for buried treasure.

  Kay trailed Jane into the room, looked at Sarah and Alex, and shrugged her shoulders.

  “… my gallbladder,” Jane was saying. “I’ve had a lot of trouble with my gallbladder, and it’s hereditary, you know, because my mother had a lot of trouble with her gallbladder. She still does. In fact, last week …”

  Sarah went to the back and got Donna out of the drier. She took off her plastic cap, then removed a perm rod and tested a curl to see if the perm had taken. It had. She rinsed Donna’s hair, blotted it dry with a towel, then changed the cotton around her hairline and applied the neutralizing solution. She twisted the dial on the timer and set it for five minutes. Then she checked her watch: 10:34. Less than half an hour left.

  At 10:39 she began removing the perm rods from Donna’s hair. Then she took off the towels and cape, again rinsed Donna’s hair, and applied a conditioner. As she was leading her back to the station, she nearly had a head-on collision with Billy and Lenny, who were making their way to the back, swatting each other with magazines along the way.

  10:49.

  Sarah began blow-drying Donna’s hair. She noticed that Jane had moved the discussion from her gallbladder to the carburetor on her station wagon.

  “… in the garage three times this month,” Jane said.

  Sarah shut off the blow drier, then held up a hand mirror so that Donna could see the back. Sarah’s eyes moved from the back of the mirror to her watch: 10:58.

  “Oh, I like it,” Donna said. “I do.”

  Donna followed Sarah to the desk and wrote out a check, which included a five-dollar tip.

  “Thanks, Donna.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “See you next time.”

  Donna put on her coat, waved good-bye to Kay, and walked out. Sarah looked down at the open appointment book before her. Near the top of the left-hand page it said, “11:00—Mrs. Green.” Sarah checked her watch: 11:00. She looked over at Alex. He glanced at his watch, then put his magazine aside and sat up a little straighter in the chair.