by Kelly Utt
“Except that it’s too late now,” John barked, his intensity surprising her. “We have a house full of people at dinner time and you don’t have a single thing prepared.” His tone was more aggressive than what he usually displayed around Max. Bea could see her son’s face respond. His brow wrinkled and his mouth opened to speak, although he closed it just as quickly while he considered the situation.
As fast as John’s stormy mood had been hurtled at Bea, he shifted his attention elsewhere and his sunny charm returned. “Ladies,” he said to Bea’s sisters. “How about I take everyone out for a nice dinner before you hit the road? You don’t want to travel on an empty stomach, do you?”
It was clear to Bea that John enjoyed being the big, important man who could woo everyone with his influence and power. It stoked his ego. The whole thing made her uncomfortable. On this of all evenings, she was revolted by the thought of having to sit through dinner while John ignored her and showered attention on her disrespectful sisters. But he was right. It would be faster and easier to go out for dinner than it would be to prepare a meal for six people.
“Oh, that sounds kind of fabulous,” Ruth said, tilting her head to one side and lifting a shoulder up in a flirty pose. “What exactly do you have in mind, John Hughes?”
“I don’t know,” John said coyly, drawing it out another moment for dramatic effect. “How about we dine at Honey Hog downtown? It’s one of my old favorites. They’ve just reopened after an extensive renovation and I hear it’s very well done. Rustic-chic. I’ve been meaning to take a look, anyway. Food & Wine magazine is set to do a feature article on them next month. It’ll be great publicity for the town of Rosemary Run.”
“Fancy!” Natalie added. “That sounds wonderful, but are you sure we aren’t underdressed for such a distinguished establishment? And you, well, you always see people you know when we’re out. We wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
John, Ruth, and Natalie turned at once to Bea and gave her a condescending look. Another dig about her clothing and the paint she had spilled on it. John was already wearing a suit, the same as he did every day for work. Ruth and Natalie were both dressed to the nines in the clothing they wore to do business. Even Lana was wearing a skirt and a blouse that would be more than presentable at the high-end restaurant. Max could get by with throwing a sweater over top of his t-shirt and pants. That left Bea, who stood out as obviously underdressed and different. Her family’s stares made her feel like another social class altogether. Like she didn’t belong with the rest of them. And like she wasn’t good enough to be in their presence. Who did she think she was, anyway? She knew it without having to be reminded. She was a frumpy middle-aged woman, a failed artist, a substandard mom, and the most unsuccessful, uncouth, and unattractive member of her entire family.
“You ladies look lovely, as usual,” John assured the twins. “If my wife can clean herself up to look half as good as you two and your beautiful mother, we’ll do just fine.”
Bea didn’t want to rock the boat or draw any more undue attention to herself, so she got moving. “Give me fifteen minutes,” she said.
“Good,” Ruth replied. “I’ll make sure Mom is ready.”
5
Bea glanced at her son as she shuffled up the stairs to make herself presentable for the spur-of-the-moment dinner party. Something about Max was different. He seemed to be tuned in to what she was going through more so than ever before. She wondered if this was just part of growing up and the developmental stage he had reached. At the same time, she couldn’t help but wonder if he was seeing her in a new light because of what he had overheard on the phone this afternoon. Her heart skipped a beat as she considered the very real possibility.
When she reached the top of the stairs, Bea paused to take stock of her situation. It was beginning to feel surreal. Her attractive home filled with attractive furniture suddenly felt foreign and hostile. Even though she had picked most of it out and had taken comfort in the beautiful house and furnishings John had provided her, she couldn’t help but feel that her residence was actually more like a prison.
Bea moved her hand gently across the wooden banister at the top of the staircase, tracing its lines with her index finger. As she walked down the hallway towards the master bedroom she shared with John, she held her hand up, running her fingertips along the wall and stopping to trace the outline of every framed photo filled with family memories. She looked hard at the faces in each one. For most of the memories featured on her walls, Bea had been pretending. For Max’s sake, she had put on a happy face even though she usually felt hollow inside. If Max was seeing the truth of Bea’s existence, perhaps it would soon be time to reconsider her strategy.
“Beatrice,” John called up the stairs in a booming voice. “Don’t doddle. Everyone is waiting on you.”
Bea shook her head and rolled her eyes, but didn’t respond. She hated the way his voice sounded. She hated the way he called her Beatrice. Only her dad had called her that.
Freddy Denton had been a good father to Bea. He was warm, smart as a whip, and encouraging to all three of his daughters. Everyone else seemed to have treated the twins differently. Maybe it was the novelty of their pairing. They weren’t identical twins, but they were both stunningly beautiful, even as young children. Adults lavished them with praise and were mesmerized by the two of them, resulting in Bea being nothing more than an afterthought. But not Freddy. He saw Beatrice. Really saw her. His love and support were the best things in Bea’s life. They were why she knew how to love Max unconditionally. Lana was nice enough and had been a good mother, but Bea owed the best parts of herself to her dad. She hadn’t been ready to lose him when she did.
It was a result of Freddy’s insistence that Bea went to New York City to pursue her dream. If she’d had any idea that his health would decline while she was away, she never would have left.
Sometimes, Bea wondered if her dad knew he was sick when he sent her off. He would have wanted only the best for her, so she could imagine him having done something like that. It still hurt her to think about. Freddy wanted the world to be her oyster. He wanted his youngest daughter to have and be everything she wanted. His dedication to her happiness was absolute. But Bea would have rather spent his final years near her dad. She would have taken care of him and done anything he needed. No task would have been too tedious and no time spent a waste. Nothing lasting had come out of Bea’s so-called art career anyway.
Bea wondered what her dad would think if he could see her now. She also wondered how things could have gone so terribly wrong in her life. Was it inevitable? Was it the twins’ birth right to outshine their younger sister?
It was not lost on Bea how John had come into her life right around the same time as her dad left it. If she was honest with herself, she knew she had been looking to fill the void the loss Freddy’s passing had created. That was no way to begin a marriage. It was certainly no way to sustain a marriage either, which was why Travis came into the picture.
Sometimes, when Bea needed to escape her circumstances, she’d close her eyes and imagine herself living in this big, beautiful house with Travis rather than with John. As she walked into the master bedroom and closed the door behind her, she squinted her eyes until she could see Travis on the bed, waiting to embrace her. She and John scarcely made love, if you could even call it that. It was more a necessary physical release. But it didn’t happen often, and it always felt forced to Bea. She longed for Travis’ loving touch and attentive sexual healing. The feel of his skin against her own set her entire body alight. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Or since.
“Beatrice,” John called again from downstairs, more forcefully this time and so loud Bea could hear it through the closed bedroom door. “What are you doing up there? Hurry!”
Obliging, Bea stepped into her closet and pulled out a dress, all while keeping her eyes narrowed and Travis on her mind. It was a blue dress, featuring a floral print and a plunging necklin
e that fell just off Bea’s shoulders. A feminine ruffle danced along the bottom edge and promised to sway with her every move. It might have been too sexy for this evening’s family dinner. It might have been too sexy for old John Hughes under any circumstances. But she decided to wear it, anyway. A black shrug would cover her shoulders and tone the outfit down, but in Bea’s mind, she would pretend she was sneaking off to meet Travis. She would cooperate with John while mentally being somewhere else entirely. The fantasy would help her get through the evening. It would take her mind off of not only John and her nasty twin sisters, but it would help Bea push back the terror that came every time her thoughts wandered to this afternoon’s telephone call.
As Bea held the dress against herself and sized the choice up in her full-length mirror, she imagined Travis looking at her with delight and ravaging her with his eyes. She imagined him stepping close and breathing in her scent as he placed his thick, warm lips on her neck and his strong hands around her waist. Travis wanted her in a hungry, primal way that John never had. And Bea wanted Travis, too. In fact, she wanted nothing more than to be with him. It had taken every ounce of strength she had to push him away.
As Bea slid into the dress, then plopped down at her dressing table to freshen her makeup and put on some earrings, the doorbell rang. The Hughes’ home sat on a three acre lot and the closest neighbor was a fair distance away. The doorbell didn’t ring often, though it certainly got more use than the landline telephone. Bea froze when she heard its chime as a wave of panic moved through her body. She stood up, forcing her legs to carry her to the bedroom window. Her movements were jerky, those of a threatened animal.
The roofline of the front porch prevented Bea from seeing who was standing at the front door. But she didn’t need to. The rain had stopped and she could see the yard out front clearly. There, in her own driveway, was a police car. The words Rosemary Run Police Department were emblazoned on each side, blue and red lights flashing.
At a dizzying speed, Bea’s body turned itself inside out. She didn’t even make it to the bathroom before she leaned over and retched, splattering hot vomit on her pretty party dress.
6
Bea wiped her mouth haphazardly and then raced out of the bedroom to crouch at the top of the stairs. She had to hear what was happening.
“Mayor Hughes,” a masculine voice said from the front entrance. “Sorry to disturb you at home, sir.”
It was Officer James Tatum. Bea had attended school with him. She recognized his voice right away.
Oh, God, he’s here to arrest me.
“No need to apologize, James,” John said in his easy-going mayor persona. “What can I do for you this evening?”
“What’s happening?” Ruth chirped as she followed John to the door.
“Is something wrong, Officer?” Natalie echoed.
There was a pause. It felt to Bea like an eternity. She wondered where Max was and if he was scared. She had pictured this day a million times. She hadn’t expected to be wearing a party dress when it happened.
Finally, James spoke again. “Sir, how about we step outside so we can talk privately? I don’t want to disturb your guests.”
“We’re his family,” Natalie clarified. “Well, Bumble Bea’s family, anyway. Don’t you remember us from school? We were a couple of years ahead of you. But younger than your sister.”
“Cate, right?” Ruth asked.
“Oh, yeah,” James replied, remembering. “You’re the Denton twins. Good to see you again.”
“The pleasure is ours,” Natalie said, winking.
“Stop it, Natalie,” Ruth insisted. “He’s married, you know. I’ve seen him and his pretty wife around town.”
“That’s right,” James said. “Rebecca. My wife’s name is Rebecca. And thank you. I think she’s pretty, too, but I may be biased.”
“Ah, I see,” Natalie said, sounding disappointed.
“I thought you two moved out of town,” James said. “Was it San Francisco?”
“Sacramento,” Ruth clarified. “But we’re opening a new office here in Rosemary Run. It will be a joint venture between my real estate firm and my sister’s title and escrow company. Keep us in mind if you’re ever in the market for a new home.”
“I’ll do that,” James replied politely. “Congratulations to you both.”
Bea could hear John breathing deeply. He was trying to stay calm for his audience, but he was growing frustrated.
“Officer Tatum,” John said when there was a break in the conversation. “I’m happy to step outside as you suggested. Let’s do that.”
Bea could hear the front door swing open wider and then close hard. She shook as she shifted into a fetal position. She hoped no one came up the stairs and saw her like this. Most of all, she hoped she would have time to explain things to Max and her mother before she was arrested.
Did they allow murderers time to explain things to their loved ones?
There. She had thought it. She was a murderer.
Now what?
7
Somehow, Bea found the strength to get back to the bedroom and clean herself up. She didn’t want to be stuck wearing a dress in jail. Or prison. Or wherever it was they would take her. She washed her face, brushed her teeth, and put on a sensible pair of jeans. She chose to layer with a sweatshirt over a long-sleeved shirt, both over top of a t-shirt. She wanted to be prepared for any temperature. She put on warm socks and a pair of comfortable running shoes.
As Bea dressed herself, she thought about how she was trying to exercise some element of control over her life. It was human nature. If she couldn’t handle the important matters she faced and was about to lose her very freedom, then by God, she could choose the clothing she wore.
When Bea had envisioned this day, she hadn’t imagined that her old classmate James Tatum would be the arresting officer. He was a good guy who would be disappointed to know about her wrongdoing. He was the kind of guy you wanted to believe in you. The kind who inspired you to be better. What a mess.
Bea had been careful not to search the web for anything related to her misdeeds or potential imprisonment. She knew the police would seize her electronic devices as part of their investigation once she was apprehended. She didn’t want any incriminating evidence which could look worse and lengthen her sentence. As a result, much of what she knew about women in prison she had learned from television shows like Orange is the New Black. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
She hadn’t contacted an attorney. She didn’t want to look guilty.
Bea intended to do her time and get back to her son as soon as humanly possible. She just hoped that she had been around long enough to see him through his formative years. She hoped he could move forward without her now, at age fourteen. And beyond that, she hoped to be released in time to meet her grandchildren away from the prying eyes of prison guards.
Bea hadn’t told another soul, but she had prepared for this day. In a brown box in the attic under art supplies which had been carefully placed as a decoy, Bea kept a cache of items meant to help Max get through the time she was away. She had birthday cards made out for each of the next thirty years. She realized thirty may have been overkill, but she wanted there to be enough. She had also written letters for Max to open on several special days including his first date, his first car and drivers license, his high school graduation, his first day of college, his college graduation, the first day of his first real job after college, his engagement, his wedding, and the day he becomes a father. The letters were gut-wrenching to write. Many mornings while Max was in school, Bea had composed the letters and then sealed them neatly with instructions written across the front. John had never noticed the time she’d spent. He had simply assumed she had been painting in her studio.
But that wasn’t all. Bea had made videos in which she talked to Max about situations he might have to face as part of growing up. In one video, Bea presented tips for choosing the right college environment. In another
, she provided guidance about what to do when her son suffers his inevitable first break-up with a girlfriend. She could envision Max on each of those special days, his face stained with tears because his mom wasn’t there. The whole situation was horrible, top to bottom and beginning to end.
As she made the videos and wrote the letters, Bea had felt like a terminally ill patient preparing for her own death. She supposed it was a death of sorts. It was a death of life as they’d known it. It was most likely the death of John’s political career. It was the death of Max’s childhood along with any illusion that life was simple and fair. And it was the death of Bea’s personal hopes and dreams. Although if she was being honest with herself, Bea knew that particular death had occurred a long time ago.
She had gone over it in her mind countless times. On the day she was arrested-- today-- she would tell her mother and her best friend Gabrielle Radnor about the box. She’d give them explicit guidance on how to secure the contents somewhere off the property so that John wouldn’t be able to interfere. Then, she’d ask them to distribute the contents to Max as the important days came. It was all Bea knew to do in her absence. She had done the best she could for her dear, sweet boy, given the circumstances.
“Beatrice,” John called from downstairs. She hadn’t heard him come back in. This is it. It’s time. “Will you come down here, please?”
Bea closed her eyes and took a big, long breath in. One of her last as a free woman. She set her smartphone down on her nightstand, since she wouldn’t be needing it where she was going. Then, she raised her head high and walked out of the bedroom to face her fate. She felt proud of her own courage. As bad as this situation was, Bea felt relieved that it would finally be out in the open. Hiding the truth had taken a toll on her.