Deadly Anniversaries

by Marcia Muller

  Only when I was much older did I realize that she was bouncing closing arguments off Calder. It was like listening to one side of a telephone conversation. “You’re right,” she’d say. “I can’t just tell the jury that this little girl lost her arm due to negligence. I have to make them see how her whole life is diminished. What if I...?” Then she would pause as if to hear his comments. “Yes, that’s a detail that might persuade them.”

  Those cemetery visits began to taper off by the time I was six and they stopped altogether when I was eight.

  “You’re not to feel guilty, son,” Dad said, putting his arm around me in the limo that took us home after her funeral. “The doctors told her about the risk of hormones and uterine cancer at her age, but she was so determined to have another son that she wouldn’t listen.”

  Mom had explained “uterine cancer” to me but I hadn’t connected it to my conception till then, so of course I did feel guilty even though Jess became a second mother to me. She even moved back home so that she could try to give me a normal childhood.

  * * *

  Christa James happened to be passing through Paris at the same time, on her way to visit her sister Amy, who was attached to the American embassy in Geneva. Amy was two years younger than Christa, and such an early Francophile that she had gone to a boarding school in Quebec, studied at the Sorbonne, and joined the State Department as soon as she graduated. I think I was ten the last time she was in Chapel Hill, so I barely remembered that Christa even had a sister.

  “Would you have married Calder?” I asked.

  “We had barely begun to date,” Christa said slowly. “But yes, we probably would have married before we finished college. And then divorced a year later. Monogamy was not in his makeup, Matt. He was a chick magnet and he loved a challenge. I wouldn’t have been enough for him.”

  “He hit on girls?” I asked.

  “He didn’t have to hit on them, sweetie. They lined up at the door. In fact...”

  “In fact what?”

  Before she could answer, her phone rang. “Sorry, Matt. It’s my producer. I have to go.”

  The next time I saw her, she professed to have no memory of what she’d started to say, back in Paris.

  “Leave it, Matt,” she said. “Calder’s been gone so long there’s nothing more to learn.”

  “But you’re an investigative reporter,” I said. “Doesn’t it bother you that his death was never solved? That no one ever came forward to say who he left the club with that night?”

  I admit I had become somewhat fixated. By then, I had read all the online news stories I could find, but the facts were meager and neither Jess nor Dad wanted to keep rehashing it for me.

  Most of Calder’s friends had moved on, too. All were nearing forty now, and those who hadn’t married and divorced a couple of times were settled into careers and parenthood in other parts of the country. Calder’s closest friend was Rick Barbour, who teaches English here at the university. He’s still around. In fact, he and Jess are a couple. I’m probably the reason they’ve never married.

  Something else to feel guilty about.

  Although Calder has come up in casual conversation over the years, Rick and I had never really talked one-on-one about his death until yesterday when he came over to help me set up for tonight’s party. Jess and Dad had flown out to L.A.—another one of Dad’s books had been optioned for a miniseries—so he was at loose ends.

  At loose ends myself the day before, I had looked through the files in Dad’s office. None of them were off-limits to Jess or me. Despite electronic databases, Dad preferred print-and-paper records and a bank of oak file cabinets held drawer after drawer of material on early Christianity—and only one containing personal correspondence and family records. He wasn’t overly sentimental, so the folders for our family were pretty basic: birth certificates, medical and dental records. Calder’s held his passport, his high school diploma, his acceptance to college, and his death certificate. No crayoned kindergarten drawings in his folder. No grade school report cards. Jess’s and mine were similar, although hers did contain some favorable reviews of her book. Mom’s had their marriage certificate, her death certificate and some old snapshots. At the very back of the drawer was an unlabeled folder I’d never noticed. It was stuffed with newspaper articles from the days following Calder’s death.

  I had read most of these online, but there was one that had been clipped from a now-defunct suburban weekly that I’d never heard of, which is when I’d called Rick.

  * * *

  After we’d hosed down the terrace, cleaned the screened-in side porch, and weeded the flower beds, we treated ourselves to a couple of beers which, according to the state of North Carolina, I was still technically too young to drink.

  I had left the folder on the kitchen table and as Rick popped the top of his beer, I said, “Can I ask you about this newspaper clipping I found yesterday?”

  He saw Calder’s picture and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Christ, Matt! I thought you promised Jess you were going to let it go.”

  “This says you were the last person to see him alive.”

  “So? You already knew that.”

  “No, I didn’t. I never heard anyone say it was you.”

  “Really?” He seemed surprised. “Well, it certainly wasn’t a secret.”

  “You said he got into a car with a woman. You were his best friend, so who was she?”

  He shrugged. “It could have been anybody. They came on to him all the time. The car was almost a block away, and I only saw her from behind when he got in and the interior light came on. I thought at first it was Christa. Same long hair. She and Calder had just started seeing each other, but she and Jess were still at a party together around the time I saw him get into that car so it wasn’t her.”

  “What kind of a car?”

  Another shrug, but this time he didn’t quite meet my eyes.

  “C’mon, Rick. You know cars.”

  “It could have been a Toyota. That’s why I thought it was Christa. She had an old beat-up black one. But they were in Jess’s car that night and they were both positive about the time. Why are you so obsessed with it, anyhow? You never even knew Calder.”

  “I’m not obsessed,” I protested.

  “No?”

  “I wouldn’t even be here if Calder hadn’t been killed. Replacing him was the only reason I was born. Wouldn’t you be curious about who made your existence possible?”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly. “You want to send him a thank-you note?”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “Isn’t it enough that you’re here? Can’t you be grateful for that and let go of the how and why?”

  From the earnest look on his face, I knew this was something he and Jess must have discussed.

  “I’m the reason my mother died,” I said, downing the last of my beer. “How can I let go of that?”

  “You and Christa,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Christa?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t you know? She’s carrying a load of guilt almost as big as yours. Calder wanted her to meet him at the comedy club that night, but she went to a party with Jess instead. She thinks that if she’d skipped it, Calder might still be alive. And yeah, your mom, too.” He finished his own beer and stood up to go. “Look, Matt, you’re leaving for college next week, right? So take advantage of it. Leave the past behind. Concentrate on your future.”

  “I’ll try,” I promised. And up until a few minutes ago, I honestly thought I could.

  * * *

  After all my friends left, Dad said good-night, too. Jess and Rick and four or five of their crowd had moved out to the side porch for coffee and brandy, so I left them to it and began clearing away. I took the chips and dips out to the kitchen, stacked the dishwasher, and started gathering up the empty bottles and napkins. My h
ands were full when I got back to the kitchen and found Christa at the counter. Her back was to me as she reached for a handful of corn chips.

  “Still hungry?” I teased.

  “Caught me!” she said, turning with a smile.

  To my surprise, it was Christa’s sister Amy, on leave from the embassy in Switzerland. There’s only a family likeness in their facial features. From behind though, both have the same slender build and narrow shoulders.

  “Too much brandy,” she said ruefully as she popped a dip-laden chip in her mouth. “I need something more in my stomach.” She loaded another chip with guacamole. “The others are playing ‘Remember when?’ and ‘Whatever happened to so-and-so?’ I’ve been gone too long to know who or what they’re talking about.”

  After so many years in Europe, there was no trace of the South in her accent.

  “Even you, Matt. Last time I was here, you were just a little boy and now look at you. Six feet tall. Eighteen. I wouldn’t have recognized you. You don’t look at all like—”

  She broke off in embarrassment.

  “Like Calder?” I asked.

  “Sorry,” she apologized.

  “That’s okay. I get that a lot.”

  She turned to go back to the porch. As I watched her go, I was again bemused by her resemblance to Christa from behind.

  And then it struck me.

  “You!”

  She paused. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re the one who met Calder at the comedy club!”

  “What? No!”

  From out in the front hall, I heard voices, then Christa appeared with her car keys in one hand and her sister’s purse in the other. “The others have left, Amy. You ready to call it a night?”

  “Yes!” She reached for her handbag.

  “No!” I said sharply.

  Christa was puzzled but Amy stared at me in consternation. Then Jess and Rick were there.

  “Matt? What’s wrong?” Jess asked.

  I focused on Rick. “The night Calder died. It was Amy you saw, wasn’t it, Rick? Christa’s car, but Amy was driving, wasn’t she?”

  “Don’t be silly, Matt,” Christa said. “Amy didn’t have her driver’s license. She was only fifteen.”

  “Kids get their learner’s permit at fifteen,” I said stubbornly. “Rick thought it was your car. Even thought it was you at first because you two look so much alike from behind.”

  Christa turned to Rick, “Tell him he’s crazy, Rick!”

  But Rick was looking at Amy as if he’d never seen her before. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I really did think it was your car, Christa. I could’ve sworn it. But then when Jess said you two were definitely at that party—It never occurred to me that Amy knew how to drive or that she’d be out that late by herself. She was just your kid sister.”

  With everyone looking at her, Amy backed away, shaking her head. “No. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t!”

  “Leave her alone,” Christa said.

  “Why?” Jess and I both asked.

  Whether it was guilt or too much brandy, Amy’s defenses suddenly crumbled. “It was an accident!” she whimpered. “I didn’t know he was behind the car. He was so drunk I didn’t think he had caught up with me.”

  Always quick off the mark, Jess said, “You’re the one who hit him? Is that why your parents sent you up to Quebec? To get you away? They knew?”

  Amy shook her head and tears filled her eyes as she looked at us in hopeless guilt. “Not Dad. We never told him. Mother made us promise.”

  “But how?” asked Jess. “Why?”

  “She and Dad were in Charlotte for the weekend, remember? Christa was supposed to be keeping an eye on me but you wouldn’t let her bring me to the party, so I was out on the front steps trying to find the Little Dipper when Calder came by to see if she was back yet. He said he could teach me the constellations but we’d have to get away from town to where it was really dark. I was ready to go right then, but he said to meet him at the comedy club around eleven.”

  “You weren’t supposed to drive without Christa,” Jess said.

  “And she wasn’t supposed to leave me alone,” Amy wailed.

  “This was our fault?”

  “No, of course not. All the same, if you’d let me come—”

  Before Jess could reply, I said, “So you met him at the club?”

  Amy nodded. “We drove out to the lake and sat down on one of the rocks to look at the stars. He had a bottle and tried to get me to take a drink, but I knew if I got stopped going home, alcohol would up the ante. He pointed out some of the constellations, and then he kissed me. I thought maybe he’d decide he liked me better than Christa. Instead, he took another drink and then he—he—”

  “He what?”

  “He wouldn’t let me go. I told him to stop, that I didn’t want to, but he wouldn’t listen. He put his hand down my shorts. Asked me what I was saving it for. I pushed him away and ran back to the car. I didn’t know he was right behind me. I swear I didn’t! I was scared and just wanted to get away, but when I put it in Reverse, I must have knocked him over. I heard him yell as I put it in Drive, but I was in such a panic that I drove home as fast as I could and just sat there in the dark and shook till Christa came back.”

  Christa took a deep breath. “She was in hysterics when she told me what had happened, so I gave her one of Dad’s sleeping pills and promised that I’d go out to the lake and see if Calder was okay.”

  “But he wasn’t, was he?” I asked.

  Christa shook her head. “He must have staggered out to the road because I found him lying on the edge of the pavement. No pulse and he was cold to the touch. I—I closed his eyes.”

  With tears in her own eyes, Amy said, “By the time Dad and Mother got home next day, the news of Calder’s death was all over town. Everybody was broken up over it, but after the funeral, Mother thought I was taking it harder than I should have. When school started that next week, I was so totally falling apart that we had to tell her. I wanted to go to the police and confess, but she talked me out of it. Said it wouldn’t bring him back and my life would be ruined. We had already talked about my going to Aunt Giselle’s to finish high school in Quebec so that I’d speak French like a native. I couldn’t face you anymore, Jess. Or face your parents. I am so, so sorry.” She blew her nose and straightened her slender shoulders. “I’ll go to the police tomorrow.”

  Christa shook her head. “You weren’t the one who killed him, Amy.”

  “But I shouldn’t have panicked. I should have brought him back to town. Sobered him up.”

  “After what he’d tried to do to you?”

  Rick and I stood there in shocked silence but Jess turned on me in anger. “Satisfied, Matt?”

  “Me?”

  “I told you to leave it alone. I told you that Calder was no saint. Now do you believe me? Amy wouldn’t have been his first rape. Mom paid off the girl’s parents and got that one suppressed because he was still a minor.”

  “What?”

  “Then she paid off a second girl, as well,” Jess said grimly. “The baby was put up for adoption in Tennessee.”

  “Baby?” I was stunned. “Did Dad know?”

  Jess shook her head. “He was too mired in the fifth century to pay attention to what was happening in his own.” She reached out and clasped Amy’s hand. “I say we leave it there, okay?”

  She was looking at Amy, but I knew she was asking me.

  “Okay,” I said.

  And this time, I really meant it.

  * * *

  Except that I’ve tossed and turned all night, going over and over it, trying to wrap my head around the fact that Amy was the reason I’d been born.

  Or no, not Amy. She only knocked him down. She didn’t run over him.

  It was still some
faceless, nameless hit-and-run driver... Or was it?

  I’m an eighteen-year-old male, but it’s not all that hard to put myself into the head of a seventeen-year-old female.

  Driving out to the lake that night, Christa must have been furious with Calder. To hear that the guy she was starting to fall for had tried to rape her sister? If he had stepped out into the road to flag her down, would she have braked or would she have floored the gas pedal?

  I suppose I could ask her, but what if she says yes? Admits it?

  Rick’s right. Even if she’s the reason I’m here, it won’t bring Mom back and I’m certainly not sorry I was born.

  When I graduated from high school back in June, Jess gave me a box of thank-you cards and nagged me till I’d written to everyone who’d given me a graduation present.

  Maybe I’ll send one to Christa.

  * * *

  CHIN YONG-YUN SETS THE DATE

  BY S. J. ROZAN

  Well, husband. It has been some months since I last came to visit you. Today the weather is hot, but a lovely breeze is stirring the leaves on the trees. These leaves were still new at Ching Ming, when all the family came to sweep your grave. I hope you enjoyed the tea we served you. I have brought more for you today, from Old Liu’s shop. Old Liu sends his greetings.

  I have also brought the lemon tarts you like so well, as today is the anniversary of our wedding. It was so long ago, yet in my mind it seems like yesterday. Your fine voice growing louder as you sang along the path between our villages. Your friends—some of whose voices were equally loud but not as fine—marching with you, casting firecrackers to scare envious spirits away. My friends refusing to give me to you until you had paid the bride price. How low that price was, both of us from such poor families! We laughed. I said you had gotten quite a bargain. You said it was your good luck that my friends were such unskilled negotiators.