The Stranger's Obituary

by Jessica L. Randall

  “She never wanted you to think that. That's why she never told you.”

  “But she told you?”

  “I saw some of it. Mom explained the rest.” Mina took a drink from the glass on the bedside table. “Your mother lived next door to mine—ours, in an old apartment building in Las Vegas. They were friends. But your mother started to withdraw. She'd got caught up in an old habit. There was a guy upstairs selling.”

  Mina remembered the tears on her mother's cheeks when she'd told the story. She swallowed hard and continued.

  “One night mom heard you crying. The door was unlocked. She went in and picked you up. Your mother was shut up in her room. Mom walked around the apartment, picking things up, bouncing you on her hip. Then she wondered if you'd eaten. There were a few muffins on the counter that your mother must have made in one of her better moments. You wouldn't eat. So mom stuck some in her mouth, making a big show of how good it was. Then she saw it. Your mother passed out on the floor, you crying in nothing but an old diaper, strange men in the house. One of them was smoking.” Mina’s eyes welled with tears. Her throat was tight. She forced the words through. “He leaned over and pressed it into your shoulder.” She gave up trying to stop the tears from spilling. “You screamed and he just laughed. There was no way she was leaving you there. She left a note saying you were safe and she took you.”

  “She just took me?”

  “Yes. She didn't know how quickly things would escalate. She imagined you being put in foster care, falling through the cracks, or worse. She couldn't let anything like that happen to you. She knew she should have searched for your mother later, tried to find out if she was doing any better, but she was afraid of what would happen to her when she was found out. And she didn't want to let you go.”

  “That's why she never wanted me to go to California, to be in the public eye.”

  Mina nodded.

  “But—so my real mom is dead? She's communicating with you via radio?”

  “Think about it Bernie. The woman you've been seeing at the diner, looking for her lost daughter?”

  Bernie jerked back, her eyes filling with tears.

  “And what happened in the alley.”

  “She searched for you. Maybe she's confused. Maybe she's spent the after-life in the same mind-altered state she was in when she died.” That might explain how one minute she was protecting Bernie and the next she didn't know her. “When you came home it brought her out. She wants to protect you. And she wants you to know that she loved you.”

  Bernie stood up quickly and walked to the window. Her back was turned to Mina, but her hands were pressed over her eyes.

  “She was buried under that sidewalk.”

  Mina's breath hitched. Bernie knew.

  “Mom and Frank.”

  “I saw that too,” Mina said quietly. “They couldn't help it. Your mother was so angry. She pointed a gun at Mom. Frank was protecting her, like he always did.”

  The silence swelled, filling the space.

  “How did you know?” Mina asked.

  “Susan. That's why I left. When her mother was sick, she told Susan that she'd seen something. It was late at night. Frank and Mom and Griz were standing around that spot where they were extending the sidewalk downtown. Griz used the equipment that was there for the sidewalk. He dug a hole and they put somebody in it. Then they covered it up and poured the concrete. Mom kept saying, 'It was my fault,' so Susan's mother assumed she had killed the person accidentally. The way mom was crying, she knew something awful must have led up to it, and she'd always trusted Frank. She decided not to say anything. But it nagged at her conscience for the rest of her life. She finally had to say something.”

  “And Susan used it as an opportunity,” Mina said, her voice sour as she began putting the pieces together. Susan had hated them ever since their mom helped her husband prove her affair.

  “She said she'd lost a lot of money because of us, and we owed her,” Bernadette said. “If I didn't pay, she'd reveal everything, and she knew where the body was hidden. It was the same night Doug proposed. So I took everything and paid her. I told her I'd give her the rest after I got to California and made something of myself.”

  “And you never asked Mom for the story?”

  “I didn't dare. I wasn't ready yet. Anyway, I knew she was disappointed in me for going. I thought after some time had passed I'd talk to her. Then I got caught up in everything. It got harder and harder to talk to her. Then she was gone.”

  Tears streamed down Bernie's face.

  “Bernie, you don't need any more ghosts haunting you. They both loved you. They wanted nothing more than for you to know that.”

  Chapter 28

  Enough

  Doug walked up the steps and knocked on Bernie's front door. He tugged at his white shirt collar, failing to find relief from the humidity that seeped under it.

  Bernie opened the door wearing a flowy blue dress that fell to her knees. She took his hand and pulled him inside.

  “You look pretty,” he said, feeling like a simpleton at his choice of words.

  “I didn't have anything black. I found this in Mom's closet. Gladys says it's alright. She says that a funeral should look more like a garden party anyway.” She looked earnestly into his eyes. “Thank you for coming, Doug. It'll be nice to have you next to me.”

  Doug nodded. He'd hardly left her side since she'd told him about Evan Locke, and what Susan had done all those years ago. She seemed lighter, free from all the strings that controlled her. She was more like her old self, and it was like a perfume he couldn't resist.

  But he still sensed hesitation when it came to him. He knew everything coming to light didn't mean Bernie would give up fame and fortune to stay here with him. He'd never ask her to. But he couldn't help hoping.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  Her brow creased and her glossy lips turned down.

  “Not yet. Wait here.” Abruptly, Bernie turned and walked down the hall to her room.

  Doug pulled at his tie. He swore it would strangle him. What was wrong?

  He held his breath when she returned with something clasped in her fist and her face set in firm resolution.

  He looked down and she opened her hand. His grandmother's ring rested on her palm.

  She hadn't sold it. That meant something. But so did giving it back.

  Doug's throat swelled. He tried to swallow away the urge to go ahead and cry, to beg her to change her mind. He remembered how right it had looked on her finger. Maybe she didn't even know how much he still loved her.

  He shook his head.

  “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken it,” she said.

  “I understand why you did. I mean, I wish you'd told me.”

  “I never intended to sell it. I just couldn't let it go. It meant I was giving you up. Losing you.”

  His heart felt like dough bursting from the bowl after being left too long on the counter.

  “I would have done anything to help you.”

  “I know you would have. Maybe that's why I didn't tell you.”

  “I don't understand.”

  She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Mostly I left because of Susan, but there was part of me who left because I wanted to.”

  It felt like someone punched down the dough with a heavy fist.

  “I loved you,” she said, “but your enthusiasm is contagious. I got carried away in what you wanted. I knew if I stayed here I'd never live my own life, or catch up with those crazy dreams I'd been chasing.”

  “I never should have done that to you.” How could he have been so stupid? He'd known how young she was, and that she'd had plans of her own. He'd just thought she'd changed her mind, that her excitement meant she wanted what he wanted.

  “It wasn't your fault. It's me. I know I'm stubborn and I act like I call all the shots, but I let other people make decisions for me. In high school, everyone said I should be an actress.
So I thought that's what I wanted. When I got to California I let Evan tell me what I should be. I mold myself to the expectations of other people, hoping that I'll find my one true form and come out my cocoon like some freaking fabulous butterfly, and then I'll be enough.”

  He took her hands in his.

  “Bernie, you could come out of that cocoon with fangs and a tail and I'd realize that was just what I'd always wanted.”

  Bernie smiled. She pulled her hands away. She plucked the ring up and dropped it in Doug's shirt pocket.

  “Then take this. Give me some time to figure out what I want. I've learned the hard way that what I do with my life isn't more important than the people I live it with. Whatever I choose, I'll find a way to make you part of it.”

  “You will?” He pushed the hair back from his forehead, taking a deep breath and feeling the relief rush out as he released it.

  Bernie stood on her tip-toes and gave him a brief kiss.

  “Yes. Bernie Fairchild is not going anywhere.”

  She took his hand and they moved toward the door.

  Before they reached it, there was a knock and it opened. Gladys walked in. She hurried over to Bernie and shoved a mason jar stuffed with pink peonies into her hand.

  “Here. I thought you'd like to have something to put on the grave.”

  “Thank you, Gladys.”

  Gladys looked from Bernie to Doug and back again, smiling.

  “Now where's that sister of yours? We need to get going.”

  Chapter 29

  Letting Go

  Frank had been watching the funeral from a grove of trees at the edge of the cemetery. If anyone had seen him, it would have seemed strange. But he was quiet, and probably nearly as old as these trees. He fit in.

  Several people had shown up besides the Ladies' Society. Lots of folks had donated money and taken an interest in the stranger that had been a secret citizen of Auburn for so long. But Betsy had told him that the largest donations came from two sources. One was Susan Walters, of all people. That got tongues flapping. The other donation was anonymous. Who it was was anyone's guess, but guess they did.

  It was their most successful fundraiser to date. They had more than enough money for the stone, and were in the process of deciding what good purpose to put the rest of the money to. They'd even talked about making a park next to the cemetery, with a memorial, a duck pond, and a playground. The women said they'd rather have the kids climbing up a slide than jumping all over people's resting places on memorial days. That made Frank chuckle. He'd taken his fair share of smacks from his mother over that as a kid.

  Ada Foster was in charge, as usual. After Pastor Lucas spoke, Ada said a few words. Frank couldn't hear a blasted thing, but she must have asked if anyone else had anything to say. He could see the bustle of surprise when Bernie piped up.

  She went to the glossy stone and placed a jar of peonies beside it. Bernie spoke up loud, and bits of her speech carried through the clear, sun-warmed air over to Frank.

  “... know you were there,” she said, “but you were watching us.”

  Was it possible Bernie's mother had watched her daughter skip across that sidewalk, and grow up inch by inch? Seen her return home when her life fell apart? Frank had been haunted by that woman all his life. There was something of her in Bernie's willow-like form and in the eyes. He'd thought about her every time he looked at the girl.

  He would have watched over Bernie either way. One mother he'd loved, the other he owed.

  He knew he'd done what he had to do; he just wished it had gone some other way. And he wished he hadn't had to hide it. Christa was so afraid that if he brought it out in the open someone would take Bernie away from her, so that was the end of it.

  He'd polished and polished that badge he wore, but it always looked tarnished to him.

  He couldn't take it anymore. He owed it to everyone to give them the truth, and to hand in his resignation, whatever the consequences. He was just an old man, tired and hard of hearing. He wasn't needed anymore.

  Soon the crowd, lifting their humidity-soaked hair from their necks and waving the heavy air around them with their hands, wandered back to their cars and drove away.

  Frank stepped out of the shade and patted the pocket he'd slid his folded up resignation into. It wasn't there.

  He looked down. It lay in a crumpled ball at his feet. He bent to pick it up and a gust of wind carried it a few feet away. Funny, the day was perfectly still.

  Frank sighed and tromped after it, but it rolled a few feet further. This time he was certain there wasn't any wind.

  He followed that paper across the grass and toward the hole that held the held the remains of the woman whose life he'd ended. He thought of that time outside the diner, when his chest was about to burst with pain. Of course she was angry. Maybe she wasn't done with him yet.

  But strangely enough, he didn't feel the anger or pain or sorrow that he'd felt before. He didn't feel that strong desire for a substance that had held the woman down for years, either. And yet he knew that she was there.

  The ball of paper fell into the hole, and dirt rained upon it from either side.

  Frank wiped a tear from his cheek.

  “I did everything I could for her,” he said. “And I'll keep doing it as long as she'll let me.”

  She must have known. And she was gone.

  Chapter 30

  Italian Fortune Cookies

  Mina knew she was really in Italy, because in her dreams, something was always missing. She heard the ocean, but she could never see it. The castles of Ireland were always around the next bend, no matter how long she walked through the green grass, and in Italy, the colors were never right.

  But here she was, staring at a hillside encrusted with villas and shops in butter yellow, brick, and salmon. The vivid colors nestled among the ecru were so surprising she imagined the knife of a painter scraping them randomly across a canvas.

  Leaning over the white iron railing she could see the ocean too, bordered by a pebbly beach filled with rows of striped umbrellas. She stared at the endless expanse of impossible blue until she almost believed she was lost in the middle of it.

  She'd written it all down in her book, the one Gladys had sent with her. Gladys remembered the book Mina carried around with her when she first moved to Auburn, and had bought her a new one. She said she figured Mina would need a lot of room to fit in all her new experiences.

  When Gladys offered her the vacation package she'd won, Mina tried to refuse, but there was no budging Gladys once she'd made up her mind. She said it was her way of making up for that awful business with Mina's travel blog. Mina had already forgiven her for that. How could anyone stay mad at Gladys?

  After the accident, she'd posted a picture of the “Leaving Auburn” sign on her blog. There had been a surprising outpouring of support, a small group of followers who'd sympathized rather than scorned her. If she wanted to, she could probably keep her blog going, but she hadn't decided yet. It had been a way for her to pretend to live the life she wanted, like a child playing with dolls. It wasn't real. Now she wanted to know the scents and sounds of every place she'd seen on a postcard, and to taste the foods that had been crafted by hands that carried the birthright of the places she was passing through.

  Mina stretched her legs, feeling the ache in her muscles. Her evening walks weren't enough preparation for the endless narrow stairways of Positano.

  A gnawing in her stomach reminded her of the scent of grilled vegetables coming from a small restaurant she'd passed on her way up so, clutching her notebook, she started back down the way she'd come.

  A shop with flowing white linen shirts and dresses spilling out the front door caught Mina's eye, and she stopped, rubbing the fabric between her fingertips as she caught her breath. She sighed as she watched people continuing down the stairs, and wondered how much further the restaurant was.

  Mina was surprised that she hadn't minded the crowds. Since no one knew he
r, and she didn't even speak the same language as many of them, she didn't feel any pressure, and she actually enjoyed watching them.

  There seemed to be a block in the flow of traffic below, several people hedging around a man who had squatted down in a narrow space to photograph the archway above an art gallery. She noticed his broad shoulders and lean form, and she had a pang of regret, almost missing the face behind the lens that had followed her around every time she'd left her house in Auburn.

  When he pulled the camera away from his face, apologizing and moving to let a group get by, she gasped. She tried to convince herself that the flutter in her chest was merely from exertion.

  As the initial surprise died down, heat crept up Mina's neck. Her muscles tensed.

  She tried to slow her breathing, but it was no use. Calvin said he was going to Chicago to give his boss just enough pictures and story to satisfy him before quitting. He'd agreed to give Mina a little time to figure things out. So why was he stalking her in Italy?

  She'd bought his story about doing a job that left him numb because he couldn't face the pain of a life filled with passion. Why had she trusted a man who made a living off other people misfortunes, of exaggerating the truth, in the first place? She'd been caught up by that spark in his warm, brown eyes, and the way he'd acted like her strangeness was beauty. He had the air of a man who'd seen all there was to see, but was still looking for more, and of course that attracted her to him.

  But if he was here watching her without her knowledge, there had to be a reason for it. Either he was a liar, and was still gathering material on her for his boss, or he really was a stalker, and since Frank wasn't here to run him off with a shotgun, it was up to her.

  As Calvin framed another shot Mina flew down the steps and stood glaring into his lens. He jerked the camera away as if she'd set it on fire.

  “Mina.”

  “Stalker!”

  His mouth hung open. “N-no!” he finally stuttered. He tried to move toward her, but several tourists passed between them.