“Do you know what Detective Burns’ theory was, Brian?” Detective Pete asked.
“I know it involved me.”
“Yes, it did. It was a pretty good one too,” he made himself comfortable in the kitchen chair. “See, Detective Burns thought that you did know about the affair. Maybe Mila was getting morning sickness or even showing a little bit. You knew the baby wasn’t yours, but you still weren’t quite sure who your wife was sleeping with behind your back. Until, Carson went to the restroom that day at the office. And you just happened to see text messages lighting up his cell phone from your very own wife. You talked him into going to the park with you. Maybe you told him you needed a friend, someone to talk to. You got him outside, alone in the dark, no witnesses and you killed him…”
Brian cut him off with a loud smack of his hand against the table. I jumped, almost as high as the weasely Detective Pete. “Do you want to know what is wrong with that theory, Detective Pete?” he said harshly. Detective Pete’s beady eyes were now on the verge of glossy marbles. “It is bullshit!” Brian said. “And another thing you seem to not really think about is how could I have possibly coaxed Carson into waiting in the car while I went in my home and picked out a knife I was going to stab him with? And that is not even bringing up the fact that I wouldn’t have had time to do all of this!”
Detective Pete’s face was now thoughtful and his head tilting to an angle, suggested he was impressed. And so was I. Brian had a very good point. If there were no other injuries to Carson, he wasn’t subdued or unconscious. Brian was right, he would have had to have complied while Brian got a murder weapon. But still even if he did, Brian wouldn’t have had time. Not unless he had killed him at his house, which was absurd.
“So, you called me here about some roses?” Detective Pete asked, finally getting down to the real reason he was in our home. Which was a visit I was more than eager to end. I still get the feeling he is a serial killer.
“Yes, these were left on our doorstep the morning Detective Burns was found dead,” I told him, grabbing the vase from the kitchen and carrying them to sit on the table in front of him.
“Okay, and why do you think I need to know that you got flowers again?”
This man either had the intelligence level of a garden stone, or he just simply didn’t care about clues. “Do you know what black roses symbolize?” I asked. No denying the snub spatting of the words.
“Well, Chloe, I do know this. Your husband was murdered. You recently remarried his best friend because he had just settled a divorce with a wife that is now in prison for your husband’s murder. I can probably scribble out a long list of family members that would think black roses were an appropriate wedding gift for you two.”
I had misjudged his wits. And I couldn’t disagree. I could only assume that each and every one of Mila’s family members must be bitter about the situation. Families always look at the defendant as the victim. It is only natural. So, their thought processes would include questions on why Brian had abandoned Mila when she needed him most. Or how Brian could turn his back on her. I couldn’t deny that they could have sent the roses, but on that day? At six in the morning? And even if the roses were from a member of her family, who had been leaving the red roses?
“Look guys, I know it is a hard pill to swallow that Detective Burns would have killed herself. Trust me, it is harder for me than it is you, and I wish more than anything there was someone or somewhere we could point blame. But the truth is, there isn’t. Francis was a sad woman, she had been as long I knew her. I was fortunate enough to work with her for eight years. But she just wasn’t happy. She wasn’t happy as a detective and she wasn’t happy in life.”
The hair on the back of my neck tingled as I looked into his eyes. He was lying. Whether he was lying about her being unhappy, her suicide, or him feeling remorse for it, I couldn’t determine. But he wasn’t being sincere in what he had just said. It felt rehearsed and there was no emotion what so ever in his voice. His eyes stayed focused the whole time when they should have shifted while talking about something traumatic. He never looked down, which is a natural reaction and even unavoidable behavioral trait for someone who is talking about something uncomfortable. And his constant eye contact with me was an obvious indication that he was lying. He wasn’t shaken by her death, that much I know. And this made me question his involvement, his involvement in everything. I had half way joked about him possibly being responsible for the roses, but now, I think it could have been him all along.
Those same observations held true at her memorial that afternoon. Brian and I both agreed, and even wanted to attend. Listening to the speakers giving their memorial speeches, I didn’t get the impression she was a sad woman at all. She had more friends than me. There were plenty of stories of fun memories either sailing, hiking, and even skydiving. Not a life that seemed unfulfilled other than she wasn’t married and had no children. But this day and age, you cannot assume that every woman wants that. Domestication is becoming something of the past and to assume that she was unhappy simply because she didn’t have that was bordering the line of bigotry.
Detective Pete was actually, no kidding, playing a game on his cell phone during the eulogy. His lack of emotion was somewhat bittersweet for me. I was disgusted at his inability to pay proper respects to a woman who at least deserved that much. But I was also grateful that he gave me something to focus on other than remembering back to the way Carson looked lying in his casket. In the moment of such tragedy, it is all a blur. Almost like your brain is protecting you by keeping everything just out of focus. But when that shock settles and you are only left with reality, it is a much harsher recollection than what it was during the events. And being here in this funeral home, looking at Detective Burns casket in front of me, I was involuntarily rehashing memories I didn’t want to hold onto.
A celloist played alongside a black piano, creating a beautiful harmony that I was sure I had heard before. The guests started lying roses on the altar and Brian and I took that as our cue to leave. Unfortunately, many of the guests had the same idea and we were stopped in the aisle for several minutes waiting for the doorway to clear.
“Chloe?”
I turned to face Professor Marks. “Professor Marks, what are you doing here?” I asked, surprised and pleased at the same time.
“Francis was a colleague of mine. I consulted several cases for her. It is such a tragedy. I was very fond of her.”
“I am very sorry for your loss. I didn’t know her on a personal level but I am sure she will be missed,” I said, trying to find the kindest, yet still sincere words.
“Yes, I am sorry as well,” he said, reaching out for Brian’s hand. “Last time we met, I fear it wasn’t proper. I didn’t get the chance to congratulate the two of you for your marriage.”
“Oh, no worries. Thank you,” Brian said.
I smiled back at him. He hadn’t been married. At least not to my knowledge, although, we were never friends either. But he never wore a wedding band if he was married and he doesn’t wear one still. I am surprised by it though, he is an attractive man. Not my type, of course now that I am happily married I don’t have a type. But he is slender and pale. But pale in a porcelain type way, not albino. His dark hair was always thick and almost chocolatey against his skin. He is probably one of those effortlessly smooth guys that just enjoys the freedom of casual relationships.
“Well, Chloe, as always it was great to see you. And very nice to see you again, Brian.”
“Wait, do you mind if we walk out with you?” I asked, feeling Brian’s confusion burning into the side of my face as he looked at me.
“Of course.”
I smiled over to Brian and took his hand while we made our way to the parking lot. “Professor Marks, can I ask your professional opinion on something?”
He studied my face and looked around suspiciously, giving me the impression that he knew the nature of my question. “Yes, what is it?”
&nbs
p; “Do you think Francis would have killed herself?” Brian’s hand tightened on mine and I knew that I had peaked his interest as well. We both stood watching Professor Marks while his forehead wrinkled into several deep cervices.
“No, I do not.”
He drove off and I watched Detective Pete bouncing out of the funeral home like he had just left a party.
Chapter Sixteen
Ten hours and forty-seven minutes. Ten hours and forty-seven minutes of sitting in the waiting room beneath a television with a black band of subtitles floating across the bottom, no sound. I wished there had been sound. My eyes were focused on the pink knitted hat that I held tightly in my hand. Sequins of pink and pearl white sparkled under the fluorescent lights and I just couldn’t look away. My stomach was twisting from stress over Harper ever finding out about her parents; Mila and Carson and Brian and myself. Brian and I had agreed to keep it from her, but it just seemed like such an impossible secret to keep. I could only hope that if she were to ever find out, that she could understand and forgive us for wanting to protect her from it.
There has been a small girl in the seat across from me for the last three hours and eight minutes. I know this because her small feet tirelessly sway in my peripherals. Her pink converse sneakers also have sequins on them and I smile when I see her dark curls hanging between her feet. My eyes raise to meet hers and she giggles at me, causing me to giggle right along with her.
“Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore?”
I nearly drop the hat as I shoot my eyes to Brian. “That’s us,” he says reaching for my hand. I quickly round up the diaper bag from the seat next to me and the small girl gives a small wave before I turn away from her.
The nurse leads us down a hallway and I reach for Brian’s hand. The screaming coming from behind the room doors causes sweat to build above my eyebrows. The echoing of labors pains makes me grateful again for my lack of sacrifice in this birth. Two uniformed officers stood outside a room door, 521. I knew that Mila was just behind that wall and I hurried to look away.
“This way,” the nurse smiled.
We turned into a separate corridor and stopped to stand in front of the nursery. My hand rested against the glass when I saw her lying there. In a perfect bundle of pink, a little girl that just stole my heart without ever saying a word. ‘Harper Whitmore’ was written in black permanent marker on a pink card above her and before I could control it, tears were falling steadily from my face.
“Are you ready to meet her?” the nurse asked.
My hand left a steamed outline of my palm on the glass window and we walked in to hold her for the first time. The nurse handed her to me and I looked down at a perfectly round little face, sleeping peacefully in my arms. Her hair was dark, and thick. More hair than I had ever seen on a baby before, but I also hadn’t really seen many babies. There was no denying that this was Mila’s child. The resemblance was remarkable, really.
“You have a very healthy baby girl.”
“Brian…” I offered to him. His eyes filled with the same tears mine had and he reached to take her from me.
“Hello, Harper,” he cooed.
“Are you going to take breastmilk from the mother?”
Brian and I both looked at each other. We hadn’t even considered that it would be an option, but I have read in five different books how much healthier a baby is when fed breastmilk.
“No,” Brian said. He hadn’t read the books but I understood his reasoning for assuming the answer. Many women choose not to breastfeed anyway.
“Okay, well we have arranged for you two to have your own room where you can stay the evening with Harper. You all will be able to go home tomorrow.”
Babies are funny things. Everyone goes crazy over them because they are so cute, and they really are. But they don’t really do much. Brian and I took turns feeding her and that was about the extent of our night. Not that I am complaining. I had painted this picture of a terrifying, miserable life where I would be pulling out my own hair from stress and lack of sleep (maybe I read too many books), but this didn’t seem so bad at all. This seemed simple, it seemed peaceful.
Somewhere between two a.m. and six a.m., I realized how incredibly wrong I was. I had no idea such a small person could have such powerful lungs. She screamed and cried all night. No matter how hard I tried to calm her, it didn’t work. The nurses popped in several times, smiling. I couldn’t comprehend what about that screeching could bring a smile to their faces, but they acted like this was completely normal. I on the other hand, was playing Dr. Chloe on WebMD because I just couldn’t imagine that this crying was normal.
“Chloe, she is fine,” Brian said.
I slowly pulled my phone back to me. After multiple diagnoses, he hadn’t even looked down at the screen to read the latest one. “You really think so?” I asked. With a smile and a squeeze of my hand, my nerves settled and I rocked Harper until we both finally fell asleep.
The nurse came in the room, in what felt like minutes later but realistically had been three hours, and I jumped awake to see Harper still peacefully sleeping against my chest. “I am going to take her for just a few minutes,” the nurse said. I looked down again and realized how much I didn’t want this woman to take my daughter. It wasn’t because I was worried that something terrible was going to happen, or even that I felt like I didn’t want to be away from her. It was because I had just spent a night from Hell trying to get this baby to sleep and they were going to interrupt that. But there was a little bit of the other things in there too, if I am being honest.
She walked out of the room with her and me and Brian got everything ready to go home. Twenty-four hours in the hospital is twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes too long. When I was in school, part of my master’s capstone was volunteer work in the psychiatric ward. It wasn’t really the environment of a hospital I didn’t like, or even the germs that infested every surface, it was the smell. And the way I could still smell that smell in my hair every time I left.
The elevator came to a stop on the main level and I smiled over to Brian holding Harper in her car seat. The doors slid open and my breath caught in my throat when Mila was standing directly in front of us. Her dark hair hung messily around her face and the chest of her orange jumpsuit was stained with sporadic tear drops. She stepped forward, her eyes focused on Harper, and Brian tightened his hold. I looked around, no guards were anywhere to be seen.
“My baby,” Mila said. Her hand outstretched, and her stride closing the gap between us. We had nowhere to go.
I quickly reached to my side, smacking any of the floor buttons I could and the door started to close us away from her. But Mila leapt forward and her hand smacked the door with such force it woke Harper, she started crying uncontrollably in her car seat which just seemed to raise Mila’s desperation.
“Do not engage!” A man’s voice rang out. I looked to see two guards running toward us now. Mila also seen this and before I knew what was happening, she was inside the elevator with us and the door was closing. The elevator jolted and we were travelling to the seventh floor, just the four of us.
“Mila, what in the hell are you doing?” Brian asked.
But Mila paid him no attention. Her hands were trembling and she dropped hard to her knees to face Harper. Shhhhh she whispered to her to ease her crying. And it worked. Harper’s screaming softened and Mila reached to take her hand in hers. Brian and I did nothing. She wasn’t going to harm Harper and we both knew that.
The elevator was coming to a stop and Mila hurried to pull a ring from her finger. She tucked it into the car seat with Harper as the doors opened. The two guards rushed in the elevator and pulled Mila to her feet. She didn’t fight them away, her legs were limp, not supporting her weight at all, and the men struggled to get her to stand. I stood, completely shocked, watching her completely lose her will. She was broken.
Her heels were dragging the floor while they each took a grip under an arm and pulled her away. She was sobbing,
heavily and then her eyes locked with mine. “Take care of my baby!” Suddenly, her lack of muscle use vanished and she started frantically trying to break free. They were about to turn a hall, leaving us out of their sight, and she panicked. “What is her name?” she cried out.
But I couldn’t speak. “What is my baby’s name?!” she pled. Her deep cries now breaking into a hysteria as she was being led away from her child.
I could still hear her even though we couldn’t see her anymore. Her screams echoed throughout the hospital and my stomach winced each time. I should have given her a name, something to hold onto. But I didn’t. I let her get dragged away from the baby she had just given birth to without even a name. My eyes filled with tears and I struggled to understand why I would let myself feel such pity for Mila. But I did. I have never heard cries like the ones she just lost herself in. She was in so much pain and regardless of what she had done, I felt for her.
“Let’s get out of here,” Brian said.
Harper started to cry on the drive home and my heart sank as I tried to comfort her. I wanted to take her out and hold her then but I couldn’t. I cried my own tears because I felt like I was abandoning her fears by leaving her there and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was crying for her mother. Mila had soothed her crying with just the sound of her voice. My voice was not offering Harper any comfort.
As soon as we came in front of our house, I reached down and pulled her from the seat. My finger hooked on the small golden band that Mila had tucked beside Harper and I hurried to knock it back into the seat. Was it her wedding band? I held her close to me and rocked with her while Brian hurried to open the door for us. He held my hand as I stepped out of the car holding her. “Welcome home, Harper,” he said sweetly before kissing her forehead.
“Here,” I offered.
He was beaming with pride as he rocked her in his arms. I turned back and pulled the car seat from the car, looking back down at the golden band. It wasn’t her wedding band. It was much simpler than that. There were no diamonds, nothing really that made it seem significant at all so I struggled to come up with her urgency in getting that ring to Harper. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel right tossing it. As much as I didn’t want Mila to have any part in Harper’s life, I couldn’t help but think of my own childhood and how much I would have given anything to have had a mother than cared enough about me to leave something of hers behind. Harper would never have to know where it came from, but at least she could have it.
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