Her eyes went from the coffin, to the flowers, to the collage of family photographs the two of them made the night before. Then everything went blurry, as if she were underwater. That’s how it had been when they were putting the collage together. They’d spent hours going through envelopes of photos, searching for the right ones. Neither of them could stop crying for long. Helen reached into her purse and pulled out a tissue, wiped her eyes and blew her nose until she could see clearly and breathe normally again.
If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The strap of her dress kept falling off her shoulder under her blazer. She’d forgotten that she’d lost ten pounds since she’d bought the thing, five in the last two days alone. Even though she’d been cooking for the wake, she hadn’t eaten much of anything. The thought of food sickened her. Scotch went down much more easily.
She felt guilty that she hadn’t asked Tania more about her life in San Diego that last weekend she’d come home. Helen had been living in a fog of depression for so long she didn’t know how to find her way out of it, let alone how to focus on her daughter’s well-being. Now she wished she’d felt stronger and tried harder. Maybe if she’d shown more interest in her daughter, Tania would’ve told her that some new boyfriend had been giving her problems, or that an old boyfriend was stalking her. Maybe then Helen could’ve stopped this whole nightmare from happening.
But Tania was never one to confide in her mother. Ever since the pregnancy, it had become increasingly obvious that Tania kept many things from her. Helen now knew that her worries had been warranted. Only this time it didn’t feel good to be right.
Chapter 21
Alison
Alison gathered up her courage to brave the crowd and pay her last respects to Tania. A little unsteady on her black, high-heeled shoes, she teetered up the red-carpeted aisle to the front of the church. She could feel people looking at her, wondering, Who is that underdressed nobody?
Only a few minutes before, she’d been standing next to Ken Goode at the back of the church, feeling assured that she could make it through the service without getting too upset. But now, as she approached Tania’s polished oak coffin alone, she felt a shawl of emotions drape itself around her shoulders. She’d only met Tania a month ago, but she’d grown very attached to her.
Alison joined the line of people waiting to touch the coffin or say a few silent words. She gazed at the yellow poster board that was covered with photos of Tania, her family and friends.
God, I miss her.
Alison leaned in for a better look at a blurry picture of a young Tania and two adults, probably her parents, standing together in front of a two-story house, surrounded by trees. Most of the other photos were larger and clearer. In one of them, Tania had her arm around an attractive older woman who was blond but otherwise looked just like her. Alison figured she was Tania’s mother. They were together in a relatively recent shot, too, taken at Tania’s college graduation. A glowing Tania stood with her mother on either side of an older man. Tania was looking up and smiling coquettishly at him as she held onto his arm. He looked very familiar. Something about that wide-mouthed grin, the laughing eyes and the cowlick that puffed over to the left. Alison felt the wind go out of her.
That older man was Tony.
Oh, my God. It’s Tony. He’s Tania’s father. I slept with my friend’s father.
Alison’s eyes stung, then glazed over with tears. She tried desperately to hold them back, but they began to spill down her cheek as she remembered being with Tony in the hotel room, how he’d slapped her and made her face sting. She touched her cheek where he’d hit her and it felt hot. She remembered him guiding her into the bathtub afterward, as if a tub of hot suds and a glass of champagne could make the horror of it all go away. Afterward, she remembered his hands rubbing her breasts as she lay, emotionally paralyzed, on the quilted satin bedspread.
When her eyes were able to focus on his face in the photo again, she felt herself shudder, as if someone else were controlling her body. Part of her wanted to run out of the church, but she also didn’t want to turn, even a little, toward the front row because she knew he’d be sitting there, watching her from only a few feet away, with his wife, Tania’s mother, by his side. Alison took a deep breath and tried to calm down, but it was no use. She took in the familiar scent of Chanel for Men and her shoulders and spine went stiff. How could she have missed that smell?
Alison tried to rationalize it away.
You didn’t know. And besides, you’d already stopped seeing him by the time you met her.
Somber music swelled throughout the hall as the organist began to play, signaling that the service was about to begin. She heard Tony clear his throat behind her and that was it.
I’ve got to escape before he comes over here.
She pushed out of line for the coffin, walked briskly toward the center aisle, turned and followed it to the back, where Goode was standing. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see people turning their heads and watching her as she flew past.
There goes that underdressed nobody again.
A man in his sixties with a girl about twelve caught her eye near the door. He was craning his neck in search of a seat, clutching the girl’s hand as if she were his lifeline. Alison saw a familiar look of discomfort on the girl’s face. She felt her throat go tight and her eyes glazed over again.
Not her too.
She’d been that girl’s age when Grandpa Joe started coming into her room at night. Alison looked at the old man, clutching that girl’s hand, and remembered the way her grandfather’s penis had felt in her own hand, his rough fingers tightly wrapped around hers as he stood next to her bed. He would tell her to be quiet, get under the covers with her, and rub his hands inside her flannel nightgown. He’d press his thing into her thigh like a stick, and then push it inside her, grunting. Her only escape was to let her mind go numb, try to ignore the pain, and pretend it was happening to someone else. After he’d finished, he’d kiss her cheek and say, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.” Alison would cry and rock herself to sleep, fantasizing about the next time when she would yank so hard on his dick that Grandma Abigail would hear him cry out. Alison felt like running over and whispering in the little girl’s ear, urging her to do what Alison had never had the guts to do.
Run. Tell someone. It will be okay.
She finally reached where Goode was standing and pushed in between him and a snotty twenty-something woman who looked like she’d spent two hours in the bathroom getting ready that morning.
Goode must have read the distress on Alison’s face. “You okay?” he asked softly.
Alison nodded as nonchalantly as she could, adding a weak smile for good measure. Now that she’d realized Tony was Tania’s father, she wanted to tell Goode— about his bad temper anyway. She doubted that he’d had anything to do with Tania’s murder, but what if he had?
The snotty woman pushed over to let someone in next to her, pushing Alison’s shoulder even closer to Goode and his muscular arm. He didn’t seem to mind the sudden intimacy and neither did Alison.
The morning sunlight sent streams of color through the stained glass windows, illuminating the narrative scenes of Christ on the cross. It was a vast contrast to the dark-paneled Baptist church to which Grandma Abigail used to drag Alison on Sundays, dressed in a white lace dress from K-mart and shiny, white vinyl shoes. Alison’s grandparents never could afford clothes like the other kids’, so as she grew older and more aware of fashion, she had to find creative ways to buy them herself. It wasn’t like she stole them. She merely switched price tags, careful not to tear the fabric when she removed the plastic tab from a cheap garment and inserted it into the threads of the one she wanted.
Alison picked up a fold of her new dress. The material was so soft and comforting, nicer than anything she’d owned before, yet so inexpensive. It was almost free. She felt Goode’s large, warm hand envelope hers and give it a squeeze before he let it go.
“You sur
e you’re all right?” he whispered.
Alison nodded. His calm seeped up her arm as if it was coursing through her veins, and spread throughout her body.
Chapter 22
Tony
Tony’s ass was already sore from sitting on the wooden pew and he had a headache to boot. It felt as if two cruel hands were gripping his temples and jabbing sharply every few seconds. He wished he’d brought some ibuprofen from the bottle he kept in the Mercedes’ glove compartment.
Turning around, he watched some of Tania’s high school friends whispering and giggling as they entered the church. How could they be so disrespectful? They should be silent and solemn. Where were their manners, their senses of decency? At least his teenage nephews were behaving properly. He was glad his and Helen’s relatives had come, but he was equally pleased that they were sitting back a few rows to let him and his wife grieve with some semblance of privacy.
Tommy, the cocky quarterback Tania had dated in high school, came over to offer his sympathy. He looked a lot heavier than Tony remembered. Tony did his best to be gracious, but he didn’t much feel like being polite to Tania’s old boyfriends, especially that one. He’d never liked the expression of lust in that boy’s eyes when he looked at Tania. After Tommy walked away, Tony looked down at his stomach and tried to pull up his pants, but they wouldn’t go past his protruding belly.
Well, at least I’m old enough to have one. I’ve earned it.
All the scotch he’d consumed hadn’t helped. He felt bloated and the heartburn was killing him. That was part of the reason why he hadn’t taken any ibuprofen. His stomach was upset enough already. Tony didn’t know how Helen did it night after night. Come to think of it, she’d been in the church bathroom an awfully long time. He was starting to get worried about her. He wished she would do something about her drinking. It seemed to be getting worse and worse, with no end in sight. But he knew that this was not the time to bring it up again. She’d slapped him the last time he told her she needed to get some help.
Please, God, don’t let her fall in front of everyone.
Tony hated funerals. This was the third one he’d been to in a year, but of course, this was unlike any other. There was something very wrong with outliving your only child. The first funeral was for one of his workers who’d lost his footing on a high-rise job downtown, forty stories up. Some of the guys thought he’d jumped because his wife had just left him for a truck driver. Tony had been at the site that day. It looked like the guy was flying when he swooped down from those steel beams. For months, he had a recurrent dream about the guy arching up through the air and flying off into the clouds. The dreams stopped after Tony’s liability insurance premiums went up.
Then, last fall, Tony’s mother died of cancer. When he learned she was finally gone, he felt sadness and relief. He’d put her in a fancy nursing home that cost half as much as his mortgage payment, but he couldn’t bring himself to visit her more than once every few months. He just couldn’t take more than an occasional afternoon of that smell. And he couldn’t stand to watch his mother turn into a pathetic stranger. He wanted to remember her the way she was before she got sick.
First his mother and now his daughter. Gone. He felt a tugging in his chest and his eyes welled up with tears. He closed them and hoped no one would notice.
He’d been cheated out of watching his daughter grow up. What had he done to deserve this? He kept trying to think about the good times he’d had with her, but he couldn’t seem to quell the anger he felt at God for taking her so early. What purpose could her death serve? He wanted the police to find the scumbag who’d killed her and give him the death penalty. An eye for an eye.
Since Tony had formed his own development company nine years earlier, he and Helen had been able to move to Beverly Hills, send Tania to a private high school, and buy her the dog she’d always wanted. She loved taking Lucky for runs on the wet sand in Malibu at sunset. He and Helen decided to take the photo of Tania and Lucky and make it the central focus of the collage they’d put together the night before. They’d gotten so involved in the project that they forgot to eat dinner. Drank scotch instead. By the time they’d finished, they’d left teary blotches all over the poster board.
They decided to set the collage on the easel Tania had used for her oil painting. One of Helen’s sisters set it next to Tania’s casket, only a few feet in front of the pew reserved for Helen and Tony. Helen said they shouldn’t try to remove the paint chips from the easel, because they represented a part of her—her choices, her moods. They were an expression all their own. Tony’s favorite of Tania’s paintings, a soft portrait of Lucky on the beach, hung on his office wall.
Everything seemed to trigger a memory of her. Like when he’d called home from the store the night before to ask Helen if she needed anything. He got the answering machine, so he punched in the code to check for messages. Neither of them had erased the last one from Tania: “Just calling to say hi. Hey, did you see that beautiful sunset today? Tell Lucky I said hi, too. Bye now.”
Tania used to call when she knew they’d be out so they’d have a personal greeting waiting for them when they got home. The messages never really varied, but Helen’s mood always perked up when she heard them. Tony hadn’t realized how much he’d counted on hearing them, too. Until now.
Tony opened his eyes and wiped the wetness from his cheeks. When he was able to see clearly again, he saw the back of a young woman only a few feet in front of him. She was leaning over, looking at the collage. As she turned to the side for a moment, he recognized her profile.
It was Alison.
His heart started racing.
What is she doing there? How could she even know Tania existed when I made sure to never even mention her name?
He hadn’t wanted Alison to know he had a daughter her age. It was embarrassing. But this was something else entirely. Out the corner of his eye, he saw a somewhat more composed Helen walking towards him, wobbling a little, and watching him watch Alison. He pulled at his tie. It felt too tight around his neck. But he was determined not to lose his cool.
“Who’s that?” Helen asked a little too loudly as she sat down. She reeked of scotch.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Who is who?”
“That girl you were staring at,” she said, slurring her words.
“I don’t know. Must be one of Tania’s friends,” he said, patting her knee. He realized afterward that he’d patted her too hard and too fast. Helen was smart. She might figure out what was going on. But then he remembered the liquor and knew his secret was safe.
“Why were you gone for so long?” he said, hoping to deflect her attention. “I was worried.”
“I was in the bathroom, trying to pull myself together,” she said.
Tony tried not to look at Alison, but he couldn’t help it. Her cute little figure, the curly hair she could never tame, and that silky white skin. She had disappeared after that night a couple of months ago in Malibu and he’d thought he would never see her again. Now, here she was, looking at Tania’s collage. She straightened up, turned and walked quickly towards the back of the church, her face flushed and her lips pursed. He assumed that she’d recognized him from the photos, panicked and ran. He was relieved they’d both been saved a scene.
Tony turned around and saw the row of people standing against the back wall move aside to make room for Alison. She squeezed in next to a tall, handsome guy who looked like he spent a lot of time at the beach.
Tony wondered if Alison could possibly have met Tania at the Nordstrom perfume counter in the valley. It was so bizarre to see her there. It made him a little queasy. He pulled out his pocketknife and began to clean his fingernails.
Chapter 23
Goode
As Alison leaned against Goode during the ceremony, he felt a vibrating magnetic feeling, part sexual attraction, part something more tender. He knew it wasn’t the smartest emotion to have, but he couldn’t deny it was there. When he bent
down to whisper in her ear, her hair smelled good. A soft and flowery scent, not too overbearing. Like her.
Really, the only memorial services Goode attended these days were those required by his job, but they always prompted powerful reminders of his mother’s death. Although the most painful memories had faded over time, something unexpected could trigger a fleeting but poignant surge of emotion. Like the red roses displayed artfully across Tania’s casket. But when he remembered the seagulls from Sunday morning on the bridge, he felt better again.
Alison, tugging at his sleeve, brought him back. The service was over and it was time to go. Other than Paul Walters, no one had really raised his suspicions. Paul had left the church rather suddenly, his face streaked with tears and his skin the color of dried milk. Goode couldn’t see how Paul could have any connection to the beauty school or the escort service, but his eyes showed that he was a druggie. He wondered if he, too, had a Pumphouse connection.
The crowd filed out of the church and into the sun like lemmings. Goode felt his irritation level rise as one person elbowed him in the side and another stepped on the back of his shoe. After whispering good-bye to Alison, he stepped away to call Maureen on his cell phone again. Still no answer. Where the hell could she have disappeared to? He’d blame himself if she turned up dead. He struggled to think of innocent possibilities. She’d seemed sort of sullen lately. Maybe she’d gone to Baja California for a change of scenery. Maybe she was staying with that girlfriend of hers in San Francisco. Or maybe she was at home. An image of her lying dead in a bathtub full of red water flashed across his mind. He shook his head to push it away.
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