"Thank you, but believe I'll wait until we're finished for today." She watched him slide the box to the side and pat it once. "Now, Minerva, as you know today's the day we talk about what happened that day Fellow disappeared. Would you like to start from the beginning and tell me what happened?"
Minerva sat for a moment before she spoke, her eyes cast on his. She had to collect herself. She tucked each side of her hair behind her ears and rubbed her frosted lips together as if deep in thought. "It was very cold that day," she said, crossing her arms tight against her like she could feel it again. "I dressed him up warm so that he wouldn't catch cold. He got to dress himself, which he liked. I made him wear his jacket. You know how kids are, wouldn't look both ways while crossin' a road and all that good stuff. He was so happy that day, jumping and running around. That can be very annoying, you know. My kids were never allowed to run free in public places. He rode several rides, but only after he ate all his lunch. Oh, and we didn't go for rides until I sold most of my knitting. I had a booth, stuff I made over the last year, and old clothes I needed to get rid of."
"What all did you both do that day?" Leeman asked.
"Let's see, he rode the merry-go-round, and the boats, he sailed little boats in water, for a prize. And what else... he sat on Santa's lap and told him what he wanted for Christmas, ate a candy cane. That's all I can think of right now. I think he had a good time."
"And what about you? Did you have fun?" Leeman asked.
"I had a good time, I guess. Some of my stuff didn't sell and that bothered me. I needed the money, you know. But I felt all right." Minerva shifted and began rubbing her nose. "No wait, I got a banger headache that day. I started feeling sick, dizzy and things like that—sweating—it felt like a swamp in that place. I didn't feel disoriented, though. Well, I don't know, maybe I did." Minerva's eyes narrowed and she continued rubbing her nose. "I can't remember. Let's see, I had to go to the bathroom, or Fellow had to go, so we went. My head hurt so bad, I...."
Minerva shook her head, her eyes coming to a rest on Leeman. "I don't know. Things were whirling around me." She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the chair. "Everything was spinning, so I guess I was disoriented. I felt sick to my stomach."
"Is that about—," Leeman said and Minerva jumped. "I'm sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Is that about the time you saw he wasn't there?"
"Yes, I came out of the stall and he was gone. I looked everywhere. I looked down every aisle, every place we went. I believe I asked people about him, but I don't remember, my head hurt so bad. It was all so fuzzy."
He leaned back in his chair. "Do you remember what Fellow was wearing that day?"
Minerva sighed and her eyes focused near the ceiling. "His jacket was red, fleece-lined. It had a silver zipper on it. I know cause it was hard zipping him up that morning. A turtleneck shirt, cream colored, I believe, and shoes. He did a pretty good job choosing what he wore. 'Course, there weren't many choices. I don't remember his socks. He wore unmatched ones that day, I think...No wait, they were the same color. Anyway, his tennis shoes needed to be cleaned."
After Minerva told him what she remembered, she felt relieved. She was glad he didn't accuse her of anything like Piper and Davis and everyone always seemed to. She decided she felt better, and maybe it was good to talk about what had happened.
Leeman explained to her that their sessions would be discussed with her lawyer, if she consented. He produced four unsigned sheets and asked for her signature. "Signing my life away," she said, chuckling. Her hands trembled while she signed each sheet, and laughing put her more at ease. "Guess I better read the fine print or no telling what will happen to me." She laughed again.
Leeman smiled and nodded. "You have the right to give or decline permission for your results to be shared with your lawyer. It's up to you."
"Well, thank you. Any help I can get would be nice, least that's what my son John told me," she said, signing the papers. She slipped an arm in her coat sleeve. "I hope you enjoy the gift." She hesitated before leaving, even though they'd already said goodbye. Minerva's chest felt like a truck was parked on it. She resisted the urge to cry. Leeman reached for the silver box and began unwrapping it. He opened the top and lifted the knitted key ring.
"Thank you," he said. "It's very nice."
"Look closer," Minerva said. He did so, and looking up at him was a teeny picture of Minerva's face, glued in the middle. "It's more like a silly knick knack." She pointed to his bulletin board. "You can tack it to your board there."
Minerva's spirits lifted seeing his handsome grin. She would miss Mark Leeman. Never had anyone paid as much attention to her, listened to her dreams, her fears. If only they could be friends outside of this office. Minerva would love to have him over to sip coffee and eat big slices of her fruitcake. He resembled the father she wished she'd had, but she scratched this from her mind. She had been too attracted to him to think of him like a parent. And besides, it was Walter she really cared for. Maybe it's true—women do fall for their doctors sometimes.
After she closed the door she recalled the last bits of their session and couldn't help her sadness. If she wasn't careful, she knew her connection with him would haunt her all the time, all the personal things she told him about herself. What happened that day would remain with her the rest of her life: how she lost Fellow, how the thought of some monster hurting an innocent child made her sick. She couldn't let this particular thought come forward often. On the days when it had invaded her mind, she'd lay in bed, blankets over her ears. The only reprieve was sleep, an attempt to escape from the horrifying details of her grandson's death. She wanted to move on from that horrible day. She had to.
Her mind circled over the descriptions she gave the doctor of Fellow's clothes, how the jacket was later found with blood on it. Where were his other clothes, his shoes? She didn't recall anyone saying what happened to them. Surely they wouldn't have given them to Piper. She couldn't imagine anyone having to hand what remained of his clothes to Piper or George.
Reaching the exit of the maze-like building, she stopped as if a brake was pushed in her brain. The thought scouring her head caused her to tremble, but she didn't know why. An image formed in her head and she squinted to remember the details. She had to remember the details. Some unseen force inside her compelled her to think as deep as she ever had before. She shook her head and steadied herself against the wall. Her head pounded and her heartbeat accelerated. She shut her eyes and concentrated on the details. Her mind's eye roamed over the picture formed in her brain. The vision was clear to her now. Minerva knew she had to go back and tell Leeman what she remembered.
She spun on her heel and ran back through the twisting halls, the soles of her sandals causing heavy clicking sounds, her short curls bouncing with each step. She had to see him before the image was lost, before she forgot the details. She had to tell him every little thing. Bursting through the door, she saw Leeman still there, typing on his computer. He looked up at her, startled.
"I know what the socks looked like now, I remember," she said. Leeman opened his mouth to speak but Minerva continued, panting between her words. She wanted to describe them just right. She swallowed and pushed her damp bangs from her eyes. "They were orange, faded somewhat, with different colored balloons." Minerva gulped for air and swept a strand of hair from her forehead again. "They were too big for him, but he put them on anyway. And they had Happy Birthday all over 'em."
Chapter Eighteen
"A divorce?" George had arrived home from work and found his packed bags near the front door. He turned and saw his wife standing in the foyer. "Why?"
Piper, hands planted on hips, almost whispered her answer. "I can't do this anymore. It's not right for either of us."
"But why a divorce? Can't we work on it?" He started toward her but she stepped back. "Piper," he felt his voice shaking. "Why are you doing this?" He figured he knew the answer. The last few weeks had been difficult. They ba
rely talked, and when they did, Piper always seemed detached, lost in her own little world. He had tried to shake her out of it, had even offered to drive her to Ruidoso for a nice dinner. She wasn't interested. She hadn't seemed interested in him at all anymore.
"We've tried as much as we can." He watched her brush a strand of hair from her eyes, which had a faraway, glazed look in them. "It's different now."
He forged closer, despite her raised hand trying to block him. "Your eyes...."
"Get back, George," Piper said, fists at her side. "Take your bags and go."
But he didn't relent. He stepped closer, staring into her eyes. She pushed him hard and he stumbled back but stepped toward her again. She shoved him away. "You're high. What are you on?" he asked.
"George, I'm begging you, get out of here." Piper swung and landed one doubled fist on his stomach. He moved too quickly to feel any pain. He grabbed her wrist, twisted, and she dropped to her knees.
"Settle down, damn it!" She tried standing but he forced her down to the floor. "Now sit your ass there and don't get up."
"It's cold on this floor, George," she said, almost in a whine. "Let me up."
He pushed her forehead and she bumped back on her rear. "You're not moving anywhere. Now listen to me." He tried calming her by putting his hands on her shoulders.
Piper screamed and wiggled out of his grasp. George wrapped both arms around her. "Stop it!" he said, clenching her around the shoulders. Her legs flayed in front of her and she bent her knees, pushing with her feet. The rubber soles of her tennis shoes gave her leverage and she steered them both across the linoleum floor. He grabbed both of her wrists and managed to twist them behind her back. "Stop it," he said again, gritting his teeth, his face blotched red.
"Let go of me you bastard," she said, trying to bite his arm, but he was leaning too far out. She turned and began kicking her feet. "Get the hell away from me. I don't want you near me." Piper scurried from under George and pushed herself to her feet. He followed, bracing his left knee with his hand.
He stood glaring at his wife and she glared back. "Get out, George." Piper breathed in deep and forced air out. He thought her eyes looked like a cornered animal's. He gripped the handles of the suitcases, his knuckles turning white and his fingers reddening. He had heard this determination in her voice before, but this time it was different. She had taken something, one of her various pills, which rendered her out of her mind. A suitcase in each hand, he pushed open the door. "You'll regret this, if you ever come to your senses." He walked out and trudged down the front steps.
After tossing the suitcases in the back of his truck, he climbed in and poked the key into the ignition. He looked up to see if Piper was on the porch. Not finding her there, he grabbed the Valentine's Day card he had picked out for her off the dash and tossed it across the seat, where it landed on the muddy floorboard.
***
Minerva was calm. She had never spoken about her life like she had with the doctor, and it made her feel better, though she didn't realize it. It showed in her quicker step, her cheerier voice. She knew she wasn't off the hook, and she knew her free days may be limited, but somehow this mattered less right now than how she felt when she wrapped her pink scarf around her hair and secured it with a sparkling pin, drawing out pieces around her hairline to add flair.
A trip to Wal-Mart had yielded its own little goodies: new Sweet Champagne lipstick, Berry rouge, a set of tweezers, and for the first time, a set of black eyelashes. She couldn't resist the fat, spider leg-like lashes after she strolled by. They amused her. She thought false eyelashes made women look like cheap hookers if not worn right. Minerva bought two packs.
At home, she thought of what Walter would say when she picked him up wearing the new lashes. Minerva batted her eyes in the mirror and her new right lash drooped in protest. A manicured finger pressed it back on, but while she blinked a few times, it fluttered like a dying butterfly and slid down her cheek. "Well, shit," she said aloud. Minerva glanced at her watch, and, looking at herself one more time in the mirror, saw contentment replaced by frustration. She captured the lash and peeled off the other, careful not to make her eyes water, and crammed them back in the little case. She'd try wearing them some other time.
George's truck was parked behind Minerva's car when she came out. The dull sun made her squint and she shielded her eyes to see who it was. Her brow furrowed when she recognized her son-in-law. Walter was waiting for her. What the hell does he want? she thought.
"Hi, George." She opened the passenger door to her car and set a wicker basket on the seat. Her head bobbed up and she saw George wasn't getting out of the truck. For a second she felt stupid for talking to herself. She shut the door and made her way to his window. "What's going on?"
George rolled the window down the rest of the way and she peered at him. "Hey," he said.
She glanced around the interior of the truck and settled on his face. "Hey, yourself." She noticed his reddened cheeks and nose. The dark sunglasses he wore concealed his eyes. "What's going on?" she said again.
"Piper's left me. Well, she's kicked me out." She saw his white knuckles gripping the wheel and he turned his face to the hood of the car, avoiding her gaze. "I need a couple of things from you."
Minerva pointed at the suitcases in the backseat. "She kicked you out, huh?"
"It's been coming for a while. I guess I should have seen it coming. It hasn't been the same since...." He shifted the gear to park and yanked off his shades. "I need some help."
Minerva felt her wedged heel sink into the hard mud and she shifted her weight to the other foot. She studied George's face, a face whose lips had proclaimed many times not to like her, she was sure, a face that grimaced when she said certain things, or stormed out in anger when she vowed he wouldn't disrespect her. She had always hated it when he challenged her. But she tolerated him for Piper's sake.
It was probably a good thing that Piper finally gave him the boot, and she felt mixed emotions about helping him with anything. Her pride swelled and for a moment felt like she'd won some contest or test of will. The thought of helping her daughter instead flashed through her mind. But Piper wouldn't want her help, would she?
"What do you need?" she finally asked.
"I need a place to stay." George's face leaped to hers. "Before you say anything, let me talk. I know you and me have had our ups and downs, but I want to tell you something." She caught his eyes and he held them steady on hers. "I never thought you had anything to do with Fellow's disappearance or Henry's death. It's just that Piper is so upset now, and whatever has gone on between you two over the years...." He paused for a reply from her but she only watched him. "Well, anyway, it's only for a day or two until I can find a place of my own. There're places available, I just have to find one."
Minerva rolled her eyes and rested her hands on her stomach. Both heels were in the mud now and she tiptoed to the left, checking her footing. George stuck his head out the window and looked at her feet.
"Like a pig in the mud," she said, chuckling. She thought of Walter and how he probably wouldn't be mad at all for her being late. She observed George again. His olive skin, a little weather beaten, was still unlined. His long lashes reminded her of the nylon ones in the bathroom. It was never fair that some men had long lashes and some women had puny ones. In all the years of Piper's marriage, she had never really taken a close look at the man who married her daughter. Now he was asking for help. But how many times had he helped her? Doing chores like mowing her little lawn, replacing the transmission in her truck, unclogging a stinky drain. Minerva pictured him fast at work, grease on his jeans, uncomplaining. And now he's saying he doesn't believe she's guilty of anything. She would have to think about that later. She wanted to believe him, but it wasn't that easy. He had accused her of wrongdoings in the past. She thought of Fellow and she almost spoke of him, but decided not to. "You can stay. What else you need? Never mind for now, you can tell me inside. This mud is suc
king me in."
"Oh, man," George said, patting his heart. "Thank you."
Minerva opened the back door of the truck and lugged out a suitcase, a smile inching across her face. "No, no, I got this one," she said, seeing him reach for the suitcase in her hands. "You get the other one."
Once inside, she went to the phone and called Walter, explained she'd be a little late, and giggled over something he said. She told him she'd be there soon and hung up. Taking a place by her purse on the couch, she fingered each tuft of hair sticking out from the scarf, not so much to straighten it, but to help get a handle on what she could hear next. He hadn't told her what else he wanted to say.
George returned from the spare room. "Don't let me stop you from going about your day. I may take a look out back, looks like you may have sprung a leak in one of your water lines."
"Oh, thanks. It's been so cold, maybe a line busted. What else you need?" Minerva asked.
"This is the hardest to ask for, but I think it needs to be done." He sat on the arm of Henry's chair and it creaked and groaned deep in its frame. His hands worked themselves into a tight ball. "It's about Piper. She's bad off, and—"
"Bad off, how?"
"Hang on now. I think she'll be okay, but I'm not sure about the pills she's taking. You knew she was taking stuff to help her sleep, didn't you?" George asked.
She nodded. Of course she knew. Did he forget she was at the hospital with him not long ago? She had been worried sick about her daughter, but left before Piper woke up from her drug haze.
"She's also been taking Valium because she's felt like shit, and it's affected her. Her moods—"
Minerva's hands grabbed for the purse beside her and brought it to her lap. "You mean she's still taking 'em?"
George leaned forward. "Yeah, just like what landed her in the hospital. She's moody, her temper flares, she cries a lot. They're whipping her ass...and I can't get her to stop taking them."
Minerva Day Page 22