The Coach House

by Florence Osmund

  The next day Karen picked up Marie as promised. “Hi there.” Marie got into her car. “How was the first night in your new place?”

  “It was wonderful, but I need so many things. How are you for time today? Can you take me to a department store before we go grocery shopping?”

  “I’m all yours. Someone else is watching over the store for me. There’s a Montgomery Wards in Leavenworth. Want to go there first?” They spent the rest of the day shopping.

  “Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?” she asked Karen. “I want you to see my place when I get everything I bought today put away.”

  “Would love to. Can I bring some wine?”

  “Why of course. That would be lovely.”

  “What time do you want me?”

  “How does six o’clock sound?”

  “Perfect. I’ll be there…with the wine.”

  It took Marie the entire evening to put everything away, but when she did, she was proud of the finished product. The space suited her and looked like she had been living there a long time. While not the expensively furnished house she had shared with Richard, Marie found this space much more gratifying.

  Thinking a glass of wine would be appropriate, Marie threw on a sweater and headed toward the nearest liquor store. As she turned the corner two blocks away, a long black Cadillac caught her eye. They were common in Chicago, but not in small town Atchison. Visions of Richard and his cohorts flashed through her mind. She ducked behind a wide oak tree while the car drove slowly down the street and then around the corner toward her apartment.

  “Is everything alright?”

  The man’s voice startled her. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then do you mind my asking why you’re hiding behind my tree?”

  She managed a nervous smile. “Uh…well, I just thought I saw someone I knew…and, well…uh…I didn’t want him to see me.” The man glared at her. She backed up toward the sidewalk a few steps. “I’m sorry. I’ll just be going now.”

  She had never felt so stupid, and now she had to make a quick decision as to which way to go. She glanced back at the stupefied man and smiled. “Have a nice evening.”

  Marie continued her walk to the liquor store, wanting that tall glass of Merlot more now than before. Her eyes darted to the street every few seconds. By the time she reached home, she was experiencing the same feeling in her stomach she felt whenever she had caught Richard in a lie, like something had crawled inside there and died. She went to bed knowing she couldn’t go on feeling like that.

  * * *

  The following night, Karen came to Marie’s apartment for dinner. Marie had made lasagna enough times with Richard that she didn’t need a recipe. Salad and bread completed the menu.

  After dinner, Marie and Karen relaxed, drank wine, and talked. Karen could talk nonstop for long periods of time if given the opportunity, but she was also a good listener. Marie told her about her childhood.

  “So what was your mom like?”

  Marie thought about the short time she had had with her mom. “She was great. Very supportive. Always there for me.”

  “Everyone should be so lucky to have a loving mother.”

  Marie thought about Karen’s words. “You know, I’m sure she loved me, even though she never told me that directly. My mother was all business.”

  That evening Marie discovered that Karen did know nearly everyone in town, especially the women.

  “I know Chicago is huge, but I wonder if you might know anyone from Lulu’s family. Her last name is Botkin. Actually Lulu isn’t her real name. She changed it when her family moved here from Russia so she’d blend in better.”

  Botkin!? Ivan Botkin was her and Richard’s next-door neighbor, the creepy Russian. Marie cleared her throat. “Uh…no, I can’t say that I do.”

  “Well, like I said, it’s a big city.”

  “That it is. So is she still close to her family?”

  “Some of them.”

  Marie gave her a twisted smile. “That’s nice. So what’s The Toast of the Town everyone is talking about? I don’t have a television yet.”

  “Well, you’ll have to come over and watch it with me. Ed Sullivan’s the host, and I heard his first guests are going to be Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis.”

  “Count me in.”

  After Karen left, Marie thought about her mention of Lulu’s family. Her last name was Botkin. That wasn’t that common of a name, at least not in this country, and Marie feared the worse, that she may be related to Ivan. Will I ever get completely away from Richard and his sleazeball friends? She feared not.

  The following Sunday, Marie drove to Karen’s house, a small one-story bungalow on the east side of town. A healthy crop of weeds was the only thing keeping the lawn green. There were no trees, shrubs or flowers in her yard.

  Once Marie saw the outside of Karen’s house, the inside didn’t surprise her. It wasn’t particularly neat and clean the way Marie kept her apartment, and it lacked color, warmth and style. It lacked life.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Karen said.

  “What?”

  “That I don’t have much decorating sense.”

  “I wasn’t thinking that, but if you ever want my help, just say the word. What are these?” Marie asked, looking inside a display case in her dining room.

  “Antique handcuffs.”

  Marie shot her a quizzical look. There must have been close to fifty pairs.

  “Don’t ask.”

  “C’mon, Karen. I have to ask.” She took a closer look. “What is this one?”

  “That one is called a chain nipper.”

  “And this one?”

  “A leg iron.”

  “What ever got you started collecting these?”

  Karen laughed. “Ed got me started on it when we first met.”

  “Handcuffs and leg irons.”

  “I know. It’s a bit odd. We may not have been your conventional couple.”

  They sat down to watch The Toast of the Town.

  “When Ed was alive, so was this house. Took great pride in keeping up the place. Nice lawn, flowers everywhere. He liked to putter around in the garden and would bring me flowers all the time. Had plants in every room. Decorated the place for every holiday.”

  “So you didn’t keep up that tradition?”

  “No. I’m afraid when Ed died, so did a lot of other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’d be surprised at what I used to do when he was alive. Like tutoring the Mexican families on the other side of town in English, teaching piano, taking flying lessons…”

  “Flying lessons?”

  “Yeah. Ed and I would talk about things, and the next thing I knew I was getting involved in something new.” She made a face. “I don’t have much interest now.”

  “How did he die, Karen?”

  Karen sighed. “My parents owned a summer home. On the river near Leavenworth. Ed and I went there on weekends every once in a while when they weren’t using it. We planned to go there this one weekend, but the person who was going to watch my shop got sick at the last minute and couldn’t do it. So Ed went up on his own on Friday night, and I was to go up the next day.” Karen stopped for a moment. Her voice trembled when she continued. “When I got there, I found him. Shot himself in the mouth with a twelve-gauge shotgun.”

  She said it so softly, Marie wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. She moved closer to her and took Karen’s hand and squeezed it. “I am so sorry, Karen. I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through.” She felt incredibly guilty about not having asked her more questions before this about how he died. Karen had always been vague about it, and Marie just assumed it wasn’t a topic Karen wanted to discuss.

  A faraway look drifted across Karen’s face. “You know, when something like that happens, you run the whole gamut of emotions. First shock. Then sadness, which was immediately followed by guilt. And then I got angry at him. Why he didn’t talk t
o someone about whatever it was that was bothering him, I’ll never know. And then I felt guilty about getting angry. And then I got angry at myself for feeling guilty. I lived with a big jumbled up mess of emotions for a really long time.”

  “Did you ever suspect he was that unhappy? Did he leave a note?”

  “Never suspected anything. We had a good marriage. He did leave a note, but I never figured out what he meant by it. All it said was, ‘I can’t continue living the lie. Love, Ed.’”

  “And you have no idea what he meant by that? Was it addressed to you?”

  “Wasn’t addressed to anyone. Just assumed it was for me. And, no, I have no idea what it meant. I must have read and reread that note a thousand times trying to figure it out. Even if he was unhappy, and what he meant in the note was our marriage was a lie, he didn’t have to kill himself. I don’t know. The explanation died with him, I guess.”

  “How frustrating that must have been for you.”

  “Can’t even begin to tell you how frustrating it was—the not knowing.” She paused for a moment. “I thought the least I could have done was figure out why he did it. And I tried. Even closed the shop for a few months trying to figure it out. I read books on why people do it, thinking I would find the answer there. Saw a psychologist and a grief counselor. That was pretty much a waste of time. No one had an explanation for me that made any sense. I felt, I still do feel, like such a failure.”

  It troubled Marie to see the depth of the far-off hurt in her friend’s eyes, and suddenly she realized how alike they were, each having been robbed of a “happily ever after.” But it was more than that. She hadn’t thought about it before, but Richard caused her to be a different person than she was before meeting him, a different person from the one she wanted to be now.

  “I feel so bad for you, hon. That had to be a horrific scene for you to discover.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “You poor thing.” Marie felt empathy toward Karen and her search for meaning. “Did those counselors you talked to explain that you shouldn’t feel guilty about it…that you had no control over his actions?”

  “They did. And in time, I learned to do that. What I never learned, though, was to accept the fact that I couldn’t figure out why he did it. I was his wife for Pete’s sake, the one closest to him.”

  “Karen, you’ve got to let go…”

  “I know, but I can’t. I have to understand things. It’s my nature.” She let out a sigh. “I have to prove to myself I’m not a failure at figuring things out, that it wasn’t my fault the answer went to his grave with him.”

  “It’s not your fault, Karen. His taking his own life, I mean. But I think you know that.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “Maybe we both need to work on getting our lives back.”

  Marie left Karen’s home without having seen much of The Toast of the Town.

  * * *

  It was June 28, her birthday, the perfect day for a change. Marie made an appointment at the local hair salon. When she went in, her hair was shoulder length, dark brown, almost black, and wavy. She came out with close-cropped light brown curls, a style that was all the rage in Paris. While it took some getting used to, Marie liked her new look and felt it went well with her new beginning. And while she wasn’t proud of it, it made her look even more “white.”

  Marie and Karen formed a quick close friendship and shared many of the same interests—going to the movies, rummaging through antique stores, and going out to dinner. They enjoyed local activities such as going to the men’s softball games, volunteering at local charity events and attending free concerts in the park. After such activities, they went to one of their homes and had a glass of wine or two, talking about everything from local gossip to world politics.

  On one such evening, the two young women went back to Marie’s apartment after having seen Key Largo. Well into their second bottle of Merlot, Karen asked what Marie knew was an inevitable question.

  “I hope you think of me as a good friend, Marie. I know I do of you. And you know I care about you. I really do, and that’s why I’m asking you this, not because I’m nosy, well maybe I am a bit nosy, but in addition to that, I really do care about you.” The effect of the wine on her was apparent.

  “I do consider you to be a good friend. I don’t know what I would have done without you that first week I came to town. Ask me anything you want.”

  Karen leaned in closer toward Marie. Her words were slurred. “What exactly is it you’re running from? I know it’s something. But if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll understand. Maybe it’s none of my business. Maybe it’s nothing at all and…uh…well, maybe it’s all in my imagination.” Her voice trailed off. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”

  “Karen, if I tell you, you have to promise me you won’t repeat it to anyone. And I mean anyone, not even your dog.”

  “Marie, I don’t have a dog. What makes you think I have a dog? But if I did, have a dog that is, I wouldn’t tell him. The dog I mean. I promise.” She made a clumsy cross with her hand over her heart.

  “Karen, I know you don’t have a dog. I was just trying to make a point.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re right. I did run away from something, and I came here to hopefully start a new life. I was…I mean, I am married to a man named Richard Marchetti. Costa is my maiden name. We were married for a little over two years when I discovered he was mixed up with the wrong people.” She hadn’t realized what a relief it was going to be to finally confide in someone.

  Apparently sobered up by the seriousness of the story, Karen listened attentively.

  “Right before coming here, I had walked in on Richard when some kind of dirty deal was going on in our home.”

  Karen’s eyes went wide. “What kind of deal?”

  “I don’t know, but there were mobsters in my home on that day, so whatever it was had to be illegal. Anyway, he flew into a rage when I walked in on them. He pushed me down the basement stairs and then locked the door.”

  “What!?”

  “Yeah, I know. Anyway, I crept up the stairs and heard someone say, ‘She knows too much. You need to off her.’”

  “Offer what?” Karen interrupted.

  “No—off her.”

  “Off her what? I don’t get it.”

  “Karen, listen to me. He said ‘you need to off her’…as in kill her.”

  “What? Oh my God. What on earth did you do? You must have been scared to death!”

  “Oh, I was. Especially when my husband said he’d take care of it.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I climbed out the basement window and ran. I didn’t know where I was going, just that I needed to get away from him.”

  “So the day you came into my store for the first time was right after you ran away?”

  “Less than a week later.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? He can’t get away with that.”

  “Karen, Chicago police are corrupt. Maybe not all of them, but a good many of them. Three of them were in my home that day.”

  “Egads.”

  “He’s mixed up with cops on all sorts of shady deals. Going to the police would be like going right back to him.”

  “Did all this come out of the blue, or did you know for a while it was going on?” The wide-eyed gaze froze on Karen’s face. “Did he ever hit you before?”

  Marie thought back to the good times. “In the beginning, he was wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for a more loving, attentive husband. But looking back, while there was no clear-cut beginning of his bad behavior, there were signs all along.” Marie thought about it for a moment. “The thing is, each one in itself didn’t seem so bad to me, and it wasn’t until about a year or so into our marriage that I realized the seriousness of what he was doing.”

  “Why did you stay after that?”

  Marie sighed and rolled her ey
es. “I loved him…and I accepted his apologies and his promise to change. And I desperately wanted to have a family with him. I didn’t want to be alone. Understand that Richard was the nicest, most generous man you’d ever want to meet. And he swept me off my feet like I never believed anyone could. We’d go to New York for long weekends. Other places, too. He was always buying me gifts, expensive gifts, or flowers.”

  “Love will conquer all?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Marie, you don’t still have feelings for him, do you?”

  “As bad as it was in the end, Karen, I can’t completely forget the good times, because they were so good. And in that conniving mind of his, I think he truly believed what he was doing was okay. He did it for us, he would tell me.” She could still hear him saying those words. “And you know something…I truly believe he loved me, I mean really loved me.” Her voice and her thoughts trailed off.

  “It sounds like Richard would do anything for money, even hurt the one he loved.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. He wasn’t able to handle both of his loves. That’s for sure.”

  “Why did you come here of all places?”

  Marie filled her in on that part of her story, leaving out the part about breaking into Lillian’s house.

  “That’s amazing. What are you going to do now?”

  “I’ll tell you what I wish I could do, and that’s turn back the clock and get out sooner…in a much different way. I left with so little. But since I can’t do that, I’m going to stay hidden from him as best I can and try to just live a normal life.”

  “Do you think he’ll find you here?”

  Marie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Marie, I’m afraid for you.” Karen looked deep into Marie’s eyes. “Why don’t you go to the police here?”

  “What for?”

  “To let them know what happened and that you’re afraid he might come after you.”