Bart stood. ‘I didn’t know you were here,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see your car.’
‘I thought I’d surprise you.’ She went to him, hugged him and turned to Rob Luden. ‘We’re celebrating a bit tonight. We saw our wedding present from Bart’s parents earlier today. They’re buying us a house – ex-sheriff’s Jackson’s house. He’s moving to Florida,’ she continued. She drew Bart closer.
Rob just stared at her.
‘It’s an extravagant gift,’ she continued, ‘but parents do extravagant things for their children. We’re just a lucky couple,’ she said, glancing at Rob and then at Bart, her smile soft and full of joy.
‘Did you hear what I said about the Hacker brothers?’ Rob asked.
‘Yes. Frankly, I always suspected them. It’s not an easy thing for me to talk about even now, but I can’t help feeling … relief. I think that’s the word. Maybe it’s not always the good who die young after all, Detective. Fate saved us all a lot more grief, don’t you think?’
Rob stood. ‘I don’t depend on Fate to solve crimes or punish the wicked,’ he said. He felt foolish, sounding frustrated or angry in the flow of the victim’s obvious delight. ‘I might have more questions for you, Mr Stonefield.’
‘Whatever I can do to help now,’ Bart said. ‘I was a dumb kid back then. I’d like to do whatever I can to make up for it.’
Rob nodded. He felt as if he was standing in a pool of confusion. Or maybe the young woman was reacting from shock.
‘I’ll see myself out,’ he said and left Stonefield’s apartment. For a long moment, he stood by his car, thinking. What was the right course of action to take now?
Maybe, just maybe, he might confide in Becky and break their unspoken rule.
Victoria went to the window and looked down at Rob Luden. She watched him until he got into his car and backed out to drive away. Bart had not moved. He looked terrified of turning in either direction. The silence was flooding the room. He thought he wasn’t even breathing. He was terrified of her first question, her first comment, but what she asked shocked him because it was something he had asked himself a few times. She didn’t turn to him. She was still looking out the window when she spoke.
‘Did you start this romance because of real affection for me or guilt, Bart?’
‘For a long time, I avoided you because of guilt. The first time I saw you after you had begun college, I still felt it,’ he continued. She turned around. ‘Then something began to happen. I began to see you as you had matured into this soft, shy, almost angelic person. I remember feeling regret after we had danced that time and I didn’t follow up with anything. I convinced myself you were going to find someone soon because you were so beautiful now and so sweet. I saw you a few times before you came into the garage that day, but I didn’t approach you. I asked about you and was surprised and then happy to hear you weren’t seeing anyone at school, and then, when you came in that day, I found the courage to ask you out. I kept thinking you wouldn’t go with me, that somehow you resented me. When you were interested, whatever other motive that had once showed its face disappeared. I fell deeper and deeper in love with you. I know that’s the truth,’ he said.
She didn’t smile. ‘You didn’t meet with any car executives last night, did you?’
‘No.’
‘You killed him?’
‘He called me. He wanted to blackmail me. He was going to tell you I was in their truck that night and I knew what they had done. We got into an argument. One thing quickly led to another. He struck me pretty hard, and I reached for the small sledgehammer and hit him. He was a pretty big guy. I wouldn’t have had a chance otherwise. But I didn’t expect to kill him. I was just trying to keep him off me.’
‘What did you do after that?’
‘I took the sledgehammer, drove to Echo Lake, got into my boat and dropped it somewhere in the middle of the lake. Then I came home and found you asleep on the sofa. I washed up and—’
‘Made love to me to forget it all?’
‘It didn’t hurt,’ he said, trying to lighten the moment. She didn’t smile. ‘I’m so sorry I was such a coward years ago. My father—’
She put up her hand. ‘Don’t explain it, Bart. Let me get it all digested,’ she said.
‘That detective might still charge me with withholding evidence concerning what the Hacker brothers did.’
‘You think?’
‘I don’t know. He could. It would …’
‘Destroy my parents,’ she said.
‘I imagine it would,’ he admitted. He sat and stared at the floor.
‘I think it’s better if I just go home tonight,’ she said. ‘We both need to be alone to think.’
He nodded.
‘I’ll tell my parents something came up business-wise.’
‘Whatever you think is best, Victoria.’
‘It’s best. For now,’ she said. She went into his bedroom to get dressed.
He was still sitting there when she came out to leave.
‘I’ll call you,’ she said. She didn’t kiss him.
‘I love you, Victoria. I swear,’ he said when she opened the door.
She stood there silently, her head down, and then she walked out and closed the door softly behind her.
To Bart, it could just as well have been the lid on his coffin.
TWENTY-ONE
She was afraid her mother would see right through her the moment she walked in the door. Victoria thought she could cloud her shock in a look of disappointment. She rehearsed her little speech on the way home. Something critically important had come up involving the new dealership and Bart had to attend to it. He was sorry and felt bad, but it couldn’t be helped. It sounded feasible, but she was never good at hiding anything from her mother. Her father either accepted what she said or pretended he did to avoid conflict. Even when she was a little girl trying to get her way, she was reluctant to be conniving. In fact, she was fascinated by how easily her girlfriends could put on a phony act or distort the truth when it came to manipulating their parents.
Tonight she felt she had to do it to survive the rest of the evening. Bart was right about her parents, too. They would be devastated when they learned the truth about what Bart knew and had kept secret. He would be destroyed forever in their eyes. That might happen anyway, but at least for now, at least until she caught her breath, she was hoping to delay the emotional storm that would inevitably come.
She sprinkled some anger and what her mother would surely label being spoiled by behaving petulantly about Bart’s canceling their evening. She actually whined.
‘I was so set on having a great evening and this happens,’ she added after giving them the excuse quickly. ‘We almost had our first fight.’
‘You’ll have thousands of nights to take its place, darlin’,’ her father said, hoping to comfort her.
‘That’s just what he said. You men think alike. Don’t they?’ she asked her mother. Oh, it was such a conniving thing to do, form a fake alliance.
Her mother studied her a moment. Victoria held her breath. Would she pass the scrutiny?
‘They have similar defense mechanisms,’ she replied and gave her father a look that said Let it go. ‘I can warm up what we had,’ she offered.
‘Oh, I’ll come out later and get myself something. Right now, I feel like soaking in a bath.’
She marched to her room, feeling both elated that she had gotten away with it and sad that she had had to try. She did run a bath, however, even though she had taken a shower at Bart’s. Baths had an additional purpose. She often soaked in a tub and thought, meditated or just relaxed.
After a few hours, she anticipated him calling. She hoped he wouldn’t. His voice on the phone now was going to be too distant. If it was ever important to look at one another when they spoke, this was the time. She did get herself something to eat, not because she was hungry, but because she knew if she didn’t, her mother would get suspicious. A tantrum could last only so
long and it usually didn’t kill an appetite anywhere nearly as much as a shocking revelation.
It wasn’t good to avoid them completely either, so after she made herself a sandwich, she went into the living room to see what they were watching on television. Her father was watching Bonanza, but her mother was reading. She had the ability to do both and from time to time make a comment about something on the show.
‘You know you might think of getting involved in the business,’ her father suggested. ‘That way, you might better understand and appreciate what Bart’s problems are.’
‘Worse thing she could do,’ her mother countered. ‘It’s enough to get along with a home and a family. You’d never leave work at work either. My suggestion is to think about teaching again,’ she offered. ‘Until you’re going to start a family.’
‘I might,’ Victoria replied.
‘Start a family?’ her father asked quickly.
‘No. I might look into teaching,’ she said.
Her mother nodded and returned to her book. After a few more minutes, Victoria said she was going to bed to read, too. She kissed them both goodnight and retreated. She had gotten through tonight, but what would be tomorrow?
It was almost impossible to sleep. She tried fighting back the images and memories of that horrible night. They poked at her, and when they could, they came pouring through her defenses, walls it had taken years to construct through her therapy and her effort to develop a new persona for herself. Those college years, her work ethic and the distance between the two worlds – one the bustling, exciting city of New York that had no tolerance for private problems, and the quiet, sometimes almost deserted country hamlets and slow-moving daily activities during which people actually looked at each other – had all helped to harden her. She no longer constantly imagined the whispering behind her back. She didn’t always think people were staring at her when she crossed a street. What had happened and who she had been slowly faded. She was almost home to a new life.
Now it was to come roaring back. She had fought every image, every fear to what she believed was at least a draw. The world she and Bart were about to create for themselves here would so overshadow the past that people would willingly forget it. It would truly be like something that had happened to someone else. What hope, what promise, what dreams had come true, all swiped off the surface of her life like precious words erased from a blackboard. The letters were dust.
She tossed and turned, moaned and pressed her face in the pillow to smother her tears. She went from disappointment to rage to self-pity. She could see herself crying softly in front of the Jackson house, their soon-to-be magical home going up in flames, the smoke rising so high and so thickly that it blocked out the sun. Gloom and darkness fell around her.
Before the morning light penetrated her sheer curtains, she returned to images from that dreadful year. She searched her memory for the sight of Bart in the school hallways that fall. Was he looking her way? Did he deliberately ignore her, avoid her? Could she recall any of that? It never occurred to her to be suspicious of him. And those times he referred to when she returned from college and they had met, did she now see the guilty look in his eyes, the regret? Was she so vulnerable that she looked only for affection and love, blinding herself to anything else? Were there any hints, clues she had ignored, missed?
She thought about that day at Top’s Diner where they had gone for sandwiches for their picnic on the lake. She had noted how Marvin Hacker was watching them and she remembered the look on his face when she saw him in the window as they left. Bart’s explanation seemed so logical, but was she gullible? And what about how hard he avoided any references to the Incident? She had thought he was just being sympathetic and kind. He was helping her recuperate and find a future. Now was she to think that it was all deception, too? Was concern for her ever any part of it or was it always him protecting himself?
What was she to believe?
Even if she wanted to give him the benefit of all this doubt, how could she without betraying herself?
Exhausted, she fell asleep for a half-hour, but her mother woke her. She knocked on her door and peered in.
‘We’re leaving for work,’ she said. ‘I just wanted to see how you were. You usually don’t sleep so late.’
‘I’m OK,’ she said quickly and sat up. She brushed her hair back and pushed a smile to the surface.
‘Did you take a pill?’
‘No.’
‘Maybe you should have,’ she said. ‘Don’t work yourself up so much about this, Victoria. Your father is right. There’ll be so many more days of happiness to come.’
She held the smile, but she felt as if she was on a balance beam. She was tottering.
‘I have an administrative meeting after classes today. If you go out, leave a note,’ she said.
‘Will do.’
Her mother nodded and closed the door softly. She fell back on her pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
This could easily be the first or last day of my life, she thought.
She rose, showered and put on a pair of jeans and a light-yellow peasant blouse. Then she slipped on some sneakers without any socks and went out to make some coffee and have some toast and jam. It was all she thought she could eat. As she worked up her meager breakfast and then sat nibbling almost in a daze, she vaguely anticipated the ringing of the phone.
What would she say? How would she sound? But there was no call before she had finished and cleaned up. She looked out the window and saw it was a perfect summer day. She stepped out and gazed at the small fluffy clouds that were sliding slowly over the Wedgwood-blue sky. The light breeze toyed with strands of her hair. She started walking, her head down most of the time. For some reason, she was thinking of herself only as a young girl, maybe a year or so before everything had all happened so quickly to change her life.
When she was alone because her parents were working, she would often take walks in the spring, summer and fall. Unlike her girlfriends, she could tolerate solitude and even welcomed it. She liked thinking about poems she had read or a line or two she had created about Nature, her immediate surroundings and her feelings. When someone like Jena or Mindy asked where she was because she hadn’t answered the phone, and she told them, they always shook their heads or looked at her askance.
‘How boring,’ Mindy might say.
‘Weird,’ Jena might offer.
Then they would start to talk about some new record or a phone conversation with someone else to explain how sensible they were when they were alone. Am I different? she would wonder. Will it be more difficult for me to make friends, to be popular, to have boyfriends, to go to parties and someday marry and have children of my own?
Am I Emily Dickinson or someone similar, withdrawn and lost in her own imagination?
These memories didn’t trouble her. She smiled to herself as she thought about them now. She would, in fact, trade anything and everything to be thrown back to that time when innocence was so fresh and beautiful, when it had connected her in a magical way to everything around her – the song of a bird, the sight of one sailing through trees, the quick movements of curious rabbits and squirrels who, although not coming too close, apparently had no fear of her. Perhaps they felt she was like them, born to wear the wind and the rain, the clouds and the sunlight and never think of being naked and vulnerable, but blessed instead.
As usual, the walk was like some gently healing balm. She didn’t feel stronger so much as a little more content and capable of facing the day, no matter what it was destined to bring. She found herself walking in the direction of the bungalow colony again. She could hear someone making an announcement over the loudspeaker about the arrival of the costume jewelry man. Vendors who sold ice cream, clothes, bakery goods and jewelry traveled from one bungalow colony to another to sell their discounted wares. That announcement was followed by another about the day camp counselors taking the children to a movie matinee.
When she was close t
o the entrance, she was delighted to see the same elderly lady emerging from the woods with two bowls of blueberries under her arms. She smiled at her and Victoria paused to wait for her to step on to the road.
‘You keep catching me,’ she said. ‘Enough for a new pie and some muffins,’ she declared proudly.
Victoria laughed at how something so small could bring such joy. ‘I might come back for a piece.’
‘You’ll be most welcome. I’m in bungalow eleven with my husband, David.’
‘Do you have children, too?’
‘We have a daughter – Ethel. She’s named after my husband’s mother. I got married soon after I arrived in America,’ she explained. ‘We met at that place, Ellis Island.’
‘Oh, right. Did they make you change your name?’
‘No. It was Nussbaum. My husband made me change my name,’ she added, smiling. ‘I’m Dora Malisoff.’
‘I’m Victoria Myers.’
‘So? Since I saw you last, did some young man find you?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘I knew it couldn’t be much longer.’
Victoria tried to hold her smile, but couldn’t. She nodded at the numbers again. ‘I don’t want to ask you what it was like. I understand why you need to forget.’
‘Need, yes. Every day it’s a battle, but it’s less and less difficult.’
‘You lost a lot of friends?’
‘In the camps and out,’ she said. ‘I left many behind.’
‘They weren’t taken?’
‘They weren’t Jewish,’ she said, ‘but they were neighbors. In those days, you knew your neighbors. We got along until the Nazis came.’
‘Did those friends try to help you?’
‘Like an Anne Frank in that diary? No, there was no one who would hide us.’
‘Do you hate them now?’
‘No,’ she said. She smiled. ‘They were frightened, too. They had to think of their own families. You can’t hate them for that. In a real way, they suffered because of their silence and blind eyes. We all have our own nightmares. But why should you think of these things? You live in a beautiful place. Fall in love, have a life. You need someone to eat your berry pie,’ she added with a smile. ‘Come for a piece.’
The Incident Page 25