With an unhealthy mix of exhaustion, stress, and lusties, I spent the next day in a partial fugue state. Apparently, sexual excitement can be as debilitating as a hangover.
Back-to-back appointments should have kept my mind centered on the emotional turmoil in other people’s lives—right where I liked it—but in spite of my best efforts, memories of the night before kept intruding at awkward moments. Blushes flamed my face at random intervals. A client would be tearfully disclosing her husband’s affair with her best friend, and I’d flash on the warmth of Eli’s hands as they fit around my waist. Listening to a colleague complain about an error in her client billing records, and I’d find myself wondering how Eli and managed to de-bra me without my even noticing. Jotting notes for a court report, I caught myself rubbing an eraser tip across my bottom lip. And smiling.
After work, I’d barely made it through the front door when the phone shrilled. As I tossed my purse down, the strap wrapped around my arm like a leather eel and I missed the call while trying to untangle. I’d missed two—Beth and an unknown number that I guessed was Eli’s. Thank you, Caller ID. I called Beth back first.
“Tell! Tell! Tell!”
“Don’t you say hello when you answer your phone?” I asked.
“Give me all the juicy details.”
“Fine. First off, we talked to Reggie. She didn’t know exactly where Trinnie was during the months between Taz and Bruisers, but she did confirm Trinnie felt guilty about something. Unfortunately, at the time, Reggie wasn’t interested in the sob story and tuned her out.”
“Understandable. Did you kiss him?”
“Here’s the thing: what if she didn’t go to another bar during that break? What if she went to a church? It makes sense, doesn’t it? And when Eli dropped me off at my car, what do you think we saw?”
“Each other’s naked body parts?”
“We saw that big Lutheran church on the corner. Grace Lutheran? It’s as pretty as a postcard and would have been right in Trinnie’s face when she was tossed out of Taz’s. What do you think?”
Beth sighed. “I think we should check it out. Was she Lutheran?”
“Don’t know. We never talked about religion. I wasn’t that far along in the Steps, and I’m still wrestling with the whole God-thing myself.”
“Here’s a thought,” Beth said. “Her funeral is day after tomorrow. We should be able to find out if she attended church or not. At least, we can to talk to her family, and find out.”
“That should work.” The conversation stalled. I could feel Beth exerting her will through the phone line.
“He’s an unbelievable kisser,” I relented.
“I knew it. Tell me everything.”
“That is everything. We just kissed… and got each other’s phone numbers. And, um, the cops kicked us out of the parking lot.”
“How many times?”
“How many times did we get kicked out?”
“How many times did you kiss?”
“I lost track. I guess technically it was just one kiss, but it, um, blended.” I tried to sound irritated, but giggles bubbled up between words. “That’s all I’m saying.”
“Wait, one more question. How does he kiss?”
“With his lips. Duh.”
“Fast? Slow? Soft? Slurpy? How?”
“Oh, please. Definitely not slurpy. Yes, to the fast, slow, soft options.” I paused, savoring the memory. “He kisses like a man who knows where he wants to go and is more interested in the journey than the destination.”
“Wow,” Beth replied weakly.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
Her curiosity temporarily satisfied, we returned to our plans. Neither of us wanted to hit another bar later. I needed to catch up on a couple of evaluation reports, and an evening parked in front of the computer would be a much needed respite.
Before settling down to work, I tried the unknown number. Instead of Eli’s graveled bass, I got Chad’s Scandinavian lilt.
“Chad?”
“Hi, Letty. Thanks for calling me back. I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“What’s going on? Is Paul out?”
“That’s the thing. Judge set his bail at fifty grand this afternoon. Bail is ten percent. The problem is his mom won’t bail him out and Paul doesn’t have near enough.”
“His mom won’t bail him out?”
“Nope. I asked her myself. All she’d need to do is use the house, but she told me Paul needs to learn a lesson.”
“What lesson? He’s innocent.”
“Yeah, well, she’s never been happy with his branching out. She hates AA. Thinks we’re brainwashing him and all he really needs to do is use a little willpower. To be honest with you, I think she’s punishing him for having friends. I can cover about fifteen hun’erd of it. I sold a bull last spring and banked the money. But I was wondering… Would you mind asking her for the rest? I’m so mad at her, I’d end up cussing her out again.”
“I don’t know if it’ll do any good, but I’ll try.”
Chad gave me Paul’s address, because yes, he did still live with his mother. I decided I’d go see her in person.
When Eli called about 7:30, we had another meandering conversation, randomly switching from serious to trivial. The whole time, a ridiculous grin remained plastered on my face. Thankfully, only Siggy was there to see it. He kept twining around his food bowl meowing, trying to convince me to put something tasty in it. I complied just to shut him up.
In one of the few moments we were on topic, we agreed tomorrow night was out, too. Eli had to study and Tuesday was my late night at the clinic. Beth and I would attend the funeral on Wednesday. We’d wait to check out Grace Lutheran until we could rule out that Trinnie hadn’t gone to some other church.
I glanced at the clock and was startled to see it was closing in hard on midnight. “Did you see the time?”
“We’re grown-ups. We get to stay up late. That’s one of the perks. Want me to tell you some of the other perks? There are some pretty fun ones. “
I couldn’t imagine how he made his voice sound any sexier than it already did, but he managed. “I’ll pass on the benefits description. I can guess.”
“You don’t need to guess. Just give me your address.”
“Nope. Way too soon. Besides, I’m, uh, abstaining.” I held my breath, waiting to hear his response. A few months ago, after some questionable relationship choices, my sponsor Sue had advised me to hold off on becoming involved in any new romantic endeavors. For “advised,” insert “threatened to shave my head and paint it blue.” Technically, I was still following her advice. Mostly.
His reply came quick and easy. “Do you think that’s a turn off?”
“Yeah.” Duh.
“It’s not. It’s intriguing. And challenging. Besides, we’ve already agreed you’re in charge, haven’t we?”
“I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I always listen. So, tonight’s out, huh?”
“Eli.”
“Just checking. How about I give you a call tomorrow after work?”
“Sounds fine. I’ll talk to you then.”
“Say goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Enough already. We hung up.
I kept smiling.
EIGHTEEN
Physically, Edna LaFontaigne resembled an older, taller female version of her son, Paul. She’d pulled her hair, flaxen and straight as a stalk of straw, into a limp pony tail—a strange choice for a woman her age. Red-framed glasses reminiscent of a former talk show host balanced on the beak of her nose. Although she answered my knock, she didn’t invite me in, choosing to talk through the screen door while I stood on the porch. Despite the early morning hour, the sun reflected off the vinyl siding in sweltering waves making sweat bead along my hairline.
Plastering a pleasant smile on my face, I introduced myself. I could tell by the way her eyes squinched that she recognized my name.
“What do you w
ant?” she asked.
“I wanted to talk to you about Paul’s bail. We can’t leave him—”
“This is all your doing,” she spat. “You’re the one that keeps getting him in trouble. Well, now he can just see what good it does him, running after loose women.”
My face flamed. I suspected she wasn’t talking about Trinnie. “He’s your son. Are you really going to leave him in jail when you have the resources to get him out? You know how scared he must be. He’s not—”
“Do you know what it’s like to be a mother and watch your son be led astray by harlots? To have your reputation ruined and your financial security put at risk by all this?”
“How is it a risk? Paul isn’t going to run away. You’ll get your money back.”
“That’s not the point. If he insists on getting involved in that…that cult, he should know bad things are going to happen.”
I took a deep breath. As consumed by jealousy as she was, reasoning with her wasn’t working. So… let’s try manipulation.
“You’re right,” I said brightly. “Paul shouldn’t be obligated to you for helping him, especially when you so obviously don’t approve of his choices. I’ll take care of it.”
Anger swirled in her face. “No, you won’t.”
“Somebody has to.”
“I never said I wasn’t going to bail him out. I’m going down this morning. And I advise you, young lady, to stay away from my boy. He doesn’t need anything from you!”
She slammed the door in my face.
Wednesday afternoon, I pulled somber dresses and suits from my tiny closet, trying to decide on the appropriate thing to wear. Sitting on the bed, I wrestled with my pantyhose and with the wildly disparate feelings I’d been dealing with since finding poor Trinnie. Giving up on the pantyhose, I wadded them into a ball and shot them toward the wastebasket. I missed.
Reaching into the shorts discarded on the floor next to the bed, I pulled out Trinnie’s photo from the summer picnic. Bunching the pillows up under my neck, I peered at the two of us. It’d been just a week, almost to the minute, that I’d found her, lying in a sea of blood. I blinked tears away. Siggy leaped up on the bed and licked the side of my face. Great. I was now a salt lick. A little behind-the-ear scratching action and he was putty. I wished my life were that easy.
I made myself examine the photo more carefully. With a start, I realized how closely Trinnie resembled my sister Kris. In fact, Trinnie’s fair features and pretty blue eyes could have sprung from my own family. Not that she would have wanted to. Lord knows I never felt like I belonged. For a long time, I’d measured myself against the blond Norwegian yardstick of my family, coming up short every time. They looked like standins for a Coca-Cola commercial: blond, perky, All-American. They told me I took after a great-grandmother, but without pictures of her, I had trouble believing them. And apparently I was the only one who noticed my grey eyes and olive skin were identical to my father’s best friend’s.
Therapist, heal thyself.
Sighing, I set the photo on top of the leaning pile of books stacked on my bed table and shifted Siggy to a pillow. He stopped purring. Grabbing a navy blue dress, I pulled it over my head. Good enough.
Twenty minutes later, Beth pulled up to the sidewalk in front of my apartment building ensconced in a conventional black BMW instead of the Mustang. Beth took funeral decorum seriously.
“Don’t tell me you traded the Mustang in on this yuppie-mobile?” I asked, lowering myself into the passenger side.
“Bite your tongue. This is Jimmy’s. Bankers drive respectable.”
“Very nice. I have a hard time picturing you as a staid, banker’s wife.”
“I’m adaptable,” she said. “Besides, we make a good team, Jimmy and I. I needed someone steady, he needed someone with flair. It works for us.” She pulled the car out onto the street briskly, then glanced over and continued. “Kind of like the balance you and Eli could have.”
“Don’t start.” I scrambled for a change in subject. “This funeral should be interesting.”
“You can say that again. You know, we really have to get back to Taz. Skipping the last two nights were good for us but bad for progress. We have to narrow down who the owner, what’s-his-name, was schtupping.”
“Geez, I’d forgotten about that. Leo, wasn’t it?”
“That’s the pig. And we never talked to Dora, either.”
“What did you say?” I asked sharply.
“Dora,” she repeated slowly. “I’m sure that’s right”
“No, I’m not saying you’re wrong. It just hit me. Dora.”
“What about her?”
“Dora,” I repeated. “Endora. Get it? I bet she’s Trinnie’s Endora. What do you think?”
“Now I really want to get back to that dive,” Beth said. Then she sighed. I guess we have enough going on tonight, don’t we? So, what are we looking for?”
“Some of the obvious people are her family: Kitty, Bruce and her aunt. I would think they’ll all be there. Then there’s the grieving lovers, ex-husbands and boyfriends. That might be more difficult.”
“No kidding. Do they put divorced spouses on those little memory keepsake cards?”
“I don’t think so. We’ll just have to keep our ears open. We’re looking for Angel, Foxy, Mick, Studly, and of course, Lover Boy.”
“Yep, and don’t forget to ask what churches she may have attended.”
Beth pulled the BMW into the wide lot of Marsh Funeral Home and parked in the back. I did the usual funeral status check, counting the number of cars. Several looked like they could pay off every one of my student loans with change left over.
Before I could open the car door, my cell phone vibrated signaling a text from Chad. He’s out. Mom came thru. Gd job.
I heaved a sigh of relief. With Paul out of jail, I had one less thing to worry about. Shoving the phone in my purse, I scurried to catch up with Beth. She got to the heavy, oaken doors a little ahead of me. We entered the velvety hushed atmosphere dedicated to the business of the bereaved.
NINETEEN
All of the better people go to Marsh’s to be dead.
The smell of roses slapped me across my face. The decor leaned heavily toward crystal, dark wood and maroon velvet, but despite the cliched atmosphere, it seemed well suited for the crowd.
Shooting off of the lobby area were parlors that allowed the facility to cater to three separate services simultaneously. Discreet signboards, looking eerily similar to movie marquees, announced which funeral was in which room. Alternatively, by tricky uses of partitions and alcove doorways, they could be opened into one main gathering area. Tonight, there was only one service being held.
“Quite a turn-out for our little girl, isn’t it?” remarked Beth.
“It sure is. I feel surprisingly underdressed.” That, in itself, was unusual. Funerals for AA members were often blue jeans-and-t shirts casual, but I reminded myself Trinnie couldn’t really have been called a member. Looking around gave me a much better understanding of Trinnie’s, or at least her family’s, standing in the community.
Just then, a sullen teenage boy slouched by in jeans and a hoodie. Made me feel better.
“I have a really hard time picturing Trinnie being at ease hanging around these people.”
“Who said she was? Did you feel like you belonged when you were growing up?”
Having spent a goodly chunk of time before the funeral brooding about my own dysfunctional family, I couldn’t deny her observation. Maybe she was a witch.
“I still can’t believe all these people are here for Trinnie,” I said. “Where the hell were they when she needed them?”
I might have gotten a teeny bit loud. People turned to look, prompting Beth to discreetly steer me into the parlor area.
“Ease up, girl. She wouldn’t be the first drunk to get kicked out. And maybe it was for her own good. How’s a drunk going to hit a decent bottom if the family keeps enabling her? We don’t reall
y know what happened here, so don’t spaz on me, okay?”
“Do you just make up words as you go along? Lusties, and now spaz? I’m a mental health professional and I can assure you there is no such thing as spaz.”
“See, this is your problem. You have no sense of imagination. No flair.”
“Oh yes, flair. That’s why Jimmy married you.”
“Don’t think I won’t hit you. I’ve caused bigger scenes in fancier places. Mind your manners.”
Before I could respond, we turned the corner into the central parlor area and came face-to-face with Trinnie’s mother, Kitty. I seriously wished I hadn’t been smiling at Beth’s wise ass comments.
But if my levity was inappropriate, then the glacial aura she exuded was off the charts weird. The woman personified an icicle dipped in frost. She wore a floor length lead-gray dress that seemed to suck light from the candelabra overhead. Her blond hair was fashionably, but starkly cut, asymmetrical, and tinted a pale ash. She had Trinnie’s blue eyes, but her utter lack of animation leached them of emotion as well as expression. I checked her pupils to see if perhaps she’d been medicated, but they seemed fine.
I held my hand out to shake in the beginning overture of the I’m-so-sorry ritual. Kitty graced it with hers, laying it’s cold flesh limply in mine. Smiling over my shoulder, she murmured, “thank you,” then abruptly passed me on to the next relative in the receiving line.
Kitty may avoid prolonged contact, but her son, next in line, did not. In fact, Bruce repeated my name, leaning in to make significant eye contact while clasping my hand with both of his. While much firmer than his mother’s grip, his touch was unpleasantly damp and I fought the urge to pull away. His cologne, which I assumed he put on using a bucket, made my nose run.
Unfortunately for him, he’d definitely not inherited his mother’s narrow, patrician features nor felt the need for surgical intervention. His schnoz sat awkwardly in the middle of his face like a lumpy potato. His hair, also blond, had a lanky quality, and he wore it long, just past shoulder length. A mustache, its darker shade standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin, hovered over glistening, over-plump lips. Unbidden, an image of wiggling earthworms drowning in rain puddles flashed through my mind.
Whittaker 03 The Secrets We Keep Page 9