I kissed the top of her head. “Thanks, darlin’. I guess your old dad still has a few good years left!”
Candice stood up to ruffle my hair, and then turned to do the same thing to the cat. “What a sweet kitty, Dad! When did you get her? I thought you didn’t like cats!”
“I didn’t. I don’t. She just showed up on my doorstep Monday night after your step-mother left— and I don’t know, I just felt like I needed to let her in. I’ve named her New Francine.”
“New Francine?” Candice lifted her lip and stuck out her tongue in a grimace. “Dad, that’s kind of sick. You’re using a cat to replace your wife?”
“You’ve been watching too many indie movies, sweetheart. I just thought it would be funny: now that Francine’s gone, I get the one thing she always begged me for and I name it after her? It’s about time I get the last laugh!”
“I guess…” Candice conceded, still with her lip curled. “It still just seems weird to me, though. But at least it’s good you have someone to keep you company now! Well, besides me and Aunt Charlotte.”
I groaned inside. I had almost forgotten about Charlotte’s impending arrival.
“Let’s head into the living room and have a chat,” I said, changing the subject. “Bring a couple of beers for the two of us, and we’ll put a saucer of milk down for New Francine, and you can tell me all about what’s going on at school.”
“Daddy, I’m only nineteen!” Candice protested.
“Yeah, and I happen to know your college has been ranked one of the top party schools in the state. You mean to tell me you haven’t already had a beer or two?” I teased.
“We-ell, I guess you’re right…” Candice looked sheepish as she snatched two bottles from the fridge and headed to the living room, with New Francine close on her heels and me with the milk following behind.
“So? How’s school?” I asked as I settled into my recliner.
Candice perched on the sofa next to New Francine, who happily lapped up her milk. “School’s great, Daddy! I’m taking some really interesting classes this semester. I’m almost done with the basics, so now I’m starting to get into classes that actually relate to my major!”
“Imagine that,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “Only a year-and-a-half and $20,000 later, you’re finally getting to learn what you wanted to learn in the first place!”
“I know, right?” Candice nodded. “It’s all a big scam. Anyway, there’s this really nice guy I met in my biology class…”
“Oh, no, I don’t think I’m ready to hear this!” I interrupted as I playfully clapped my hands over my ears.
“Daddy! It’s not like that!” Candice threw a sofa pillow at my face, which I caught with ease. “He’s a great guy, so nice and smart, and he’s pre-med, just like me! He wants to be an orthopedic surgeon. His name is Jimmy, and we’ve been seeing each other for about three weeks now. I would love for you to meet him sometime, I think you’ll really like him!”
“Okay, darlin’, if you say so,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sure he’s a perfectly sweet guy with no ulterior motives. Just let me know when you want to bring him around to meet me, and I’ll have the shotgun ready and loaded.”
“Oh, Dad, you are just the worst,” Candice stuck her tongue out at me again and grinned.
We settled into an awkward pause, the only sound to break the silence being the low vibration of New Francine’s purr as Candice gently stroked and scratched her head. It should have been a lovely moment, but something about watching the two of them interact left me with a gurgling sensation of unease in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe it was just the last remnants of my latest hangover.
“So, Dad…” Candice began apprehensively. “Do you, you know, want to talk? About Francine or…whatever?”
I slumped in the recliner. “Not much to talk about, really,” I muttered out of the corner of my mouth. “She screamed at me, I screamed at her, she packed a suitcase, and then she left. Same stuff, different day, you know? And that’s the last I heard of her.”
“You haven’t tried calling her? It’s been three days. Hasn’t she always come home before now? You don’t think she’s gone for good this time, do you?”
“Nah, I haven’t tried calling her. I’m not about to go crawling to a woman on my knees. I tried that with your mother and I’m still looking for my dignity from that after fifteen years. If she’s gone for good, then it’s good she’s gone.” I snorted and took a big gulp out of my bottle.
Okay, so maybe that was a little bit of a lie, but Candice didn’t need to know about my weakness. I did try calling her once, late Tuesday afternoon, after the haze of Monday night’s date with the bottle of whiskey had a chance to clear a bit. It went straight to voicemail with not even a single ring, so I slammed the phone down on the receiver and vowed not to resort to such stupidity again. If she wanted to talk to me, she could darn well turn her phone on and call me herself.
The little calico cat sat on the couch next to Candice, staring at me with her head tilted to the side, as if she could sense the little white lie I had just told. Or maybe she could. She was, in fact, in the room when I attempted the call, and I suppose cats are probably more perceptive and intelligent than we give them credit for. Still, though, I wished she would quit staring at me like that. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as memories of Monday afternoon came flooding back to me.
Francine and I had been on the rocks for some time. The first few years of our marriage had been great, filled with love, passion, and romance. Then, old habits started creeping back into my life: first the beer, then the hard liquor. Francine took my drinking in stride at first, but it slowly took a toll on her as my increasingly constant inebriation became harder to ignore.
It didn’t help matters when Candice hit puberty and began blossoming into the stunning beauty she was to become. This only compounded Francine’s jealousy of my daughter. The years and our marriage were playing a part in her looks, and Francine’s fiery red hair became a dull orange. Body parts began to sag and others expanded as the tumult of our relationship drew lines on her face. She was still a lovely woman, at least in my eyes, but women are always the most critical of themselves, especially when in comparison with a perky blonde co-ed. Her growing hatred of my daughter only succeeded in driving a wedge further between us, and I began retreating to the comfort of televised sports to complement the alcohol, leaving Francine alone in a house with no one to talk to. Not even a cat.
The fight on Monday had been the worst. Francine came home from her women’s empowerment group, or whatever they’re calling it these days, to find me in my natural environment, leaning back in the recliner, bottle of beer in hand, football on the television. She stood in the darkened doorway, hands crossed tightly over her still ample breasts, and stared hard at what she could see of me illuminated from the glowing television screen. Several minutes passed before a commercial break began and I became aware of her presence.
“Good Lord, Francine!” I yelled out with a jolt. “How long have you been staring at me like that? You trying to give me a heart attack?”
“I think you’re doing a pretty good job of that yourself,” Francine replied with her disgusted sniff. “All that alcohol and sitting around is going to come back to get you one of these days.”
“Oh, good, apparently they’re teaching medical science at your group along with all that feminist garbage. Keep it up, and in a few years after Candice graduates, we can have two doctors in the family!” I sneered at Francine and turned back to the television as the football game resumed.
“Don’t you dare call my group garbage!” Francine screeched. “Those women have done more for me in the past month than you have in the past six years!”
“And just what have I not done for you, Sweet Thing? Have I not worked hard, providing you with a paycheck that you can spend on crystals and metaphysical whosits and whatsits and all that other self-help nonsense you seem to think will fill this imaginar
y void in your life? Have I not remained faithful to you all these years, even through our increasingly expanding dry spells? So what have I not done for you, huh?”
“Oh, please,” Francine dismissed my last statement with a wave of her hand. “If you had half as much energy for me as you do for drinking and sports, we wouldn’t be having any dry spells!”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I countered, really getting irritated. This was an important game, a playoff! Why did this nagging shrew not understand that? “You saying I’m not a man?”
“I’m saying I don’t know what you are anymore,” Francine replied, deflated. “You’re certainly not a friend, a companion, or a lover. We’re just sharing the same space, and barely at that. I just don’t know; I think we need to talk to some-”
“Go, go, go… Touchdown! Yeah!” I jumped from the recliner, beer still tightly in my hand, as I raised my arms toward the television in victory.
“Are you serious?” Francine resumed her screeching. “Are you seriously more interested in your stupid game than you are in our life together? That is it!”
Francine stormed up the stairs, and within seconds, I heard the sound of frantic scurrying up above in our bedroom as she opened the closet and pulled out her suitcase again for what seemed like the hundredth time. I rolled my eyes and continued watching the slow motion replay.
Minutes later, Francine blew down the stairs like a hurricane, lugging her suitcase at her side. “I’m done, Larry. I’m done! I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back until I take this house from you! Do you understand me? We are through!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t tempt me with a good time!” I retorted.
Francine whipped around, showed me her finger, and flung open the front door. The last I saw of her as she blazed past was a white shirt sleeve hanging out of the back of her suitcase, waving at me as if in defiance. I stared after her for a second once the door slammed shut, then shrugged and turned back to the television. It was the fourth quarter, and I’d seen this charade before. She’d be back.
I came back to myself to see both Candice and New Francine staring quizzically at me from the couch. Their almost identical looks of concern forced a laugh from my lips, which only served to deepen Candice’s frown. “Dad, you okay? I thought I lost you there for a second!”
“Yeah, I’m fine, darlin’. Just got lost in my thoughts. Hey, I got an idea. How about I go put on some real pants and we go out for some ice cream?”
Candice’s frown turned into a grin. I knew she could never resist ice cream. “You got it, Daddy! It’s a date!”
After two cones of Rocky Road and an invigorating walk in the park, Candice and I returned home to see the little calico cat waiting expectantly at the door for us. “Sorry, girl,” I told her. “They were all out of tuna-flavored ice cream!”
New Francine sniffed at the air and then did an about-face, walking away stiffly with her tail straight in the air, giving it a slight twitch in rhythm with her stride. I rolled my eyes and looked at Candice. “Cats can be so sensitive, can’t they? They’re a lot like wives!”
Candice giggled, punched me playfully on the arm, and then continued on into the house.
The next two days with Candice were some of the best days I’d had, as of late. We spent a great deal of time talking and catching up. I got to hear all about her classes and her friends, and even more about this new boyfriend of hers. She opened up to me in a way I hadn’t seen since she was thirteen and I married Francine. We had always been close, but now I was starting to see her as my friend and not just my daughter.
While we talked, Candice was constantly on the move, flitting from one room to the other with a trash bag or a dustpan, making sure every corner of the house was spotless. “Just because a woman doesn’t live here anymore, that doesn’t mean it can’t look like it’s got a woman’s touch!” she would gently chide me.
“Hey, now, don’t forget, a woman does live here!” I grinned and pointed at New Francine.
Candice bent at the waist to give New Francine a pat. “Well, until she starts pulling her weight and learning how to run a vacuum, I guess someone else will have to do it!”
Similar exchanges went on throughout Friday and Saturday. Saturday night was especially lovely. After dinner, we retreated to the living room, Candice and New Francine taking their respective places on the couch. I, however, remained standing. “Since this is your last night here, I thought we would celebrate,” I said with a grin.
Candice cocked an eyebrow in question. New Francine blinked slowly. I turned to the closet in the hallway and made a production of digging through the stacks of junk buried in there. Finally, I found what I was looking for, nestled among the multitude of winter coats and empty clothes hangers still waiting for their phantom sweaters: Candice’s old Super Nintendo system. I pulled out the gray box and blew the dust off the top.
Candice yelped with joy and excitement. “Oh, Daddy, you still have it! I can’t believe it! I haven’t played with this in years!”
“Wait up,” I told her. “I think I still have some of the old games in here, too!”
I dug around some more and finally came up with a black shoebox filled with game cartridges. “Aha! Here we go!” I handed the box to Candice. “So, what game shall we start with?”
We settled on the classic Donkey Kong Country and spent the rest of the night fighting our way through the jungle, playing well into the early morning hours. New Francine simply slept curled up on the couch, lightly purring, her tail twitching on occasion, either content or bored, or somewhere in between.
I awoke the next morning very reluctantly. Though the brilliant sun streamed through the window onto my bed, I struggled with the resistance to keep my eyes closed. Candice was heading back to school that day, just as we had really started to bond, and I held the misguided hope that if I prolonged my waking, it would somehow prolong her leaving. Eventually, I knew I could put it off no longer, and I swung my legs over the side of the bed, pressing my feet to the cold hardwood floor.
Candice had beaten me to the punch and was already in the kitchen frying up some bacon and eggs for our last breakfast together. She smiled sweetly at me as I descended the staircase and kindly avoided making any cracks at my disheveled appearance. New Francine was on the table, enjoying her breakfast of tuna mixed with a scrambled egg.
“You’re going to spoil my cat, you know,” I grumbled unconvincingly at Candice.
“Well, someone has to! You better get used to doing so yourself. Cats tend to expect a certain level of luxury. It dates all the way back to the Egyptians, when they used to be worshipped for their alleged metaphysical attributes.”
I groaned. “You, too, with the metaphysical mumbo-jumbo? You’re starting to sound just like Francine. Anyway, can we postpone any more of the history lesson until after I’ve had my coffee? I just don’t think I have the brain power to focus on much of anything right now.”
Candice rolled her eyes and turned back to the stove.
After breakfast, Candice retreated upstairs to begin packing for her trip back to college. I sat sullenly in the living room, wishing I could prevent the inevitable. Soon, the only company I would have left was my cat, and, God help me, my sister Charlotte.
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. “Aw, man, no, she’s here already?” I moaned to myself. “I was hoping I would at least be able to say good-bye to Candice before that harpy showed up!”
I made my way slowly to the door and opened it unwillingly, my eyes cast downward, just waiting for the nagging and the lectures to begin. They always began rather immediately the moment Charlotte showed up. However, with my eyes trained on the floor, I noticed something different. I did not see Charlotte’s practical brown flats. Instead, I saw shiny black boots. The type of boots normally worn by…
“Excuse me, Mr. Cochran?” the police officer asked.
I looked up to see a solemn, yet kind-looking young officer holding a badge, his eyes ful
l of sympathy and regret. Puzzled, I cleared my throat. “Ye-yes, that’s me. Lawrence Cochran.”
“Husband of Francine Cochran?”
I was now on full alert. “Yes, that’s my wife…”
The police officer briefly shifted his eyes downward, as if he had to gather the strength to say what he was about to say next. “I’m sorry to tell you this, sir, but your wife is dead.”
The news hit me like a blast of heat from an erupting volcano, and I was physically pushed back a step. “Dead? How? When?”
“May I come in, Mr. Cochran? I’m afraid I have some rather upsetting things to tell you.”
I grudgingly stepped aside, allowing the officer to enter the living room. New Francine stared at both of us intently.
“Mr. Cochran, my name is Officer Williams. Your wife’s car was found this morning in the ravine below the cliff that runs past Old Latham Road. Your wife was still in the car when we found it. I’m sorry but…there was nothing we could do for her when she was found.”
I swallowed hard, and then asked what I needed to know. “How…how did it happen?”
Officer Williams lowered his head a moment before raising it to meet my eyes. “There were no signs of skid marks and no signs of a struggle. I’m afraid we are having to rule this…a suicide.”
This pushed me another step back. Suicide? I knew she had trouble with depression in the past, but I thought she had been doing so much better. Wasn’t that what those infernal women’s club meetings were supposed to help her with?
My voice came out barely above a whisper. “When did she die?”
Officer Williams slowly sucked in his breath as if to steel himself for this next answer. “Well, Mr. Cochran, I’m afraid that is the difficult part. From what the coroner could tell from his initial investigation, he has time of death estimated at Monday around 4:30 p.m., cause of death a severe blow to the head from the windshield. The toxicology report has been sent off and won’t be back for a few weeks. And, in any event, I’m afraid—”
Nine Deadly Lives Page 24