After Catherine disappeared up the stairs, Marissa said casually, “I don’t know how I expected your mother to act with me today, Eric, but after the first fifteen minutes or so being with her was almost like old times.”
“I’m glad. Sometimes she’s like that with me. Then she has a bad day and she’s distant. Dad’s mood seems more even, although he’s quieter than before Gretchen died.”
“I think talking can help a lot. Have you ever talked to them like you talked to me about Gretchen?”
He looked almost horrified. “No! They don’t want me to talk about her.”
“Maybe they don’t want you to, but maybe they need to hear some things. I thought you broke off our engagement because you blamed me entirely for what happened to your sister. Instead, you felt most of the blame, shoved some of it off onto me without even knowing what you were doing, and broke off the engagement because you knew marriage for us at that time couldn’t work. Professional psychologists like Catherine help people figure out those situations.”
Eric nodded. “I know what people like Catherine do, Marissa. I didn’t think she set broken legs.”
“Just making sure. After all, we could use someone like Catherine in Aurora Falls.”
“I believe we have a few people like Catherine in Aurora Falls. But you think we need another one? Particularly, your sister?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.” Marissa stopped talking and cocked her head. She heard Catherine’s television. “I was waiting for that. I also don’t think it would hurt if we had some music down here. Any requests?” Eric looked at her quizzically. “I acquired an envelope in Gretchen’s room today. I don’t want anyone to know what’s in it until you do. And that goes for me, too.”
“Oh. You’re being cloak-and-dagger.”
“I’m sure it’s very private. Now pick some CDs and load them.”
In a minute, Don Henley sang “The Boys of Summer” as Marissa handed Eric the sealed envelope. He stared at the words The End on the front of the envelope and finally began tearing it open. Marissa took Lindsay into the kitchen and gave her a bacon treat, then poured another glass of wine and took a quick sip.
Marissa wandered over to the wall of windows. A whimsical birdhouse shaped like a castle still hung in a nearby poplar tree and swung gently in the cold breeze. She couldn’t bear to look at the blackened remains of her mother’s rose garden, though. This spring wouldn’t bring forth the rainbow of colored petals looking almost too beautiful to be real.
In the past, Jean had always helped Annemarie with the roses and seemed truly delighted to do so. The two women had tried to teach Marissa how to tend roses and she hadn’t been interested. Now she cared. She would read, she thought. She would read everything she could find about raising and caring for roses and she would ask Jean to help her plant a new garden. The project would keep her busy and also make certain Jean didn’t spend all her time sitting in that tiny house mourning Mitch. After they finished with the garden, she would take Jean out for dinner and a movie.
As Marissa looked out at the vacant dark night, musing over roses and her plans to help Jean get through a difficult year, she suddenly had the creeping feeling of being watched through the windows. The feeling was sharp, cold, malevolent, and so powerful she shuddered. Marissa lowered all the blinds and turned off all the lights except one. She didn’t think she was letting her imagination run wild. At the same time, she was certain someone in the chill of the night watched through the thin blinds—not casually, like a neighbor standing in a yard looking around absently—but someone whose gaze purposely sought out Marissa Gray. For a moment, she thought of calling for Eric, but this wasn’t the time to interrupt him.
Marissa pushed aside a blind and peeked out. When she saw a pair of golden eyes near ground level next to the locust tree, she recognized the neighbor’s small black cat. Marissa was much more frightened and upset this week than she’d admitted, even to herself, if she’d let herself be spooked by a cat, she thought, trying to smile to herself.
But Marissa didn’t feel relieved. She felt exactly the way she had before she’d realized just a cat had been watching her. Quickly she let go of the kitchen blind. Inexplicably shaken and uneasy, she didn’t want anyone to see her, even a cat. In fact, she wished she could become invisible.
Marissa closed her eyes, tried to clear her head, and sat down at the counter, inspecting her nails to see if she needed a fresh manicure. Giving herself a manicure every few days had become a habit long ago when she and Gretchen had discovered nail polish. They used to joke that if her dream of being a concert pianist and Marissa’s dream of being a world-renowned journalist failed, they could always get jobs as manicurists. Gretchen had loved painting Marissa’s semi-long nails in fun colors. Gretchen’s had to be short for the piano and Susan Montgomery had always been strict about Gretchen’s nail polish, making sure she wore nothing darker than a shell pink. Pink. Just like her room, Marissa thought. Little-girl pink.
Marissa felt as if she’d sat in the kitchen for nearly an hour, but the clock showed she’d been at the counter only twenty minutes before Eric called for her. She hoped the envelope contained something helpful. At the same time, she dreaded what he might have found. She steeled herself mentally and walked into the living room, where Eric sat on the couch with papers spread around him.
She stood in front of him—not certain he wanted her to sit beside him—and tried to read his expression, which told her nothing. In a moment, he looked up and asked, “What do you know about tremors?”
“Tremors? Like shaking or vibrating?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s about all I know except that a lot of elderly people suffer from them. My father’s mother did. They started when she was in her late seventies.”
“That’s what most people think about tremors. It’s what I thought. I just found out differently.” Eric fell silent and stared at a paper in his hand. “May I be completely decadent and ask for another drink?”
“You’re not on duty tonight. You can get rip-roaring drunk if it will help.”
A few minutes later, Marissa brought him a fresh drink. He thanked her and then patted a spot beside him on the couch.
“Gretchen copied some pages from a medical book and put them in here,” he began, and went on in a cool, toneless voice. “They describe ‘kinetic tremor’ or ‘essential tremor.’ It’s a tremor that usually begins in the arms and spreads to other parts of the body, even the head and voice. It can cause a person to have trouble thinking clearly, to have anxiety and depressive symptoms, and there’s a risk of developing dementia. The tremors often start with people around sixty and less commonly around age forty, but they can start at any age. The shaking is usually seen in the hands and arms, even when the hands are at rest. The tremor gets worse when a person has to ‘perform.’” Eric stopped scanning the pages and looked at Marissa. “She included results from medical tests. Her medical tests. She went to three doctors and her diagnosis was always the same. Gretchen had essential tremor.”
Marissa stared at the medical test results, not understanding a lot of what she saw but not willing to accept what she did understand. “We’re not doctors. We don’t really know how to read these test results or what tests were run.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can Catherine look at them? She’s not a medical doctor, but I’m sure she knows more about this condition than we do.”
Eric nodded. “I’d like to get her opinion, if she wouldn’t mind being disturbed.”
Ten minutes later Catherine sat in the family room wearing a mint green kimono robe and delicate silver slippers. In spite of the shock of reading Gretchen’s hidden papers, Marissa pictured herself the night of the wreck in her bulky white robe and big bunny slippers. Catherine had pulled back her hair with a beautiful clip at the neck so the line of every one of her perfect features showed. Mitch was right, Marissa thought. Catherine did look like Annemarie.
When Catherine glanced up, Marissa
almost jumped, realizing she’d been analyzing Catherine’s looks to divert herself from the deepening line between Catherine’s eyebrows. Eric gently shook Marissa’s hand. She’d been squeezing his hand as hard as she could and hadn’t known it.
“If you want a really thorough explanation of essential tremor, you should talk to a neurologist,” Catherine said. “It’s a neurological disorder.”
Eric shook his head. “I don’t want to talk to a neurologist now. I—we—just want the basics tonight.”
“Well, I believe the basics are fairly well described in these articles. Essential tremors affect the kinetic muscles. The condition can cause trembling and shaking. Physical activity or stress can make it worse. So can fatigue and cold and caffeine. It becomes more noticeable when sufferers try to do exact, precise tasks—”
“Like playing the piano,” Eric said flatly.
Catherine nodded. “The tremors can even attack the voice—it becomes shaky and the singing voice can become vibrato. Essential tremor can also affect balance and the way the patient walks. It creates general unsteadiness.” She hesitated. “Sometimes, mostly in older people, it can result in dementia.”
“What causes it?” Marissa asked.
“It seems to be genetic. That’s why it’s sometimes called ‘familial tremors.’ It runs in families. Here we get into genetics and I’m out of my area of expertise. I do know it usually doesn’t manifest itself until later in life, but it’s sometimes seen in people in their twenties.”
“Treatment?” Eric asked crisply.
“Some drugs have helped. Physical therapy. Even alcohol sometimes helps—it has a calming effect in moderation. But there really is no effective treatment right now.” Eric looked straight ahead and Marissa looked at her sister. “Didn’t your family know about Gretchen’s condition?” Catherine asked Eric.
“No. She didn’t tell us. She even kept those papers hidden. Marissa managed to get them.”
“How—”
“I’ll tell you later,” Marissa said quickly.
“All right. Is there anything else you’d like to ask me?”
Eric shook his head again but didn’t speak.
Marissa smiled at Catherine. “Thanks. I think we—especially Eric—just need some time to let this sink in.”
“I understand.” Catherine smiled at her in return. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk. Don’t hesitate to come upstairs and get me if there’s anything else I can do.”
Marissa looked over at Eric, and when she looked back Catherine had already disappeared up the stairs, silently and swiftly, not remaining to watch their reactions or hear their discussion. Such sensitivity was one of the reasons Catherine had excelled in her training, Marissa thought.
Marissa sat quietly, listening to Ivy’s “Worry About You,” until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Eric, was anything else in the envelope?”
He nodded, reached into the envelope lying beside him, and pulled out a color photograph. He glanced at it, then handed it to Marissa. She saw Catherine in a strapless lavender gown with a diaphanous tulle skirt. She’d pulled up her brown hair behind her right ear and fastened it with a silk gardenia while the other side waved to the top of her gown. She held a glass of champagne and laughed at something the woman beside her was saying. Will Addison stood on Catherine’s other side, looking at her with something in his eyes beyond adoration.
“This was taken at the Carlisle wedding,” Marissa said. “Catherine was a bridesmaid and I remember how beautiful she looked. That would have been…” She closed her eyes and thought. “Late April. Will and Gretchen were dating then.”
“And afterward she cooled things with Addison, started hanging out with Dillon Archer, and in June she died.”
Marissa tried to remember exactly how Gretchen had felt about Will. Cautious because of his good looks, his sophistication, his practiced charm, his reputation for never getting serious with a girl. Marissa had been stunned when Susan Montgomery let Gretchen have even one date with Will, but one had turned into many.
“Eric, Will Addison would have been one of the last people I’d have imagined your mother letting Gretchen date. Did she approve of him?”
Eric remained silent for a moment and Marissa felt as if he was struggling with truth versus loyalty. He took a deep breath. “My mother didn’t approve of Will. You know she pretty much runs the ship at home, but for once my father crossed her and said Gretchen could date Will. They had had a ferocious argument in their room—they seemed to think no matter how loud their voices got, Gretchen and I couldn’t hear if they had the door closed.
“My father said, ‘Do you realize how much money the Addisons have?’ Mom asked what that had to do with anything and Dad started shouting about how much Gretchen’s piano, violin, voice lessons had cost, not to mention her years at Juilliard. She lived in an apartment with Mom’s sister, whose husband charged substantial room and board. Dad said, ‘Gretchen has just about drained us, Susan. I wouldn’t change any of it—I’m so proud of her—but our financial position is precarious.’” Eric smiled bitterly. “Precarious. I’d never heard my dad use that word. He went on about how Wilfred Addison couldn’t live forever, when he died his money would go to Evelyn, and Evelyn would deny Will nothing, especially if he was married to someone she considered not only a lady but talented and, no doubt, one day famous.”
“Oh, I see.” Marissa tried to make her voice completely neutral, although she was deeply disappointed in Eric’s father. “Did Gretchen talk to you about Will?”
“Me? No way. If she was going to talk to anyone, it would have been you.”
“She never said much about him. That was my tip-off that she really cared for him, even loved him. She always kept her most personal feelings to herself.”
“Meanwhile, Will was in love with your sister.”
“I do know he didn’t break off the relationship. Gretchen told me she ended things,” Marissa said. “She claimed she and Will were just too different. After that, though, she started acting even more distant than she had when she was dating him. She never wanted to do anything.” Marissa paused. “She never wanted to play the piano. You had to almost force her.”
“Now we know why she didn’t want to play the piano, or the violin, or to sing. The tremors must have been getting noticeable.”
“The first doctor’s report is dated in early December.”
“So she knew at her last Christmas,” Eric said.
“The second doctor’s report is dated February and the third April.”
“She put that picture of Will and Catherine taken in April in the envelope because it was important to her. ‘A picture is worth a thousand words.’ I told you she loved Will, but when she saw this photo she had to realize how Will felt about Catherine. We’ve learned stress and emotional upheaval can make the condition worse.” Marissa paused. “And I hate to say this, but if Gretchen knew how your father felt about all the money he’d spent on her, she would have thought she’d put the family in financial straits for nothing. She might be able to perform on the concert circuit that was to start in the fall but not afterward. She couldn’t have a long career.”
Suddenly Eric moaned and put his head in his hands. Marissa placed her hand on his back. He didn’t breathe. After nearly ten seconds, he uttered a sob that seemed to rip from the depths of his being. His entire body shook, and without a thought Marissa pulled him to her and wrapped her arms around him, murmuring comforting phrases in his ear and pressing his face against her shoulder. At last, he raised his head. Marissa put a hand on each side of his head, lifted her lips, and tenderly kissed each of his eyelids. Then, again and again, she gently kissed his cheeks wet with both their tears and finally pressed her lips against his. They didn’t share a passionate kiss. Their tongues did not touch. But Marissa felt as if that chaste kiss, gentle as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing, bore all the love in the world.
Eric settled for a while, breathing evenly, staring into
the fireplace, his fingers twining softly with hers. Marissa thought his inner storm might be abating until he asked in a tortured voice, “Why did this have to happen to Gretchen?”
“Why does something like this happen to anyone?”
“But she was so sweet, so good, so young. We all kept her wrapped up in a cocoon and when it was finally time for her to burst free—this hit her!”
“I know, Eric. It’s awful. I could tell you God has a reason and we just don’t know it, but I wouldn’t be sincere. I don’t think the universe is always rational. Bad things happen to good people and I cannot believe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be, no matter how hard I try. I think all we can do is endure it. There’s no universal bad guy you can bring to justice for all the wrongs in the world. There’s no bad guy you can bring to justice for Gretchen’s illness.”
“That’s the hell of it, Marissa,” Eric said with soft despair. “I always believed there was justice and someone had to be responsible for the in justice. It’s why I wanted to become a cop—so I could help set right all that was unfair in the world.” He sighed. “I was so damned naïve.”
“No, you weren’t. Justice does exist in the world—it just doesn’t always win the day, or so it seems. And you have to remember that Gretchen’s tremors didn’t take her life. They didn’t kill her.”
“You don’t think she meant to jump off that rail, but Dillon got her first?”
“Absolutely. Gretchen wouldn’t give up that easily. She had an inner strength I don’t believe her family saw. I’m sure she would have tried everything to cure her condition. She did not intend to kill herself, Eric. Dillon Archer killed Gretchen. I just don’t know why.”
Chapter 18
1
After Eric left Marissa’s, surprisingly unembarrassed by letting her see his emotional weakness, even his tears, he’d checked to see that the deputy was still wide-awake and watching the Gray house. Then Eric had gone back to his Spartan apartment, listened to his answering machine, on which Robbie Landers asked him to call her.
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