His eyes burned with tears.
“I want to understand,” Annie said, moving closer to him on the couch.
“Look, Deborah was in a wheelchair for thirteen years. Her symptoms started at twenty-nine. Dizzy spells. Sudden falls. At first, I thought she was on drugs.”
“Did she have a problem with that?”
“No. She wasn’t on drugs. It was the early signs of her MS. Strangers on the street thought she was drunk—like your co-worker. Same issue. Before her diagnosis, one doctor told her to go out, have fun. Told her she was pretty and smart. ‘Enjoy life,’ he told her. She was insulted. She went out plenty. She loved life. That’s how she met Van. She was volunteering at some drug rehab center, helping losers.”
“Drug addiction doesn’t mean you’re a loser. It’s a disease,” Annie said. “I know about that, Edward.”
“Look, Van’s a loser, and so am I. I gave her money when she got sick. If I hadn’t given her money every month, paid for her condo—”
“You can’t keep second-guessing yourself like that.”
“Sure I can. Aren’t you second-guessing why you came to Hungary?”
Annie looked away, then met his gaze. “Yes. I am.”
“All right, then. We agree on something. I like you when you’re not lying to yourself.”
She grimaced, pulling her knee to her chest.
“The truth is, Deborah framed everything in her perky, blind way. When she had to get a cane, she used to say to me, ‘Dad, the cane distinguishes me. People get out of the way. They let me cut in line.’ Always looking for positives, my Deborah. A bit like you.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Edward, we can stop,” Annie said, her voice softening.
“Oh, no. We’re going to finish this.” He wiped the dry corners of his mouth. “All those years helping drug addicts, believing in losers. Where’d it come from? Maybe her mother. Why did you work with homeless men? What’s the thrill in that?”
“I feel good helping people. I told you that.”
“Why? What is it?”
He waited for her to answer. He could never understand what it was with Deborah. Why she put herself in jeopardy with life suckers. That’s what they were.
“To offer hope, and I guess, honestly, I feel empowered by that. Like I matter. Like I’m not standing on the sidelines. I couldn’t help my sister and brother, so I try to help others.”
“My daughter spent the best years of her life thinking about others.”
“She sounds like an amazing, caring person,” Annie said.
Edward pushed himself up. “I’ve got to get some water.”
“Let me get it,” Annie said.
While she filled two glasses from the tap, he allowed himself to feel some satisfaction that she would leave here armed with the full story. Whatever she chose to believe about Van—that he was nice and suffering and all that bullshit—something else deep inside her would harbor doubts. He had what he needed to get to the bottom of Van’s lies. He squeezed Van’s business card against the palm of his hand and felt the thick paper softening from his sweat.
“Here you go,” Annie said, handing him his glass. “I’m glad you got an air conditioner.”
He drank the tepid water, spilling some on his pants.
“What medication was she taking?” Annie asked.
“Vicodin. It’s a painkiller. You know it?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s no different from heroin, only more expensive. You have to keep upping the dose. Once she was in the wheelchair, I sent her money, direct deposit to her account. She told me not to, but I insisted. Sylvia—my wife—insisted, too. We were stupid. I should have made her come home. We could have built her a ramp. Bought one of those electric contraptions for stairways. I sold medical equipment, for chrissake. It would have cost us nothing!”
“She wanted her independence and you helped her with that,” Annie said.
“No. I ruined her. She lived in that basement with a pill addict and a drinker—he liked his alcohol, too. Worse, he was a vampire living off her. What’s a thirty-eight-year-old drug addict doing with a wheelchair-bound woman ten years his senior? She didn’t care about conventions. I supported them both. Then Deborah began losing the use of her hands. She needed help eating and drinking. She said Van was her prince. He did the grocery shopping. Cooked. Fed her pills for her spasms and pain—had her money, a place to live, pills. Why not get married so he could get her life insurance, too?”
Annie shook her head. “I know you’re going to get mad, but I have to ask you: Is it possible it was an accident? You truly think he planned it?”
Edward heaved a breath as he thought about Van—now calling himself Stephen – walking into his Deborah’s life the moment she was most vulnerable. “Yes. He saw an opportunity. What’s there to understand? Why is this so difficult for people to comprehend? What else did he want except her money? Free rent. Pills. Life insurance. How many times do I have to say it? What could he possibly offer her—love? That’s what Deborah said: ‘love.’ ” The thought made Edward’s stomach twist. “And what the hell is he doing with you, Annie?”
“Nothing. What do you mean?” She looked away, at the floor.
“Don’t you think he knows you know me?”
“How would he know that?”
“Watching. I’ll bet my life he’s had his eye on this place.”
“Why?”
“Because he knows I’m onto him.”
“But we met him by accident at the restaurant. The expat world is tiny. It’s easy to run into other Americans.”
“That’s right, and he’s not stupid. He knows I’m here and that I’m not fooling around. He doesn’t want you to believe what I’m telling you. He wants to get the word out that he’s an upstanding, good man. He wants to get you on his side. It’s not more complicated than that. I need a drink.”
She started to get up again, but he stopped her.
“No. I’ll get it. I have to move.” He pushed himself from the couch and shuffled into the kitchen. It was coming together in his mind. A kid’s puzzle. Ever since Van met Annie, he had been watching her. Saw Annie come over. Gets entangled in Will’s business. Van invites them over to his place. Plays innocent.
At the kitchen sink, he placed a new glass under the tap and remembered how Deborah looked at him with her large blue eyes—her mother’s eyes. Deborah had a flat forehead and small plump red lips, as if all the juice remaining in her life had flowed into her voice and mouth—and eyes. “Let me be me, Dad,” she’d said to him. “Why do people assume that what they want for me is what I want for me?”
Deborah said Van was coming off years of drugs. “Got a bad start in life, Dad,” she said. “His father came over from Hungary after the ’56 uprising. Van heard the gunshot and found him in the room, Dad. A little kid. Six years old. Can you imagine?”
Really? Imagine it? Oh, yes he could. He’d fought in the war. Walked through the gates of Dachau hell. Deborah’s naïveté drove him insane. Annie’s, too. What about the Jews? Thousands of them were children with bad starts.
Everyone has to follow their own path in life, Dad. You know that.
Damn right. Leaning against the sink, Edward drank from his glass and refilled it once more. Look, Dad. You’ll just have to trust me on this one. I know it’s hard to understand right now, but he loves me. Who didn’t? Deborah befriended everyone she met. She ran a circus of ne’er-do-wells beginning with the stray cat she brought home when she was three. Christ. She cried for a week when it died.
“This caring business,” Edward shouted to Annie, turning toward her. “He cared so much, how come he killed her? How come he managed to give her too many pills? What’s complicated about giving someone the right dose? He worked it out just right. You don’t have to believe me, Annie, just get me the goddamn address!”
The familiar dizziness overtook him. He grabbed the edge of the countertop.
/> “Edward, is it your sugar?” Annie said, coming up beside him.
“It will pass.”
He let her steer him back to the couch. She was small yet stronger than he expected when she grabbed his armpits and helped lower him to the couch. This time he lay back against the cushion, one leg stretched across the couch.
“The truth, Annie?” He looked up at her standing beside him. “He’s a killer. Plain and simple. You like him? Don’t be a fool like my daughter—like me. I should have stopped him. Van’s a charmer. He crushed a few extra pills into my daughter’s milkshakes over the course of several days until she couldn’t wake up. It was too much for her system. Her MS was affecting her ability to swallow, so he crushed up the pills. A few too many is what he did.”
“I’m trying to fathom it . . .”
“That’s right.”
He closed his eyes. He was exhausted. Once again, he saw Deborah wheeling down the long bowling alley of a hall to her garden. A large oak tree shaded a flagstone patio. He remembered the hanging plants—pink impatiens, sweet potato, and vinca vines cascading down a wooden fence.
“What’s going to happen when things get rough?” he had asked Deborah.
A tall, thin man with shoulder-length hair stepped out onto the patio. He wore sandals and bent over to kiss his daughter on her lips.
“Van, this is my dad.”
“Coming from work?” Edward said, knowing the instant he saw him that Van didn’t have a job, was a drug user. A bloodsucker. A slouch with red-rimmed, glazed eyes in the middle of the day.
“Dad. Don’t start with the first degree.”
“Why don’t I let you two spend some time together,” Van said, turning to the door. “I can run a few errands and come back.”
“Don’t be silly, honey. I told you what he was like.” Deborah wheeled closer to the door, blocking Edward. “You alienate everyone you meet, Dad. Why do you assume that what you want for me is what I want for me? Why? Why do you do this? Why?”
“Why?”Edward said, opening his eyes. Annie was standing over him, her hand on his shoulder.
“You dozed off for a minute.”
“What time is it?”
Old age and infancy. Not much difference between them. He looked at his watch. Two o’clock.
“I’m going to leave now,” Annie said.
He sat up. “What time is the party?”
“Seven to nine. We’re getting picked up at six forty-five.”
“Call me when you get his address, will you do that?” He squeezed the business card curled inside his fist. The address was one of the remaining pieces of the puzzle, the one he needed and was about to get.
“Yes. I told you I would.” She moved to the door. “You should register with the embassy. They can protect you.”
He tried to soften his voice. “Thank you. Are you going home now? Where’s Will? Where’s your son?”
“He’ll be home in a few hours. Leo’s home wth the babysitter.”
“Good. Be careful, Annie.”
“I will.” She glanced at the windows. “I can always call the police,” she said, letting out an exasperated sigh. She walked over to the door.
Six feet away from him, he saw her youth, the years still ahead of her like a point in the horizon in one of his paintings. It made him ache for his daughter, for his wife.
“Thank you, Annie.”
“Sure. See you, Edward.”
As soon as she left, he got up to chain the door, then went over to the window and waited until he saw Annie reappear in the distance, jogging down the tree-lined sidewalk.
She was the only person in sight, though he knew that Van might be out there, hiding.
Watching her.
Watching him.
Thirty
The woman who was the mayor’s so-called assistant wore a white blouse and bra so sheer her nipples pushed through like pebbles. It was the first thing Annie noticed when she got into the front seat of the Mercedes on the passenger’s side, along with a powerful odor of cigarettes and lavender perfume.
“Hello. I am Agnes.”
“Annie.”
Agnes snuffed her cigarette in the ashtray, and held out her hand. “Pardon. I know Americans do not like smoking in cars.”
Agnes’s hand felt cool and dry from the car’s air-conditioning.
“Nice to see you again, Agnes,” Will said, sliding into the back.
“Igen. We are old friends already.” She smiled into the rearview mirror. “I will tell you both that I am not used to driving in this city. These people are crazy, but I will drive slow for you. I like your dress. Very pretty,” she said to Annie.
Annie had chosen a black sleeveless dress with a side slit, a favorite of Will’s because he liked how the thin belt accentuated her small waist. “Thank you. What is the name of your perfume?” Annie said, exchanging compliments. “I like it.”
“Bibor. It eez Hungarian for purple. You know it? It is popular now.”
“Yes. I recognize it,” Annie said.
“Thank you for driving,” Will said.
“Persze. I am glad to drive for you. The police are very strict. You understand this? If you are drinking and driving, they will put you in jail. I will not drink tonight. But you can enjoy.” She glanced again at Will in the rearview mirror, offering a broad lipsticky smile.
“Where is his place exactly?” Annie asked. Stephen had not returned her call. After she left Edward’s, she thought of calling Stephen again, but she didn’t want to sound urgent. Instead, she and Klara fed Leo an early dinner and waited for Will to get home and for Sandor to come over to help watch the baby for the night.
“Across the river, near the Erzsébet Bridge,” Agnes said. “What you call Elizabeth Bridge.”
“What is the name of the street and the number?” Annie asked. “I’d like to give my babysitter the address.”
“Persze. Molnár utca 9. It is a small street, next to the river. It is fifteen minutes. Not far.”
“Good. Thank you.” In her lap, Annie felt the weight of her cell phone in her purse and wondered when would be the best time to call Edward. Despite what he told her only a few hours earlier, key questions remained unanswered. What if Edward’s daughter had, in fact, died of an accidental overdose? Did that make Stephen responsible? What if Edward was right? The two questions orbited in her head like trapped flies.
“It is a beautiful night in Budapest, yes?” Agnes said, filling the quiet in the car.
“Gorgeous,” Annie said, forcing herself to engage. She could feel Will sulking in the back seat. He had had enough of her talk of Edward and Stephen and told her as much while they were waiting outside for Agnes to pick them up.
“It’s getting out of hand,” Will had said, his face devoid of expression, his way of containing his annoyance. “No matter what I think about Stephen, no matter what Edward believes, hearsay doesn’t make someone a murderer. It’s his word against Stephen’s. The fact that he’s going by another name or even that he may be some kind of addict proves nothing. I’m not impressed with Stephen. I find him cloying, but this whole murder thing is taking it too far.”
Now in the car, Annie stared out the window at the evening traffic and the darkening sky, lost in the dull clatter of her thoughts amid the honking sounds of the city until Agnes said, “There they are,” and Annie spotted Eileen walking from the hotel to the car in a bright green fitted dress she remembered from Fendix days. Eileen’s vibrant hair fell in long waves to her shoulders. Her curved figure and enormous breasts commanded attention, but much of that was because of the way she carried herself with pride and a sensual enjoyment of her body. Annie rolled down the window and waved.
“Eileen!”
“I’m relying on you to tell me everything,” Eileen said, getting into the backseat. Bernardo slid in after her.
“What a great night, huh?” Bernardo said.
“Good weather for a change,” Will said.
Ei
leen put her hand on Annie’s shoulder.
“So good to see you here!” Annie said, twisting around to hold Eileen’s hand. The car filled with the scent of wine and Eileen’s perfume.
“Can you believe my husband is trying to drag me here? He’s so enamored right now. I’m here to appease him. I can’t get anything but glowing remarks out of him. I know it can’t be all good. Nothing is. Right, Annie?”
“I suppose not,” Annie said, not wanting to go there. “How was your flight?”
“Too damn long.”
Annie laughed.
“Leave it to my wife to tell you what she thinks,” Bernardo said.
“That’s why we love her,” Annie said.
“It’s your job to convince her to stay,” Bernardo said to Annie. “You, too, Agnes.”
“Persze,” Agnes said to the rearview mirror. “Eileen, you ask me questions and I will answer for you.”
“Have you slept yet?” Annie asked Eileen.
“Are you kidding? I’m all adrenaline right now. Adrenaline and wine.”
Agnes laughed, then turned up the air conditioner. “Good. Then you will enjoy yourself.”
“This city is a knockout at night, like a beautiful woman,” Bernardo said as Agnes turned onto the road that ran alongside the river. “Look at it. Tell me that’s not beautiful.”
“Stunning,” Annie said.
“Oh, here we go,” Eileen said. “Everything is a woman to my husband. What’s that bridge?”
“It is oldest bridge,” Agnes said. “We call it Széchenyi lánchíd. Lánchíd is ‘chain bridge’ in Hungarian.”
“Built in 1849,” Will said. “It became a symbol for commerce, industrialism, and the future.”
“It’s an old future, yes?” Agnes said.
“Old future? Love that,” Bernardo said. “Fuckin’ love that.”
“Watch your language,” Eileen said.
The car turned and Agnes drove a block in from the river.
“Old city of illusions,” Will said.
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?” Bernardo said.
Strangers in Budapest Page 22