“Enough. Enough!” The words were like ripped canvas between his clenched teeth. They were both on the floor, Maggie propped up, her back to the wall, Al on his knees straddling her thighs, his arms around her, pinning her own to her side. He pressed his forehead to the wall above her and said it again. “Enough!”
Everything stilled in the aftermath of their collision, and he took some steadying breaths, preparing for a volley of words, or a fist, or whatever else she might throw at him. It took him a moment more to realize she wasn’t moving, limp in his arms. Sitting back on his heels, he grasped her shoulders with both hands and held her at arm’s length.
Her eyes were open and she was looking right at him, but her head lolled a little to one side. In slow motion, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Stay home,” she murmured.
Al cursed loudly, something he rarely did even quietly, and let go of her, pushing himself up. “Why are you doing this to me?” He raged. “I have done everything I know to do to make you happy, Maggie. What more do you want from me?”
She slid down the wall to lie on her side, but her eyes stayed trained on his face. He knew this trick; how many times had she fallen off her chair at the table before? “Get up, Maggie. I’m not playing your stupid games anymore.” He just wanted to go to work, to get away from her and her toxicity.
She didn’t move, except for a slow blink; it took her a long time to open her eyes again. “Stop it, Maggie.” He said it less vehemently. “Get up now, come on.”
“Stay.” It was barely more than a mumble, and the word trailed off as her eyes drifted shut.
“Maggie?” He was suddenly terribly afraid. He dropped to one knee beside her and put a hand to her cheek. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter. “Maggie. Open your eyes!” He could hear the panic in his voice, his insides churned and clenched in fear. “Maggie!”
He scrambled up and across the hall to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth for her face. He just made it to the toilet before he threw up what little there was in his stomach, his body heaving up his insides in a delayed reaction to all that had just happened. As soon as he was able to stand, he splashed water on his face and quickly rinsed his mouth, grabbing a washcloth out of the cupboard under the sink, almost all simultaneously.
When he ducked back out into the hall, Maggie was sitting again, clutching her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. She was moaning softly.
Al hurried to her side and held out the wet cloth where she could see it. “Here. Let me wash your face. This will help you feel better.” His hands were shaking as he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her hand away from her face. Maggie lifted her head and looked up at him.
“Thank you, Al. I’m sorry. I must have fainted.” They were the same words she’d used repeatedly during her week of fainting spells. Like flipping a switch, his fear turned to anger again.
“Not a problem,” he snapped. He stood up and adjusted the waist of his jeans, tucking the tails of his shirt in a little more snugly. “I have to go to work, Maggie.”
At first, she didn’t say anything, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, she sighed, and replied, “I know. Just go, Al. I’ll be fine.”
It took him so by surprise that he faltered, hesitated. “Do you want me to help you get up?” He reached out a hand to her.
“No, no. You go to work. I don’t want you to be late because of me.” She smiled sweetly up at him. Was this another trick? Did she have another weapon hidden away somewhere?
“Maybe you should go lie down for a bit, Maggie.” He didn’t feel right about leaving her slumped on the floor in the hallway.
“Stop worrying about me, Al. I’m fine. I’m just going to sit here for a few more minutes. I’m fine; really, I am.”
At a loss, his fatigue not helping him think straight, he turned and headed through the kitchen, scooping up the knife she’d wielded en route. On impulse, instead of putting it away, he spread a kitchen towel on the counter, and emptied all the sharp knives from the drawer into it. Wrapping the towel around them, he shoved the bundle under his arm and headed for the front door.
“Bye, Al. Have a good day.” Maggie’s voice drifted from the hallway, soft, but steady. Al opened the door, and all but ran from the apartment.
By noon, he knew he had to take his lunch hour to go check on her. He felt like the worst kind of man leaving her on the floor like that, especially after he was the one that put her there. He could easily have disarmed her without throwing her against the wall, but something had snapped in him when he saw her coming at him with that knife, and it had taken everything in him to reel it back in. His reaction scared him now, far more than anything Maggie had done.
Donning his jacket, he clocked out for lunch, and hurried out into the crisp December air. Christmas in Southern California rarely delivered anything worse than chilly temperatures, a few rain showers, and maybe a brisk winter wind on sunny days that dried the skin and chapped the lips. Today was one of those days, and his face burned from both the wind, and from his shame.
Ten minutes later, he was pulling into his parking spot at the apartment, his anxiety almost consuming him. He barely had the emergency brake on before he was out of the car and dashing to the front door, key at the ready.
He burst inside, immediately aware of the stillness in the air. “Maggie? It’s just me, Al,” he said, as though she might not recognize the voice of her husband of nearly four years. But there was no reply. He hurried to the hallway and stopped dead in his tracks.
They didn’t share a room—they hadn’t since she lost Billy Raven’s baby and moved into the tiny room at the end of the hall. Maggie lay like a ragdoll, crumpled on the floor just outside her door, her legs stretched out behind her like she’d been dragging herself along.
Rushing to her side, he put a hand against her cheek. Her skin was warm. He watched her chest; he could see her taking shallow breaths.
“Maggie,” he murmured around the tears that threatened to choke him. “Maggie, I’m home. I’m here, baby. I’m calling an ambulance.”
She didn’t respond.
“I won’t let them take you away, Maggie.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 4
By the time the ambulance arrived, Al had thought through it all. If he admitted to what he’d done, he’d be sent to prison, and rightfully so. He knew he deserved it, and had circumstances been different, he would have come clean on the spot.
But he also realized that without family, and him in jail, Maggie would become a ward of the state. She would be a number in the system, and all those things she’d feared might well come true. She’d be institutionalized for certain, most likely kept drugged because of her mental instability, and who knew what else. Al had heard the stories about the nut houses, and if he got locked away, there’d be no one left to watch out for her.
Al chose the lesser of two evils that day, and lived with the burden of that decision for over a quarter of a century.
Maggie’d suffered a stroke, most likely caused by hitting her head when she fell off the step stool while changing the light bulb in their hallway. It was a fortunate thing that Al had forgotten his lunch and had come home for it, but her prognosis wasn’t good. Al made a promise to himself that he’d see her get the best care until she passed, then he’d turn himself in and tell the authorities the real story.
To everyone’s surprise, Maggie turned out to have a little more living left to do, but she was in no condition to come home. Her world was one of her own making, and like a naughty toddler, couldn’t be left alone or unattended even for a moment. Al found a full-care facility that he’d heard nothing but good about, and signed the paperwork that said he was the sole provider for his wife’s needs, that he would pay the exorbitant costs that came with the facility’s upstanding reputation.
He moved into the trailer park that same year, cutting his own expenses down to almost nothing. And he waited. Even when he met Myra in the trailer two spac
es down, and he felt his heart jolt back to life like he’d been electrocuted, he waited. Just like Maggie was doing when he first set eyes on her, he waited. And waited.
And now, twenty-six years later, her ride had finally come, setting them both free.
“Doc. Got a minute?” He didn’t know who else to turn to, but he knew Doc would be slow to hand out pat answers, and even slower to judge. He was surprised the man had even opened his door; Doc was even more private than Al.
The man nodded and stepped outside onto the landing, pulling his door closed behind him. For as long as the veteran had lived here, as long as they’d known each other, Al had yet to set foot inside Doc’s place. In fact, Al didn’t know if Doc even let Eddie in, although the park manager had every right to do so.
Doc’s place was actually a small loft apartment over an old garage on the property. Even though The Coach House was called a trailer park, five out of the 12 spaces were actually permanent structures: Willow Goodhope’s place, Kathy Kekoa’s, the upstairs and downstairs apartments in the main building, and Doc’s.
“I’ve got some cold ones in the fridge.” Al knew his friend didn’t drink beer, but Doc nodded, and followed him down the stairs. The two men walked along the gravel drive together, their paces unhurried, not saying anything, but Al could tell Doc was gearing up for what he was about to hear. Al didn’t make it a habit of knocking on his neighbor’s door unannounced.
Al slid the glass door closed behind them, leaving the blinds open so he could see the row of mailboxes across from his place. It was almost three o’clock, and Willow Goodhope would be coming around the corner at any minute to check her mail. He could just about set his watch by her. She always made a point to look for him, too, and her smile and wave were the highlights of his afternoon.
Al perched on one of the two swiveling barstools at the counter that divided the sitting room from the kitchen. Doc settled into the sofa, one elbow on the armrest. With his other hand, he stroked his thick gray beard, slowly, contemplatively. He didn’t speak, didn’t push, just waited.
Al was tired of all the waiting. It was time to finish this.
“I killed my wife.”
After all these years of the story playing itself out in slow motion on Al’s life, it sure didn’t take long to spell out the necessary details. Doc didn’t say a word while he spoke, and Al appreciated his silence. No questions, no accusations, not even a raised eyebrow. Doc just listened.
“And now I guess it’s time to come clean the rest of the way.” Al stood up and thought about grabbing one of the beers in the fridge, but for some reason, he didn’t really want one. He rounded the end of the counter and took a glass from the cupboard, filling it with tap water instead.
“That was all a long time ago, Al,” Doc finally said. “But it doesn’t sound to me like you killed her. And even if they found a link between her death and that incident, sounds to me like you were acting in self-defense.”
Al took a long drink, and even at room temperature, the water went down easy. But he shook his head gently at Doc’s words. “I’ve thought about that, believe me. But I just don’t want to be the one to make that call anymore. I’m tired of carrying this around my neck.” Doc’s gaze was trained on the door, however, no longer paying Al any attention.
“You got company,” he said.
Willow Goodhope tapped lightly on the slider. She held up a letter for them to see.
Doc got up to let her in; Al stayed where he was behind the counter, as though the barrier would hide more than just the lower half of his body from her line of sight.
“Hi, guys. Boy, it’s definitely August out there. I think it might hit a thousand degrees today!” All that red hair was pulled back into a braid that hung down her back, but loose curls lay damp against her flushed cheeks, softening the lines of her angular face. “It feels good in here, though. Isn’t air conditioning wonderful?”
Doc grinned at her the way he always did, like he was surprised to be charmed by her. “Ms. Willow Goodhope,” he said by way of greeting. Al swallowed the last sip of water, and almost went for the beer after all.
“How are you, Willow?” He found his voice, and somewhere, a smile for her, but stayed behind the counter.
“I’m fine, Al. Thanks for asking. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but this,” she held up the letter again, “was in my mailbox by mistake, and I thought I’d just hand deliver it instead of sneaking it over into your box. I hear tampering with someone else’s mail is a crime punishable by law.”
So is murder, Al thought, then felt a flush creep up his neck. Doc snorted; he must have been thinking along the same line. Willow crossed to the counter, her eyes darting back and forth between the two men.
“Here you go. It looks like it might be important.”
“Thanks.” Al took the letter that she slid across to him. It was from the cemetery where Maggie’s remains would be cremated. “Yes. It is important.”
Willow turned, then paused, then turned back again, and tipped her head to study Al. “What’s going on, guys? Al, what’s wrong? You can tell me if I’m being nosy and need to mind my own business, but you’ve been acting strangely for the last week or so. Is everything all right?” Her eyes dropped to the letter still on the counter in front of him.
Al opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, just fine, but what came out surprised even him. “You don’t by any chance know of a good, cheap—as in free—lawyer, do you?”
She took a quick step backward and Doc cleared his throat. Al looked over at him, expecting to see the man rolling his eyes, but Doc’s expression was blank.
Willow, on the other hand, had blanched noticeably, even with her already pale skin. In fact, she looked a little sickly as she spoke. “Oh. Well, I…I can do a little research, if you’re serious.”
“Oh, he’s serious all right,” Doc muttered. The room fell quiet. Finally, Willow spoke, her voice sounding shaky.
“What’s happened, Al?” She pointed at the letter now. “Does it have something to do with that?”
After holding tight to his secrets for so many years, it was remarkably easy to release them now. “My wife just died. Last week.” He took a deep breath, but didn’t look at her. He was pretty sure her face would register shock at his admission, and soon horror over what else he was about to say. “Twenty-six years ago, I tried to kill her. She’s been in the hospital since. I never told anyone what part I played in sending her there, because I needed to make sure she’d be taken care of. She had no other family, and if I went to prison, she’d become just another number in the system.” Oh, the relief of coming clean. Why did it have to feel so freeing when, after all was said and done, he’d be back in prison again, this time the brick and mortar kind. He tapped the envelope on the counter. “Now that she’s gone, and all the arrangements made to take care of her body, I can finally turn myself in.”
For a few moments, she didn’t speak, but she didn’t look horrified, either. “Do you mind if I sit? I need to think a minute.” Her words surprised him, but he nodded and waved at the empty end of the couch.
“Please. Would you like a glass of water? A cold beer?”
“Water would be great,” she replied, sinking gingerly down beside Doc. She waited until Al brought her the drink, took a few dainty sips, and sat quietly while he returned to the stool where he’d been sitting earlier. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes large and concerned, but filled with something else, too.
“Can you tell me what happened? I mean, I didn’t even know you had a wife, Al. But I might—there’s someone—maybe I do know someone who can help you.” She took another big sip. “But I need to know a little more, if you don’t mind telling me.”
For the second time in less than an hour, Al unloaded the burden he’d carried around by himself for all these years.
~ ~ ~ ~
Chapter 5
“Listen, Al.” Willow took a deep breath and started over, her voice still tremblin
g a little, but loud enough that he could hear. “Listen. I do know someone who might help you. I say ‘might’ because I know he can, but I don’t know if he will. I—I need to—” Her voice cracked, like her body was resisting the words she was trying to speak.
“It’s okay, Willow. I’ll be okay.” He felt terrible; he could see she was deeply affected by all that she’d heard, but there was more to her emotional reaction than his story, and the last thing he wanted to do was burden someone else with his sordid past.
“No. No, Al. Just wait, okay? Don’t do anything yet.” She seemed to get steadier the longer she spoke, so he didn’t interrupt her. Doc still sat like a rock, listening, watching Willow with guarded eyes. “I’ll make some phone calls, okay? If I can’t reach him today, I’ll try again in the morning. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything.”
“Willow, this is my problem. It’s not something you should feel you need to take on. I don’t want—”
“Al!” Willow held up a hand, cutting him off. “Please. Let me help. It’s the least I can do for everything you, and you, Doc—this whole place—has done for me. I want to help. I may not be able to offer more than information, but let me at least try.” She stood up and carried her empty glass to the sink. “Give me a day or two, okay? Sit tight until then.”
Doc stood, too, and waited until she came back around the end of the counter before he spoke. “Al, listen to the lady. It’s been twenty-six years. What’s a day or two more?”
Then Willow reached out and laid a hand on Al’s shoulder. “May I–would you mind if I prayed for us right now?”
Caught completely by surprise, he stared at her, then turned to catch Doc’s surprised expression, too. But the soldier nodded discreetly, and Al shrugged, not knowing how else to respond.
Elderberry Croft: Volume 3 Page 6