Anonymous

by Christine Benedict

  “What?!” Jeff shouted. “Are you fucking kidding me? How could he be in jail? Dad would never kill anyone. What about his alibi? He has an alibi, doesn’t he?”

  “The police aren’t buying it. I guess there’s some sort of evidence.” Julie kept a calm demeanor, her way of saying don’t panic.”

  “No way. There’s no way. Dad wouldn’t kill anybody!” Jeff yelled over the phone.

  “What?” Nate jumped in. “What did you say? Dad killed somebody? I want to talk to Mom!” Nate grabbed the phone from Jeff. “Mom, what are you talking about?”

  “I know it doesn’t make any sense . . . your dad’s been arrested for killing the man we think wrote those letters.

  “He didn’t do it! You’ve got a lawyer, right? You know Dad would never do that. He gets all mad and stuff, but he would never kill anyone.”

  “Listen to me . . . I’m going to see the lawyer who’s taken your dad’s case. I’ll let you know how it goes. But I’m telling you, this is going to be rough. Do you understand?”

  “I understand. Can you come and get me this weekend? I want to see Dad.”

  “I want to see Dad, too.” Jeff yelled over Nate’s voice.

  “No, I can’t come and get you. But I’ll make sure dad calls you two.”

  “That’s total bullshit.” Jeff said, grabbing the phone from Nate. “You wouldn’t let us bring a car here and now you won’t come and get us. We have a right to see our dad, and you made it so you’re the only one who can get us there. You made it your job.” Jeff said in stern determination. It wasn’t like Jeff to cuss, not like most boys, Jeff always presented a good argument instead.

  Thrown by the swearing, Julie chose not to challenge him. Not now. Not under the circumstances. “What’s the best time for him to call you?”

  “Didn’t you hear a single word I said? Are you seriously going to ignore this? I want to come home!”

  “Listen Jeff, I can’t leave. I’m not able to. Believe me, I’d like nothing more.” A long pause on the line, Julie could feel her son’s anger. “It’s okay to be angry. I understand,” she said. “I’m glad you know the difference between a controlled burn and a wildfire. It’s one of the things I most admire about you.”

  Jeff spoke up. “Tell him to call me between seven and seven-thirty at night. I get out of my last class right before seven.”

  “How about Nate?”

  “We’ve got the same schedule.”

  “I’ve got to go. Tell Nate I said goodbye and that I love you both very much.”

  “I love you, too, Mom. I’m sorry I swore,” he said, his voice soft, boyish. “Bye.”

  She hung up the phone, damming the tears that were welling in her eyes.

  Chapter 34

  “Hello?” Julie answered the phone, still sitting on the bottom stair where she had just hung it up. A tissue in hand she had tried to sound like she hadn’t been crying.

  “Hi, got a minute?” Debra asked from the other end of the phone line.

  “I was just getting ready to leave. What’s up?”

  “I forgot to tell you last night. I have something that belongs to you. Do you have a minute to drop by?”

  “Something of mine?”

  “I was digging a hole at Marie’s yesterday, and I found your pendant.”

  “Why were you digging a hole at Marie’s?”

  “Oh. I shot a raccoon over there, and Marie wanted me to bury it. It just so happened that I picked the spot where you must have buried your necklace.”

  “You shot a raccoon?” Julie wadded up the tissue. “You never cease to ‘amuse’ me. Give me a couple minutes. I’ll be right over.”

  Outside, the morning rain had drizzled into a damp chill where mere breathing fogged the windows inside her car. Julie turned the key and sat breathing warmth into her cupped hands, random thoughts racing to nowhere. ‘Debra killed a raccoon? What the heck?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘The lawyer said eleven fifteen . . . . He has to know that Kyle lied . . . . Another woman? I would have known . . . Kyle has to call the boys . . . . I have to see him . . .’

  Her eyes followed a speck of floating dust. ‘I would have known . . . .’

  How could he?’ She shifted the gear in drive, and eased out of the driveway.

  High heels and stockings, a spritz of Charlie cologne, Julie stood in Debra’s doorway.

  “You look nice,” Debra said, as Julie stepped inside.

  “You like this?” Julie opened her coat and then took it off—a white tailored shirt, a black A-line skirt, and a lavender sweater. “I thought I should look nice when I see the lawyer.” There was plenty of time to see Michael Cane, the lawyer who had taken Kyle’s case. Julie wasn’t very happy that he was charging extra for today because it was Saturday, but he’d left her with no other choice

  “Nice. I have just the thing to set it off.” Debra said, handing the necklace to Julie. “I believe this is yours.”

  In her open palm, the gold necklace and pendant caught the light. A look of awe on her face, Julie stared at it, thinking of her mother now. Those damn tears welled in her eyes again. “I have to stop this,” she said half-smiling, her fingertip stopping a tear. Glaring at the pendant, reddened nose, she wanted so badly to see her mother again, to smell the Ivory soap that scented her skin, to feel her touch, to hear her voice. No one had ever loved her like that, no one ever would. Frozen in grief, she looked up at Debra. A tear dropped off her chin.

  Debra hugged her, right then, and there. “I’m so sorry . . . .”

  Suspended in time, Debra’s silk-like hair against her cheek, Julie mourned the dead. She mourned what could have been, what should have been. Then she finally pulled away. “I’m okay. I’m okay now.”

  “Do you have time for some coffee? I’ve got muffins. I know you like lemon poppy seed,” Debra said, warming one in the microwave.

  Julie half-nodded, studying the pendant in her hand, wiping her eyes again.

  “Have a seat,” Debra said.

  Julie sat down without saying a word. Her gaze caught the stream of coffee as it filled her cup. “You know, I didn’t forget about this. I always meant to dig it up and wear it again.”

  “Why did you bury it?”

  “I lost it once when the chain broke, and when I found it again I buried it for safe keeping. I was nine at the time. The way I felt when I lost it was worse than not wearing it at all.” Julie repeated what Marie had told Debra, about someday matching her half of the pendant with her brother’s half. “I’d really like to find my brother.” Julie tried to clasp the necklace, but her hands were shaking badly. “I’d forgotten that Marie replaced the chain. Can you help me?” Julie asked, brushing her hair to one side.

  Debra clasped the two ends together. As the necklace took its natural place, the lights flickered. The overhead light bulbs glowed brighter and brighter, and finally the fragile beakers exploded. Fine shards of glass fell like confetti, all over the counters, the floor, the curtains, all over Julie and Debra. At the same time, the radio in the living room came on all by itself, changing stations—static and blurbs, static and bit-piece songs, tuning nothing, tuning everything in one quick search. The radio played the song, Eyes Without a Face.

  Both Julie and Debra stood straight up. Billy Idol’s song drew them into the living room where the light bulbs had exploded, too. Debra turned the radio off.

  “The ghost is awake,” Debra said, her grin unique. The two of them flicked glass out of their hair.

  “You crack me up. What a power surge. I’ve never seen anything like it. Too many appliances must have kicked on at the same time.”

  “A power surge would have thrown the breaker switch, which would have killed the radio.”

  “This house is so old. I think you need an electrician to take care of that.” Julie checked her watch. “I have to leave pretty soon.”

  “Oh. Come and see before you leave. I found a new batch of kittens under the porch. Do you want to see them? The
mother is wild, but I’ve been taming her kittens so I can give them away.”

  “Let me see.”

  They grabbed their coats and Debra led her outside. Under the front steps, Julie picked up a gray kitten. “You are so cute.”

  “I spayed and neutered the cats I could catch.”

  “How many was that?”

  “Just two. There’re so many wild cats here. I don’t know where they all came from.

  If I could get away with it, I’d pass these kittens out to strangers on the street.”

  “You are so sweet,” Julie cooed—the kitten purring in her hands. “You want to come home with me?”

  “Maybe you’d like two of them, so the first one doesn’t get lonely.”

  “Oh, that would be lovely; two cats marking their territory. No thanks,” Julie said. “But I’ll take this little guy.” She held him up to her face. “He likes me,” she whispered in the kitten’s ear. “What’s this little bald spot, Deb?”

  “I don’t know. They must have been playing too rough; they all seem to have one or two.”

  Julie agreed to take him later, on her way home. She would stop at the pet store first in preparation for the new tenant.

  “What are you doing Friday night? Maybe you can come over and watch a movie with me while Greg’s gone? I’ll make chocolate cake.”

  “That’s almost a week away; I’ll see.” She scratched the kitten’s ear and put him back with his brothers, thinking about the lawyer now, nerves hitting her stomach.

  Chapter 35

  Debra had gone in the basement to offer the electrician something to drink. He was encased in a jungle of frayed wires, holding one to his eye, the other eye closed, cussing under his breath. He wanted coffee, thank you and go away. He was a piano tuner, this retired electrician who had bartered with Greg. There was talk of paying him cash. There was talk of Greg building him a pole barn. He would decide on just how much after he had taken a gander at their electrical box. This seventy-nine-year-old man with the thick eyeglasses and hair growing out of his ears was in the basement for most of the morning, talking to himself. She could hear him from upstairs, his baritone old man voice. She couldn’t make out all of the words. But he seemed to favor the expressions, ‘aw horseshit’ and ‘aw hell’.

  There was a lull coming from the basement now “I’m going outside for a while. Do you need anything?” Debra yelled down the stairs, buttoning her coat. The old man didn’t answer. She walked halfway down the basement stairs. She could hear him now, his back turned to her.

  “Well I’ll be a son of a . . . son of a bitch! Aw horseshit!”

  “I hope you’re not charging by the cussword,” Debra said, adding her signature smile.

  That seemed to make him laugh.

  “I just wanted you to know that I’m going outside for a little while. Do you need anything?”

  “You’re going outside? It’s cold out there,” he said, whittling the rubber off an end wire.

  “I’ve been wanting to cut down some wild grape vines behind the field. This might be my only chance. It’s supposed to get colder later on.”

  “Wild grape vines, huh.” He stuck the end wire in his mouth, gnawed a bit and spit out a piece of rubber. “What on earth do you want with those?”

  “I’ve seen these grapevine wreaths in specialty stores. They’re nice, but expensive. They don’t look that hard to make. I shouldn’t be long.”

  “Take your time. I’m leaving, too. It’s almost lunchtime.” He closed his pocketknife, and pulled a white rumpled handkerchief out of his pants pocket and blew his nose. “I’ll be back after my nap.” His old man nose seemed double-jointed. Every hanky swipe seemed to displace it.

  Debra searched for just the right words. What did he mean, ‘after his nap’? She didn’t have any electricity. How long was he planning to take? “Oh . . . when will you be back?”

  “Don’t worry. Your furnace is on. I should have your kitchen on by tonight.”

  It was just after six o’clock. Gus had come and gone for the day. The only working outlet was in the kitchen where Debra had plugged in the microwave. She scratched feverishly at her wrist and up her arm. The dinner table was set. Candlelight showcased a tuna casserole that she’d made in the microwave, and individual servings of sliced cucumbers in apple cider vinegar.

  Sitting at the kitchen table Greg eyed the crumbled potato chips on top of the casserole, and scooped a spoonful, looking a little wary.

  Debra had tried to stop scratching but now she was rubbing her wrist hard against the edge of the table, “I think something bit me.” She edged up her sleeve. “Are these spider bites? Or ant bites? Nothing works, not calamine, not even antibiotic cream. It’s just getting worse.”

  Greg guided her arm to the candlelight. The welts were perfectly round, raised on the outer edge. “How long have you had these?”

  “Maybe a week. Do you think they’re infected?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got one, too, on my stomach. I don’t think these are spider or ant bites either. You’re going to have to see a doctor for the both of us. Tell him I’ve got it, too.” He tasted a fork full of tuna, noodles, and potato chips. “How’s Gus doing? Can we watch TV tonight?”

  “Sure, as long as it’s not more than a hundred feet away from that outlet. He left us an extension cord. That’s the only outlet that works. Are you sure he knows what he’s doing?”

  “Give him some time. He used to be an electrician for the Allison Tank Plant. He knows what he’s doing.”

  The doctor’s assistant guided Debra to an examination room, and handed her a paper gown. “Take everything off from the waist up. Put this on, opening in the front. The doctor will see you soon,” she said as she left the room. Debra had called for an appointment on Monday, four days ago, now she had two more welts on her hands, and splotches of blistery rash on her upper chest and neck.

  She scratched her neck through her paper gown, trying not to break open the blisters. Dangling her feet, sitting on an examination table, she heard the door shut in the next room, hoping that she was next. Muffled voices came from the hallway. Then the door opened.

  “Hello. How are you today?” Dr. Banion entered the room. Smelling of cigarettes, his hair pure white, he shook her hand.

  “Good. Except for this rash.”

  “Lay back. Please.”

  Debra complied, wondering why she had to lay back.

  “When was the last time you had a breast exam?” He opened her paper gown and proceeded to manhandle her breast.

  Her face fevered, itching more than anyone could ever itch, she complied. That’s what you do in a doctor’s office. You comply. Doctor’s always know what they’re doing. Don’t they? There had to be a reason for this.

  “Everything looks fine. You can sit up now,” the doctor said, “What’s this on your neck?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”

  He opened her chart, sat down, and crossed his legs, reading.

  Debra sat quietly, holding her gown close. It was cold in here. She wanted to put her clothes on.

  “It says here that you came in because of ‘lumps on your breast’.” He looked up at her.

  “I came in because of ‘bumps on my chest.’ Right here, now it’s mostly my neck. And here.” she showed him her arms. “This looks different.”

  “Well.” The doctor studied her arms through a magnifying lens in a bright light, turning them over and back again before completing his sentence. “This over here and here is ringworm.” He turned the light on her neck. And this is poison ivy.”

  “What? Are you sure they’re not spider bites. My husband has them, too. And I haven’t been near poison ivy.” She paused in thought. “Can you get poison ivy after the leaves are gone? I cut down some grapevines last week. Poison ivy doesn’t climb trees, does it?”

  “Of course it does. Even after the leaves are gone, you can get poison ivy just by touching the stem or the vine. I had
a guy who tried to burn it and got poison ivy just from the smoke.” The doctor scribbled something down. “Have you been in contact with any stray dogs, cats?”

  “You wouldn’t believe how many cats there are in that old barn behind my house. They’re even under my steps. I don’t know where they all came from. I don’t let them in the house.”

  “Do they have any bare patches where there’s no fur? Perfectly round spots?”

  “Yes,” Debra said softly. The word ‘ringworm’ sounded so unclean, like she lived in filth or something. “Did I get this from them?”

  “It’s highly contagious.” He washed his hands in the room’s tiny sink. “You have to spray them with an over the counter fungicide twice a day for two weeks, every last cat, or they’ll keep passing it to each other and probably the rest of the neighborhood, if they haven’t done that all ready. Then you have to scrub down their bedding and treat it with fungicide, or just throw it out.” The doctor took out his prescription pad and scrawled something down. “Here’s a prescription for you. Clean your ringworm real good with Betadine soap twice a day and apply this . . .” he wrote another prescription, “this is for cortisone.” The doctor stood up and walked to the door. “Take two at bedtime. You can put calamine lotion on the poison ivy to help with the itching.” His hand was on the doorknob.

  “My husband has it, too. And I know this sounds strange, but those cats were there before we were. They’re not used to people. Out of seventeen cats, I can only catch two. The rest are wild.”

  “You have to call the game warden. If they are truly wild, and they can’t find homes for them, they have to be euthanized. Do you have any more questions?” He opened the door.

  She’d been in that waiting room for an hour and a half. And he had been there all of six minutes. Her face, still feverish—her neck still itching—she froze, staring blankly. There were questions. There had to be questions. Why couldn’t she think of any?

  He left the room.

  Debra felt sick, and boy did she itch. She drove straight to the pharmacy, trying to think of everyone who had touched the cats. Greg had ringworm and Julie would get it next. Then there was Sam and Marie. She’d given them a kitten. Gus had held a kitten, too, but couldn’t take one home.