“That’s when he reached above his head to the highest shelf there in the closet and felt for his father’s shotgun,” Aunt Ruth said matter-of-factly. “He knew where it was and could only pray that the bastard had it loaded.”
When he heard his father approach the closet door, Caleb burst through and charged at him with the shotgun. He fired four times, stopping only when he saw Arnell fall to the floor. He dropped the gun and grabbed the matches.
Ruth leaned way in for emphasis. “He got both me and June out of the house into the backseat of the rusted Buick and then lit the fire that destroyed the house—and any evidence of the brutal murders that had occurred there.”
Wayne was speechless, shocked and confused. “He just got behind the wheel and never looked back?” he said, rubbing his sweaty hands on his Lucky Brand jeans. He was trembling.
“Yep. He took us up the road to some relatives, who kept the secret that we were too young to know. Years later, he met your mother in Columbus. He never spoke of it, but it never left him, obviously,” Aunt Ruth said, letting it all sink in. “For the longest time, your Aunt June and I thought that Aunt Mary and Uncle Charlie were our parents.”
“This is all so unbelievable,” Wayne said, struggling to digest the facts. “What is it? A family curse?”
“Worse,” Ruth said, lighting up a Winston. “A curse of the worst kind—it’s in the blood.”
Chapter 56
It was Wednesday, two days before the big signing, and Hannah was finally ready. She had just finished the taping of her last radio show for the week and could now focus on the exciting weekend ahead of her. She had even promised Olivia that she could accompany her to the Big Apple for some fun mother/daughter bonding time on the weekend after her signing meeting. The two would go shopping at Bloomingdale’s and enjoy some unabashed people watching in Times Square. She had booked the flight for both of them. Hannah had figured that missing one day of school would do little harm to her brilliant daughter’s soaring GPA.
Before leaving the studio, Hannah checked her cellphone, which had been turned off during her broadcast. There were a string of text messages from Peter. He had apparently been leaving messages all afternoon. She had presumed that it was regarding the last of the documents he had yet to sign to finalize the divorce. He had been dragging his feet, and it was not good for any of them to prolong the inevitable. This would be a part of her new start, as well moving forward. She would rather, she’d decided, just refer him to her lawyer, Stuart Lanier. It was the final step in the process, and frankly, Hannah was in no frame of mind now to deal with it.
She deleted the backlog of messages, leaving them unanswered. Whatever it was, it could wait until Lanier was back in his office in the morning. She tossed the phone back into her Birkin and headed to the airport to go home.
When she pulled into the driveway sometime after eight o’clock p.m., Adelita burst through the front door with apron flailing, and pounded across the lawn, waving her arms over her head.
“Missus! Oh, Missus! It’s Doctor Murphy— he’s been calling all day to say—” She was out of breath and choking. By the time she reached Hannah, she had to steady herself against the hood of the Mercedes. Adelita was clearly too large a woman to be sprinting across the grass. She was shaken with the levity of her charge, which was to get this message to Mrs. Murphy at all costs, having been rightfully told that it was truly a matter of life and death.
“He say to come to Philadelphia right away! Please—it’s okay. You go . . . I stay with Olivia, no?”
“Philadelphia? Tonight? What on earth . . . ?”
Hannah glanced down at her phone. There were at least fifteen text messages from Peter. One read: HANNAH – ANTHONY IS SUFFERING BADLY. HE’S FAILING FAST. PLEASE, I BEG OF YOU TO COME. I WILL SIGN ALL PAPERS. GOD HELP ME, IT’S HAPPENING. I NEED YOU. I AM AT THE HERITAGE CORNER INN. PLEASE!
Hannah could scarcely believe the timing. How could he ask this of her? Now?
Adelita, who knew better than to pretend that she understood, lowered her eyes. “Jus’ go, Missus. Go! I take care of things, si?”
All Hannah could think about was disappointing Olivia and their planned weekend. Perhaps she could fly her out on Saturday and meet up with her there instead. She would have to see. Either way, she vowed to make it up to her. She had to. And, she had to go.
In less than an hour, Hannah was packed and in an Uber Sedan bound for the airport, and flight two thirty-five to Philadelphia.
Chapter 57
Pittsburgh, PA
Hannah arrived at the hospital in a cab. She came straight from the airport, rolling her travel bag behind her, packed for the entire weekend—just in case. She was juggling a briefcase, a laptop, and the leather and gold chain strap of a Chanel tote bag, which was sliding off her shoulder awkwardly as she moved quickly through the revolving door.
An orderly directed her to the fifth floor. The west wing of the modest city hospital had just been renovated, and the carpet still smelled new. It was a bright floral pattern that seemed ironic in such a place of death and decay. Even the fresh coat of paint could not cover up the obvious. Pain and fear permeated the stale air, replacing the usual hospital smells of antiseptic; the distinctive death-stench floated ever so prominently in the halls, where hope came to die.
This was a place where the dying went for treatment and respite in their final days. Nothing fancy about it. Just one big waiting room with plants, a few pictures of sailboats and sunsets; a place where patients’ loved ones gathered and waited.
The wheels of her suitcase dragged skittishly on the rough surface. She stood in the center of the vast waiting area and scanned the room for Peter. She caught sight of him across a row of connected chairs that clashed badly with the bright colors of the carpeting.
Peter was seated, bent in half over a small satchel he was clutching atop his lap. He felt her presence before he even looked up as she walked toward him. His eyes were red and swollen. “It’s happening,” Peter said. “They’re keeping him comfortable.” He spoke as if he were speaking to a family member of a patient of his.
Hannah nodded. It was best to say nothing, for once.
The ward had twelve rooms and twenty-three beds. All but two rooms were occupied, and Anthony was in room number nine, a corner single adjacent to the staff’s break room. The location had its advantages. Peter was able to raid the refrigerator after the second shift would leave, scoring pocketfuls of plain yogurt and pudding cups. It was the only two things that Anthony could keep down, usually. The ten-by-twelve space was all there was; that and a single window, which had been his world for nearly three time-suspended months.
There, Anthony lay fragile and pale, his bed facing east toward the open widow. An obstructed view of a half-city block across the street from a fast-food drive-through, a bus stop, and a chain-linked play lot were the only images Peter saw during his vigil.
That day, Anthony had been wearing a Miami Heat jersey—the one that Peter had given him after the team cinched the championship for the second time. It was right before he got really sick, even though he had been diagnosed in 2010. He was tall and strong and vibrant then, so filled with life and light. Just a regular guy, Peter would say, laughing with his buddies over a few Heinekens and some brats at Flanagan’s after a game of hoops.
Hannah sat down next to Peter and let him reminisce. She would learn more about the man whom her husband loved. Together, they would sit and wait.
Chapter 58
Anthony Bishop looked like an ad from a dating site touting the perfect match credentials—six foot tall, honey-blond hair, cropped short on the sides and moussed high in the front; thin, handsome features, soulful gray-blue eyes. He was a soft-spoken Aquarius with a casual J. Crew style and a wide friendly smile. He drove a bright yellow Jeep Explorer with ski racks on the hood. He was charismatic, funny, kind, and extremely smart.
Always up for anything, he was a ball-buster sales executive for an outdoor recreational retail chain who put people into gear to climb mountains, drive hidden backroads, and run marathons. Little did he know that at the prime of his youth, he was about to face the challenge of his life. And since Anthony was afraid of dying, it was nothing short of a miracle that he found and fell in love with Peter, enabling him to not have to face the journey alone.
To hear Anthony tell it, Peter was his reluctant prince. He had noticed the handsome doctor who had come into the club a second time where Anthony bartended on weekends to socialize and let off some steam from a full-throttle workweek. But the two didn’t speak to each other at first. Peter was so shy that he later confessed that it took several months before he got the nerve to actually reach out to Anthony with a well-placed note left on his windshield. Within three weeks, they were trading emails and texts that led to a romantic and covert dinner in the city—and ultimately, to the hotel room adjacent and to a full-fledged love affair from that point moving forward.
Anthony shared a two-bedroom brick loft with a middle-aged divorced commodities broker who was a cross-dresser and amateur chef. It made for an interesting alter-lifestyle for Peter, for sure, but Anthony took it all in stride, knowing full well that Peter was married, and to Dr. Hannah Courtland-Murphy no less, which was more than intimidating.
One thing Anthony knew above all else—Peter loved him. Peter would often comment on how much he loved Anthony’s little quirks; the fact that he could sing karaoke, cut hair, and was a Scrabble-Queen—a whiz with the tiles and crossword puzzles. He often bragged about how Anthony had even made the first round of Jeopardy once, back in ’93. Together, they shared similar interests like hiking, biking, and roller-blading. They went clubbing, frequented the theater, and rescued a pair of Rottweilers named Betty and Ford. They loved to watch movies—the older the better, although they were often first in line to grab tickets to the latest sci-fi or summer blockbuster release.
Anthony never let on that he was lost without Peter when duties from home called him back to Ohio and his “first life.” It was the saddest and yet most fulfilled that Anthony had ever felt, even being given only a fraction of Peter’s time and devotion. Still, it did not matter. Anthony busied himself with his work and hobbies, knowing that the stolen weekdays and weekends proffered them were precious and not to be taken for granted. This, they both felt, made their relationship stronger and resilient when the time would come to face the biggest challenges of all.
Anthony’s diagnosis in 2010 came as a shock, to say the least, to him and Peter. With no family support remaining in Anthony’s inner circle due to his being disowned by his devout Protestant parents and relatives for coming out, all he had left was his lover, Peter.
“We’ll get through this,” Peter would assure him, knowing full well that the tests revealed a myriad of fatal complications resulting in him having had the HIV virus for years prior.
By 2010, Anthony was diagnosed with full-blown AIDS, as his immune system had begun to break down and was progressively unable to fend off infections. Complications followed for the next five years, ultimately rendering him weaker and sicker as time progressed. Gone were the days hiking at Blue Marsh Lake, cycling along Kelly Drive Loop taking in the river route and Boat House Row, or tossing around the Frisbee with Betty and Ford at the dog park. These, instead, were replaced with a regimen of antiretroviral drugs that Peter prescribed to help fight the virus in Anthony’s body and an ongoing battery of tests on a monthly and weekly basis to monitor things called CD4 cells, and viral load. Daily concerns with anemia, blood sugar levels, and organ function became the norm. What didn’t manage to weaken Anthony physically, did its work to render him broke with the limitations of health insurance causing him to have to eventually seek treatment through government-based programs.
The past several months had been an unspeakable torment, and Peter hated like hell to leave Anthony’s side for even one minute, let alone to return home to his family and life in Ohio. He had never felt more helpless as a doctor and as a man. If ever there was any doubt of Peter’s truth and sincerity about himself, it was made clear. He loved Anthony with all of his being.
He watched as Hannah slept on two chairs pushed together in an uncomfortable makeshift bed of deceit and lies, and yet—she was there. He didn’t quite know if he revered her or hated her for stealing any precious minutes he might have had with Anthony as a strong, healthy man. Then Peter chastised himself for what he was thinking. He just wanted to go away—as far away as he could, to disappear and be alone. He wanted no responsibility at all. Nothing would matter without his heart. Hannah and the kids deserved more. It would not have been the first time that he had contemplated ending it all. Would that fix anything? Would it repair the lost time, the missing pieces of himself that now seemed lost forever?
He listened to the low monotone hum from the soda machine and counted the minutes as they ticked away.
He was living in a nightmare from which he could not awaken.
Chapter 59
The next morning, a trace of sunlight streamed in through the open window in Anthony’s room, touching his pale cheek, setting his tired eyes alight with a flicker of hope; the same hope that gave him purpose to claim another day, again. Each precious one, with every slipping moment it contained afforded him another chance to see Peter once more . . . a little while longer, at best.
Peter had slept a few restless hours at Anthony’s bedside, while Hannah slept in the waiting area, which was fine with her.
Peter had risen at five thirty to pee and to wash off in the utility sink just before the morning shift arrived on the ward. He journeyed the quiet corridor to the east end vending machine, where a handful of quarters and dimes brewed two cups of weak coffee; one for him and one for Hannah. A custodian with jingling keys got to work with his bucket and his mop, pushing around little puddles of suds on the floor in long, even strokes.
By the time Peter had returned to the room, Anthony was gone.
While Peter was not actually there sitting in the chair as he had done for eight straight weeks, it did not matter. His was the only face that Anthony saw right before he had closed his eyes.
Peter cried hard for several minutes, shaking in Hannah’s arms. He felt strangely foreign to her—not like Peter at all, but like a man who had just had a good part of himself erased. He was a shell.
A container in which her husband once lived, but it was not him anymore. In a way, he had died unto her a long time ago—perhaps she just did not notice as poignantly as that very moment.
“What can I do?” Hannah’s question was sincere.
God help her, she truly wanted to be there for him—in spite of everything. That’s what she did. She helped people. Peter was in crisis, and it would be a long, long while before repair would be possible. There was no hope for their marriage undoubtedly, but there was hope that Peter could somehow rebuild his life again. It was not her place to say how or why. That would have to be up to him.
There was nothing more she could do. Just have him sign the papers she had brought that would give them both the freedom to move on. Hannah owed it to herself, her kids, and the people she helped daily to forge ahead. But for now, she would leave Peter to his own healing.
Hannah went back to her hotel room. The plan was that she would meet up with Peter later that evening for dinner. There, he would sign the papers, and then she would
fly directly to New York first thing in the morning to meet with Global Network for the show signing. She was exhausted, both emotionally and physically, but she needed to remain strong. Soon the page would be turning on her new life.
Chapter 60
Wednesday, August 19th
Eric stared at the fish tank across the room on the bookshelf. An array of shiny, translucent fish swam manically from side to side. The air pump gurgled hypnotically, and the aquarium
glowed, illuminating the walls with a peaceful cast of light. Several large posters and concert paraphernalia loomed in glossy tribute to his favorite band, Code X, on the four walls littered with more photos ripped from a yearbook—and candid stills of a teenage girl smiling from the center of a high school cheerleading squad. Around her face was drawn a heart with permanent marker, and written above, the pronouncement: ERIC & MELISSA FOREVER!
He stared at the ceiling, listening to the droning hum of the fish tank, and laid out his plan carefully. School had only been back in session for two weeks.
Getting into Principal Steller’s e-mail was easy, Coach Rainer’s roster was a cinch, and breaking the code into administration’s database was a walk in the park, as Eric had possessed the key to his father’s confidential file cabinet since he was ten, in which all of the faculty passwords were logged. Being the son of the school district Superintendent had its advantages, but it did not change the fact that Grant Leary, the insolent linebacker whose photo was speared through the eye with a pocketknife on the corkboard hung over his bed, had to die. And if it meant taking out half the school with him, then so be it.
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