Entangled (31 page)

She broke down crying again, sobs racking her
body, but this time as her arms came around me and we wept together
on the floor, I knew her tears no longer stemmed from anger. She
wept for my lost innocence, for her inability to change the past,
and for the man who failed to keep me safe. Suddenly a picture in
high resolution flashed on in my brain. My father made a promise he
was unable to keep; and being a man of his word, perhaps that’s
what killed him. His brother Jack being what he was, lived another
twenty years. As Billy Joel wrote in his hit song,
“only the
good die young.”

~~~

CHAPTER NINETEEN

M
other took a
pocketful of tissues and left for a walk. She said she needed to be
alone for a while to talk with God, something she’d done since Adam
and I were kids. Whenever she was upset she would get God on the
line and have it out with him, ask the unanswerable questions of
the man upstairs
and hopefully come to terms with the past
and the present, in her heart if not in her head. What she thought
she knew, had always known, was not the reality she faced. I knew
what she was dealing with, from a different perspective. The cost
of discovering the truth was becoming more than I wanted to pay. If
I’d heeded Dr Berger’s warning and let things unfold slowly, things
might be different today, but what about tomorrow? Wouldn’t
tomorrow come eventually, bringing to light the same dark moments
of time, exposing the same evil residing in the heart of a man?

I felt responsible for the other girls in the
Polaroids, to seek out their identities and set things right. Of
the five, only one name was familiar. SARAH. I was almost certain I
knew the girl. I’d never met her, played with her, or seen her
picture before, but the fact that Charlie Simpson had a daughter
named Sarah and she committed suicide as a teen, made me confident
she was one and the same.

I dialed Handel’s office number and waited as
his secretary connected me. A soothing sonata played softly in the
background as I sat on hold. I stared at the cracked tiles beneath
my feet, and wondered how something so broken could ever be
repaired.

“Handel Parker.” Handel’s businesslike voice
startled me for a second and I lost my nerve. “Hello?” he said.

“It’s me.” I hesitated. Was I doing the right
thing, getting Handel involved? Would he help me or would Sarah’s
inclusion in the list of victims be too much for him to deal with?
“I need to talk to you. Are you available this afternoon? I could
come there.”

He was quiet a moment. “Does this mean you’re
not mad at me anymore?” he asked.

“I wasn’t mad at you,” I said, a tad too
quickly. He made a sound of disbelief on the other end of the line.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Okay, I was a bit mad, but I’m over it
now. How’s that?”

He laughed. “Very convincing. I’d like to
talk to you too, but I have to be in court in a few minutes. I was
just on my way out. And tonight Margaret planned a family dinner,
so that’s not an option. Is tomorrow afternoon too late?”

Disappointment vied with relief at the
reprieve. Waiting one more day couldn’t hurt. These girls had
waited over twenty years to see justice. “No, tomorrow would be
fine. Actually, Mother is going out with your friend Antonio
tomorrow evening. Would you like to come over for dinner? We could
talk then.”

“Are you okay with that?” he asked.

“What - my mother going out with a younger
man? Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been informed that lots of people in
California do it.”

He laughed again. “Is that right? I’m glad
you’re so accepting of the situation,” he said, the irony in his
voice coming through loud and clear.

I pushed my hair back with one hand and
turned to look out the window over the sink. “I didn’t say I was
accepting. But she is over twenty-one and there’s nothing I can do
about it.”

“You’re starting to freak me out. For a
second there I thought I was talking to your mother.”

“Hey! I don’t know if I want you to come for
dinner now,” I said, turning and leaning against the counter.

“Sorry. I’ve got to go Billie, but I promise
to call Antonio and warn him to keep his hands to himself, or
else.” His voice was teasing but I suspected he would do just
that.

“Good luck in court.”

“Babe, what I do is not luck. It’s all
skill.”

I set down the phone, a smile still playing
over my lips. The man was incorrigible and I was definitely
conflicted, one minute pushing him away and the next wishing he’d
move faster.

*****

“I don’t think I should go out tonight,”
Mother said for the second time Friday morning. She’d moved about
the house since dawn, straightening, dusting, and making herself a
nuisance.

Lowering the newspaper to the table, I
watched as she polished the stovetop and wiped the counters down —
again. “Would you quit obsessing over cleaning and sit down? You’re
making me crazy,” I said.

Mother turned around, rag in hand and waved
it at me. “Things don’t get done if I sit down. In fact, instead of
going out tonight, I should clean all the windows. They have a film
of dust on them after the way the wind picked up yesterday.”

I expelled a frustrated breath. “Mother, you
are not the maid. If the windows need to be done, I’ll do them when
I get around to it, or hire them done. Please sit down and have a
cup of coffee with me. I need to be at the office soon,” I said,
looking down at my watch.

She glanced around the spotless kitchen as
though searching for something else to polish, then reluctantly
turned and rinsed the rag out in the sink. I stood up and poured a
fresh cup of coffee for both of us, setting them at the table.

Mother sat down and I studied her across from
me. “What’s going on? You were all excited about dating the young
stud and now you’re trying to back out.”

She cradled her cup with both hands, staring
into the hot liquid, avoiding my eyes. “I just have more important
things to do, that’s all,” she said, lifting the cup to her
lips.

I frowned. “You do not. The house is perfect,
cleaner than it’s probably ever been. You’ve been shut up here for
days. You said yourself, you needed some fun. Well, this is your
big chance before you return to Minneapolis.”

That got her attention. She set her cup down,
slopping coffee onto the saucer. “What are you saying? That you
want me to leave?” She leaned forward, her gaze intent on my
face.

With just a look she could make me feel
guilty for a month. I shook my head. “I didn’t say that. But in
Minneapolis you have a life, friends, things you love to do. You’re
just passing time here, waiting to see if I’ll fall apart and then
you can pick me up. But guess what? I’m not planning a breakdown
anytime soon.”

Mother pursed her lips in the look she gave
when I wasn’t cooperating with her agenda and then appeared to
deflate, sat back in her chair, and released a sigh. “Perhaps
you’re not the one ready to break down,” she said.

That got my attention. I leaned forward with
my arms on the table. “I know you’re dealing with a lot right now.
But you’re strong. Stronger than I’ll ever be. And you know what
they say about those things that don’t kill you…”

“Makes you stronger?” She shook her head.
“Don’t believe it. I thought when I broke-up with Jack and
miscarried the baby, if I just got through that, I’d be strong
enough for anything. Guess what? I’m not.” Her voice shook and she
cleared her throat and looked away. “I let you down because I’m a
terrible judge of character. The two men I trusted with your life
both wore masks of deceit.”

“Mother, don’t say that. Dad loved us. I’ve
been blaming him for screw-ups in my life for years now. Hiding
from the past took its toll on him as well. He lived with guilt and
regret while we lived in ignorance. I think the last weeks of his
life he was struggling with his conscience. His heart couldn’t take
anymore and it gave out. I assumed he didn’t care about me because
of the way he acted those last weeks, but now I look back and
believe he cared too much. Too much to show. So he hid behind
indifference.”

She sniffed and wiped at the corners of her
eyes with a napkin. “But what about Jack? I thought I was in love
with him once. And although it didn’t work out, I still believed he
was a good man. How could I have been so wrong?” Her words were
wracked with pain, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know. But you have to quit blaming
yourself.” My voice hardened with determination. “I blame the
perverted man who molested six children. No one else. Not you, not
Daddy, and not me. It’s time to set the record straight.”

“What are you going to do?” Mother asked,
worry filling her eyes. She lifted her cup with a shaky hand.

“I want to find the other girls. See if they
need anything.” I spread my hands. “I don’t know, but I have to do
something. When I look at those photos, I just want to cry. I know
they’re adults now but maybe they need a friend, someone who
understands.”

Mother got up and carried her cup to the sink
and poured the coffee down the drain. With her back to me she
spoke. “You have a soft heart, Billie. Thank God you still have a
soft heart.”

I went and put my arms around her. “Handel’s
coming over tonight to talk. And you’re going on your date. And I
don’t want to hear anymore arguments about it.”

My mother laughed and turned to kiss my
forehead. “You sound so much like me, it’s scary.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s the second comment
I’ve heard like that. Maybe it is time for you to go home.”

*****

“Billie!” Sally’s surprised greeting made me
smile. “How are you?” she asked from behind her desk. She let her
hands slide off the computer keyboard and drop into her lap.

“I’m just fine, thanks. Mother said you
called yesterday to see if I was well. That was very thoughtful of
you,” I said, setting my hip on the edge of her desk and crossing
my arms. “Did I miss anything important?”

She shook her head, her gaze openly curious.
“I guess not. Did you really sleep the whole time?” she asked.

“Yes, I did. And I feel great.” I stood up
and started backing away, hoping to get my office picked up before
anyone else saw it. “No messages for me?”

“I left them on your…desk,” she said, her
face flushing pink to clash with her hair.

I grinned. “Then I ought to be able to find
them. I don’t believe I left anything else on my desk,” I said,
then turned and hurried down the hall.

I usually left the door open when I went home
for the night, so that the cleaning crew could vacuum and dust, but
someone had pulled it closed and posted a stick-it note at eye
level that read, Do not disturb. I silently thanked God for Sally
and turned the knob.

The room was just as I’d left it, the floor
strewn with papers and odds and ends from my desktop. Uncle Jack’s
painting lay smashed and torn in a crumpled heap where I’d kicked
it against the far wall. I stepped into the room and quickly closed
the door.

Three pink slips greeted me from the corner
of my desk as I pushed my chair in place and sat down. I picked
them up and glanced over them, then let them drop to the floor with
the rest of my things. I drew a deep breath and slowly released it,
gathering my courage for the day.

Ten minutes later a soft tap at the door
interrupted me as I tried to stuff the broken pieces of the frame
into my garbage can. “Yes?”

Charlie opened the door but hung back as
though unsure of his invitation. He pulled off his hat and
scratched his scalp. “Mornin’, Ms. Fredrickson. Good to see you
back.”

“Thank you, Charlie. Is there something I can
help you with?” I asked, as he hesitated.

He shrugged and replaced his cap. “Actually,
I was wondering if there was something I could help you with.”

“What do you mean?” I straightened and
crossed my arms.

“Well, I’ve been sensing that you’re not very
happy working here. And although we’ll all sure miss you if you go
back to your law business, I just wanted to encourage you to follow
your heart. You’re a lawyer. I can tell you were a good one too.
You’ve got that bulldog mentality. I don’t believe it’s right for
someone else to plan your life for you just by leaving a will.”

His grudge against Jack was obvious but what
about the rest? “Why do you think I’m not happy here, Charlie?”

He inclined his head toward the painting,
half in and half out of the can, answering my question with one of
his own. “You want me to get rid of that for you?”

I smiled. He was a man of few words and he’d
used them up. “That would be nice. I’d prefer never to see it
again.”

Charlie advanced into the room and lifted the
full can as well as the remaining pieces of the portrait. “I’ll
take care of it.”

I was a little surprised he didn’t ask why
I’d destroyed it but perhaps he didn’t care. “Charlie?”

He stopped and turned, his pale eyes narrowed
with interest.

“Why do you blame Jack for the loss of both
your daughters? If you don’t mind my asking.” I leaned against the
front of my desk and held his gaze.

He licked his lips and set the can down,
straightened up and ran a hand thoughtfully over his clean-shaven
chin. “Most folks don’t remember my daughter Sarah. She drowned
when she was seventeen.” He didn’t mention suicide and I wondered
if the omission was deliberate or subconscious, his mind unwilling
to wrap around such a horrible truth. “She started having
nightmares when she was ten. Told my wife a man in a black mask
hurt her. We were never sure if it were true or her imagination. In
the light of day, she always denied it. But she became withdrawn
and moody, not like the girl she was before.”