Read Online Friday Edition, The by Betta Ferrendelli - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Betta Ferrendelli
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be too angry with me for having done this, for I feel this is as far in life as I have the strength to go. I so wish I could explain to you what it is I've been going through, but I can't seem to find the words to put on paper. I am no longer thinking clearly enough to explain how I feel.
You're a writer and I know you probably can't understand what that means, but what was it Thoreau said?
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."
What else do I know but that I am there among them. It is all I know. Forgive me for leaving you in such a cruel, selfish way. It is so heartless for someone who has always, always been there for me.
That was it.
There was no signature—none of the usual and familiar ‘Ciao, Sis’ that the sisters always put at the bottom of their letters and cards to each other. Sam read the note several times before Jonathan spoke. “You heard about the autopsy?”
“From Judie. Last night,” Sam said, not bothering to keep the irritation from her voice. “She’s on vacation, but she made a point to call me.”
Jonathan knew the source of her anger. “Sorry, Sam, I should’ve called. Robin died because of the fall,” he said slowly. “But it was inconclusive if she had jumped or was pushed.”
Sam nodded mutely.
“Now maybe you’ll believe me and stop your foolish thinking that someone killed her,” he said.
“That’s bullshit. This note is, too,” Sam said and before she could stop herself, she wadded the piece of paper into a tiny ball and threw it at Jonathan. The paper sailed easily over his shoulder, hit the blinds and fell to the floor. “How do you know she wrote it?” Sam asked.
He tried to stifle a small sigh. “Sam, you sound so foolish. It’s her handwriting for God’s sake!”
She ignored him. “You didn’t say how you found the note.”
“I didn’t find it,” he returned. “The detectives who searched her place found it. It was right there on the kitchen table, plain as day.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She looked vaguely from the letter to him. Suddenly she felt as weary as if her head weighed a thousand pounds. Her vision seemed cloudy and it was hard to focus. She rested her forehead in her palms.
“Will you accept it now? Please,” Jonathan said and his voice had yielded to a lower, softer pitch. “Robin killed herself. For whatever reason, she decided she couldn’t go on. She was tired of life. There wasn’t anyone else in her place when she went out on the balcony, Sam. And there wasn’t anyone else there when she wrote the note. She was alone when she died.”
Sam didn’t move, she didn’t respond.
“Sam?”
“Yeah,” she said and looked up quickly.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You’re right,” Sam said as she got up to leave. “I wanted to believe Robin had been murdered. But I was wrong. Maybe she was as fed up with life as I am.” She walked to the door.
“Sam, wait.”
She turned to look at him. He was looking at her. Robin’s suicide note still lay crumpled on the floor beside him. She was sorry she had thrown it away and hadn’t thought to keep it.
“You said Robin would never take her life on Christmas and that you both made a promise to each other. Why haven’t you ever told me that?”
She quietly weighed his question. “The bathroom door was unlocked when I tried the handle,” Sam started by saying.
“The bathroom door?” Jonathan asked, confused. It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. Then his face went smooth in recognition.
“Robin had been waiting outside the bathroom door because mom was taking a bath. I walked by several times before I finally asked Robin what she was doing just standing there. She said she was waiting to open Christmas presents.”
Sam felt her emotions from that fateful day shift into neutral.
“I called to mother twice outside the bathroom door,” Sam went on. “But she didn’t answer. I knew Robin had been
You're a writer and I know you probably can't understand what that means, but what was it Thoreau said?
"The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."
What else do I know but that I am there among them. It is all I know. Forgive me for leaving you in such a cruel, selfish way. It is so heartless for someone who has always, always been there for me.
That was it.
There was no signature—none of the usual and familiar ‘Ciao, Sis’ that the sisters always put at the bottom of their letters and cards to each other. Sam read the note several times before Jonathan spoke. “You heard about the autopsy?”
“From Judie. Last night,” Sam said, not bothering to keep the irritation from her voice. “She’s on vacation, but she made a point to call me.”
Jonathan knew the source of her anger. “Sorry, Sam, I should’ve called. Robin died because of the fall,” he said slowly. “But it was inconclusive if she had jumped or was pushed.”
Sam nodded mutely.
“Now maybe you’ll believe me and stop your foolish thinking that someone killed her,” he said.
“That’s bullshit. This note is, too,” Sam said and before she could stop herself, she wadded the piece of paper into a tiny ball and threw it at Jonathan. The paper sailed easily over his shoulder, hit the blinds and fell to the floor. “How do you know she wrote it?” Sam asked.
He tried to stifle a small sigh. “Sam, you sound so foolish. It’s her handwriting for God’s sake!”
She ignored him. “You didn’t say how you found the note.”
“I didn’t find it,” he returned. “The detectives who searched her place found it. It was right there on the kitchen table, plain as day.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came. She looked vaguely from the letter to him. Suddenly she felt as weary as if her head weighed a thousand pounds. Her vision seemed cloudy and it was hard to focus. She rested her forehead in her palms.
“Will you accept it now? Please,” Jonathan said and his voice had yielded to a lower, softer pitch. “Robin killed herself. For whatever reason, she decided she couldn’t go on. She was tired of life. There wasn’t anyone else in her place when she went out on the balcony, Sam. And there wasn’t anyone else there when she wrote the note. She was alone when she died.”
Sam didn’t move, she didn’t respond.
“Sam?”
“Yeah,” she said and looked up quickly.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. You’re right,” Sam said as she got up to leave. “I wanted to believe Robin had been murdered. But I was wrong. Maybe she was as fed up with life as I am.” She walked to the door.
“Sam, wait.”
She turned to look at him. He was looking at her. Robin’s suicide note still lay crumpled on the floor beside him. She was sorry she had thrown it away and hadn’t thought to keep it.
“You said Robin would never take her life on Christmas and that you both made a promise to each other. Why haven’t you ever told me that?”
She quietly weighed his question. “The bathroom door was unlocked when I tried the handle,” Sam started by saying.
“The bathroom door?” Jonathan asked, confused. It took him a moment to realize what she was saying. Then his face went smooth in recognition.
“Robin had been waiting outside the bathroom door because mom was taking a bath. I walked by several times before I finally asked Robin what she was doing just standing there. She said she was waiting to open Christmas presents.”
Sam felt her emotions from that fateful day shift into neutral.
“I called to mother twice outside the bathroom door,” Sam went on. “But she didn’t answer. I knew Robin had been
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