else’s demise when she was staring right at her own.
“No sign of him in two whole weeks,” Billy said. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Billy, you don’t have to—” But before I could regret my strident tone as it sought to tamp down his pessimism, an investigator picked something up from behind the opposite side of the car and came around to us. He was holding a paper bag.
“Go ahead,” Jones told him.
He stood in front of me and opened the bag. I looked in and saw a brown leather shoe. Part of the sole had come unglued and flapped down.
I recognized it immediately. “Oh God,” I muttered, hoping no one had heard me, because if no one heard me, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Maybe I would blink my eyes and the wet shoe dangling from the man’s hand would not be Mac’s.
A hush fell, a stillness. It was as if I had screamed: My husband is dead . As if I had just realized something everyone already knew.
“Where was it?” I asked.
“Wedged under the driver’s seat,” Jones said.
I felt dizzy and suddenly knew I was going to faint. Billy pivoted to get both his arms around me in time to catch me. I was aware of his size and strength as he took all my weight at once, preventing me from crashing to the ground. I was not a small woman but he was able to lever me gently down and maneuver me so that the next thing I knew, I was lying with my legs outstretched in the grass and my head in Sergeant Jones’s lap. Her dry, thin hand stroked my forehead, and in my delirium I thought, actually believed, that it was death touching me. My mind wove between a dream state, in which I saw Mac waving good-bye at the end of our block, blowing a kiss, wearing the brown shoes, and reality, in which I felt the physical presences of Jones and Billy and saw the car on the sloping asphalt drive.
Mac’s shoe.
Wouldn’t have been in the car.
If Mac hadn’t been in the car, too.
When it drove into the Sound.
Sally Owen fed me some sweet tea and a brownie on her shady veranda. And then Billy loaded me back into his car and drove me home through rush hour traffic, straight into a blinding orange sunset.
“H e didn’t kill himself.”
“Karin—” Billy glanced at Mom.
“Sweetheart, please .”
I pulled my hand out from under hers as soon as she touched me. “No, I can’t bring myself to believe that. I just can’t.”
“We may think we know someone,” Mom said, “but there are always surprises.”
“Anyone could have buckled under that kind of pressure.” Billy meant Aileen and Hugh’s murders. Danny’s arrest.
“ He sent me flowers that day . He confirmed our date .”
They glanced at each other but otherwise kept still. Finally Mom got up from the kitchen table and topped off Billy’s coffee. She replaced the coffeepot and fussed with something at the counter before finally, reluctantly, returning to the table, where it seemed we had sat without end for two straight days and nights since I had come back home from Connecticut. If I had slept, I couldn’t remember; if I had eaten, I had no idea. There was only one thing I could think about, and that was my conviction that without a body there was no proof of death.
“Did you know Detective Pawtusky called me yesterday?” I asked Billy, staring at him hard so I wouldn’t miss an iota of reaction. Everyone was treating me like thin glass lately, trying to be strong so they could catch all my pieces when I broke. Trying to wait out my stubborn certainty that Mac was still alive. Trying to make me believe the unbelievable.
Billy sighed. “No, I didn’t know he called you.”
“Have you spoken with him recently?”
“A couple of times.”
“He asked me, he actually asked me if Mac had been unfaithful. He said there was gossip in Bronxville that Mac was unfaithful to Val, that he cheated on her with me, and that he cheated on me as well. What goes around comes around , Pawtusky said to me. I told him that Mac was not that kind of man. I told
“No sign of him in two whole weeks,” Billy said. “It doesn’t look good.”
“Billy, you don’t have to—” But before I could regret my strident tone as it sought to tamp down his pessimism, an investigator picked something up from behind the opposite side of the car and came around to us. He was holding a paper bag.
“Go ahead,” Jones told him.
He stood in front of me and opened the bag. I looked in and saw a brown leather shoe. Part of the sole had come unglued and flapped down.
I recognized it immediately. “Oh God,” I muttered, hoping no one had heard me, because if no one heard me, maybe it wouldn’t be true. Maybe I would blink my eyes and the wet shoe dangling from the man’s hand would not be Mac’s.
A hush fell, a stillness. It was as if I had screamed: My husband is dead . As if I had just realized something everyone already knew.
“Where was it?” I asked.
“Wedged under the driver’s seat,” Jones said.
I felt dizzy and suddenly knew I was going to faint. Billy pivoted to get both his arms around me in time to catch me. I was aware of his size and strength as he took all my weight at once, preventing me from crashing to the ground. I was not a small woman but he was able to lever me gently down and maneuver me so that the next thing I knew, I was lying with my legs outstretched in the grass and my head in Sergeant Jones’s lap. Her dry, thin hand stroked my forehead, and in my delirium I thought, actually believed, that it was death touching me. My mind wove between a dream state, in which I saw Mac waving good-bye at the end of our block, blowing a kiss, wearing the brown shoes, and reality, in which I felt the physical presences of Jones and Billy and saw the car on the sloping asphalt drive.
Mac’s shoe.
Wouldn’t have been in the car.
If Mac hadn’t been in the car, too.
When it drove into the Sound.
Sally Owen fed me some sweet tea and a brownie on her shady veranda. And then Billy loaded me back into his car and drove me home through rush hour traffic, straight into a blinding orange sunset.
“H e didn’t kill himself.”
“Karin—” Billy glanced at Mom.
“Sweetheart, please .”
I pulled my hand out from under hers as soon as she touched me. “No, I can’t bring myself to believe that. I just can’t.”
“We may think we know someone,” Mom said, “but there are always surprises.”
“Anyone could have buckled under that kind of pressure.” Billy meant Aileen and Hugh’s murders. Danny’s arrest.
“ He sent me flowers that day . He confirmed our date .”
They glanced at each other but otherwise kept still. Finally Mom got up from the kitchen table and topped off Billy’s coffee. She replaced the coffeepot and fussed with something at the counter before finally, reluctantly, returning to the table, where it seemed we had sat without end for two straight days and nights since I had come back home from Connecticut. If I had slept, I couldn’t remember; if I had eaten, I had no idea. There was only one thing I could think about, and that was my conviction that without a body there was no proof of death.
“Did you know Detective Pawtusky called me yesterday?” I asked Billy, staring at him hard so I wouldn’t miss an iota of reaction. Everyone was treating me like thin glass lately, trying to be strong so they could catch all my pieces when I broke. Trying to wait out my stubborn certainty that Mac was still alive. Trying to make me believe the unbelievable.
Billy sighed. “No, I didn’t know he called you.”
“Have you spoken with him recently?”
“A couple of times.”
“He asked me, he actually asked me if Mac had been unfaithful. He said there was gossip in Bronxville that Mac was unfaithful to Val, that he cheated on her with me, and that he cheated on me as well. What goes around comes around , Pawtusky said to me. I told him that Mac was not that kind of man. I told
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