Chapter 19
TERINA
Past
I push the food around my plate, my mind too distracted for an appetite. Last week was my first anniversary with Craig. Not only did he not have a secret getaway planned six months ago but he also forgot the date entirely.
I cried myself to sleep that night. Alone. It wasn’t the first time.
Six more months have passed, and things have only gotten worse.
I’m heartbroken over the distance that’s grown between us, with no idea how to fix it.
Craig is different lately. Easy to anger.
Distracted and even a touch erratic. I’ve asked myself whether he could be seeing someone else, and it breaks my heart to admit, but I just don’t know.
He swears that after his division completes the acquisition they’ve been working on for the past six weeks that everything will be better.
But there was a campaign for a new corporate account before this and an internal audit before that.
There’s always something demanding his attention. Something that isn’t me.
I’ve tried to be understanding. I’ve tried to convince him to quit his job or get counseling to help with the stress. I’ve tried so damn hard, but it’s been a year, and I’m sick of tear-soaked dinners in a silent apartment.
If I had years of good times to look back upon, I could use that as reassurance that we can get back to a better place.
As it is, I’m worried that marriage with him doesn’t get better than this.
I’m terrified that I’ve made a mistake. And as much as I hate to do it, I have to start considering my options.
Am I truly ready to consider divorce?
The universe must sense my reluctance to answer the question, though, because a knock on the door saves me. Security is good in our building—solicitors aren’t allowed up—which means unexpected visitors are few and far between.
I hurry to the door and take a look through the peephole. Two uniformed police officers stand in the hallway. I open the door and smile hesitantly. “Can I help you?”
The older of the two takes off his hat and peers at me through weary brown eyes. “Mrs. Kirkland?”
“Yes.”
“May we come in?”
“Why?” I don’t budge. While I have nothing to hide, I had it ingrained from a young age to never ever let the police inside my home.
His lips thin, and the other officer is avoiding eye contact entirely. “There’s been an incident. I’m afraid we have bad news.”
Tingles start in my scalp and trickle down my spine until my entire body is engulfed. And it’s not the good kind of tingles. My bloodstream is flooded with pure terror.
“What?” I ask on a winded breath.
“Today at approximately 4 p.m., we received a report that a man had been stabbed in East Harlem. When we arrived at the scene, the victim was pronounced dead and taken to the hospital. After a preliminary search, the man has been identified as Craig Kirkland. I’m so very sorry.”
His words filter through a funnel before they reach my ears, making them sound distant and surreal.
A man was stabbed and pronounced dead.
Identified as Craig Kirkland.
“Not my Craig,” I say almost to myself. “He’s at work. He works late.”
The two officers exchange a pity-filled glance.
“I’m afraid so. Is there someone we can call to come be with you?”
Someone to call? I need to call Craig. I’ll call him, and he’ll tell them there’s been a misunderstanding. Yes, that’s what I need to do.
I walk away, leaving the door wide open, and get my phone. Craig’s number rings.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Five times.
Voicemail picks up.
I hang up, but refuse to concede that his not answering means anything. “He works all the time. I’m sure he’s just in a meeting,” I tell the two men who have migrated into the entry.
“Ma’am, who else can we call to come by and help out?” He walks over and places a kind hand on my shoulder, though I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything.
I look at my phone and dial my mom’s number because no matter how much we may bicker, she’s my greatest source of comfort.
“Momma?” Heartbreak sends me back to childhood, my voice sounding small and broken.
“Rina? What is it, baby?”
“Momma, they’re saying Craig’s dead, but that can’t be right.
He went to work this morning. He’s wearing the tie I gave him for Christmas.
” My breathing catches, fear carving a jagged hole in my chest. “He can’t be …
he’s just at work. Tell them, Momma. Tell them he’s at work.
” My chin quivers, and rivers of tears surge down my cheeks.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Her whispered prayer shatters my glass heart.
“Momma, tell them…” Sobs claw their way up from the depths of my soul. “Tell them…” The phone slips from my hand as my knees give out. I sink to the floor and lose myself to the pain.
I’m only vaguely aware of the officers picking up my phone and placing a blanket around my shoulders. My entire body shivers as my soul bleeds onto the wood floor.
I spend the rest of the day and night wrapped in my mother’s arms.
I’m not aware of the passing of time. There is only pain.
Craig is gone.
My husband.
My love.
He’s gone, and I’ll never be whole again.
Craig’s mother identified the body. I couldn’t do it.
And my father has fought to keep the police away even though he’s been very sick lately.
He has joined me at every interview and demanded I not be contacted directly.
I’m so grateful for his protection right now because simply getting through the day is hard enough.
Participating in an investigation only makes everything worse.
One week ago today, my precious husband was murdered.
It was a mugging gone wrong. His wallet and watch were taken. He was stabbed five times.
Five times.
I can’t fathom what would bring a person to do something like that. For what? A few dollars? And now, I’m standing in a cemetery, watching my husband’s body get lowered into the ground.
A week ago, I’d contemplated leaving him. I was frustrated and lonely. What I wanted more than anything was a joint effort to fix things between us. Now that he’s gone forever, I’m riddled with regret and guilt.
None of it seems real.
Every second since the police came to my door has passed in a suffocating fog. A dense haze cuts out all the light with no end in sight, as though the world will forever be saturated in a viscous heartbreak.
The ground clings to my feet, making every step a challenge.
Sleep both courts and rejects me, keeping me shackled to perpetual exhaustion.
And I can’t shake the feeling that a part of me has died with him. As I stare at the box deep in the ground, I know I’ll never be myself again. Not the person I was before. That naive little girl is beside him in the box, as lifeless as the man at her side.
“Are you ready, sweetie?” Mom places a gentle arm around my shoulders.
“Almost. I’d like just a minute alone with him.”
She nods and signals for the rest of the family to give me space.
The funeral ended a while ago. Only close family remains.
Mostly mine. Craig didn’t have much family.
Just his mother and him. She’s even more alone than I am, since she doesn’t have the same support system I do.
Craig was her only child. I can’t begin to fathom the pain she must be feeling.
Therefore, when she joins me at the gravesite, I allow her to impose on what I was hoping would be a moment for my husband and me.
“He was terrified he’d lose you,” she says, eyes fixed on the distance. Her comment surprises me because I never got the sense he was scared of losing me and because of her almost accusatorial tone.
“He was? He never said anything.”
“Of course, he wouldn’t. But he told me everything,” she says in a tone devoid of emotion. “He told me how he was being blackmailed and had to pay enormous amounts of money to keep you safe.”
“What?” I gasp, having no clue what she’s talking about.
Kristi brings her cold stare to mine, her blue eyes ringed in thick black eyeliner. “He died because of you.” Her accusation sinks deep into my gut as intended, a killing blow.
My lungs contract painfully with the need for air.
“What are you saying?” I try not to look alarmed, needing to understand what’s happening without my family intervening.
“Why do you think he had to work so hard? He was paying protection money to keep you alive. And when he ran short, they killed him.”
My head jerks side to side in small choppy shakes. “No, it was a mugging gone wrong. The police determined it was a mugging.”
Her impervious stare penetrates deep into my bones. “That’s what your family wants you to think. They haven’t told you everything. Ask about the quarters.” She lets the words sink in, then walks away, leaving me dumbfounded.
Was my husband murdered because of me? Would my family keep something like that from me? Of course, they would. If they thought I couldn’t handle it. And it’s not like I’ve been in a state for hard truths.
I have to get to the bottom of it.
I need to know what happened to my husband, so I can make sure something like this never happens again.