Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16
“M y mother killed my dad and was willing to risk my health to keep her secret,” I said to Dr. Ellison as he signed my discharge papers.
He placed the pen next to the paper on the portable table beside my bed. “Perhaps. Only your mother knew what she was thinking, but if she was only taking half the dosage of her meds, she was still experiencing some of her bipolar symptoms. That, of course, would have impaired her judgment.”
I recalled her sporadic, intense concentration on me—her voice shooting questions with the precision and timing of a staccato firearm—alternating with longer periods of reserve, where only my bleeding and broken body parts could break through the polite veneer she presented to me and the wider world.
“The meds I’d been on...” I began, almost too frightened to continue. I swallowed hard. “Could they have lingering effects that could have caused me to... I mean, Emmy...”
“Emmy’s drowning was an accident, Caroline,” said Dr. Ellison. “Plain and simple.”
But there was nothing plain or simple about the incident. Whether I’d meant to or not, I’d killed my baby.
The urgency to get home fled with the image of Emmy’s last day in the house. What did it matter if someone broke in? What would they take of more value than what I’d already lost? My own life? They could have it.
“Tim hasn’t shown up, has he?” I’d hoped he’d give me a lift home.
Dr. Ellison rubbed his chin. “I’m afraid not.”
Of course he hadn’t. Tim obviously never wanted to speak to me again. He wasn’t going to forgive me for Emmy’s death. How could I even expect him to? His behavior suddenly made sense. All the times I’d thought he was being unfeeling, cold. He’d only been protecting himself from the reminders of Emmy’s death. I was the callous one. I didn’t deserve his forgiveness. I’d taken his love for our family and tossed it aside. He was right to call me a monster.
“We’ve called an Uber to bring you home,” said the doctor.
Before I could say anything, the nurse entered the room, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking her arrival. I watched her approach with her little cup. “Doctor, you are wanted at the nurses’ station,” she told him, reaching for my hand.
“Thanks,” said Dr. Ellison to his nurse. “I’m also late for a meeting.” He reached for my hand, clasped it firmly. “Best of luck, Caroline. Please keep in touch.”
I nodded, feeling strangely emotional about leaving the hospital. The doctor and his staff had given me the kind of care and compassion I’d spent a good portion of my life looking for. I didn’t know how well I’d do on my own.
The nurse consulted the clipboard in her hand. “The new drug is doing a fair job of stabilizing your mood, but it’s pretty effective at helping you sleep.” She lowered the clipboard and looked at me. “If you have any problems, like dizziness or heart palpitations, you’re to call Dr. Ellison immediately.”
“Okay.” I wouldn’t.
“The good news is that your body seems to tolerate it well.”
“Yes,” I said, thinking, too well . “I wish there was something to make me forget.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I understand why you would want to forget, but today you start fresh. You make new memories.”
I smiled at her optimistic view of the world. I felt so old, so tired, and worn out. When did I first begin to fear the prospect of making new memories? Probably the instant the old ones went up in flames.
* * *
The Uber dropped me home at 11:00 a.m. I instinctively felt my pockets for my front-door key but realized I didn’t have it. I remembered how Tim had pulled me out of my house nearly a week earlier, not allowing me to grab my handbag or lock the door behind me.
Mary may have locked it with her key. If so, she’d have to let me into my own house. She knew I was coming home. Dr. Ellison’s nurse told me Mary had dropped by the hospital the day before and learned I was being discharged this morning. I pictured her standing in front of her living-room window watching the cars amble along the street, waiting for the one that would drop me in front of my house. I shivered. The irony was undeniable. I thought of all the nights I’d lurked in the shadows of Deer Crossing, spying on others. I also wondered why she wouldn’t have swung by my hospital room when she’d been right there. When I was so desperate to know if she was okay, and whether or not she’d phoned the police.
I stepped out of the car and, looking at my front door, placed my hand against my breastbone, willing my heart to cease racing. Someone had invaded my home again. Watching Mary shuffle out of her house and across my yard, I once more considered it could be her.
As she chattered about neighbors helping each other out, she unlocked my front door and swung it wide. I wondered how I could get my spare key back. I didn’t think I was strong enough to wrestle it away from her, which was pathetic. I was fifty years younger. Thanking her stiffly, I followed her inside, my gaze darting around the room. Everything appeared to be the same, minus the alarm parts spread across the living room carpet. I stared at the spot.
“The alarm...”
“Don’t worry dear,” she offered, beelining through my house as though she were the homeowner.
“Was someone definitely in here, Mary?”
“I told you there was.” She paused halfway between the living room and kitchen and turned back to look at me. “Did you forget?”
“No, but you never called me back after I told you to alert the police.”
Mary shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Tim said not to. He told me he’d handle everything, and that the doctor requested I not bother you.”
My brows gathered over my eyes. “Why? Was he the one in the house?”
“Not that night, no—at least I don’t think so.” Mary wavered on her sturdy legs, looking confused. “I called him after I got off the phone with you. I figured it’s his house too. He’d want to come over and check things out. And he did, the next day. He even tidied up. He loaded a bunch of things in his car.”
“Damn it, Mary, why wouldn’t you just call the police?”
“I told you?—”
“Someone was in my house !”
And then it occurred to me. Perhaps she feared the conversation I would have with the cops. Afraid I would reveal what she’d done to me. And to her husband.
“Caroline, just come over here, have a seat.” She flitted around the kitchen table like a foraging butterfly. “You must be very...”
I spooled out the breath in my lungs. Did Mary have plans for me? Was she going to imprison me in my own house? Maybe tie me up this time? I didn’t know a lot about her. Maybe her frantic call to me reporting an intruder was a ruse. A way to get me home faster. Was she somehow in cahoots with Tim? What would she have to gain? What advantage would Tim have, for that matter? I felt the pulse throb in my neck. Something wasn’t right. Fear prickled the hairs at my nape, traveling up my scalp. I’d have to play it cool, try to placate the old lady until I could figure out what her angle was.
“I wouldn’t betray you, you know,” I said, keeping my voice calm, my tone even.
Mary’s face went blank, her features appearing two-dimensional. Stuck onto her face as an afterthought. “Betray me, dear?”
“I’d never tell the police about what you did to your husband, or that you drugged me. I know you’re?—”
“Drugged you?” Mary leaned forward, her eyes and mouth turning to perfect O’s. “I never did that!”
“You most certainly did, Mary. The night I came to stay with you, but it’s okay?—”
She dropped to a kitchen chair, placing her hand against her chest so abruptly I feared she was having a heart attack. “Good heavens, no!”
I narrowed my eyes as I walked toward her. “But you made me that drink before I went to bed. It was a strong drink.”
“You funneled it and asked for another, but I wouldn’t give it to you—not after you slugged back that handful of pills from your purse.”
“Handful of... what?”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “You reached into your handbag and pulled out a bunch of pills. I cut you off and led you to my guestroom. When you woke up the next day you could barely move. I thought about calling 911.”
“I couldn’t move because you’d...”
Mary set her jaw. “You couldn’t even lift your arms. Only your mouth was working properly, yapping on about me holding you prisoner.” She let out a heavy breath. “I was just trying to help you. I even tried to get some food into you. You were too weak to feed yourself, and judging by the size of you?—”
“Okay, okay.” I raised my hands in front of me. “I believe you.”
Mary raised her chin and sniffed. “You should. It’s the truth. And what’s this about my husband?”
I slunk into a chair across the table from my neighbor. “When I was driving you home that rainy day. You told me you showed up at your ex-husband’s door with a knife. Scared him—literally—to death.”
Mary’s face was infused with a deep red hue. “Well, I could have said that , not that it’s true, mind you. He was never my ex-husband. We lived together until the day he died.” She flushed. “The truth is—and I know you know this—I drink too much. I don’t always remember the crazy things I say.”
I sighed, seeing the similarity in our situations. “I guess we’re both guilty of telling tall tales—and even believing them.”
She grinned. “I won’t let it spoil our friendship if you don’t.”
I smiled ruefully. I’d made up the grandest story of them all: that my baby was still alive.
Mary reached across the table and rubbed my upper arm gently. “It’s okay. We’re both gonna be just fine, you hear?”
I nodded. Apparently, I’d imagined most of my neighbor’s transgressions against me, yet she was still determined to help. I had a friendship with Mary whether I wanted it or not. Studying her wrinkled face and impish smile from across the table, I realized I could do worse. I could have no friends. We don’t always choose the people who come into our lives. Sometimes they muscle their way in despite our best efforts to keep them away.
“Do you know what happened to my alarm system?”
“Yes, Tim installed it. Gave me the spare key.”
Again? I stifled a sigh. Might as well allow Mary to move in, I thought wryly. I could use the rent money. “What did Tim say about the break-in?”
“He was concerned.” She shrugged. “Said he was going to alert the police, but fortunately, there wasn’t anything of value to take from the house.”
Only me, his wife .
“I disagree, of course,” said Mary. “I’ve been watching your place.”
“You think someone is still interested in this house?” I placed my forearms on the tabletop.
“Maybe.” She puckered her lips, considering. “Or someone is still interested in what’s inside this house: you.”
My stomach flipped.
“Why would you say that?”
She didn’t respond, just bit her lip.
“Do you know something I don’t?” I asked, sensing she did. But she shook her head. “What am I missing here? Why would anyone be interested in me?” In my mind, a row of threads dangled. I pictured myself pulling them one by one. Each one I touched dissolved as a new one took its place.
“You’re right,” she said in a near-whisper. “Something is going on, but I don’t know how things fit together.” Her eyes were suddenly moist. She blinked rapidly, adding, “I haven’t wanted to tell you because of the... the baby and your delicate condition?—”
“Just tell me, Mary.”
“When you went away the first time, Tim moved out. He said he couldn’t live here alone, without his daughter.”
I nodded. I knew that.
“He asked me to keep an eye on the place.” She avoided meeting my gaze. “I did, of course. I’d come over every week to make sure things were just as you’d left them. One day I noticed a file box, one of those cardboard thingies, flimsy but solid enough to hold household files. It was on your kitchen table. I’m ashamed to admit I snooped. It belonged to your mother. Contained her financial and medical records, bonds, and her marriage certificate.”
I thought about the day we cleaned out my mother’s house. I remembered Tim carrying a box to our car, but I didn’t recall ever seeing it again. “What did you discover? Was my mom one of those secret millionaires?” I forced a lightness into my tone that I didn’t feel.
“I don’t know about her financial holdings, they’re none of my business.” Mary studied her hands, resting on the tabletop. She seemed particularly interested in her knobby joints. I knew my neighbor well enough to tell she was lying. Mary’s intense interest in my life convinced me she’d likely studied every cent that had gone in and out of my mother’s accounts. I pictured a spreadsheet of Mother’s income and expenditures tacked to Mary’s musty cellar wall. I’d tackle that issue later.
“What did you discover?”
“There were numerous medical bills from her office. Dozens—maybe even hundreds—of patients’ medical procedures from the late 1990s.” Her brow creased as she looked at me. “Odd items to keep. I was immediately suspicious. Remember, I made a living investigating insurance claims. I could sniff out fraud.”
“Fraud?” My eyes went wide. “My mother was a by-the-book person. I don’t think she...” I thought about the damaging pills she’d forced on me as a little girl. I pictured her hand smashing the metal thermos against my dad’s temple. I began to shake. If she could kill her husband and poison her only child, she could certainly wheedle money out of insurance conglomerates.
“There are many ways to commit health-care fraud without patients knowing it,” said Mary. “The most common is double-billing?—”
“Yes, the doctor submits multiple insurance claims for the same service,” I interrupted. “I know all about this, Mary. I was a medical biller. The other popular strategy is phantom billing?—”
“Charging for services never rendered,” cut in Mary, her crooked pointer finger raised in the air. “There’s no way to tell whether these bills are duplicates or completely bogus, but something’s not right about them. If everything was on the up and up, Lilith—your mother—would have no reason to keep them.”
Something in my brain notched into place. I could almost hear the clicking. “The fire.”
“What fire?”
I spoke slowly, explaining, “When my doctor’s office tried to access my childhood medical files, they were told about the fire in old Doc Gleason’s office. Nearly all the files were destroyed.”
“How convenient.” Mary grinned. “Funny how your mother knew to keep these specific files.”
I sighed. It wasn’t funny. Not at all. Was there no end to my own mother’s deceit? “She must have kept the records so she wouldn’t triple-bill the insurance companies and create a red flag. This was all before the wide-scale use of computers.”
“I suspect someone was onto her, and that’s why she kept the files. Maybe so she could show that Dr. Gleason had made her do it, or something,” said Mary. “But what did it matter all this time later, and her dead? It didn’t make much sense for Tim to keep the files, so I took them home and looked them over.”
“Why would you do that?” I narrowed my eyes, searching her face.
She flushed. “I didn’t plan to take action against her estate, Caroline. The statute of limitations on a fraudulent insurance claim is six years and the records were from the nineties.” She raised her hands in front of her as if to ward off a physical attack. “I just wanted to discover...”
I looked at her reddening face, for once not finishing her sentence for her. She rubbed a hand across her lips.
“What did you hope to discover by scouring those records, Mary?” If she’d been as uninterested in my mother’s financial holdings as she claimed—something I didn’t believe—then her interest in the medical files was personal.
“Nothing, really.” She looked down.
“That’s a fib. We both know it. You were hoping to find a clue to my mother’s intent—to figure out how her mind worked,” I guessed. “So you could link her behavior to mine, root out the reason I killed my baby?”
“No, that’s not true.” She met my narrowed eyes, her own wide. “I know you accidentally killed Emmy. Tim said so.”
Her words arrowed into my chest like a dagger. “Then what?” My voice was husky with the emotion I was trying to contain. “You wanted to figure out why Tim sent me away?”
When she clamped her lips together, I had my answer. She wanted to know just how dangerous I was. If the neighbor she needed so desperately would ever harm her. I couldn’t blame her, could I? Given the opportunity, I’d likely do the same thing. I thought about my mother’s deviance. How much was transmitted through the genes? Was I a garden-variety criminal like my mother had appeared to be, or had nature supercharged my DNA, making me a cold-blooded baby killer? Had I even fooled Tim? Apparently, Mary had wondered about these things too.
“There’s more,” said Mary.
I looked at her and, once again, she didn’t meet my gaze. “Lilith also had her medical files, and yours, in a small folder tucked among the phony claims.”
I thought about Dr. Ellison telling me someone had dropped off our files at the hospital just two days earlier. Mary. “Why didn’t you just tell me about all this?”
“How could I? When I took the files, you were institutionalized. I couldn’t even tell Tim without admitting I stole them. When I went back to your house the next week to return them, the file box was gone. I had to keep them or risk him knowing I’d helped myself to your private information.”
I didn’t say anything for a long time, letting my eyes go out of focus as I thought about Mary’s admission. Eventually, I looked at her. “Did you read our medical files?” When she nodded, I did too.
“I knew I had to give the information to your doctor, but I was afraid to be implicated. I mean, I’d stolen your medical records, Caroline. That’s a felony. But when I realized how much you were suffering, I knew I had to share them. It took me a long time to do it, and I’m sorry I was such a coward.”
I ran my hands through my hair. “Oh, Mary, that’s the least of my problems.”
“You do have problems,” she said. “I know it makes no sense, but I can’t help thinking that the files I stole are somehow linked to what you saw over on Pine Hill Road. I have no idea how, but I think these things are connected.”
I pursed my lips. “Not sure how that could be.”
“Me neither,” she admitted, “but I can’t shake the notion. I was a successful insurance adjuster because I never ignored my instincts. When my gut talks, I listen.”