Chapter 33 #2
“I know who sent the notes.” Rex stood on the steps.
Maddie had moved into the kitchen and stood at the back door, glaring at him.
“Can I come in?” His voice was somber.
“No.” It occurred to her that maybe later she’d wonder if the way that they were standing—Rex on the bottom step, Maddie inside and elevated half-a-foot higher so they were nearly eye-to-eye—gave her the courage to feel like she was the one in charge.
He gave her a bewildered frown. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”
She wondered how he’d gotten up-island. Had he driven for the first time in months for something he could have told her over the phone? Something she’d already figured out? Unless he intended to lie?
She closed the door and flipped the lock. Then she shut her eyes, only one thought swirling in her mind: Had he known? All this time, had he known?
He knocked again. “Please, Maddie. I know who sent the notes and why.”
“Go away.”
She left the kitchen, went back into the living room, sat on the sofa, and stared at her mother’s painting on the mantel, at the small pottery bowl with the daisy Maddie had painted, at the quahog shell, one of the last things Hannah had touched before Rex’s father killed her.
She shivered.
And felt sick to her stomach.
Pressing her hands against her belly, she leaned over, stared at the floor.
“My poor baby,” she said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”
Suddenly, fists pounded on the front door. “Maddie! For God’s sake, open the damn door. When did your grandmother start locking doors, anyway?”
She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout that he should go back to Chappaquiddick. Or, even better, that he should go to hell. She did not want to see his face. Ever. Again.
Oh, God, she thought, as she started to rock back and forth, what if my baby is a boy and looks just like him? She wanted to cry.
Then there was … silence.
Maddie retreated to the sofa, where she stayed for a long while.
It could have been minutes or hours or days—she’d lost all concept of time.
At some point, the baby alerted her that using the bathroom was essential.
On the way down the hall, Maddie noticed that Grandma’s bedroom door remained closed.
She thought she might have heard crying coming from within.
But Maddie kept walking.
Once situated in her bedroom, she wanted to crawl under the comforter and never get up again.
Instead, she sat in the rocker by the window and stared out into nothingness.
It wasn’t long before daylight passed into sunset, and the traditional applause and cheers of happy people rose up from the beach.
The weekend—the season—had begun an evening early.
And Maddie knew there was only one thing left for her to do.
She pulled out her phone, stared at it a moment, and called the only person she could trust who might know the truth.
“Maddie?” her father asked when he answered. “Is everything okay?” Sounds of highway traffic hummed in the background.
“You’re driving,” she said.
“I am!” he said with a laugh. “I’m almost to Amherst. Believe it or not, Owen called earlier today and invited me to the parents’ brunch tomorrow morning.”
Maddie flinched. Owen? A parents’ brunch?
“Tomorrow’s Friday. Graduation isn’t until Sunday.”
“Right. But some of the parents decided to make a weekend of it, starting with the brunch thing. Rafe told his dad you couldn’t make it until Sunday, so Owen invited me.
We’ll be busy while the graduates are with their friends.
We’re going to visit the Emily Dickinson house and the college art museum and take a tour of Quabbin Reservoir—Did you know that in 1938 the state flooded four small towns to create the reservoir because Boston was running out of good water?
Anyway, I hope you don’t mind being left out.
I would have checked first, except it was a last-minute thing.
But I don’t suppose that’s why you’ve called. Tell me. Is something wrong?”
Her body had gone numb again; her father’s nattering hadn’t helped.
“I’m fine,” she said. “So is the baby. But I learned something today …” Without warning, she started to cry.
“Maddie?” Stephen asked. “Hold on a second …”
She cried and held on.
“Okay,” he said a minute later. The traffic sounds were no longer audible. “I pulled into the service plaza. Now tell me what’s going on.”
She cleared her throat. “I … I learned something today …” she repeated.
“What?” His voice was a combination of gentle strength and comfort and was coming from the perfect father that she knew.
The only way Maddie could do this was to get the words out fast. So she took a deep breath, then spit out the question: “Did Rex’s father kill my mother?” She stared at the wall, waiting for an answer.
“Who the hell told you that?” Strength and comfort gave way to anger.
“An old fisherman.”
“What’s his name?”
“Bud Erikson.”
Stephen paused. “Dave’s father.”
She cried again. “Yes. What should I do about Rex, Dad?”
“Do you think it’s true?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe you did.”
“No, honey, I don’t. Does Rex know?”
“I haven’t asked him.”
“Maybe you should start there. It could be a lie. Maybe this Bud character wants to stir up trouble where no trouble is warranted.”
Yes, Maddie thought. Maybe Bud had had a crush on Hannah that he never got over. Or maybe he had a different reason to lie. Her crying stopped. She started to feel hopeful that this could be cleared up.
“He’s a strange man, Dad. I asked if he’d been sending me the notes, but he claimed he didn’t know what I was talking about.”
Stephen paused. “What notes?”
Maddie gulped. Her father didn’t know about them because she hadn’t told him.
So she gave him a quick rundown and hoped he’d forgive her for not telling him sooner.
“I first thought they might be from a woman who was jealous of Rex and me being together. Or someone who didn’t want me to open the bookshop.
Now I’m not sure. Rex came here to tell me who sent them, but Erikson had just told me about Rex’s father, so right now I don’t want to talk to Rex, never mind have to look at him. ”
Stephen paused again, then sighed. “From the small amount of time I’ve spent with Rex, it’s obvious he cares about you a lot. And, like it or not, he is the father of your unborn child.” He let that sink in before reiterating, “You need to talk with him, Maddie.”
“But how, Dad? Where do I start?”
“You start at the beginning. You start by hanging up the phone and calling him. Before you let more time elapse. It isn’t worth putting this stress on yourself or your baby when the story might be a sham.”
He was right and she knew it. She also knew she could not do it with a phone call.