By: Betsy J. Bennett
CHAPTER 5
The wedding reception took the entire city block, and perhaps every patient they’d ever seen showed up, brought their kids, their dogs, their neighbors. It was a wonder that squad cars with flashing lights didn’t show up, but Ruth had a permit, had permission to close the road. Still, cops would be welcomed, especially seeing how often Dora Ann called them.
Heavy men who knew what they were doing with barbeque sauce and a spatula kept six grills busy with ribs, chicken, hot dogs and burgers. Off to a side street, the kids had a make-shift game of dodgeball going. There was a good chance before the party was over either of the area’s doctors would be casting a broken arm or checking pupils for a concussion. These street kids were tough and the games they played rough. But even as a physician, Kimble was a “boys will be boys” believer and let them have their fun.
He recognized another friend from his past, and hugged her warmly. “Monica! How did you—”
She laughed, accepted his kiss on her cheek, took the time to rewrap a long warm scarf around her neck, clearly thinner blood than most of the reception’s other guests. “Someone named Decker found me. I’ve been reading the column of course. I’m glad you found someone to make you happy.”
Kimble took a long moment to study her. When he had known her, over four years before, she had been living in fear, had that jumpy uncertain expression that he recognized and mirrored. Other than freezing in what he considered quite a temperate clime, she looked radiant now, her eyes bright and smiling, her clothing expensive and complementary. Monica Wells had been one of the first people he’d met while on the run as a fugitive. She and her young son had been in an abusive relationship with her husband, who liked all his possessions, animate and inanimate to be seen and not heard. He had been shot and killed trying to prevent them for boarding a bus and escaping. It had also been one of Kimble’s first close calls with avoiding the back seat of a black and white squad car himself.
She waved her left hand fingers, the diamond there big enough to be used as shooter in a game of marbles. “I’ve gotten married. Seems with all that land and money I inherited I became something of a catch.” She tickled the baby Kimble held, under her cheek. “And this one is certainly not yours?”
Kimble bounced the girl on his hip. “Patient. I have a thing for the ladies. Don’t worry, Livi doesn’t mind.”
He studied her, tilting his head to make the analysis, pleased with what he saw. “Are you happy?”
“Delirious, and probably as happy as you are right now. Lucas is around here somewhere. He was roaring about the inferiority of barbeque sauce north of the Mason Dixon Line.” She sighed loudly in pure histrionics. “We’ll see how that works out. He did find what he considered passable corn bread and beans, thank heavens, so he won’t starve. What I passed smells marvelous. Should I find him again in this rout, I’ll introduce him when things calm down a bit.”
“I’d like that.” Kimble hugged her again, this woman who had been such a small, yet significant part of his time on the run. He had learned things from his short experience knowing her, about his own compassion, about giving his heart, about taking chances.
“I’m glad everything is working out for you. I want you to know I wanted to check on you any number of times, but I was certain you didn’t need an interstate fugitive interrupting your life again and God knows I didn’t want you facing an aiding and abetting charge. I doubt it would have turned out as well for you as it did for Decker.”
“You would have been welcomed, Richard. You’ll always be welcomed.” She kissed, not him, but the baby, and waving her farewells, vanished into the crowd.
“So who was she?” Livi asked, appearing from nowhere, wrapping her arms around his back and trying desperately not to feel jealous.
“Friend from when I was on the run. Only a friend, nothing more. She recently married. We’ll have to hunt them up later so I can meet her husband.”
Her grin was open, guileless. “You’re lucky, you know. That was the only answer I would have accepted.”
Kimble kissed his new wife, tasting her, letting his pulse trip to a reaction which had nothing to do with fear. He wiggled his eyebrows. The lunatic must have found some time to watch tv, for she knew the action wasn’t natural to him. “Livi, I hope you know how much I love you. For so many reasons.”
Her kiss was her answer, and he barely noticed when Dessi’s grandmother appeared taking the baby away so he could hold tightly to his wife.
“Do you think we can leave this reception yet?”
She swatted at him, knowing what he wanted. There would be time for that. They had the rest of their lives. She already swore to herself that she would work fewer hours, that she would find a way to honor her marriage, and that started here, now, enjoying her party. “No. This reception is your doing, we’re going to enjoy it. Now, tell me more about Monica.”
Kimble tucked Livi under his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her, not possessive, or not strictly possessive, but needing to touch her, to come to terms with this overwhelming happiness he never thought he’d experience again. “She’s got a column coming out one of these Fridays. Can you believe it?”
“Sure, why not. Now, how about the woman before her?”
“Who? Oh, Mrs. Lionetti?”
“Good answer. Another woman not a lover?”
“I didn’t spend all my time running from bed to bed you know. When I was a pediatrician, back…before… I tended their daughter. She, Catherine, the baby, had a heart condition I wasn’t comfortable treating. I tried to find someone who could. I ran into them again while on the run. She and her husband recognized me. It’s a direct result of that, that I got this,” he said, indicating the bullet wound in his shoulder.
Livi showed teeth, and when she spoke, there was more than the trace of a growl. “I may have to speak with her.”
He kissed his new wife on the forehead, to calm her, because he needed to, and knew if he kissed her as he wanted to Livi would never see the remainder of her reception. “She’s a friend, and at the time I was wanted by the police.”
“And the child?”
“The Lionetti daughter? She died. I tried to help.”
“I bet you did.” She tightened her hold on him, radiating warmth, support, love. Theirs was not an easy profession and she understood how painful it must have been.
Richard twirled her around a few times, an impromptu dance that had Livi laughing and many of the crowd around them cheering. “Come on, introduce me to all the patients I don’t know yet, and I’ll see how many people Decker found to come.”
It bothered Olivia that her parents didn’t show up. She would stop periodically, study the massive crowd as if they were hiding and if she looked she would find them. “My parents aren’t here.”
“I called, spoke with your mother. She was rather evasive, and I never got a clear answer as to whether or not they would come, but know they were invited. I owe your father perhaps more than I can ever repay.”
“I’ll call them tonight,” she said, then kissing Richard again said, “or perhaps sometime tomorrow.”
“Or the next day,” he added, nibbling at her neck.
Promised that there would be a band later in the evening for dancing, right now music blared out of a boom box enough to cause hearing loss for generations.
Kimble stopped at a buffet table. Every family who showed up must have brought something. “Have you had anything to eat?”
“I’ve been doing nothing but eating. Now I want to put a few minutes in the clinic.”
“Oh no you’re not.”
“Ten minutes. Five.”
“Monday morning. All weekend you’re mine, or I’m yours, whichever you prefer. We’ve got a wedding to celebrate.” They danced for a second, then Richard got distracted by another old friend and Olivia vanished, probably back to the clinic.
Kimble discovered the dessert table, was slicing into a homemade apple pie with a thick, crumb topping when he looked up and noticed Gerard, the police lieutenant who had hunted him for four years and who had become a friend, had returned. With him there was a tall man in a light brown sheriff’s uniform with straight posture and a stern countenance. Kimble dropped his gaze to the holstered service weapon at his hip, then back to the other man’s face. He recognized him immediately, from a time in his life he was desperately trying to forget.
“Dr. Richard Kimble?”
“Yes?”
“I am Sheriff Mel Bailey.”
“I remember you.” He held his hand out to shake, his smile sincere.
Bailey ignored Kimble’s hand. The tone of his voice was harsh. “And I remember you. I was sure I knew you from Korea.”
Kimble retracted his hand and tried a smile, although already he could tell the overture wasn’t working. “I’d apologize for that, but at the time I wasn’t able to sit back and talk about old times with the local Sheriff. Decker get in touch with you too? I wouldn’t have suspected he would have known.”
“This isn’t a social call. I’m not here to celebrate your wedding. I’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”
The shock hit him with the force of a bullet. He dropped the pie knife he still held. It clattered, long and loud on the metal table. For a second he looked around, seeking an exit, an escape, looking for Olivia, to keep her from this cruelty. He turned his gaze to Gerard, as if he knew he couldn’t trust this man with his friendship, but Gerard shook his head subtly, and Kimble recognized immediately whatever ugliness had been unearthed, the Stafford lieutenant was not behind it.
“What are the charges?”
“Murder, a man named Whit Polamic. Browntown county.”
He gaze returned to Gerard, who kept his features steady. “When?”
“Two days after Jack Burmas was killed, so we cannot pin the murder on him.”
“I don’t know Polamic.”
“I had deputized him. He was on the manhunt.”
Still the name did not bring any images. “How was he killed?”
“Shot, from a distance of maybe twenty, thirty yards, the coroner guesses. It was nearly three months before his body was found. It wasn’t in the best condition due to animal predation and being buried in a shallow grave, but the bullets were proof enough of how he died. When he turned up missing, no one thought much of it. He was known to go on benders for a week at a time, but that’s not what this was. He told three friends he was heading out in the field, looking for you.”
“Looking for me?”
“The friends remember his exact words being he was going ‘to bag a $10,000 deer,’ although it was months from regular deer hunting season. The Lieutenant here,” Bailey continued, notching his head toward Gerard, “was already certain you were gone, but that reward was a big incentive for a lot of people in my town. And no one wanted a convicted death row inmate running free.”
Feeling his stomach roiling, Kimble swallowed, tried desperately to find his courage. “I’ve been exonerated.”
The sheriff stood still, not a twitch, and met Kimble’s eyes directly. “Not from this.”
“Can I have two minutes to speak with my wife?”
Bailey pulled his handcuffs out, set them jingling in his hands. “In this crowd, and understanding your history, I think not.”
“Whoever was killed, you have to know I didn’t do it.”
“I know nothing of the sort. I have an unsolved murder on my hands, and you were known to be in the vicinity. There was a high reward on your head at the time, and I’m sure it said nothing about you being alive to collect it. That adds up to desperation in my book, and desperate men do things they wouldn’t otherwise do, even if you were innocent of your wife’s homicide.”
“I was and am. And I swear to you I didn’t kill Polamic. I will go with you. I have no problem with that. But certainly we can avoid the handcuffs.”
“No. Not this time. I read the papers, Dr. Kimble. I know you can get out from handcuffs, but as a law officer, it makes me more comfortable having you wear them.”
Understanding inevitability, Richard held his hands out, and the sheriff cuffed him.
“Can I see the warrant?” Gerard asked.
Silently, Bailey handed him the paper.
“Gerard, I don’t remember—“
“Dr. Kimble, be quiet. You’ve said quite enough already.”
“What?”
Although the lawman did nothing overt, he didn’t straighten his spine or adjust the expression on his face, this was the Lieutenant Phillip Gerard Kimble had faced dozens of times while an interstate fugitive. This wasn’t the man that had become his friend, this was the man who for years had been his nightmare.
“Right now we’re on different sides of the law, and as I’m not a lawyer, I cannot offer you any advice, but I can say, “Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” Do you understand?”
Swallowing bile for a second time, Kimble nodded. The friend was still there, hidden by police training and protocol, and Kimble had enough experience with the legal system to know the advice was sound.
“Phil,” Gerard said, snapping his fingers abruptly, and speaking to his son. “Get Decker here now. After that, find Mrs. Taft and tell her to stay with Dr. Olivetti. I’ll try to get to the bottom of this.”
The boy ran off, pushing his way through the group of people who had congregated around this growing spectacle. Kimble felt the familiar fear coursing through his blood, terror he told himself he would never need to experience again, except this time it wasn’t for him, or rather, it wasn’t for himself alone. Gerard was right to set Donna to support Olivia. If anyone could comfort his three-hour wife at this time, it would be his sister.
While Kimble had been worrying about his wife, Gerard and Sheriff Bailey had been conferring in hushed tones, both obstinate, standing firm with their convictions. Kimble, although only inches from the men only heard snatches of their conversation over the roaring of terror blocking his ears.
Exoneration.
Murder.
Innocence.
Extradition.
Wisconsin.
They looked up as the crowd parted as six tall, very rough looking black men approached, wearing chains and leather and reeking of menace. Kimble watched not the bikers, but the sheriff, as he put his right hand down to his gun, unsnapping the leather, making for an easier draw. That he didn’t touch the gun itself, was no indication that he wasn’t prepared to use it.
“No,” Kimble raising his voice, insistent. “Stay back. Don’t get involved.”
The leader spoke, locking his gaze not on Kimble but at Bailey. “We can stop this, here and now.”
“Then we’ll all go to jail together. I want you to know I appreciate this, but it isn’t your fight and it isn’t necessary. The arrest warrant is valid. I will go with him. I don’t want any of you involved.”
“Friends?” Bailey asked as the men backed up. If he breathed a sigh of relief at the diffusing tension, only Kimble noticed.
“Absolutely. They won’t bother you.”
“That remains to be seen.” Bailey kept his gaze locked on the four, and if his hand was no longer within inches of his service weapon, it was close enough. “I bet if I did some digging, I’d find some open warrants or at least a stack of valid complaints about them.”
“Not in this community.”
“What’s going on?” Decker came running up. In his hand he held nothing more dangerous than a half-eaten sparerib, and there was barbeque sauce around his lips.
“I’ve informed Dr. Kimble of his right to an attorney,” Gerard said. “There’s an arrest warrant for him for murder.”
Long suffering, Decker rolled his eyes. “I’ll get on it. I don’t want the Tafts responsible for finding a lawyer.”
“Right. That didn’t go well the first time.”
Gerard turned to face Kimble. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Oh, and Lieutenant Gerard? I’m glad you’re here. There is one other thing. Having you here saves me a trip to Indiana. I’ve got a second warrant here to test your weapon for ballistics.”
“My gun?”
“You were there, weren’t you?”
“I was there when Jack Burmas was shot and killed. I don’t know this Deputy you mentioned.”
“You were in the area, and known to be carrying a gun. Are you going to cooperate?”
Kimble raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Then let’s go. I’ve got a car waiting. We can be there in a few hours.”
Olivia, still in her wedding dress, although now her wedding finery was covered with her labcoat, was in her clinic, discussing insulin dependency with a patient when the door opened. She kept a change of clothes in her office, for she was frequently getting blood-soaked, but kept telling herself this would be the last patient, then she would rejoin her husband. This would be the last patient. This would be the last patient…
She looked over at Dora Ann, who knew better than to disturb her through a closed door unless for an emergency. The receptionist stood there, then moved aside to show Richard’s sister visibly crying. “Donna, what’s the matter? Are you hurt?”
“They’ve arrested Dick. Some murder back when he was a fugitive. Lieutenant Gerard is with him. I don’t want you to be alone.”
“What? When can I go see him?”
“Not now. He’ll have to be processed, whatever that entails, and arraigned. I don’t know, if he fights extradition, this could take months, but I know him, and I doubt he will. Gerard will tell us when he can have visitors.”
“I need Maggi. Dora Ann get Maggi and come back here.”
***
Olivia worked as late as she could at the clinic, knowing that if Richard were going to call or show up, he would expect to find her there. Most of the patients who arrived had come only to offer her support, tired women who knew what it was like to have their man behind bars for long periods of time. In addition, tattooed men arrived, who surprisingly tried to offer her comfort.
While they were in her exam room, she took their blood pressure, their medical histories, their blood work, knowing they wouldn’t have come if they hadn’t needed a doctor. There was kindness here, that she would recognize a few days later, that they didn’t want her to be alone on her wedding day, but now she only felt grateful that she could stay busy, without thinking about what terrors Richard was shifting through.
She worked on files in her office long after Dora Ann had kicked the last patient out the door. And with the door locked, alone, she had time to give expression to her emotions. The clinic, her clinic, seemed incomplete without Richard, his vibrancy, his charisma filling up the place. She’d never been lonely here. The work itself had always been enough. No, that was his legacy to her, making her needy, wanting him desperately.
She let that thought roll around in her brain for a few seconds before she realized the fallacy of her thoughts. She would not blame him for something he didn’t do, or for her own expectations. Olivia straightened her spine, refused to be a dishrag. His legacy was to make her strong, to show her that she didn’t need to do everything by herself, that sharing the work was as important as doing the work.
His legacy was to bring love into her life, and laughter and with luck, and a few more months: a family. She loved him more at that second than she did just that morning when she married him.
Long after dark, when she finally got voluntary muscles to move, she put her coat on, grabbed her medical bag. Reception looked different, and she realized there were wedding presents stacked in piles, all around, making it difficult to walk.
Wedding presents. Somehow, with him gone, they seemed all wrong.
“Well, they’re his too,” she muttered, feeling smug. “We’ll make him deal with them.”
After locking the clinic door, she looked at the street, expecting to see people dancing, eating, laughing. The party was over. The tables and chairs had vanished. Like everything else about this day, it was not what she expected. It was like she had stepped into another universe.
“The party lasted a few hours after Richard was taken away and you disappeared,” Maggi said, coming up behind her, wrapping the new bride tightly in a warm hug. “Some of our people tried to make it a block party, that didn’t work. All the people who knew Dr. Kimble from before left almost immediately, the Tafts, the Deckers, and the others. I think they were in shock, that we were hoping all this ugliness was behind him.”
Olivia swallowed, found her voice strained, her words difficult. She blinked rapidly, trying to get a handle on her emotions. She looked up the familiar street, down past the flashing red traffic light, saw only abandonment, emptiness, so radically different from when she arrived carried in his arms.
“We all want that.”
“Since those people were strangers, I thought their going would make the party more lively, but it didn’t. It put a damper on things. The laughter felt wrong, artificial.”
Olivia bent down, picked up a baby pacifier, abandoned, testament that children had been here, had played, had wanted to celebrate her wedding.
Olivia rubbed the pacifier with her thumb and index finger, thought of babies. “I wanted them to have a good time. I’m sure that’s what Richard would have wanted too.”
“I think we’re all worried about Dr. Kimble.”
She wondered how Donna, so full of vibrancy and life had survived for years, never knowing where her brother was, always fearing he had been rearrested, was on his way to the electric chair every time the phone rang.
Maggie continued, “So the guests started drifting home. They cleaned up, and all the food was shared. That made me happy, seeing the community you made. That is your doing, that these people shared. Even the bikers took large doggie bags.”
Olivia tried to find a grin. Someone had told her how Slide and Billy tried to prevent Richard from being taken away in handcuffs. They had their own code of justice, but to her were always honorable.
“I saved you some. Are you hungry?”
Although she hadn’t eaten anything since the few bites she’d had when she and Richard had first arrived, she was not hungry. The thought of food nauseated her.
“I want—“ Olivia said, but there wasn’t any way to finish the statement, not without crying. Her dream wedding, so much more perfect than anything she had imagined as a child: her friends standing beside her, a woman who had become a sister in every way that mattered, those boys running up and down through the church trying to scalp each other, that lunatic with his band-aid and his testimony on how she had healed him. Her marriage had started with love she never expected which now controlled her every heartbeat.
And she had never expected to feel fear, this bone freezing, breath stealing fear.
“I do too. Know that we love him. That we support him. That not one of us believe he is guilty of this horrible crime.”
The smile this time was quicker, more sincere. “Thanks.”
“I was hoping you’d leave the clinic. Will you stay, talk? I can take you to my place. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.” Maggi wrapped her arms around the doctor.
For a second, Livi leaned into her friend, grateful for the support, the understanding, the fact that for the moment, she didn’t have to be alone. “No, I’m going home. I’m glad…I’m glad the party was fun. Richard would want that. And I have no idea how he managed it.”
“I would say the man surely knows how to throw a wedding reception, if it hadn’t been so poorly planned for him to get himself arrested.”
The November wind kicked up, and with the sun long gone, the temperature had plummeted. In the eerily empty street, where a few hours before there had been laughter, Livi removed her hair-tie, finger-combed her hair, then slipped the band back on, controlling her shoulder length blond hair.
“I don’t know when he had time. He never told me he had anything planned.” But seeing it, arriving as a new wife of only twenty minutes, she had been surprised and enchanted that he had thought of her childish fantasies and done this. These were her people and she wanted them a part of her wedding festivities. “Like I said, this was…is important to me. I’m glad we all could share it. I’m glad too I was able to meet some of the people he helped, to put faces to the names.”
“I’m not sure, but I’d guess this was only a few of those he helped. Running as a fugitive must have been a nightmare for Dr. Kimble, but it looks like almost everyone he met benefited.”
“And he’s still doing that, helping everyone he meets.”
“There’s food. Take this.” Maggi shoved a heavy brown paper bag in her hands, food, she said, because it was obvious Olivia wasn’t eating.
Olivia took it, not having the heart within her to deny Maggi’s generosity. “He’ll be out soon. I promise. They can’t possibly have anything to hold him on.”
That’s what she thought, yet the afternoon and the evening had passed and Richard Kimble hadn’t returned. “I’ll drive you home,” Maggi said, as Olivia, her hands holding her car keys, glanced up and down the street. It hadn’t occurred to her that she had arrived in the Taft’s station wagon, and she had no way to get home.
The house was dark when she arrived, but as she turned on lights, so many memories assaulted her, the way she had laughed with Donna and Richard as they left for the church, Donna threatening the boys with a lifetime of chores if they acted up at the ceremony. With a fleeting grin, she wondered if they were doing dishes now, although Richard had certainly not felt they were in any way disruptive to the wedding. She stepped to the couch, remembered the times they had kissed there, the way Richard had been so gentle with her, a lover and now a husband.
With lead feet, she shoved the food unopened into the refrigerator, there was lots of room, for although Richard could cook, mostly they ate out so they could work their long hours. He had promised more home cooked meals once they were married, a promise somehow she planned to hold him to.
Olivia went back to the car for the rest of the things Maggi had thrust at her, including a well wrapped top layer of the cake she was ordered to shove in the freezer. She hadn’t tried the cake, although Maggi had all but insisted. If there had been a photographer, he was long gone. Perhaps if life settled down, she’d make sure she got a photo of her shoving cake in his mouth for their first anniversity.
The house was silent, too quiet. It needed a Richard and children scrapping like puppies. Already she missed Billy and David. Who knew children, not even her children, could make this house feel so lived in? She had never missed children, never thought of them, all those years she lived alone.
In the bedroom she took off the wedding dress, hung it in the closet, although it would have to be cleaned, not that she ever expected to wear it again. Gently, lovingly, she touched the white silk. She had anticipated Richard taking it off her, and an evening far different from what they got.
The bed was made, expectant, anticipating a bride and groom. A dozen white roses stood proud in a tall vase, brought with her bouquet, for he wanted her to have flowers in the house. He had bought a dozen fat pillar candles, or Donna had. It was, she decided, something Donna would have done. Although unlit, they made the room smell fresh and…seductive.
Teeth chattering, she changed into old frumpy clothing, jeans, thick socks, a hooded sweatshirt for the house was cold. She had not expected to be cold on this night. Leaving the bedroom, Olivia doubted she’d sleep in the bed tonight. The house was empty, lonely. Funny it had seemed a home with the two of them, laughing, making love, talking of their work long into the night. She might have to get a cat, something to keep her company if he didn’t return.
As time passed slowly through the night, she paced the house restless, and knew her new husband was responsible for that. How many times had Richard told her he paced all night, didn’t get much sleep.
Would they let him have cake in prison if she brought it? No sense going there. Phillip Gerard had promised her he would follow this through. Decker had stopped by before he left, promised more support of Richard Kimble in Top of the Deck. She didn’t know if that would help, but it seemed important that strangers knew what a good man he was, that while he was on the run, he hadn’t lost his humanity. People she’d met at the reception stopped her to say “thanks,” who wanted to reminisce about a time they remembered fondly, that had to be the worst in his life, little realizing Dr. Richard Kimble needed to move on, look forward, and not to the past fear that controlled his every waking moment for years.
Olivia pulled blankets around her, tried to sleep on the couch, the armchair. She could sleep anywhere, anytime, that was her legacy since med school, but apparently not tonight. She’d done everything she could to sleep, but the sheets were knotted and her eyes were open. “I can at least fold the laundry.” It was that or watch the test pattern on the television. There wasn’t much laundry. She had their lab coats professionally cleaned, and he sent his shirts out. Still, as she set his t-shirts and boxers in the top drawer she noticed something. Letters. Maybe two dozen of them.
Love letters, she thought, fighting down a twinge of jealousy. He swore while he had been a fugitive, there had been no woman he’d go back for, nothing that he’d done that she needed to be ashamed over. Letters. Donna wouldn’t have written to him, would have sent nothing that could be traced to him. Of that she was certain. And why would he keep letters from Donna? For a man who had almost nothing to his name beyond a few pieces of clothing, these had to mean something to him.
She shut the drawer. She would grant him his privacy, his respect. She knew he had not done this ugly thing they were accusing him of, and she would stay out of his business. If he wanted to share them, fine. After all, if she kept letters, she wouldn’t want him rifling through her underwear drawer and finding them, reading them.
She looked out the window, seeing only an empty street. The other houses all had their lights out. This she had learned from him too, an ugly habit he had almost broken, but which apparently while he was arrested again, she’d picked up. The night was quiet, clouds, seen only as a light gray, blowing overhead not bothering to tarry. A few fall leaves danced around the street, as if they had business elsewhere yet still had traces of their joie de vivre. Most of the trees had not yet reached their full color change. These leaves were either kicked out by more haughty companions, or they were more insightful, trying to get out before the late fall rush.
She wasn’t hungry. Maggi made all the guests at her wedding take home chicken and hot dogs, the salads and the rest of the cake. None of that meant anything to her. Wandering, Olivia found herself back at the freezer, checking the cake, as if something had happened to it while she had been distracted. She said a silent prayer that this ugliness would be over long before her first anniversary when they were supposed to eat it. Old wives tale she believed had some basis in fact: in order to get a couple through the rough first year, a reward. Stay together and you get cake.
Leaving the cake as if she thought better than to betray it, then she went back to their bedroom that they had not shared once as husband and wife. She shut the door, a foolish action for she was alone in the house, and pulled out the top letter.
From the return address in the top left corner, it was from Helen Kimble, his murdered wife. Richard told her in passing once that he hadn’t treated Helen as well as he should have, that he felt he ignored her and concentrated on his career. He’d meant it as a confession, that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes with a second wife, that she could always count on him to be there for her.
Well, there was that.
She pulled the letter out, decided she wouldn’t read it, would only check the stationary, the writing style, this woman she couldn’t compete with. The paper had purple flowers around the edges, lilacs? Who knew? She knew nothing about flowers, and against her own wishes, started reading.