Clint’s sister Marge, dressed in dark blue silk, pearl earrings and a pearl necklace, spoke in measured tones. Cindy didn’t believe a word she said and the sound of her voice grated at her. Clint’s father sat doubled over for most of the service. When he got up at the end of the ceremony to shake hands, he couldn’t seem to remember anyone’s name.
Cindy looked down at the Bible, opened it up and ruffled through the pages. Could it possibly hold some answers for her? Could anything really give her solace in a time like this?
She opened the book randomly, and it opened on Psalm 84. She read it slowly.
Greerson was standing there in a gray raincoat, carrying a black umbrella, laughing uncontrollably. She ran up to him to tell him to open the umbrella, that it was going to start pouring. He just kept laughing and paid no attention. She grabbed the umbrella from him, yanked her hardest to get it open. He pulled it back, enraged. Before long the two of them were in a full out tug of war.
She woke swiftly and sat up in bed. She shook her head several times to wipe the dream away.
Cindy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Greerson. She resented his inferring that she wasn’t seeing things clearly. Above all, she prized herself on her ability to ferret out the truth of any situation. She had worked long hours at her job, making sure no important detail was missing in the research she did. It hadn’t been easy landing a job at one of the best papers in New York City. Even though it was an entry level position, they soon gave Cindy more and more responsibility, with bigger and bigger articles. It was up to her to check the significant facts, dig deeper into the backgrounds of the people mentioned in the piece. Cindy was a huge asset. It was common knowledge that she had a wonderful future ahead of her.
As she headed downstairs, she found Ann in the kitchen, over the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal as she did every morning. Cindy sat at the kitchen table. It was covered with a red checked tablecloth and placed near the window, in the sun.
“I’ve got a theory I want to run by you, Ann,” Cindy said.
Ann kept stirring. This was Cindy’s third theory this week . She knew Ann didn’t like it, but had to continue anyway.
“We can’t rule out that someone in the family got Clint killed,” Cindy started.
“Oh God,” Ann breathed.
“They dwell on me, they blame me, but I’m just a convenient cover. When you think about it, there’s a lot they get by making it seem like there’s something wrong with me.”
“Who made you the detective here?” Ann breathed out heavily. “Go back to work. Research stories at the paper. Keep all your fact checking there.”
“And, don’t forget the insurance money,” Cindy barely heard what Ann said . “If Clint is gone and it’s my fault, the money will all go to them.”
Ann stopped stirring the oatmeal, and spun around. “Think a minute about what you’re saying, Cindy. Clint’s own family, who love him, would have him killed for insurance money? Why? They have plenty of money on their own.”
“Someone in the family could be pathologically jealous—”
Ann’s voice grew shriller. “Enough to have him killed?”
“We have to consider every angle.”
“No, you don’t,” Ann tossed the wooden spoon down on the table. “You sound as if you’re losing your mind.”
“I’m thinking things through.”
“You’re becoming obsessed, “ Ann continued.
“Listen, time is passing. I can’t stay here forever. You’re making it harder and harder for me to go.”
Cindy knew what a strain she’d been on Ann, and she felt badly about it. Ann always brought a sense of balance and normalcy to her days. Cindy felt safe around her. She’d been dreading the day when Ann would tell her that she had to go.
Ann’s voice had a thin edge to it. “I can’t go home with a peaceful heart with you thinking these terrible thoughts. You sound paranoid.”
Ann turned back to the stove. The oatmeal was ready. She turned off the fire, poured the oatmeal into two earthenware bowls and put them on the table. Then she went to pour fresh coffee for both of them, in two hand- painted mugs. The mugs were engagement presents from Cindy’s old friends, back in Wisconsin. For a moment, Cindy felt homesick.
“I don’t mean to be a burden,” she said.
“Forget it,” Ann said. “Eat your breakfast.”
Ann loved to prepare food, and Cindy loved home-cooked meals. It was something their mother never had any time for. She’d been too busy working and running around town with her friends, and boyfriends, after Cindy’s dad died . Ann had taken on the role of mother in Cindy’s life.
Cindy and Ann starting eating breakfast. Cindy hated defending herself, having to prove she was just like everyone else. She never wanted to be just like everyone else. She just wanted to be who she was.
“I’m NOT crazy.”
“Listen, I think you need to reach a point, and I’m not saying it’s today, where you are just going to have to accept what happened with Clint, and move on,” Ann declared.
Cindy knew Ann had her best interests in mind, but her words hurt. She would never move on. How could she?
“I’m doing just fine,” said Cindy.
“How?” Now Ann was annoyed. “ You haven’t been able to open one gift from the wedding. You haven’t been able to write one thank you note. You refuse to consider leaving this place. Clint’s mother and sister live one mile away - and they’ve been calling too much. Way too much.”
Cindy’s stomach dropped. “Really?”
“Sometimes they call three or four times a day. You’d know if you ever checked your cell. Now they’re calling my cell, too. Not to mention the landline. “
Cindy’s body clenched .
“They want to come here and grill you again, get fact after fact.”
“They’re turning everything around,” said Cindy, “pointing the finger at me.”
“I can’t stay here and protect you from them forever. They’re devastated and furious.”
“That’s what I mean,” Cindy said.
“It doesn’t mean they killed their son,” Ann seemed as if she were on the verge of trembling. “It’s natural to feel that way after such a horrible loss.”
Cindy fell silent.
Ann came closer, put her hand on Cindy’s arm. “Cindy, listen to me, I really think it’s time for you to go back to work. It would be good for you. You loved your job and it would take your mind off Clint.”
“I don’t want to take my mind off Clint,” Cindy shot back, alarmed . “I want to remember every little thing. Take good care of him.”
“He’s not here to take care of,” Ann breathed.
“I can take good care of his memory, though.”
“Okay,” Ann relented, “You want to take care of Clint’s memory? Fine. The best way to do that would be to sell the house, take his things with you, and get away from his family. Take money from the sale of the house and come back home for a while. That will buy you some time. You won’t have to work for a while, you can unwind, go through all his things and make some kind of memorial.”
Cindy wasn’t having it. “There’s no way I’m selling this house or leaving it behind.”
Ann’s face was getting red . Her voice got louder. “Okay, fine. In that case, clean this place up! Unpack the gifts!, Throw out the empty boxes, send thank you notes, remove the clutter. You haven’t unpacked your luggage from your honeymoon for Christ’s sake!”
