Blind Acorn Page 11

  And it was lovely. Cara was radiant, and Bonnie was as happy as I’d ever seen her. Food, drink, and music flowed freely, the guests all seemed to be in party mode, and party they did. Too soon, I had to think about the return drive. As it was, it would be after midnight before I got back to the hotel and I wasn’t relishing the long drive through a lot of unbroken darkness.

  I found Bonnie dancing with a small group of her friends and pulled her away with apologies to the others. She was sorry that I was leaving so early, she said, and wondered if I could do her a favor. One of the other guests, one of her co-workers whose name was Carol Sue, also needed to get back to town, and they hoped I’d take her along. I agreed readily, thinking that I’d like the company, until I remembered the condition of the car. I explained and both women assured me that it would be fine.

  They were right. Once we’d both climbed in (me first, through the passenger door) we waved goodbye to the crowd that had now gathered and headed down the very dark road. The rattling seemed louder to me on the return drive, but maybe it was just that, in the darkness, I focused on it more. Carol Sue was a real advantage. She talked the entire way and kept me awake and alert in the process. By the end of the drive, I knew more about her than anyone reasonably should know. I dropped her off with my sincere thanks and wearily made the short drive back to the hotel, where I fell into a deep and much needed sleep.

  In the morning, after several cups of coffee, I returned to the airport. At the car rental return center, I pulled into the queue behind other hurried travelers. I climbed over the console for the final time and retrieved my bag from the back seat. I handed the keys to an attendant who went to the rear of the car to open the trunk, a courtesy to me to check that I hadn’t left anything in it. I hadn’t because, of course, it didn’t open. He was frowning at it as I walked quickly toward the terminal door. Seconds later, I heard, “Ma’am? Ma’am!” as he hurried to catch up with me, clipboard gripped tightly in both hands.

  I turned while continuing to walk. “Did you notice,” he asked, “that there seems to be some damage to the vehicle?”

  It was funny that he seemed to be nervous. I mean, he hadn’t done the damage, right? I couldn’t resist. I called back to him, “I had your people document those scratches when I picked up the car on Thursday.” Leaving him speechless, I went through the doors, pulling my bag behind me. I had left written information about contacting Adam inside the car. But they’d have to climb over the console to get to it.

  Thirty-Six

  The day after I returned from Texas was a rainy Sunday. After showering, I went down to make coffee and read the paper. Mitch was already in the garage working on something. I don’t know what he was doing, but it was noisy, sounded like hammering on metal. The kitchen wasn’t much quieter. Lucy and Dylan were arguing about whose turn it was to mow the lawn. I couldn’t help but wonder why they were arguing when it was raining and neither of them was going to do it today anyway. They just liked to argue.

  I smiled to myself as I grabbed an umbrella and my car keys and headed out the door.

  “Mom!” Dylan yelled. “Wait! Where are you going? Can’t you tell her that she’s wrong and it’s her turn to mow before you go? She won’t listen to me!” He looked pretty frustrated. Welcome to my world, I thought.

  “Sorry, guys.” But not really. “You’ll have to settle it yourselves. I’ll be back in a couple hours.” And I bought another newspaper on my way to the apartment. It would be worth waiting for my coffee until I got there, I was sure.

  I was right, it was worth it. It was so quiet that I could actually hear a clock ticking from somewhere in Gina’s room. And the gentle rain against the windows. It had been a long time since I’d heard rain that way. I liked that sound and made my coffee without turning on any music.

  I sat with the paper but found that my attention kept wandering from it. For some reason, being in the apartment was reminding me of the one we lived in when I was a kid. I’m not sure why that was, because there were so many of us that it was almost never quiet there.

  But the slightly uneven floors and the windowsills that had given up their paint but never really gave up their dust, were like old, familiar friends. And the little moans and sighs of an older home called out to me. When I was in the apartment, I was drawn into its history and experience in ways that sometimes felt peaceful, and sometimes made me anxious. That day, it was anxious.

  The funny thing was the way my feelings about the place in my past could catch me unawares. Looking back, it seems that we had little in the physical possession sense. What we had was reborn multiple times in the hand-me-down life we all lived. I don’t remember obsessing about not having something. It’s just the way it was, our normal. Only later, when I had so much more, did I begin to understand what we hadn’t had.

  That understanding should have made me feel so grateful, so full of blessings, right? Yet, here I was, wallowing in self-pity. Wondering what was missing. There must be something seriously wrong with me, I thought. When I had little, I treasured it. Now that I have so much, I can only think about what’s missing.

  The paper unread, I decided to go home. Quietly closing the door behind me, hoping not to attract any attention, I made my way downstairs. Just before I made it to the landing, Nellie’s door opened, and she stepped into the hall. She looked flustered, and her hair was wrapped around pink plastic curlers, a flowery scarf tied around the whole thing. “I’ll be leaving soon myself,” she said.

  “Oh,” was all I could think to say, wondering if she meant forever.

  “I’m just not sure—” she didn’t seem to know how to continue. Not having a clue myself, I waited.

  “I don’t know if it’s suitable—” she tried again, seeming to have forgotten that I was there.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  Looking surprised to see me, she answered, “Wrong? No, no. Of course not. It’s just that I’ve been invited out to lunch today. My cousin Dolores and her husband will be coming for me in another hour and I need to be ready.” She waited, as if that explained everything.

  “Well, that’s very nice. I hope you have a nice time.” And I made a gesture toward the door.

  Agitated, she took a tiny step forward, blocking my easy exit. “I’m just not sure.”

  I was becoming irritated and was about to brush past her with an apology when she looked up at me. The skin around her eyes was crinkled with concern. Something appeared to be creating tremendous anxiety for her. More than the usual amount.

  “About…?” I asked slowly.

  “The dress!” she responded immediately. “I’m not sure about the blue dress. It’s the one I prefer to wear but I’m not sure it’s suitable. Do you know that one I mean? The blue one?”

  I was pretty sure I’d never seen her dressed in anything a person like her would wear out of the house. Expecting her to be somewhat formal about such things, I was confident telling her that I had not seen the blue dress.

  She held her hand up to signal that I should wait, and she hurried into her apartment. She didn’t even close the door behind her, so I knew that she was perturbed. She returned quickly, holding a hanger with a cornflower blue double-knit dress on it. She held it up, peeking over the jewel neckline and draping one long sleeve over her arm. Then she dropped the sleeve and smoothed the fabric-covered buttons decorating the front with her hand. “I’ll, of course, wear pearls with it.” Her eyes beseeched mine for approval and I noticed for the first time that they were an identical shade of blue.

  “It’s a beautiful dress and it suits you perfectly,” I assured her. “I’m sure it will be just right.”

  She deliberated before explaining, “Dolores has always been very particular, and I haven’t seen them in so long. I don’t want her to think that I’m, you know, failing.”

  “I can’t imagine anyone thinking that, not if you’re in tha
t dress with your hair done. And the pearls. Sounds perfect to me.”

  Without a word, she nodded and ducked back inside, nudging Mr. Purrsalot along in front of her with her foot and pushing the door behind her.

  No good deed, I was thinking when she reopened the door just before it clicked closed. “Thank you,” was all she said. Still no smile.

  So, I smiled for both of us, picturing her studying a menu with her rouged cheeks, gray curls, and cornflower blue eyes. And pearls, of course.

  Thirty-Seven

  Late Tuesday afternoon, I stopped at home to change my clothes. I sat on the board of a local nonprofit and they held an annual planning session off site. It usually involved three hours of structured training, followed by an hour or so of brainstorming for the coming year. We held the event at a nearby restaurant and dinner made its way onto the agenda somewhere. As incoming board president, I was chairing the meeting and wanted to look fresh and professional, even at the end of my workday, hence the change.

  As I stood in the closet deciding about shoes, Mitch surprised me by rushing into the room, loosening his tie and slipping off his jacket. “You seem to be in a hurry,” I said, startling him.

  “Oh. I didn’t know you were home,” he said. “I have to catch a plane,” he grabbed an overnight bag from under the bed and flipped it open.

  “I didn’t know you were going somewhere,” I said, hearing both anger and confusion in my voice.

  “Chicago,” was his answer as he hurriedly packed. He didn’t even look up when he said it.

  “It would have been nice if you’d told me.”

  “It’s a last-minute decision. I just found out myself.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I was home, or I might not know at all. I guess when you didn’t come home tonight, I’d eventually figure it out.” Why can’t you drop it? I asked myself.

  He finally looked at me. “What would you have me do, Trinity? Should I tell the client that I’d love to come see them, but I need to ask my wife’s permission first? Should I tell them that I can’t go until I give my wife reasonable notice? What do you think would sound best?” Then he returned to packing.

  “You don’t have to be sarcastic.” As I said it, I realized that my voice was getting louder. “But since I’m usually the one who plans meals and family time, it would be nice to have reliable schedules from everyone.” Now I was fairly shouting.

  He turned toward me in surprise. “What the hell, Trin? It’s not a big deal. I’ll be back tomorrow night, Thursday at the latest. I think you can manage.”

  “Sure. I can manage. I can manage everything, everything. You just worry about yourself, it’s fine.”

  Under his breath, but meant for me, he said, “It’s not like you notice when I’m here, anyway.”

  “Are you feeling neglected, Mitch? Because it sure sounds like it. You sound like a guy rationalizing something for himself.”

  “Really? That’s what I sound like? I’m curious now. What is it that you think I’m rationalizing, Trinity?”

  “I don’t know, Mitch,” I answered as I threw my hands up in the air. “You sound like a guy rationalizing something that makes him pull away from his family. Something like an affair.” There it was. Out in the open. I held my breath.

  He laughed. Then he got very serious and said, “And who would blame me?” With that he slammed the bag shut and left, tie hanging loosely around his neck, jacket bunched up in his other hand.

  I put on my shoes and left shortly afterward, wishing I could skip this meeting. Wishing I hadn’t provoked him that way. Wishing I knew what I was doing. Did he mean “who would blame me if…” or did he mean “who would blame me that…?”

  After another sleepless night, I went to work. Midmorning, I called his office. Sydney, the usual receptionist, answered on the third ring. “Oh, hi, Mrs. B,” she said after I’d identified myself.

  “Hi, Sydney. How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, sounding busy. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m just wondering if you know yet when Mitch will be returning from Chicago. He wasn’t sure when he left.”

  “Um, I’m not sure. If you can hold for a minute, I’ll see if anyone knows when they’ll be back.” They?

  “Thanks, Sydney,” I said, and she put me on hold.

  When she came back to the phone, she said, “I’m sorry. No one’s heard yet.”

  “Oh. Was it a big group that went?”

  “No,” she said. “It was just the two of them.” Just two of them?

  “I see,” I stammered. I didn’t know how to ask what I wanted to know so I thanked her for her time and hung up.

  Thirty-Eight

  It was the end of June and Mitch had been working on some mega work project all week and had been distracted even when he was home. I had tried to stay out of his way. It had been easy because he was paying no attention to anything I did or said. In response, I was one part irritated, one part okay with it. Until Friday afternoon.

  On Friday morning, I’d brought my father to an outpatient clinic for some minor cataract removal. It was minor in the sense that he’d had the procedure performed once before and was not anxious about the process. The clinic had a very small waiting room and they preferred that patients be dropped off and their drivers be called when they were ready to leave. Dad was comfortable with this, so I took advantage of the time to get some errands done.

  Stopping at home to bring some pillows I’d just bought, I thought I’d have enough time to take the screen from our bedroom window to the hardware store for repair. Feeling like a well-oiled machine because I was accomplishing so much, I also thought I’d let the dog out for a few minutes, in case I stayed longer than planned with my parents when I brought my dad home.

  I let the dog back inside and walked toward the stairs to the basement to get the screen. That’s when I saw the blood.

  There was blood along the hall floor, between the bathroom and the back door. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it right away, but I guess I was just in a rush. I stood very still and listened. Was there someone in the house? I heard nothing; the house sounded as empty as it should have been. I listened at the basement door. Nothing. So, I braced a chair against it so that it couldn’t be opened from below and I headed upstairs, slowly, quietly, stopping to listen further. Nothing. Heart pounding, I reached the top of the stairs and wondered what I was doing. If there was a stranger up there, I certainly didn’t want to run into him. But what if one of the kids was hurt? I needed to know that. Gathering my courage, I checked every room. Nothing. No one, and no more blood. I went back downstairs. Now I was really getting spooked. What could have happened?

  I walked through the house checking window and door locks. Everything seemed to be as it should be. But someone had obviously been here, someone who was bleeding.

  I texted Lucy, knowing that she wouldn’t answer me. But I knew that if I was persistent, I’d wear her down. I only had to send “R U ok?” four times in rapid succession before she replied “YES.” Dylan answered after two attempts. Both kids were at school (I think); in any case, neither seemed to be bleeding all over the house. One good sign.

  I knew that Mitch wouldn’t answer a text, especially if he was busy at work. I called him. No answer. I called again. Again. The next time the call went directly to voicemail. I didn’t know if I should be angry at being ignored or worried that something was wrong. I called his assistant. Yes, Mitch was in the office and he seemed to be fine. Anger, then. I asked her to interrupt him and she did.

  “Trin,” he said, “I’m really busy and it’ll have to wait.”

  “I am so sorry, but it can’t wait. Something is very wrong, and it cannot wait.” I couldn’t believe that he didn’t care to help me and now I was bordering on hysteria. “Someone has bled all over our house and they didn’t have the courte
sy to wait until you weren’t so busy.”

  “What are you talking about?” I admit that he now sounded alarmed, and I was gratified by that. I told him what I’d found.

  “Okay. Look. Just get out of there for now. Can you just leave, Trin? I’ll get home as soon as I can, but you should just leave, okay? I really have to go but promise me that you’ll just leave now.”

  Annoyed at his tone, I promised and hung up. The phone rang again immediately, and I assumed he had called back to apologize. But it was the clinic. Dad was ready to be brought home.

  I drove right back to the clinic and helped him into the car. On the way to his house, I explained what I’d found at home. He was as baffled as I was, and we tried to come up with a plausible explanation while I made tea for him and my mom. Finally, without an explanation to offer and annoyed further that Mitch hadn’t even called back to check on me, I left.

  When I started the car, something flashing down beside my seat caught my eye. It was then that I realized that my phone had fallen out of my pocket before I went inside with dad. Maybe Mitch had called. I slid the phone up and found that I had missed several calls. Six, in fact. All from Mitch. So, I called him.

  “Where are you?” he demanded instead of saying hello.

  “I’m in the car, on my way back home. Where are you?” Why was he angry, I wondered?

  “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I thought something was wrong! You can’t call me with that kind of information and then not answer my calls, Trin!” That’s why he was angry.

  I explained about my dad (I had told him, but he’d forgotten) and about the phone falling out of my pocket.