Die Before I Wake (24 page)

“It can’t wait until tonight? Honey, I’m a little busy here.”

“It can’t wait another minute. Just come home.

I’ll explain it when you get here.” I must have frightened him, because I didn’t have long to wait. I timed him; it was exactly seven minutes from the time I hung up the phone until the time he wheeled into the driveway. “Jules?” he said as he came in the front door. “Where are you?”

“In the living room.”

He rushed in, worry etching frown lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

I was determined to remain calm, determined not to panic until I had all the facts. “Sit down,” I said.

Tom dropped into the chair opposite me. Leaning, elbows on knees, he crossed his hands and waited.

“Tell me about the pills,” I said.

“Excuse me?”

“The pills, Tom. The ones you’ve been pushing on me every four hours for the last week. The ones that turned me into a zombie. The ones that Dr. Jankowski didn’t prescribe.”

He looked puzzled, an expression that did nothing to endear him to me at this particular moment. “I never said Dr. Jankowski prescribed them.”

“What? You—” I halted, replaying in my brain the portions of pill-related conversation I could remember.
What are they? Something for the pain.

Had Jankowski’s name ever come up, or had I only assumed? “Damn,” I said.

“I had them on hand,” he said. “You looked so pathetic and I felt so bad for you, Jules. I knew you had to be in terrible pain, and what Jankowski gave you was a joke. You needed something stronger. So I gave you these. I thought you knew. Didn’t you read the label on the bottle?”

Of course I hadn’t read the label. I’d spent half my time in a fog, and Tom had given the pills to me.

I trusted him. It hadn’t even occurred to me until now to question his actions. “The side effects,” I said. “They’re so awful. Nausea, fogginess, memory loss, paranoia—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Damn it, Tom, I tried to tell you. Over and over.

You just didn’t want to listen. You were too busy playing the big, important doctor who knows so much more than little ignorant me.”

“You’re right,” he said, slowly rubbing his hands over his eyes. The man looked exhausted. I don’t think he’d gotten to bed before midnight in a week or more. “You’re right. I’ve been a real ass, haven’t I?”

“I hate to throw names around, but if the shoe fits, then, yes. I’d say that’s a pretty accurate description of your recent actions.”

“I was only trying to—”

“Don’t say it. I already know. You wanted to protect me.”

“You have to understand, Jules. I didn’t protect Beth. I was a neglectful husband, and she’s dead because of it. If I’d been paying better attention, she’d still be alive. I don’t want to lose you to that same in-attention.”

“Trust me when I say there’s no chance of that happening.”

“I guess I went a little overboard in the other direction.”

“I guess you did.” He looked miserable, and I decided that as long as we were already there, I might as well take things a step further. “Tom,” I said, “can I ask you a serious question? One you may not want to hear, but that has to be asked?” His smile seemed a little forced. “Of course.

What is it?”

“Did you kill Beth?”

His astonishment was too immediate, too visceral, to be faked. Even before he spoke, I felt myself go weak with relief. I hadn’t doubted him. I really, truly hadn’t. At least I hadn’t thought I did.

But the relief coursing through me right now said something different. Despite my protestations to the contrary, a sliver of doubt had been there all the time. “Julie,” he said, sounding stunned. “Good God.

You actually believed I could do something like that?”

“The thought did cross my mind.”

“How could you—” He paused, sighed, ran a hand through his hair. “Never mind, I know how you could. I’ve really screwed things up, haven’t I?

To the point where you actually believed I might be a killer.”

I felt just the faintest hint of shame for thinking such a thing of him. What was wrong with me? “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe it’s the paranoia. From the pills.”

“You’re not to take any more of them,” he ordered.

“I already decided that. Without any help from you.”

He stood, crossed the room, and knelt on the carpet by my feet. Took both my hands in his. His hands were warm, where mine were ice-cold. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Can you ever forgive me for my lousy judgment?”

“I forgive you for your lousy judgment. And for treating me like a child.”

His eyes studied mine, gauging my sincerity. Of their own volition, my fingers wandered through his hair. “I’ve been so confused,” I said. “So afraid. Not knowing who to believe. Who to trust.”

“You can trust me,” he said. “You can always trust me.”

“That’s not what Riley seems to think.” His hand, caressing my thigh, stilled. “What does Riley have to do with it?”

“He was with me when I found out about the pills. He’s the one who pushed me to call Jankowski. He’s worried about me. He thinks I should see another doctor, get a second opinion.” Tom’s eyes narrowed. “And when, exactly, did Riley get his medical degree?”

“It’s not like that. He’s just concerned.” Grimly, he said, “Stay away from Riley. He’s bad news.”

“Tom,” I protested, “he’s your brother! How can you talk about him that way?”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know the real Riley. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“Then maybe you should fill me in.”

“He’s not a nice person, Jules. I know he comes off as charming, but it’s just a surface charm. Underneath it, he’s self-centered and irresponsible, and he absolutely refuses to grow up and accept the fact that he’s not sixteen any longer.”

Personally, I didn’t see it. I hadn’t seen any evidence—aside from his being perpetually between jobs—that pointed to immaturity or irresponsibility on Riley’s part. Even if it was true, there were traits far worse than those. But then, I wasn’t cognizant of all the history between the Larkin brothers, so maybe I wasn’t qualified to judge. And maybe my own judgment wasn’t so hot anyway. After all, wasn’t I the one who’d just accused my own husband of murder?

“What did he say about me?” Tom asked.

Brushing a strand of hair away from his ear with excessive tenderness, I said, “Nothing specific. He just made it obvious that his opinion of you isn’t any higher than your opinion of him. It’s a mutual admiration society.”

“Don’t trust my brother. I know you like him, but keep your distance. In the end, you’ll be better off.

We all will.”

“There’s something else that’s been bothering me. Why didn’t you tell me that Sadie was with her mother the night Beth died?”

Tom’s eyes went wide. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody. I read it in the newspaper. Online.” I felt a flush climb my cheekbones, but I continued to face him boldly.

“You actually went online and looked up the news reports? Why, for God’s sake?”

“Because nobody will talk to me about it! If it were up to you and Riley, I wouldn’t even know Beth was ever part of this family! If you’d bothered to tell me, I might have understood why you didn’t want to dredge it all up again for Sadie. I’m her stepmother, for God’s sake. I thought that meant I had a stake in raising her. But how can I function effectively as a parent if I don’t know what’s going on with the kids? Frankly, Tom, it makes me wonder how many other things you’ve kept from me.”

“Ah, Jules, it’s not like that. I’ve never deliberately withheld information from you. It’s just so difficult to talk about. The trauma my daughter went through that night—I just can’t imagine it. I also can’t imagine how Beth could have done that to her own child. So there’s a little anger in the mix, as well.”

“You want my opinion? I think you and the girls all need therapy. You’re in denial, and they’re left in limbo. It’s not a healthy combination.” He blinked. “Are you suggesting that I’m responsible for Sadie’s nightmares? And Taylor’s standoffishness?”

“In a roundabout way, yes. That’s exactly what I think. Both those girls need some way of working through their feelings about what happened to their mother. But in refusing them access to a mental health professional, and then clamming up instead of talking it over with them, you’ve effectively closed off all avenues of resolution. You’ve let your own distaste for the situation stand in the way of what’s best for your daughters. You have to stop doing that.”

He got up, crossed the room, stared out the window, his hands buried deep in his pockets. “I have to think this over,” he said. “It’s possible that you’re right.”

“It’s more than possible.”

“Let me work it out on my own, Jules. I’m hardheaded and set in my ways. I need time to get past my bruised ego and find the balance I seem to have been missing.”

“Fine. When you’re ready to acknowledge the truth, you can find me upstairs. I’m tired, and I’m taking a nap.”

Of course, I didn’t sleep. I lay there listening to the soft rain outside. Every time I’d begin to drift off, I’d wake with a start and check the clock. It was a half hour before I heard Tom’s measured tread on the stairs. The bedroom door opened slowly, and my husband stood there, peering into the gloom. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.” He closed the door behind him and crossed the room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he said, “Christ, Jules, I’ve made so many mistakes. How the hell can I fix this mess?”

I took his hand in mine. It was cold and clammy.

“You can’t change the past,” I said. “All you can do is move forward. Learn from your mistakes and start doing things differently. Kids are pretty resilient. If you get them the help they need now, if you start opening up and talking to them about what they’ve been through, what you’ve all been through, it’s not too late to turn things around.”

“How is it possible,” he said, “that I’m the one with the medical degree, but you’re the one with the common sense?”

“Dumb luck?”

“That must be it.”

I ran the tip of my finger along the palm of his hand. “Do you have to go back to work?” I said.

“Actually—” He gave me a wan smile. “I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got home. You weren’t exactly forthcoming on the phone. Just to be safe, I cancelled the rest of my appointments for the afternoon. Unless somebody goes into labor, I’m all yours until tomorrow.”

“Really? How much time do we have before the girls get home?”

“Why? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I am definitely thinking what you’re thinking.” He checked his watch. “We have approximately sixty-three minutes before they’re due to burst through the front door.”

“That should be enough time,” I said, “for what I have in mind.”

Outside the open window, a soft rain fell. Inside, we sat huddled at one corner of the kitchen table, our feet nestled comfortably together, both of us humming with postcoital afterglow. Tom reached his spoon into the carton of Ben & Jerry’s and scraped at the insides. “Getting low,” he said. “We might have to send out for reinforcements.”

“And I was convinced you didn’t believe in sugar.”

“My deep, dark secret. Why do you think there’s always ice cream in the house? Sugar has its time and its place. Just not in my children’s daily diet.” He raised a spoonful of Chunky Monkey and fed it to me. The sheer, hedonistic pleasure was instantaneous. “You are a god,” I said.

“See? Even you understand I’m really not the vile creature you thought I was.”

“Not vile.” I opened my mouth for another spoonful. “Just a little obsessive when it comes to protecting what’s yours.”

“I don’t mean to be overprotective,” Tom said through a mouthful of banana ice cream laced with chocolate. “It’s just that responsibility was drummed into me at an early age, and I can’t seem to break free of it.”

I flexed my bare toes, wiggled them around and rubbed my foot, the one without the air cast, against his. “Why?” I said.

He thrust his spoon into the ice cream carton, scraped around for that last bite, fed it to me. Setting the carton aside, he said, “My dad was a doctor. A general practitioner. The kind who actually made house calls. He was universally loved by his patients, which accounted for ninety percent of the population of Newmarket. I was twelve when he died. Car accident. One day he was there, the next day he wasn’t. It was tough for two young boys to comprehend. Riley was just ten. He and I both took it hard.

And Mom was—” He stared out the window at the drizzle running off the eaves. “I don’t know if helpless is the right word. Maybe just lost in her grief.

For a long time, she walked around like a phantom.

There, but not there, so insubstantial you could almost look through her. It was heartbreaking. I was the oldest, so by default, I was forced to become the adult. At twelve, I gave up my childhood to become the man of the house. I was too young to go to work, but I took care of everything else. Made sure we were warm and fed, kept the lawn mowed and the leaky pipes fixed, even scrubbed the toilets when Mom locked herself in her room, sometimes for days on end.”

I tried to picture it: a preadolescent Tom, already handsome enough to break the hearts of the local girls, riding the bus home from school every day, never knowing what he’d face when he got there.

While the other boys were out riding their bikes and shooting hoops in their driveways, Tom was vacuum-ing carpets and washing laundry, every so often sneaking a glance at the closed bedroom door behind which his mother, still in a state of shock after losing her husband so suddenly, watched the clock go around and thought about what might have been.

Although I could clearly see Tom, it was hard to imagine Jeannette as a young woman. Harder still to imagine how Riley fit into this scenario. But it went a long way toward explaining my mother-in-law’s bitterness toward the world. When she lost her husband, the man who lit up her life, the sun had stopped shining for her. I understood, for I’d felt the same way when Angel died. Except that I hadn’t allowed my loss to make me bitter and angry. Jeannette, after twenty-five years, still cast herself in the role of victim.