Unbreathed Memories (7 page)

After Paul had helped Mother into her coat and the door had slammed shut behind them, Daddy flipped on the TV, and we caught the five o’clock news. The anchorman on Channel Two, with hair so sculptured his hairdresser deserved a line in the scrolling credits, didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know. Dr. Sturges had fallen or been pushed over the balcony during an apparent struggle. Robbery had been ruled out. The police were still waiting for the medical examiner’s report. My father must have been listening to the broadcast, although his eyes weren’t on the TV. Suddenly, the pile of books he was holding teetered, then collapsed into a heap on the floor. “Dammit to hell!” he muttered, just loud enough for me to hear. Without picking anything up, he left the room, smack dab in the middle of the report. “I don’t want to hear it.”

I watched, puzzled, as he threaded his way through a maze of packing boxes on his way to the kitchen. What had upset him? Something the reporter had said? Or maybe he was just sick to death of unpacking books and wired from too much caffeine. Whatever, I was relieved when he returned a few minutes later looking normal and holding a cold bottle of beer. Coffee and beer. Uppers and downers for the masses. Daddy perched on the arm of the sofa and took a long drink, then turned his attention to the TV. But now the reporter had moved on to describe a fire that was burning out of control in a warehouse near Fells Point. Daddy grunted.

“They didn’t mention anything about Georgina, Daddy.”

He set his beer down on top of the
Capital
. I watched as the moisture from the bottle slowly soaked into the newspaper. “That little girl doesn’t have her head screwed on straight, but there’s no way in hell she could have killed anybody. What can the police be thinking?”

They’re thinking they don’t like to be lied to
. I didn’t tell Daddy about that. I couldn’t predict how he’d take the news that I ratted on Georgina. If he found out about it later, it wouldn’t be from me.

Leaving the TV playing on low volume, I helped Dad unpack books, fighting the old librarian’s urge to put them in alphabetical order by author and title. Size is good. So is color. I rearranged a shelf so all the blue bindings were together, then ended the row with a two-volume set of yellow-bound essays. The complete works of Patrick O’Brian, my father’s favorite novelist, went on the next shelf down. I left him to check on the children from time to time, finding them happily eating popcorn and watching
The Lion King
for the umpteenth time.

When the doorbell rang, I was thumbing through an ancient paperback copy of
Thunderball
. I rushed to the door, thinking it might be Dennis, but the officer with her index finger on the button wasn’t Dennis. She was Sergeant Williams, with her partner, Detective Duvall. It didn’t compute.
What the hell were they doing here in Annapolis?

Suddenly I panicked. “Where’s my sister? Has something happened to Georgina?”

Officer Williams didn’t answer. “May we come in, Mrs. Ives?”

I stood in the doorway like a stone fool, one hand grasping the doorknob, the other balled into a tight fist.
My heart was pounding.
Something must be wrong with Georgina!
I took a ragged breath. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

Officer Williams shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then ran her short, stubby fingers through her light brown hair. “There’s no need to worry. Your sister’s fine, under the circumstances. We sent her home with her husband over an hour ago.”

An hour ago?
I couldn’t believe Scott hadn’t called. What a selfish clod!

I continued to block the door. “Then why are you here?”

“We’d like to talk to your father.”

Daddy appeared suddenly at my shoulder. “What about?” The deep, confident voice that had caused many a young sailor to quake in his deck shoes had no perceivable effect on this lady. She didn’t even blink.

“Is there someplace we can go where we won’t be interrupted?”

That was odd. It wouldn’t have surprised me if they’d come to talk to
me
after everything I’d blabbed to Officer Williams. But Daddy? What could they want with him? I glanced quickly at my father, hoping for a clue. He looked bewildered and didn’t answer right away, so I blurted out, “We can go to the kitchen, I suppose.” I tugged on his arm.

My father led the officers down the hall with me following close behind. Once in the kitchen, Daddy leaned against the dishwasher and waved the officers toward the table. “Have a seat.”

Officer Duvall turned to me and drawled, “We’d like to speak to your father alone.”

“Daddy?”

He frowned, deepening the natural crease that separated his eyebrows. “I’d rather she stayed.”

Officer Duvall shrugged. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’ve nothing to hide.”

Officer Duvall settled his ample behind into a chair that groaned alarmingly under his weight. I wondered if the chair had been screwed back together securely after being disassembled for the move. He pulled a small notebook from his inside breast pocket, turned to a blank page, and smoothed it open on the tabletop. Officer Williams remained standing by her chair and regarded my father coolly. “Your daughter believes you had something to do with Dr. Sturges’s death.”

If it had been me, I would have shouted it, but Daddy’s voice remained calm and steady. “That’s perfectly ridiculous!”

“Mrs. Cardinale claims that Dr. Sturges invited you to come to her office last week in order to assist with her therapy.” Officer Williams sat down, laced her fingers together, and laid her hands on the table in front of her.

Daddy looked thoughtful and began chewing on the knuckle of his index finger. A sure sign of nerves. Something was getting to him.

“She says you became angry during the session. She says you lost your temper.”

Officer Williams hadn’t taken her eyes from Daddy’s face and, with the long practice of a commanding officer, he had traded her gaze for gaze. But now he looked away. “I wasn’t there.”

“Are you telling me that your daughter is lying?”

His head snapped around. “Of course she’s lying.”

“You saw her this morning,” I reminded the officers. “Georgina was a mess.”

“True. But in this case, we have a corroborating witness. The housekeeper claims she heard raised voices.”

My father shrugged. “Sturges is a shrink. I imagine voices get raised in that office all the time.”

“But, sir, your name appears in her appointment calendar.”

I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. “Daddy?”

I caught his eye, but he looked away. His shoulders sagged. Clearly the interview wasn’t going the way he had expected. “Get me a cup of coffee, would you, honey?”

I emptied the dregs from the coffeepot, thick as syrup, into his cup. My heart raced. When I returned to the table, he was sitting down at it. Anyone coming in just then would think we were about to play a hand of bridge.

Daddy took a sip from the cup I gave him, grimaced, and said, “OK. I’ll admit that I attended that damn-fool therapy session. But that was the only time I was
ever
in that loony woman’s office.”

Duvall made a notation in his notebook. “Just that once?”

“Yes.”

Officer Williams leaned forward. “Tell me, what was it that made you lose your temper?”

“I’d rather not say.”

The two officers exchanged glances. “I think it’d be fair to tell you, sir,” Officer Williams continued, “that your daughter told us all about it.”

My father’s face grew pale beneath a sheen of sweat. “If my daughter were completely sane, she wouldn’t be seeing a therapist, now would she?”

“I’ll ask you again, sir. What was the argument about?”

Daddy closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. When he opened his eyes again, I saw that they were pooling with tears. “That damn therapist was supposed to be helping my daughter get well. Instead, she was filling her head with nonsense.” He took a deep breath. “It’s all a pack of lies.”

“Lies? What kind of lies?”

Daddy looked at me, desperation in his eyes. “Don’t tell your mother,” he pleaded.

I grabbed his arm and shook it. “Don’t tell her what?”

Daddy took another deep breath and exhaled slowly. The silence roared in my ears. When Daddy finally spoke, I thought at first that I’d misunderstood what he’d said. “That woman has Georgina convinced that I sexually abused her.”

“What!” My head swam.

A tear ran down his cheek and dripped, unchecked, onto the front of his shirt. “How can she say such a thing?”

I sat there, too dumbfounded to speak.

“Exactly the question I was going to ask, Captain Alexander. Why would your daughter say such a thing?”

“She’s delusional, Officer.” He swiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll admit I went there for the therapy session. I thought maybe it would help. But then, they bushwhacked me. Georgina looked me straight in the eye and accused me of all sorts of atrocities!” He jabbed a finger in the air. “And that damn woman sitting behind her desk, egging Georgina on …” A shudder ran through his body. “I tell you, I just cracked. Lost my temper and yelled at the two of them
until my throat was sore. Goddamn therapist!” He searched my face for understanding. “I got out of there, pumpkin. Jesus! It was like Jonestown without the Kool-Aid! I got out of that hellhole and never went back.”

I turned from him then, sick with confusion. It seemed a hundred miles to the sink, but I managed to get there and lean over it, the metal hard and cold beneath my hands. Outside the window, a bird hopped gaily from limb to limb of the sycamore tree. I felt like popping it one. Why should he be allowed to be so happy when our world was falling apart?

“Granddaddy? Are you sick?” I spun around.
Julie!
My niece stood at her grandfather’s knee, Abby dangling by one bedraggled ear from her chubby fist.
How much had she heard?

My father raised his head from where it rested on his arms and smiled at his granddaughter. “No, honey, your granddaddy’s just a little bit tired.” He laid a gentle hand on top of her head, then stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Julie studied him seriously, a worried look on her face. She was the image of her mother at the age of four; her copper ponytails hung like fat sausages, just grazing her shoulders. “Abby wants a drink.”

I took Julie’s hand and steered her gently away from the table. “Let’s take care of Abby,” I said. While the officers made small talk behind me, I rummaged quickly in the refrigerator, coming up with a carton of orange juice and a Pyrex dish of yellow cheese cubes covered with plastic wrap. I hustled Julie out of the room. When I had her settled again on the family room couch I watched with affection as she offered her cheese first to Abby, then when Abby didn’t appear to care for cheese, thank you, nibbled on it herself.

Abby wasn’t the only one who had completely lost her appetite. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to eat again.
How could Daddy? How could anybody?
I swallowed hard. “Impossible,” I said aloud. “Absolutely impossible.”

chapter
5

I decided to hide out downstairs with the
children until the police had finished their business. I couldn’t bear to watch my father shrivel with humiliation before my eyes. He was my hero—the man who had bought me a cowgirl suit with cap pistols on my sixth birthday; who had wiped away my tears when the boy of my dreams jilted me for a bleach-blond cheerleader; who had walked me down the aisle, tall and proud, the day I married Paul.

When I heard the front door slam and felt my spine relax into the sofa cushions, I realized how tense I had been. But my brain still churned. What would I do if Daddy continued to insist that I not tell Mother about Georgina’s wild claims? Yet Mom had looked drained, the deep lines in her brow already reflecting the wearying burden of the mess Georgina had gotten herself into. How could I heap on this new disaster?

When their grandfather appeared at the foot of the basement stairs, Sean and Dylan each grabbed a hand and dragged him toward the pool table. Dad spent the
time jockeying a little footstool around so they could reach the table to play eight-ball. In his grandchildren’s company, I watched the worried frown evaporate. Daddy wore the benign countenance of an innocent man with an unshakable belief in the infallibility of the system. As he racked up the balls for the boys, I wanted to slap him hard on both cheeks and shout,
Wake up! Life is not like the movies. Truth doesn’t always reign triumphant
.

I left the children sending the cue ball ricocheting dangerously around the table and dashed upstairs to clean up the kitchen, reasoning that Mom would surely notice how the coffee cups had multiplied in her absence. I was inverting a souvenir mug from New Orleans over a peg in the dishwasher, feeling like my father’s accomplice, when the front door slammed again. I hardly had time to turn around before Mother was standing in the kitchen doorway, her eyes wild with panic. Paul towered like a protective giant behind her. Even in the darkened hallway I saw that his arms were laden with bulky plastic bags from Bed Bath & Beyond.

“What were the police doing here? Have they arrested Georgina?” My mother’s voice trembled.

Paul set the bags down in the doorway and laid a comforting hand on my mother’s shoulder. “We saw the police car pull out of the drive,” he explained.

“Georgina’s fine, Mom. They’ve even sent her home.”

“Then what …?”

I took in my mother’s unusual pallor and decided a half truth would do. “The police are talking to everyone who saw Dr. Sturges in the last few weeks. Apparently Daddy went with Georgina to one of her therapy sessions.”

Mother shrugged out of her down jacket, handed it
to Paul, and collapsed into a kitchen chair. “Of course. I knew that.” Relief flooded her face with color. “So, what did they want to know?” A strand of pale peach hair had fallen forward over her cheek, and she tucked it back behind her ear.