Lost (20 page)

The police officers roared up to our
house and told Sam and I to stay outside. I must have put the vase down at some
point, and I was gripping the ruined picture of Sam and I at my wedding.

“Mom, what do
you have?” Sam said to me as he tried to gently take it from me.

I let the
picture go in a daze.

“Who would do
this?” Sam asked, looking confused. “What’s going on?”

“It’s her.” I
said softly. In my heart I knew who had done it.

“What? Who’s
her? Mom, do you know who did this?” Sam was standing next to me, the ruined
picture in his hand.

“Go down to Bee
and Anthony’s, and ask Anthony to come up, please.” I pushed Sam toward their
house.

“What? No, I’ll
just call them.” He reached for his phone.

“No!” I told
him forcefully. He needed to go. “Do what I said, please.”

He looked at me
for a minute, and then just nodded. He ran toward their house, looking back at
me standing on our front lawn. One of the officers came out of the house just
as our neighbors ran over.

“Julie, what
happened? Are you okay?” Cicily Hall was our neighbor. She and her husband,
Gerald, had offered to keep an eye on the house while we were gone.

“Ma’am? Are you
okay?” The officer asked. It wasn’t the same young officer that had come to the
house a few months ago. This officer was older. He looked more experienced.

I nodded and
handed him the picture Sam had given back to me. “I’m sorry. I took this out of
the house with me.”

He took it from
me and looked at it sadly. “I’m sorry about this.”

I just shook my
head, and then I heard Anthony call to me. I turned and saw him running up.

“Julie? Are you
okay?” He put his arms around me, and I just fell against him.

We were
healing, things were feeling right again—for the first time in almost a
year—and now this. I couldn’t stop the tears. The sobs just tore out of me, and
I felt Anthony’s arms around me.

“Sir, are you a
friend?” Officer Petterson was on his name tag.

“I am.” Anthony
gently removed his arms, but kept me at his side. Cicily came over and put her
thin arm around my shoulder. Gerald stood beside Anthony, as if the three of
them could shield me from whatever was going on.

Officer
Petterson nodded and let the three of them stay with me. “Ma’am, did you notice
anything missing?”

I shook my
head. “No. I didn’t really notice anything missing, just the pictures. Oh! And
the back door.”

Anthony,
Cicily, and Gerald looked at me questioningly.

I turned to
them, the tears were still pouring. “Someone smashed in the back door, and they
destroyed almost every picture in the house. Or at least they knocked them over
and broke the glass.”

I left out the
damage that had been done to the pictures of Sam and I.

“Oh my god!”
Cicily’s hand flew to her mouth. “Julie, we were over here last night. We
checked all the locks. Everything was locked up tight.”

Gerald was
nodding, agreeing with his wife. “Officer, I was in the backyard. The door was
fine.”

“And this was
what time, sir?” The officer asked him.

“Right around 10pm,
maybe a bit later. We were taking the dog out.”

Cicily looked
so upset—like I would blame her—that I put my arms around her and assured her
it wasn’t her fault.

“You don’t need
this, sweetie!” She took my face in her hands, then suddenly pointed her finger
at the officer. “YOU!”

She stepped up
to him. Cicily was a tiny woman, but the officer took notice. “You find out who
did this.”

Gerald was
nodding, once again agreeing with his wife. Anthony was peering at the house, a
curious expression on his face.

“This isn’t the
first time,” Anthony told Officer Petterson.

“I’m sorry.
What do you mean, sir?”

“A few months
ago, someone left a slaughtered animal on Mrs. Klevan’s doorstep. You should
find a record of that. And about a month ago, someone defaced her windshield.
Now this.”

No!
Was it all related?
No shit.
I
was stupid. Of course it was.

I was in a
daze, and once again Anthony handled the police for me. It was becoming a
habit.

“Julie?” He
called to me. “Julie?”

I snapped out
of it, “What? I’m sorry.”

“Did you guys
report the windshield?” Anthony inquired.

“No. I
thought... I figured it was a mistake.”

The officer
raised an eyebrow at me, so I continued, “About a month ago, someone wrote
’He’s Mine’ on the windshield of my car. I thought they just had the wrong
car.”

“Why would you
think that, ma’am?”

I shrugged.
“Because I’m a widow. I’m not seeing anyone, not even close. And I’m the only
one that really drives the van.”

“What about one
of the boys? Are they seeing someone?” Anthony asked. “Could it be something
with them?”

I shook my
head. “No, I don’t think so. Sam is only seeing Karie, and Carey just started
seeing Lessa Carideo.”

I think Officer
Petterson wanted to ask me something else, but he shut his mouth and turned
away, saying something into his radio.

“Anthony?” I
went to him and placed my hand on his arm. “Please. You and Brian were like
brothers. Promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”

I looked at my
friend. We had been friends for almost 15 years. We had shared the best times
and seen each other through some of the worst.

He searched my
face, my eyes. “Always, Julie.”

“Was Brian
having an affair? Was he seeing someone? Is that who’s doing all of this?” I
almost choked on my words.

Anthony took my
shoulders and looked me right in the eye. He was honest, sometimes to a fault,
and he knew I would believe whatever he told me. “Jules. I promise you. I
swear. Brian was faithful. Always.”

I searched his
face for a lie. I saw none, and I let out a breath. I didn’t even realize I’d
been holding it. I just nodded and rubbed my arms. I was suddenly cold.

Officer Petterson’s colleague came out
of the house, and the two of them spoke for a moment before coming over to me.

“Mrs. Klevan,
I’m Detective Jeffries. I’m sorry about all this.”

“Yes, thank
you. Did you find anything?”

“Ma’am, did you
go in the master bedroom?”

“What? No.” A
cold vice suddenly gripped my heart. “Sam’s—that’s my oldest son—his door was
the only one open. I did go in there.”

“Is something
wrong? Did you find something?” Anthony stepped up to us and asked the
officers.

Detective
Jeffries looked at me, and I swear I could feel the pain I saw etched in his
eyes. “Ma’am, can you come with me? Sir, you can come as well.”

He led Anthony
and I up the stairs, and I paused at the top. I didn’t want to see my room. I
was shaking. Anthony stood with me, and Jeffries waited at the door to my room.
I steeled myself and nodded, walking forward.

I stood in the
doorway and looked at my room. My bedspread had been shredded, and so were the
sheets, even the mattress. A picture that Carey had taken last year of Brian
and I at the beach was slashed—just like the picture in the kitchen. And
clothes had been thrown out of my closet and similarly torn.

I stepped in
and looked into the bathroom. The mirror looked as if someone had hit it with a
baseball bat. It was everywhere. Shampoo bottles were thrown around the
bathroom. Even the toilet had been smashed to pieces, and water from it had
flooded the floor and had spread into my bedroom. One of the the officers must
have turned off the water because it wasn’t flowing anymore. I didn’t stop to
think of the potential damage to my floor or the ceiling on the first floor.

I brought my
hands to my face, not wanting to see anymore.

I turned around
and saw my dresser. “No. Oh, No! NO!”

I ran over and
picked up what was left of the beautiful jewelry box Brian had made me. It was
in pieces, as was most of the jewelry he and the children had bought me.

Anthony ran to
me. “Julie?”

“NO!” I was
screaming, hysterical at that point. “This was it. This was his last gift to
me.”

Anthony looked
like he was in pain. “Ahh, Julie...”

“He finished it
the day before he died.” I sank to the floor, holding one of the velvet trays.
I couldn’t stop the tears anymore. I didn’t even try. A rage filled my body and
loosened the icy vice around my heart.

On the floor
under the dresser, I saw a bit of silver sticking out. I reached for it and
found the bracelet a young Sam had given me. Somehow the fragile piece had
escaped the wreckage that was done to my room, and I clutched it tightly in my
hand.

I looked up at
my friend and shook my head. “Why?”

He knelt beside
me. “Honey, I don’t know.”

“Mrs. Klevan,
I’m sorry. I promise you, we will do our best to find out who did this.”

All I could do
was nod. “Anthony, I would really like to see Bee right now.”

“Okay,” he said
as he helped me stand. I put the tray on what was left of my dresser and left
my room. I never looked back.

Once again, the kids were settled into
Bee’s house. Jimmy in Ant’s room, Carey and Sam in the den, and the girls were
already asleep in the guest room. I was sitting outside by the pool, still
clutching the silver and turquoise bracelet. I could hear Bee and Anthony in
the kitchen.

“Was it bad?”
She asked him.

“Babe, I don’t
get it. All the pictures were smashed, and her bedroom...”

Already people
said
her
bedroom, not
their
bedroom.
My
bedroom was
destroyed. Where would I start? How would I clean all of that up?

“Jules?” Bee
called to me from the door, and I turned to her. “You okay, sweetie?”

I smiled at
her. “Hey, don’t call me that.”

It was a
running joke with Bee and Amy. I hated to be called sweetie. Brian was the only
person I let get away with that.

She smiled
sadly at me and sat down next to me, taking my hand. And we sat there for at
least 20 minutes. Her holding my hand, and me holding my bracelet.

“Amy’s coming
over,” she finally said.

“Empty handed?”

Bee shook her
head. “Oh no. She’s making a pit stop.”

Booze—the cure
all. We usually drink margaritas, but when the shit hit the fan, a martini was
in order.

I saw a flash
of headlights a few minutes later.

“Amy’s here,”
Bee said.

A moment later,
we heard Amy and Ben talking to Anthony. Sam had joined them in the kitchen,
but was sticking close to Anthony.

“Doctor’s
here,” Amy said with forced gaiety. She brought out a tray with a bottle of
gin, some vermouth, a jar of olives, and three glasses.

“Oh, yes.” Bee
heaved a small sigh of relief.

I just sat
there and stared at the water. Soon, a glass was shoved at me, and I gratefully
took it.

Amy sat on the
end of the lounger and rubbed my calf. “What do you need?”

I took a long
drink of the martini and leaned back. “I need my husband. I need Brian. God!”

I could feel
the rage building again. “Just when I was starting to feel like myself
again—when I was starting to get my shit together... this. This! I don’t need
this shit!”

I was
whispering, but the anger in my words was palpable. My friends just listened.

“What do I do
now? Do I just clean up and buy new picture frames? A new mattress?”

Amy looked at
Bee.

“Whoever broke
in went into Julie’s room,” Bee explained.

“How bad?” Amy
asked.

I looked at my
friends, my best friends, and tried to keep it together. “It was bad. My bed is
destroyed, though I think the frame’s okay. Most of my clothes, the bathroom—a
mess. And my jewelry box...”

Amy sucked in a
breath. “No? Oh, honey.”

I guess she
knew about the gift.

She moved up to
hug me, and Bee leaned forward in her chair, squeezing the hand she was still
holding.

Sitting on the
floor in my room, holding what remained of my beautiful gift, I wanted to give
up. I was ready to throw my hands up and let whatever will be—be. But there, in
the dark, surrounded by our friends, our family, I started to feel strong
again.

Brian used to
tease me that I was his little spark plug. I didn’t take crap from anyone, but
I didn’t give people crap either. I wouldn’t let this get me down. I couldn’t.
I have five other people counting on me to keep it together, and I wasn’t going
to disrespect my husband by letting this beat me.

I squeezed
Bee’s hand, and I gave Amy a fierce hug, “Okay. Okay. I can do this. Tomorrow
I’ll call a plumber—got to get a new toilet installed. And the shower doors
will need to be replaced.”

Bee sat back
and took a drink. “Okay. The back door—we need to do something there.”

“Got it,” Amy
noted. “Ben and I stopped and got some plywood. It’s a temporary thing, but
tomorrow when it’s light outside, we can get someone over and see what needs to
be done.”

Bee called to
the guys. When they came out, she asked them to run and put up the plywood. It
would offer some protection until I could get the door repaired.

“I guess the
pictures are okay—for the most part at least. The glass is just smashed. So
I’ll need to get that all picked up.”

“What do you
mean ‘for the most part?’” Bee pushed. “What is it?”

The guys heard
her and stopped. Anthony hadn’t been in my kitchen, so he hadn’t seen the
ruined pictures of the kids and I.

I looked around
at the concerned faces and told them, “Most of the pictures were just knocked
over, thrown off the wall. The glass is broken, but the pictures seem okay.
Except...” I was having trouble finishing my train of thought.

“Except what,
sweetie?” Amy took my hand.

“The pictures
of Sam and I—they’re… ruined. All of them. Torn apart. And the canvases in the
kitchen that Brian had made for me—all of them are ruined too.” Fresh tears
came and coursed down my face.

Bee and Amy
exchanged glances, and Sam looked aghast. He had only seen the picture that I
had taken outside.

“What do you
mean our pictures are ruined?” Sam sounded as if he was near tears.

I stood up and
crossed to him, our son. I put my hands on his face. “I don’t know what
happened, honey. Some of the pictures of us were...” I wasn’t sure what to say,
how to phrase it, so I continued, “We’ll get new ones. We can have new ones
printed.”

Amy nodded.
“Sure. I can take care of that.”

The day before,
Sam had reminded me so much of his father. But on this day, he looked like a
little boy—a scared and confused little boy. He needed his mom. He needed me.

Sam gently
stepped back and nodded toward me, as if to tell me he was okay.

“Sam?” Anthony
came over to us. “Do me a favor, k? Stay here with the gals. Keep an eye on
them. Ben and I will run up and do what we can with the back door?”

Sam nodded.
“Okay. It’s cool. I’m cool.”

But he wasn’t.
None of us were.