The Widow's Walk (19 page)

“A one-way ticket to London?” Any trace of humor, of relief, vanished. Terror punched Mike in the gut like a gang in a back alley. A one-way, international flight. Was she ever coming home?

“She’s searching for Edward.” Mae pronounced it with certainty, her eyes now locked on Sandra. “Liz was talkin’ about that yesterday, when she told me that she wanted to go to the beach to see him. That’s when all this started.”

“I see.” Sandra reflected like a shrink.

“Why London?” Mike forced the words out with what seemed like his last breath.

After the glimmer of hope that Liz was in control, back to being herself, he’d crashed like a falling elevator. She’d left the country. With his son and an awful lot of money. No. Edward’s son and an awful lot of money. Should he call the lawyer back right away? Have her picked up, intercepted before she got on the plane?

An ah-hah expression registered on Sandra’s face without a trace of distress, accepting, peaceful. “Where it all began, of course. Where Elisabeth and Edward met.”

Jared hurled a lightning bolt of pure green jealousy.

Mike staggered backwards. Mae trembled and sank to her knees. Tears welled in her eyes, still trained on Sandra.

Kevin ran to her. “What’s wrong?”

Mae pointed a trembling finger. Her voice waxed British, her countenance softened. “Bethea Vauxhaul. What business have you here? Not content with the anguish you caused us all when Elisabeth died? What more do you want from us?”

“You’re talkin’ nonsense, Mae! What the hell is goin’ on?” Kevin still hadn’t figured out the ghosts were about to overrun them.

Mae shook her head, blinked her eyes, took herself back. “I suppose you’re intendin’ to publish this, too. Ridicule us all, ruin us all again.”

“My book was published over twenty years ago, before I was aware of who I had been, what I had done in a past life. The story of Elisabeth and Edward Barrett always fascinated me, but I had no idea why. I was searching for answers and published what was part of the public record before I realized what enthralled me about the story.”

“The book. Liz mentioned the book in her note! We have to stop her.” Mike clicked through link after link until his fingers threatened to break the keyboard. The itinerary finally popped up. His heart flopped until he saw the five p.m. departure the next day. “We’ve still got time. Marianne can do something to prevent her from boarding.”

Sandra spoke, her voice cold steel, a seer’s portent. “If Liz is intercepted, Elisabeth will remain trapped. She will never be able to go to Jared willingly, without reservation. And he in turn cannot receive her, accept her, and forgive her. You must all stand aside and let them do this. You must permit them the freedom.”

Mike’s blood turned to sludge, his tongue thickened.

Jared goaded.
Go, go get her. Stop her.

“She’ll die, again.” Mae got into Sandra’s face.

“Hold on, Mae.” Kevin pulled her back.

Mike studied Sandra. Could he trust the woman who had betrayed Jared? Was she just a kook? “You’re asking a lot.”

Her eyes, blank, unblinking focused somewhere inside him. “You asked my advice.”

Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Mike trusted her. Trembling, he picked up the phone with five minutes to spare, still not sure what to do.

Don’t trust anyone else to do your job, to fulfill a husband’s duty.

Was he kidding himself that if they all said nothing, they’d share the blame if things went very wrong? He put the phone on speaker. Electronic dialing serenaded them.

Marianne answered on the first ring. “Mike?”

“Marti wouldn’t admit it, but I believe Liz is staying with her and assured me she was fine. I asked her to tell Liz not to contact Bill or Jay again, and I’m going down to get her tomorrow.” He wasn’t lying, just omitting key facts.

Yes.
Jared settled, smug.

The lawyer’s doubt oozed through the phone. “Can you give me Marti’s phone number? I’m hoping Liz will speak to me.”

Mike looked at the others, who stood stone faced. “508-345-6557. We’ll be in touch, I’m sure.”

He disconnected. What the hell was he doing? Enabling Liz, lying to her lawyer, setting up her best friend.

Jared’s fury poured out of his mouth. “I’m going to retrieve her and the baby.”

Mike sank into the fashionable but very uncomfortable desk chair. The caned seat prickled his ass. He studied the credit card detail of Liz’s flight to London. He’d never find her once she left the country, particularly if she didn’t want to be found. Even if he beat her to the gate, could he convince her not to go? An unconsoled heart thumped in Mike’s chest, struggling to beat off a heavy coating of dread. His gut ached.

He had to believe it would, that he could reach her. “She’ll be safe with Marti tonight. I’ll wait for her at the British Airways check-in at Logan.”

Sandra’s voice startled him. “You did the right thing, Mike.”

Mae erupted like a fountain of tears. “Let’s go home. There’s nothin’ more we kin do tonight.”

Kevin led her toward the door, stopping to caress one of Eddie’s stuffed toys, a big grinning monkey.

“I hope so.”

Sandra draped Liz’s scarf around Mike’s neck. “Remember, Jared would have done anything, given anything to turn back time, to make Elisabeth happy. You’re doing it now. Once she is able to move on, you’ll have Liz back. Once Jared lets go of his anguish, he’ll move on as well.”

The enormity of the task ahead weighed on him like a boulder. “What if I can’t stop her? What if I can’t find her?”

Sandra didn’t hesitate. “Follow your instincts.”

“Follow the ghosts you mean.”

“Well, Edward led you back together once before, didn’t he?” She picked up her coat and left.

Mike sank back into the chair. The screensaver popped on: an image of him, Liz, and Eddie on his boat. The sky around them a bright blue, the bay twinkling, inviting. Her wind blown hair tangled around his fingers. Their smiles, the angle of the light bright enough to airbrush the lines and wrinkles out of their faces. They looked so normal. So normal, so happy. Could that ever be recaptured?

Chapter 27

The phone vibrated and scooted across the nightstand. It took a minute for Liz to remember where she was, and with the realization came the weight of dread on her chest, the incessant flutter in her stomach. Elisabeth, excited by her triumph over reason and sanity, only anticipated her wish to see Edward come true.

It was only 8:30, but seemed like midnight after the sleepless night before and all the events of the day. She slipped her arm away from Eddie, who’d fallen asleep in the crook, keeping her warm, grounded in some semblance of reality, while soothing his own baby sense of disruption, of danger.

‘Mailbox full.’ Predictable. Liz dialed in her code Three impassioned pleas by Marianne Hartley to contact her. Jay, furious, more concerned with his own issues–as usual. Mae. Mike–again.

Marti’s high-pitched voice, normally snarky and bullet proof, commanded attention. “Liz, I have to talk to you. They’re about to put out an all points bulletin.”

“Shit!” They just might find her, prevent her from boarding the flight.

She bundled the sleeping baby into his stroller and went down to the lobby.

A new shift of workers sat immersed in the same mindless computer screen oblivion.

“Do you have a pay phone?”

“You can use the desk phone.” The girl was too perky, too helpful.

If Howard Johnson’s Fenway popped up on caller ID . . . “No, I need a pay phone.”

“Let me think. John, do you know where there is a pay phone around here? Do they even have pay phones anymore?”

The kid answered without taking his eyes off the screen. “Yeah, there is one around the corner near Gate 6. I remember seeing it last summer.

“Okay, thanks.” It was so damn cold outside. And dark. And deserted. And dangerous. No choice.

She hurried to the room and draped the snowsuit over the still sleeping tyke. Then his wool blanket. She dug to the bottom of her bag for quarters, tucked them into her palm, then pulled a glove on.

It was only a short walk, but in the pitch dark every shadow seemed threatening. The phone stood under a streetlight, thank God. But Liz couldn’t remember Marti’s number. She took out cell, and the purse toppled off the tiny shelf, spewing loose change, tampons, tissue packets, Duplo blocks all over the sidewalk. Receipts scattered in the wind. She retrieved what she could and scrolled her numbers.

“Do you put the quarter in or dial first? God, this is downright antique. Like me.” Liz squinted to read the directions. Had she lost her glasses somewhere?

Her finger traced the faded card encased in cracked plastic. Local calls: Insert one quarter. A dial tone sang. The call went through. Liz caught her breath, tapped her foot to release some anxiety.

“Hello.” Marti sounded like a woman expecting to hear the body they found had been positively identified.

“It’s Liz. I got your message.”

Marti started to cry. “Are you in some kind of trouble? Marianne is frantic. Mike is desperate. Jay is hysterical. Bill Jeffers is trying to have you arrested for stalking. Mike . . . He . . . he asked if I thought you’d try to hurt yourself or the baby.”

Was that her stomach or Elisabeth heaving?

“Marti, listen. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Bill. My entire conversation with him is stored in my phone for proof. I have some really personal things I need to attend to and I have no intentions of doing any harm to myself, or Eddie. For God’s sake. Marti, what are they thinking? Jay, on the other hand, I’d like to hit with a big stick, but my baby?”

Marti exhaled her nervousness. “Why don’t you come here and stay with me until this is resolved? You know you can trust me.”

Could they be putting her up to this, trying to trap her? Hell, if the police were already looking for her, maybe they were even tracing this call.
How long do you have to stay on the line for a trace?
“No, Marti, it’s best you don’t have any further contact with me. If you don’t know you don’t have to lie. You should have the car keys in tomorrow’s mail.”

“Please insert twenty-five cents for the next three minutes.
Favor de depositar venticinco centavos por los tres minutos siguientes.”

“Goodbye, Marti.” Liz struggled not to cry.

“Wait, Liz. Call Mike. Call Marianne Hartley.”

“Please deposit twenty-five cents now or your call will be disconnected.
Favor de depositar venticinco centavos o su llamada sera automaticamente interrumpida.”

“I’m fine, Marti, really.” Boy, could she lie. Lots of practice.

“I don’t like the way you sound. Please come to my house . . .”

The phone went dead. A gust of wind swept the deserted streets and echoed through the alleyways surrounding Fenway Park. Ghosts of summers past: bats cracking, fans screaming, the organ playing a lilting yet melancholy dirge swirled around Ted Williams’ monument. Images of Jay waving a Red Sox pendant. Gerry buying her beer and hot dogs. Kissing like teenagers in the bleachers.

Liz shivered in the wind. They vanished, leaving her dark, desolate soul on a dangerous street, with her baby. Defenseless, irresponsible. A wanted woman. Had she really done something wrong?

Not even the bums were out tonight; there was no garbage to pick through, on one to beg from. Liz, alone except for her ghost and her half-ghost child, retrieved her purse and pushed Eddie’s stroller back to the hotel, sobbing all the way.

The hotel door closed behind her, cutting off the bluster in mid gust. The warmth of the lobby offered a momentary welcome, quickly banished by Elisabeth’s chilly goading.
I have to get away before they find me and take me back there.

She hurried to her room and tucked Eddie into the bed. He studied her, seeking reassurance, and she lay down next to him until he fell back to sleep.

Liz turned on her computer to search for earlier flights. No luck, they’d all left during evening hours. Wait; there was a flight from New York to London on the same carrier at 3 p.m. tomorrow. Amtrak to the City, then a Carey bus to the airport . . .

She went to live chat on Expedia.com.

“Plans changed and you’re in New York? Sure, you can change your flight. Shall I go ahead and switch it?”

“Yes. My son will be on my lap.”

“We have him listed as Edward Barrett Keeny. Age . . . oh, his first birthday is coming up.”

“It sure is.” She should only know the story behind the party plans.

“I’ll send your e-ticket now. Same email address?”

“Yes.”
Shit, I’ve got to print it and delete it. I’m sure they’re checking my email.

“All done, Mrs. Keeny. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thanks.” She snatched Eddie out of the bed. Was she the worst mother in the world?

He protested as she put him in the stroller and ran to the lobby, pushing with one, holding the open laptop in the other. His howls echoed in the deserted halls like a surround sound horror movie and exploded into the glass and marble lobby. The two heads behind the desk jerked to attention at the siren song.

Liz tried to appear calm and forced herself to breathe normally. “I wonder if you could print an e ticket for me?”

The woman looked at her like an escaped convict in a prison uniform with handcuffs still attached. “Sure. Email it to hjohnson.wyndymboston.org.”

Liz hit forward, typed, and pressed send. The woman clicked a few keys.

The printer buzzed and swooshed. “Two copies.” She handed them over.

Liz clicked delete and emptied the trash. “Do you have an Amtrak schedule?”

“Here.” The clerk pushed it across the high counter.

Where the hell were her glasses? “I need the first train of the morning to New York. Can you call me a taxi for 4 a.m.? “Sure. Do you need a wakeup call?”

“Yes, 3 a.m.” Liz looked at her watch. 10 p.m.

Neither she nor Eddie had eaten anything since early that afternoon. He was wide awake now, and grabbed the cup of milk from her hands when they got back to the room.

Trader Joe’s food normally tasted good, but the noodles were like shredded cardboard. Eddie gnawed on bread but refused all but a bite of chicken. He arched in her arms and thumped his head on her chest. She ran a bath and soaked while the baby washed away his irritability. They snuggled up in bed, both fully dressed. Ready to go.

Liz watched the minutes click off on the digital clock. Vintage 60s casement windows rattled. Every footstep in the hall shocked her heart into rapid time. Were they here for her? Would they knock or just barge in?

She gave up, got up, packed up. When the automated wake up call came, Eddie looked at her like a wizened old man: skeptical, disbelieving, as she bundled him, gave him another cup of milk, and started lugging the suitcase and the baby’s car seat into the hall. She finished whatever food she could-it would never survive the train trip and she’d run out of hands-salvaging only what would fit in the tiny cooler bag. It took a while for her to figure out a strategy for hauling everything, with the seat piled on top of the stroller, but they were standing in the lobby waiting well before the cab arrived.

If the desk staff thought Liz was nuts, they didn’t let on.

“Checking out?” The sleepy man peered over the counter.

“Yes, I have a train to catch. The cab is coming correct?”

“I’ll call the dispatcher and check.”

Liz fought the urge to pace. Elisabeth was pushing her past the exhaustion of a second sleepless night and on to their final destination–and Edward. No one was going to stop them. No one.

The cab slithered into the dark driveway. Its lights blazed a trail across the semicircle–a beacon leading to the next leg of the journey. Liz got Eddie into his seat first. The driver was in no hurry to lug the suitcases, so she dumped them into the trunk herself, tucking the stroller in last.
At
least I don’t need to give this guy a big tip.
“Amtrak.”

By lunchtime they’d be in Grand Central and they’d get a jitney, along with all the other anonymous passengers, to Kennedy. Way before the required check-in time.
We’ve got to get past security before anyone knows I’ve changed my itinerary.

Headlights from an oncoming car blinded Liz for a moment. “Bastard, for God’s sake. Turn off your brights!” The driver yelled out the window, but the car was long gone. He relaxed back into his sullen, overnight shift silence.

Liz sank back, her retinas still bleached. Elisabeth’s memory of fleeing London to sail to America played out.

Papa, in particular, did his best to stop me. Edward’s brother tirelessly, fearlessly loaded an old farm wagon with my things and both maids’ and drove off, leaving dear Papa to eat the dust.
He sent a constable to retrieve me, but I had a marriage license and instructions from my husband. The squalid hotel in Liverpool, the stormy sail with the maids seasick for most of the trip. But finally I met Edward on the deck of the SS Batavia.

“$20.00, ma’am.” Baggage thudded on the sidewalk outside the train station.

Had she dozed off and dreamed, or had it happened that way?

How could I forget? Of course I had doubts, regrets. I never expected to go back, but I must.

Liz tried to turn it off.
Please, Elisabeth, don’t distract me. I need to keep focused.

Annoyed by the paltry $2.00 tip, the driver snatched it and left her holding the sleeping baby inside the bulky car seat, surrounded by a pile of bags.

Liz grabbed a cart and loaded everything, tucking Eddie’s seat between their suitcases, cushioned by his diaper bag and the small cooler containing the only essentials for the baby.

A few suit clad men and women tapped laptops. Two bums wandered around picking through the garbage. Two National Guardsmen patrolled. No one raised an eyebrow at her, or a finger to help her. All good. The less attention, the better.

Window 4 was the only one open, the clerk sipping coffee, chattering on her cell phone. She put it down as Liz approached.

“I need a one way ticket to Grand Central. How much is the baby’s?” Liz rummaged in her bag, rifled through the remaining seventy-eight of the hundred dollars she’d allotted for the day. Would there be enough to pay for the airport bus? Food?

The clerk stood to peek at Eddie. “Under two is free. Acella is at 5:15 a.m., $115.00. Metroliner is 6:20, $67.00. I need identification please.”

“Metroliner.” No need for high speed. She needed the extra to buy food.

Liz slid the money with their passports under the glass.

The woman compared the photo with her face. A few keystrokes later, the ticket spit out of the slot. “Track 4. The conductor will help you get your bags aboard.”

Liz took it, and the change. “Thanks.” Being a fugitive was expensive.

She figured out a system to haul everything. Eddie in the stroller, the car seat balanced on the stroller hood, the laptop, her purse, the cooler, and the diaper bag over the back of the carriage. She pushed it with her elbows while pulling the two suitcases.

With still an hour until the train, Liz burrowed in her suitcase and found her knee brace. She put it on over her pants–no way could she get all this crap to the bathroom and into a stall. She’d have to hold it. A cup of sweet tea would taste good right now, and a muffin. That, too, would have to wait.

Eddie’s face registered confusion, his eyes narrow, peering at the odd conglomeration of people going by, then back at his mother for reassurance.

Liz tickled him until he giggled. She could tell that he missed his Dad, Mae, Kevin, trips to the barn to visit the cats and horses. Liz’s heart melted. This bordered on child abuse, neglect for sure. Kidnap, perhaps.