The Widow's Walk (7 page)

Chapter 11

Mike’s temples throbbed with each heartbeat. His head ached. His fingers tingled. Anxiety crept over his skin. He wriggled in the cushy leather seat of Liz’s car, adjusting it up, down, to recline and then back. She’d be more comfortable on the way home in a luxury sedan, if what Mae said about her leg was true. But he’d have been more comfortable bouncing on the seat of his battered pickup, knocking Jared into submission.

I told you not to leave her alone
. “Enough.” Mike said out loud, and whether he had asserted control over the spirit or not, it worked.

As he pulled into the lot and walked to the ER door, his heart was beating only a little faster than normal. What was he going to say to her? What was he going to do?

The waiting room was empty save a few mothers holding cranky babies with flushed cheeks and croupy coughs
. We must all have the same virus.

The security officer looked up. “Can I help you?”

“My wife is here. Liz Keeny.” Mike glanced at the sign above the desk.

“
Please tell the nurse immediately if you have a cough or fever.”

He slipped one of the biting menthol drops into his mouth to keep it quiet.

“Evaluation and Treatment Number One. Through the door, last bay on the left.” The guard handed him a sticky pass for his shirt and opened the security door.

Mike slapped it on his chest and strode through. Monitor’s beeped. A baby wailed. An alarm sounded.

Nurses talking into headsets bustled around, their sneaker clad feet silent. The huge central desk was empty, a panorama of heart rate displays eerily unmonitored. A lone clerk, dressed in a salmon colored smock typed into a computer. She didn’t even look up as Mike passed.

Not exactly reassuring, but this wasn’t tourist season when the place was full of patients who’d had too much sun, too much beer, or failed to make the tight curve on the road back from the beach.

He paused at the white curtain with blue flowers drawn across Evaluation and Treatment One. Damn thing looked like an oversize hospital gown, and he’d seen far too many of those while Mary was in treatment, slowly dying.

The unmistakable tang of disinfectant, of that brown antiseptic that stained everything, of fear, of sickness, mingled in the air. The floor was waxed to a high sheen. Neatly made up stretcher beds with green oxygen tanks underneath stood like sentinels against the walls, waiting for their next victims.

A jumble of bad memories ran though his head, of Mary, of Allison when she’d had appendicitis, of the pain of that goddamn gallbladder attack that made the post surgical misery seem like nothing.

I could have saved her.

Nope, Jared. Nothing, not even all these people, all this equipment, could have saved Elisabeth.

Liz, wrapped in the curtain, rammed into him like a two by four falling off a scaffold. Her scratched, tear streaked face peered back at him.

The clatter of a crutch on the floor shook off his control. As quick as a rattlesnake’s bite, Jared’s venom poured out of him from some deep untapped well. “Where do you think you’re going, my lady?”

Liz looked up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes, smeared make-up. “To the bathroom.” She winced with pain and swayed on her good leg. “Oh, my God, Mike. That’s not you talking. They’re inside us both.”

Mike hated to admit it, but he was glad she was so upset. Maybe she’d stop arguing about staying in the house. “Lean against me.” He slithered down to pick up the crutch and helped her get them re-positioned.

She shook her head and sniffed, then hobbled into to the bathroom and closed the door.

Maybe it was the time to rub her face in it. Impress upon her the need to exercise self-control. The door squeaked open and he reached for Liz’s arm. “Tell me how I can help.”

I’m . . . I’m not sure, Mike. Let me see if I can get back on my own.”

“Okay.” He followed close enough to grab her, but she had figured out the proper sequence, crutches, step, crutches, step, and was at the bedside without incident.

Then one slipped and crashed to the floor as she tried to lower herself. Why the hell didn’t anyone come to be sure the patient wasn’t on the floor?

Liz struggled to get her legs onto the bed, wincing.

Mike slid his hand under the knee brace and helped raise them. Once she was settled, they stared at each other for the first time.

“Why did you go up there?”

Yes, why? Why did you walk into Cape Cod Bay?

“I . . . Elisabeth . . . Bill Jeffers . . .” She put her head in her hands.

“Mae told me the whole story. But that doesn’t explain why you were out on the widow’s walk.” Liz exhaled. “Elisabeth was talking to Edward.”

Mike knew that, but Jared twisted the knife she’d plunged into his gut. “Did he give you both any advice?”

Her voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper. “He said you would take care of Eddie and me now. That’s all.”

Well at least the Captain was consistent in his support. “So does that mean you’ll listen to me? Does that mean you’ll stop letting Elisabeth push you into doing suicidal things? Does that mean you’ll agree to move out?”

Liz didn’t answer.

Mike sat next to her on the bed and hugged her as best he could given the awkward position. “No more talking. We have to do something.”

How was he going to explain the loss of control, the mixture of worry, pent up rage, uncertainty, even guilt, about to boil over, extinguishing whatever flame of love he had left for this troubled woman? “You’ve pushed every button Mae, Kevin and I have, and I’m not sure how to turn them off.”

Liz looked at him like a scared animal facing the muzzle of a hunter’s gun. “Mike, I don’t know where to start. And I’m terrified about how this is going to end.”

“Let’s get home where we can relax, talk things out, like we used to. Rationally.”

Worry lines relaxed only to reappear as she tried to get up again. Liz grabbed her leg. Tears leaked down her cheeks.

A nurse finally came in. “I’m sorry to be ignoring you, but we just got a few patients all at once. I see your husband is here, and that pain medication is wearing off.” She helped Liz arrange the pillow under her leg. “I have your discharge papers. Sign here and I’ll give you a copy. Ice this down as much as you can. Here’s the prescription for
Vicodan
. Call to make an appointment with the physical therapist and orthopedist next week.”

Mike stepped outside while the nurse helped her dress. Touching Elisabeth’s ghost had frozen him both emotionally and physically in an unfeeling limbo. He wasn’t up for even that level of physical contact.

The curtain swished back and a very uncharacteristically rumpled Liz, wearing one of Mae’s oversized sweat suits, hobbled out. Distress was painted on her face like a tragic mask. 

She winced with each thrust of the crutches, her murmurs of discomfort drowned out by the squeak of rubber tips on the linoleum floor.

The nurse tagged after her. “Should I get you a wheelchair, Mrs. Keeny?”

“No, I am going to learn to do this myself.” She advanced, swaying step by swaying step, not unlike a marathon runner staggering to the finish.

She was drenched with sweat, and Mike with remorse, unsure of how to help and even if he could.

Chapter 12

Mike pulled into the driveway and killed the ignition. Liz looked from where the pile of debris had been to the roof, then to the broken bushes where she’d landed. The ladder and nail studded wood were gone; Kevin had no doubt been too upset to leave them lying here as testament to what could have been–again.

Liz slithered eased herself out and leaned against the car, while he retrieved the crutches from the back seat.

Mike had no idea where to grab her. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“You can’t.” Already breathless, she hobbled to the porch steps, lowered herself, and crept up backwards.

He ignored the portent, pulled her to her feet, then unlocked the front door. No aroma of home cooked dinner, no cheerful bustling, no happy baby squeals. They’d been left alone to deal with this.

For the first time, he wished he’d never married Liz. For the first time in his life, he contemplated walking out on his responsibility. For the first time, he was prepared to break a promise.

Liz’s crutches squelched; the rubber left beige smudges on the dark wood floors. She caught her breath, looked at the stairs, and started toward them. “I guess Mae and Kevin took Eddie to the cottage.”

“What do you want to do first? Rest, eat, go upstairs?” If she said eat he could escape to the kitchen to collect himself.

“I need a bath desperately, but I’m hungry.” She used the banister to lower herself onto the bottom step and pushed the crutches ahead of her before starting up on her bum. She paused halfway and tossed the crutches onto the top of the landing.

The racket snapped his last nerve. “Stop throwing them like that!”

She lowered her eyes in deference.

Mike needed to do something constructive or he’d spiral out of control. Chopping onions, yeah, that would keep him busy. Dicing them nice and small, then stirring them, nice and slow, while they sautéed. There was some meat and vegetables in the fridge he could dig out. Over rice–boiling it took a while. “I’ll make something for us to eat.”

She continued her slow ascent, wincing with each thump. Mike pushed open the kitchen door and read the note pinned on the fridge with a Kate’s Fried Seafood magnet.

At our house. Will put Eddie to bed there.

Left dinner plates for you both.

See you in the morning.

Mae

Damn! She’d left two plates arranged with chicken and potatoes and small bowl of salad– a romantic dinner for two. Four minutes in the microwave and a splash of dressing later, Mike kicked the kitchen door hard. It swung open, then creaked back and forth for as long as it took him to go upstairs.

Liz was running water into the claw-footed tub. “I’m trying to figure out how to do this without getting the cast wet.”

“What about dinner?”

“I need to clean up first.”

She did look like she’d been dragged behind a horse: her face and arms scratched, her face bruised and puffy, her hair dusty, flecked with woodchips. “Sit on the edge and swing your good leg over. I’ll help you in. We’ll cover the boot with a plastic bag, just in case.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Liz removed the Velcro straps from the brace and let the sweat pants drop.

Mike cringed at the sight of her rear, clad in pink lace panties. What had those ghosts done? He couldn’t stand to be in the same room with his wife. “Let me put this food down and get a plastic bag.”

By the time he returned she was wrapped in a towel, waiting. Mike turned his head to keep his face away from hers as she leaned against him. She perched on the edge and kicked her good leg over like a Rockette. A few drops of warm water dampened his socks.

“Let me lower you down.” Even under the best of circumstances this would be awkward. He held under her arms until she eased into the tub.

“That’s the first thing that has felt good all day.” Liz slid her head under, then sat up and massaged in shampoo.

The seductive ritual failed to soften his mood, or harden him up. “I’ll give you some time to relax.”

She regarded him, her eyes bright, hopeful. As soon as she saw his expression, the spark went out. They couldn’t avoid the unpleasantries much longer.

“Mae and Kevin are keeping Eddie with them for the night. I’ll reheat the dinner, then we need to talk.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Maybe it was the bath, maybe the lingering effect of pain medication. Maybe it was denial. She was lucky to be alive and knew it. Elisabeth had commandeered every bit of sense Liz had in her head and it could not–would not–happen again.

Problems were multiplying like cockroaches. Buying this house was a dream come true, her first and only indulgence in herself after Gerry died. Edward’s return the first night she stayed here had spawned many complications, but until now she’d handled them–including distracting everyone from Eddie’s true paternity.

She’d guarded Sandra’s book–a treasure for her despite the troubling documentary–for more than a year. They were already unsettled, more memories emerging every day, more of their ghosts taking control. Soon Mike and Mae and Kevin would realize they were subject to ghostly visions and visits. Sandra was bound to find out–in time to write the sequel that would expose it all.

The water cooled rapidly in the drafty bathroom. She tried to get out, but flopped backwards, sloshing water all over the floor.

“Dinner’s hot.” Mike stood in the doorway.

Liz studied his wind burned face, chapped, red hands. His lips were set in a straight line, his face expressionless, angry beyond words. Mike didn’t wear Jared well.

“I’m ready to get out.”

He tossed a towel over the puddle and extended his hands. In happier times, he’d helped her out and dried her off as a prelude to a romantic evening. Tonight, Mike averted his eyes, hauled her up like one of his lobster pots, and left her dripping on the cold tile floor while he retrieved the crutches.

Sparing him, Liz dried off quickly and secured a large bath sheet around her so she could navigate to the bedroom and find a nice, sensible nightgown.

Mike had laid her medication on the bedside table with a bottle of water. No fire tonight–he likely wouldn’t linger. Having slept in the guest room for the last couple of nights, this wouldn’t be the one he decided to stay with her.

He held up a tray. “Do you want to sit in bed or on the sofa?”

Liz pulled the nightgown over her and let the towel drop. “On the settee, I think.” She tried to bend down and pick it up.

“Please don’t! I can’t take any more of that noise if the crutches fall.” Mike set the tray down and swooped over to grab it.

“I feel so helpless.” The night was full of metaphors.

“Let’s eat before it gets cold–again.” He sank onto the sofa.

She hobbled over and tried to get comfortable outside the perimeter of his unhappy aura.

“Do you have to sleep in the brace, too?” He arranged the tray over her lap.

“It hurts too much otherwise. Mike, we really have to stop talking around this.”

“If I knew what to say, or where to begin . . .” He stood and paced.

“Don’t you have these compulsions, too? Who called me ‘my lady?’ You, or Jared?”

He sat down and looked her in the eye for the first time. “Jared reacts from time to time. But I’ve been able to control it. Unlike you.”

“I think they’re reliving the absolute worst moments of their lives. Elisabeth used to go up on the widow’s walk all the time to look for Edward. Even the night of the storm that brought his ship down.”

“What I think is that unless we get out of here this is never going to end. I’m exhausted. I need a shower. I have to get up at 5 a.m.” He sat down, picked up his plate, and gnawed on a chicken leg.

He promised I could stay here forever,
Elisabeth insisted
.

Liz cut her meat and forced herself to eat. “Even if we put the inn on the market tomorrow, the next three months are going to be a problem.”

“We can move out tomorrow.” Mike shifted, and a jeweled key fob slipped out of his pocket.

Her heart fluttered. “What’s that?” She’d seen them in Sandra’s shop.

He stuffed it back. “A mate to the pendant I gave you. It’s supposed to be good for me.”

“Oh.” Now wasn’t the time to throw gasoline on the fire and dredge up Sandra Kensington.

“I’m going to clear the dishes, then I’ll get you settled.” Mike walked out.

Fear prickled Liz’s gut. Did these stones have anything to do with the spate of bad events? Had that woman put some sort of curse on them? Was she trying to get rid of Liz and get her clutches on Mike?

The pendant heated up against her throat. Liz tore it off, sundering the chain, and hopefully the spell. She stuffed it beneath the sofa cushion until she could bury it, flush it, burn it. Best to find out how to deal with crystals before she made an even worse blunder.

Stoked by anxiety and, anger, she got to her feet, stacked the plates on the tray, and crutched to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Mike settled next to her in bed. He rummaged in the nightstand for his glasses and paged through his book–some fantasy Liz had never heard of.

She had nothing to read and wasn’t tired. The knee and ankle throbbed, despite the cold pack and pillows Mike had propped around her leg.

He glanced up as she reached for the pill bottle and water, downed the medication, and slid onto her back. “You need anything?”

“No, thanks.” She’d have loved a book to read, the notes for the damn book she was trying to get written, a newspaper. Anything. But Mike looked too settled, and she’d already disturbed him enough.

“Wake me if you need anything, okay?” He patted her arm like a puppy.

So he’d sleep here tonight out of obligation. There was no trace of intimacy between them, not a whisper of loving concern, desire. Just a wall getting higher by the day, each experience slapping another layer on top of a shaky foundation of distrust, secrets, and compulsions likely to tumble down and bury their marriage under the rubble.

Liz opened her mouth to voice her concerns, but thought better of it. Tomorrow, they’d be rested and in problem-solving mode rather than a reactionary one.

Mike flipped off the light, shed the glasses and book, and lay on his back, eyes closed, hands folded over his chest. A respectable distance remained between them, even though the pillow tower supporting her braced leg paralleled her edge of the bed.

His breathing quickly softened into a slumbering rhythm, interrupted by an occasional snort and hack. Hers remained shallow, anxious. The medication eased the pain, but Liz longed for the comfort of Mike’s arms around her. She’d settle for him holding her hand like he meant it. It had only been a few days since the last time they’d made love, but it seemed like years.

Muddled, restless, each movement required deliberate planning and action: move the pillows, shift to one hip, brace the leg, and rearrange the pillows again.

The night deepened until the only light in the room was the red numbers on the alarm clock. Two a.m. Liz had to pee, the medication was wearing off and her entire right side ached.

She struggled to sit, and waited until the pain eased before she attempted to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Dizzy, disoriented, she waited until her equilibrium returned. If those crutches fell, the noise would awaken his wrath anew.

A radiator clanked and hissed–always a reassuring sound on a cold winter night. Steam swirled in front of the bay window but instead of warmth, a frigid mist dampened the room. Liz shivered in her thin cotton nightgown. Her robe hung on a hook in the bathroom, which might as well have been a mile away.

Elisabeth woke from slumber and stretched inside, pressing Liz’s stomach into her intestines. Jared, wearing a rumpled shirt barely tucked into baggy trousers and battered work boots, coalesced out of the haze. The image stared at the bay, then back at the bed, his expression devoid of any life, eyes unblinking, vacant, blind to Liz, awake, her eyes riveted to him, and Mike, sleeping, in some other place and time. Jared shook his head, threw up his arms, then buried his face in his hands. Unheard sobs racked his body.

Liz picked up the crutches and struggled onto her good leg. Once balanced, she inched toward the image, afraid but unafraid at the same time. “It was an accident, Jared,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond, and when Liz got close enough to reach out and touch, he dissolved, disappeared. She moved toward the radiator to warm her stiffened muscles. Heat spread over her and throughout the room once again. Jared, like Elisabeth, remained frozen in that horrible moment of time.

Mike snorted and coughed, but didn’t wake. There was plenty left of this night, no need to rush. Liz made her way into the hall, sat on the landing and slid down each step, holding tightly to the crutches. At the bottom she hauled herself up on the banister and made a pit stop in the powder room before heading to the kitchen.

A dim night light shone over the sink. Liz took the homeopathic kit down from the windowsill and twirled the tubes between her fingers until she could see the indications.
Arnica montana
for injuries with bruising. Five of those under her tongue, while she looked at the rest, desperate for physical and psychological relief.
Chamomilla
and
Pulsatilla
for restlessness, irritability. Ten more pellets.