Susannah's Garden
Page 33

“The night he was killed?”
“Yes,” Susannah said. “If he hadn’t cancelled, Patricia would’ve been with him.”
Carolyn’s eyes widened at the implication and when she spoke her voice was soft. “She might have died that night, too.”
Susannah nodded. “We talked about the twists and turns life takes. I promised I’d let her know when I find out who it might’ve been.”
“Hold on, you just lost me. Who might’ve been what? Are you talking about this other girl he was supposedly seeing?”
“Yes, but in addition to that, someone’s been putting flowers on Doug’s grave. I thought it was Patricia, but she swears it isn’t, so I assume it’s whoever else he was involved with.”
“She’s telling you the truth,” Carolyn whispered. She reached for her wineglass again and got to her feet. Walking back into the kitchen, she replenished her drink.
Susannah followed. “How would you know that?” she asked.
Carolyn stood on the other side of the counter, eyes downcast. “Because it’s me.”
“You?” Susannah asked numbly.
“Doug and I were writing to each other.”
“What?” Susannah said, stunned by this revelation. “While we were in France?”
Carolyn nodded apologetically. “Soon after you arrived in France, Doug wrote to ask me how you were doing. He knew how upset you were with your father, and he was worried. I wrote back and he answered. Pretty soon we were writing regularly.”
“And you never bothered to mention this to me?” Susannah asked, angry that the woman she’d considered her best friend had kept something so important from her. She’d told Carolyn all about her feelings for Jake; Carolyn obviously hadn’t returned the favor. Now that she thought about it, Susannah remembered how eagerly Carolyn had waited for the mail. She had, too. It was what she’d lived for those months in France.
“I’m sorry.” Carolyn shifted awkwardly. She didn’t meet Susannah’s eyes. “I never meant to keep it from you. But the first time he wrote, Doug asked me not to tell you, so I didn’t and then, well…well, one thing led to another and I just never did.”
“The two of you fell in love through the mail? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I guess I am.” Carolyn looked directly at her. “Don’t you remember how frantic I was when Doug was killed?”
Susannah shook her head. She’d been so caught up in her own pain she hadn’t noticed.
“In the last letter I got from him, Doug said he was going to tell Patricia about us. He planned to break up with her that night, I think.”
“You still put flowers on his grave?”
They walked back and sat on the sofa again. “Every few weeks I put flowers on my parents’ graves and Lily’s. I leave some at Doug’s, too. I didn’t realize you’d see them.”
“When you were writing,” Susannah asked, “did Doug—did he say Jake had gone back to Sharon?”
“No. But then, he didn’t write much about Jake.”
Susannah studied her friend. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I do know that Doug was mad at him about something—he just never said what it was.”
CHAPTER 27
Vivian had her good days and her bad ones, and today was good. Many of the bad days were before Susannah and Chrissie had come. Vivian had done her best to hide how defeated she’d felt. In fact, she hadn’t realized how badly she was coping at home until she came to live at this prison place—or hospital or whatever it was.
Not that she was complaining. The food was all right when she had an appetite, and she noticed the meals had improved since her first week there. Granted, most days she didn’t have much of an appetite, but she made an effort to eat. She was growing used to the way they did things here. It worried her some when she discovered that they locked the doors at night, but her friend George—not her husband, the other George—had told her why. The doors were locked to keep the crooks out. She could believe that. She already knew the world was full of people eager to swindle an elderly widow.
Barring the doors to thieves was fine with Vivian, but it kept someone else out, too—her George. She hadn’t known locked doors were a hindrance to the dead, but apparently they were. He hadn’t come to visit—at least not until today. When she woke from her nap, he’d been there, in her darkened room. Oh, he looked wonderful to her. Vivian had been overcome with joy. It’d been so long since his last visit that she’d nearly given up hope.
She asked why he’d taken all those weeks to find her. He couldn’t answer, but that was all right. None of that mattered when he was with her. For a while they sat and looked at each other in silence. Tears had come to her eyes and although they didn’t speak, Vivian felt his love for her and their children.
Once she’d composed herself, she told him how upset Susannah was, although she still couldn’t recall exactly why. Poor George didn’t know what to think. He’d frowned and shaken his head, and Vivian wished she’d kept it to herself. All too soon he was gone.
Invigorated by the visit, Vivian joined Sally and a couple of other women for dinner. Earlier in the afternoon, they’d also met for tea, which was becoming a regular occurrence, and one she had to admit she enjoyed. Then she’d had her nap, followed of course by dinner. Afterward as she started back to her suite, she felt disappointed that she hadn’t seen her friend George, even though she knew he ate in his room. Vivian was proud of herself. She’d finished her entire salmon cake and small salad, but she didn’t much care for the rice dish. No flavor whatsoever.
Leaning on her cane for balance, Vivian walked past the pool room. Sure enough, her friend was there, using his crutch as a pool cue just as he had the first night she’d met him. George glanced up when he saw her.
“I wondered if you’d swing by,” he said in that gruff way of his.
“Well—here I am.”
George made a dismissive grunt. “What’s put you in such a good mood?”
“My husband visited this afternoon.”
George lowered his crutch to the floor. “Did he now?”
Vivian nodded. “He stayed for a while, too.”
The other man’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t see him.”
That made perfect sense to Vivian. “Of course you didn’t. He only appears to me. He’s dead, you know.”
“Oh, right, I forgot. I don’t suppose he talks much, either.”
“Can’t. He’s dead.”
George rubbed the side of his face, as if testing to see whether he needed a shave or not. “Did he let you know what he wanted?”
The question gave Vivian pause. “I think he was just checking up on me. I was mighty glad to see him, I’ll tell you that.”
“Did you mention that business with your daughter?”
“I tried, but it really bothered him.”
“I thought I saw her here earlier.”
If this conversation was going to take much longer, Vivian would need to sit down. She made her way over to the sofa and slowly sank into the soft cushion. “She was here.”
“She didn’t stay long.”
Vivian frowned, clutching her cane with both hands. “Why not?”
“She didn’t say, but she was here barely five minutes. I saw her when she was walking out the front door.”
Ah, yes, Vivian remembered now. “My friends were visiting and then I lay down to rest.”
“Did you sleep?”
Suddenly Vivian wasn’t sure, but she must have. “Do you know who’s looking after my roses?” she asked.
“Can’t say I do.”
“That’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll find out when the nurse comes with my pills.”
“That’s a good idea,” George agreed.
Vivian started to get up, then changed her mind. She frowned. “Susannah stopped by like you said, and I think she was upset again.”
“Does your daughter have a problem with anger management?”
Vivian took offense at that. “What a horrible thing to say about my Susannah,” she flared.
“Don’t get huffy. It seems to be a family trait.”
This conversation was declining fast. Vivian tried to get up but found she didn’t have the strength. “Somebody help me,” she called out, ignoring George.
“I’m coming,” George said, limping toward her with the aid of his crutches.
“Not you.” George had insulted Susannah and she wasn’t going to stand for it. Or sit, either.
“Who’s going to help you up if not me?” George asked.
He parked himself directly in front of Vivian, making it impossible for her to escape. “Guard,” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
George hooted with laughter.
“This is no laughing matter,” she insisted.
“Here.” He offered her his hand.
A better woman would have refused, but Vivian wanted to get back to her apartment. She decided she’d be willing to forgive him this one slight against her daughter. But only this one.
Using her cane for leverage and holding on to George’s hand, she struggled to an upright position, but it wasn’t easy. Damn fools shouldn’t put useless furniture in these rooms.
“I’m glad to hear your husband came by,” George said as she headed toward the door.
“He was an important man, you know. A judge.”
He nodded.
“George sent a lot of men to prison. They deserved it, too. He didn’t tolerate crime.”
“Good for him.”
He sounded sincere, and Vivian was warmed by his approval. “He has to come during the day now.”
“Why?”
Of all people, George should know the answer to that. “They keep the doors locked after eight.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
She snorted, not believing that for a second. Vivian was halfway into the hall when George stopped her. “I don’t suppose you told him about meeting me, did you?”
Vivian shook her head.
“Is he the jealous sort?”
“My husband? Never—well, maybe a little.”
Her friend followed her a short distance. “Do you play bridge?”
Vivian shook her head again. “I’m not much good at that sort of thing.”
“Too bad. I could use a bridge partner. What about gin rummy?”
“I used to play that with the grandkids when they were little, but they outgrew it.”
“Want to give it a try one afternoon?”
Vivian would’ve liked that, but she was afraid she’d lose track of the cards. “Maybe. You play Scrabble?”
George gestured with one of his crutches. “I’m not so good with words.”
Perhaps they had more in common than she’d realized. “Me, neither.”
George grinned and she smiled back at him. “The shuttle bus is taking a trip to the Indian casino in Spokane tomorrow afternoon,” he told her. “How would you feel about going along?”