The Apple of My Eye Page 19

  “The man that broke into my house last night was looking to see what I knew, to try to protect himself. He claims to have not wanted to shoot Paul, but he seemed quite upset with Paul for wanting to pull the plug. I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “He did come to Paul’s funeral. How strange is that?”

  We were all silent for a few minutes. I finally stood up to leave. “All of this is yours now. Do with it what you will. And if you have any questions, you know where to find me.” I then walked out of the police station for what I hoped was the last time.

  AFTERMATH

  The next few weeks passed in a rush. Details were forthcoming from the detectives as they became available.

  However, the best detail they decided to deliver in person. After calling ahead to make sure I was home, they showed up on my doorstep with big smiles on their faces.

  “What is it?” I couldn’t help smiling in return.

  Lentus walked right past me, as if he owned the place, but in such a jovial mood I just shrugged my shoulders and followed him into the great room with Higgins on my heels.

  “Brea, we just got the results back about the embedded chips. You had it mostly right.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Let me explain,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Our analysts examined the credit card scanner you brought in. We also confiscated the credit card scanners from the convenience stores, and they evaluated those as well. What they found was interesting.”

  Higgins took over. “The program on the flash drive was indeed embedded in the chip of the credit card scanner you gave us. It did exactly what you thought it did and could have had devastating effects with a great deal of difficulty tracking down the source of the problem.

  “The credit card scanners from the stores also had been modified. They performed exactly as the one you found, with only one small variation.” Then she turned to her partner. “Would you like to tell her?”

  Lentus smiled. “With the machines that had been placed in the stores there was a significant difference. When the credit card information was transmitted to the Automatic Meter Reader two numbers were transposed, making the information useless.”

  It took a moment for what he said to sink in.

  “Mrs. Cass, it appears that Paul really did back down, and he found a way to do it despite the pressure he was under to see it through. With that one simple change he protected hundreds, probably thousands of people from having their credit card information stolen.”

  I was so pleasantly surprised by what he said that I was momentarily speechless. Then one more thing clicked. “That also explains something,” I said.

  It was the detectives’ turn to be surprised. “What?” asked Lentus.

  “Well, when Amy and I were watching Alex’s house, he and his friend were having a heated discussion while holding an Automatic Meter Reader. I didn’t know what the device was at the time, and we couldn’t hear their discussion. But if they were trying to get credit card information and it wasn’t working, then, well, I can understand their frustration.”

  I looked at the other two and they were nodding agreement. “Hooray for that frustration!” I cheered. Then our rich voices rang out with laughter and joy.

  When the laughter subsided, I found myself still smiling from ear to ear. There were parts of my husband’s life I could still be proud of, and with those parts, the pieces of my own shattered life began to come back together. Paul had done something right, risking everything, ultimately his life, so that others would not be hurt.

  “Thanks for coming over to tell me. I know you didn’t have to do that, but telling me all of this ... well, it means a lot to me.” I then surprised all of us by reaching over and hugging Detective Lentus and then Detective Higgins.

  . . .

  The visit by the two detectives brought me as much closure as I could hope to have. I learned that the two suspects weren’t talking yet, but I didn’t care. The investigation was ongoing; however, I found my interest in it waning. The two people responsible for my husband’s death were in custody. They had been charged with various crimes including my husband’s death, and the evidence was mounting against them.

  I was tired. I just didn’t have the emotional or physical energy to devote to the crimes that had been committed anymore. Noah was almost nine months old now. He was the whole reason that I could carry on, and yet despite my best intentions, I hadn’t actually been fully present for him for the last three months, not since Paul’s death. I had certainly made an effort, but my heart had been distracted. The answers about Paul meant a great deal to me, but as my mother had predicted, the answers weren’t the end, they were a means to allow me to begin again, to reconnect with my life and with Noah. Gradually that’s just what I started to do.

  I took over more and more of the parenting duties, while my parents faded gracefully into the background. I set up regular get-togethers with Amy to keep me sane and to ensure that I not cut her out of my life again.

  Martha, sweet Martha, joined us for lunch virtually every day. Often it was just the three of us: Martha, Noah and me. Mom and Dad would make excuses about errands they needed to run, but I knew they were just trying to help me get back on my own feet.

  Noah and I learned to enjoy the world around us once again. It was full summer by now, and we found that playing in the backyard made the hours float by pleasantly like feathers on the wind. More than once Noah fell asleep for his nap on our picnic blanket. I would position an umbrella to shade him from the sun’s rays, and then I would lie down beside him, tracing the edges of his hair and his chin, examining his bare toes, kissing the top of his blonde-haired head. Soon I would fall into a light sleep at his side, while my parents watched over us from indoors.

  I think they knew before I did that I was ready to fly solo. In the back of my mind it seemed possible, but I was afraid to try, afraid I might fall flat, and then not know how to get back up again. As they disappeared not so subtly each day for longer and longer periods of time, I found I could make it. At first, I watched the driveway for their return, but before long Noah and I were so involved with each other that I didn’t even notice their return until they actually announced their presence.

  Finally, one day Mom and Dad announced their plans to return home. We decided to throw one last party. We would jointly celebrate Noah’s nine-month mark and have a grand send off for my parents.

  Plans were made, and the usual group gathered one Saturday evening. Haynesworth, Amy, and Martha joined Mom, Dad, Noah, and me for a barbeque in our backyard. Mom and Dad took turns at the grill, cooking up hamburgers, chicken, and some corn on the cob. I had convinced all my guests to be modest with what they brought to share, or I thought I had convinced them up until the moment they arrived, each one once again laden with a variety of dishes. Martha brought cake and two kinds of pies. The professor showed up with several varieties of salads and some homemade rolls. Amy, as always, could be depended upon to bring all the best that our local store had to offer, including chips, dips, and drinks. Since Noah was eating more and more table food, each one brought something just for him from bananas to cookies to juice.

  It was a carefree gathering. I had not chased away all my ghosts, but I wasn’t afraid of them anymore. It allowed me to enjoy my company and talk freely with them. No topics were forbidden. There had been a number of newspaper articles about Paul and all the intrigue surrounding his death. They were not overly kind, but they also weren’t overly cruel. I suppose they were fair. We talked openly about them. It was a relief to do so, a relief to have no secrets, no lies anymore.

  The phone rang several times while we partied outside, but I chose to ignore it. I was getting used to the attention, although I didn’t relish it. Even th
e national news had picked up the story of the sordid credit card scheme with its twists and turns.

  Instead of dwelling on what had happened, I was moving forward, making a life for Noah and myself. I hadn’t quite figured out what to tell Noah about his father when he was old enough to understand, but I had time to figure that out. At least we were now travelling on solid ground.

  Too soon it was time for everyone to call it a night. Mom and Dad were leaving tomorrow and still needed to finish packing. Before I had a chance to protest, Amy and Martha started to clean up the dishes, shooing my parents upstairs to pack. Professor Haynesworth worked on straightening up the grill, lawn chairs, and returning any number of baby toys to the house.

  That left me with Noah. He was head to toe dirt and head to toe happy. I took him upstairs and plopped him in a tub of water and bubbles, completely comfortable leaving my “guests” on their own. They were truly family now, all my walls knocked down.

  Noah had started saying “Mama” recently, but he often added “Umum” for Amy and even “Gaga” which worked for Grandma, Grandpa, and also Martha and Professor Haynesworth. It was an all-purpose title they were happy to share. As I lowered him into his bath, he reached out to pop a bubble and added, “Bubba” to his growing vocabulary.

  Playing with bubbles kept us both entertained well into the raisin skin stage. I forgot that anyone else was even in the house. I, at last, pulled the plug on his bath when he stopped talking and started to nod off in the tub. Within ten minutes he was dried, diapered, and dressed for bed. He was sound asleep in his crib before I could even cover him with a light blanket.

  Tiptoeing out of his room and down the stairs, I was pleasantly surprised to find all my family, either through birth or by choice, gathered in the great room, chatting quietly. The kitchen and yard were neat and clean, and my parents were all packed ready to go. It seemed no one wanted the evening to end, despite their earlier claims of needing to leave. I sat down to join the group.

  It was an easy, light-hearted conversation. My parents shared some of their travel adventures, and Haynesworth told college stories. We were an odd little family, but family all the same. When the phone rang again, I decided to let the machine answer it and continue to be regaled by the amusing life of an absent-minded professor.

  I could hear a woman’s voice leaving a message. Something in her voice sounded anxious or nervous. Clearly this wasn’t one more reporter, well-practiced in the verbal arts. With a curious ear, I listened in half-heartedly. Whoever it was mentioned something about it being a long time, Paul, and then the newspaper articles about him. She left her name and number then said words that left me cold, “I’m Paul’s mother.”

  PART 3 – GATHERING LIGHT

  AVALON

  The others in the room saw my reaction before they registered its cause. Soon we were all listening as the message continued. “... I wasn’t sure at first because he called himself Paul Cass, not Caste, which is his real name, but I just saw the picture that went with the story, and there’s no mistake. That’s my son. So please call me.”

  We all sat in stunned silence, hearing only the click as the call was disconnected. No one moved. Amy was the first to break the silence. “Isn’t his mother dead? I thought there was a car accident.” It came out as merely a whisper, as if anything louder might summon ghosts from the dead.

  No one needed to answer her question. We were all thinking the same thing. Either this woman was lying, or Paul had been lying for some time. One more lie. Lies do not help.

  Finally, Haynesworth spoke up with a solution to our unspoken concerns. “Brea, if you like, I can make a few inquiries to learn if this woman is who she says she is. You can then do whatever you like with that knowledge, but at least you will know the truth.”

  Barely audible, not trusting my own voice, I responded, “Yes, please.” Then I added, “Paul told me his parent’s names were Len and Ava, and that they were from Ohio. I don’t remember ever having seen their pictures.” Why hadn’t I thought that was strange? It was a little late to be thinking of that now.

  Reaching over to put a hand on my arm, he said, “I’ll see what I can find out.”

  I stood up and announced with a louder voice, “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be alone,” and I started up the stairs. As I did so, I could feel their worried eyes upon me. I stopped midstride and turned to them. “No worries, okay. I’ve dealt with a lot of things lately, and I’m not going back to that dark place where I was. I just need a few moments to process this. Stay and visit with each other, or don’t stay, whatever you like. I will talk to all of you soon. Don’t worry.”

  I hoped they believed my words, because I didn’t know if I did. Quite frankly, I wondered if I was starting the downward spiral all over again. I had gained so much strength lately, but my foundation was slipping out from under me, as if it were a quicksand made of lies, more lies than I had ever imagined possible.

  I had no doubt what Professor Haynesworth would find, realizing with sadness that I trusted the words of a woman whom I had never met more than I trusted my own husband. My very name, Brea Cass, wasn’t real. Even if Paul had legally changed his name, it didn’t feel right. For that matter, Noah, Noah Cass, a completely innocent child, carried a name that was a lie.

  Feelings and worries swirled as I made my way upstairs. Staring me in the face was the reality that I had not resolved anything regarding the way I felt about Paul. I had pushed all those concerns aside, buried them under tidbits of hope that he had admirable qualities. Despite my best efforts, two questions remained about Paul. Was he really a good person who had just made some mistakes? It truly seemed like everything I had learned of late taught me that he was decent inside, but I just wasn’t sure. The real burning question, however, was did he actually love me?

  Even though he was dead, I desperately wanted to know what he would have been like five years down the road. He had clearly made mistakes. I believed I could forgive those mistakes, if I knew he had turned a corner. But was his change of heart real? Would it have stuck? I had hidden these thoughts from others, barely even acknowledging them to myself until this new revelation. They seemed silly really. Paul was dead, dead and buried, but I had to know if I had made a mistake with him. I had to know what kind of man Noah’s daddy would have been. I didn’t even know how to approach the thought of whether he loved me.

  Lying on my bed, staring up at the ceiling I wondered why this was important to me. Why, when it was too late to change anything?

  Sometime in that long sleepless night I found a little piece of what I was seeking. I didn’t have any of the answers yet, but at least I understood why the questions were important to me. I knew that Paul was dead, that was a reality, but I also believed he still existed somewhere, or hoped he did. If he was somewhere, could he see us? Would he watch over us? Even more, if he loved me, somehow I thought he would be waiting for me when I died. I could imagine him taking me in his arms. Or if he had never loved me, would he abandon me even then? With those thoughts, I fell into a fitful sleep just as the sun was rising in the sky.

  Noah awoke a couple of hours later. I heard him on the baby monitor. I knew my parents didn’t need to leave for a few hours, and they could get Noah. However, I also knew I needed to do this on my own, and I needed them to believe I could do it on my own. In my mind I could see what would happen if I stayed in bed and let them get Noah. They would cancel their plane reservations and stay.

  Maybe it was my foolish pride, but sometime I had to take over full responsibility. I had made too much progress to backslide now. So tired and groggy though I was, I hurried into Noah’s room to pick him up.

  I got there just before Mom. She seemed surprised to see me, but I just picked up my son and put on the happiest face I knew
how before turning to greet her. She was a little taken aback I could tell, but I could also see her mind processing the scene, trying to decide what the situation truly was and what her reaction to it should be.

  I deliberately cut into her thoughts with, “Good morning, Mom. What would you like for breakfast?”

  She had no response, still eyeing my cheerfulness with suspicion. So I ignored the question as well and started chatting with Noah while I changed him and got him dressed. At some point, and without a word, she slipped from the room.

  In the end, my parents didn’t want to leave. They could see through me, but they also knew all too well my stubborn streak. It would be pointless to try to stay. I do think they sneaked off to enlist Martha as spy and accomplice, to watch over me in their absence. For all I knew they even called Amy, but that was okay. Much as I wanted to pretend, I too knew that I was far from solid ground.

  All too soon it was time for them to go. We carried suitcases to my car for the trip to the airport. I glanced over at Paul’s car in the garage. My eyes lingered on it as I wondered if I should sell it.

  My mother saw my gaze and read my mind. “Brea, it was so nice having Paul’s car to drive around while we were here. I hope you won’t sell it any time soon. We plan on coming back to see our grandson on a regular basis,” and then she added, “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure, Mom, you can come anytime,” and I meant it, but I also worried that if they came back too soon I would never learn to be the single mom that I now was. So I added, “Why don’t you plan on coming back for Noah’s first birthday? We’ll have an over-the-top celebration, and we’ll spoil him stinkin’ rotten!”