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“He’s one of the keynote speakers at a writers’ festival in Whistler,” I explained, embellishing Harrison’s role to make his absence more palatable. “It was arranged months ago, and it’s already been delayed. He couldn’t just cancel at the last minute.”
“He certainly could,” Tracy insisted. “I think you’re a little more important than some writers’ festival.”
“What good would it…?” I started to ask, then stopped. Why was I defending him? Tracy was right.
“Your mother is over there,” Elyse said, as if she were alive and well. She motioned toward the front of the chapel where my mother’s open casket was situated. “Your mother picked out the casket herself some years ago. It’s walnut. Not too elaborate. Very tasteful, don’t you think? Just like she was.”
I said nothing.
“She looks lovely,” Elyse continued. “I think you’ll be very pleased with what the cosmetician accomplished. Why don’t you have a look.”
“What? Oh, God, no,” Tracy exclaimed. “I couldn’t.”
“I’ll go,” I said, walking toward the casket, as much to get away from Elyse as to view the cosmetician’s handiwork.
My mother lay on a cushion of white satin, her eyes closed, her hands folded neatly on her chest. I was startled to realize that Elyse was right—shedidlook lovely. There were no bruises, no evidence of her calamitous tumble down the stairs. Her face, while a touch too made-up, showed no sign of the pain that had tormented her for years. Her body, relieved of its spasms and deformities, stretched to its full length and clad in a high-necked, white dress, betrayed none of the horrors she’d endured over the past decade.
“She looks so peaceful, doesn’t she?” Elyse said, coming up behind me.
“Please don’t tell me she’s in a better place,” I said, feeling my hands form fists at my sides and wondering what the hell Elyse was up to.
“God, no,” she said. “I hate when people say that. It makes me want to smack them over the head.”
I almost smiled. “What do you want, Elyse?”
“To explain.”
I continued staring down at my mother, concentrating on the straight line of her lips, half expecting her to start gasping for air at this woman’s audacity. “Can you?”
“I’d like to try.”
I swiveled toward her. “Then, by all means. Knock yourself out.”
She glanced over her shoulder to where my father and Tracy were engaged in what appeared to be earnest conversation. “I lied to your father,” she admitted. “And to the police.”
I shrugged, not sure what to say. Whatever I’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.
“Your parents had come home from their drive, and your mother was very agitated. It took a while to get her into bed and settled down. She was going on about her earrings. Your father was getting frustrated. You know how he can get.”
I nodded, knowing only too well how he could get.
“So, he went into the drawer where she kept her jewelry, and he realized that everything was missing, and he just…exploded. I’d never seen him like that. It was quite terrifying, really. He demanded an explanation, and I was afraid to tell him what I’d done, that I’d taken it upon myself to give it all to you…”
“So, you told him thatI’dtaken it instead?”
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said. “I honestly planned to tell him the truth once he calmed down, but before I knew it, he’d called the police, and then, well, things just went from bad to worse.”
“It’s been weeks,” I reminded her. “Surely you’ve had plenty of opportunities…”
“Yes, and I’ve tried to tell him the truth so many times. Just that…”
“Just that what?”
“He’s still so angry. I told him that I was sure you just took the jewelry for safekeeping, that those earrings should always have gone to you, but he won’t listen. He actually ordered me never to bring it up again. And the more time went on, the more difficult it became to tell him the truth. And I felt that, under thecircumstances, I just couldn’t up and quit. And then your mother had that terrible fall, and well…here we are.”
“Here we are,” I repeated without inflection, my head spinning, my body numb.
Stephanie Pickering, our firm’s top-selling agent, approached, and Elyse quickly excused herself to return to my father’s side. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said, patting her stiff blond bouffant.
“Thank you.”
Her hand moved from her hair to my arm, her red lips forming an exaggerated pout. “She’s in a better place.”
