Disclaimer: Up until this point of my writing, all of the events that I have talked about and the people included have been real and true (with the exception of name changes of those that requested or weren’t asked). Unfortunately, there was never truly an ending to the story that you have been reading, or definitive closure to this part of my life. And although my mother and I have spent many of nights talking about what we truly believe happened, no one was ever brought to justice based on our beliefs. As I move forward with the story, this is a depiction of what I believe would have happened if I had the ability and strength to continue on with this crusade. Alas, my victory may just have to settle on the pages of a novel  and justice be gained in the idea that it is for anyone and everyone to read. 

 

I found my mother and Mimi in the kitchen. They were chatting about life and the daily things they missed out on by not living in the same state. Mimi was steadied over the stove, stirring her infamous sauce. There is no recipe, and I couldn’t recreate it even if I watched a thousand times (which I had), but it was absolutely always delicious.

Even though I had managed to get myself a bit together, and I was feeling better than when I first woke, it was evident by their reaction that I hadn’t done the best job and making myself look presentable, and of course not hungover.

“Late night?” Mom asked, although I was pretty confident Papa had already told her the late hour in which I had come stumbling in, literally.

“Yeah, it was kind of late I guess. We were busy talking and time got away from us.” I tried to force my voice to sound more casual and less hysterical because I had so much I needed to say. “Mom, I need to talk to you, do you think we could have a few moments?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I actually need to talk to you as well. It is about time I get going and get back to work and I would like to know your plans before I go.”

Well, that was going to complicate things a bit, as I was not yet ready to burst into “I am not going back to my husband because I think he is  murderer.” I steadied myself for a moment and thought of the best way to approach this, especially with Mimi in the room… standing… over a hot stove. The events of the last week had been enough, I didn’t need this news to send her crashing into that delicious pot of sauce.

“Kim called,” I said suddenly. This seemed like a good transition into my news. “She told me that we were needing to prepare for an estate auction.” Mimi stopped stirring and Mom stopped talking. They both kind of stood there looking at me with these robotic eyes. It suddenly dawned on me that they were waiting for me to collapse! As if this news was going to be the part that finally sent me over the edge. “I’m okay,” I tried to assure them. “I just need to explain it to you so that we can have a system of support, a front line of troops, available should this take place beyond my current visit in Rochester. The three of us took our usual spots at the table and I explained to them the details that Kim had shared with me. We sent some messages to Aunt Becky, Aunt JJ and friends, inquiring if they would be interested in attending on my behalf if I was unable to go. It was reassuring to know that my family was going to stick by my through this, no matter what. We made the final arrangements and set up our platoon with smiles on our faces. All the while I sat with a damning piece of paper tucked under my leg, knowing I could not get up without bringing it forward. When Mimi excused herself to shower, I asked my mom to stay. I knew this was going to be my only opportunity to share my findings with her in confidence.

It took me a few minutes to start, pulling the paper from beneath my leg as if it weighed 2,000 pounds. But once I started to speak, and use the poorly designed diagram to assist me as a visual aid, the words began to flow from my mouth just as they had the evening before. I felt a touch of relief that it still made the same sense in a sober state as it had to my Gin infused brain last night. I would stop momentarily to gaze up at my mother for a reaction, but she sat perfectly still with her face a flat line. She was intently listening to every sound coming from my mouth, but there was no indication on what she was thinking. When I finally finished explaining my conspiracy to murder theory and informing her of Steve’s new plan and sense of urgency to move, I took a final deep breath and stopped. I just stopped talking. It felt like eternity that I sat there looking at her face, waiting for a response. After what seemed like hours, but was probably more on the scale of less than five minutes I saw her mouth begin to open and I knew the calming voice and infinite wisdom of my mother, the Dalai Lama, was going to settle over me.  “You cannot divorce him Dana, not yet anyways.” Her tone was firm, not calming. Her eyes were fiery, not kind. And her words, well they weren’t exactly what I was expecting.

“I’m sorry, what?!” I exclaimed slamming both of palms down on the kitchen table and instantly regretting it. I knew the noise would draw Mimi’s attention and concern and I didn’t want or need that right now. “I just told you that I am pretty sure my new husband conspired to murder my Dad for inheritance money and that he wants to move me completely away from everyone I know and love and your only response is telling me I CAN’T divorce him?!” I was trying to convey my building emotion in the tone of a whisper which was both difficult and did not exactly do justice to my words.

My mother continued, “I know this is difficult, but if you push for an immediate divorce, you will not be able to testify against him if this goes to court, under spousal privilege. The divorce process in the state of New York already takes forever, once Steve knows what you are trying to do he will do everything in his power to keep you married. That will be his only out.” I tried to let my mother’s response sink into my brain. Her words made sense in my head, but this was not the reaction I was expecting, at least not at first. Where were all of her questions, you know like the millions I asked aloud last night when I put this whole idea together. Why wasn’t she asking me more about Martin, Steve and McCrabben. Why wasn’t she asking me why I thought foul play to begin with? Why the hell wasn’t my mother trying to talk me out of these crazy delusions and convince me that my father’s death was indeed a suicide, as ruled by the medical examiner?! My head was going through the same spiral of thoughts and emotions and I again felt myself slipping away from reality when suddenly I was brought back to attention with a jolt of realization. “Holy shit,” I breathed almost silently. “You already knew.” My mom sat across from me and gave me that look, the kind where she spoke to me with her eyes and affirmed my words without having to speak. “You had already pieced this together and knew!” I was crazy with emotion and shock. “But how?”

“There are instincts that develop with motherhood Fib, those in which we cannot shake. I have learned to follow the ones that I cannot easily push aside, or make justifiable reasons for. Many of the events since your wedding and those leading up to and following your father’s death have given me these uneasy feelings. You should know by now that I would stop at nothing to protect you, and so I have worn my detective hat a few times in the last few months, but even more in the last week.” Her voice had returned to that calm tone that I was able to become lost in. Her eyes were pleading with me to understand her, and I sensed that she was silently hoping I would not be angry with her for not sharing her suspicions with me earlier. Angry? How could I possibly be angry? If nothing else in this moment I felt immense relief. That someone else could see beyond the physical and believe there was more to this saga than was present on the surface. I was not crazy. I was not delusional. And I was no longer alone.

“What now?” I asked, hoping Mom had an answer for this because I sure as hell didn’t know the next step.

My mother smiled, the one that showed me that not only did she have an answer, but that she was going to make it all okay again. “Now we plan to go home,” she said. “We both get back to Texas to present as normal as possible and we work on delaying that move of yours long enough to get us concrete evidence to support our working theories.”

“Seriously?” I asked surprised. We can’t just go to the police here and stop all of this before it gets any worse? I have to go back and share a home with that man? How can that be our only option?” I was hoping she would sense the pleading in my voice now, the part that was screaming that I just wanted this to be over now.

“Because Fib, if we want true justice, we are going to have to nail them all to the wall, and that is going to mean taking a bit more of a difficult path. Now let’s go look at flights home, we can talk more about how this is going to look exactly later.”

My already empty stomach that was lined solely with Gin and bile started to somersault. How could it be that there was so much evil in my life right now, and I was going to be the one suffering for just a little bit longer?