Suggestion of Death Read online

  She slid off the stool and extended her hand across the counter. “I understand. Thank you. I’m always happy to have whatever help I can get.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.

  Jim shook her cool, dry hand again. At last someone appreciated him. He’d do the best job he could for her. “So I guess from looking at you that you’re related to Ethan, right?”

  “My baby brother, half-brother. We had the same mother but different fathers.”

  “He’s trying to take care of his sis?”

  “We take care of each other.” Her eyes twinkled again. “I’m glad you decided to come in. Ethan said he was sending someone over.”

  “So I’ll start next Thursday in the Internet room?”

  “That would be delightful. Now bring your children up here to check out their books. I’d like to get a closer look at them.”

  * * *

  Sunday evening, Jim walked the children to the door and rang the doorbell even though Patrick had a key. Pat opened up after the second ring. Her too-familiar housecoat and fuzzy slippers triggered memories that pushed up inside of him, taking his breath away momentarily. She’d never worn anything under that robe. He rubbed his fingers across his lips and suppressed any comment he might be foolish enough to make.

  The kids scooted past her and ran into the interior. “’Bye, Dad,” they yelled in unison.

  “Don’t even think about going to bed without a trip to the bathroom,” she called after them. “Be sure to brush your teeth and wash your faces. I’m going to check after you get ready for bed.”

  “We went to the park on Friday,” Jim said. “After Patrick ran me ragged, he found some kids to play with while Jeanette and I talked. Hey, I’m surprised at her reading level. She’s reading authors that a lot of kids don’t like until high school.”

  Pat frowned. “Yes, but I’m worried she might become too much of a bookworm. Since her little friend, Becky, moved away, she’s been doing nothing but moping around the house with her nose stuck between printed pages.”

  “She’s got even more to read now. We went to the library yesterday. The books are due back in two weeks, so if you remember, get the kids to pack them on my next weekend so we can return them.”

  “Fine. Well...”

  Jim stood one step down from the stoop and looked up at her. In the porch light, her unmade-up face gleamed. She was a natural beauty. “I wouldn’t worry about her losing Becky, at least for a couple more weeks. Give her some time. She’ll find another friend. God, she is so—so—”

  “Sweet. A sweet kid.” Pat stared down at her house shoes and shrugged. “I hope it’s before school lets out for the summer.”

  “I was going to say bright. But sweet, too.”

  “We’ll see what happens in the next few weeks.” She started edging the door closed on him. “It’s getting late.”

  Bracing his arm across the door, Jim said, “I’m going. I just wanted to ask you something.”

  “What is it?” She spoke slowly and didn’t enunciate well, clearly fatigued. Something was taking its toll on her. He hoped it wasn’t serious, that he wasn’t adding to her burden.

  “After court the other day, the bailiff gave you something. It looked like a business card. I was wondering about it.”

  “That’s exactly what it was. She told me about a support group for divorced women who are having trouble making it.”

  “Like a consciousness-raising group or group therapy?”

  “More informational, I think. You want to see it?” She turned toward the inside of the house.

  “No. No. Just wondering. She gave one to that other woman. Ms. Johnson. I was just curious, that’s all.”

  Pat turned back. “You’re not missing out on anything, Jim. It’s like those pamphlets the judge gave us at the time of the divorce—guidelines for divorcing parents. But I don’t mind finding the card and showing you if you want.”

  “No, another time.” He should go before he overstayed his welcome. “Are you going to a meeting?”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She shoved his upper arm, trying to make room to close the door. “I’ll let you know if I do. Now, goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” Jim let her close the door in his face and headed to his car. It must be his writer’s mind, to think something was wrong. Anyone who had a women’s support group for divorced and separated women would hand out information at the courthouse. Now that he thought about it, he remembered seeing some AA pamphlets and some Legal Aid booklets on a coffee table in the clerk’s office. And there were bulletin boards inside and outside the courtroom with the child support rules, domestic relations stuff, and mediation information tacked on them.

  As soon as he got home, he checked the answering machine, but he had neither messages nor hang-ups. Turning on his computer, he clicked on some music from his library and began revising a short story. He did his best writing at night, often working until the wee hours. Some people rose early in the morning to write, but his mind was sharper in the evenings, always had been. The world seemed more at peace. He was able to relax, and his thoughts flowed more easily.

  His foot tapped, and he found himself typing to the beat of the music, short spurts followed by longer ones. After a weekend with his kids, he realized his life wasn’t as bleak as he’d thought on Friday. No matter what the judge did to him, he’d always have those two young people.

  He’d had no time to write all weekend. That was a good thing. His energy level was high, and his pent-up ideas strained to make their way onto the screen. He might be divorced, he might be facing the judge’s wrath, but life couldn’t get much better. His fears and doubts dissolved as he used his imagination to delve deeper into his story and worked into the night.

  Chapter Five

  After a couple of weeks of submissions and applications with no feedback, Jim’s enthusiasm began to wane. He’d started out like the leader in a footrace, rolling out of bed to run five miles to keep his energy up. He’d drawn a schedule for himself and posted it on the refrigerator door. After showering and eating breakfast, he’d check the Internet for jobs, until he gave up the Internet. After that, he’d stop by the library to do the research. If he found something, he’d knock out the application and send it in, being diligent about making a copy for a file to show the judge. That done, he’d force himself to write even though he thought what he turned out in the daytime would be useless. He couldn’t afford to be stuck in his old habits.

  Often he studied the markets until he found magazines that would make good homes for his pieces. If they didn’t accept email submissions, he’d spend hours printing copies, addressing envelopes, and taking them to the post office. In the evenings, he’d edit previously written pieces and aim to write at least ten new pages.

  On Wednesday nights, he’d take the kids for a couple of hours. His spirits would rise by the end of each visit. They were what it was all about, he frequently reminded himself.

  On Thursday nights, he supervised the library Internet room. He also taught newcomers how to make the best use of the computers and their time on the machines since if there were more people than computers; the library limited each person to an hour. At the end of each evening, he and Frieda would walk to their cars together. His mother had long been deceased, but he liked to think he’d have continued to have a close relationship with her like the one developing with Frieda.

  He had no social life. Couldn’t afford to. When he’d been working, there’d always been enough money for him to hang out at The Shy Ann Inn and have a few drinks with other writers and reporters. Now, he hadn’t been there in more than six months. His time was better spent writing. He did miss it, though, having another man to shoot the breeze with, especially Ethan. Maybe he could at least spring for coffee the next time he went to the post office.

  The phone rang, startling Jim out of his reverie.

  “Are you still carrying life insurance on yourself?” Pat asked.
/>   Jim’s stomach lurched. He sat up straighter in his chair. “I’m fine, Pat. How are you?”

  “Sorry, but are you?” People talked in the background so she must be calling from the teacher’s lounge.

  “Why do you want to know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, stiff from sitting at his computer for so long.

  “It was one of the requirements of the divorce decree. You’re supposed to carry two-hundred-and-fifty thousand dollars life insurance with the kids named as beneficiaries.”

  What made her suddenly question that? His shoulders froze up by his ears. “Well, yes, I believe the policy is still in full force and effect.”

  “You believe? And anyway, that’s not the same thing.”

  “Well, gee, Pat, I have been in financial difficulty lately.” He picked up a pencil and clenched his fist around it.

  “So you haven’t paid the monthly premium, is that what you’re saying?” Her voice squeaked. “For how long?”

  “What’s going on? Why do you suddenly have—why are you asking me this?” His hands felt cold. He warmed them under his arms.

  “You’re in breach of our divorce decree. You agreed to carry the insurance, and the judge ordered it as part of the child support award.”

  “Okay. Okay. Jesus Christ. As soon as I get some money, I’ll catch the premiums up. I just figured it wasn’t as important as some other things that need to be paid—like child support.”

  “But suppose something were to happen to you, Jim?” Her voice grew a bit softer.

  His stomach flip-flopped, and he sucked in his breath. “God forbid, you’re supposed to say.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  Jim remembered what the judge had said. “There’s always Social Security, babe. Like the judge told Mr. Johnson. The children are entitled to Social Security benefits if something happens to me, at least until they’re grown.”

  “I know. I’ve thought about it.”

  He cringed and rubbed his stomach. “Why did I know that you would say that?”

  She sighed, long and hard, one of the things she’d done a lot in the year before he’d come home and found Bob. “Okay. Okay. Can we discuss this rationally? When can you catch up the premiums?”

  Unbelievable. Rationally? Like it was he who’d made the call and accused her of not meeting her obligations. “You want to tell me what the hell is going on?” His cheeks felt warm. He turned his face away from the phone and breathed in deeply, calming himself. “What got you so hot and bothered about the topic of life insurance?” He held his shaking knee down.

  “I went to a WiNGS meeting last night.” She sounded like she was angry. What did she have to be angry about?

  “What the hell is a WiNGS meeting?”

  “Stop cussing. It stands for women not getting support.”

  “You’re getting support. You get twenty-five percent of my unemployment check every time I get one as well as any other money I bring in.” He got up and began pacing the room. This did not bode well.

  “Yes, but that’s a lot less than you were originally ordered to pay me.”

  Like he didn’t already know that. And like he could do anything about it right at that moment. “Is this that support group Deputy Wink gave you information about at the courthouse?”

  “Why?”

  “So how long have you been going to meetings? And why didn’t you tell me about it?” Jim wanted to bang the receiver on the desk, hard.

  “I don’t have to tell you everything I do, James. We’re divorced, remember?” Now defiance filled her voice, like an adolescent’s.

  “You don’t have to remind me. Have you gone to very many? How often do they meet, weekly?” He pulled out a notepad and began making notes. W I N G S for women not getting support. Some name. What genius thought that up?

  “They meet every Thursday night, but a lot of people just go when they can. It was my first meeting. I liked it. It was informative. I’ve needed moral support since the divorce.”

  Jim muttered, “They need to give me the name of one for men.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. So what happened at the meeting? Were they all picketing men? Are they all a bunch of man-haters? Are you going to end up hating all men or just me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It was kind of like I always imagined an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting would be like. A woman stood up and introduced herself. She told how many years she’d been divorced. Then she talked about some of the problems she’s still having.”

  “Then you all compared notes and talked about how much you hate your ex-husbands.”

  She didn’t respond to that and continued, “Last night a woman lawyer spoke on ‘Understanding the Terms of Your Divorce Decree’.”

  Jim sat back down and stretched his legs out in front of him, trying to force himself to relax. He knew he shouldn’t let her get to him. He kicked back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “So what did she do, point out all the parts of the decree that had to do with money?”

  “Yes, she did. She went over a sample decree from beginning to end, and then she took questions.”

  “And you just happened to have your copy of our decree in your back pocket so you could ask questions from it.” A burning sensation ate at his stomach.

  “You’re not very funny.”

  “Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out why you needed a stranger to tell you all this. You had an attorney when we got divorced. You could have called him.”

  “Yeah, Jim, but first of all, this was free. Secondly, I always felt like Phil was your attorney, not mine, since we used the same one. I never felt comfortable with him.”

  “Why? You chose him and between him and me, we gave you almost everything.” Lately he wished he’d listened to people like Ethan who’d told him to get his own lawyer, but too late to focus on that.

  “I just didn’t care that much for him. I felt better today with a woman. I can’t explain it. I just trust her more.” A bell clanged in the background. “I’m going to have to go.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. I want to understand this. She pointed out that I was supposed to keep up the life insurance for the benefit of the kids.”

  “Right. And if it will make you feel any better, when I called to find out about the meeting, I was told to bring our divorce decree.”

  “I see. By whom.”

  She cleared her throat. “I really need to get to class.”

  Jim waited.

  “Okay, by Bitsy. You happy now?” There was commotion in the background that sounded like chairs being dragged across the floor.

  Jim liked it even less that Patty was on a first name basis with the bailiff. “So that would be Deputy Wink?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to tell you though, I can’t pay the premiums up—not totally, but I’ll pay something on it.”

  “All right. Just so long as the policy doesn’t lapse.”

  “It’s not right now. It’s whole life, so the cash value is being used to pay the premiums.”

  “I’d forgotten there was a cash value, but I did see it listed in the decree. It’s not very much.”

  “No. That’s why you let me keep it.”

  “Ha, ha. I really have to go now.”

  “Is there anything else I’m not doing that you think I should be doing?” He tensed in anticipation.

  “Like what?” Her voice had grown louder, impatient.

  “I don’t know. Is there anything else they said at the meeting that I should know about?” The phone suddenly sounded like it had gone dead. “Pat? Are you still there?”

  “Uh. Nothing worth mentioning right now, Jim. I’m hanging up now.”

  The burning in his stomach increased. There was something she wasn’t sharing with him, but it was no use trying to get it out of her over the phone. The next time he saw her, he’d make her go over everything that happened at those meetings, from the invocation—if
there was one—to the benediction. In fact, he just might find out where they held those meetings and see if he could attend one himself. He’d have to miss a Thursday at the library but felt sure Frieda would understand.

  After hanging up, he turned back to the computer. His greatest desire at that moment was to sell something big—a blockbuster novel. He wanted to get a huge advance, and the first thing he would do would be to pay his child support in full with interest.

  Chapter Six

  The following week, a check for an essay came. Jim paid three months premiums on his life insurance, caught up his rent which had fallen two weeks behind, bought a few canned goods, and took twenty-five percent to the Attorney General’s Office for Pat. He had a great desire to celebrate by going for a drink to the Shy Ann but was afraid he might be seen there like Mr. Johnson had been seen at the grocery store buying beer. He wasn’t going to give Pat a chance to tell the judge he was spending his money on booze. But the day he sold his first novel, he would buy drinks for everyone in the joint.

  In the meantime, he headed to Tex’s for a cappuccino. He peered in the window, making sure the coast was clear. Ethan sat in his usual spot but in deep conversation with a young woman who kept showing him something on her laptop. Jim entered and placed his order with some young man he’d never seen before. Tex was nowhere around.

  When Ethan looked like he was wrapping up the meeting, Jim went over to his table to see whether Ethan had a moment for him. He had an idea for a series of articles and wanted to run it by Ethan. And, truth be told, Jim wanted to have a few minutes adult conversation—with another man.

  Ethan’s face lit up when he set eyes on Jim, giving Jim’s ego a boost. “Hey, Jimbo.”

  “Hi-ya, Ethan.” He stuck out his hand and shook the other man’s. “How are ya’?”

  Ethan’s grip was strong as a thick board. “Been hearing good things about you. Sit down. What brings you out and about? Thought you had your head down to battle your way out of the fix you’re in.”

  Jim set the tiny cappuccino cup and saucer on the table. “I do. But I sold a piece so I’m rewarding myself. Don’t tell anybody.”