214 Palmer Street(7)

Kirk had never cared for Mrs. Sullivan. After they’d first met her, he’d said her high-pitched voice put him on edge. He continued, “I came home right after that. The cops said you were hit on the head with a solid object, possibly a rock.”

“A rock?” Sarah couldn’t make sense of this. She reached up to the back of her head, which was covered with some kind of wrapping. “It was windy. Maybe something blew into me.” She imagined a broken tree limb flying through the air, or maybe a lawn ornament, one of those reflecting balls that Kirk thought were so tacky.

“No, they didn’t find anything like that. They think you were deliberately struck with a hard, heavy object.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t understand why someone would do this either,” he said sympathetically. “You’re the best person I know. Whoever did this to you has to be a lunatic.” He gave her a sad smile.

Sarah tried to make sense of this, but couldn’t. Their yard was enormous, with a wrought-iron fence and although the gate was never locked, they’d never had anyone trespass. The neighboring lots were close by, but not easily visible. The previous owner of their house had planted rows of arborvitae on each side, which covered the fence and screened them from the neighbors.

She didn’t have any reason to worry about anyone attacking her. She had no enemies. Everyone at work was friendly. It wasn’t like she was the subject of jealousy or resentment. “Are the police sure that’s how it happened?”

Kirk nodded. “They’re treating it as a crime, so they must be sure. Why? What are you thinking?”

“I can’t believe someone would do that,” she said. “Maybe I had a brain aneurysm?” It was the only thing that explained the feeling of her head imploding, followed by losing consciousness.

“No,” Kirk said. “The wound was on the outside, babe. This was definitely done to you.”

“But why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “You don’t have to think about that now. The police will handle it. Just get some sleep.”

“Maybe just for a little bit.” She closed her eyes and felt herself begin to drift away.

The last thing she heard was Kirk saying, his voice cracking, “Can you imagine how horrible it would have been for me if I’d lost you? Sarah, I hope you know that you’re my everything.”





FIVE





HER





You know how sometimes you run into someone you haven’t seen for a long time and the sight of them healthy and happy brings joy to your heart? Well, the time I saw Kirk Aden out to dinner with his fiancée was nothing like that. I hadn’t seen the guy for a few years so spotting him, dressed in an expensive suit and looking better than ever, was a complete shock. I watched as he sat at the white-linen-covered table with his date, a lovely young woman, the two of them drinking wine. She appeared content and happy while he looked full of life and pleased with himself. A dagger to my heart. To think he could have caused so much pain, and still attain such happiness? Believe me, I was fuming more and more with each passing minute. It wasn’t just his success—it was also how much he imposed himself on others, as if his existence was more important than anyone else’s. When he ordered, he spent a lot of time discussing his options with the waiter, like he was the only customer in the place and the server had all the time in the world.

Selfish. So very selfish. Of course, that was the least of his faults.

I didn’t know that the woman was his fiancée at the time, but I couldn’t help but notice she appeared much younger than him and out of his league. I found out later that her name was Sarah and that she wasn’t from around here. That night she wore a floral wrap dress. Her curly hair was left natural, falling in waves around her shoulders, and she wore silver hoop earrings. She had a sweet look and seemed enamored of him, resting her hand on his arm, laughing at what had to be lame jokes.

He hadn’t changed much—still had wire-rim glasses and uncooperative hair. When he saw me staring, he looked away sheepishly like he’d been caught doing something wrong, and nervously ran his fingers over his scalp. Good. I was glad I made him uncomfortable.

That evening my mother and I were dining at the same restaurant, a fancy establishment called Golden. We were celebrating her birthday and dinner was on me, a considerable expense for someone with my salary. For Kirk Aden, though, dinner at Golden was just a drop in the bucket. Life had been good to Kirk. In high school he’d lived in a standard 1950s home on Palmer Street and his family was nothing special. If anything, having just the one child made the Adens seem a little incomplete. At least in my eyes.

When I read in the news about his parents becoming suddenly wealthy, I was livid. It wasn’t even something they’d earned. Bert Aden had bankrolled the development of various medical devices, one of which grew in value until it was worth millions. So it wasn’t him. Some other dude had the brains to develop this thing and Bert and Judy got rich just by being nearby when it happened. The Adens: one minute they were middle-class suburbanites, the next they were multi-millionaires. What the hell? Why do some people go through life with problems and tragedies while others less deserving wander into good fortune, served on a platter? I know the answer, of course. Life isn’t fair. Still, it made my blood boil.