What Happened to the Bennetts(50)

“I thought she was upset because of the hand lotion.”

“No, she was upset because she dropped the doll. I know her. She never missed a stitch, her whole life. She did petit point. She’s a perfectionist.” Lucinda sniffled. “I know how she feels, because Allison’s gone and Ethan’s not eating, and it’s a disaster. A disaster.”

I fell silent. She was right.

“Jason, remember in college, that photography class I took?”

I didn’t follow the conversational turn. “Sure.”

“I loved that class, and the teacher, she said something really great once. She said, ‘Whenever you’re taking a portrait of someone, you and your subject are in the present, but if you’re any good, you can see their past, and even their future.’?”

“You think that’s true?”

“I don’t know. I try, in family portraits, but I know they’re not really art, with everyone worried about their hair or their neck or whatever, just trying to look better, or thinner, or younger.”

I wasn’t sure how this applied, but I didn’t interrupt.

“All we have are memories, and right now I have memories of her and I have memories of Allison, and they’re with me all the time, and my mother doesn’t even have that.”

“True, but she has the present.”

“But she doesn’t have me. I can’t check on her in the bathroom, or hug her, or touch her, and she needs help, like with her eyebrow pencil or plucking her chin hairs.”

I hadn’t known my wife did those things for her mother.

“Let’s be real with each other. I was saying I wanted to call for her sake, but really, I wanted it for me. I miss her. Is it okay to miss your mommy, at my age?”

“Of course it is.”

“I keep thinking of that story you told us about some farmer who got his arm caught in a hay baler. ‘Traumatic amputation,’ you called it, right?”

“Yes.” I had told that story at the dinner table, and that was when I learned farm life shocked suburbanites.

“So that’s how I feel, like when Allison died, somebody pulled off my arm. Just yanked it off. Now she’s gone, and today, somebody pulled off my other arm, because I can’t have my mother anymore, and it’s not about her, or Allison, it’s about me.” Lucinda shifted in bed. “I’m spraying blood all over the place.”

“I’m so sorry, honey.” I patted her back, but it was as if she couldn’t feel my touch, or even hear me.

“Jason, it’s too much, what we’ve lost. Allison, our lives, the house, the business, my cameras, my lenses, my jewelry, all of it is gone, gone, gone, and at some point, it’s just too big to overcome, you can’t overcome it. It’s not possible to lose everything and still go on. I’m telling you I’m spent, I’m done—”

“You just feel that way now,” I interrupted. I couldn’t let her say those things, or think them, even if they were true.

“—and if I’m being real with you, and I’m trying to be real with you, I don’t think I can be here. I can’t do this.”

“I’m here, honey, I’ll do it.” I squeezed her shoulder.

“You can’t, Jason, you can’t do it for us, it’s not like Monaco, you can’t go it alone. Nobody can. You can’t give me our family back, you can’t give me our past back, and I don’t know what to do because I can’t live in the present and I sure as hell can’t deal with the future. Neither can Ethan. We’re falling through the cracks, like Mom, we’re falling.”

“I won’t let that happen,” I said, stricken.

“What can you do about it?” Lucinda asked, beginning to cry.





Chapter Twenty-Seven



The weekend was miserable, with Lucinda nursing a hangover and finishing the video for Allison’s funeral. I dreaded its coming, mentally counting down the days, and gloom settled around the house like a fog on the marsh. Ethan retreated to his bedroom with a grumpy Moonie, though I made sure he got some food and fresh air. By Sunday night, I let him stay in his room.

I sat at the laptop in the kitchen, on autopilot. I checked the wall clock, and it was midnight. I had been online for hours, scrolling mindlessly. The house was quiet. I felt raw, exhausted, and broken, alone with my thoughts.

What can you do about it?

I was failing Lucinda and Ethan. I had to pray we could start a new life, but I was having my doubts. A program designed for criminal defendants wasn’t tenable for us. Maybe after Milo was caught, we could walk away, although God knew when that would happen.

I scrolled online for news of Milo, but there wasn’t any, then I found myself checking the website of the citizen detective Bryan Krieger. The first page had photos of our burned-out house, office, and Lucinda’s studio, and a new headline turned my stomach.

    BIG INTERVIEW WITH MELISSA DELUCA, LUCINDA BENNETT’S BEST FRIEND!



I recoiled, dismayed. The audio file of the interview had been posted an hour ago. I put on a pair of wireless earphones, clicked the link, and listened to the intro, which began with suspenseful music. Bryan Krieger introduced himself, sounding younger than I’d expected, and Melissa thanked him. I startled to hear her voice, familiar yet from another world, one in which I used to live.