A Keeper's Truth (14 page)

I
’m in bed,
it’s four in the morning, and my eyes are locked in an unnatural stare that
wouldn’t be focused on anything in particular, even if there were a shred of
light. I’m thinking about Christmas.

In the
past, Christmas in the Morgan household was a time of joy and jubilation.
Christmas morning was a six a.m. wakening spawned by Abby, brimming with
excitement. It included an adrenalin-fueled rush that undoubtedly rendered at
least one of us injured as we skipped steps to make it down the stairway at
breakneck speed. Nothing was more important than finding out what old Saint
Nick snuck into our stockings while we slept. Abby would squeal over the
half-eaten cookies and empty glass with milk-stained smudges then investigate
every dollar store gift that Santa had stuffed into her oversized red velvet
stocking. It would take her all of fifteen minutes to rip open the gifts that
took me three hours to wrap and countless hours to source, and Meyer and I
would watch, riveted, cell phone’s documenting a show worthy of an Oscar.

When the
sun was actually awake, Meyer’s grandparents would wander over for a feast.
While Grams and I whipped together a royal breakfast, Meyer and Gramps poured
themselves over Abby and her gifts, hacking into packaging capable of housing a
nuclear warhead, skimming instructions, and inserting umpteen batteries.
Festive music would blare from the radio and each and every one of us would
float about the kitchen with a dance in our step. We’d stuff ourselves silly,
leave the mess for house elves, and huddle on the couch to watch Meyer’s
favorite Christmas classic,
It’s A Wonderful Life
.

This
Christmas wasn’t remotely similar.

After a
second glance at the clock, I sprang from the bed in a panic. I bounded down
the hall, haphazardly tugging my housecoat, only to find Abby sound asleep,
head where her feet should be, and toes on the pillow. Her sheets were strewn
about as if a brawl had taken place in the night, leaving her quilt abandoned
on the floor. I stepped closer, relocating sweaty strands to peer into her
face. It was blotched and puffy. My baby girl’s Christmas Eve hadn’t been spent
in blissful anything.

I rescued
the quilt from the floor and tucked Abby’s headless bunny under her arm. Abby
slept another forty minutes, well past daybreak, while I cried.

As hard as
we all tried, this was pretty much the theme for the entire day. Abby’s
unenthusiastic attempts at joy were almost more than I could handle, and it
took every ounce of willpower I had not to drop to my knees and bawl.

After
opening the gifts we made our rounds, lingering in each other’s arms, letting
love defrost our extremities. We cooked breakfast but lacked the appetite to
eat, so it sat, barely picked at, until Grams surrendered with a huff and threw
it into Tupperware. Abby showed no interest in her toys. No one turned the
music on. No one suggested we watch Meyer’s movie, the movie he’d watched every
Christmas since his parents passed.

By noon
I’d read Abby every Dr. Seuss book ever published and my ass was numb. So was
my brain. If it wasn’t for Grams and her not-so-subtle reminder, I’d have forgotten
to implement my plan.

The plan
was to allow Abby her usual Christmas morning routine before presenting the
gift capable of resurrection. This wasn’t only for Abby’s sake, but for the
dog’s as well. Her name is Magpie and her previous family called her
Magsie
. During her short stay with Grams and Gramps,
everyone kept calling her Maxi by mistake. She reminded us of Meyer’s dog,
Taxi, and our mouths would start the
m
in
Magsie
then naturally switch to Taxi.
Magsie
/ Maxi, both
seemed to spur the usual responses, so Maxi it was. She was everything I was
hoping for and much more needed than I’d originally imagined. The dog was the
savior of Christmas in our house.

Grams made
a commotion at the front door, announcing Maxi’s presence in a grand voice. The
dog trotted, dodging furniture as though she’d lived here her entire life,
directly into Abby’s waving arms. Maxi’s tail swung in full force, knocking a
cup from the coffee table. Abby laughed. Not an artificial rehearsed laugh, but
a true deep from the belly laugh. Tears soaked her cheeks until they dripped
from her chin, leaving dark circles on her fleece pajamas.

Overwhelmed
with emotion, I covered my face, body quaking, relief flooding my senses. I
looked at Grams and Gramps crouched in the doorway. Gramps was in his chair,
arms stretched around
Grams’s
shoulders, her face
buried in his neck.

This is
how the death of one man can turn a holiday meant for merriment into a sad
testament of his absence.

Tears
sting as they follow the contours of my face and neck, down to a shallow puddle
nestled within my left collarbone. I wipe my cheeks in the dark. Dawn peeks
around the blind’s edges. I’m tired but I think I’ll get up, maybe head to the
studio. My skin feels itchy in this bed.

Needless
to say, other than the addition of our dear Maxi, this Christmas will be tossed
with the tree.

And not
enshrined in any photo album.

We’re
rolling shortbread
at the kitchen table when, for the third time in
two days, Abby demands to be entertained.

“The
shelter had the perfect dog just waiting for us,” my story begins. I’m
animated, the rolling pin cutting air as I speak. “The first dog to join me in
the petting room was a one-year-old
Weimaraner
named
Peppy. Sleek and powerful, if looks were enough he’d have been our winner.
Unfortunately, his exuberance had me doing tailspins of my own. Even the
shelter staff couldn’t get Peppy to calm, which was frustrating because I
needed to see his eyes.” I lean across the table and stare into Abby’s eyes,
nose to nose. Abby giggles.

“It was a
crazy theory,” I say. “I thought if I could peer into a dog’s eyes, search
their depths, a connection would spark, and I’d know that this dog, the one
whose essence could be seen, was the one.” I laugh. “Peppy was a bust.”

I stick my
fingers in flour and splatter Abby with white dust. Her laugh ignites her face,
making my heart dance. “More,” she pleads.

“The next
dog sauntered in, not a care in the world. Her name was Magpie. At first glance
she looked like any golden Lab, but as I watched her sit for the shelter
attendant, I could see the resemblance to Taxi.”

Abby
slides from the chair, running her flour laced fingers through Maxi’s fur.
“This dog lost her family,” she says, stealing my thunder.

I smile,
agree. “She’d been loved.” I place a dough ball onto the mat and ready the
rolling pin, coating it with flour.

Apparently
my tale is in need of more gusto. A blind man could detect Abby’s
keep going
expression. I laugh, picking up the pace.

“I patted
my knees and Magpie sauntered to where I was sitting on the bench. Her tail
swayed, giving flight to the mix of dog hair in its path. The six-by-six room
held the aroma of animal pee and bleach. She nudged my hands with her wet nose,
her tongue lazily hanging over yellow-white teeth. I obliged, rubbing the soft
spot behind her ear.”

“This is
the part! The part I like the
mostest
!” Abby says,
climbing back onto her chair.

“The most,
baby, there is no such word as
mostest
.”

Abby
sticks her tongue out at me.

“It was
time to put my theory to the test,” I say with a wink. “I placed my fingertips
under Magpie’s furry chin and gazed straight into those big brown eyes.” I
pause for effect. Even Maxi looks up in anticipation. “Love rolled in waves
from her body, the universe floating within her milky stare. Her eyes said it
all. She was the one.”

“Ha, ha!”
Abby claps and a plume of fairy dust coats everything in sight.

The
doorbell rings.

“In
short,” I mutter, concluding today’s two o’clock performance, “Magpie unfurled
her long, gooey tongue, licking me from chin to hairline, sealing the deal.”

Abby skips
down the hall. “Love that story.”

Maxi
follows, torn between seeing who has come to visit and staying close to the
sweet smelling cookies. I peek in the oven, two steps behind my mini clan.

“Good
evening, ma’am,” says a voice as I step around the corner.

I stop
short.

Abby is
holding the door for a man in uniform. He is tall, slim. A faded rim of purple
surrounds his eyes. My heart plummets to the balls of my feet.

“Officers
Smith and
Becale
here,” he says. The second officer,
a woman, steps out from behind him. They flash their badges. “Could we speak
with you for a moment?”

“Alone,”
she adds, her stare shifting to Abby.

Lunch has
lodged somewhere between my stomach and tonsils, thickening my throat. The last
time the police came to my door it was to tell me Meyer had been in a car
accident and hadn’t survived.

I’m about
to vomit. Please no, no more.

The
officers step inside and I turn to Abby, my movements coming in slow motion.
“Roll more cookies in the kitchen.” I tuck Abby’s fingers under Maxi’s collar.
“Take Maxi with you. Do not touch the oven.”

I try to
focus on Abby and Maxi waddling down the hallway. In my head I skim a list of
loved ones I haven’t seen or spoken to today. Panic sets in when I realize I
haven’t heard from my brother Stephen since Christmas day.

Officer
Smith inches forward. “We’re sorry to interrupt, but this is rather important,”
he says. “The body of a local woman has been found close by.”

Oh no,
Sonia, Karen’s neighbor. It must be. A wave of relief crashes through me. My
family is safe. The euphoria dissipates instantly, replaced by remorse. My
heart aches for the parents and family who must be beside themselves with
grief. It’s an emotion I’m all too familiar with, and I don’t wish it on anyone.

“Who?
Close by where?” The thought of a body being found close to home makes me
tremble.

“We cannot
discuss the crime scene, ma’am. I’m sure you can appreciate the
sensitivity—”

“Of
course.”

A chill
makes me think of a recurring vision, of lying naked in the snow, alone.

“Ma’am,
did you know Sonia
MacKinnen
?”

So it is
her.

“Oh, my,
no, I never met her. I didn’t even know her last name. I assume you mean the
Sonia that went missing a few months ago?”

“Sonia
MacKinnen
was reported missing October 18th. Could you tell
us how you came to hear about Miss
MacKinnen
?”

“A friend
of mine lives on the property around the bend to Sonia and her mother. She
mentioned that Sonia had disappeared and her mother was worried.”

“And since
then?”

“I heard
Sonia was still missing, but authorities thought she’d run off with a man.”

“When and
where did you hear that Sonia was still missing?”

“I don’t
really recall. Just before Christmas maybe. Probably at the church. I was
involved in the Christmas pageant at Saint Ann’s and I overheard tidbits. Most
thought she’d fallen for some guy, someone her mother wouldn’t approve of.”

Officer
Smith nods, his face expressionless. “Have you seen anything or anyone unusual
around town lately?”

I stifle a
nervous chuckle. Have I seen unusual? I’m an unusual magnet. But fast,
telepathic men, naked lovers, and loopy old neighbors aren’t what this cop is
searching for, I’m sure.

“Nothing I
can think of.” Or speak of, I muse.

“We
appreciate your assistance, Mrs. . . .”

Why hadn’t
I inquired about Sonia? Was it because I didn’t want to be nosy or because I
was so utterly wrapped in my own problems that I’d forgotten all about her? I
should have called her mother, offered to help in some way. I look up to see
Officer Smith watching me, eyebrows raised.

“Morgan.
Tess Morgan,” I finally mutter.

Officer
Becale
jots something on a pad of paper, my name I presume.
Apparently Smith is the designated interrogator and
Becale
is the note taker.

“Is your
husband home?” says Officer Smith. “We’d like to ask him a few questions as
well.”

“My
husband passed away in April.” Saying that never gets easier. “Only my daughter
and I live here.” The officers glance at each other. “Should I be worried?”

Smith
smiles. It’s not a friendly smile. “We see no reason to think this isn’t an
isolated case but suggest you keep your doors and windows locked and stay in
contact with friends and family until we find the perpetrator. It’s always best
to err on the side of caution.”

I fiddle
with the deadbolt on the door.

Officer
Smith steps onto the porch. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he says, pausing
so his sidekick can pass me a business card. “And call if you see or hear
anything that might be of assistance.”