In Her Shadow (19 page)

Claire shoots Cynthia a confused look. “It’s... Yes! Sounds great, Grams.”

Claire leads Cynthia to the dining room, feeling as though layers of bricks have been lifted from her load. “What do you think happened?”

“Well, I was going to tell you that she seemed a bit...chipper this morning. But I didn’t expect all this! A phone call came for her at about eight-fifteen. I asked her if she’d take it—and she did! It was a cousin. Maxwell I think. Or—”

“Malcolm?” Claire glances at the violets on the table.

“Yes, that’s it, Malcolm. Anyway, she chatted with him for a while. When I came back to check on her, she’d gone upstairs.” Cynthia looks up at the ceiling. “Hallelujah. The Lord is mysterious.”

Grandma enters with a tray of steaming teacups, fruit salad and bran muffins.

“This looks delicious,” Claire says, absorbing the aroma of cinnamon and apples.

“And high in fiber,” Grandma adds.

Claire smiles; her grandmother is back. During the meal, Claire notices that while sadness remained in Grandma’s eyes, it no longer seems to numb her. Though somber, she appears alive—perhaps even hopeful. Claire wants to ask her how she felt, what changed, hear details of her conversation with Malcolm. But, she thinks better of it. Grandma has improved; that’s what matters.

After breakfast Claire retrieves a phone message from a Dr. Rosemary Jacobs. She’s taken over some of Dr. Marsha’s patients for the time being. Claire resolves to call her later.

On her way upstairs to shower and change, she spots Grandma in her room, gazing into her closet. “Hi Grams.”

“Hello dear.”

“It’s chilly today. You may want a sweater—”

“He liked this suit, didn’t he? Well, no, I don’t suppose he liked suits much at all. I suppose he wore them for my sake.” She stroked the arm of a suit jacket, a melancholy smile curving the edges of her lips.

Claire tries to withhold her tears but can’t. Grandma extends her arms. “Come.”

Claire rushes into her arms and sobs. It has been years, perhaps decades, since Grandma last coddled her.

“There, there,” Grandma says, rubbing her back. “It’s all right, Dawn. Let it all out, sweet child.”

Startled, Claire takes a step back. “
Claire
.” Grandma looks puzzled. “My name, Grandma... It’s Claire.”

“I know that!” she snaps. “You don’t think I know my own granddaughter’s name?” She refocuses on the closet, her manner shifting from soft and nurturing to the more rigid woman Claire knows. “Yes, this suit will be fine.”

As she pulls a navy suit from the closet and lays it on the bed, Claire feels invisible. Grandma has re-entered her private world—a place where Claire never feels welcome. What is it about Malcolm that lured her out of it? She shivers, recalling the distorted image she’s seen in the mirror. Perhaps they all have alternate identities.

Once in her car, Claire calls Rosemary Jacobs. “Dr. Jacobs, this is Claire Fiksen. You left me a message?”

“Ah, yes...Claire. You tried to reach Dr. Swenson. Are you a patient?”

“Former patient, actually. I saw her once recently.”

“That explains why I didn’t find you in her files. As I mentioned in my message, Dr. Swenson is…away, and I’m filling in. How might I be of help?”

“Is she all right? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just that when I spoke to her last week she didn’t mention anything about going away.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss her situation. I realize it’s not ideal to see a substitute therapist, but if you’d like to meet, I have several openings next week.”

Something isn’t right.
Think
. “That won’t be necessary. Can you tell me when she might return? She’s actually an associate of mine now. I’m a therapist myself, at Peterson in Minneapolis.”

“I see. Is Rutherford Sykes still in charge there?”

 Claire smiles; the cool edge in the woman’s voice has softened. “He is.”

“Wonderful. I took a course from him at the U years back.” She pauses.
“Well I’m afraid
I have some bad news... Actually, I’m not sure I’m the appropriate person to tell you this. Perhaps I should put you in touch with the chief investigator...”

“Wait—
investigator
? Please tell me what’s going on.”

“Dr. Swenson was...murdered. Someone ransacked her office last Thursday night. They stole drugs and killed her. One of her associates found her Friday morning. I’m so sorry.”

Chapter Forty-Six

“I don’t even know what to say. God, Claire. I’m so sorry.”
Sitting across from Claire at Perkins Restaurant with bleary eyes and unkempt hair, Elle’s exhaustion didn’t keep her from calling the moment her plane landed.

Claire dabs her tears with a napkin. “It happened Thursday...maybe soon after I saw her. What if I’d stayed longer?”

Elle grasps her hand across the table. “You can’t blame yourself for this. It had nothing to do with you.”
Her eyes narrow as she studies Claire’s face. “Talk to me; what is it?”

 “She said some strange things about my mother, stuff that happened before the accident.”

Elle listens as Claire shares details of her session with Dr. Marsha, the newspaper clipping from the accident, and her grandfather’s final communication.

“What do you make of it?” she finally asks. “Do you think I’m just paranoid?”

Elle shakes her head. “I don’t know. It’s weird—all of it. I can’t believe she was your mom’s therapist, too. Who do you think wanted to see her?”

“I don’t know, but I think Dr. Marsha did. She suggested I drop the subject with Grandpa and not worry so much over what he was trying to tell me. She said to tell him I’d stopped investigating. And I was going to, but…” She grabs her napkin. “I didn’t have a chance. But damn it, I
should
have. I should’ve stayed with him every second!” 

Elle calls for the check then focuses on Claire. “Listen to me. Grandpa Gil knew how much you loved him, and he loved you just as much. Nothing you did or didn’t do could change that. You hear me?”

Zola greets them when they arrive at her grandparents’ place. Noting that Grandma had turned the heat up, Claire removes her coat and oversized sweatshirt.

“My God, Claire...” Elle gapes at her body. “You look
fantastic.
What have you been doing?”

“Nothing, really...” She feels an odd mix of discomfort and thrill as Elle follows her to the kitchen. Is she really that much thinner? It shouldn’t matter, she reminds herself; it doesn’t.

Grandma left a note on the kitchen table:

The spare room is set up for Elle. Food in the fridge if you’re hungry. A package arrived for you, on the dining room table. Good night and welcome, Elle.

Walking to the dining room, Claire spots a white box with a familiar sticker—Elmer’s, Mom’s favorite candy shop; hers, too.

“Ooh, are those from Elmer’s?” Elle exclaims. “Let me at them.”

“I doubt they’re vegan.” Clutching the box, she tries to hide her unease.

“Chocolate doesn’t count—it’s a bean.”

As Elle lifts the lid and reaches for one, terror rises in Claire. Elle removes a note card from the box and reads aloud: “‘
Dear Claire, I know your mother enjoyed these and thought you might, too. Thinking of you and CC and looking forward to seeing you soon. Love, Dr. Malcolm Campbell (your grandpa’s cousin).
’  Malcolm... Have I met him?”

“I doubt it. I’m not sure if I’ve met him. He sent my grandma those violets, too.” She nods toward the bouquet.

“He seems nice. And it sounds like he was close to your mom.” Elle’s eyes widen. “Maybe he knows more about your parents’ accident, and whatever your grandpa was worried about. If he’s at the service tomorrow, you could ask him.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

As much as Claire longs for answers, she fears what she might find out.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Claire looks out the window, pleased to see fluffy snowflakes with the morning sun—like nature’s confetti, a celebration for Gramps. Today they will bury and commemorate him. Though it took hours for her to fall asleep, adrenaline and thoughts of Grandpa’s service keep her mind sharp, focused.

After taking Zola outside she joins Cynthia and Grandma in the kitchen.

“Did Elle arrive all right?” Grandma asks. Sipping tea, she wears a touch more makeup than usual and a powder blue shawl that accentuates her eyes.

“She did,” Claire says. “She’s still sleeping—probably jetlagged. You look pretty, Grams. Is that a new shawl?” 

“No, but thank you, dear.”

“Did you find your package?” Cynthia asks, filling Claire’s teacup.

“Yes. Grandpa’s cousin Malcolm sent chocolates from Elmer’s. I loved that place when I was a kid.” She blows on her tea, takes a cautious sip. “Grandma, have I met this cousin Malcolm?”

“Yes, when you were a baby.”

Claire wants to prod further but knows it isn’t the time. She finishes her tea then wakes Elle, figuring she’ll want time to prepare for the funeral.

“Didn’t I just go to bed?” Elle mumbles from beneath the pillow she uses to block the sun. Today it shines brightly. For Grandpa, Claire thinks.

“It probably feels that way. I kept you up past your bedtime last night, remember?”

“Shut up, you didn’t.” She sits up slowly.

 
Claire heads to her room to change. She pulls on a sweater dress she hasn’t worn in ages then stands before the mirror, sensing that her reflection is gaping at her rather than the opposite.

Elle taps on her door. “Hey, you in there?”

“Yeah, come in.”

“Cute dress, but...a little big, isn’t it?”

Elle is right. The dress hangs over her frame like a muumuu on a child. “Terrific. It’s all I have to wear.”

“Do you have a needle and thread? I adjust clothes for models all the time. They’re always way smaller than the samples.”

After a short bout of Elle pulling, snipping and pinning the material she turns Claire toward the mirror. “Well? Do you like it?”

“I do...”  
Whoever you are
. The more she stares at her image, the more removed she feels, as though her soul is housing a stranger. Perhaps this is about losing Grandpa; perhaps his absence is causing countless subtle differences she’s yet to consider. She even looks different.

She turns to face Elle, who appears somber. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to apologize for making such a big deal about your weight loss. I think I’ve spent too much time around emaciated models. Are you...all right? You’re beautiful no matter what your size. I just want you to be healthy.”

“Thanks, hon. So do I.”

At noon they meet a few of Grandpa’s closest friends at the local cemetery where Pastor Jones shares a short message, reads scripture and prays. The marble casket has little effect on Claire. It holds Grandpa’s body, not his spirit.

During the pastor’s closing words she watches a flock of birds soar across the sky.
There you are, Gramps
. She escorts Grandma to the car and drives to the church.

Church bells ring as she pulls up to the venerable building, its white surface lustrous in the midday sun. During the burial service Grandma stands proudly, holding Claire’s arm. She now appears mouse-like in the passenger seat, hands trembling as she fumbles with her seatbelt.

“Can I help?” Claire asks.

“I can do it, thanks dear.”

They walk arm in arm to the chapel, Grandma’s shrunken stature between Claire and Elle forming a perfect ‘M.’ Photos supplied by Claire line a table outside the sanctuary: Grandpa as a child; a dapper groom beside his Snow White-looking bride; a victorious fisherman holding a prized walleye; and as a father, holding Claire’s mother.

They take seats in the front row while Cynthia plays “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desire.” The bustle of people makes Claire anxious, as though onlookers are staring at her and Grandma, the pitiful survivors. She focuses on the program instead, wishing the service would begin.

“Is that Hank?” Elle whispers.

Claire turns. “That’s him.” He stands in the doorway, near Sykes.

Catching Hank’s eye, she smiles; already, his presence brings comfort.

Two men in their early sixties stand at the rear of the sanctuary, both tall and square-jawed, like Grandpa. Undoubtedly his cousins, and one of them, most likely, Malcolm.

Pastor Jones approaches the pulpit. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the life of Gilbert Andrew Adolfsson. Though Heaven has a fine new member, here in Hastings and among all who loved him, Gil will be sorely missed.” He leads the congregation in “Amazing Grace,” then gives a brief sermon that ends with scripture and a story.

“In Luke, chapter nine, verse sixteen, the lord takes five loaves and two fish. He and his disciples go on to feed not a few, but a throng of people. Sounds like Gil, doesn’t it? Whether or not he
caught
fish, he
swore
he had plenty to feed thousands!” Laughter ripples through the sanctuary. “And when he did make a big catch, he made sure we all knew of it. Especially when he made his greatest catch of all—his beloved Cecelia. We can all learn from the selfless love the two of them shared, through tragedy, triumph and decades of daily life.”

Everyone understands his reference to Claire’s mother. Elle squeezes Claire’s hand while Grandma stares straight ahead, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Gil’s legacy will live on forever in our hearts. May the lord bless you and keep you. Amen,” the pastor finishes. “Now, as Gil would say, it’s about time we eat! Please join us in the fellowship hall for a meal in his honor.”

Pastor Jones prompts the front row to stand as the recessional hymn begins. As Claire turns, her eyes lock with those of a striking man—one of the two she guessed to be Grandpa’s cousins. Now closer up, she sees that he’s tall, dressed in a classy, pinstriped suit and seems healthy for his age. Is it his stick straight posture? The shock of thick, white hair? Perhaps it’s the glint in his eyes—like Gramps’, only brighter...
Malcolm?