Life Sentences

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

A novel is created in an author’s mind long before the first word is put on paper. Such is the case with this one. Often fiction is derived from true events. In my case, the episodes that inspired this novel occurred over the twenty years I was employed by the Michigan Department of Corrections. I learned during those challenging years that truth is mysterious, bizarre and often difficult.

So many thoughtful people supported me throughout the writing of Life Sentences. Thank you to all of you: Perry Johnson, Elizabeth Testa, Joan Green, Joyce Alexander, Shannon Richardson, Leslie Doran, Linda Thompson, and Candice Carson.

A special thanks to the wonderful staff at Medallion Press — Helen, Pam, Leslie and Jamie — and my husband, Chet Peterson, who has always encouraged me and supported all my endeavors.

T
HE SERIAL KILLER WAS
sentenced to life without parole on the same morning Pilar Brookstone graduated from medical school. Her mother shared that news as Pilar queued for the processional. Now, stepping away from the provost’s handshake, the new Dr. Brookstone was still thinking about her mother’s announcement. “Chad Wilbanks is permanently off the streets,” Celeste had said as though presenting Pilar with an extra-special gift. “You’ll feel safe enough to come home, at last.”

On this of all days, Pilar didn’t want to think about the murders or the man responsible. This was the moment to concentrate on the diploma she clutched to her chest, the sweet triumph of a hard-won degree. But instead, memories of her friend Susan Mitchell rose up to block Pilar’s view of her classmates. Chad Wilbanks had first charmed Susan, then brutally murdered her. Susan was a statistic now, one of eight young women Wilbanks victimized during a vicious two-year spree near the University of Michigan.

Would Pilar feel safe in either Ann Arbor or in her Gross Pointe Shores home now? True, she had left medical school there because of the murders, transferring to Wisconsin after the first year. But Celeste’s words brought no real comfort, because in the intervening years Pilar had come to realize fear of Chad Wilbanks was not the real reason she dreaded going home.

As Pilar searched the audience seated under the vast striped tent, her mother’s aqua silk suit stood out like a large flower among a field of weeds. Seeing her always impeccably dressed mother gave Pilar a brief elated moment — how often people thought they looked alike, how often people said they could easily pass for sisters. At forty-eight, Celeste still resembled a youthful model, slender, graceful, and no gray hair. Pilar remembered how her friends envied her good fortune to have inherited Celeste’s naturally curly auburn locks and high cheek bones. Pilar believed she was even luckier to have inherited her mother’s intelligence. Unlike her mother, however, Pilar put her smarts to good use.

Like a victorious athlete Pilar hoisted her diploma into the air. In response, Celeste made large circles with her arms, nodded her head, which was covered in a wide-brim aqua hat. Then she checked the others near her. Surely, her look said, everyone watching knew her daughter graduated fifth in the class.

Pilar descended the stairs with her diploma still triumphantly raised and caught a glimpse of her father’s steel-wool-gray hair. Marcus Nathaniel Brookstone, III, forever tan and fit, sat to the right of Celeste. To Celeste’s excited nudges, his body stiffened, and he crossed his arms over the chest of his navy double-breasted jacket. Despite her mother’s proud gaze, Pilar felt her enthusiasm fade as she returned to her place in the front row. Her father remained rigid, eyes focused on the podium.

After the ceremony, Pilar lingered in the shade of a huge oak tree, giving brief hugs and short, bittersweet farewells to several women students. As they promised each other to keep in touch, Pilar’s roommate and closest friend, Julie, threaded her arm through Pilar’s. She steered Pilar through the crowd and said, “I truly wish you’d reconsider OB/GYN. You’re a natural. Your compassion alone would be such an asset.”

Pilar stopped and pulled away from Julie. “I haven’t totally decided what I’m going to do. Perhaps I’ll have a better idea after my residency.”

“But,” Julie scrunched her face, “we’ll be so far apart. You in Detroit and me in Oregon.”

Pilar hugged the short, perky woman. “Don’t fret. There’s always the phone. Besides, that separation may not be forever. Who knows where I’ll end up?” Her own eyes tear-blurred, Pilar took in Julie’s pouting lips and wished for a moment that she was going west with her friend.

Julie’s parents whisked her away. As she bounced alongbeside them, Julie looked over her shoulder and called out, “Don’t forget me.”

Her remark seemed strange to Pilar, since they’d been so close all through med school. “Julie,” Pilar teased in response, “you won’t let me forget you.” She tried to ignore the lump that formed like a huge fist in her throat.

Pilar watched the crowd fill in around Julie. Then, when Pilar could no longer see Julie, she scanned the well-wishers and excited parents. Finally, she spotted her mother, tall like Pilar, struggling through the sweltering crush. When Celeste saw her daughter, she waved one gloved hand, while the other held her hat fast against the breeze from Lake Mendota, a graceful motion practiced all her married life lived on a lake shore. Odd though, were the gloves in an age when most women had freed themselves of such restraint. Perhaps she and her mother weren’t really so alike — beneath the black commencement robe, Pilar wore Birkenstock sandals and a sun dress.

“Where’s Daddy?” Pilar asked as they embraced. She immediately regretted the endearing, childish title.

“He’s getting the car,” Celeste answered. She held Pilar at an arm’s length.

Although her mother’s eyes were shaded behind large, Jackie Kennedy-style sunglasses, Pilar knew her mother watched her face register disappointment. In fact, Pilar knew her mother wouldn’t have to look at her at all. Celeste had been confronted with that expression so many times before.

“You know how he is, dear,” Celeste added in a resigned tone.

“Just this once, Mother, he could have been here for me. Just this once.” Pilar silently cursed her VW for dying a week earlier. She had no choice but to be a prisoner in her father’s car for the long ride home.

Pilar wanted to shred her diploma and toss it into the wind. Better yet, she wanted to throw it in her father’s face. Instead, she yielded as her mother wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder and guided Pilar through the throng. Like Julie’s unfailing friendship, Celeste’s loyalty had been one of few morsels of happiness in Pilar’s life. Most times, Pilar was delighted that her mother had never given up on her, especially when Pilar knew how stubborn she herself could be.

“Mother, I’m only doing this for you,” Pilar told her. “I could have gotten a ride with friends.”

“I know, dear,” Celeste squeezed Pilar closer. “I know.”

Did her mother realize she couldn’t acquiesce forever? Pilar’s clenched hands hid in her robe. Did Celeste know how she needed to get out?

T
HE HEAT FROM THE
soft asphalt lot reminded Pilar of walking barefoot on hot sand, but the small sense of vacation lasted only until Pilar caught sight of her father. Marcus was already seated behind the steering wheel of the idling car, cooling off in the air conditioning. Though he glanced at Celeste and Pilar, he made no attempt to get their attention. He hadn’t taken off his jacket or loosened his tie, a brief, hopeful sign. Perhaps his immediate departure from the ceremony was really a gallant move. Perhaps he just wanted to make the car more comfortable for them. “Perhaps I’m kidding myself again,” Pilar mumbled to herself.

As Pilar gathered the robe around her and hoisted it up so she could get into the back seat, Marcus turned to her and said, completely without warmth, “Congratulations, Pilar. Your mother and I are very proud of you.” Then, with a total change in tone, he scolded, “But if you had stayed at the University of Michigan, we could be at the club for dinner rather than some restaurant where they don’t know how to make a proper martini.” He followed that with a forced chuckle.

Pilar found no humor in his remark. More than any thing, more than any one, Marcus loved the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club which nestled the shores of Lake St. Clair, a short drive from the Brookstone family estate.

“I thought we could have champagne,” Celeste soothed as she patted his arm. “You know, to celebrate.”

Marcus shook her hand away and drove out of the lot, almost laying a patch of rubber like a kid with his first car. Disheartened, Pilar rested her head against the window to catch glimpses of the university buildings as the car sped past. When the familiar, comfortable brick buildings of the University of Wisconsin Hospital and Clinics slipped fromsight, she clenched the folds of the robe. What made her more tense — the looming residency at Detroit Receiving Hospital, or the prospect of spending three years at home?

Determined to salvage her special day, Pilar announced with too much cheer, “You’ll enjoy the restaurant I picked, Father.” Her voice gained strength when she added, “Everyone will be there.” Then her bubble of self-assurance popped. She pressed her nose against the window like a child looking through the glass display case in a candy store. As she watched the hospital merge into the sun low in the spring sky, she mumbled, “I promise you’ll get a perfect martini.”

“We’re not stopping.” Marcus’ voice broke the silence like a sudden thunder clap.

Pilar raised her head far enough to see him peer in the rear view mirror. Did he want to see how unhappy he was making her? It was a game they’d played too often. As Pilar was drawn to the mean creases surrounding her father’s eyes, she wondered who had coined the phrase “laugh lines.” Feeling her own face tighten like a mask, Pilar looked away from her father’s spiteful challenge and immersed herself in the fleeting sights of Madison and Lake Mendota.