Like a Woman Scorned (16 page)

Yeah, he said he loved her. Maybe he did love her. He probably did. But he chose to break her heart and not explain why. He left her all alone, and with a potentially life-threatening problem that he was half-responsible for. That by itself deserved some kind of retribution if there was any justice.

Then there was the whole hiring an assassin to kill her thing. That wasn’t a very loving act, either. But somehow, Alison could forgive him for that more than she could for him leaving her and marrying another woman after what they had been through together. That was his real crime. Not loving her quite enough to make important life decisions which centered on her to the exclusion of everyone—and everything—else.

Alison knew she was guilty as well. She had overreacted in her lashing out to hurt him. Could acts of revenge ever stop at just the right place, so perfect justice could occur? It sure seemed as though one needed to go just a little further, in order to teach the person a lesson, when getting back at them. Alison had to admit she felt pretty good when Carley left Rick’s office for the last time. And even when he went to prison, it didn’t seem like a severe miscarriage of justice. Only now did Alison fully admit to herself she had gone too far. Things were, after all, going pretty good until just a few days ago. Everything was supposed to be okay by now. The two of them were supposed to be starting a new wonderful life together soon, overflowing with love. Instead, they were hiring hit men on each other.

Alison shrugged it all off and figured out what she would tell Rick when he called later. It wasn’t hard this time. She would tell him about an affair she had with a man in Germany—the same imaginary one Brenda had been told about. She would confess temporary feelings for the man, but that’s all. Rick would certainly be disappointed it wasn’t the confession about Carley, but it would all seem natural enough. Maybe there was still some doubt in Rick’s mind over whether she really was Carley. It didn’t matter anyway. Not now. Tomorrow, she would have to start visiting banks all over the city, withdrawing large sums of cash and purchasing those damn gift cards at $3,000 a pop. It would take at least a week to get $120,000 together without arousing too much suspicion.

Alison went to the movies and lost herself in a stupid guy-flick, some science fiction thing with aliens and space ships. Then she went to a local Denny’s and got a BLT and vanilla shake, her new favorite meal. After that, she came home and turned on the Giant’s game. They were on an early season winning streak. It was a good game, and Alison found herself getting into it. By the 7
^th
inning she knew it was getting near seven o’clock, but had long since stopped looking at the clock. The phone finally rang. She turned down the volume on the TV with one hand and answered the phone with the other.

“Rick?”

No response.

“Hello? Rick, is that you?”

A woman’s voice spoke back instead of Rick’s.

“Is this Alison?”

“Yes, who is this please?” Alison looked over at the clock and saw it was actually a quarter after now, too late for Rick. Something must be wrong.

“This is Mrs. Hammond, Rick Waterman’s case worker. I’m very sorry to have to call you, but I’m afraid I have some bad news. Rick passed away today.”

“What!” Alison jumped up off of couch.

“I’m so sorry, Alison. I know you two were close.”

“I talked to him just Thursday, Mrs. Hammond!”

“I know, sweetie. I’m sorry. It happened fast.”

“What happened?”

“There was a disturbance in the prison yard today. Rick was stabbed during a scuffle. They took him to the infirmary immediately, but he was injured too badly and died soon thereafter.”

“Oh no,” Alison said. She was genuinely shocked, as she would have been eventually anyway. There was no way she could have prepared herself for this.

“I know this must be terribly hard on you, dear, and I’m just so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Did he say anything before he died? Is there a message for me? A note maybe, that he wrote?”

“I don’t think so, dear, but if we find anything we will let you know. We’ll also give your phone number to the family, so they can let you know about the arrangements if they choose.”

“Oh,” Alison said. “Thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can do for you Alison?”

“Could you ask his cellmate to call me?”

“Stuart?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, I can do that. I’ve got to go now, sweetie. You know how to reach me, so please call me if there is anything else I can do.”

“Yes. Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Hammond. Bye.”

Alison hung up the phone and sat in place for several minutes. The shock wore off surprisingly fast. She didn’t cry. She didn’t know how to feel. She turned the ball game back up, but found she was disinterested now. She made herself a cup of tea, did half a crossword puzzle, and went to bed early. She fell asleep right away and only woke up once in the night to get a drink of water.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The week went by, but Rick’s family never called. Just like a Waterman. Alison was more relieved than disappointed. She already had her hands full running around town to her five different banks accumulating cash and gift cards, and had decided she wasn’t going to the funeral. At least now she had a good reason without looking bad.

It appeared as though Rick’s cellmate wasn’t going to call her, either. But then at 7:05 on a very quiet Friday evening the phone burst to life. Alison picked it up on the first ring.

“Hello.”

“You’re Alison?”

“Yes. Is this Stuart?”

“Right. They gave me a message you wanted me to call.”

“Yes. Thanks for calling. I …I just wanted to ask you a couple of things about Rick.”

“Sure,” Stuart said. “Go ahead.” He sounded more relaxed now.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Alison asked. “All they told me was there was a scuffle in the yard and someone stabbed him.”

“Yes, that’s what happened. I was in the yard, but not with him at the time. May I offer my condolences.”

“Thank you. But why would anybody in prison want to hurt Rick? He’s just a lawyer convicted for trust fund comingling.”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. In here, you learn to mind your own affairs. All I can say is it looked to be planned, so my guess is he really pissed someone off, or else somebody had him set up.”

“You think someone wanted to have him killed?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t see it happen?”

“No. There was a diversion on the other side of the yard. I was over there, watching that.”

“All right, Stuart. Thanks. You’re really nice to call and talk to me. Just one more thing, please. Did he say anything to you about …about me last weekend?”

“You kidding? You’re all he ever talked about.”

“Nice things, I hope?”

Silence on the other end.

“Stuart?”

“I’m still here.”

“I really miss him, Stuart, so if you can tell me anything he said about me, about us, about how he felt, if he had anything left unsaid to me, I would really appreciate it.”

More silence.

“Stuart?”

“Alison, the man was nuts about you. I’m sorry I don’t remember anything specific. He was always talking about you. He loved you. He was looking forward to marrying you. Said something about wanting to go to Europe and have you show him around for your honeymoon maybe, when he got off parole, but just wanted to get out of here and start a new life with you. That’s really all I have.”

“That will do nicely.” Alison felt her eyes getting watery. “Thanks so much, Stuart. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Okay. Thanks again, Stuart. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The next day, Alison met Brenda for breakfast. Brenda was outwardly compassionate, but it felt canned to Alison for some reason, the kind of consoling you would do for a coworker rather than a best friend. Maybe she was a little miffed over Alison having totally abandoned her these last six months. Still, Brenda did keep reaching out with her hand and touching Alison’s.

“You two were really getting close, weren’t you?” Brenda asked.

“Yeah. We were …making plans, too.”

“For when he got out?”

“Yes. I know it must sound stupid to you, for me to fall for him again after what he did.”

“Not at all. I understand, sweetie.”

“He wasn’t such a bad guy, Bren. Really. Yes he cheated on his fiancée, but it was almost like an arranged marriage, the way he explained it. He wanted to be with me. We wanted to be together.”

“You think he would have called you back even if he didn’t end up in jail?”

Alison thought before answering. “Yes. Yes, I do. I have to believe that.”

“Then I’m sure he would have. This whole thing is so tragic.”

“My life is what’s tragic,” Alison said. “Here I am, in my late thirties. Still single, never married, can’t have children, and the only man I ever really loved was cheating on somebody, and then died in prison. I swear, Brenda, a dark cloud follows me around.”

“I know it seems that way now Ali, but it’s not really like that. I’ve known you a long time. You love life, love living in San Francisco. You’re beautiful and funny and smart. You just spent a year travelling in Europe, a dream come true for almost any woman our age. Most of us will never do that! And there was that man in Germany, too. Remember? Those were good times, right?”

Alison just stared at the table and in an emotionless voice said, “Right.”

“Everyone goes through difficult times,” Brenda continued. “But you have so much going for you, girl. You’ll get through this okay, as hard as it is now. I’m sure there’ll be a beautiful rainbow in the sky when the storm clouds clear.”

Alison grabbed ahold of Brenda’s hand and squeezed it in appreciation. They didn’t talk too much more, as Alison got quiet and Brenda seemed to run out of things to say. That was understandable. They finished their lunch and parted.

When Alison got home she threw herself a pity party and cried for a while. It wasn’t about Rick so much as it was about everything. She had spun a web of lies in her life that she was now bound to. She couldn’t even be honest with her best friend, which was having a destructive effect on their relationship. The new distance between them was undeniable. Alison supposed this was all her doing, but weren’t best friends supposed to always be there and always continue being best friends?

Alison looked in the mirror and saw a childless, friendless, unloved single woman pushing forty with no reason to get out of bed in the morning. Nothing to do in this circumstance but to put on running shoes and go for a long walk, away from this depressing house. She had an important errand to run, anyway.

Toting a small backpack stuffed with cash and American Express gift cards, Alison entered the Farmer’s and Merchant’s bank just before their early Saturday closing and requested access to the safe deposit box as instructed by Tom. She half-expected—and maybe half-hoped—for some policeman to step out of nowhere and handcuff her right then and there. But after checking her ID they brought her into the vault and left her there with the assigned box. It was empty when she opened it but quite full when she left.

Alison then headed downhill in a northwest direction. It was a cool June afternoon and the days were long. She wasn’t in the mood to see any children playing in the parks today. The bay was more appealing to her at the moment.

Before she got there, however, a small catholic church nestled between residential houses on a quiet street captured her attention. She had passed by it many times before, but never really stopped to appreciate it. It was quaint and quite beautiful. Someone came outside through the main doors of the sanctuary. Alison thought she saw an attractive light flashing from the inside before the door closed again. On a whim, she decided to go in.

There was no obvious light source inside. It was mostly dark in there, but even more beautiful on the inside than out. Stained glass and sculptures of saints and the virgin were positioned in various places. Alison sat down in a pew in the back row and marveled.

Was God really there? Did He abandon her because she abandoned Him? Alison surely must have severed the cord when she took vengeance into her own hands and framed someone for a crime they didn’t commit. If not then, when she agreed to pay to have a man killed, that certainly sealed her fate. Alison regretted not having found a nice church like this to attend. Maybe she would have met a good catholic guy and her life taken a different direction.

The sound of an old wooden door creaking caused Alison to turn her head. An elderly woman with a cane was coming out of a hand-carved, cherry-wood confessional in the back of the sanctuary. Alison got up and opened the church door for her; one last desperate, futile attempt at showing God she wasn’t all bad. The lady smiled and thanked her. When Alison turned back around, a priest was standing next to her.

“Thanks,” he said, “you beat me to the door. Some people still prefer to use the confessional, especially the older generation. I’m Father Harrison. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t. I’m Alison Carson. I live nearby.” Alison tried to smile politely as she shook his hand, but knew she was failing miserably at it.

“Is there something I can do to help you?” Father Harrison asked. “You seem a little glum.”

“Glum, yes. That’s a good diagnosis, father.”

“I must confess it wasn’t very difficult to perform. Most new people I meet in here have come in because they’re upset. I’ve even been told on occasion that a flash of light from Mary’s head over there has beckoned them inside, our own little reoccurring miracle. I’ve learned it’s more likely to occur when a ray of sunlight hits the statue just right as the front door is opened in the afternoons. Would you like to sit and talk?”

“I don’t know, father. I wouldn’t know where to start. And if I start talking at all, it should be in there.” Alison pointed to the confessional.

“I take it you haven’t been inside a church in a while, then?”