The Anniversary (2 page)

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Dahlia’s parents sat ramrod straight, their teenage son between 26

them. The boy, sullen and slightly sprawled, looked utterly out of 27

place. Across the aisle, Steven’s mother was flanked by two 28

grown sons. A small, plump woman with bottle-blue hair, she’d 29

shrunk down in her seat. Laura had a sense that if her sons 30

weren’t there, she’d slide right onto the floor.

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A jagged line of pain shot through Laura’s brain. Her mouth 32

was dry as sand. She breathed in hot recycled air, blown from 33

vents in the wall. Dun-colored curtains covered the windows, 34

shutting out the sun. The world had collapsed into this single S 35

place. There was nothing outside this room.

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Laura felt the words before she heard them, as her heart tore 2

into her chest.

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“We, the jury, unanimously find that the punishment for the 4

defendant, Steven Lee Gage, shall be death.”

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An instant of absolute silence, and then the whispers began.

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Laura’s stomach heaved, and she pressed her hands together. It 7

had happened, it had actually happened, and she couldn’t take it 8

in. She’d tried to imagine how it might feel, but she’d never 9

imagined this. An utter absence of feeling, a blankness akin to 10

sleep. Sentenced to death.
Sentenced to death.
She tried to absorb 11

the meaning. But before the words could fully sink in, something 12

was happening. Up front, a flurry of action. Steven had lunged 13

toward the judge.

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“I do not accept this verdict! I do not accept it, do you hear 15

me?” He stood slightly crouched and quivering, glaring at Judge 16

Kirkpatrick. “I am innocent, and
you
are the guilty ones, all of 17

you here today. Those responsible for this will pay. Do you hear 18

me? All of you will pay!”

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A muffled roar in the gallery, as Kirkpatrick pounded her gavel.

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“Mr. Phillips, control your client!”

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“Steven. Please. Calm down.” George Phillips raised a slender 22

hand, but his client didn’t respond. Instead, Gage took another 23

step forward, his eyes burning into the judge.

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Two court officers were rushing forward, converging around 25

Gage. The first one, well over six foot five, tackled Gage from be-26

hind. He seemed to have gained a hold until Gage bit down on his 27

hand. The injured man stumbled backward, let out an agonized 28

shriek, as his partner, hurling himself toward Gage, wrestled 29

him to the ground. “No! Steven. No! Oh God!” Steven’s mother 30

clutched her other sons’ arms as her screams gave way to sobs.

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Gage fought back from the floor, spitting, writhing, kicking.

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Everywhere, spectators were jumping up, gawking at the scene.

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Laura was almost surprised to find she was standing too, craning 34

her neck to watch, to get a better view. Gage’s face was a deep 35 S

bright red. Veins pulsed in his forehead. She didn’t want to look, 36 R

but she couldn’t turn away.

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This is what they saw,
she thought.
This is what they saw.

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He’d managed to get to his feet again when one of the bailiffs 2

grabbed him, jammed a knee in his lower back and hurled him 3

against a table.

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“Jesus Christ, get him! Get him!” That was Tucker Schuyler, 5

Dahlia’s younger brother. He pounded a fist into his palm, his 6

face as red as his hair.

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Another vicious flailing struggle, and Gage broke free again.

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He flung himself toward the gallery, his eyes bulging grotesquely.

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A swirl of movement now, as spectators streamed for the door.

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The jurors, who’d climbed to their feet, seemed astonished, dis-11

believing. Pretty, blonde juror number four wore an expression of 12

abject terror, one hand clapped over her mouth, her eyes enormous 13

and bright. Jurors number six and seven were edging toward the 14

exit. They’d been told that the system
worked.
They hadn’t ex-15

pected this.

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“You motherfuckin’ fascists,” Gage shrieked. “You don’t know 17

what you’re doing. Get your fuckin’ hands off me!”

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He was still cursing and kicking when the handcuffs snapped 19

on his wrists. His body strained frantically, shivered, then went 20

slack. His mouth fell open, and he gazed at the room, drained of 21

energy. For some time the room was quiet, and Steven Gage didn’t 22

move. Then, without warning, his body jerked, and his eyes grew 23

wide again. Throwing back his head, he let out an agonized howl.

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The cry went on and on, a piercing ululation. The sound of a 25

keening animal caught in the grip of a trap. Laura’s skin prickled 26

down the back of her neck, a chill blooming in her heart. This 27

was pure, distilled rage, like nothing she’d ever heard.

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Then, suddenly, it was over.

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Gage was silent again. His eyes drifted to the gallery. He 30

looked at them. At her.

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For a moment their gazes locked. Laura could hardly breathe.

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It was like a curtain had been ripped away, and she finally saw the 33

truth. The truth that she’d swept aside for so long because she 34

couldn’t bear it.

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What she saw was an ineffable emptiness, a bleakness beyond R 36

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despair. There was something broken and evil in him that could 2

never be repaired. As his eyes bore into hers, a smile flickered on 3

his lips, and in a moment of terrible insight she knew what he 4

was thinking. He wasn’t really there, he was floating in fantasy.

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Imagining how he’d kill her if he only had the chance.

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Wednesday, April 5

Sh e almost didn’t see it.

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Juggling a pizza box with a load of books, she yanked open the 2

unlocked screen door, her mind on other things. The smell of 3

pepperoni. The sharp spring breeze. Next week’s midterm in Ab-4

normal Psych. In retrospect, these thoughts would seem a sort of 5

victory. A sign that, after more than a decade, she’d managed to 6

reclaim her life. But it was days, or maybe weeks, before she real-7

ized this, and by then it was too late. She could only look back, 8

helpless, at the world she’d left behind.

9

By some trick of gravity the envelope stuck, as if tacked against 10

the doorjamb. Later, she’d try to reconstruct this moment, re-11

membering that first impression. An ordinary business envelope.

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White. Her name —
Ms. Callie Thayer
— in clear black type.

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Later even that would seem strange, but at the time she’d barely 14

noticed. She’d seen the envelope, grabbed it, stuffed it into her 15

leather bag.

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For the next three hours it had been forgotten, a time bomb in 17

her purse.

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h

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“Anyone home?”

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But of course she knew they were here.

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It was Wednesday afternoon, just after five. Anna would be 23

home from school. Rick, who worked an early shift, would have 24

started dinner by now.

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Putting down her books, Callie gave herself a quick once-over S 26

in the mirror at the end of the hallway. Pale heart-shaped face.

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Thick chestnut hair. A vagrant curl had tumbled loose from the 2

clip she’d used to pull it back. Reflexively, she unsnapped the bar-3

rette, pushed the tendrils back. Last month, she’d turned thirty-4

five, and today she looked her age. Faint lines around the large, 5

dark eyes. Two deeper creases in her brow. Not that any of it 6

bothered her, quite the opposite. She watched the shifting land-7

scape of her face with hungry fascination, concrete proof she 8

wasn’t the person she’d been ten years ago.

9

“Hey, babe! In here.”

10

She followed Rick’s voice to the kitchen. He was standing at 11

the sink washing vegetables, the Dixie Chicks playing in the 12

background. Wiping his hands on a towel, he stepped toward her 13

for a kiss. Tall and lankily boyish, he wore faded jeans and Birken-14

stocks with a white short-sleeved T-shirt. He had dark brown hair 15

and a lazy smile. Green eyes flecked with gold. He looked like a 16

carpenter or maybe an artist, someone who worked with his hands.

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It was still hard for her to believe that she was dating a cop.

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As Rick’s lips grazed hers, Callie touched his shoulder. He 19

smelled of oregano and mint, a rich, earthy scent. They’d been 20

together for eight months, sleeping together for four, and she was 21

still sometimes caught off guard by the looping surge of attrac-22

tion. But when Rick’s lips moved to her neck, Callie pulled away.

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Anna was just upstairs. Besides, they had to get dinner ready.

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“Here. Take this.” Callie held out the pizza box, with its cargo 25

of fat and meat. He set the box on the counter, then turned 26

toward her again. She couldn’t read his eyes, but she knew what 27

he was thinking.

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“Don’t you have things to do?” she murmured with mock 29

severity.

30

“Like this?”

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As he ran a hand down the curve of her back, something inside 32

her sparked. She let her eyes drift shut, her head resting on his 33

shoulder. He pressed against her rhythmically, once, twice, again.

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“Not now,” she whispered into his chest. “Come on, Rick.

35 S

Please.”

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Still, she was almost disappointed when he dropped his arms 1

and stepped away. A last chaste kiss on the cheek, and he was 2

back at the kitchen sink. For a moment, Callie stood where he’d 3

left her, flushed and slightly bereft. Then she went to the refrig-4

erator and grabbed a San Pellegrino. She took a glass from a cab-5

inet, sat down at the table.

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“Tough day?” Rick’s back was turned to her, and she couldn’t 7

see his face.

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“Not too bad, really.” Callie took a sip of sparkling water, the 9

bubbles sharp in her mouth.

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Roseanne Cash was playing now, a song about the wheel going 11

’round. Outside, the sky was a dappled gray, streaked with red 12

and gold. Callie watched as Rick moved easily through the snug 13

brightness of the kitchen. He pulled three plates from a cup-14

board, tasted the salad dressing. The flash of arousal she’d felt was 15

gone, replaced with a sense of contentment. A delicious aware-16

ness that, just for now, all was as it should be.

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“You want me to help?” Callie asked.

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“Nope, we’re pretty much set.”

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Again, her eyes moved over the room, a scene of order and 20

comfort. Notched pine floor, granite counters, pots hanging on 21

the wall. Fresh herbs growing on the windowsill: tarragon, basil, 22

thyme. It was the life she’d wanted for herself but most of all for 23

Anna. Callie thought, as she often did, how lucky they were to 24

live here, in this cozy Cape Cod cottage in this picture-perfect 25

town.

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Merritt, Massachusetts. Population: 30,000.

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White-steepled churches.

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Brick storefronts.

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Astounding autumn foliage.

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A place where kids still went out to play without the bother of 31

play dates.

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It was more than six years since she’d moved here, an anxious 33

single mother and student. She’d attended Windham College on 34

an Abbott Scholarship, a special grant for older “nontraditional”

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students working on their B.A.’s. She’d majored in English and, 2