Afterlife. Part 11

"Did your husband beat Hut?"

Silence on the line. Then, Joanne said, "Julie, why would you ever get that idea?"

"Hut said..."

"That's disgusting disgusting," Joanne said. "That's the most obscene thing you could say to me. And now. Now Now. With Hut dead. No, his father never laid a finger on him. That man loved him to distraction. Even when Hut did bad things-boy things, I suppose. Even when Hut...well, that's all in the past. But my husband gave him everything he had and then some. His father is the kindest, gentlest soul on earth, Julie. How...dare... you."

3.

The Hutchinsons were only in for the service and the weekend, and they were on a flight back home before Julie could talk to either of them again.

Julie let some things go. She just couldn't deal with housework, and she had the cleaning service come through that Mel had recommended, although every now and then, she let a week slip by and the laundry piled up and she'd see Matt wearing the same T-s.h.i.+rt for four days in a row and it wouldn't bother her one bit and it didn't seem to bother him, either. Sometimes, she forgot to load the dishwasher, and too many nights, they ordered from Domino's or went to McDonald's or called up Chinese Gardens for carry-out. Sometimes she cooked eggs for breakfast and left the pan on the stove and forgot about it. She accepted these minor infractions. Post-traumatic stress, she told herself. Shock. Death. Murder. The news of war overseas made her depressed, so she stopped watching anything but The Simpsons The Simpsons reruns and reruns and Judge Judy Judge Judy, as well as the collection of DVDs that they'd ama.s.sed-mainly rewatching screwball comedies from the 1930s and forgetting that there were too many half-used gla.s.ses of milk and soda and water sitting around in the rec room because the kids forgot to take them up and wash them out. She didn't let it bother her, even when she noticed. The cleaning service might take care of it. Or they might not. Her mind was elsewhere. She did gain a great sense of accomplishment from working through two entire New York Times New York Times crossword puzzle books before June first, a record for her. She had avoided putting Hut's things into storage or even sorting through all of his clothes that month. Sometimes, she just sat with his Burberry's raincoat and looked at it as if trying to find him there. Livy now had her own therapist and felt completely like a princess because of it. Julie began wondering if Livy liked having her night frights just so she'd have something to talk about. But she'd been making a lot of progress since seeing Dr. Fishbain over in Ramapo Cliffs once a week. Mel had split up with her boyfriend and was thinking of buying her first house-at forty-one-not far away. Matt had kept to himself and refused the offer of therapy, and Eleanor had suggested that Julie just not push him on anything yet. crossword puzzle books before June first, a record for her. She had avoided putting Hut's things into storage or even sorting through all of his clothes that month. Sometimes, she just sat with his Burberry's raincoat and looked at it as if trying to find him there. Livy now had her own therapist and felt completely like a princess because of it. Julie began wondering if Livy liked having her night frights just so she'd have something to talk about. But she'd been making a lot of progress since seeing Dr. Fishbain over in Ramapo Cliffs once a week. Mel had split up with her boyfriend and was thinking of buying her first house-at forty-one-not far away. Matt had kept to himself and refused the offer of therapy, and Eleanor had suggested that Julie just not push him on anything yet.

Between days back at work (three days on, ten-hour s.h.i.+fts, with Laura Reynen and Mel both helping with the kids), her three hours per week with her current therapist (because she needed three hours or more to get out everything that was going on in her mind), she had managed to keep moving, although somewhere in there she'd gained twelve pounds and so had started the Atkins Diet (lasted two weeks, but cheated the whole time), then the South Beach diet (maybe three weeks, against sneaking forbidden foods at two a.m. when thoughts of life and death sent her to the fridge) and settled into a modified version of those two diets with a little Weight Watchers and Dr. Phil on the side, and then a two mile walk every morning, and a jog twice a week with her sister. For some reason, giving a d.a.m.n about the quick weight gain had gotten her out of the house and focused on something other than sorrow. She was moving forward, intentionally, away from death and Hut and murder and the ideas forming in her head about what life was about and why it should be lived at all. But the night fears continued- the dreams, the wakings, the sense that someone was there with her. She accepted a degree of insomnia, and afternoons turned into evenings too quickly, and she had to work to notice her children because it was as if her mind were clouding over real life and pus.h.i.+ng her into the territory of dreams.

McGuane drove over to the house once or twice, for more questions, but Ben, her lawyer, suggested that she not answer much until he could explain how a body got lost or stolen in the morgue. Once, she saw McGuane sitting out in his car, on the street, looking as if he couldn't decide whether to get out or not. Finally, he drove away.

4.

One afternoon, by herself, Julie drove over to the break in the woods where the gravel path went up to the place where Hut had been murdered.

She felt a little scared, but parked the car, got out and went up the path. It was a beautiful day, and the birds were making a racket in the trees. She felt as if she were walking to his true grave.

When she reached the plateau with its clearing, she glanced about. It was just land. It was just nature. There was no sign that someone had been murdered there.

No marker.

"Goodbye, Hut," she said out loud. "I'm sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry we couldn't die together someday when we were old and ready for it. I'll take care of Matt and Livy and make sure they never forget their father. I know I never will."

And then, she walked back down the path to the car.

5.

"You look good," Mel said as they jogged the perimeter road along the lake.

"It's all the dirty dreams," Julie said, huffing and puffing as she tried to forget the slight pain in her left s.h.i.+n.

"That usually does it for me."

"I dreamed the other night that three strange men were just licking my toes. I felt kind of dirty, but I woke up laughing."

"That's so filthy it sounds almost clean," Mel laughed. "They call that a shrimp job."

"What?"

"Toe sucking."

"s.h.i.+ver me timbers," Julie said. "I'll never order a shrimp c.o.c.ktail again. I never had dreams like this before. It's a little disturbing." They came to a stop when they reached the small strip of brown beach at the lakefront along the dip in the road.

Mel lit up a cigarette. "Better toe-licking dreams than the kind where you're falling off a cliff, sez me."

Julie chuckled, catching her breath, trying not to remember the bad parts of the dreams. "I had one dream where...well, I kid you not, I was watching a man having s.e.x with a woman, and when he, well, you know, when it got down there, three uncirc.u.mcised p.e.n.i.ses came out of her...between her legs."

"Oh my G.o.d," Mel said. "That is the single most perverted thing I've ever heard. No wonder you see a therapist. And the best part is they're uncirc.u.mcised." Mel sucked back on the cigarette, and then exhaled a smoky laugh. "I never have dirty dreams. I wish I did."

Julie decided not to tell her sister that the man in the dream was Hut, and the woman was some red-haired young woman she'd never before seen except in a video of Matt's. Instead, she said, "G.o.d, this is the first day I've really smelled how good summer is. I can smell jasmine and honeysuckle. And the lake. Even it stinks good. I haven't noticed much of anything in weeks."

"You're getting back to life," Mel said. "That's great. I was getting a little worried. Now, tell me another dirty dream."

6.

By the middle of June, she had received the first life insurance check, and it had a lot of zeros after the three. She hated looking at that check, but she needed the money and thought how wonderful Hut had been to get such a major policy even when she had argued against it. She cried thinking about this, and felt guilty for not being a good enough wife, and that ate up a large chunk of a day. The check took care of some immediate problems, including paying off most of the mortgage, and since she felt the kids should have her for the summer, she called in some favors and got a few months leave-until at least the end of September-so that she wouldn't be in the ER. She hadn't really accomplished much in her few days back at work since Hut's death anyway-they'd put her behind a desk and everyone had just watched her like she was the living dead. Livy still had nightmares about seeing someone in her room, and Eleanor told Julie it was perfectly normal for a little girl to have dreams like that after losing her father. "I bet you've had some nightmares, too," Eleanor said in one of their therapy sessions.

In July, in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week, in her therapist's office, Julie leaned back, sinking into the cushy chair.

Eleanor had that look of G.o.d on her face. Julie thought of it as "G.o.d," because Eleanor projected a calming presence that made Julie want to open up about everything. She was a beautiful, radiant woman-overweight, but her girth only added to the Mother Earth aspect of her personality. She had once told Eleanor that she reminded her of her mother-a younger version of her-and Eleanor had said, "We can work out that problem if you want."

The office was decorated in muted beiges and browns, and always smelled of herb tea. It was the most relaxing place that Julie knew-a genuine refuge when she needed to work out problems.

"I feel like I'm bad because I want to find things out."

"Why do you think that's bad?"

"He's dead. He was killed. My mind can't wrap around that and still wonder if he loved me."

"Did you love him?"

Julie nodded. "I want him back so bad. I really do."

After she'd wiped the tears from her eyes, Julie said, "But I never really knew him. I thought I did. But I just don't think I did at all. There were those things that went unspoken. Those things I just ignored."

"You think he was unfaithful?"

Julie nodded. "But he's dead now. So it shouldn't matter."

"He may not have been. He may have been. Why do you need to know now?"

"I don't know."

"You do know. You just can't say it yet."

"No, I really don't know."

"Marriage is based on trust, and what that means, really, is the opposite. You have to put blinders on to get through it sometimes," Eleanor said.

"My mother used to tell me that all men cheat."

"Your mother would only know that for certain if she'd slept with every married man on the planet, Julie. Are you really concerned that he was cheating on you, now that he's dead? Or is there something else?"

"You knew him. There was always something... unspoken...his first wife..." Julie began, fumbling for words.

"Amanda had problems that had nothing to do with Hut," Eleanor said. "Her violence didn't come out of her marriage to Hut, Julie. She had a long history from childhood, and what was going on with her at the point they divorced had everything to do with Hut wanting to protect his son. You are going through the grief process. Stage by stage. It seems like you're right on schedule. Didn't you read the Kubler-Ross I gave you? Allow yourself some time. Understand that sometimes ideas float around after a violent death takes place, ideas in the head of the surviving family members, not all of which are meaningful. But they may just be ways that we all work out the shock. I would guess you're experiencing dreams."

Julie nodded.

"Some good, some bad, some terrible."

Julie closed her eyes. Trying not to remember the dream where the man on the s.h.i.+ny metal table in the morgue opened his eyes. "A dream here or there."

"All right," Eleanor said, leaning forward slightly, chin in hand, her G.o.d look in full glow.

"Just little things. Memories."

"Any of them that make you angry?"

The white-blue skin of the dead man who could not be Hut.

Eyes opening.

Just milky-white eyes.

Looking up at her.

Down there.

His tongue thrusting between her legs.

"Sometimes."

"Does Hut hurt you in the dreams?"

"No. No, nothing like that." Julie could feel that she was blus.h.i.+ng.

"Oh," Eleanor said, reading her. "s.e.xual dreams. What gives birth, also takes life. Tell me about them."

Julie nodded. "Really filthy ones. Like in p.o.r.n movies." She quickly added, "Nothing like our s.e.x life. Which was good. It was fine. But this is like, I don't know, cartoon s.e.x. Ridiculous s.e.x. Multiple...organs. s.e.x with women, s.e.x with men, s.e.x with...well, it's all disturbing to me. I've never had dreams like this in my life."

"You told me once, a while ago, that you didn't think you were much of a s.e.xual person."

"I'm not. I'm just not. I never was. My sister is. She got the h.o.r.n.y genes. Me, I just like it now and then if I really care for someone." Her voice trailed off a bit, as if sorrow had returned with this thought.

"s.e.x and death are often intertwined in our consciousness," Eleanor said. "Erotic dreams after the death of someone close to us...well, it's not that strange. The French call the climax pet.i.te mort pet.i.te mort. Little death."

"I'm not even sure I could call these dreams erotic. There's this sort of cartoony surreal element to them," Julie said. "Sometimes..." The milky-white eyes. The s.h.i.+ny maggoty-white skin. The milky-white eyes. The s.h.i.+ny maggoty-white skin.

"Sometimes?"

"Sometimes...it's just surreal."

"Your mind is going to work out all kinds of issues, Julie. Expect it to. You're lucky it's coming through as erotic. I had a patient once who dreamed his brother slit his throat. After his brother died. Just slit his throat with a knife." As Eleanor spoke, Julie shut her eyes. She imagined Hut coming toward her, as Eleanor's words created an image in her mind, "Just slit his throat. Every night, for fourteen weeks he had this dream. Imagine Imagine."

7.

That evening, after the kids were in bed, Julie played some of Matt's videos on the computer in the den, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hut and the family they'd once been.

8.

The rain slashed the dark sky beyond the den window, a summer storm that was the last of a hurricane that had hit far out to sea, far beyond northern New Jersey, beyond Rellingford, a storm elsewhere, leaving heat flashes in the sky and a downpour to cool off the muggy evening. There was something comforting about the harshness of the weather. Julie clicked the mousepointer around until she found Matt's video files. There were nearly a hundred of them, and she kept opening and closing the videos, depending on what they showed. The past year or so of Matt's life flashed by: Matt and Livy at the lake. Livy splas.h.i.+ng around the shallow end of the pool with her friends, while Matt's voice goaded her on to make bigger splashes.

Matt videotaping Livy trying to practice the piano- playing a little song called "The Bluebells of Scotland," and when she hit a wrong note, she turned to the camera and said, "You're making me mess up."

One day, out on the canoe with all of them stuffed in, Julie sitting at one end, the kids in the middle, and Hut at the other, steering. The lake was brownish, and the sky was dazzling blue. Julie's hair was pulled back in a ponytail that stuck through a tan baseball cap. Hut had taken his s.h.i.+rt off, and his hair was slick from sweat, and his skin had turned a light brown.