The day came when the urge to end this state seemed more pressing than ever before and he woke and no longer wondered where he’d find the strength to go on but with a sudden surge of momentum he opened the windows and let fresh air in the house. He went online and located an agency for domestic employees. When he spoke with a woman on the phone, her cheerful and bubbly voice reminded him of some sort of normalcy among the bleakness that were his days and he politely asked her if people still used the word housekeeper or if they had a new title, like household employee or domestic worker. He didn’t wait for an answer and instead told her to send someone and if it worked out, that would be great; if not, she could just pick someone else for him.
“There’s been a tragedy in the family. A death. I’m trying to cope,” he said, aware that his voice was raw with emotion.
* * *
• • •
Marleen knocked on the door the very next day. She ordered groceries and called a cleaning service to give the house a good scrubbing, top to bottom. Edward told her to leave Penelope’s room untouched as if at some later time, when he had gained enough distance and space, he’d be able to tackle that part of his life.
Marleen was understanding—or used to taking orders, he couldn’t be sure—but she never so much as furrowed a brow.
* * *
• • •
There was something about Marleen that put Edward at ease. They’d sit and talk and Edward would find words that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months and she seemed to draw those out of him as if she recognized his suffering.
He did damage control the only way he knew how.
“Donna gets confused about things,” he said. “About Penelope and what happened to her. Maybe it’s, oh, I couldn’t tell you, I don’t want to guess, but she makes up things, like she can’t help but fill in the blanks. And she has said horrible things. That Penelope killed someone and that, oh, I can’t even talk about it,” he added, covering his face with his hands.
Donna had almost let it slip before, the first time with Detective Lee, who had come to interview her, and if it wasn’t for Edward cutting it short, she might have spilled it all. Then another time in front of a doctor, she had muttered something about blood and car and death and Edward had panicked, had ushered her out of the room. It wasn’t until he met Marleen that he figured out what he should have done all along: tell people Donna was out of her mind. Riddled with grief but unaware of what happened were the words he used from then on.
Marleen assured him that she’d never tell anyone about Donna’s outbursts—a word he’d also come to use—and she wouldn’t tell a soul about anything regarding the death of Penelope.
“You know, maybe it’s this house,” Marleen added and rubbed her upper arms as if some chill had burst into the room. “Maybe she should recover in a different place. On neutral ground, so to speak. Where her mind can start fresh.”
“You don’t understand,” Edward said. “Donna picked out every doorknob and every light fixture in this house. Every single piece of furniture. She wouldn’t want to be away.”
“There are places that can accommodate her,” Marleen had said, and Edward leaned in closer.
As he listened to Marleen, for the first time in a long time he saw all that had been irking him, all that had ached inside of him, this jumble that had been his life lately, he saw it dissolve. Maybe he could solve the puzzle after all.
* * *
• • •
Two months later Edward looked into the place Marleen had mentioned to him. His initial hesitation turned into that’ll show her, he thought. If she can go on pretending, she might as well do it some place else.
“Donna,” he said in a stern voice, “we can’t go on like this. I need you to get better. I found a place for you to recover and in the meantime just concentrate on that. And I’ll do the same.”
Where else was she going to go? She would be destitute if it wasn’t for him. He’d watch the progression of it all but he had a feeling she’d play that blabbering idiot to perfection, that role she’d pull off like the flawless actress she was. Supporting her financially was a small price to pay as he considered the alternative: being trapped in this house with Donna until they both expired. If she was going to act like she was crazy he might as well lock her away and leave her to rot.
* * *
• • •
Marleen agreed to accompany Donna to oversee her convalescence at Shadow Garden. After Donna left, the house was empty, the scent of lemon cleaner hung in the air, the stuffiness that had seeped into the curtains had been washed away but he was alone and that was something he wasn’t prepared for.
Edward stood by the back door, saw the woods in the distance, so menacing, as if they wanted to convey to him how utterly isolated he was. He stepped into the backyard for the first time in a long time. Not knowing what he would do in this big house all by himself—the outdoor kitchen neglected, the lawn chairs covered in the spatter of green and white droppings—all seventeen rooms and the expansive lawn, the pool, the pool house.
He could downsize. He could sell the practice, the patents were enough to guarantee him a pleasant life, maybe not one in Hawthorne Court with seventeen rooms, but something half the size. One third of this house would do, maybe a town house. Some distance and maybe he’d be up for performing surgeries again. He’d wait it out, see what was in store for him.
In the kitchen he found a ripped-open envelope and began making a list of what all had to be done to restore the house so he could sell it and move on.
He was hopeful. That day he was hopeful.
56
EDWARD
It started off inconspicuously, like the flu creeping up on him, with a general fatigue at first, followed by a headache and a sore throat, culminating into a full-blown fever. He smelled blood everywhere. He couldn’t stand for doors to be closed, couldn’t stand the scent of floor cleaner and silver polish, all those odors left behind by the people who cleaned his house because just below it, just beneath the pine scent, there was a stench of blood, a layer of stink he couldn’t get rid of. The stench was everywhere, even in the basement. In the backyard. High and low, inside and out, near and far, here and there.
Blood. Iron atoms. Rusty. Iron cation (Fe2+).
He opened windows which in turn created a cross breeze that made the doors slam shut. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Think about what you did, the house seemed to say, mocking his every attempt to move on.
Months went by, he could tell by the changing of the seasons, but he didn’t feel time pass at all. Often, he woke in the middle of the night and felt a pull toward his daughter’s room, which had been sitting untouched since that night. Then one day it dawned on him that it was almost the day of Penelope’s death and he could feel the looming anniversary creep into his bones. He was dreading it.