DEATH BY HONEYMOON Page 2

  “He was so young,” Moira mentioned, tears in their eyes. She was an old college friend of Clint’s. “I can’t believe this happened.”

  “He had everything ahead of him,” one of Clint’s mother’s friends kept repeating.

  There was an assortment of people, friends, co-workers, neighbors from down the road who Cindy and Clint had barely met.

  Finally, Cindy had had enough. Without warning, she flew out of the living room.

  Ann grabbed her arm in the kitchen. “What are you doing?” she asked, mortified.

  “I’ve had enough!” Cindy screamed, breaking into tears. “I don’t want to see anyone! I refuse!”

  And with that, she’d stormed back up into her bedroom, leaving Ann to pick up the pieces—and hadn’t left since. That was days ago.

  Cindy lay there now, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. For the millionth time, she struggled to remember, to try to recall the events of the past days.

  When they’d finally found his body after two days, washed up on the rocks, inside of a cove, crumpled, his head snapped, beaten by the surf, she’d felt herself die with him.

  She had been called immediately to identify the body.

  “It’s not him,” she said at first.

  The local police looked at her strangely.

  “That’s not him,” she repeated. “Clint is alive. He was stronger than any wave.”

  The police scratched a few words on a pad of paper.

  “Does he look like him?” one of the cops asked quietly.

  “It’s Clint’s body,” she started yelling. “But it’s not Clint. I know him. I love him. He would never have let this happen.”

  *

  There had been a full out search for him on the island when he didn’t show up at the hotel that night. Cindy remembered a wild rush of phone calls between the States and the island. Her family couldn’t get a flight. Two top executives at Clint’s firm got involved. There were calls to officials on the island. The firm was well connected and sent down people on a company jet to help with the search. Some of them suggested that she return home. This could take weeks, they said, even months. They would cover all bases.

  Cindy refused to leave without Clint. She spent every moment staring at the ocean, praying. Even though she begged for Clint to be saved, deep within she knew it was too late.

  She lost all track of time. It was as if lifetimes passed as she sat without moving, gazing at the sky.

  But to everyone’s amazement, it was only two days until they found him, his body washed up on shore.

  “A stroke of luck,” she heard one official say. A tall guy with a moustache and squinty eyes.

  What kind of luck? Cindy wondered.

  “Yeah,” the other official, a shorter, squat guy, agreed. “These kinds of searches can go on for years with nothing to show for it. Usually the ocean takes them out and under. Who finds a body here?”

  They both shrugged and looked at each other. Cindy’s stomach clenched. She imagined Clint being taken out and under by the unforgiving ocean, dragged into oblivion, with nothing left behind. Should she consider herself lucky that they’d found his body?

  The police had called someone from Clint’s firm in to identify the body as well. Henry Greerson. He’d been sent down by the firm to oversee everything and make sure Cindy was well cared for. Cindy had met him once or twice before. She never much liked him. He was a middle-aged guy in a button down suit who seemed cold and withdrawn around her. Clint had liked him, though. They’d worked together on several projects. Clint said he was a good man. Clint said that about everyone, or almost everyone. If he liked you, he loved you.

  Greerson immediately identified the body. Soon after, the death was declared accidental. Strong turf, sudden riptide. These riptides happened all the time on the East Shore of Barbados.

  Cindy remembered Greerson escorting her home on the plane, along with the remains. The two of them didn’t talk to each other. She had nothing to say, and neither did he. At least he respected her need for silence, and probably realized she was in shock.

  *

  Cindy spent the first days back mostly curled up in bed. Ann didn’t intrude. She only helped Cindy come out of the bedroom when guests appeared. Otherwise, she brought her food in on a tray, and put soft music on the CD player. Ann had always been the most wonderful older sister anyone could have ever wanted. Her husband, Frank, told her to stay as long as she was needed. They had a lovely marriage. It seemed that things always went smoothly in Ann’s life. Cindy never felt she could quite live up to her.

  Cindy’s relationships with guys growing up was always short and fitful. She was always afraid they would leave, the way her father had. She had a few good friends, but became quite bookish, preferring her time alone, studying, doing research, gathering all kinds of information for papers she wrote, sketching and making collages. . Ann was always there, watching over her, worrying about Cindy all her years growing up.

  When Cindy met Clint, everything seemed to change. She’d become happy, secure, confident. She left the house freely, went new places with him, laughed a lot, seemed like a different person. Her sister Ann told her she didn’t trust the relationship, though she didn’t know why. Now it was as if an old premonition of Ann’s had come true. It was clear how worried Ann was about what would become of Cindy now.

  Slowly Cindy began to emerge from the bedroom. She felt claustrophobic in there, dreaming of Clint almost every day. In the dreams, he looked real, completely alive. He was standing on his surfboard, waving at her, trying to speak.

  But she couldn’t make out what he was saying. The surf was too rough, too loud. It got in the way. She waved back, but couldn’t reach him. Then the wave pulled him back out and took him away.

  She woke with a start every time.

  “He’s trying to reach me,” Cindy kept telling her sister.

  Ann didn’t say much in return.

  “I know he is,” Cindy insisted. “In my dream, his mouth is open and he’s trying to talk. I can’t hear him.”

  “They are just dreams,” Ann finally said, softly. “He’s gone, Cindy. It’s you who wants to see him again. Those are your wishes.”

  Cindy was frustrated. Her dreams felt like more than wishes. She was going to say something else, but Ann interrupted, “It takes time for a person to absorb a shock like this. It takes time for it to feel real.”

  Ann always had something sensible to say, but this time Cindy didn’t want to hear it. What happened to Clint wasn’t sensible—it didn’t make sense at all. She had seen Clint surf in much rougher waters than that. She couldn’t fathom how he could have drowned.

  Cindy thought of all the plans she and Clint had had for the future. Just being in the house brought them all back. She looked at the photographs hanging on the walls and photos of the two of them together, smiling, laughing, holding hands . None of this seemed real. His clothes were still hanging in the closet, his books were in the bookcases. There were even a few old surfboards in the basement downstairs. It was as if nothing had ever happened, as if time stood still.

  She thought of the family they’d been eager to start . She would never bear his children now. She would never have that part of him.

  “He’s everywhere,” she said to Ann. “Just look around.”

  “Little by little, you’ll have to begin to clear his things out,” Ann replied.

  That shocked Cindy. “Never,” she breathed. “I’ll never throw him away.”

  “No one’s saying you’re throwing him away. But little by little you’ll need to take his things down, clear out the closets.”

  Suddenly Cindy wanted Ann to be gone. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain Cindy was going through. If she could, she never would speak like this.

  “Look, I know it’s a terrible thing that happened,” Ann said, “I know you’re still in shock. These awful accidents happen, though. They’re no one’s fault.”

  Cindy f
elt her blood turn cold. “Accident?”

  Ann stared at her. “Of course. It was an accident.”

  “Says who?” Cindy said.

  “What are you talking about? The police in Barbados declared it an accident. Clint fell off the surfboard, it hit him on the head and snapped his neck.”

  “No,” Cindy replied, “it didn’t happen like that.”

  Ann’s face turned pale. “Yes it did. The bruises on his body are consistent with the report. A sudden riptide came in.”

  “There was no riptide that afternoon. The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day.”

  “Cindy,” Ann spoke slowly, “Riptides come suddenly and then they’re gone.”

  “It was NOT an accident,” Cindy intoned.

  Ann stared back, shocked.

  “According to who?” Ann said.

  “Whose side are you on, Ann?” Cindy said, angry.

  “Whose side? What are you talking about?”

  “The police just wanted the case closed in the blink of an eye,” Cindy said methodically.

  Ann got up from her chair and started walking back and forth slowly. Cindy could tell how agitated her sister felt.

  Cindy got up, too, and started pacing beside her sister. “Clint was a top tier surfer,” Cindy continued. “He knew the ocean, he knew the waves. He’d surfed in much rougher waters. There was no reason for him to die.”

  Ann stopped and looked Cindy straight in the eye.

  “Look,” she said, “I know how tough this is for you. Don’t make it worse than it is. Don’t start imagining all kinds of things.”

  “I’m not imagining anything,” Cindy said. “I’ve had plenty of time to think things over and nothing’s gelling for me. It doesn’t make sense.”

  Ann began rubbing her hands up and down her sides. It was an old habit of hers. She did it when she was nervous and didn’t know what else to do.

  “Cindy, I beg you, don’t go crazy,” she finally said. “I love you and I need you to be okay for me too.”

  Cindy’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll never be okay,” she said, “and I’m not going crazy. It’s something I just know.”

  “Let’s leave it at that for now,” Ann said softly. “It’s common to think all kinds of things when someone you love suddenly dies. Your problem is that you’ve been cooped up in here for days. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re not changing, not showering, not even going outside.”

  “I don’t want to,” Cindy snapped back. “Let me be.”

  “There are more people who want to come visit. You need to let them in. You need to see them.”

  “I’m not ready!” Cindy yelled back.

  “Well, there are some visitors that you have no choice about.”

  Cindy looked at her coldly. “Who?” she finally asked.

  “Clint’s family. They called. They’re coming over today, at 3 o’clock.”

  “I’m not ready to see them,” Cindy said.

  “They didn’t ask,” Ann said.

  Cindy’s body clenched.

  “Don’t worry,” Ann said, “They have to come. It’s a duty call. But I won’t let anything happen. I’ll be here. It will all be fine.”

  If Cindy knew anything about Clint’s family, she knew that a visit from them, even in the best of times, would be anything but fine.

  Chapter 4

  Cindy dreaded seeing Clint’s family, but knew she had no choice. It’s a duty call, she kept reminding herself. We’re all in the same boat here.

  Clint’s family had objected to Cindy from the first day he brought her home. She wasn’t tall enough, smart enough, rich enough for them. She wasn’t slim enough either. His mother told him that Cindy’s body would go to fat after they had a child and probably never recover. Cindy didn’t come from their area either, as she was raised in Wisconsin. Nothing was good enough for them.

  Cindy realized that Clint’s mother would find anything she could to break up the relationship. But not only her—for any woman. His mother did all she could to cast every possible doubt. Clint had had two other long-term relationships before her, and Clint had told her that his mother had managed to poison them both.

  Cindy had talked to Clint a lot about this . How could they buy this house only a mile away from his family? What would happen after they were married? How would his parents react when they had kids?

  But he couldn’t really see any problem, and he made all kinds of excuses for his mother, and told Cindy not to look for the worst . His sister Marge was a different story. Clint’s relationship with Marge had always been rocky, although Marge and her mother were inseparable. Marge lived a few blocks away from her, and Marge couldn’t stand to see Clint and his mother so close .

  Marge got married a year ago. The man she married, Ralph—dark, quiet and inscrutable—was a lawyer, from a poor family on the other side of town. He’d put himself through college and law school and was doing well now - well enough to be accepted by the family . But they had always hoped Marge would marry James Torton, a rich kid from the neighborhood. Marge would have married him, too, but he left her suddenly, for someone else. Marge said she would carry the scars from that the rest of her life.

  Now Cindy was getting ready for their visit. She knew she should put on something nicer. But she just couldn’t bear to change. With Clint dead, she didn’t feel entitled to wear anything nice. She would just have to greet his family in the lounging pants she’d been wearing, with the same old sweat shirt. She knew that as soon as they came in they would look her over from head to toe, watch her every move. They would scoff at her clothing. And if something were out of order, they’d be talking about it for days. But she didn’t really care.

  The family would also check the house to see that everything was exactly where it belonged. They were furious when Clint bought this place without consulting them . They said it didn’t suit him and was too far away, down this long, deserted road. Who in their right mind would buy a clapboard, starter house that looked like a beach home?

  Clint didn’t seem to care what they thought of it, and just put his photos everywhere, even the ones they didn’t like. Cindy’s memorabilia were perched in full display on the white, wooden shelves—hand-painted porcelain ducks and birds. Clint’s mother didn’t like them either. What grown woman would display objects like that? And who had designed the living room decor? The couch had tropical, colored cushions on it, and there were plants that were much too large growing everywhere. It was clearly Cindy’s influence, her lack of taste. This was definitely not the life she’d envisioned for her son. His mother had no compunction about telling him so, either . How Cindy landed someone like Clint baffled her mind.

  Cindy was uneasy at the thought of seeing the family now. She knew they were devastated and had no idea how to comfort them. Thank God Ann was still here. She would not have been able to face them alone. .

  Ann was in the kitchen now preparing coffee and cake. Cindy scanned the living room quickly to make sure everything was in order. But no matter how much she tried to spruce it up, the room looked sad and tousled.

  Cindy puffed the cushions on the sofa, and arranged them neatly. She had stacked the piles of gifts they’d received for the wedding in the corner. She’d forgotten all about them, hadn’t noticed the gifts since she’d returned. They stood there as an awful reminder of a life that could have been.

  Now she quickly went over, lifted them a few at a time, and brought them into Clint’s study in the rear of the house. The last thing she wanted was to have the family looking the gifts over, asking for them to be opened or pushing her to send thank you cards. She would when she was ready. It was all way too much right now.

  “How are you doing?” Ann called in from the kitchen.

  Cindy could smell the delicious fragrance of coffee and homemade cookies wafting into the living room.

  Ann walked out of the kitchen and looked Cindy over. Ann was wearing a casual pair of slacks and an old familiar, blue s
weater. Her light brown hair was brushed neatly down around her moon-shaped faced face. Ann was deeply at home with herself. Whatever she wore, she looked lovely, ready for whatever circumstance presented itself. Cindy envied that. She often felt awkward, and Clint’s family intensified that. When they were around, she felt as if she never made the grade.

  Ann looked her over in disapproval. “If you’re not going to change, will you at least just brush your gorgeous, tasseled hair.”

  Cindy smiled. Ann always tried to make her feel beautiful . The doorbell rang, and Cindy and Ann looked at each other.

  “Can you answer it?” Cindy asked.

  Ann nodded, and headed for the door.

  Cindy went to the bathroom, closed the door, and listened. The quiet, muted voices carried through. Cindy splashed cold water on her puffy cheeks, and took a deep breath.

  Finally, she opened the door.

  Clint’s family was already seated. His mother sat beside Clint’s father on the sofa. They sat at opposite ends and did not touch. His sister Marge sat next to her husband Ralph in the sand-colored chairs that faced the couch. Everyone was dressed in either navy blue or black. Ann sat facing the family on a thin wooden bench. It had a long paisley cushion on it. The room felt stultifying.

  Ann quickly got up when Cindy entered and pulled over a comfortable chair for her. Cindy wondered how she would ever get along without Ann at her side. As she sat down, she felt every eye in the family boring through her . Marge started coughing and Clint’s mother put her head in her hands. It was a terrible moment for them all. Cindy wanted to say, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But the words wouldn’t come.

  “Would you like some coffee and cookies?” Ann asked, getting up to serve them.

  “Not right now,” Clint’s father mumbled. He seemed much weaker and sounded distant and sad, as if this were all much more than he could bear.

  “This is the worst possible thing that could happen for my father,” Marge blurted out. “He has to be careful of his heart and it’s been hurting terribly all week long. He’s on extra medication now,” and she looked at Cindy darkly, as though perhaps, she was to blame.