Mad Max: Unintended Consequences (14 page)

Whip filed for divorce. His attorney said it was lucky they lived in a state where he could charge Merry with adultery. It should be simple. Prove Merry was having an affair, identify the doctor, and it would be over.

Whip wanted custody. Merry and Hunter weren't going to raise his children, no matter what. Like all good attorneys, Mama Cass said it could be difficult because they had to prove Merry was an unfit or unwilling mother. Whip wouldn't have to pay alimony, though, if she lived with Hunter.

“Mom called,” Emilie said at dinner. “She says you won't let her come home.”

“She's right. Not after she chose Dracula over us.”

“That's so wrong,” Emilie said. “Dracula's evil. He'll hurt her. I just know he will. He's done bad things before, Dad.”

“Do you have proof?” Whip wanted to believe Emilie but had told me he was uncomfortable with her premonitions.

“Not yet, but me and Alex, oops, Alex and I are working on it.”

I wasn't sure they'd find anything useful, but I didn't discourage their efforts.

“She said she's getting her own apartment in the city.” Emilie carried her dirty plate into the kitchen. “It's supposed to be very nice.”

“I thought she was moving in with Dracula.” Alex wiped his mouth on his napkin without any prompting from me.

“Guess not.”

Emilie went into the family room to study, while Alex disappeared upstairs.

“That could really fuck up my divorce plans.”

“How so?”

“If she moves in with Hunter, I won't have to pay alimony. I don't want to give her another dime.”

I'd been scarce since Whip beat the snot out of Hunter. I kept busy, following up leads. Whip didn't know what I was doing. We'd laughed at the idea of me playing sleuth. He'd said at the beginning of the mess it was so out of character. Little did he know.

Johnny and I had just pulled up in front of the house when Merry swung the Infiniti into the drive and parked sideways across it.

“Not good.”

“Yeah.”

Merry tripped and nearly fell.

“She's drunk as usual.”

Merry tried to unlock the door. When her key wouldn't work, she began pounding and shouting.

“She'll wake up the whole neighborhood if I don't stop her.”

Before I could jump out of the truck, Whip opened the door and blocked Merry's way. She tried to push past him but was no match for his strength. Johnny's hand wrapped itself around my wrist.

“This is a guy thing, Max. Let them be.”

“Let me in, you prick,” Merry shouted.

“With that attitude, hell will freeze over before I let you in. I told you, you no longer live here.” Whip stepped outside and shut the door behind him.

“It's my house, too, you asshole.”

Front porch lights came on up and down the street. Whip grabbed her by the wrists and shook her until she stopped shrieking. I shrank down in the front seat, unwilling to watch my daughter's self-destruction.

“You made your choice when you chose Hunter over your family and me. Let me make this crystal clear. You. Do. Not. Live. Here.”

“I need my clothes.” Merry struggled, but Whip held her wrists in a bruising grip.

“Have your lawyer bring a list of what you want. Then and only then will I let you inside.”

“I'll come anytime I damn well please, you bastard.” Merry spit in his face.

“Wrong move.” Johnny tensed, ready to help if Whip needed it.

Whip lost his temper and taunted Merry. “What's the matter? Has Dr. Wonderful thrown you out too? Well, my soon-to-be-ex-wife, you made your bed. Now go lie in it.”

Whip released Merry's wrists and turned toward the door. Merry pulled a knife from her bag and slashed Whip across his back and arm. Blood dripped from his fingertips.

“Jesus.”
Johnny was out of the truck and across the lawn before I could open my door.

When Merry raised the knife again, Whip shoved her backward and banged her arm against the porch railing until she dropped it into the flowerbed. Unarmed, she attacked him with her nails and raked his cheek where Hunter had cut him. Johnny grabbed her from behind and pinned her arms to her side.

Blue and red gumdrops reflected off Whip's face as two police cars rolled up. A patrolman shone his flashlight full in Whip's eyes to blind him and rested one hand on his holstered gun. He moved the beam to Johnny.

“What's going on here?”

The patrolman looked at the blood seeping through Whip's shirt. Merry's face was bloody as well.

Whip's shooting buddy Jerry walked up beside the patrolman. “I'll handle it, officer. I know this man.”

“It looks like an assault to me. Better take him in for questioning.”

“Me?” Whip burst out laughing. “She attacked me.”

“Leave it, officer.” Jerry stepped between the patrolman and Whip.

“But—”

“I'll deal with it. Go back to your route.”

The patrolman walked back to his car.

“Okay, what's going on?”

Whip started to tell Jerry what happened when Merry burst out with, “He attacked me. He tried to kill me.”

The accusation was so false Whip's mouth dropped open.

“Well, Whip here is bleeding like a stuck pig, and you have no marks on you, Mrs. Pugh. How do you figure he tried to kill you?” Jerry hooked his thumbs in his belt.

“He tried to stab me. I grabbed the knife to defend myself.”

“Mrs. Davies, who's telling the truth?”

“Whip. Merry attacked him with a knife. She brought it with her. Johnny and I saw everything.”

“Well, ma'am, I'm not one of them fancy CSI types, but even I can see someone who's been slashed across the back.” Jerry faked a Southern redneck drawl. “You say you disarmed a man much heavier than you. Then he turned his back on a now-armed woman and gave you a perfect target for a cowardly attack. That how it happened?”

“Yes. No. I mean, he came at me with the knife. I took it away and slashed at him to protect myself.”

“You're going to the station. You'll stay there until you've sobered up. Looks like you might have driven here under the influence. You can get into a lot of trouble with a DUI.”

Johnny released Merry into Jerry's custody. The policeman spun Merry around and put plastic handcuffs on her. She yelled, kicked backward, and connected with Jerry's shin.

“Do you want to add assault on a police officer? Want to try for more charges?” Jerry lifted Merry, half-carried her to his car, and pushed her into the backseat. He returned to the bloody porch.

“Where's the knife?”

Whip reached over the porch railing to pick it up.

“Don't! Have you touched it?”

“No. Why?”

Without Whip's fingerprints on the weapon, Merry's assault accusation would collapse.

“I'll get a baggie,” I said.

“She'll have plenty of time to sober up in the tank with the prostitutes and other drunks. If she's lucky, we'll have run in Looney Lucy too. She'll learn all about the end of the world.”

I wasn't sorry to see my daughter arrested. It was past time for her to learn a major league lesson. A night in the drunk tank just might be what she needed. She was up a nasty creek, but only she could get herself out of this mess.

Jerry asked if he should call an ambulance. When Johnny said we'd take Whip to the hospital, Jerry took the knife and drove off with Merry in the patrol car. I was surprised later when we got home and found one of the neighbors had hosed down the porch. Funny, I didn't think once about fainting at the sight of Whip's blood.

“How are you feeling, Dad?” Emilie called from the doorway of the den.

“Wish I could say fine, but honestly, Em, not so hot.”

“Do you need a pain pill or something?”

“Just took one, so I'll feel better soon.” Whip turned in his chair and faced the door. “Come on in.”

Emilie padded barefoot to the couch and curled up, both feet tucked under her. Whip shuffled papers around, and I sipped my drink until she began talking.

At first, she chatted about school and a big party coming up and how goofy Alex was acting over this girl texting him all the time. She didn't much like her dumb economics teacher; he had it in for her.

How refreshing it was to listen to the daily trivia of growing up. The feeling didn't last, but it was wonderful while it did.

“Dad, Mom called. She told me and Alex—sorry, Alex and me—she made a big mistake.” Emilie chewed her lower lip.

“Which one?”

“Leaving for Dracula. He won't let her live with him.”

I said nothing. One of my worst fears was coming true. Hunter had no intention of happily-ever-aftering with Merry.

“If Mom left Dracula, would you let her? Come home, I mean?” Emilie sat very, very still.

“No, Em. I can't trust her.” Whip shifted in his chair.

“She tells so many lies. I never believe her, and Alex just laughs when she tries to tell him how wonderful her life will be soon.”

“I've filed for divorce. I know you guys hoped we'd work it out and stay together, but it's impossible. I asked for custody. I went to court, too, and took out an order to keep her away from the house and you guys. She can only see you with Mad Max or me present.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Emilie was twelve-going-on-thirteen again and flew across the room. She threw her arms around Whip. “I was afraid she'd take us away.”

Whip's face went pale. Emilie's arms were across the deepest wound in his back, where he had more than forty stitches.

“We'll get through this. It'll be hard, but we'll make it.”

“Pinky swear?”

They hooked little fingers.

“Pinky swear.”

Emilie turned to me. I extended my little finger. “Pinky swear.”

Whip worked late as usual. Alex was up in his room playing with his PlayStation. Emilie and I were alone in the family room. I took to locking the doors whenever Whip was out. I couldn't shake the premonition we were being watched. I didn't want to ask Emilie about it; if it were my long-standing case of the willies, I'd deal with it. She had enough to handle without me piling on more.

With nothing decent on television, we settled in for a long read. I made some chamomile tea, put some blues on the stereo, and curled up in my favorite chair, a grisly thriller propped on my lap. Emilie was stretched out on the couch reading a Judy Blume romance. We talked on and off, mostly off, grateful for a Simon and Garfunkel evening.

Just before ten, Emilie's book thumped to the floor. At first I thought she was asleep and the book had fallen from relaxed fingers. When I looked more closely, I saw she was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, trembling and unblinking. I rushed over and knelt on the floor beside her.

“What's the matter, dear child?” I'd never seen her so upset.

“I can't find Mom.” Her whisper barely moved the air around her lips.

“You can't find Mom? Has something happened to her?” I leaned forward.

“She was happy. Then she was angry. Then she was afraid. Now she's gone.”

“Gone like when she had her accident?” Something was desperately wrong.

“Not like when she was in her accident. Mom's totally not. Not here any longer.” Tears flowed from the corners of her eyes, soaking her hairline.

“She's dead?” I hoped in my heart Merry was all right, but Emilie seemed to know differently.

“Yes.”

Children who lose their parents have a name: orphan. Parents who lose a child have no name. They're just empty.

I'm empty.

Yesterday I buried my daughter. From the moment the police confirmed Merry's death until the last funeral guests departed, I had so much to do, so many lists to make, so many details to tie up, I couldn't think beyond the next step, the next meal or the next tear.

Between the time Emilie told me her mother was dead and the time Whip and I identified her body, Raney and Eleanor were on a flight to Richmond. I would have fallen apart if my two favorite Great Dames hadn't been standing beside me.

Whip's mother, Bette, watched the children and answered the never-silent phone. Everyone from friends to the curious to the press to the ghouls felt they had the right to invade our world of sorrow. Whip and I made the funeral arrangements while Bette and the Colonel organized the reception at the house after the funeral. Eleanor and Raney provided shoulders for me to cry on, a day trip to the mall with Alex to play video games, and different sounding boards for Emilie. Neither Merry nor Whip had prepaid burial plans like I had, so we winged it. Because the kids wanted to be a part of remembering their mother, I asked Emilie to choose some music and Alex to write the words he wanted to say.

I looked at Merry in her casket. Memories of happier pasts flooded my brain, while tears poured down my cheeks. Raney held my right hand; Eleanor my left. Merry lay still, her spirit roaming far away from her body. She was a stranger, not the daughter I bore.

“There is no upside for this,” Eleanor said.

“For what?” I mopped my face and snuffled into a handkerchief.

“For murder.”

A pair of arms encircled my waist. Raney stepped aside and let Emilie wiggle in.

At last the funeral and burial were over. Raney and Eleanor packed up to return home to New York with my deepest thanks. Their presence let me lean on them rather than be the only rock.

“My heart is so numb, Eleanor,” I said.

“I know, dear, but do not carry your troubles around like Linus with his blanket.”

I tried to smile. That was just the way I felt—dragged down by life's sogginess.

“Let your emotions show, Maxine.” Eleanor closed her overnight bag and turned to hug me. “It is important. It will help you heal. Emilie and Alex need to see what you are feeling too.”

“You don't have to be strong every second of the day.” Raney joined Eleanor in a group hug. “It's not the same as when Norm died. You have an extended family to help you.”

Eleanor whispered in my ear. “Never mourn alone. Others must see your grief.”

“Is this more of my doo-wop?”

“It is.”

My dearest friends headed toward the door when the taxi's horn sounded.

Now, with Emilie, Alex, and me alone in the house, I couldn't move. I knew I should be doing something, but when I tried to get up, my face leaked. I retreated into my cocoon. The kids were as hollow as I was. I knew Alex was in his room texting his buddies, but I hadn't seen Emilie for hours. I thought she might be pruning in the tub.

Where was Whip? In the town jail. Accused of Merry's murder. Arrested immediately after the funeral. I thought of my beautiful daughter—the way she was before Hunter sank his teeth into her—and of the wonderful man who married her and loved her right up to and beyond the arrival of evil. I was paralyzed. Yet I felt anger, rage, remorse, frustration, and disbelief.

Perhaps I wasn't as desensitized as I wished, but I viewed life filtered through burlap. I could see but not clearly, think but only linearly, put food on the table but had no idea what we ate. I couldn't do anything requiring “ahead”—thinking, planning, looking. I survived day by day, hour by hour. It wasn't healthy, not when I was the head of a fractured family. Murder had a way of grabbing your attention.

Children weren't supposed to be murdered in cold blood.

They weren't supposed to have a gun shoved against their head.

They weren't supposed to die.

They were supposed to mourn their parents when they passed at the end of a long and fruitful life.

Someone up there had a sick sense of right and wrong. I used to be a good Catholic but no longer. How can a compassionate Being expose an innocent person to such evil as Hunter represented and then do nothing to save her? Seeing Merry in her casket, I didn't know what I believed. If there was a God, She and I were going to have a long, serious talk about why She led Merry to her death. Yes, I blamed Her. I also blamed Merry, and I definitely blamed Hunter.

After the funeral, Whip's cop friend Jerry came to the house. They talked in the den for nearly two hours. I didn't know what was said, but when Whip emerged, he told me he was going down to the station to meet with the investigating officers. He said he'd be back by dinner. He wasn't.

Whip was in a cell. I couldn't believe it. The police took a DNA sample and searched the house and his office. They confiscated Whip's guns from the safe, clothes from the bedroom hamper, and other things I didn't see. The cops were so damned smug. As if they'd solved the crime of the century.

Fools! All they had to do was ask Whip. He'd tell them where he was and what he was doing the night Merry was killed. No, murdered. I have to get used to saying that.

My daughter was murdered.