A Sudden Passing
Fall 1963
On the tenth anniversary of my mother’s death, my friend Laura and I discovered her husband Fred hanging from a Western Sycamore over the creek that runs behind our houses. If Laura had registered Goldie’s yips coming through the back porch screen, she would have known something was wrong. Fred always took Goldie with him on his early morning walks. Not today.
After showering and dressing, Laura had returned to the bedroom to make up the bed and found Fred’s note tucked under her pillow. Her desperate phone call brought me screeching through red lights just after dawn to reach my old neighborhood where I found her weeping and shaking at her front door.
Since I had returned to Los Altos a year ago, Laura and I had met for lunch a few times, sometimes at restaurants, sometimes at my apartment, but this was the first time I had been past her front door. I followed her through the house out to the patio. We walked along the deer trail until we spotted Fred’s body hanging from a low branch, toes trailing in the bubbling creek water.
R
I worry a hard knot in the muscle of my arm while I tell my story to the police. My arm has been sore ever since I gripped Laura’s shoulder with enough force to spin her around and propel her back to the house. I had left her sitting in her easy chair, face in hands, rocking and sobbing while I went to make phone calls, first to the mortuary, then to the police.
Now, investigators down at the creek are cutting a section of thick sisal away from the tree branch to release it from its gruesome weight. The gurney squeaks and groans as paramedics push it up the grassy hill leading back from Permanente Creek. Its wheels thud against exposed tree roots that snake near the surface of the over-watered lawn. I lock eyes with the police officer who blocks my view of the corpse. At the same time, I try to catch what Laura is telling the detective. Pretty Laura, dressed for Saturday morning errands in a flower-print sheath, French twist pinned in place as effortlessly as the ease with which she has lived her life. So it appears, but it’s an illusion.
R
When my mother died, I had the mortician’s phone number written on a list by the telephone. Involving the police, however, is a new step in this sad process. My mother died in her sleep, in the house we shared up the street, a bungalow that burned down ten years ago. The difference is, her death was anticipated. Leora gave out. Fred gave up.
Even now, the image of Fred’s body, head hanging, shoulders slumped, pant legs rolled up to his calves to bare the shocking whiteness of his legs and feet, glues itself in my brain. Why did Fred take off his shoes before he stepped up on a stool brought down from the garage, stuck his head through a looped rope knotted to a tree branch, and kicked the stool away? His shoes lined up under the tree, socks neatly folded inside, stick in my memory like a perfectly exposed photograph gum-cornered into a picture album.
Blessedly, Fred chose to face the creek bank opposite the house when he swung his 210-pound frame out over the water. Laura was spared having to look into the purple bloat that was once a pleasingly boyish face.
It was I who followed the police down to the creek bank and identified the body. Now Laura stands in the backyard, one hand splayed across her chest as if she is trying to hold her heart in place, the other hand rubbing her left temple.
“Fred wasn’t doing well. He was very depressed. IBM was talking to him about taking an early retirement, and he seemed to be adjusting to the idea. He’s always fought so hard to, to...”
The two officers close ranks to form a tight conversational circle as the paramedics wheel Fred’s body up the path around the side of the house. The ambulance, motor running and lights flashing, has attracted the attention of the neighbors. Closing his notebook, the detective asks to see the note Fred left. Laura pulls it from her pocket and offers it up. The detective reads the note and passes it to the officer.
“Alright then, that will do it I think.” The officer refolds the note and hands it back to Laura.
“Ma’am, we are sorry for your loss. We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions, but I don’t think that’s likely. Is there anything we can do for you before we go?”
The detective shifts his body slightly to shield Laura from the eyes of the crowd drifting closer to get a better view. The sun catches the gold of his wedding ring and I say a silent prayer of thanks for a man who understands that Laura’s adrenalin is about to run out. I put my arm around her shoulder and lead her back into the house.
R
If I’ve learned one thing, it’s not to let a group of neighbors congregate for too long. They will make up their own stories to explain what they think they are seeing.
“Detective...I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Ramos, Manuel Ramos.”
“Detective Ramos, would you walk out front with me while I talk to the neighbors?”
The detective leads the way. He raises his hand as he joins the main circle of concerned citizens gathered around Gunther, the self-appointed neighborhood spokesperson. Young Lukas, who has been bicycling in circles in front of the house, pulls up alongside his father.
“Go get your mother,” Gunther tells the boy. An old tug in my gut draws the air from my lungs. Fat angry flies buzz in my head. I wave a hand in front of my face to chase away the invisible pests. This gesture must look strange, so I pull my hand to my brow as if I were shielding my eyes from the sun. The detective takes charge.
“Folks, I know you are concerned about what has happened here, but please clear the street so the ambulance can move out.”
There is really no place for them to go. Los Altos doesn’t believe in sidewalks. The crowd moves onto Laura’s asphalt driveway. As the ambulance rolls slowly up the street, all eyes are on me now. I take a deep breath and pull my hands together in prayer position. Will my shoulder-to-shoulder stance with Detective Ramos lend me credibility with my former neighbors?
When I lost my bungalow to a fire caused by bad wiring, I deeded the lot to my daughter, Valerie. She cleared it then let the weeds grow and did nothing to abate rumors that she planned to build some sort of group home. That was not her plan, but as her grand design takes shape, they aren’t any happier.
“Hello Gunther.” I compose my face into a sad smile, take a step backward, and extend my gaze out over the crowd. “There has been an unfortunate accident. This morning, Laura found Fred’s body down by the creek. We really don’t know what happened. All we know is that he died early this morning.”
Gunther’s eyeballs look like they are going to pop out of his head. He erupts in a righteous torrent of words.
“Accident? That was no accident! I saw the paramedics cut Fred down from a tree! He was hanging from that tree over the creek!”
Lukas has not budged from his father’s side. His mouth drops open.
Detective Ramos steps up in front of Gunther and aims his forefinger at the man’s heaving chest.
“Calm yourself, sir.” Gunther shuts up and Ramos takes over. “Folks, we have a grieving widow inside. From what I’ve seen here today, this will most likely be ruled a sudden death. I suggest you be respectful and all go home now.”
This is not what I would have said, but thankfully the crowd begins to disperse. Only Laura’s next-door neighbor Ivy hangs back.
“Dolores, I know that Laura has a good friend in you, and that you will stay with her as long as she needs you.” Her kindness works like cool water on the indignant words still burning in my heart. “Please know that I’m here too, and I’d like to help in any way I can.”
Grateful words tumble from my mouth. “Would you please call Father Mike?”
R
Back inside, I make two cups of chamomile tea and sit down with Laura at the kitchen table. She slumps in a chair, staring at Fred’s note. Outside, Goldie’s whine takes on a howling quality. I unlatch the screen door and walk out on the lawn to free the dog. Goldie bounds through the open door ahead of me and plants her chin on Laura’s knees. Laura bends over and buries her face in her dog’s soft fur.
Once Goldie is settled at Laura’s feet, Laura slips Fred’s note across the table to me. I unfold the lined piece of memo paper and read Fred’s last words, his simple goodbye:
Laura, I’m sorry to hurt you this way. I’ve tried so hard, but every day is torture and I can’t do it anymore. I love you. That’s all.
I am so acquainted with this kind of grief that I don’t ask questions. Not that anyone in my family ever committed suicide, but my parents kept secrets and left their daughters to sort it all out. Fred cloaked his family life in mystery, leaving people to wonder why no one except his three poker buddies were ever invited inside the house, why warm-hearted Laura remained childless, what attracted her to such a strange man.
Laura and I sit in silence at her kitchen table. She stares down at Goldie and slowly shakes her head.
“You know, Dee, I almost feel relief.” Raising her face to mine, she looks at me through swollen, tear-filled eyes. “Isn’t that awful?”
“It’s not awful, Laura, it’s honest. There is no way on God’s green Earth that any of this is your fault. You did everything possible to make a good life for Fred.”
“I tried so hard. What am I going to do now? Fred and I were married for twenty-three years.”
I put my hand on top of hers and stroke her hand. My fingers run lightly across her wedding rings as if they are fresh wounds I wish I could heal.
At a quiet tap on the front screen door, Goldie raises an ear, but the normally vigilant dog doesn’t seem alarmed. Laura pulls her hand back from mine, touches her hair, and twists around in her seat. A familiar figure pushes through the screen. Laura rises from the table, barely taking a step before she finds herself enfolded in the burly arms of Father Mike.
It’s as if the sun that rose this morning now lights and warms Laura’s kitchen. Father Mike has had that effect on me since the day he showed up on my own front porch, right after Leora died. He helped me make sense of the way Leora lived and sort out the mystery of why she hid from me the existence of my twin sister Alaya. Why then does my stomach do an unpleasant flip-flop as I watch him embrace Laura, who needs his comfort so much? Father Mike shoots me a sympathetic look and then ushers Laura into the living room where the two of them sit close together and talk in hushed tones. It is pretty clear to me that this is not the first time he has been in her house.