MY CHAIR LOOKING out at the preserve offered no comfort. I saw it all. Just because a conscientious person had foiled my attempt didn’t mean I was any less guilty. I had tried to kill someone, and ruined the peace of mind, and possibly the career, of Graciela. If there had been a medication error, it would land on her … and it would be my fault. My meddling had interrupted her routine, disrupting the established procedure. Nurses know all too well how a break in one’s attention can lead to mistakes. I had no business claiming innocence.
Another realization hit hard and burned through my chest with shame. I’d told myself I wanted to avenge my family. But I hadn’t given any real thought to Iris or Charlie or my grandchildren. I’d been so absorbed—first with my anger, then with my guilt—that I’d ceased being present in the moment, enjoying the people I love. I covered my mouth with my hands when I realized I had actually tried to keep Iris—my beautiful, loving daughter—away from visiting me, in case the judge was around. I had ceased honoring the memory of Bethany or Cal, only wanting to feel their presence in the chapel as a sign of forgiveness. I had worried Iris, pushed Charlie away, curtailed my presence in my grandsons’ lives, and derailed the closeness with them that I’d forged with Bethany. I had so few years left, and I’d turned my life into ruins.
Out the window, the white butterflies that had danced around Jannah and I made another appearance, barely discernible, showing only when they darted in front of a deep shadow, the darkness framing the flash of light on their wings.
It couldn’t be too late.
I made a plan.
I called Charlie first, then Iris. I invited them to dinner the next day.
Charlie was so happy to hear from me. How long had it been since I’d just called him to chat? “Sure! I’d love to. Where do you want to go?”
“Well, here of course. I’ll make your favorites!”
Silence. “You’re … going to cook? I didn’t think you did much of that anymore.”
“I don’t, mostly because I don’t need to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t. Besides, I’m paying for an apartment with a nice kitchen, and I sort of miss using it.”
“Are you sure?” He sounded hesitant. “It won’t be too much for you?”
When I called Iris, she had the same concern. She offered, “Should I come by beforehand to help?”
I assured them both I was more than capable. It irritated me that they seemed to think I had forgotten how to make a meal. But I reminded myself that they loved me and I loved them, trying to stay focused on the moment and not think about what I was planning for after. At least one more time I was going to make their favorites, and we were going to enjoy one another’s company.
Then I called a cab. I had to get to the grocery store.
I hated to admit it, but they were right about it being a lot of work. I’d forgotten just how taxing it was. And the dirty dishes! But penance was supposed to be hard. Thank God, I had decided to keep it simple: I roasted a chicken and even cheated and bought some already-cooked rice I just had to heat up. It was easy enough to sauté some garlic and slivered almonds in butter to toss with the rice, so it approximated the pilaf I used to make when they were young. All I had to do with the bagged salad was add some cherry tomatoes and dressing. Easy peasy.
I thought the real challenge would be the lemon pie. But even though my baking muscles were rusty, the instinct for how the pastry should come together and just how much sugar to add was still there. It turned out beautifully. I decided I would take Iris up on her offer to help, and told her to bring whipped cream.
They arrived right on schedule. Iris and Jimmy, Charlie and Pam and the boys. I could feel myself glowing. How had I allowed myself to miss out on this?
“Wow, Mom, it smells great in here!” Charlie gave me a kiss and a huge smile.
Pam came in and handed me flowers. “It smells wonderful. But I hope you know you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
If there was a touch of the resistance I sometimes sensed from her, I ignored it. I am mindful I am not always an easy mother-in-law. I nodded. “I know, but I was feeling energetic, and I miss doing this. Thank you for indulging me on such short notice.”
Iris was carrying wine. She bent to kiss me, and then she spied the pie. “Oh, Mom! Your lemon tart!” She turned, grinning.
It was her special favorite. She used to request it every birthday. Seeing my daughter’s face light up brought tears to my eyes. Jimmy leaned down to kiss me and whispered, “Not sure what brought this on, but thank you.” He clearly had a hunch that there was more behind my invitation than simply reclaiming my ability to host a family meal. Jimmy was one of those people whose surface seems bland and easy—but his waters run very deep. In some ways, I think he understands me better than my own kids do.
Adam and Danny ran in. Adam was always reliably goofy and fun, but Danny was at an age where you don’t always know what you’ll get, cute kid or crabby preteen. Tonight, thank God, they were both funny, cooperative kids. Adam gave me a huge hug. Danny kissed my cheek and said, “You look pretty tonight, Grandma.”
“You smell good too!” said his brother.
I laughed. “Thank you for noticing!” While at the grocery store I’d visited the Health and Beauty aisle and bought some new lipstick and cologne. I figured if I was going to be a hostess, I should look the part.
At the end of the hall from my apartment, a door led to a little grassy area with a picnic table, and we decided to enjoy the beautiful evening and eat outside. We ate and chatted, and the boys played Frisbee, and Jimmy and Iris compared notes about their western trip with Charlie’s and Pam’s from the trip they had taken a year ago. And I took it all in. Family dinner, a happy summer evening. I sipped wine and watched my beautiful grandsons play among the fireflies in the growing dark.
After they left, I spent all night thinking. Now that I had remembered what growing old happily was supposed to be about, I asked myself, why throw it all away? After all, I hadn’t actually done any harm. I was an upstanding person, retired from a respectable career, a grandmother. And considering everything my family had gone through, the universe owed me a little slack. I’d had one lapse of judgment, one moment of weakness. One time when I hadn’t wished Satan behind me.
And Katherine?
I turned my thoughts aside. Let it go, for Pete’s sake. I had no idea how she’d died, and frankly I was exhausted worrying about it. Hadn’t I earned a respite, just to enjoy myself and my family? But trying to convince myself that I deserved to be let off the hook didn’t quite work. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
That logic, the siren song of being easy on myself, completely fell apart the next morning when I passed through the lobby and glanced into Mr. Alfred’s office. Sitting in front of his desk was another policeman. Next to him sat Graciela, her face pale as chalk and her dark eyes enormous. When she turned and saw me, her expression shaped a terrified and accusatory plea.
And then I knew. I knew my lightness and sense of joy earlier was only partly because of a nice dinner with my family. It was also because I had felt free from guilt for the first time in months. If I was ever going to know peace again, I had to make this right.
I turned back to my apartment. I canceled my bathing appointment for later in the week, because I wasn’t going to be here. Then I made another call.
“Precinct twenty-four. How can I direct your call?”
“I’d like to report a crime.”
The voice sharpened with a sense of urgency. “Ma’am, Is there a crime in progress? Are you in danger? Please hang up and dial 911.”
“No, no. It already happened.”
“So you want to report a crime that’s already occurred? Call 911, they can take your—”
“You don’t understand. I want to confess to a crime. May I speak to Tobias, please?”
There was silence on the other end. Then, “I see. Please hold.” I heard her whispering, then “Ma’am? I’m going to transfer you.”
After a few minutes a man picked up. “Detective Tobias. How can I help?”
“Yes, Officer. Good morning. I, um, I would like to confess to a crime.”
Silence again. “I see. Who is this? Can I get some more information?”
“Of course. My name is Frannie Greene. Francine. I live in the Ridgewood assisted living facility.”
“I see. And what crime are you saying you’ve committed?”
“Murder.”
This time the silence was weighted. “You … you killed someone?”
“Yes. And I am ready to face the consequences.”
“I see. Um, I think I should come and talk with you in person. Give me your address again?”
“588 Ridge, Ridgewood Assisted Living, Apartment 119. My name is Francine Greene. That’s Greene with an ‘e’ on the end.”
“I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
He hung up. I exhaled and pressed my knuckles over my mouth.
Detective Tobias was a man in his fifties with thinning short hair. His stiff posture gave off an impression of discipline and fitness, but there was a hint of a belly spreading beneath his pale sports jacket. That small paunch made it easier to talk to him somehow.
I let him in and offered him tea.
“Ah, no thanks.” We stood there awkwardly.
I said, “Well, I guess you should come into the living room.”
I balanced on the edge of my favorite chair and remembered when Evan had sat there and basically accused me of trying to kill Nathaniel. And of my self-righteous denial.
I cleared my throat.
Tobias took a seat on the couch and leaned forward. “Now, what is this all about?”
“I … killed someone.”
“Yes, so you said. But I’m afraid I need some details.”
“Her name was Katherine Kearney. She was another resident here at Ridgewood. I deliberately tampered with her medicine. Since I’m a former nurse, I knew what I was doing.”
He gave me the same sort of look Evan did.
“What did she die from?”
Oh. Shoot. I suddenly realized the flaw in my plan, not knowing exactly what drug killed her. “I, uh … well, I’m sure the autopsy told you.”
He moved his head sharply. “Where did you hear we’d done an autopsy?”
Oops. I didn’t want to get Evan in trouble. “I saw some police officers here,” I dithered. “I asked around. Someone mentioned something …” I felt increasingly stupid.
His mouth pulled to the side as he evaluated me.
“So. You say you were a nurse? And that you know medication? But you don’t know what she died from?”
“Yes. Well, it’s just that I don’t remember. Specifically.” He must have thought I was an idiot. I stammered, “It was, um, some weeks ago. It was a painkiller.”
He paused and nodded. “I see. So you’re saying you deliberately tampered with the medicine, but you don’t remember which medicines. But you’re sure it killed her.”
I nodded, trying not to blush as I heard in his voice how ridiculous I sounded.
“And why did you want to kill this person?”
This was a sticking point. I had been so focused on making myself follow through with this plan, that it was only after I’d made the call that I’d realized I’d need to address this. Of course he’d want motive.
While I’d been waiting for him to arrive, I had decided to simply level with him. To explain that I had meant to kill the judge and to be honest about why: that he’d been a participant in corruption that led to the death of my granddaughter, but that in pursuing my plan, I’d screwed up and tampered with the medicine for the wrong Kearney.
But as the officer stood in my living room, with his crew cut and a badge pinned to his belt, I realized he was a part of the same system. Not likely to be sympathetic to claims about crooked cops. Plus—absurdly—I wanted him to like me. I figured that if cops were anything like front-line nurses, what happened during this initial encounter could determine a lot of what followed. I didn’t want Graciela to be punished, but I also didn’t really want the justice system to get too invested in punishing me. I was doing a fine job of that by myself.
And perhaps most importantly, I wanted to keep attention as far as possible away from Iris and Bethany and my family. Which meant I couldn’t tell him everything. I just wanted to confess, with a quick arrest, no trial, and a sentence that showed mercy to an old lady.
So, mind racing, I punted. “Katherine and I, … we had a falling out.” I made myself taller in my chair and tried to seem as imperious and haughty as I could.
He continued to stare at me. “I see. A falling out.”
I nodded. “I was very angry.”
Then he stood up. I held out my wrists.
He looked at me. “Mrs. Greene, I am not going to place you in handcuffs.”
I felt my cheeks go warm. “Of course, how silly of me … as if I could run away.”
“Mrs. Greene, I am not going to arrest you.”
“But I am confessing!”
“I am afraid I don’t quite believe you.”
I was incensed. “Why would I lie?”
He sat back down and exhaled. “I have no idea. People confess to things all the time for all sorts of reasons.”
“It’s because I’m old,” I snapped. “You think I am a foolish old woman, making things up.”
“Not at all. If you are indeed a murderer, we will find you out. You are right, we are looking into Mrs. Kearney’s death. But I am not of the mind to squander police resources, or to be made fun of in the local paper for hauling a senior citizen into the station.” He checked his watch. “You seem like a sharp person. But, no offense, I think you are confused about this. I assure you, we will get to the bottom of anything suspicious.” He stood and started toward the door, but then he turned back to me. “Just in case … what’s that phrase they always use on television? ‘Don’t leave town’?” He winked and smiled. “Have a good day.”
I was infuriated. And angry with myself as much as him. How had I bungled things so badly? I’d been so intent on my aims that I hadn’t thought it through: so intent on my hopes for atonement and redemption and protecting Graciela that I ended up making myself look like an idiot.
Ugh. In the old days when I was upset, I would power-walk around my neighborhood. Today, the best I could manage was to hobble around my living room, pounding the carpet with my cane. Anger propelled me from one end of the room to the other. It wasn’t just that I’d made myself look like an idiot. Appearances were the least of it: I had acted idiotically. Why had I needed atonement to begin with? Because I had failed to think things through. My failure to exercise even the most basic judgment, not to mention moral discipline, extended to the entire sorry episode. Beginning with when I tampered with the medicine and up to this very moment. Perhaps beginning even earlier. Perhaps all the way to when I’d first discovered who Nathaniel was. I could have confronted him. I could have denounced him. I could have avoided him and cut off my friendship with Katherine. I could have told her why and held her to account for her complicity and then kept myself separate from them, recognizing that justice does not always happen. I could have simply lived my life. And if I couldn’t bear it, I could have insisted on moving. But instead I played some sort of psychological game, observing them, burying my darkest impulses and simultaneously choosing not to see her complicity for the sake of my friendship. Was that any different from what she had done? Maybe even worse, was my weakness—my brand of foolishness, denial, and idiocy; of stumbling from one impulse to another—any different from Stinson’s?
Or perhaps—the thought chilled me—perhaps it indicated some sort of incipient cognitive failure? Cold fog filled my chest.
I was probably ten minutes into this self-chastisement when there was a pounding on my door. It almost made me lose my balance, it was so loud. I limped over. I barely had turned the knob when Evan came charging in, his anger filling the foyer.
He glared at me. “What is wrong with you? What were you thinking?”
“Hello to you too. What are you yelling about?”
“You tried to confess?”
I backed up and sank onto a kitchen stool “How did you know?”
“Tobias knows I lived here. He stopped by.”
“He told you?” I couldn’t believe it. “He should be more discreet. Isn’t there some pledge of secrecy?”
Evan looked at me like I was nuts. “What do you think he is, a priest?” He wagged his head at me. “He told me some lady was trying to confess to the murder of a resident.” He leaned against the counter. “Really, Frannie, what in the world got into you?”
I looked away. I didn’t want to explain. I wasn’t even sure I could. Finally I swallowed and said, “I wanted to protect Graciela. I saw her being questioned in Alfred’s office, so I came back here and called Tobias.”
He sighed. “What did you expect would happen?”
“I guess I thought he’d just take my word for it. My plan was to plead guilty, so there wouldn’t be a trial. I’d make something up to tell the kids and take the punishment. I didn’t think I’d have to prove anything.” I shrugged. “If I’m being honest, I was hoping they’d take pity on me and give me probation or send me to one of those country club prisons or something.”
He glared at me like I had grown horns or an extra pair of ears. As if I was a creature the likes of which he’d never seen before. “But why? You didn’t do it.”
I gaped at him. “So now you believe me? You might have said so earlier.” I bit my lip and looked away. “But believe me or not, everything I told you is true. I honestly have no idea how Katherine got that painkiller. But if I hadn’t messed around with things, interrupting the normal work flow, a mistake with the pain meds wouldn’t have happened. So ultimately it was my fault.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes.
He sat on the stool across from me, and his voice turned gentler. “Look, I get it. You tried to do something horrible. Now you want to be punished. But please, figure out another way. If you involve the cops, a lot of people will be impacted. Including your daughter. Because you won’t be able to contain it. The connections will come out, and the press will love it—an old-lady avenger? They’ll eat it up. It will all come roaring back to the headlines, and Iris will have to go through it all over again.”
I rejected that. “If there wasn’t a trial, no one would figure it out.”
“Frannie?” He bent forward, his voice soft. “Tobias already knows who Nathaniel is. He recognized his name.” He paused. “It won’t take much to put two and two together.”
I lifted my face in horror. What had I done? Iris was finally putting it behind her, and I was dredging up all the pain again?
I leaned my elbows on my counter and covered my face with my hands. I didn’t want to cry in front of him, but I couldn’t stop. Whether it was in disgust at my stupidity, or the obvious fact that I was losing my mind, I couldn’t say.
Evan rounded the counter and put his arm around my shoulder as I sobbed. “It’s okay, Frannie.” His voice was kind. “It’ll be okay. I told Tobias we were friends. That you were super-sharp most of the time, but sometimes you got confused. That just last month you went to put sweetener in your tea and became convinced someone had substituted laundry detergent for the Splenda.”
I turned away, wiping my face on my sleeve. “Thanks a lot.”
He handed me a tissue. “What happened to the tough lady that sat in that living room and shot down my questions?”
I blew my nose in misery. “I don’t know. I think that when I found out I hadn’t done it … it was like a block of ice melted inside me. I could finally look at it head on, and how horrible and awful … I really think I am losing my mind.”
He scoffed. “You? You’re about the last one in here I would accuse of that.”
I sniffed and lifted my chin. “So what now? Do the cops have any idea what happened?”
“I think you don’t need to worry. Like I said. He isn’t going to send you to jail.”
“And what about anyone else? Graciela?”
He tilted his head. “I think they might let it go.” He tapped the counter thoughtfully. “It’s funny. Tobias is usually pretty dogged, determined to get to the bottom of things. But today he said something that struck me. He said, ‘All told, it’s probably a tender mercy anyway.’”