If my life had been the subject of a made-for-TV movie, the main character (played by a woman taller, prettier, thinner, and more than likely younger than me) would have reacted to the news that her married boyfriend had a long history of infidelity with an epiphany. She'd have stared into the middle distance for a full thirty seconds, then resolved to go and sleep with married men no more.
After all, the only surprise would be how very much she was surprised.
Alas, my life is just my life, not a cinematic compilation tidily sliced into twenty-three minute segments, with a satisfying resolution to tie it up at the end.
I realized immediately that Doug had made his accusation about "never changing" before Janelle arrived in Delphi. He must have been referring to his own wife. A woman, I now realized, who had a little excess baggage of her own.
On the other hand, Doug was, and had always been, a sadist who enjoyed inflicting pain for no better reason that it amused him.
He could have been guessing. He could have been lying. He could have been right on the money.
I didn't know.
So I girded up my curiosity and did, for all the wrong reasons, what I should have done a few days ago. I paid a condolence call.
"Thank you, Tory, for the casserole," Debbie Fischbach said, pale and subdued, but otherwise in control. "That was so thoughtful of you."
"Actually, it's from all of us at the cafe," I said. I'd browbeaten Aphrodite into whipping up something for me to take. One does not arrive on this sort of visit empty-handed.
"That's even nicer," Debbie said. Bereavement had taken the hard edge off her personality. "Won't you come in and visit for a while?"
Since that was my entire reason for driving out to her house, I didn't hesitate to follow Debbie into her spotless living room and sit in one of her perfectly coordinated rocker/recliners.
She smiled faintly, sipping from a glass of ice water, as we stumbled through the usual things one says at a time like that. I cast about the room, looking for something else to talk about, something that might lead to any of the thousand impertinent questions I wanted to ask her, when I spotted a gold circle pin on the glass-topped coffee table.
"That's a pretty pin," I said, rather surprised to see it there.
Debbie leaned forward and picked it up, turning it this way and that as if inspecting the rhinestones. "Yes, it is rather nice. Isn't it? The sheriff gave it to me with the rest of Doug's, um..." She hesitated. "...effects."
"Was it yours?" I asked, fairly sure I knew the answer, since Doug had assumed it belonged to Janelle.
"Actually, I'd never seen it before. It's a little old fashioned, rather like the kind of thing my mother wore when she was young."
"I think everyone's mother had a pin like that," I said.
"Perhaps it belonged to Doug's mother," Debbie said. "In any case, I intend to keep the pin. It will remind me of Doug's little mysteries." She smiled at me crookedly. I began to wonder if there was water in that tumbler, or something else. "You might be surprised how many mysteries our Doug had."
Here was my opening. "Actually, Doug's mysteries have been a hot topic around town lately."
"I can well imagine."
"I know this is difficult for you," I said, "and if I'm overstepping my bounds, please let me know, and I'll shut up immediately."
She laughed softly. "It will be a pleasure to talk honestly about Doug. People have been so kind, so sympathetic. But I can see that they are itching to ask about all those rumors. Maybe if I talk to you, you'll spread the word, we can all rest a little easier."
There was a bit of the old, nasty Debbie peeking through, but I didn't hold it against her. She was entitled to a cheap shot at Delphi's expense.
"The timing of Janelle's return and the coincidence of Doug's death has everyone, at least everyone around our ages, thinking about high school again, and all that happened back then," I said, still skirting the edges of what I wanted to say.
"What's really amazing, Tory," Debbie said, swirling the liquid in her glass, "is that for a good many years, the name Janelle Ross was never, ever mentioned in our house. It's not that she was a taboo subject, or that we were uncomfortable about old memories. I think we actually, and honestly, forgot about her. Until we moved back home to Delphi." She chuckled sadly.
"Well, one of the things that has people confused," I said slowly, "is why you invited Janelle to the reunion in the first place."
"It wasn't my idea." She shook her head. "As I said, Doug never seemed to remember Janelle at all until a few months ago. Maybe just being here put her in his head again. He insisted that we invite her to the All-School Reunion. And when Doug insisted on something, it got done.
"Suddenly, she was all he could talk about. Janelle this and Janelle that. How he knew a rich and famous movie actress, and he made absolutely sure that everyone understood that he meant 'knew' in the biblical sense. How he and the future starlet had shared three wild days of sex in 1969, just before her big break."
Debbie's calm exterior did not mask the pain in her eyes as she continued, "And he made sure to tell everyone, even the children, that it never would have happened if I hadn't betrayed and humiliated him."
I had known that Doug was less than admirable, but this shocked me anyway. I instantly forgave Stu and Debbie for anything they might have done together.
"That's awful," I said softly. "There was no reason for your children to have to know that stuff."
"Doug saw it differently. He didn't care that Stuart McKee had at least a small excuse for doing what he did. Doug hated Stu."
"Stu had a reason to cheat on Janelle?" I asked, not sure there was such a thing.
"Well, at the time everyone thought so," Debbie said. "There was a rumor that Janelle was sleeping with someone else, though no one seemed to know exactly who the lucky fellow was. For a while, I actually suspected Mr. Kincaid. Janelle used to spend a lot of time at his house. But since Hugh is still here, still teaching and highly respected, I expect I was wrong about that."
She looked into her empty glass, excused herself, and walked over to a cupboard, from which she pulled a half-gallon vodka bottle, and poured a refill. No ice this time. "At any rate, if Doug and Janelle arranged the river scene to get revenge on both of us"—she toasted me with her glass—"it worked."
"Well, whatever happened between Doug and Janelle after they took off together, I'm certain they weren't having sex at the river that night," I said, thinking back to the scene in the girl's bathroom on coronation day in 1969. "Janelle got her period just before the assembly where they announced the homecoming candidates. I gave her a nickel for the Kotex machine. Remember?"
"There's more than one way to have sex, Tory," Debbie cackled softly. "They didn't call her the 'head cheerleader' for nothing, you know."
She took a large gulp of vodka and continued. "Doug had never been an ideal husband or father, but once he entered this Janelle phase, he was even worse. He became more abusive, verbally and physically. He ranted about Janelle and continually reminded me about my indiscretion. He accused me of carrying on an affair with Stu now. That's why I arranged for Janelle to room at Stu's house. I thought it might mollify Doug. At least about Stu and me.
"But of course it didn't. He became obsessed with winning the homecoming football game, as a way of repeating the past. Of showing Janelle, and Stu, and everyone else, that he was still the great Doug Fischbach. And he put incredible pressure on Cameron. No matter how hard Cameron tried, he never lived up to his father's impossible standards. Doug called him terrible names, said he'd never grow up to be a 'real man.' I think seeing his father hit me at the river on Friday snapped something inside him. Something that had been brewing a long time."
She sat for a moment, staring into her glass.
"Cameron was already here when I got home last Friday night," Debbie said. "I will never forget the wrenching sound of that child sobbing. We sat up all night, comforting each other, jumping at every noise, waiting for Doug to show up, drunk and even more furious. We slept on the couch.
"And of course Doug didn't come home. It wasn't the first time he'd stayed out all night, and, frankly, I was relieved to put off the confrontation. It wasn't until the next morning that we began to be worried."
She shrugged and continued to drink in silence. By Saturday, it was already much too late for worry.
I didn't ask her if, as Doug suspected, she and Stu really were having an affair.
I didn't ask her if she saw the jersey on the ground before she left the river on Friday night. Whether or not it was the truth, I knew what her answer would be.
I realized, after listening for over an hour, that the most important person in Debbie's life was not her husband, or any alleged boyfriend, but her oldest son.
For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder if either mother or son had conspired to relieve the other of the incredible burden of Doug Fischbach's continued existence.