Nine (revised) - Serena's Secret is Safe

Chapter Nine


It is six o-clock by the time she arrives home and Doug and Josh are sitting in front of the television set eating pizza. The mess scattered across the coffee table is massive.

“Hey,” Doug says, mouth over pizza, eyes still.

“Hi Mom. How is Nana?”

Nana, the white lie. “Oh, she’s...she’s doing great. How’s that homework coming along?”

“I only had two sheets. They were wicked easy. Want a piece?” he asks, lifting a doughy piece from the box.

She shakes her head, “That’s okay…you guys eat it. I just finished a chicken sandwich on the ride home.”

Doug studies her for a moment then opens his mouth to speak before reconsidering. A commercial punctuates his thoughts, one featuring a car salesman hovering around a shiny black Ford pick-up truck. Running his fingers along the hood’s edge, he promotes an interest-free finance plan. “Yeah, sure you will,” Doug says, skeptical.

“You wish you had that truck, Dad?”

“Nope,” Doug says, his hand cupped over his son’s knee. “There are more important things than new things, you know.”

Josh touches his chin, ponders his father’s wisdom. “Yeah,” he says back, “except when you really need something….like this year my bike will probably be too old for me.”

Doug makes a dramatic expression with his eyes and, somehow, the simple gesture prompts a tickling match. Serena stares through them, wonders how Doug would have survived, how she would have!—and walks away. “If someone cracks a head on the furniture, I’m not responsible,” she warns.

Doug pops up. “Alright, you got me,” he says, breathless. “I gotta’ go get something for Mom.” He struggles to stand and Josh takes one last cheap shot.

“Joshua,” Serena says sternly, “Please help clean up this mess, and head upstairs for a shower.”

He hand-irons a rumpled shirt and begins to basketball-shoot crumpled napkins into the pizza box.

Serena and Doug head for her office. Doug closes the door. Still pink-faced from wrestling; he whispers, “I can’t believe you went to see him, Serena. What did he say?”

“He couldn’t say much…he’s struggling for his life, Doug.” She makes eye contact with the back wall as the words slip out. A large picture of Josh’s ex-soccer team, posed in a pyramid, finds her gaze. Life before…

“Exactly. He’s struggling…” Doug says, bringing her back, “what comes around goes around, Serena. Let nature take its course.” With those words, he draws a stick of Blistex from his pocket and coats his lips, then the air, with the smell of lime.

There is something specious about her husband’s composure; something she can’t put her finger on, something that rattles her to no end.

“You’re defending him?” Her nose crinkles as she holds back a temper of emotion. “Let nature take its course? Is that what you were thinking when you left him by himself at the mountain?”

Doug scrunches his eyes shut, clenches a fist. “Here we go again, the blame. Are we going to live the rest of our lives obsessing over that incident, Serena? Our kid is back! He’s fine! We won! We’ve beat the odds!”

Serena has pushed the wrong button. Doug is unable to maintain his cool—the necessary whisper—while Josh stands frozen outside of the glass doors.

“Why are you arguing about me? Everything o.k. Mom?”

“I’m fine, honey,” she says, disgusted with Doug and, even more, with herself. “Just a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

An irritated Doug exits the conversation and hustles up the stairs while Josh follows, a series of questions in tow—Do you still like Mom? Are you mad at me?

Serena, feeling incapable of saying the right thing when so much is wrong, disengages from her family and heads for the kitchen. A generous stack of dirty dishes awaits her. Leaning against the counter; she rests her forehead in her hands and thinks about Doug’s message. What comes around goes around. It’s that simple. She stands upright and moves closer to the sink, turning the water on. But what if she’s unable to wait for ‘what comes around’ to circle back to him?

To the madness of her thoughts, she cringes, hot water cascading over her hands. The heat burns but feels good and she leaves them there for awhile before tackling the dishes. From the window above her sink, she can see Rosalind’s silver Mercedes gliding into the driveway across the street.

She watches her park, carry her briefcase to the front door, and key herself into the doorway; Harry, her peppery terrier wiggling wildly at the foyer. Then the door closes and her neighbor is gone.

Rosalind, a financial executive, would be better at handling Serena’s situation, she thinks. A logical thinker, she’d come up with a solution that would end simply, in black or white. In her mind, Serena begins to order the events of her problem as would Rosalind: Josh was abducted. Josh was rescued. His kidnapper ended up in the hospital. He will pay for his crime when he leaves. But what if?—her mind strays, rebelling from the careful computation. Serena, stuck in shades of grey, cannot seem to think rationally.

Using a butter knife, she begins to scrape away at the surface of a frying pan that has been soaking shamefully for two days. Watered down rice has left a starchy residue on the pan, the tackiness of which requires more than a knife’s edge. She drops the ineffective tool into a pool of suds and grabs a better one, the rough side of a sponge.

Scrubbing vigorously, she manages to smooth the pan down within minutes. There is something gratifying about conquering a soaking pan after two days and, feeling justified, she shuts down the water, despite a small stack of dirties that remain at the sink’s bottom like unwanted puppies. Paranoid that someone may be watching, her eyes dart about the kitchen,
inadvertently noticing her vibrating cell phone at the kitchen table. Drying her hands thoroughly, she takes a brisk walk toward it. The caller i.d. indicates that Detective Hearns is calling.

What now?—she wonders, heading for the basement to talk privately.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Davis. And how are you, this evening?”

“I’m, I’m fine.” She is not fine. Her heart pounds recklessly.

“I have some news regarding Steven Roth that I thought you may be interested in knowing.”

Serena manages a grunt. “M-hmm?”

“The kidnapper has suffered a stroke today. Apparently, his heart rate shot up and the lack of oxygen led to cerebral damage. His speech has been impaired, along with function and movement to the right side of his body.

Serena presses a palm against her stomach and sits on the floor.

“The hospital is running an investigation as to the actual cause of this stroke. He had many complications…so there are a number of things that could have went wrong. But his doctor seems to believe that something unusual may have caused the severe rise in his blood pressure.”

“Oh, oh my gosh,” she says I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I can tell you this much, Serena. This is not a man who will be grabbing kids any time soon.”

“How—how did you find all of this out?” she asks weakly.

“It wasn’t easy…I’ll tell you that much, especially in this day and age. The hospital is subject to a privacy law called HIPPA, making it tough to eek out any medical information from the hospital…”

Serena thinks about her phone-call to the intensive care ward. The ‘Aunt Cecilia’ line had worked like a charm. Had the receptionist been misinformed of the privacy law? Or simply too tired to care?

“So…how did you get the information?”

“Well, let’s just say that I have my connections, Mrs. Davis. When you’ve been working in the New England area as long as I have, you’re bound to know someone, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, of course,” Serena says back, standing by now, circling the air hockey table. “And…as far as his arrest goes?”

“By law, he needs to be treated for his health and re-habilitate from the stroke. But, I can assure you, Serena…his medical condition will not have any bearing on the crime committed.”

Tears streak her cheeks. “I see,” she says, hiding her horror with a serious tone.

“Looks like God had his own plan to punish this guy,” the detective says, coughing. Serena can hear her blowing smoke.

The nursing disguise, her own smaller punishment, floats through her mind. Roth’s stroke, following her visit, was completely unprecedented. And now that his speech is impaired, her secret is safe. His medical condition has become the perfect remedy for a lie that was—justified?

“You still there?”

“Wh-what? Oh yes, I’m here, Detective Hearns…just a bit shocked by the news.”

“Well, here’s another shocker for you. Apparently a woman by the name of Cecilia Roth called the intensive care ward inquiring about her nephew’s status, only a few hours prior to the incident...”

Serena gasps, sliding the phone away from her mouth.

“Despite his stroke, when asked whether or not Roth has an aunt by the name of Cecilia, he was able to indicate ‘no’ with a head nod.”

“…and?”

“And this leads the medical staff to believe that someone entered his room, Mrs. Davis. Uninvited.”

Serena draws in a deep breath and closes her eyes. She knows that guest. Yet, somehow, she feels as though she does not know her at all.