For Whom the Minivan Rolls: An Aaron Tucker Mystery - By Jeffrey Cohen Page 0,78
“Of course I knew. But by then, well, Maddie and I weren’t really talking all that much.”
Leah looked up from “Under The Sea” long enough to look amazed. “You didn’t talk to your own daughter?” She looked at Abby, who hugged her and said, “watch the movie.”
Mrs. Rossi put a hand to her mouth, and lowered her voice again. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t upset her.”
“Not at all,” I told her. “Leah likes to be dramatic. But I am curious. What came between you and Madlyn, if I may ask:?”
Charlotte didn’t want to answer, but she knew I was trying to do right by her daughter, and she knew her response would help. She bit her lower lip for a moment, and kept her voice to a barely audible whisper.
“It wasn’t easy,” she said. “But I’m a good Catholic.”
Yeah, and I was a Jewish agnostic, but what did that have to do with anything? “So. . . did Madlyn want to convert?” I asked.
“No,” Charlotte said. “She still considered herself a Catholic. But, you know, the Church frowns on how she. . . ended her pregnancy.”
Huh? “Madlyn had an abortion?” I said stupidly.
Leah looked up at Abby again. “Mommy, what’s an abortion?”
Abby smiled at her and said, “watch the fish.”
“He’s a crab.”
I leaned forward, and probably blushed at my own indiscretion. “But I thought Madlyn miscarried the first baby.”
“First? Only baby. And that was just what they told people—she miscarried. She. . . actually terminated the pregnancy. And after that, we didn’t talk very much. I would hear things from her sister, and then after the annulment, we really didn’t hear from Maddie very often at all. A card at Christmas, my birthday, that sort of thing. She never called, and when she moved out, she didn’t let us know where she was living. I found out about. . . this from the newspapers.” Her eyes misted.
“Was there anyone who did hear from her regularly?” I asked, and Charlotte nodded, although she seemed to find it hard to speak.
“She kept in touch with Marie Aiello,” she managed, and opened the 1974 high school yearbook on the coffee table to a picture of Marie, a very attractive girl with dark hair and eyes. “I think Ree-Ree heard from her quite often.” Her voice was getting shaky, and she was staring bravely at Leah. Charlotte was trying very hard not to break down in front of my daughter. I thought that was too much to ask of her.
“Well, thank you for letting us come on such a hard day for you,” I said, and stood up. Abby looked a little surprised, but patted Ethan on the leg to let him know it was time to go. He stood and walked to the door without taking his eyes off the Gameboy, a skill at which I have often marveled.
“It’s all right,” said Mrs. Rossi. “I appreciate being around the young people. And I appreciate what you’re trying to do. If I can help in any way, please let me know.”
I stood and walked to the door, and Abby picked Leah up off her lap and informed her we were leaving. Leah stared at the TV, and moaned, “but we were just getting to the good part.”
Chapter 20
Mrs. Rossi gave me Marie Aiello’s address in Westfield, but when we stopped by the house, nobody was home. I left a business card wedged in the door, the one with “Aaron Tucker, Freelance Writer/ Screenwriter” and my phone numbers, fax machine number, email address, home address and, if I remember correctly, hat size. On the only open space, the back, I wrote, “Please call re: Madlyn Rossi.”
Then we took the kids to see some god-awful movie. If some non-Asperger’s 11-year-olds saw a poster for this dog, they’d have stayed three blocks away—it was that uncool. But Ethan and Leah, the whole way home, re-enacted the film’s supposedly hilarious highlights.
I had just been paid for a Parenting Magazine piece the day before, and was feeling flush, so, on the spur of the moment, headed to dinner at the Italian restaurant where we knew Ethan would be able to find pasta prepared to his exacting standards. By the time we got home, it was late, and Leah had fallen asleep in the car. Ethan attached the light to his Gameboy and remained relatively quiet, occasionally humming what he considered to be mood music appropriate to the game he was playing.