Silent Killer Page 0,11
reared in a home where his mother had been subservient to his father, and although he had tended to be more modern in his thinking, on occasion Cathy had seen glimpses of J.B. in Mark. For the most part, he had inherited his mother’s gentle, sweet nature, but Cathy had learned early on in their marriage that when they did things Mark’s way, it made life easier for all of them.
As soon as Cathy and Seth left the house, she asked, “What was that about your going over a song for tonight’s services?”
“Don’t you remember, Mom? Once a month, on Sunday night, the teenage guys take turns acting as the song leader.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. If I’d known you were going to be doing that this evening, I’d have made plans to be there.”
He shrugged as they left the porch. “It’s no big deal. Besides, we’ll do it again next month.”
“I’ll be there then.”
“Yeah, sure.”
They walked side by side, heading west toward the center of town, which was only four blocks away. A couple of times, neighbors sitting on their front porches or out in their front yards gawked as they passed, as if they were shocked to see the crazy widow walking the streets with her son. A couple of neighbors threw up a hand, waved and spoke. Seth returned their greetings.
One block passed and then another, neither she nor her son speaking to each other again. Cathy hated the awkward silence. It was as if she and her own child were strangers. Just make conversation, she told herself. Nothing heavy.
“School’s out in a couple of weeks, huh?”
“Ten days,” he said. “Exams are next Thursday and Friday.”
“I can hardly believe that my baby boy will be a junior in high school this fall. It seems like only a few years ago that you were in kindergarten.”
“Yeah, that’s what Nana says all the time.”
“Your nana is a wonderful lady,” Cathy told him, completely sincere. She loved Mona, who had in many ways been more of a mother to her in the past sixteen years than her own mother had ever been. “I’m grateful that she’s been here for you while I’ve been gone.”
Seth didn’t respond. He just kept walking at a slow, steady pace, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead.
They crossed the intersection at Mulberry and Fifth without encountering even one vehicle. Dunmore was quiet and peaceful on Sunday midafternoons. After church, people either went home or out to eat. By now everyone had reached their destination.
“What are your plans for the summer?” she asked. “Are you doing anything special? Playing ball or—”
Seth stopped abruptly. “Mom, I play baseball and football. Have you forgotten that, too?” He stared at her, studying her with his intense, narrowed gaze.
“No, of course I didn’t forget. I just…The question came out before I thought. I’ve been trying so hard to think of something to say, to come up with casual conversation.” She looked him square in the eye. “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry. I’m not sick anymore. I’m completely well.”
His gaze hardened. His brow wrinkled.
She could tell that he desperately wanted to believe her. But Seth had been there that day, when she had run down the hall, alternately laughing and crying hysterically before locking herself in her bedroom and refusing to come out. He had stood outside the door, beating on it, begging her to open up and let him come in. He had listened to the sounds of her emotional meltdown, the laughing and crying that she could not control. She had known she was losing it, but she had been unable to stop.
She vaguely remembered that sometime later, her mother had knocked on the door, called her name and demanded she stop all the nonsense and come out immediately.
“Catherine, you’re frightening your son.” When she hadn’t responded, her mother had continued calling her name over and over. “Cathy? Cathy, can you hear me? Cathy!”
They would never forget what she had said to her mother that day before she fell across the bed in a fit of uncontrollable, manic laughter.
“Cathy’s not here. Cathy’s dead.”
That had been a year ago. A year of therapy. A year of healing. A year of learning to accept herself as she was, to acknowledge her true feelings and to come into her own as a grown woman. And most importantly, to forgive herself for not being perfect. Her words that day had been prophetic. The old Cathy was dead.
She reached out and grasped Seth’s arm. “I’ll be