Silent Keys: Chapter Eight

Don Wilkins was the kind of man who needed to control everything, even the death of his wife, Livi. It didn't quite work out the way he had so carefully planned.

Murmured voices thrummed into his consciousness. He remembered falling on the bathroom floor, but his back now sunk into a firm mattress, the upper half of which elevated his shoulders and head. Dim light illuminated a room full of unfamiliar shapes and shadows. A large window blind to his right allowed slits of bright sunlight to glare across his face.

Two little spigots poked into his nostrils, releasing a cool stream of oxygen. A needle taped to the inside of his arm stung with the slightest shift of his wrist.

When he closed his eyes, all blurred to black.

"Keep … alive … book him …."

Footsteps shuffled back and forth, matching a silhouette on the backlit curtain. Don could hear a man humming something as he stood a few feet away.

A woman's voice. "We finally tracked down his ID and next of kin. His daughter is on her way over. Seems she drove all the way down from Boise after getting a letter from this guy."

A man's grunt, "She's coming here? Now?"

"Well, where would you go if you learned your father was going to kill your mother? Do you want a chair?"

"No ma'am."

"Water?"

"No … um … yes, ma'am. Thanks."

"Well, I called the DA. He says to let her visit her dad, but no one else is allowed."

"Yeah, got it. That's why I'm here. In fact, I wasn't supposed to allow anyone near him but you nurses."

"Yeah, I know. The DA gave us explicit instructions to keep this dude alive for trial. He's lucky we're not having a flu epidemic. This bed's a prime property. And this jackass is taking up space he doesn't deserve."

"Yes, ma'am. As soon as he's well enough to stand trial, he's going straight to jail."

Footsteps thumped away from the room. Her voice melded with others in a buzz of indistinguishable syllables that Don's brain couldn't copy. It was like trying to hear voices transmitted through the static of a long distance contact on the 80-meter band. He could tell it was English, but the words just didn't make sense.

Like a light switch, closing his eyes clicked off anything outside his brain. Silence. Strange visions whirled in his head. Carol's face like a distorted kaleidoscope. Her image wavered in and out of his dreams.

He opened his eyes again when he felt motion next to his bed. A young woman dressed in scrubs fiddled with his IV bag. He thought of Rick jerry-rigging that metal coat hanger and aluminum foil into an antenna on the IV stand of his bed in the VA hospital. He could call his buddies that lived near that hospital. Damned thing worked pretty good.

The nurse sneered at him as if he were some pariah, and slipped from the room without a word. So much for the angels of mercy.

On her way out of the room, the nurse pushed the curtain back so Don could see through a glass partition and watch the nurses at their station. "I wish he'd do us a favor and die," he heard her say to the police officer standing outside the door.

"Can't. We gotta try him for murder."

"Really?" The nurse said with disgust. "Save the taxpayers the bill and let the old man die. God'll mete out the punishment he's got coming."

"I understand, ma'am. But…."

She walked behind the counter of the nurses' station, glancing malevolently toward Don. "… He needs to be brought to justice." The cop's voice lost its resolve as the nurse disappeared into another room. He released a long sigh of resignation then the odd murmur of the ICU followed. Machines wheezed and hummed while the nurse moved quickly in her administrations. The cop swayed slightly, transferring his weight from one foot to another.

Livi. Murder. I didn't murder her. We made a pact. He tried to speak to the cop, but his throat burned. He couldn't swallow. His stomach ached with a mild nausea. 

"We made a pact," he whispered this time, hoping the cop would hear him. He stood only a few feet away, but he paid no attention to the old man taking up so much valuable space.

Don's voice rasped against the back of his mouth. A bit of bile bubbled there, tasting sour, coating his tongue. Spitting only made it dribble down his chin. All strength to clear his windpipe had abandoned him. Frustration flared up, the only thing that seemed to have any power within him anymore. His hands automatically curled into fists, but he couldn't lift them off the bed. His wrists were tied to the rails.

Restraints? He tried to laugh at the absurdity. Did they really think he would escape? His leaden body couldn't move. He hadn't enough energy anymore. Just turning his head took all he had.

Staring at the ceiling, he tried to make sense of his situation. Once more, he cried out his defense, but his voice failed him. Everything was failing him. Worst of all, his plan had failed him.

"We had a pact!"

Tears dampened his cheeks. Well, at least my eyes still work. At that, he released the pain that had been stifled for decades. His chest heaved with sobs, shaking his frail body. Finally, he just let it all go. It felt good actually. It no longer mattered what was happening. Everything had gotten so far out of his control. He no longer cared. It surprised him how blissful it felt just to let it all go.

So this is what death feels like. Releasing everything that ever held you together. Nothing mattered anymore. Why did the DA need to hold on to him? This was his trial, all the memories flashing before his eyes, the hams lambasting him on the air. He wished that his mind would simply go blank, but there must have been more to endure.

He thought of Carol again. She was on her way over, came all the way down. Wonder if she brought that dirty old hippie with her?

Old dude. Almost my age. She got that letter after all. That was a lucky break for him. It was the only address he found in Livi's correspondence drawer: a jumble of cards and notes, unused postcards, a box of nice stationery with flowers on it. Livi liked that sort of silliness.

Everything was all thrown in there willy-nilly, no system at all, just a mess. Not like his drawer where his QSL cards were neatly tucked in one corner, stamps laid out in the center upon a pad of crisp, white writing paper, and a box of security lined envelopes for paying bills. Those he had carefully filed on his desk. A couple of nice fountain pens nested in a penholder he had made in high school shop class. He had used it all his adult life, never wasting any time hunting for his pens.

As he rifled through Livi's stationery, he found a list of addresses. Carol's wasn't among them.  Giving up hope, he tossed the list back in the drawer. Then he saw it. An envelope with a swath of colorful stripes arching across the corner. Carol had drawn a perfect rainbow with colored pencils. She had gotten the colors correctly placed in the rainbow, too. Red orange yellow green blue indigo violet. ROYGBIV! Good for her. He knew she was a bright girl.

The fanciful envelope topped a stash of letters bound by a pink ribbon. It looked like a pretty birthday present with a neat bow securing the letters in a carefully squared bundle. At least Livi managed to make that all neat and tidy.

There were over a dozen letters. Livi and Carol had been corresponding and Livi never breathed a word about it. Reading the letters, Don learned that they had started writing to each other about five years ago. Lots of long missives catching up on the previous decade and how things were going at present. The present ended when Livi lost track of her lucidity. The final letter from Carol mentioned how the sentences were disjointed and wandered around the subject matter. She actually asked Livi if something was wrong. Did Livi ever tell her the truth about what was happening to her?

That's where the letters stopped. If Livi had responded to Carol's questions, Carol would've sent another letter. But there was no more after that. Don realized that Carol could've contacted him about it, but chose not to. That stung more than he expected. She chose not to investigate her mother's health because of him.

Livi had ventured to open the lines of communication then abruptly cut them off. All had been forgiven between them, though, and that was important.

After that horrible day when Carol had climbed into that hippie van, Livi sunk into despair. First her son, now her daughter was irretrievably lost to her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

His yard was perfect. Two exactly square lawns on either side of a brick walkway he had laid out himself. His knees still ached whenever the barometer warned of rain. Along the front of the house, two patches of flowers formed a robust and cheerful hedge against the tan paint on the stucco walls. Royal blue delphiniums in back, brilliant red geraniums in front of them, and a gleaming stripe of Sweet William added its fragrance to the mix. The patriotic color scheme continued in two wine barrels on either side of the doorstep.

Wine barrels! Don shook his head every time he looked at them. He preferred something more classic, like urns with graceful lines, but Livi insisted on the wine barrels.

"The design needs some rustic texture, Donny," she said. "Without a little variety, the design is too austere."

"Austere? Your barrels make it look more like shabby chic," he sneered and averted his eyes from that glare of hers. He would let her have that much say in his overall plan if it would keep peace in the house. The spaces between him and Livi remained raw since Eddie's suicide. When Carol up and abandoned them, it was all they could do to be civil to one another.

What a brawl that was!

Just as they were doing today, he and Livi puttered around the yard. She had been pruning that delinquent rose she planted at the corner of the house. He had to admit freshly cut roses on the dinner table did add a bit of elegance to their simple meals. As he stood alongside the gardens, guiding the hose bib around each plant to ensure it got a good soaking. He had already mowed the lawns, but after he finished watering, he would pull up that weed that had grown overnight.

Some of those things sprouted high in just a few hours it seemed to him. The morning dew would bejewel a pristine and perfectly trimmed lawn that would rebel against his efforts with new weeds by evening. And Livi complained loud and clear when he used weed killers. As if the family squabbles weren't bad enough, his lawn had to goad him into fits.

Livi still chided him about his temper tantrums with his fists pumping up and down. As he aged, they came more often. He didn't consider them tantrums, though. He was simply emphasizing his frustration with her constant interference with what he wanted to do. He knew how to run things. Why did she have to argue or suggest alternatives? Wine barrels!

It was more than he could withstand at times. His fingers clinched more tightly around the hose as he thought about it. And this hose was an issue as well. Again today, he saw how Livi had wound it on the ground, stacking it in a tangled of figure eights. As soon as he finished watering today, he would show her again for the umpteenth time how to wind it in orderly loops. He couldn't understand why it was so difficult for her to get it right. Was she lazy or passive aggressive?

That was such a beautiful day, though, he and Livi working in tandem to make their home presentable. He pushed thoughts of the hose out of his mind. It was just too perfect a day to waste on such matters. He would deal with it all soon enough.

 Suddenly, a grubby VW bus chugged to a stop at the curb. Don looked up and down the street to check if any of their neighbors were outside. He could feel the heat of embarrassment redden his face.

At the moment, the bus remained a sallow green, but it was clear a psychedelic pattern was emerging in faint outlines drawn on the chassis. It was a vehicle that shouldn't even drive down their quiet, middle-class neighborhood, but did it have to stop in front of his house?

To make it worse, his own daughter, his little girl, the pride and joy of his life as well as her Uncle Rick and the radio club, jumped out of the passenger seat. Her get-up included bell-bottom jeans hemmed with some sort of embroidered tape, a gauzy blouse the color of baby shit, and a collection of long beaded necklaces bouncing off her chest. Those beads accentuated her bare nipples poking against the fabric. She may as well have been wearing a wet tee shirt at a strip joint. It suggested to him that his daughter and that shaggy hominid had just finished a hedonistic roll on the mattress that took up most of the back of the van.

When she saw his disgusted expression, her smile disappeared and she approached him with caution. "Hi daddy," she attempted to lift the corners of her mouth again but failed. At his silence, she stopped a few yards away, making it difficult to hold a private conversation. Their words would float upon the breeze and waft throughout the entire neighborhood.

The hominid glided up to her side, his sandals slapping his heels with each step. His bell-bottoms were the color of soot with a thick matt of street grime embedded in the ragged hems. Don didn't want to know how many fleas had taken up residence in his beard. Couldn't the man at least trim it into some more presentable shape? Instead, it hung down his chest, displaying more grey than the mousy brown that suggested the original color of his lost hair.

"Are you my son's dealer," Don snarled at the man.

Both of their heads snapped back in surprise at his greeting.

"Daddy, we came by to tell you some wonderful news."

By this time, Livi had strolled up to the group as if nothing was wrong at all. "Hello, Carol. Steve." Livi wrapped both arms around her daughter and the two held on to each other for an uncomfortable amount of time. Don glared at Steve who focused his eyes on the flowerbed banked against the house.

"Nice flowers, man. You got a green thumb."

Don grunted. Steve coughed nervously and held out his hand for Livi to shake, as she indeed did to Don's horror. It made his skin crawl to think of where that hand had been before touching both of his women.

Once out of the embrace, Livi looked at Don as if she knew already what this little confab was all about.

"Livi, did you know about these two being together? You're her mother!"

"Yes, dear, I am indeed her mother. She's also twenty-one years old and fully responsible for her actions."

"Responsible! This is what she brings home with all her responsibility?"

Steve struggled to keep his anger under control. "Hey, be cool, man. I really get off on your daughter and we're joining a commune up in Idaho." Then a sly look crossed Steve's face as if his next words would sting in a particularly satisfying way. "We just came by to grab her stuff."

"What?" Both Don and Livi gasped in unison. Apparently, Livi was not quite as aware of the situation as she thought. She wanted to protest but her parenting philosophies forbade it. Livi had always been much too lenient with the children.

"Grab her stuff? She's not grabbing anything. Especially not to go off to Idaho with a species like you. Get the hell off my lawn, you … you … what the hell are you anyway? What planet? Get you hand off my daughter's shoulder."

Carol rushed forward to stem her father's advance upon her boyfriend. Her hands on his chest only incensed him more as he flung her to the grass and seized Steve by the shirt with both hands.

"Hey, man, mellow out. This is crazy!" Steve plunged his arms between Don's and pushed him backwards. Don almost tripped over the hose, but recovered his balance as well as his dignity. Livi rushed to him and laced her arm around his to offer support.

Finally, Livi regained enough composure to speak. "Carol. How could you go off with this man? How long have you even known him? And what's this commune?" Livi's voice grew more panicked with each question.

Before Carol could explain, Don drowned her out with more rage, using the same argument he used on Eddie. "We invested too much money in your education for you to waste it on this." He pointed his finger within inches of Steve's nose. Steve slapped it away. Carol had to hold him back from launching his fist at her father's face.

"I'm not wasting your precious money on anything, Dad. I've wanted to do this all during college. Why do you think I took all those aggie courses? I don't want to be an engineer, Dad. I told you that when we discussed my major back in high school. Dad, I hate technology. I even hate radio. I never want to see another radio again. I even gave that two-meter you gave me to Uncle Rick and he seemed okay about it. Why can't you…."

She recoiled at her father's reaction, his scarlet face pinching into a contorted monster she had never seen before. It was like watching Dr. Jekyll morphing into Mr. Hyde. Taking a ragged, fearful breath, she squared her shoulders.

"Dad, I want to be a farmer."

Don's eyes widened in disbelief. He was struck dumb by her confession. Livi's reaction surprised him, too. All she did was sigh as if Carol's confession was a long time coming. The big secret between mother and daughter left him completely out of the loop. And Rick! Why didn't he drop even a small hint about all this?

What more could any of them say? They stood there for an uncomfortable amount of time. Then Carol dashed into the house. Steve and Livi followed. Don remained dumbstruck until the trio finally emerged and packed armloads of plastic bags into the van. Livi kissed and hugged her daughter then the two women stood with their foreheads together, whispering. Steve retreated to the driver's side and the car door slammed shut.

As the van sputtered away, Livi stood, slump-shouldered, on the curb.

Don walked over to the lone weed that had dared to rear its ugly, disreputable head, snatched it between stiff, impassioned fingers, and crushed it between his palms. Examining the crumpled mass in his palm was very satisfying.

When Livi started walking toward the house, Don dragged the hose toward the spigot. "Livi, I need to show you again how to wind this hose."

She stopped abruptly, glaring at him with her fists clenched. "Don't ever bother me about that god-damned hose ever again!

"