Silent Keys: Chapter Eleven
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.
Through the clouds of his brain, Don heard hard-heeled boots walking toward his room. A breath of breeze wafted over his bed as the curtain parted. It couldn’t be the nurse. She had come in just a few minutes ago. Don had watched through his bleary eyes as she took the needle out of his wrist and disassembled the IV. When she took the oxygen hose from his face, the little spigots in his nose scratched the flesh of his nostrils. Then she peeled the heart monitor patches from his body, ripping the ones from his hairy breast with a more emphatic yank. Was that a smile on her face when she did that? She was having too much fun at his expense.
"Dad?" Carol whispered, a touch of apprehension in her voice.
He couldn't respond. His body lay inert on the mattress, the weight of it becoming so light, it felt as though he was lifting off the bed.
"Dad?" A bit louder and a little more panic registered in her voice.
When he pressed his lips together, they stuck as if glued by the gummy saliva in his mouth. With what seemed like a great effort, he pulled his lips apart, but could only blow out a raspy, senseless reply.
Silence. Intolerable, unbearable silence. Was she still there? Was this a dream? How close was Death waiting for him? He felt it standing nearby and impatient, yet still refusing to grab his hand and pull him through the veil.
Livi!
"Dad, it's Carol. I love you!"
Ah, there it was. He could feel the tears in his eyes. He opened them and saw her face obscured through the moisture. She was crying too.
Carol! Why the hell couldn't he say it? His body was totally useless to him.
Then he felt her finger tapping on his palm. Morse! Beloved ever useful Morse Code. Able to reach anywhere, including the foggy brain of a dying man. God bless you girl. You remember!
I l o v e
dit-dit dit-dah-dit-dit-dit dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dit-dah dit
y o u
dah-dit-dah-dah dah-dah-dah dit-dit-dah
It was like a rush of adrenaline into his heart, even a small drop or two pulsing through his hand as it lay in hers. It felt so warm against his chilled, gnarled joints. He managed to turn his hand so he could squeeze her fingers within his. Such a simple gesture, but all his emotions flowed through his hand to hers. There wasn't much energy left now. He was going quickly. But what a blessing! What a gift was this moment of atonement for him.
He positioned his hand over her palm and, looking her directly in those lovely Livi eyes, he tapped his final message:
S K
dit-dit-dit dah-dit-dah
"No Dad, you're not a Silent Key yet!" He could tell she was trying very hard to believe he had not breathed his last. But it was the end of his transmission.
"DAD?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
There was an envelope taped to the front door when Carol arrived at her parents' house. She had no idea how huge the task would be to close and sell the house now that the District Attorney had relinquished control over it. At least, the crime scene ribbons had been removed, much to her relief. She didn't feel quite so much like a burglar.
Peeling the envelope from the door, she saw it was from Uncle Rick.
My goodness, I didn't know he was still alive, that old rascal. What a pleasant surprise.
Inside the envelope was a photograph showing her mother and father sitting with some of their radio friends at the local BBQ place. Carol knew it well. It had been her father's favorite eatery for decades. It was one of the places she missed after moving to Idaho.
In the accompanying note, she read that Uncle Rick had come by after reading about his old friends in the newspapers. When he contacted other hams in the club to get more information, one of them gave him this photo of Don and Livi having lunch with the hams. It was supposed to be the last lunch they would attend before moving to Idaho. On the back of the photo, Uncle Rick wrote his phone and email and asked her to get in touch with him.
I will do that, Uncle Rick. I'd love to see you again. I can't believe I lost touch with you, of all people. She kissed the photo and stuck it in her shirt pocket. She couldn't wait to hear what he had learned about her parents' circumstances. Did he even know about this pact of theirs? He surely would've stopped it if he did.
Using the key her father had sent with his letter, Carol opened the front door and gazed upon the forensic scene left by the police. Gratefully, there was no fingerprint dust on the doorjambs or signs of investigators rifling through her parents' closets or drawers. Apparently, their search for evidence confined itself to her letter and the transcript from Dispatch. Perhaps they had even deigned to leave her father's financial records undisturbed. That was the only thing she really needed at the present time. Beyond retrieving the paperwork, she simply wanted to wander through the house, just to say good-bye to her childhood home.
Her footsteps echoed through the rooms as she checked each one. To her surprise, her bedroom remained a museum to her adolescence. Her bed, the coverlet on top of it, even the ancient bureau that had been passed down through four generations, all stood dusted and polished, as if she would return home from school any minute and do her homework on the desk.
Noting the furniture and knick-knacks unchanged since she left, their clothes and personal items all neatly and precisely in place, she didn't know how she and Steve would proceed in clearing away forty some odd years of family life. It was as if she had just stepped out to do an errand for a few minutes. She shuttered with the creepy ordered regime of it all. Livi had always been a meticulous housekeeper, but this had her father's hand in it somehow. Perhaps he had instructed the housekeepers to keep everything perfectly arranged.
She still couldn't believe it. The mystery of Death - one moment you're here, the next moment you're gone - continued to vex her. When she stood next to her father's hospital bed, feeling the life leave his hand, she couldn't wrap her mind around how such an animate object as someone's body could suddenly, by the exhalation of a breath, disgorge itself of all the thoughts, words, and actions of that person. His entire life slipping into the ether. For a moment, though, she thought she saw a tiny ball of light leave his body and bob around the hospital room. Hovering near her face for a flash, it suddenly popped through the wall and was gone.
When she saw her mother's body lying on that gurney at the mortuary, she sobbed at the lost dreams her mother had told her about. Livi always wanted to travel, to see the world and partake of its cultures. To placate her, Don purchased a rustic cabin at a tiny lake resort just an hour's drive from their home. Any traveling Livi and Don did was to that cramped cabin with her and Eddie. Livi relieved her itchy feet by exploring the trails with her two children. Don bent over his portable radio in the corner of the living room all week long, joining them only for meals on the porch. Eddie became quite adept at cooking hotdogs on the bar-be-cue.
Carol remembered Livi's crystalline voice ringing through the house each evening. Her mother yearned to sing before great audiences. She had revealed to Carol one night, during one of their many mom-and-daughter talks that she dared to believe she could make it to Carnegie Hall or at least Broadway. "Every artist's dream," Livi had told her with a resigned scoff. "How many of us never make it?"
"Why didn't Dad let you continue your career? You didn't even sing in the local venues, did you?"
Livi only shook her head.
"Dad loved your singing. Isn't that how he first saw you? Singing in the school play?"
Her mother nodded, eyes cast downward. Then her lips tightened into a grimace. "Your father had other plans for us."
Other plans indeed. He always had plans for everybody. Mom. Eddie. Her. He was sure to let them all know they didn't just fail him. They failed themselves.
And this final plan of his. That was a lulu! Carol couldn't resist feeling a bit of satisfaction that the disdainful treatment in the hospital played its Karmic game with his grand exit plan. That cranky nurse indeed punished him for his sins. And Carol really couldn't pass judgment on the woman. As the memories returned, Carol started feeling the same way. It had been so long since she'd thought of these things, but the sting was as harsh and fresh as when the events happened.
Carol squeezed her arms around her, wishing Steve were there to give her the hugs she desperately needed. She really wanted his strength right now, but she couldn't blame him for staying home. This house would remind him of how he and her father had traded such acrimonious words. The accusations still stung in Steve's heart. Since the day Carol met Steve, he had been her truest friend, but her father refused to meet the person Steve really was beneath all those grubby hippie clothes.
Both of them had made a success out of the small farm they bought in Idaho. It started out as a commune with a few close friends. Within a year, the others had departed to the four directions. Carol and Steve stayed and made the farm work, planting vegetables that they could make into salsas, jams, and condiments to sell at farmer's markets. Their two babies, Eddie and Rick, helped Steve with the gardens, and Carol trucked the produce to markets within a hundred miles. To their continued surprise and glee, they did quite well for themselves.
If only Dad hadn't cut them off, he could've seen their progress and shared in their success. At least Livi seemed to cherish the lifeline of letters between them.
Opening the drawers in her father's desk, she found his obsessively neat writing materials. There they were, his QSL cards, stacked as if by a ruler along the sides. She slipped one off the stack, chuckling as she left the stack slightly askew.
Next, she pulled out the drawer next to it. Her mother's stationery drawer. Total opposite, much to Carol's delight. There on top, though, she found the cache of letters she had sent her mother. As she examined the bundle, she realized the ribbon had been retied, not by the practiced hand of her mother, but by a weaker, disabled hand. The bow unraveled almost by itself as she pulled one of the ends. Her father had found and read the letters. The poor man. What must he have thought of this secret held so long by his obedient wife?
The letters included photos of the kids and special events like birthdays or mundane things like working in the gardens. Over the years, these photos had faded a bit. Prints didn't survive well with time, especially those ancient Polaroids; yet she could still see her sons, Rick and Eddie, with wide grins in one photo, standing proudly next to one of Steve's huge cabbages.
The pictured cabbage must have measured a meter across, making a whole batch of sauerkraut just by itself. Not only did Steve win the prize money at the county fair for that cabbage, the sauerkraut would've sold well at the markets. Their kraut was becoming one of their best-selling products. Dad would've been proud of their entrepreneurship. That particular batch of sauerkraut, however, fed them all winter.
Tears mixed with amusement as Carol looked through the photos and reread the letters. She had kept Livi's letters as well and couldn't wait to show these to her sons. They always wanted to meet their Grandma Olivia. With all the letters together, she and her boys could piece together a scrapbook that might fill some of the void. At least they would have that much of their grandma. And the photo that Uncle Rick had provided would be the topper. It would go on its own special page.
There they were, sitting at the front of the table in the photo. While frail, her father still sat with that razor-edged posture. Hardly stooped at all, unlike her poor mother, whose emaciated body folded inside a wheelchair. Carol remembered how she also stood as tall as her tiny frame would allow, chest out and ready to support her massive voice.
The ring of it would bang against the back wall and hit me in the back of the head.
Carol couldn't believe how much her parents had aged in fifteen years, how tired they looked in this photo, taken only days before they died. Her father was right. They never would have survived the long drive to Idaho. No wonder her mother died so easily from a simple cup of tea.
Looking at her father's shelves, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. All the radio equipment had been removed. All that stuff would have ended up in the landfill because it was so old. She doubted anyone would want it. In fact, she couldn't even imagine what any of it was worth. Her father had spent thousands of dollars on all of it, but that money was gone with the wind, never to be recovered. Ham radio equipment didn’t appreciate with age. Much like computers, those components became "boat anchors."
Turning back to her father's desk. This would be where to look for the records she would need. Then she remembered the police searching the house for evidence. Pulling out each drawer, she soon discovered her suspicions were correct. The drawers were empty except for the collection of dust drawers usually accumulated after several years.
Then she remembered a postscript in her father's letter. With the emotional impact of receiving it after so many years and its horrifying revelations, her father's cryptic message went unread. All her mind could process at the time was getting on the road to rescue her parents.
Far back corner between your mattresses.
That's all it said. What would be there? It had to be the records. Of course, it was. He had stated so clearly in that letter that he and Livi were not to be resuscitated. Surely, he would've guided her to something important in a message that only made sense to her.
The police had not disturbed her bedroom at all. She thrust her arms deep between the mattresses. Feeling around for a minute or two, she found three envelopes bound together with an elastic band way in the back corner. The words Tax Records and the years printed in heavy marker labeled them.
How did you have the strength to push them back there? It was a struggle for me just to find them and fish them out of there! Why couldn't you have just sent them to me with your letter? Or would that have cost too much?
Then she caught herself. Her father's state of mind must've been chaotic. She should be a bit more sympathetic toward his actions, but she found it really difficult to condone what he had done, regardless of the reasons. He must've had a list of everything that he needed to do. Unfortunately, the police would have it. That was a prime piece of evidence.
She could see him moving around the house that night, performing each task on that list with the emotional detachment of a robot.
1. Get the hams to take his radios
2. Poison Livi
3. Hide the financial records
4. Poison Livi again
5. Call the police
6. Check Livi's pulse and administer more poison
7. Drink your own dose of poison.
It was more than she could fathom with a charitable heart.
As Carol walked into the kitchen, she spotted two items on the counter. One was her father's favorite Morse Code key. It was carefully dusted and polished, its brass sparkling in the light from the window. She had learned Morse on this key and always coveted it. Pressing it to her bosom, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. Now it was hers. Of all the material wealth her parents had acquired during their marriage, this key was the only inheritance she wanted.
It would've been so much nicer if her father had given it to her in person. That brightening of his face as she tapped I Love You in his hand at the hospital would be a glowing memory for her. She realized that, finally, they had fully connected.
She never told him, though, how much she liked using Morse. That's why she could remember it so well. She'd even taught the boys and they loved passing secret messages. Then one day, she caught them cheating at cards by winking code at each other. It was a moral dilemma for her to scold them because she remembered her father telling her and Eddie stories about how he did the same thing with his buddies in Korea.
One of her memories of using Morse code would always sting, bittersweet in its outcome. Most parents spelled messages to each other if they didn't want their children to understand what they were talking about. One night, Livi and Don used Morse to tap out that Dad had brought home a puppy to give Eddie for his birthday. They would present it to him after dinner.
Carol couldn't resist, and maybe that's why their surprise turned sour. After listening to her parents' message, she took her spoon and rang out her own to let them know she was on to them.
Eddie had managed to conquer enough code to pass his licensing exam, but as soon as his license arrived in the mail, he let that chunk of knowledge drain from his head. He never used Morse again.
As Carol tapped out her answer, Eddie jumped up in anger, almost overturning the table.
"You people are driving me nuts with this goddamned radio shit. I've had it."
"Eddie!" Livi gasped. "Such language."
But her words went unheeded as Eddie fled from the room. He refused to come out of his bedroom and told them he didn't want some stupid, goddamned dog.
"I'm not a kid anymore. Stop treating me like a child."
All three of them stood there, mouths agape at this surprising turn of events. That night also initiated Eddie's estrangement from the rest of the family.
There was also an envelope on the counter. Inside, she found a check and a large amount of cash. Ten one hundred dollar bills! Staring at it, she wondered why this cash was in with a check to someone named Rosaria Morales. Who was Rosaria? She must've been a housekeeper.
Yeah, that's who she was. Her parents' housekeeper. They would've needed one at this point. Otherwise, this house would've been a nightmare to clean. Instead, it was neat and organized. Her father's hand no doubt guided Rosaria's. Every corner was meticulously dusted.
But how to get this check to Rosaria? She couldn't just tape it to the door like Uncle Rick had done, hoping the woman would wander by and claim it. Uncle Rick had responded to the newspaper story. Anybody could do that and prowl around the house. Rosaria deserved to be paid and most certainly needed this cash. Carol owed her that much.
Her father had been so efficient planning this wacko scheme. If Rosaria was so important in their lives, why hadn't Dad included her contact information as well? Why would he leave out such a critical detail? Rosaria could've been of great help to Carol at this time. She could've filled Carol in on so many bits and pieces that were now a mystery.
Maybe Don did keep a record somewhere, writing it on the list or on a rolodex card. His rolodex was missing. The police undoubtedly took that too. All those names of people to call and fill out their case against him. She could go down to the station and demand it be returned to her, but the thought of that humiliating hassle was more than she could bear thinking about at the moment.
Instead, she would stay a day or two more with Uncle Rick, looking for Rosaria, checking all the housekeeping companies. She wouldn't leave until this debt was paid. Steve would understand fully and take care of the boys and everything at home just fine until she returned.
She slowly pivoted in the middle of the kitchen. It gleamed with Rosaria's care and attention. Just like her mother would've shined and polished it.
Suddenly, she remembered another secret cache that her mother kept. Carol had felt like a spy when she came upon her mother laying a portion of her household allowance into one of those old-fashioned hosiery bags. They were popular with her mother's generation for keeping silk stockings safe from snags. Livi, however, used one as her private piggy bank.
"Mom?"
Livi reeled back in surprise when Carol spoke.
"What's that, Mom?" Carol cautiously approached her mother standing in front of her dresser. The top drawer where she kept her unmentionables lay open.
Livi tucked the bag under her nighties and patted them gently. "That, my dear, is what I call my mad money. Every woman should have a bit of cash put away for when she gets so peeved with her husband, she needs to take a little vacation."
Amused by the shock on her daughter's face, Livi continued to explain. "Don't get me wrong, Carol. I'm not that angry with your father … yet!" She smiled conspiratorially. "But if I ever am, I've got this."
"But mom, Daddy can be so infuriating. What would make you angry enough to actually leave him?"
"You know those little tantrums he has where he clenches his fists and pumps them up and down?" Carol nodded. "If some day your dad lets one of his fists actually make contact, I'm gone. No discussion. It was a promise I made to my mother right before our wedding ceremony. She was scared to death that your father's PTSD would cause him to beat me. I told her I wouldn't stay with him if he ever laid a hand on me. Lucky for me, though, you father is a very restrained man."
Carol's eyes grew wide. There were so many questions, but she didn't know where to begin to ask them. It was as if her mother read her mind.
"Don't worry, dear. I would never leave you and Eddie behind. But every couple has their quarrels. Some of those quarrels become so hard to live with, a woman needs to leave. Unless she's been prudent enough to save some money, she's stuck. A lot of times her family won't help her. She's got no one or no place to go, especially if she doesn't have any money.
"So, when you settle down with somebody, I don't care how much in love you are or how nice the guy is, save a few dollars every week. Just a few. Look! At first I started with ones and fives. More recently, I've taken a wad of those and changed them for twenties. Just to save the space in my bag here. You'll be amazed how much money accumulates with just a little bit every week. Don't forget this lesson, Carol. Ever."
Her mother closed the drawer and Carol promised to do what Livi told her. And she did. It was why she was able to drive down here. Steve was surprised by the cash she stuffed into her purse. "Don't worry, Steve, I'll never run away from you."
What really got to her, as she thought about her mother's options, was that Livi didn't leave Don after Eddie committed suicide. How in the world could she stay with Don after that? Carol couldn't figure out whether Livi was infinitely patient or thoroughly paralyzed by Don's control. Or was it the imperative of that generation of women to make their marriages work no matter what happened? Divorce was unthinkable, yet from what Livi told her, most women had that mad money. What would it take for them to use it? How bad did it have to get?
Retrieving her mother's hosiery bag from the dresser drawer, she laid all the bills on the counter. It was true what her mother had said. Five thousand dollars spread out before her on the tile. She had to laugh at the difference between what her father had saved for his end-of-the-world scenario and what Livi had squirreled away in case her father's tantrums escalated.
Frankly, Carol didn't care about the money or any of her parents' things. She just wanted to lock the door behind her and walk away from it all. Maybe when her heart healed, she and Steve would hire a realtor to sell the house. There were people who specialized in estate sales. They could offload all the furniture, the clothes, the tools in the garage.
As her father would say, she didn't have the bandwidth to do anything about it right now. She wanted desperately to go home, wrap herself in the arms of her husband and children and never think about it again.
Filing the cash back into the hosiery bag, Carol exhaled a ragged sigh and turned away from the counter, the Morse key and her parents' mad money clutched to her breast. That was her inheritance. She would place the Morse key on the mantel at home between Livi's and Don's urns.
Someday, she, Steve and the boys would take the urns to that summit where Don and Livi camped for the Pony Express and release their ashes to the breeze. Carol always did want to find that place after Livi had rhapsodized about it over the years.
Walking to her car, Carol saw a woman rising from the driver's side of a car parked across the street. Closing the door, the woman stood as if unsure what to do. The two of them stared at each other for a long, awkward moment when Carol suddenly realized who it must be.
"Rosaria?"
The woman smiled and nodded, then crossed the street. "Si, and you are Carol? I work just down the street today and see your car in the driveway. I … I want to pay respects. I am so sorry about your parents."
"Gracias, Rosaria," Carol plied her rudimentary high school Spanish. "I am also sorry it had to end this way. Es … esta muy malo."
Rosaria dipped her head and nodded. "Muy malo. Muy triste."
Silence fell upon them. It was difficult now to dance around the little elephant that loomed between them. The debt that must be paid.
"Oh, Rosaira," Carol suddenly realized the opportunity. "I have something for you." She pulled the envelop from her purse and handed it to the housekeeper. When Rosaria opened it and saw the extra cash, she gasped and looked at Carol with great consternation.
"This is too much. No esta correcto."
"I don't believe so, Rosaria." Carol's throat started to close around her words. "I … you have been there for my parents all through this. I can't imagine why my father didn't do this properly. I couldn't find any contact information for you. That is so unlike my father to not have that."
Rosaria's brow knitted into a frown. "Is okay. I don't think he like me in his house. He is always … como se dice … grumpy?"
Carol laughed out loud, bringing Rosaria with her in a sudden release of emotion. "Yes, Rosaria, he was grumpy. MUY grumpy!"
"But this much money. It is too much. I can't …"
"Yes you can … and you should. I thank you for all you did for my parents … for my mother. She really needed you around to help where … where my father was not able to." She bit down on that last sentence as she thought of how little he helped Livi over the years.
"I love Olivia very much," Rosaria said, slipping the envelop into her pocket. "She is my friend. She teach me English and help me learn. She try anyway." Rosaria smiled, a little embarrassed.
"English is hard, Rosaria. Heck, it takes Americans all our lives to learn it, right?" Carol hoped Rosaria would appreciate the joke. "Twelve years in school learning English. So don't worry."
"I miss Olivia. She is so beautiful and kind. And she is a good singer. I love her music."
Carol nodded sadly. "Yes, her music. She sang all the time and played that big piano in there every night. She wanted to be a performer, concerts, musical theater, maybe even opera." Carol looked at Rosaria, her eyes filling with tears. "The little girl from Stockton on the world stage. She had to give all that up when she married Dad."
Rosaria could see her pain, her own eyes moistening with her own memories, her own dreams fading as she grew older, spending her life cleaning houses to keep her children fed.
Carol reached out to her and wrapped her in her arms. "Muchas gracias, Rosaria. Thank you again for all you've done."
Rosaria patted her pocket. "De nada, Is nothing. Olivia was a great lady. Y muchi-chi-chi-ssimo gracias por este dinero."
They stepped away from each other, not knowing how to end this encounter.
"Via con Dios, Carol," she turned to leave.
"Via con Dios, Rosaria. Peace."
Thankful that all debts were clear, Carol watched Rosaria's car drive down the street and disappear around the corner. She looked back at the house, the old neighborhood of her youth, and breathed in a long draught of fresh, desert air. She was free to move on. And her mother was finally free.
Via con Dios, Mama. Via con Dios.
My deepest appreciation goes to all of you who have read Silent Keys. I know, it’s a hard story to read, but I hope it came to a satisfying conclusion. I will be writing a “post-mortem” post to assess the value of this little serialization experiment here. I would really appreciate it if you would grant me the courtesy of commenting with your feedback, good or bad, about this effort. Thank you for your support.