We'll Meet Again

47

Feeling every day of her sixty-five years, Edna Barry waited for the evening news to come on as she sipped a cup of tea-her third in the last hour. Wally had gone to his room to nap, and she prayed that by the time he awakened the medicine would have kicked in, and he’d be feeling better. It had been a bad day, with the voices that he alone heard tormenting him. Driv-ing home from the doctor’s, he had slammed the car radio with his fist because he thought that the newsman was talking about him.

At least she had been able to make him go into the house before Fran Simmons could see just how terribly agitated he was this morning. But how much had Marta told Simmons about Wally?

Edna knew that Marta would never intentionally do anything to hurt Wally, but Fran Simmons was a smart cookie and already had begun asking questions about the extra key to Molly’s house.

Yesterday, Marta had seen Wally take the key to Molly’s house from Edna’s pocketbook and heard him say that this time he would put it back. Don’t let Marta have told that to Fran Simmons, Edna prayed.

Her mind flashed back to that terrible morning she had found Dr. Lasch’s body, to the fear she had felt since, every time a key was mentioned. When the police asked me about keys to the house, I gave them the key I’d taken from the hiding place in the garden, Edna remembered. I hadn’t been able to find my own key to the house that morning, and I was so afraid that Wally had taken it, a fear that she later found had been justified. She’d been terrified that the police would ask her more about the key, but fortunately they hadn’t.

Edna focused on the television set as the news began. Shocked, she learned that Molly had been arrested on a charge of murder, arraigned in court, and minutes ago released on one millions dollars bail under house arrest. The camera cut to Fran Simmons, live in front of the parking lot of the Sea Lamp Diner in Rowayton. The lot was still roped off with that yellow crime-scene tape.

“It is here that Annamarie Scalli was stabbed to death,” Fran was saying, “a crime for which Molly Carpenter Lasch was arrested this afternoon. It has been reported that traces of Annamarie Scalli’s blood were found on the sole of one of Lasch’s shoes and in her car.”

“Mom, is Molly all bloody again?”

Edna turned to see Wally standing behind her, his hair disheveled, his eyes bright with anger.

“Now don’t say things like that, Wally,” she said nervously.

“The statue of the horse and cowboy I picked up that time, remember that?”

“Wally, don’t talk about it, please don’t.”

“I just want to tell you about it is all,” he said petulantly.

“Wally, we’re not going to talk about it.”

“But everybody’s talking about it, Mom. Just now, in my room, they were yelling in my head-all of them. They talked about the statue. It wasn’t too heavy for me because I’m strong, but it was too heavy for Molly to lift.”

The voices that tormented him were back, Edna thought with dismay. The medicine wasn’t working.

Edna got up, went to her son, and pressed her hands to his temples. “Shhh,” she said soothingly. “No more talk about Molly or the statue. You know how mixed-up your voices get you, dear. Promise me you won’t say another word about the statue or about Dr. Lasch or Molly. Okay? Now let’s get you one more pill.”