Tanglewood Road

By David M. Hooper

The games that some families play can be deadly. The three women of the Foster family have always been at the opposite corners of a triangle. Jackie Sue dreads having to return to Tanglewood Road to help her sister Evelyn with their dying mother. She doesn’t want to return to the entanglement of lies, deceit, and mind games of her family--and murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David M. Hooper
• Release date: Sep 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301160266

David M. Hooper

Author David Hooper has an extensive background in special education for children with behavior disorders. He is the author of The Possessor and Tanglewood Road. David's passion for writing was discovered and cultivated by his late wife Jane. David currently lives in Kansas City, Missouri, with his dog Bilbo. He bakes fabulous bread from scratch, spends hours on the dance floor each week, and is fervently working on his next novel. He writes a blog at davidmhooper.com.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Jackie Sue

The telephone rang as I was leaving my office. I hesitated before deciding to answer.

Jackie Sue? I’m sorry to bother you. Mother is dying.

My sister may as well have been informing me of the dull fact she had run out of potatoes. Her flat tone vied with the meaning of her words and drove a spike of raw emotion down my spine. I started to tremble as I stared at the receiver. Dumbfounded by her coldness, I tried to regain my composure. I expected more from Evelyn. She’d lived with Mother her entire life; cared for her almost as a mission in life. Three years older than I, Evelyn and I had never been close. We didn’t share the same bedroom growing up, talk about our friends, or do things together. We were two boarders in the same house that happened to have the same mother. I could picture my older sister standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall with one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding the telephone. A drab, cynical person, Evelyn sees very little sunshine in life and constantly reminds every one of the sacrifices she’s made for others—especially Mother. I bit my lip, looked out the office window to collect my thoughts and let her blunt words settle in my mind. I’d always known this day would come, but you’re never prepared when it happens. Our family had never been what you’d call close, but it is my family. Losing someone in your family brings an emptiness that can never be filled.

Jackie Sue?

I’m here. How much longer does she have? I asked.

The doctor said no more than two weeks. I expect sooner.

Why didn’t you call me?

I’m sorry, Jackie Sue. I was hoping that Mother could wait until you made your yearly pilgrimage in July. Anyway, I didn’t know whether you’d come.

Evelyn’s sarcastic barb had the desired result. The game had begun. The cutting sword of words had been drawn, and I would accept the challenge.

How can you say that? I love Mother as much as you do. Do want me to give my sympathy to you?

A long pause and Evelyn’s breath became deeper, a raspy whistling in my ear. I could hear her finger nervously tap on the receiver.

I know you’re busy, Jackie Sue. I didn’t mean anything by it, she said.

Evelyn’s irritating soft voice: taunting and patronizing me. I bit my tongue, sighed, and counted to ten. I didn’t want the games to begin before I had arrived in Kansas City.

It’s Friday, and I think the head of my department has gone home. I know he’ll let me have the time off. I’ll try to get a ticket for Sunday.

Call me when you know.

The phone went dead.

I found my department head, Marvin Truggs. He gave the okay for my leave of absence on personal reasons. I scrambled the rest of the afternoon making preparations for my substitute teacher. I completed my lesson plans for the term, scrawled hasty notes on sticky pads in my textbooks, so that by four o’clock I’d finished writing my final instructions. Dropping by the administration building on my way home, I checked my mail, found nothing of interest, and tossed most in the trash. I flew out the administrative office door on my way to my car. As I passed the cafeteria, I heard someone call out my name. Richard Tucker grabbed me by the arm.

Hey, what’s the rush? Come on in for a cup of coffee.

I found Richard’s hand on my arm comforting. Richard and I had become close personal friends about five years ago when I’d struggled through my divorce. Richard’s divorce had taken place two years before mine, so he led me through the loops and hoops and our friendship grew. We are now lovers who appreciate our independence, although that may change in the future. Richard led me through the disorderly maze of chairs and found a table that didn’t have dried blobs of mustard or ketchup. Once settled, Richard leaned back as if appraising me.

I heard from Marvin you have to go home—mother dying?

I nodded and thought how much I would miss him and that mop of gray peppered hair.

Yes. My sister called me today.

Richard reached out with his large hand and encompassed mine.

I’m sorry. It’s tough to lose your mother.

Is yours gone? I asked.

After years of friendship, three as lovers, I realized I didn’t know anything about Richard’s family. I guess, deep inside, I thought everyone’s family resembled mine so avoidance became the de-facto policy.

Richard squeezed my hand and let go.

I lost mine when I was born. My grandmother raised me and she died before I graduated from college.

I’m sorry. Did you love her?

The light brown eyes hooded by bushy eyebrows took on seriousness I’d had rarely seen. Very much. He stared for a second over my shoulder, as if checking his memory. Sorry, how about you? You love your mother?

I hesitated. Yes—I guess.

Richard frowned. That sounds like the makings of a Tennessee Williams’ play to me.

I chuckled. And we don’t have time right now to discuss the issues surrounding the Foster family.

Why not? When do you leave?

Sunday.

So, there’s time. First let me get the coffee before they throw us out for loitering.

Richard returned with two mugs and set the coffee in front of me. It was just like I liked it with sugar and lots of cream. He took a sip, set the cup down, and waited for me to begin.

Where do I begin? I asked.

I usually start at the beginning, he said.

Okay. My mother’s name is Abigail Alexander Foster, and she comes from Decatur, Texas. She is a small woman, and she is very strong-willed.

Like daughter, like mother?

No, I don’t come close to being like my mother.

Richard reached across and lifted my chin and said, Is she pretty like her daughter?

I blushed.

Well, I think she was a looker in her younger days. I remember her hair was a deep red and when the sun hit it, it seemed to glow. I envied Mother’s creamy white skin and those clear blue eyes.

Every Irishman’s dream comes true? Richard asked.

I would say that. Mother was pretty, but I don’t think God made a man who could live with her.

Oh, why not?

Mother moved from Texas to Kansas City with my father to set up his practice after he graduated from dental school. Twelve months later they were divorced, just before I was born.

Did you like him?

Funny, I never met my father. I use to wonder why he didn’t love me enough to see me, hold me. For years I thought it was something about me, something I did that caused his rejection. Mother never hid him, but she never said anything more than he was good-looking, came from a wealthy family, drank too much, and that is why she had to leave him. I wanted to ask her more, but something deep inside, and the look on Mother’s face, told me that was off-limits. I wasn’t supposed to ask because it would upset Mother. Evelyn and I learned at an early age to avoid upsetting Mother.

Is this a case of the child taking care of the parent? I thought families tried to do it the other way around? Richard asked.

I thought for a second. What Richard said was true but who knew that as a child? Although Richard had lost his mother, I’d heard him say glowing things about his siblings, his own children, and me. My family came from a different mold.

What’s your sister like? You know, I just realized that I’ve never really heard you talk about your family. My God, we’ve slept together, taken trips, and our kids have even gone on outings with us. I’ve never heard you say anything about your Mother and sister. I feel foolish, Jackie Sue. Richard hooked his thumbs in his pockets and, with a bewildered expression on his face, leaned back in his chair. I feel like a complete oaf.

I waved my hand at him in dismissal.

Richard, dear Richard, if I wanted you to know anything about my family, don’t you think I would have told you? Hell honey, my family is a mess.

Richard dropped his chair to the floor, warily cast his eyes about, and in a husky voice exclaimed, My God, woman! Be careful who you call honey in the school cafeteria on a Friday. I think there might be three or four workers in the back.

Stop it!

So tell me about your sister.

Evelyn? Well, let me see…she’s three years older than I… doesn’t look anything like me, or act like me. Looks kind of mousey with straight short gray hair, no makeup, and reminds you of a nun.

Richard chortled. I don’t believe that, Jackie Sue.

"You laugh but that’s my sister. Everyone in the family thought Evelyn, the tomboy, would be the one to grow up and leave home. While I, the docile daughter, would eventually assume the task of caring for Mother for the rest of her life–and mine. Being the youngest, I had the advantage of seeing my mother manipulate Evelyn with temper tantrums, whining, and vague suggestions such as: The greatest compliment a mother can ever have is knowing her daughter wants to live with her."

Richard tapped his fingers on the table, with his mouth set, as he sat and pondered. Wow, he mouthed.

I reached over and grasped his hands in mine. Aren’t you glad we based our relationship on friendship and sex instead of our past?

Am I ever? I think when you get back I want to know more. You are coming back aren’t you?

Oh, you can bet on that.

And you’re not bringing your sister back with you?

I got up, pecked him on the head, and picked up my things. Hell, no. I’ll phone you when I get there.

I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t we have lunch before I take you to the airport?

I like that idea.

I leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

See you Sunday.

I packed and took care of personal errands on Saturday. I have a cat, so I took her to the vet. It would be colder in Kansas City so I rummaged through the closet for clothes. Eventually, I had to go buy a couple of things. The rest of the day I spent cleaning out the refrigerator and general housework. I didn’t want to come back to a dirty house. I thought all day how I would survive such a long stay with my mother and sister. Our blood was our bond…nothing else.

My flight didn’t leave until four o’clock on Sunday. Richard and I lunched together at a small Mexican restaurant before he took me to the airport. It felt like the last meal before a sentencing. I didn’t feel like talking once we started driving. I thought about the days ahead. Richard seemed to understand and just drove in silence. Spring is my favorite time of the year, and I love Kansas City when the red buds and daffodils are in bloom. It is a time of rebirth in the Midwest. Each new day brings new growth, new surprises. It had been years since I'd been in Kansas City in the spring. I preferred to come back home once a year after the Fourth of July and stay for a week. My family never visited me, although Evelyn kept saying she’d like to if she could leave Mother. It had been almost forty years. I wondered what Evelyn would say now after Mother passed. She certainly wouldn’t have an excuse anymore.

Evelyn had been born in Texas and had a different last name. She went by the name Foster at school. Once I asked my mother why Evelyn’s name was different from mine and she told me only that it was a long story that happened a long time ago.

I guess our daddies don’t like us, Evelyn said matter-of-factly one night while eating dinner.

Mother kept eating with her eyes glued to the small television set sitting on the end of the kitchen counter. Women really don’t need men to raise children, honey. Men don’t know anything about children. All they think about is that nasty wiener between their legs.

At the first of every month, two checks would arrive in the mail: one from Brian Foster, my father, and the other from a Daniel Cotter. Mother told us never to open the envelopes or she’d skin us alive.

I believe my mother married just to have children she could mother to death until the day she, or they, died. Evelyn had made a weak attempt at rebelling to show her independence. She and I knew she couldn’t overcome Mother’s influence. I watched their drama unfold scene-by-scene and decided at an early age that I wanted a family, a husband, and a life away from Tanglewood Road.

Evelyn lived at home after graduating from Bishop Hogan High. She settled for a secretarial job in the diocesan school office. I watched her personality change during the next five years from a rambunctious tomboy to a subservient daughter. I graduated from Bishop Hogan and attended college and became a teacher. I took the first job I could find out of town – Phoenix, Arizona. Evelyn cried when I left. I don’t know whether Evelyn ever forgave me for leaving her with Mother.

A penny for your thoughts.

I leaned across and kissed Richard on the cheek.

It would take more than a penny.

Richard carried my bag inside and got me on the plane for Kansas City to witness the last act of this drama I had endured my entire life.

CHAPTER 2

Jackie Sue

Evelyn stood at the front of the crowd waiting for the passengers to disembark. She wore a scarf, a bulky beige overcoat, a purse slung over one arm, and a rosary dangled from her hands to ensure the plane landed safely. The eyes looked tired and vacant. I saw a spark when she recognized me in the group that walked a single file out the doorway into the terminal. The pale face, sans makeup, was etched with soft brown pigment spots that made her look older than her sixty-one years. I extended my arms and embraced her. Her frail shoulders collapsed when I squeezed her, much as you’d expect from hugging your elderly grandmother. I let go, clasped her hands in mine, and stepped back to appraise her.

You’re tired, I said.

A weak smile, a nod of the head, and the tears welling in her eyes told me she was exhausted.

I’m glad you’re here, she whispered, squeezing my hands.

Who’s with Mother? I asked.

She’s alone. I got a cell phone in case she needed me. Evelyn pulled a small phone out of her purse, brandishing it as a child shows a new toy. She was asleep when I left.

We walked slowly to the baggage claim hand in hand.

She’ll be all right then? I asked.

Oh, yes. She’ll be fine.

Do you leave her often?

Only to get you, she murmured sheepishly.

You quit your job?

Evelyn rested her head on my shoulder as we walked. I took a leave of absence. The hospital was very understanding of the situation. Of course, I’ve kept them apprised of what was happening.

I’m glad you went back to school after I left home, I said. I know you are a good nurse.

Surgical nurse, she corrected.

Kansas City International isn’t really an international airport, much to the disappointment of city leaders, but I find it the most convenient airport in the country. You walk out the arrival gate, and a short distance to the baggage claims, and then another forty feet you are out the door. KCI isn’t one building but three circular buildings shaped like squat horseshoes sitting in a semi-circle. In the middle of each horseshoe is the short-term parking. After you collect your baggage, it isn’t that much farther to get to your car. Best of all, there are none of those damn moving sidewalks where people are always pushing past you to get to their flight or kids are running back and forth to the annoyance of everyone.

I collected my luggage, and we walked the short distance to a small Volkswagen Beetle and piled it into trunk.

When did you get this? I asked, standing with the door opened and peering across at my sister.

Evelyn grinned. A couple of months ago. Like it?

Yes, reminds me of the one we use to have. Cute.

I slid in the car and buckled up.

Evelyn’s eyes never strayed from the road. Her lips were in a perpetual smile while she hummed one of her favorite church hymns. I glanced out the window to see what had changed in the last few months. I found my mind wandering and thinking about how this arrangement would work between the three of us. Visiting is one thing. Living at home again with my mother and sister was another. We were three entirely different personalities that couldn’t–or wouldn’t–understand each other. Evelyn had gone from someone who rode her bike down the front steps of St. Peter’s church, almost knocking down Monsignor Riley before mass, to a withdrawn, mousey woman subservient to my mother. Sometimes I wondered if Evelyn had been worn down by her attempts to placate Mother. The anger Mother held toward me for leaving home was more than I could stand at times. I know Evelyn bore the brunt of Mother’s wrath. Three years ago during my yearly pilgrimage, we sat around the dinner table, Mother at the head, Evelyn and me on each side of her.

Are you coming to Phoenix for Sandy’s high school graduation next year? I asked.

Sandy is my son.

No! Mother said as she ladled gravy onto her mash potatoes.

Why not? I asked.

Mother cut a piece of chicken fried steak and before eating it said, I didn’t leave Kansas City and go halfway across the country. If you wanted me to go to his graduation, you should have stayed here.

I looked at Evelyn. And you?

Evelyn’s hands dropped to her lap and with her head bowed, replied, I need to stay with Mother.

I retaliated for their absence at the graduation by not coming for my weekly visit the following year. Neither said a word to me about my absence.

I’m glad you came. Evelyn turned on the wipers as we ran into a spring shower.

I just don’t know whether this is going to work, I answered.

The car became quiet except for the mesmerizing sound of the wipers slapping against the bottom of the window. There were very few cars on the freeway. I could