44 Charles Street

Chapter 14

FRANCESCA WOKE UP feeling groggy and confused, unsure if what she thought had happened had been a dream. She had fallen asleep in her clothes on the bed next to Chris in the room she had taken at the Hotel Gansevoort. As she opened her eyes, she turned to look at him. He was still lying next to her, and he was awake.

“Did I dream it?” He shook his head. It wasn’t possible. That couldn’t happen. It wasn’t fair. Eileen was dead. Her Internet insanity had killed her. But it was more than just that, it was Eileen’s appalling judgment, her addiction to bad men, and her lifetime familiarity with abuse. All of that had contributed to her sad end. They all knew lots of nice people who had met each other online, fallen in love, and gotten married. But mixed in with the good ones were terrifyingly bad ones, and Brad had been one of those. And Eileen had become too addicted to him and the abuse to save herself. She had gone back for more one last time. One time too many.

Chris had checked, and Brad was still being held on suspicion of her murder. They wanted Francesca and Chris to identify him in a lineup, and then they would arraign him the next day. They had already started the DNA tests from his skin, to match traces found under Eileen’s nails. They would have partial results in three days. Her body was at the morgue, and after the autopsy she was going to be cremated, but not for several days. With her heart in her shoes, Francesca couldn’t help asking herself now what did any of it matter. Whatever they did, she’d still be dead. She was such a lost girl. She kept thinking of her making papier-mâché puppets with Ian, and as Francesca thought of the scene the day before, and identifying her, she got up and went to the bathroom and vomited again. She was kneeling on the bathroom floor, as Chris rubbed her back, and held her hair, and then handed her a wet towel.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her face with the towel.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry for her. Abusive relationships are a terrible thing. Psychological abuse is almost as bad and just as addictive. I think people stay in it, or go back, so they can turn it around, and convince their abuser that they’re nice people and don’t deserve it. They always get blamed. And sometimes they get killed. She just wasn’t strong enough, or healthy enough I guess, not to see him again.” They both knew it happened all too often. Francesca went back to the bed and lay down. The thought of getting up was too much for her. She wanted to lie there forever, as Chris sat on the bed next to her and stroked her hair.

Marya and Charles-Edouard had just come back from a walk in her garden, and were starting to make breakfast when Chris called on Marya’s cell phone. It was sitting on her desk, and she didn’t rush to get it. She wasn’t expecting any important calls, she wanted to enjoy Charles-Edouard, and she was still in vacation mode. She didn’t recognize the caller’s number when she picked up her phone, but she answered anyway, and was surprised to hear Chris’s voice.

“Hi, Marya,” he said in a hoarse, somber voice. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, and had watched Francesca for most of the night. She had woken several times in tears. He was tired and sad.

“What a nice surprise,” Marya said happily. “How’s Ian? Where are you both? I’m still in Vermont.” She hadn’t spoken to him since they’d all left New York for the summer.

“I’m in New York with Francesca,” Chris said quietly, as Francesca listened. She had asked him to make the call. “Ian’s at the Vineyard. I’m going back for him in a couple of days.”

“Is something wrong? Is Francesca okay?” It seemed odd to Marya that he would be with her, or said it that way, and he sounded upset.

“She got back yesterday, and I’m sorry to call you, but something terrible happened at the house. Eileen was killed a few days ago, probably by Brad.”

“Oh my God, how awful.” Tears instantly filled Marya’s eyes, imagining it. She was such a sweet, silly, innocent young girl. Charles-Edouard was watching her and was instantly concerned, with a question in his eyes. “Did Francesca find her?” She hoped not. She couldn’t imagine a more traumatic scene than that.

“She thought something was wrong when she walked in. She called me, and I told her to wait outside and call the police. They found her. She was dead in her room. He strangled and beat her. They have him in custody now. We have to identify him today.” He didn’t tell her that Francesca had identified the body the day before. Francesca was lying on the bed, listening to their conversation, with her eyes closed, deathly pale, and he was holding her hand. They were two very sad friends, and he was glad to be there with her.

“Do you want me to come down? We could be there in a few hours.” He noticed the “we” but thought she was confused, with all the strong emotions of the terrible news about Eileen.

“There’s not much you can do. We’re okay.” He said it, but neither of them felt it.

“Are you staying at the house?” The idea of that was shocking, and she wasn’t sure what they would do.

“We’re at the Gansevoort,” he said calmly. And the police had given them the name of a service that specialized in cleaning up crime scenes. Once they had all the evidence they needed, and had taken photographs, the service would come in and strip any evidence of the crime. It would take a few days. If necessary, they would repaint the room. That happened more frequently when there were gunshots involved. It sounded like a grim job to him. “Everything should be in order by the time you get back.” But in order or not, Eileen would never be there again. Francesca had already decided that morning that she didn’t want anyone else in that room. She never wanted to see it again herself, it would make her too sad. She had genuinely liked Eileen, despite her foolishness with men, and had taken her under her wing and into her home. And now she was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” Marya said again. “I don’t want to bother Francesca, but if there’s anything I can do, call me. I’ll get in the car and be there in a few hours if it will help. I’ll try to come back in a few days. Did someone call her parents?”

“The police. They’re cremating the body after the autopsy, to send the ashes to her parents. There’s no funeral in New York.”

“Maybe we can have a little service of our own,” Marya said vaguely, too shocked to think of anything right now. She reminded him to send her love to Francesca, and they hung up.

“What happened?” Charles-Edouard asked her with a look of concern when she hung up.

“Eileen, the little girl on the top floor whom you met, was killed at the house. Beaten and strangled.”

“By a burglar?”

“They think it was by a man she went out with. They have him in custody and are charging him with the murder. He beat her up very badly twice before.” Marya looked sick. She sat down on the couch with a distant expression, and Charles-Edouard sat down next to her and put an arm around her and held her. It was a sad beginning to the first day of their new life. Beginnings and endings, the birth of a relationship and the death of a young woman. The bittersweetness of life. And this was very bitter. Marya looked up at him and then sank into his arms and cried.

The lineup at the police station for the Sixth Precinct on West Tenth Street took forever to begin, and they were a motley group of men as they were led out. There were two tall ones, a short one, and three of medium height. All had tattoos. One had long hair. Three were being held on other charges, one was an undercover cop, one was on parole, and one was Brad. They both recognized him instantly as he stood in profile and full face as he was directed. The men in the lineup stood there shuffling, on the other side of a two-way mirror, and Chris and Francesca confirmed the identification without a doubt. It was him. And then the men were led out. It was over. And he would be arraigned the next day. After that, Chris and Francesca were free to leave.

They walked back to the hotel and needed the air. Ian called Chris while they were walking, and his father said everything was fine, and Francesca sent her love. He had told him he was going to New York to do some work, and to help Francesca at the house. He didn’t want him to worry that something had happened to his mother in jail. Ian was always worried about her, with good reason. But now she had been charged with manslaughter. And Chris doubted that her father would get her out of this one. And no one had been able to stop, sway, or save Eileen. Women who were bent on destroying themselves usually did, as Chris knew too well.

The police had told them that the house should be cleaned up by midweek. They were planning to stay at the hotel till then. Chris had taken his own room before they left for the lineup. And he didn’t care if he used it or not, this way he had the option, and if he sat in a chair in Francesca’s room every night, he didn’t mind that either. That’s why he had come from the Vineyard, to do anything for her that he could. They steered a wide berth of the house on their walk, and Francesca wasn’t sure if she wanted to see it again. She wondered if this would haunt them forever, or if they could live there in peace now. She wasn’t sure.

She hadn’t eaten since the day before, and Chris finally convinced her to go to Da Silvano for some pasta. They gave them a table outside in the usual hustle-bustle of the popular restaurant, and she couldn’t touch her food. All she could think of was Eileen. They walked back to the hotel after that, went to Francesca’s room, and Chris turned on the TV. There was a baseball game on, and as he watched it from a chair next to the bed, she fell asleep. She stirred several times, had nightmares once or twice, and got up to go to the bathroom, and other than that, she slept until morning. He slept in the chair, fully dressed, with the TV on. But they both felt better the next day.

They ordered room service, and Marya called to see how they were. She talked to Francesca this time, and they both cried for Eileen. It made Francesca miss Marya more than ever. She hadn’t said anything about the new developments with Charles-Edouard, their good news didn’t seem appropriate now in the face of their collective grief.

“Do you want to come back to the Vineyard with me for a few days?” Chris suggested over breakfast, but Francesca didn’t.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” she said, still looking dazed. “I don’t want to see people. I have to open the gallery and get back to work.” She was grateful for the distraction. She could also stay at her father’s house in Connecticut, if she needed to get away. He and Avery had just returned from Aspen.

She called Avery that afternoon and told her what had happened. She was horrified.

“Maybe roommates weren’t such a great idea after all,” Avery said quietly. She was so sorry for Francesca, and wondered if the house would be forever tainted for her now. Francesca was mulling over the same thing. She wasn’t sure. She’d have to see how it felt when she went back. “What are you going to do now? Sell the house?” It seemed an extreme decision, but living in a house where a young woman they liked had been murdered wasn’t going to be easy either, for any of them. And Francesca had a lot of sad memories in that house now. Avery suggested that maybe it was no longer worth the struggle to keep it. She asked if Francesca had called her mother.

“Not yet,” she said with a sigh. “I’m not sure I will. She doesn’t need to know. She’ll just hound me about it, tell me she was right all along about what a bad idea this was to keep the house and have roommates, and pressure me to sell. I need to figure that out for myself, if that’s what I want. I just don’t know yet.”

“You will, at the right time. It’s too soon, unless you’re sure you want to sell it.”

“I’m not. I still love the house. I just hate what happened there. I keep wondering if there was something else I could have done, or been stronger with her. But I was her roommate, or landlady, not her mother. I couldn’t forbid her to see him. All I could do was tell her she couldn’t have him to the house, but she did anyway when I was gone. And I kept begging her to get help, and stop picking up guys on the Internet. I think she was a lot more complicated than she appeared, with a bad history of abuse from her childhood. Maybe she was drawn to people like that, and she would have found a Brad anywhere. She didn’t need the Internet to do it. We all have our secrets and our problems and our issues. I’m still trying to get over Todd, Marya the death of her husband, Chris is dealing with his heroin addict ex-wife and trying to keep his son safe. We all have our struggles, and I guess things aren’t always what they appear. They weren’t with Eileen. And look what happened to her.” Francesca was crying again when she said it, she had really liked her. And no one she knew had ever been murdered. It seemed like such a terrible way to die, strangled and beaten in her own bed. But he had given her plenty of warning that he was a dangerous man, and she’d still tried to turn it around, instead of running as fast as she could in the opposite direction, which would have been the sane and healthy thing to do. Eileen just wasn’t healthy, and she had been addicted to Brad and his abuse, and had paid the ultimate price. Avery reminded her that the statistics on abusive men and abused women were horrifying. Seventy-five percent of men who threatened to kill the women they were involved with actually did. Now Eileen was just one more statistic instead of the sweet freckle-faced girl upstairs. Her dating games with total strangers and her lack of judgment about them had been her downfall.

Chris went back to the Vineyard the next day to pick up Ian and promised to return as soon as he could. Francesca insisted she was all right. She opened the gallery, and kept her room at the Gansevoort. Her suitcases were still in the front hall of the house from when she arrived, and she had them brought to the hotel. And she told Marya that she didn’t need to rush back either. There was nothing for them to do. Eileen’s room was being stripped and steam-cleaned and repainted, the furniture removed. Her things were being boxed and sent to San Diego after the police went through them and took what they needed as evidence. And then Francesca was planning to close the room and lock it. She didn’t even want to go in there. She was eliminating the top floor of the house for the time being. She couldn’t imagine anyone who would want to live there, knowing someone had been killed in that room. It meant that she would be paying half the mortgage payment, instead of a quarter, with four of them there. It was what she had paid when she lived with Todd. But she couldn’t figure out any other way to do it for now. She didn’t want another tenant to replace Eileen, just Chris and Marya, and of course Ian. They were adults, used good judgment, lived sane lives, and put none of the others at risk, nor themselves. She couldn’t go through the trauma of someone like Eileen again, no matter how much she liked her. And you just never knew what people did in private. Neither she, Marya, nor Chris even had relationships or partners. They were three adults on their own, and one small child, whom they all loved. Eileen had been too immature and too damaged to be responsible, and Francesca blamed herself for not understanding it sooner, before something like this happened. Maybe in another living arrangement, she wouldn’t have been killed. They had all been gone all summer, and she had been easy prey for Brad.

The police informed her that Brad had been arraigned and bound over for trial. He had pleaded not guilty, on the advice of the public defender who represented him. He wanted his day in court, although they said he might plea-bargain in the end. But there wasn’t much they could do with cold-blooded murder. The initial DNA tests had linked Brad to the murder. They said it would take about a year to come to trial, and he would be in jail, without bail, until then. It reminded her of Chris’s ex-wife, who was still in jail, pending her trial too. They were trying to make a deal for her, but the district attorney wasn’t letting her off the hook. She was responsible for the addict she had shot up with, and to whom she had supplied the drugs. It was an ugly scene. And poor Ian had watched while he died, and then his own mother nearly died. And he had told Chris that he had seen them shoot up, just as he had before. Chris was planning to use it all as evidence in the custody case. He didn’t want his son living with a woman who did drugs in front of him, even if she was his mother, and had unsavory people around, like drug dealers and other addicts. And he was going to ask for supervised visits when she got out of jail. He didn’t want Ian alone with her ever again. And he had no hope she would clean up. She never had, despite all the fancy rehabs she had gone to for years. Her parents wanted her to clean up, and so did he, but she never did. She was too much of an addict to care. All she wanted were her drugs, at whatever price. Just as Eileen had wanted Brad. He had been her drug of choice, as lethal as heroin had been to Ian’s mother’s friend. Now they were both dead.

Chris called Francesca several times from the Vineyard, concerned that she was alone. She had moved back into the house. She sounded down, but reassured him that she was doing all right. She didn’t admit that she would be happy when he and Marya got back to New York, and that it was upsetting being there by herself.

Marya was in no rush to come back to the house either, and thought it would feel very sad. She still hadn’t shared her good news with Francesca, it just felt like the wrong time. But she and Charles-Edouard were happy in Vermont, and exploring facets of their relationship that they’d never had access to before. There were no limits for them now, since he was getting divorced. He had spoken to his lawyer twice from Vermont, and everything was on track. His wife wanted to get out quickly, so she could marry his sous-chef. She wanted half of what Charles-Edouard had, and after thirty years together, he thought it was fair. He told Marya he had enough to split it in half with Arielle and still have a comfortable life. They were content with that, and she didn’t want anything from him. Just a good life, and they were off to a wonderful start. She had never expected to wind up with him, or with anyone, after John. This was all an enormous surprise, and an adjustment, but they were both good sports about it and flexible and tolerant of each other’s quirks. They were both kind-hearted people who enjoyed life, and loved each other, now as much more than friends. He still wanted to get married, and was pushing her to it. And she was still firm about wanting him to prove himself faithful to her, and that he was capable of it. After a great marriage to John for thirty-six years, she wasn’t going to marry a cheater now, or even stay with one. And Charles-Edouard had been one all his life, and made no claims otherwise. He said it was cultural and the fact that he didn’t love his wife. Marya didn’t care, she wanted no part of a man who had affairs. He swore he wouldn’t.

They had a wonderful time in Vermont together, driving around, and they took a gondola up the mountain at Stowe. She drove back into New Hampshire with him. They ate lobster, and simple meals at local inns. They went to farmers’ markets and cooked at home, and took turns at who did what dishes, and collaborated on some. They tried out recipes for their book, planted vegetables in her garden, picked flowers, took long walks, swam in a nearby lake, went fishing and cooked what they caught, and waded in streams, and made love at least once a day, which astounded Marya. She had never thought the sex life they had possible at their age. Charles-Edouard was a very sexy man, with the drive of a much younger man, and the ability to carry it out. Marya was thriving and flourishing with his attention and the love they shared. The only dark spot in their time together was the news of Eileen’s death. Marya was deeply saddened by it, and went to church with Charles-Edouard to pray for her. She cried as she lit a candle for her soul. And she was going to miss her. She wondered if Francesca was going to replace her as a tenant.

When Charles-Edouard and Marya drove down from Vermont at the end of the Labor Day weekend, she looked healthy and brown and happy, and Charles-Edouard’s bright blue eyes danced in his tan face, which made his hair look even whiter. He was wearing a blue shirt, jeans, and espadrilles, with a red sweater on his shoulders when they got out of her car in front of 44 Charles Street, and they unloaded their suitcases and shopping bags full of fresh vegetables and fruit from her garden and the farmers’ market in Vermont. Marya sighed as she looked up at the house, thinking how different it would be without Eileen. She had given them all an infusion of youth.

Chris and Ian were home when they walked up the steps with their things. They were surprised to see Charles-Edouard, and it was obvious that he’d been in Vermont with Marya. Chris hadn’t realized that was the plan, and they seemed to be happier than ever together. Chris was still sorry for her that he was married. They seemed like a perfect fit.

“Welcome home,” Chris said as he came down the stairs when he heard them come in. And Ian came up just as fast from the kitchen with a milk mustache and a cookie. He smiled broadly at Marya, and threw himself into Charles-Edouard’s open arms.

“I have an egg in my ear!” he shouted excitedly, and instead Charles-Edouard pulled out a coin, and handed it to him.

“You sold your eggs for money,” he said, and kissed the boy on both cheeks, and then embraced Chris. He had gotten used to Charles-Edouard’s effusive French greetings by then. Ian helped him carry the bags of food down to the kitchen, while Chris whispered to Marya that he hadn’t told Ian about Eileen. He had said she had moved back to California to be with her parents, which was true. He hadn’t explained that she was going back in an urn, in the form of ashes. The idea of her getting murdered in the house would have frightened Ian, and he’d been through enough trauma with his mother. Marya agreed entirely, and said she’d mention to Charles-Edouard not to say anything to him about the murder or even her death. It was a sad circumstance for them all. She gave Chris a hug, and they exchanged a warm, loving look of understanding.

“So how was your summer?” he asked her. “Ours was great at the Vineyard.” He looked it, and so did Ian. They were healthy and tan, and so was she. With the exception of the tragedy that had befallen Eileen, they had all had good vacations.

“We had a wonderful time in Vermont,” Marya said, glowing, “and Europe is always terrific. I’ve been back for a month. It feels like ages ago.” Chris and Ian had returned from the Vineyard the week before. And there was no sign of disruption in the house. Eileen’s rooms upstairs were closed and locked. And Francesca had finally bought living room furniture to replace what Todd had taken eight months before. It was a very comfortable room now, and she had decided not to sell the house, in spite of Eileen. She had told Chris when he got home. It was a tragedy, but they had to go on. Chris approved of her decision and was relieved. He and Ian were happy there. It was a perfect setup for them, and he couldn’t imagine his life now without Marya and Francesca as friends for him, and beloved aunts for Ian, although he knew Ian would miss Eileen too, the stories she read him, and the origami birds she made.

As they always did when Marya was home, they all congregated in the kitchen. She put some mushroom soup on the stove that she had made in Vermont before they left that morning. It smelled delicious. Charles-Edouard was playing the egg game with Ian, who was squealing with delight. Suddenly the house seemed full of good smells, and joy and noise and laughter again. It hadn’t been that way when he and Ian got home, and it had felt very somber to him at first, and as though they were all in mourning. It was better now. Marya and Charles-Edouard gave them back energy and life. It had been too quiet without them.

Francesca could hear all of them laughing in the kitchen, as she unlocked the front door when she came home from work. She smiled as she walked downstairs, and saw Marya. She already had her apron on and was cooking. She had put a chicken in the oven for dinner. And Charles-Edouard put some pâté that he had made on a plate and then threw his arms around Francesca and kissed her when he saw her.

“Ahhhh!!! La châtelaine!” he said with delight. He called her “the mistress of the château.” 44 Charles Street was hardly a château, but it was their home and they loved it. “You look beautiful with a tan, Francesca.” And her hair looked like spun gold.

They were all talking at once as Marya looked around the kitchen. A few things were out of place, and she set them to rights and put things on the shelf where they belonged. And then she noticed that the kitchen computer was gone. Francesca had given it to the police as evidence. They all had their own computers in their rooms, and didn’t need one in the kitchen anyway. Marya suspected that was why it had vanished, since Eileen used it so often.

The five of them couldn’t stop talking, to catch up on everything, and for the first time since Francesca had returned from Maine, the house felt alive and happy again and joyful. They each brought their special magic to it, and were a family together.

They were sitting at dinner at the round table in the kitchen, trying not to feel Eileen’s absence, when Francesca noticed something different about Charles-Edouard and Marya. She didn’t want to say anything, but as she cleared the soup dishes with her and rinsed them, she whispered to Marya.

“Am I crazy, or is something going on with you and Charles-Edouard?” It was subtle but noticeable, and Chris had sensed it too but would never ask. He was far too polite.

Marya grinned mischievously as she answered in a whisper too. “His wife left him this summer. She filed for divorce. She’s marrying his main sous-chef.” Francesca stared at her in amazement.

“Omigod! Are you serious?”

Her voice was slightly louder in her excitement for Marya, and she lowered it again. “Are you getting married?”

“I don’t know yet. I want to see if he can be faithful for more than five minutes. But we’re happy and having a good time. This is all very recent. He showed up in Vermont a few weeks ago. It’s very new.” She looked beautiful and young as she said it. And Charles-Edouard glanced at the two women whispering at the sink, and suspected what they were talking about as they giggled. He smiled at Marya.

When they sat down again, and Marya served the chicken, he looked at Francesca with a warm smile. “Marya told you?” She nodded and beamed at both of them, while Chris looked confused.

“I’m very happy for both of you,” Francesca said with a loving look, and got up to kiss him on both cheeks, French style. “That’s wonderful news.”

“Did I miss something?” Chris looked puzzled. “Did something happen with you two this summer?” It looked that way to him.

“We’re in love. My wife is divorcing me.” He looked extremely happy about it, as he beamed at Chris.

“Good for you both!” Chris said with a broad smile. “I’m happy for you.” He meant it, although he wouldn’t have wanted to be in that situation himself. He had sworn off love forever after Kimberly. He always insisted that he didn’t miss it. His life was peaceful and sane, and he had Ian. “That’s exciting! When did all this happen?”

“In Vermont,” Marya filled in. Charles-Edouard got up to pour them all champagne, and they toasted the couple, and then as Francesca looked around the table, she wanted to offer another toast. She had a lump in her throat when she did.

“To Eileen. I hope she’s in a better place now,” she said softly, and they each solemnly raised their glass and took a sip.

“Why did she move back to California?” Ian asked plaintively. “I miss her. She was nice.”

“Yes, she was,” Francesca agreed. “Sometimes people we like move away,” she said simply. Ian nodded and started cutting his chicken, and after that they talked of Marya and Charles-Edouard, their respective summers and plans for the fall. Ian had started third grade, Francesca had a heavy exhibition schedule at the gallery, including two one-man shows, and she wanted to go to Art Basel in Miami in December. Charles-Edouard and Marya had their book to write. For the first time in weeks, life felt normal again at 44 Charles Street. Eileen wasn’t forgotten and never would be, but life went on.