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Time to Touch the Thorn (photo Peter Suneson, Sweden)
I knew it had to happen sooner or later. We had to meet Maria Carlini in person and run the gauntlet of her grieving family. Della and I got into an argument about it on the way over to their house. I had some serious reservations about David. “He’s not telling us everything,” I said, as Della and I walked through North Cambridge from the subway. “I think he’s just trying to keep himself out of jail.”
“How?” Della argued. “This has to do with his wife, not him.”
“He makes it seem like he had nothing to do with it,” I argued. “Paying good money to get services for the wife sounds like a ploy. He wants to come out looking like the good guy.”
“Sounds to me like Antonette pushed him into coming,” Della replied.
“Or so it seems,” I said back. “Even Antonette admitted that he’d been drinking.”
“Seems to me that he’d be in jail already if that were the case,” Della continued. “They must have done a breath test at the crash scene, right?”
I couldn’t answer that one. I felt uneasy, manipulated somehow. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t know what to think. Maybe the upcoming meeting would settle me, one way or the other.
We came up to a small house. There was a well-tended garden in the front and the paint was fresh and new. There wasn’t a scrap of litter on the sidewalk and the driveway looked hosed clean. We walked to the door and I rang the bell. It was answered by a chunky woman with graying hair. “Can I help you?” she asked in low, hoarse tones. I smelled cigarette smoke, and a moment later heard her throaty cough. She looked at Della, noticing the white cane.
“My name is Della Peterson,” Della began. “We’ve been working with David Carlini to set up a special computer for his wife, Maria.”
The woman scowled and swung open the door. “Well, come on in,” she said. “I heard you was coming.” Then she bellowed towards the back of the house, “Maria! Your company’s here. You ready to see ‘em, sweetheart?”
“Sure.” Maria’s voice sounded tired, but not weak. “I’m ready, hon.”
The woman walked towards the sound of the voice. I followed her, with Della’s hand on my shoulder, following me. The back parlor was small, but clean. The furniture and carpets were old, but not a speck was out of place. It reminded me of my grandmother’s house. A woman sat on the couch against the farthest wall. Maria Carlini was small, compared to the woman who met us at the door. She looked to be about the same age, though. Smatterings of gray shot through her hair. One eye was still bandaged. The other, a prosthetic, looked at nothing in particular. Her face was still bruised, although starting to heal. She smiled at the sound of our voices.
I walked us over to where she sat. “Hi,” I said. She turned her head towards us. “My name is Maggie, and I’m going to be helping Della set up a computer for you.”
“Okay.” She didn’t sound overly enthusiastic. “Have a seat.”
We did. “How are you feeling?” I asked Maria.
“Okay.” Maria was about as forthcoming as David.
“Yeah, she’s okay all right,” the other woman suddenly interjected. “She just went through a windshield and lost her eyesight. She’s just fine.”
“Ann…These are our guests.” Maria’s scold was gentle, but firm.
Ann stiffened, then remembered her manners. “I’m sorry,” she said, contritely. “I been rude to you. It’s not your fault. Thank you for coming.” She walked towards us. “I’m Ann, David’s sister,” she introduced herself. “It’s been a bad month.”
Maria nodded, carefully. “Yes,” she agreed. “A real bad month. But, I’m okay. Thanks for asking. Actually, I have my good days and my bad days. I got one eye, but they don’t know what’s gonna’ happen with that.”
“I’m sorry,” Della said. “We’d like to help. Maggie and I can help put together a special computer that can help you with some things, like reading,” she said.
Maria looked unsure of herself. “Will that cost a lot of money?” she asked, finally.
Hadn’t David told her anything? “We’ll try to keep the costs low,” I explained. “It’ll depend on what you need the computer to do. How much did your husband tell you?”
“Well, not a lot,” Maria admitted. “He’s been feeling so bad…”
Ann snorted, then coughed. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She looked at both of us then, thankfully, put them away. “Rotten habit,” she said. “But at least with smokin’ I’m not killing nobody but myself.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” I said, curiosity winning out over caution, “what exactly happened?”
Ann fingered the pocket with the smokes, fidgeting. “Our nephew got married last month,” she said. “Maria’s been sick – you heard about that? – but she wanted to go. So, we all went: Dave and Maria, my husband and me. Guess David decided to fall off the wagon.”
Off The Wagon, In the Ditch? (photo Kym McLeod, Australia)
“He’s been upset,” Maria interrupted. “I been sick. The cancer. That’ll upset anybody.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Ann replied. “And it just ain’t right. David should have known better. And, of course, he insisted on driving home. Said he was fine. Only had one glass of wine.” Ann snorted again. “One glass, yeah sure. Not the way he was walking around. So he starts driving – stupid us for letting him – and you know the rest.”
“Maggie, Della,” Maria said, waving her hand and silencing the other woman. There was an affection in her gesture, but also the sense that she had to keep her angry sister-in-law on a short leash. “You know, you don’t have to do this. I know David wants to help. He said he wasn’t drunk and I believe him. He doesn’t lie to me.”
“We don’t mind,” Della said. “If it would help with daily activities. I’m afraid it’s all we can do, but it’s better than nothing. You could read your mail, you could send emails, you could listen to what’s on web pages. You could even talk and have the computer transcribe it, if you don’t know how to type.”
“You know, it’s a lot of work for you two,” Maria went on. “I got to tell you, I got cancer. I don’t know how much time I got left. I love my husband, but he feels guilty, you know?”
Ann moved over to her sister-in-law and sat next to her. She seemed to have a change of heart. “Maria, why don’t you listen to them?” she said. “Don’t you want something to help with things like that?” She took Maria’s arm and squeezed it, then kissed her hand. “Honey, I’ll bet you’ll be around for a long time. I’ll probably pop off before you. Why don’t you listen to them, at least? We can pay.” Then she rose and walked to me, indicating she wanted a private moment for the two of us to talk. We walked back to the small kitchen. “Please, do whatever you can,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to say it in front of her, but she don’t have much time. Maybe this will take our mind off it. I’m out of tears at this point.”
“Sure,” I said. “We’ll take care of it. Della uses the same technology. We’ll make sure it’s easy to learn how to use. I’m so sorry about this. Between you and me, this happens more than you’d think.”
Ann raised her head. “You mean, because of drinking?”
I nodded. “Drinking. Drugs. The body is a frail thing.” I wasn’t going to, but then I decided to ask: “what’s going to happen to David? Do you know?”
“You mean, why wasn’t he arrested?” Ann knew exactly what I was talking about. “Because the cops never got around to giving him the breatholizer test. There’s no direct evidence. That’s what they tell me. They’re still looking into it, though.” She looked back at Della and Maria, who had stopped talking and were now waiting for us to return. “Look, David’s my brother. Maybe I’m a bad sister, but I love Maria and I love their kids. This has destroyed them. It wasn’t enough that she’s dying of cancer. No, he has to add injury to insult. He killed us all.” She looked back at her sister-in-law. “He killed us all.”
