Overboard

No one answered immediately, but a few moments later Mrs. Calderone, the housekeeper, looked tentatively out of the laundry room and into the kitchen.

"Oh ... it's you, Mr. Lynch. I wasn't expecting you. Vernon said you were sailing and wouldn't be home until later."

"Yes," Tom smiled. "Miss Fairly and I caught a nice stiff breeze today and got back early. Everything all right?"

"Yes, sir. Tony is at the factory and Vernon went to the university to see about some courses and books or something. Did you have a nice weekend?" she asked.

"Yes ... very nice. We went to Saturna Island. Lovely weather all the way."

The middle-aged woman smiled and went back to the laundry room, sorting and folding clothes from the dryer.

Tom reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a large bottle of Pino Grigio that was already open. Taking two glasses from the cupboard above, he poured a glass for each of them, then motioned to her to step onto the back deck. Again, Connie led and Tom followed, sitting in chairs around the glass-topped table in the middle of the deck.

"She's not a busy-body, but I don't want her listening in on our conversation," he said.

Connie nodded agreement and sipped her wine.

After a couple of false starts, Tom began. "So ... where do we go from here, Connie? Is it too soon to talk to our parents or the boys?"

She didn't answer immediately, gazing into her wine glass.

"Probably," she said a length. "I don't feel pressured to tell anyone yet, Tom. We really haven't even begun to get used to the idea that we are going to be together. I have a feeling we both have a lot to learn about each other."

"Now you're starting to sound like me. What happened to the woman who said 'damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead?'" he chuckled. "Are you having second thoughts?"

She shook her head violently. "No ... absolutely not! I waited too long for this ... now I'm going to enjoy every moment of it. I just ... I just don't want to hurt anyone. I guess my mother is most on my mind. And yours too. They might be upset if they thought we were rushing things."

"What about the boys?" he asked.

"I'm not so worried about them. I wouldn't be surprised that they didn't already have a clue, based on my being here so often. I feel really comfortable around them, and I think they feel the same way around me."

"Maybe it's just teenage lust," he joked.

"You think?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

"Raging hormones are common in the youth, male and female."

She laughed. "Well, I'd be flattered, but not interested. As nice as they are, I've got the hots for their father."

Tom went silent, looking out over the back yard. After a couple of minutes, he turned to Connie.

Connie reached out and took his hand, squeezing it in confirmation. She wanted to go to him and hug him closely and tell him it was all right, but she didn't. What neither of them saw was Mrs. Calderone, watching through the kitchen window and smiling.

Nothing was decided that afternoon aside from not yet wanting to reveal their mutual attraction to the family yet. They were hoping they could see each other regularly and keep their relationship quiet for another three months before they revealed it. Tom was doubtful that they would be successful for that long, but he would try.

It worked for a while. August turned out to be hot and dry as usual. Tom and Connie took every opportunity to get out on the Lady on the weekends. Neither of the boys seemed interested and had any number of excuses why they couldn't go. Neither he nor Connie was disappointed, of course. It gave them the privacy to spend intimate personal time together.

When the boys went back to school, little seemed to change for Tom. He was cheered by the fact that they would be home almost every night. The turmoil following Veronica's death had blunted the interlude from mid-April to June. During their summer vacations, Vern had been sharing his time between studying and writing his scholarship examinations and his latest girlfriend, while Tony went immediately to work at Lynchpin Plastics, this summer being assigned to quality assurance for all three months.

Tom had his own work to keep him occupied. He thought about Connie every day, marking time they could get together more often than just on the weekends. He was becoming more certain of his love for her. His mind no longer dredged up memories of Veronica. That was a relief. His dreams no longer featured her, either. The sexually voracious Connie had removed all those images. In fact, he discovered he hardly thought of Veronica at all these days.

What brought it back all over again was a call one September Wednesday morning from their family lawyer, Malachi Wise.

"Hello, Tom. It's been quite some time since we talked. How are you?" the older gentleman asked.

"Fine, Malachi. I'm doing okay. To what do I owe the honour of your call?" he joked.

"Actually, Tom, I was wondering why you hadn't come in to talk about Veronica's will? Perhaps I should have called sooner, but since I hadn't heard from you, there didn't seem to be any urgency to it."

"Her will? I hadn't even given it a thought. I'd forgotten she had one, to be honest. I only thought about my will and making sure it was up to date. Besides, she hasn't been declared officially dead yet ... just missing and presumed drowned."

"Yes ... that's true, but it doesn't preclude our assuming her death and opening the will for review. We just can't take any action on its provisions. Why don't we make an appointment and go over that and a few other loose ends from her estate?"

"Sure. I'll make myself available to you. When would be convenient?"

"How about Friday? Come in just before noon and we can have lunch together. I'd like to catch up on how you and the family are doing," he said.

"I'd like that, Malachi. See you at your office near noon on Friday, then."

When Tom hung up the phone, he sat back in his office chair. He hadn't given any thought to Veronica's financial or personal affairs after the funeral. It was true he'd forgotten the will, but when Malachi mentioned "other loose ends," he wondered what that might include.

When Tom arrived at Malachi Wise's office on Friday, he found the man chatting with his secretary, waiting for him.

"Hello, Tom," he said, extending his hand. "It's been far too long since we've gotten together," the white-haired man smiled.

"What time do you have to be back?" Tom asked, assuming Malachi had afternoon an appointment or two."

"No rush. I cleared my calendar on Friday afternoons years ago. There had to be some benefit for success."

They conversed amiably as they walked down the street toward a well-known restaurant. Tom held the door as they entered and the maitre d' immediately greeted Malachi familiarly. They were seated within a minute and a waiter took their order for drinks.

"How are you, Tom? Holding up alright after that dreadful accident?"

"Yes. Much better now, thank you. I've come to accept that she's gone and I have many years yet to go if I'm lucky. I'll make a new life ... you can count on that."

"That's great. I'm really pleased to hear that. I was thinking the other day that it didn't seem that long ago that you lost your father ... and now Veronica. That must have been very difficult to deal with."

Tom nodded but didn't comment.

"Well ... enough of that. Tell me about what you've been doing. Have you been out on the boat at all?"

"Yes. Several times. Mostly with Connie ... Veronica's sister. She's helped pull me out of my blues and keep me active."

"That's wonderful. And how are the boys?"

"Fine. Both back in school and as far as I can tell, doing well. It's early yet, so I'll know more around Christmas I guess."

They ate in a comfortable silence as two friends might. Despite the age difference, Tom had always enjoyed meeting and working with Malachi Wise. He was nothing like the stereotypical television lawyer. He was quiet, humorous, thoughtful, and wise. His advice was almost always the right advice.

As they finished their meal and accepted an offered coffee, Malachi turned his attention to the reason for their meeting.

"Tom, did you know that Veronica made an addendum to her will only a couple of weeks before she ... disappeared?"

"No ... no, I didn't. What kind of addendum?" he asked, puzzled by this information.

"I don't know. She gave me a letter, sealed, addressed to you and to be included with the will. As far as the basics in the will, nothing changed, only the addition of the letter. Since you have a copy of her will, I see no reason you can't read the letter now."

"And this happened shortly before the accident?"

"Yes," Malachi said. "March 29th, just short of three weeks before that terrible weekend."

"I can't imagine what it would be about. I guess I won't know until I read it. Why don't we go back to your office and deal with everything," Tom suggested.

"Of course. Let me get the bill," he volunteered. If there was anything Tom knew about Malachi it was that the bill wouldn't show up on any billing later.

They walked the five minutes back to his office and Malachi closed the door behind them after having asked his secretary not to interrupt them. He sat behind the big cherry desk that had been his father's before him, leaning back in a comfortable, large leather chair. He looked every part the gentleman lawyer.

He took a folder from his centre desk drawer, laid it in front of him and opened it. He took out the original of the will, a cream coloured envelope, and some miscellaneous papers.

"Nothing's been changed in the body of her will since you both filed them with me, so unless you want to refresh your memory, I can leave that. I assume you have a copy at home or in your safe deposit box?" he asked.

"Yes. Both our copies are in there."

"Then the only thing to concern yourself with is this envelope. I don't know what it contains, so if you'd like to open it in private, I'll leave the room until you are finished."

"Thank you," Tom said as Malachi rose and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

He picked up the envelope and stared at it. It was a heavy paper, quality paper, with a single name printed in ink on its front: "Tom." He had a sinking feeling about what it might contain. He was initially reluctant to open it, but at length, his curiosity got the better of him. He borrowed Malachi's letter opener and slit the top flap. Inside were several pages of similar paper. As he unfolded them, he saw Veronica's distinctive, stylishly neat handwriting. He felt his stomach clench, giving him momentary pause before he began to read.

My Dearest Tom: As you read this, you know I will be gone. I haven't yet chosen my exit, but I won't be able to put it off much longer. I'm sorry I have caused you pain, but for my own selfish reasons, I have chosen this way to tell you why. That word, selfish, is important, and you will see it again and again in this letter.

Earlier this year I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. My doctor prescribed a treatment program, but before I agreed to it, I asked her to be completely honest with me. What were the odds of my recovery? It took some time to get her to admit that they were one-in-five. Not very good odds, I'm sure you'd agree.

At that point, I made a decision. A selfish decision, I admit. I chose not to agree to the treatment. Naturally, my doctor tried to talk me out of it, but I was adamant. I told her that no one was to know of this diagnosis, and I made her swear that she would not reveal it to anyone.

Chemotherapy, radiation treatment, and whatever cocktail of drugs would be very unpleasant, and frankly, I'm not that brave. I decided to take the easy way out. I would allow the cancer to run its course until I couldn't tolerate it any longer and then end it on my own terms. The coward's way out, they say, but I disagree. I couldn't stand to see the pain and pity in your eyes, or the eyes of our family and friends.

I am, if nothing else, a very good actress. I hid that information from you and everyone else. I never had a hint that any of you suspected anything was wrong. As I thought about what was left of my life, I realized I wasn't the woman I wanted to be. I was selfish. I thought about me first, regardless of whom else might be involved. You gave me everything; your love, fidelity, devotion, and of course, the material things that I craved.

I had everything a woman could want. A handsome, successful, loving husband, two wonderful sons, a supportive family, a lovely home -- everything. I was spoiled, but it never occurred to me that I was until I had to face my own mortality. Now, looking in the mirror, I know who I really am, and I'm not very proud of it.

Shortly before I was told of my fate, I began an affair with another man. It doesn't matter who he was -- and no, you don't know him. Why? Because I could. He wanted me and I wanted the thrill of something forbidden and completely outside what anyone would ever expect of me. Again, it was selfish of me, but at that point, I didn't worry about anything except being caught. That would have been disastrous.

I'm not telling you this to hurt you, only to show you who I really was. I wish I could give you some explanation for why I would betray a man like you for one who would happily take advantage of a married woman. I can't. In the back of my mind, I thought I could get away with it and it would be my dirty little secret. I didn't intend for it to last, only to experience the illicit thrill of cheating.

I wanted to end the affair some weeks ago, but I didn't. It can't last much longer. When I was honest enough to compare him to you, he failed in every way. It had ceased to be exciting or rewarding in any manner. It was just cheap and selfish. I did it for me.

I have been trying to write this letter over the last month. I know now that the time I have left is limited. Sooner or later, you will notice the changes in me. I can't let that happen. I loved you, Tom; at least as much as I loved anyone besides myself. I'm not very proud of myself, but it is who I am. Now at least, I can be honest with myself.

Take good care of our sons. My death will hurt them, and I ask that you do not share this letter with them or my parents. I'm told that there will be an autopsy, so the disease will be revealed then, but if I could prevent that, I would. You will survive, my husband. There is another woman who loves you even more than I do. Constance has loved you from the moment she first met you, and nothing has changed. Allow her to comfort and love you, Tom. She will never do to you what I have done. With her, you will find true happiness and a deep, abiding love; something I was incapable of giving.

Take care, my husband, and goodbye. Veronica He put the letter down, tears streaming down his cheeks. All the answers to all the questions were there. He could almost see her stepping over the rail on the Lady and dropping into the water, putting an end to her misery.

He wasn't aware of how long he just sat, staring at the letter in his hand, the pain of her confession penetrating deeper and deeper with each passing moment. At length, he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Come in," he said, wiping his eyes and standing as Malachi re-entered the room and approached.

"Are you all right?" he asked solicitously.

"I don't know how to answer that, Malachi. Veronica's letter ... it was ... a confession. She had terminal cancer and intended to end it all before she couldn't handle it any more. She never said a word to anyone about it. None of us knew she was ill. But there was more," Tom said, collapsing back into the chair. "Can I assume this is all under attorney-client privilege?"

"Of course," Malachi answered quickly.

"You'd better read this."

Tom sat quietly while Malachi read Veronica's letter. He could see the aging lawyer's eyes open wide as he read. The look of surprise and shock was written plainly on his face. After a few minutes, he put the letter down on his desk, shaking his head.

"I never would have imagined, Tom."

"There's more. Something I should have told you at the time. I was called into RCMP headquarters for an interview two months after her disappearance. That was when I first learned of Veronica's infidelity. They asked me if I had ever heard of Mr. So-and-so and I said no. That was the truth. I didn't know the man and had never heard his name. Then they revealed they had received a tip that this man was having an affair with Veronica. The tip must have come well after Veronica disappeared. They questioned the guy and extracted an admission out of him that he was indeed involved with Veronica.

"Then they suggested that if I knew she had a lover that I would have a motive for doing away with her. Naturally I denied any knowledge and they seemed to accept that. I was released and I haven't heard from them since."

"Why didn't you call me, Tom? You put yourself in a very dangerous position."

"I know, but I was innocent and I wasn't expecting to be accused of anything. As it turns out, I wasn't."

"I don't think we should take that as a given, Tom. The police can sometimes take quite a while to build a case before they file charges. It wouldn't we wise to just wait without taking some action."

"What should I do?" Tom asked.

"I have a suggestion," Malachi said. "I think we should contact the RCMP and go there and present them with this letter. It doesn't prove anything about what you knew or didn't know of her affair, but it shows Veronica had the intent to commit suicide. That would certainly mitigate any motive on your part."

"All right," Tom agreed. "I haven't heard anything from them for months now, so I wasn't expecting to. Unless her body washes up somewhere, I doubt now she'll ever be found, and even if it is I can't imagine what kind of condition it would be in."

"Do you remember who you were talking to at headquarters," the lawyer asked.

"Yes. I have their cards," Tom said, digging them out of his wallet.

"Why don't I give them a call and set up an appointment. I'll do the talking and you just come along as a silent party. Let's see if we can put this whole thing to rest and get a death certificate issued when they close the case."

It went better than Tom anticipated. They met with Janecek and Philliponi at their office and Malachi showed them the letter, attesting that it had been received on March 29th, three weeks before her disappearance. Tom included a sample of her handwriting to confirm it was written by Veronica. One hour later, they left RCMP headquarters, satisfied that the case would now be closed and Malachi could petition the court to grant a death certificate.

There was little to distribute in Veronica's will except her jewellery, clothes, and car. Tom would look after that himself with Vern eventually assuming title to his mother's car in order to commute to SFU. Tony had purchased his own car with his earnings from his summer job at Lynchpin. The jewellery would be held by Tom to be given to the future wives of Vern and Tony, with the exception of a diamond pendant that Veronica bequeathed to Connie. Tom had bought the pendant on their fifteenth anniversary and Connie had always admired it.

In a strange way, the letter had put an end to Tom's unease about Veronica's death. He now knew what had happened to her and why. In a way, he understood, but still was unhappy that she had chosen to leave them without the opportunity to say goodbye. The affair would remain a secret shared only with the police, Malachi and Connie. He didn't want Veronica's memory stained by something as tawdry as her affair turned out to be.

When he arrived home, he called Connie.