Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
A/N: Italics in the second section indicate radio announcements.
Chapter 11—Skeletons
Yelina couldn't help but look around as she tapped down the hallway. In her mind, nursing homes were always supposed to be dank and dreary, she thought; a warehouse in which an old, sick, lonely old widow would live out her days. Instead, this one was bright, airy and cheery with yellows and greens and large windows to let in Florida's beauty. Of course, it was also a rehabilitation center, a stop along the way so that anyone needing long-term physical therapy wouldn't be in the hospital for quite so long. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed some teenage boys on crutches who looked to be about Ray Jr.'s age.
She stopped at the open door and read a boldly-lettered note that had been taped to the door moulding.
THE NEXT PERSON WHO ADDRESSES ME AS A "DEAR, SWEET OLD LADY" WILL HAVE SOMETHING THROWN AT THEM. I AM EITHER "MRS. JOHANNSEN" OR "MA'AM."
She smiled and tapped on the door. "Mrs. Johannsen?"
A large, perky blonde-haired woman in paisley scrubs wiped her hands on a paper towel as she poked her head out. "Ooh! You have a visitor, Mrs. J!"
Yelina hesitated. "I'm Yelina Salas, her neighbor." She held up a blue suitcase. "I brought some things."
The tall woman stood back and motioned with a smile. "Come on in. Just finishing up in here. Now Mrs. J, I'll be back to take you to Physical Therapy in an hour."
Slowly Yelina stepped behind her and watched behind her in the mirror. Mrs. Johannsen was in her wheelchair, wearing her high-collared blue dress that covered her burn-scarred arms and legs. Rather than wearing the white gloves, she now just held her scarred hands. Her grayish-blonde hair was in its careful bun. She had been staring into the wall mirror, just studying herself for what seemed an eternity. Not sad or defeated. Just studying herself. Like there were some things she had yet to discover about herself.
The P.I., sensing that Mrs. Johannsen wasn't going to move, simply pulled up a chair and sat next to her. "I brought your clothes and some other things."
Slowly and deliberately she put her scarred hand to her neck. "Thank…you."
The two of them sat in silence. Mrs. Johannsen still never took her eyes off that mirror.
"What are you thinking?" Yelina asked, just trying to make some conversation.
The lady now looked down and scrawled on her pad.
Cal came by this morning. I signed the order to have Steven, Joshua Michael and Lizzie exhumed.
Yelina just nodded quietly. There was nothing she could say, and both of them knew it.
I never had a proper chance to say goodbye to them. I spent six months in the hospital.
"Is that why you kept those mannequins of your family in your house and recreated that day?"
She nodded.
I wanted them to enjoy their Thanksgiving. She swallowed and gently wiped her eye. I loved them more than life itself, and they were torn away from me.
It was hard for Yelina to treat this like just another case. Mrs. Johannsen always had a way of making things so personal. "You yourself almost died trying to save them."
I tried to save them. And I couldn't. I would much rather have died and let them live long, happy lives. To watch Steven make a run for the Presidency. To watch my babies grow up and go to college. Even though Steven had a busy schedule and traveled a lot, I made time. I read to my babies almost every night before they went to bed. I used to lie on the bed between them and read their favorite books. I would read Amelia Bedelia, Where the Wild Things Are, Oscar the Grouch, Why Animals Don't Wear Clothes.
"What any wife and mother would have wanted."
With them gone I had nothing left. Ugly skin, ugly voice. I didn't care if everyone thought I was a lunatic. At least with the mannequins there I could still sit with them, talk to them, caress their hair, give them the best of everything. I could talk about politics with Steven. In my mind I can still hear their voices, even all these years later.
The lady closed her eyes and bowed her head while a tear trickled down her scarred face.
Something about this woman's brokenness made Yelina want to cry herself.
"There's nothing ugly about you. I don't believe that. You shouldn't either." She handed the lady a Kleenex and watched while she dabbed her eyes.
Cal tells me they want to do a psychiatric evaluation on me because of how I set up my home. Am I crazy to miss Steven and my babies?
"I'm sure it's just standard procedure. Anybody who's been through what you've been through is lucky to be alive."
Mrs. Johannsen allowed herself to cry more freely now, holding nothing back. She leaned her face on her scarred hand and sobbed. "I…miss…them!" she rasped through her tears.
The P.I. could only sit closer and give her more Kleenex. Slowly she held out her hand. Through her tears, Mrs. Johannsen reached out and clutched her fingers. Those fingers were frail, rough and scarred, but Yelina could feel a warmth. A longing. A willingness to love. That warmth seemed to travel through her hand and through her whole body, making her smile.
There were no other sounds in the room except the woman's quiet sobbing.
Yelina furrowed her eyebrows and then looked down. "Mrs. Johannsen, I read something in the news that said you had died in the fire as well. Does anyone else in your hometown know you're still alive? That you live here in Miami?"
Only a few people. People whom I trust. I suspect people put two and two together eventually. When I got out of the hospital, Cal's father became my trustee to help me untangle the estate. I was too sick to claim Steven's senate seat, so the Governor appointed a replacement.
Those sad brown eyes glanced at Yelina for a moment.
I tried to get involved with politics and civic affairs again. But I got tired easily and couldn't speak. Quite frankly, it just seems like nobody wants a damaged woman with ugly burn scars all over her.
"Mrs. Johannsen" she finally said. "Do you remember what you told me? Fear and loneliness cause people to do things they wouldn't ordinarily. And so can self-pity."
The man had a breathtaking view of the Twin Cities from his office. The sun was streaming in now, but none of that mattered. He might as well have been working in a dungeon. After all, it was just hours before that motion to suppress had to be filed with the courthouse. He sat alone now, shutting out all the high-end trappings that went with his career. The cappuccino machine in the corner. The cold, beautiful blue morning. That huge, warm, comfortable office. After all, none of it really mattered as much as the deadline that was holding him, closing in on him, tightening around his neck worse than that tie. He scanned through emails one last time, just to be sure that nothing else had been added.
The local talk show streamed in through his computer speakers, more as background noise. He took a sip of his cappuccino and pounded his keyboard again.
"You're listening to Twin Cities News Up To the Minute. Well, Folks! Talk about a surprise turn of events!"
"Yeah. Thanksgiving Day 1986. A very sad, tragic day. There are people in Minnesota that remember it like yesterday. That was the day a fire swept through the home of Senator-Elect Steven Johannsen just weeks before he was to go to Washington and take his Senate seat. He and their two children died in that fire. Horrible tragedy."
The man jerked his head up. Adrenaline shot through his body. "Huh?"
"For those of you who don't know the story, Steven Johannsen won the 1986 Senatorial race by a landslide, mostly with his America Works campaign."
"Right. And he always had his beautiful family with him. His wife Adelaide? Lizzie? Joshua Michael? Beautiful, beautiful family!"
"I remember. I had the good fortune to meet them during the campaign. Adelaide was just such a lady. She survived the fire, but she suffered burns over fifty percent of her body. Anybody who has seen her knew she was a fantastic speaker, just full of life and full of love. Well now new evidence has surfaced concerning that tragic fire, and a judge has ordered the case reopened. Dr. Michael Singletary with the Twin Cities Crime Lab is working in conjunction with the Miami-Dade Crime Lab in Florida."
He locked eyes with the computer screen while his breathing deepened. "What the hell!"
"Adelaide Johannsen went into seclusion after the tragedy. Well come to find out, she resides in Miami, Florida and has requested the case be reopened and further investigated. In 1987 the fire was ruled an accident, but Mrs. Johannsen insists that new evidence has turned up that suggests it may have started under suspicious circumstances."
That do-or-die deadline had suddenly evaporated. In a fit of rage he kicked his chair. It tipped over with a clatter. He then hyperventilated as he stepped to that plate glass window and rested against it, his palms out. He could feel his knees weaken. There was nothing but the glass between him and the Minneapolis skyline.
He cursed under his breath. Then he dialed his cell phone.
"Yeah. It's Bill. Yeah, how am I doing? You kidding me? You hear the news? They reopened the Johannsen case! Well how the hell should I know?" He now paced across his office, breathing to dispel the adrenaline. "Look! I was under the impression it was taken care of! Probably some kid clerking and wanted to make brownie points. You're damn right!" He pointed at the plush carpeting of his office now. "Look! I don't care how you do it. Either this goes away once and for all or it's your ass!" With that he clicked off his cell phone.