Red Leaves by Paullina Simons
She realized as she struggled up that it wasn’t depression. Her body was throbbing.
How long would they have just left me on the floor? she wondered, running the brush through her knotted hair. How long would I have lain here? Would they all have gone off? Wilmington, Cold Spring Harbor, and left me here without Aristotle. She looked at the clock. It was already afternoon.
Getting dressed was agony. The shoulder was worse today, but Kristina was able to lift the aching arm about waist high. She held it there for a few excruciating seconds before gently lowering it.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. She didn’t recognize the knock, but when she heard it, her heart sank.
‘Who is it?’
‘Police. Open up.’
Kristina raised her eyebrows and heaved a depressed sigh. Not this, too. On top of everything else.
‘Wait a minute, please,’ she said. ‘I’m getting dressed.’
The knock came again. ‘Open the door, please. Now.’
‘Goddammit,’ Kristina muttered under her breath and went to the door in just her track-suit top and underwear.
Opening the door, she faced a young, short, heavyset police officer, sticking his police ID into her face, and Spencer O’Malley.
Spencer, standing two feet back, suppressed a smile. The patrolman became extremely flustered.
‘Officers, how do you do?’ Kristina said in her most formal voice. ‘If you could give me a few minutes, I’d appreciate it.’
Spencer said nothing but smiled at her, while the other officer, red-faced and awkward, said, touching his police badge with his hand and trying hard not to look at her, ‘Take your time.’
Kristina thanked them and closed the door, reappearing a moment later with her track-suit pants on. ‘Now,’ she said smiling. ‘What can I do for you?’ She didn’t acknowledge Spencer O’Malley, but she did notice that he was holding her new purse in his hands.
The heavyset officer introduced himself as Patrolman Ray Fell and did most of the talking. ‘Miss Kim?’ He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and had a mass of unruly, curly black hair. He looked more like a computer nerd than a cop.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said.
‘Do you drive a brown 1981 Ford Mustang?’ And he read off the license plate number.
‘Well,’ she said evasively, ‘the answer to that has to be no.
‘No?’
‘No, I no longer drive a Ford Mustang.’
Spencer O’Malley smiled again. Sergeant Fell furrowed his brows and his voice became firmer.
‘You are listed as the driver of said vehicle.’
‘I no longer drive it as of yesterday,’ she said.
‘Has it been in an accident?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Definitely.’
‘Miss Kim, did you leave your car after the accident?’
‘Well, yes,’ she said, looking at Spencer O’Malley. Unlike Raymond Fell, he was dressed in street clothes.
‘Do you know that it’s a crime to leave the scene of an accident?’ said Ray Fell. ‘It’s called conduct after an accident, and it’s a class-A misdemeanor. The driver of the vehicle is not allowed to leave the scene of an accident if there’s been any body or property damage.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You didn’t know to wait till the police came?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It was very dark, and I just wanted to get out of there.’ She paused. ‘I was going to have a tow truck get the car today and take it to a junkyard.’
‘Miss Kim, you have to file an accident report, don’t you know that? Did you notify your insurance company?’
‘No,’ Kristina replied. ‘I was going to do that all today.’
The officer nodded. ‘Could you come with us to the police station to have a little chat, please?’
‘Officers,’ she said, ‘I want to do everything I can to cooperate. But I have a calculus test that I absolutely can’t miss.’
‘Miss Kim,’ said Fell, raising his voice, ‘obstructing the police department in their investigation of the accident is a class-B misdemeanor, punishable either by a fine or a jail term. Now, would you like to come with us?’
‘My intention is not to obstruct,’ Kristina said seriously. ‘I would very much like to come with you. What about later this afternoon? Maybe at four or so?’ She had a few errands to run first.
‘No, Miss Kim. Come with us now.’
Detective O’Malley stepped forward and put his arm on the young cop’s shoulder.
‘Miss Kim,’ said Spencer, ‘have you been to the hospital?’
Kristina shook her head.
‘Perhaps we could take you to Dartmouth-Hitchcock. Your face looks pretty banged up.’ He looked at her bad arm. ‘Someone should take a look at you.’
Kristina thought that someone had.
‘Sergeant,’ Fell said quietly, turning to Spencer, ‘I thought she was supposed to come with us now.’
Spencer nodded. ‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, she’s not going anywhere.’ Turning back to Kristina, Spencer said, ‘But a doctor should take a look at you, Miss Kim.’ He enunciated ‘Miss Kim’ slowly, almost tenderly.
Kristina stared up into Spencer’s light blue eyes. ‘I really feel all right,’ she said. ‘I can always go to the Dartmouth infirmary, thanks. But would this afternoon be okay?’
‘Not possible. You’re already facing probable grounds for arrest,’ said Fell. ‘It’s police procedure to fill out the accident report immediately. You left the scene. It’s a misdemeanor. You have to come with us.’
Coughing, Spencer O’Malley again placed his hand on Fell’s shoulder. ‘Raymond,’ he said. ‘Could you wait for me downstairs, please?’
Ray Fell was reluctant to leave, but as little as Kristina understood police hierarchy, she knew Ray Fell had been given an order he had to obey.
After Fell left, Spencer turned to Kristina and smiled, handing her her purse. T didn’t think we’d meet again so soon.’
Taking her bag from him and dropping it near the door, Kristina replied, ‘Well, don’t you know? I staged the whole accident just so we could meet.’
Without missing a beat, Spencer said, ‘You didn’t have to go to all that trouble.’
‘No trouble.’
‘You’re in a lot of trouble, you know. You made the patrolman quite upset.’
‘Thanks for helping me out.’ Kristina wanted to ask Spencer to come inside, but her room was such a mess, and she was embarrassed by it. She didn’t want Spencer O’Malley to think she was a slob. She made a mental promise to clean it as soon as she could. Thank God she brushed her hair.
‘You did commit a crime, you know.’
‘I didn’t know it was a crime, did I?’
‘Why didn’t you just wait for help?’
Kristina felt impelled to tell Spencer the truth. ‘I don’t like hospitals much. Plus yesterday was my birthday. We were having a party.’
‘Ah, happy birthday. Was it a nice party?’
‘Very nice,’ said Kristina.
‘Twenty-one feel old?’
‘Yes, how’d you know?’
‘Because I recently turned thirty. And it felt really old.’
She was thinking how young Spencer actually looked, even with his stubbly hairdo. He looked like a lanky kid just out of the army.
‘Do you really have a calculus test?’ he asked her gently.
‘Well… if I took calculus, then yes.’ Kristina watched his expression and then said, ‘I don’t really have one. But I kind of have to get to the bank before three.’
‘What, rearranging your finances at twenty-one?’ Spencer was joking.
Kristina said, ‘Something like that,’ and looked away.
Standing in front of Kristina with his arms crossed, Spencer said, ‘Tell you what. Do you want me to hold your accident report on my desk until after the holiday?’
‘You can do
He shrugged. ‘Sure. I’m in charge, I can do anything. Just don’t let my boss find out. He’ll cream me.’
‘Okay,’ she readily agreed. ‘But what’s the catch?’
‘No catch,’ said Spencer. ‘But…’ He became flustered and trailed off. Kristina watched him turn red. Inquisitively she peered into his face. He became redder and stammered for words. ‘What I was trying to say, was - I was wondering if you - you and I maybe could - you know - grab some dinner or something.’
Kristina smiled. ‘Dinner, huh?’
‘Yeah, if you wanted to.’ He lowered his eyes.
‘Dinner where?’
‘At Jesse’s. They have the best steak there. You like steak, don’t you?’
‘I love steak,’ Kristina said. ‘I don’t get to eat it too often.’
‘Is that a yes?’
‘It’s an I don’t know,’ she replied, her heart beating a little faster. She almost wanted to touch his shorn hair. ‘I’m so busy around here…’
‘It’s an evening. What’s an evening?’
She bowed her head. ‘When were you thinking?’
‘Friday?’
‘What, this Friday?’
He scratched his head. ‘Yeah, why not? Oh, wait, it’s Thanksgiving weekend.’
‘Yeah,’ she said. She really wanted to go out with him this Friday, but she didn’t want him to think she had no life.
Then he made it easy for her. ‘How about the following Friday?’ he said.
‘Okay,’ Kristina said, grinning. ‘Okay, Spencer O’Malley. You can take me out to dinner in exchange for not putting me in the slammer.’
‘Don’t be silly. No one was going to put you in the slammer. It’s procedure. We live and die by procedure at Hanover. Will you be able to come next Monday? Or do you want me to swing by and pick you up?’
‘No, no, don’t worry. I’ll get there myself.’
Spencer smiled. Kristina noticed he had a beautiful smile. Perfect teeth. ‘You’re not going to come, are you?’ he said, obviously trying to hide the pleasure at her saying yes.
‘No, I will, I will.’ She was thinking it would give her another chance to see him but saw that he remained unconvinced. ‘Uhh… about next Friday - what time?’
‘Any time that’s good for you. I get off at five.’
‘Well, we’re playing Crimson - the game should be over at ten. Is that too late? We can go at, like, ten-fifteen.’
‘You’re going to the game?’
‘What do you mean, going?’ said Kristina. ‘I’m playing.’
Spencer shook his head. ‘Not with that shoulder you’re not.’
Kristina felt a stab of fear. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean - you’re not going to be able to play with that arm.’
She didn’t want to talk about it. Not even with him. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she said dismissively.
He was looking at her with an amused expression. ‘Should I pick you up here?’
‘Depends. Are you going to come in a police vehicle or an unmarked car?’
‘Whichever you prefer, Kristina.’
She smiled, unable to hide her pleasure. ‘Come in a police vehicle then. With sirens. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring an extra siren, just for you.’
‘And I’ll get dressed up,’ she said. ‘Just for you.’ I’ll have to buy a dress, she thought.
‘Deal,’ he replied, and then impulsively reached out and touched Kristina’s face. Before he went, he said, ‘It looked like a terrible accident. Your car was in bad shape.’ He looked her over. ‘Worse than you. You’re lucky to be alive, you know.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ she said, but inside Kristina knew he was right.
‘Listen,’ Spencer said. ‘Promise me something. If your arm doesn’t get better by tomorrow, you’ll go and have it checked out.’
Kristina said sheepishly, ‘Does it look that bad?’
Nodding, Spencer said, ‘It looks bad. Looks sprained. You can’t move it, can you? You never know. Sometimes it’s something more serious. Promise me.’
‘Okay, Detective O’Malley,’ said Kristina, trying to move her arm. ‘I promise.’
She extended her right hand, and he held it briefly. His hand was warm and strong. As he backed away toward the fire doors, Spencer said, jokingly, uncertainly, ‘And no standing me up. Or I’ll have to arrest you for lying to a police officer.’
‘Oh, is that a misdemeanor, too?’
‘Capital crime.’
Laughing, Kristina said, ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be here with bells on.’
‘See you later.’
‘See you, Spencer.’
She watched him go through the doors and then turn around and sneak a look at her. Kristina’s body stopped throbbing for a moment after seeing that. The heat of pleasure soothed her aching skin.
She closed the door behind her, then went back and locked it. She sat in front of her Macintosh and opened a new document. She quickly typed in the date - November 23, 1993 - and the time - 2:29 p.m. - and the, To Whom It May Concern. Deleting that, she typed, Dear Sir or Madam. Yes, that was better. She wrote a short note, printed it, and closed out of Word. When the computer prompted her to save the file, she clicked NO.
It was snowing when Kristina went outside. Steady flutters were building momentum. Kristina wondered if Albert and Conni and Jim had left for the weekend. No, they couldn’t have, she reasoned. Aristotle’s not in my room. They wouldn’t just take Aristotle without letting me know first.
Cold in her faded blue track pants, Kristina hobbled to the bank. She could have put on a second sweatshirt, but what Kristina wanted was her mother’s coat back. Maybe she could call Spencer O’Malley and ask him to drive her up to Fahrenbrae. No. Too many questions. Fahrenbrae wasn’t real to anyone but her and Albert, and she wanted to keep it that way.
The bank was closing at three. She had to hurry.
But hurrying was difficult; in the accident she had banged her knee on the underside of the front panel and now it hurt like hell. At East Wheelock, across from the Hanover Inn, she slowed down to a limp and waited for the cars to pass. Why am I in such a hurry? she thought. So I don’t make it. There is always tomorrow. The banks are open tomorrow, aren’t they? And there is going to be hardly anybody around. I can go then. It really doesn’t matter. But she wanted to have her note notarized immediately.
‘Sorry, closed,’ said a guard holding the keys in the door.
‘Listen, I just want to put something in my safety deposit box and check my balance, that’s it. Please,’ she panted.
He called over an accounts representative, who reluctantly let her in.
‘Please be quick,’ she told Kristina.
I’ll be nimble, I’ll jump over a candlestick, Kristina thought. ‘I’ll be just a sec. Thanks.’
She waited to be let into the back vault room.
‘Hi, Mr Carmichael. Would you be able to notarize something for me?’
Mr Carmichael, a thin, gray-bearded man of fifty-five, rolled his eyes, then smiled at Kristina with kindly expression.
‘Closed, Kristina,’ he said patiently. ‘Do you understand closed?’
‘I do. Mr Carmichael, you can do it, can’t you?’
He sighed. ‘What do you need?’
‘Just notarize my signature here.’ She took out her paper, but folded it so that he couldn’t see the contents of the letter.
‘I have to see the whole document, Kristina,’ he said. ‘You know the rules. I’ve notarized stuff for you before.’
Kristina had no choice but to show him the contents of the letter.
After reading it, Mr Carmichael glanced at Kristina, who hoped her face was blank.
Mr Carmichael said, ‘Okay, sign right here.’ She did, and he got his notary stamp and notarized her signature, and then they used their keys to open her safety deposit box and Mr Carmichael left her alone.
She put the notarized letter carefully into the manila envelope containing the divorce papers and then quickly rummaged through the contents of the box. She thought a moment, then took out a pencil and scribbled on the back of an old letter. She buried it in the box and left.
‘Have a nice Thanksgiving!’ Kristina called out to Mr Carmichael. ‘And thank you!’
He waved. ‘Anytime, Kristina. Have a nice holiday.’
Yes, it’s going to be just peachy, she thought, wishing she had her coat, wishing she had a drink, wishing her head would stop throbbing. She was glad she had made it to the bank. Tomorrow she intended to sleep till the sun went down.
It was now snowing hard. The snow was no longer coming down in little flakes, but in thick clumps that looked like snowballs. They fell out of the sky and onto Kristina’s hair and face and the ground. The cars on Main Street moved slowly, quietly burrowing their wheels in the snow. The sidewalks had white fur on them, the Dartmouth-green awnings were white, and the trees stood still and black and bare.
Kristina crossed Main Street and debated going to Peter Christian’s to buy some carrot cake to take home - there had been a time last summer when she subsisted on carrot cake -but decided it might be better tomorrow when everyone had gone and she could go in and have a nice quiet lunch and read the paper.
Kristina hadn’t eaten since last night’s cake. In the last twenty-four hours she had had the Red Leaves ice cream cake, the German chocolate cake, and Southern Comfort. Some diet. Still, she wasn’t hungry. Her head hurt.
Remembering yesterday made her cold again. Was it only yesterday when I almost died? Why does it feel like such a long time ago? She reached up and touched the swelling on the side of her head. Not that long ago, she thought. No, here it is, right here.
What if something is wrong? What if I have a concussion? Kristina thought, walking slowly back to campus. What if I have a concussion or a hematoma, and I’m going to bleed to death from the inside out? Blood will drip out of the veins in my brain and run down my body until it all collects in my swollen feet and legs, sloshing about in the big slop pot that is me, and then one morning I’m just not going to wake up.