The Intruder
When people advised Loralee Yaegar against quitting college to marry Richie Perrillo and begin a family, she paid little attention to them. She had no need to worry about her future. Her intended husband, who was five years her senior, had inherited his late father's successful Italian deli and catering business and would be able to amply provide for his wife and any children they should have.
"But why rush into something? You can always get married after you graduate," well-meaning friends and relatives argued.
"Why do I need a degree when I plan on staying home and raising baby Perrillos?" Loralee would counter.
Although loved ones continued to try to convince her to do otherwise, Loralee left college in her junior year to become Mrs. Richard Perrillo. After the wedding, the couple moved into a two-story, colonial in Concord, Massachusetts, not far from Richie's catering business in Marlborough.
Just days before their first wedding anniversary, the couple was blessed with the birth of a healthy son. The parents named the seven-pound twelve-ounce boy Jon Jon after Loralee's father who was killed in Vietnam when she was a toddler. Both mother and father doted on the infant and spent hours holding him, feeding him, playing with him or just watching him sleep in his crib.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Loralee would often ask her husband, her heart bursting with love and maternal pride.
"You shouldn't refer to a boy as beautiful," Richie would object. "I don't want any son of mine growing up to be a sissy."
The archaic masculine/feminine stereotypes notwithstanding, Richie secretly agreed with his wife. His son was beautiful, and he loved the boy with all his heart.
Even though the deli and catering business could be demanding, Richie managed to find time to spend with his wife and child. He was a kind, loving, generous husband and gave every indication that he would be an excellent father. Loralee could not have been happier. Being a wife and mother suited her. She never once regretted her decision to forego an education and career in favor of having a family.
Loralee's joy was compounded when two years later she gave birth to a second child, a girl, whom she and Richie named Natalia. Once again, the parents' hearts filled with love, and their chests swelled with pride.
Now it was Richie's turn to stare at the tiny infant in the crib and ask, "Isn't she beautiful?"
"Only a week old," Loralee laughed, "and she's fast on her way to becoming a princess."
At night, when the children were both asleep—Jon Jon in his bedroom and Natalia in the nursery—Loralee and Richie would lie in each other's arms and dream of the future.
"I want to learn how to sew," the young mother once said, "so I can make their Halloween costumes. Those cheap, store-bought ones are so flimsy."
"I think I'm going to begin delegating more responsibility to Alfredo and Pasquale. That way, I'll be able to leave the two of them in charge of things when the kids get a little older and we go on vacations and day trips."
"Do you think it would be too soon to take them to Disney World this summer?" Loralee asked, as excited as a young child.
"Why don't we wait a couple of years for that?" her husband laughed. "At least until Natalia is potty-trained."
"I guess you're right," Loralee conceded. "We should probably start them off small anyway: petting zoos, picnics and sandboxes. Then we'll gradually work our way up to movie theaters and amusement parks. No need to rush; we've got their entire childhood ahead of us."
* * *
It was after the birth of her third child, Belinda, that Loralee began to experience odd feelings of apprehension and general uneasiness. Naturally, her mental state was attributed to postpartum depression, and her doctor prescribed appropriate medication. The drug, however, did not seem to help much.
"Don't worry," Richie said in an attempt to comfort his wife. "You'll feel better soon. You've just had a baby. It's only natural for you to feel some emotional disturbance. Your hormones are all out of whack."
"And just when did you have time to go to medical school, Dr. Perrillo?" she teased. "In between frying the sausage and peppers and preparing the baked ziti?"
"At least you've still got your sense of humor. See? Things can't be that bad."
On the contrary, things were worse than her husband suspected. Loralee's nerves became even more frazzled as she began to feel that someone was watching her.
"This is getting ridiculous," she told herself on several occasions. "There's no one in the house, and I'm sure no peeping Tom is standing outside in the bushes."
Logic was no match for her overwrought emotions. Dr. Dumfree's assurance that she would feel better in a few weeks proved to be false. In fact, Loralee felt worse as the days passed.
"I'm not suffering from a simple case of baby blues," she told the doctor when she reported to his office for a scheduled check-up. "It's more like paranoid schizophrenia."
Assuming the young mother was joking, the doctor laughed heartily.
"Don't tell me you believe secret agents are following you and that they plan on using you as a subject for their mind control experiments."
"This isn't a joke," Loralee cried. "I keep having these horrible feelings that I'm not alone. Every time I walk into a room I want to check inside the closets and under the bed."
"And have you found anyone hiding there?"
"No," she admitted.
"And you're not likely to," Dr. Dumfree concluded. "Mrs. Perrillo, you're as sane as I am. If you were suffering from schizophrenia, your mind would actually create a person in the closet and perhaps a second one under the bed. You would see them and even hold conversations with them."
Having been convinced of her sanity, Loralee tried to shake off her feelings of being watched. With some difficulty, she managed to succeed.
Then one day she noticed that several items in the nursery were not where she had left them. At first, she assumed either Jon Jon or Natalia had been playing in the room, but soon there were more such incidents. Several occurred when the two older children were at school, and only Loralee and the baby were in the house. When the rattle she knew she had left on the changing table turned up on the kitchen counter next to the bottle sterilizer, Loralee became frightened.
There must be an intruder in the house, she thought, fearing for the safety of her youngest child. What if it's a kidnapper?
After first getting a large carving knife from the kitchen, Loralee checked the locks on all the windows and doors. Then, once she ascertained that the place was secure, she bravely searched each room. There was no one there.
Am I only imagining everything, after all? she wondered.
Loralee dropped the knife, put her hands to her head and cried. She did not know how much more she could take before she finally snapped. After a good cry, the distraught mother dried her eyes, took several deep breaths and tried to regain some semblance of composure.
"Maybe a cup of tea will help," she said as she made her way to the kitchen.
A noise from the nursery caught her attention.
"The baby must be awake."
When Loralee entered the nursery, she discovered the intruder standing next to the crib, looking down at the sleeping infant. The mother's heart raced with fear.
"Who are you?" she demanded to know.
The intruder turned and faced her. Loralee gasped. The woman, though many years older, bore a strong resemblance to Loralee herself.
"Isn't she beautiful?" the intruder asked in a voice that sounded remarkably like Loralee's own. "Jon Jon and Natalia were both beautiful babies but not nearly as beautiful as this little one."
"What are you doing here?" Loralee asked. "And what do you want with my children?"
"Only to see them," the intruder replied sadly. "I hope you realize what a wonderful life you have."
Loralee laughed bitterly.
"What would you know about it? My life is a walking nightmare."
"No!" the intruder argued. "You have a husband who adores you and three wonderful children. You're so lucky."
"I used to believe that," Loralee admitted, "but not anymore. Now I'm miserable."
"No, you can't be. These were the best days of my life."
Loralee stared at the intruder.
"What do you mean your life?"
"Don't you recognize me? I am you, and you are me; or, more accurately, I am you twenty years from now, and you are me twenty years ago."
The idea that a woman could confront a younger or older version of herself was ludicrous.
"If you're really an older version of me," Loralee asked, "what are you doing here now?"
"As I said, this was the happiest time of my life. Here are the memories I cherish most. More and more often my mind comes back to this point in time to relive those happy, carefree days."
A sudden realization struck the younger woman.
"It was your eyes I've felt watching me these past few weeks. It's your presence I've felt in my home. You're the one who is slowly driving me insane."
"I'm not trying to hurt you. Trust me. In the years ahead, you will long for these days. Don't let them slip through your fingers so easily. Hold on to this moment. Cherish it!"
The intruder's impassioned cries began to frighten Loralee.
"Why are you so preoccupied with the past?" she asked. "Why not enjoy the life you have in your own time?"
A look of profound grief came over the intruder's face.
"You don't want to know."
"Why not?" Loralee shouted angrily. "What will happen to turn me into you? And don't you dare say I don't want to know! I have a right to know why you're here in my time."
"Someday you'll find yourself all alone, like me. Those you love—Richie and the children—will all be taken from you."
The intruder's words were like a physical blow.
"What do you mean? What will happen to them?"
"A senseless traffic accident," the intruder uttered as she broke down in heart-rending sobs.
"And I'm supposed to be happy and enjoy what I have—now? How can I? Burdened with this knowledge of the future, how can I ever be happy again? See the harm you've done! You say this is supposed to be the happiest time in my life. Well, it's not. And it's all your fault. Damn you! Why couldn't you have stayed away? This may be a cherished memory to you, but it's my life! Look at the mess you've made of it."
"I'm sorry. I had no idea my presence would change anything."
After one last gaze at the child in the crib, the intruder vanished and returned to her own time.
* * *
When Jon Jon and Natalia came home from school, they found their mother still wearing her nightgown, lying on her bed. The baby was at the neighbor's house.
"Are you all right, Mom?" the boy asked.
"No, sweetheart. Mommy isn't feeling well. Why don't you go downstairs and do your homework? When you're done, you can watch television until Daddy comes home."
Richie sighed when he walked through the door that evening and was told his wife was ill. It wasn't the first time. He felt so helpless! If only there was something he could do to help her, but there wasn't.
After seeing that the two children got their dinner, the frustrated husband walked upstairs to the master bedroom to check on his wife.
"Are you feeling any better?" he asked hopefully. "Would you like me to bring you up something to eat?"
"Oh, honey!" Loralee sobbed, getting up from the bed and running into her husband's arms. "I had the most incredible experience. You know how I've been feeling like someone is watching me? I wasn't imagining it. There was someone here. I came face to face with her this morning."
Richie was instantly alarmed.
"Did she hurt you or Belinda in any way?"
"No. She only wanted to look at the baby."
"What did the police do?"
"I didn't phone them."
"Why not? The woman might be dangerous, a deranged lunatic. No sane person goes into a stranger's house."
"She wasn't a stranger. She was me, only she was twenty years older than I am."
Richie felt defeated. While he could deal with postpartum depression or even with a crazy woman breaking into his house, he could not cope with his wife's spiraling mental illness. Dr. Dumfree had told him that Loralee's problems were caused by a mild depression brought on by the birth of their third child, and he'd assured Richie that it would pass. Not only had it not passed, but it had grown steadily worse. It was clear now that she needed help neither her husband nor her obstetrician could give her. As much as he hated to admit it, Richie felt his wife needed psychiatric care. He feared that at the rate she was deteriorating if he did not do something soon, she might hurt herself or one of the children.
"Well?" Loralee asked, waiting for a response from her husband. "Aren't you going to say anything?"
"What's there for me to say?"
"I don't know, but it isn't every day one comes face to face with one's future self."
Richie turned his head away, having no desire to see what he feared was madness in his wife's eyes.
"You don't believe me," Loralee cried, feeling that by doubting her story, her husband had in some way betrayed her. "You think I'm going insane, don't you?"
"No," Richie lied, not wanting to upset her further. "I think it's just like Dr. Dumfree said: you're suffering from postpartum depression. But I don't think the medicine he prescribed is helping. I think you should get a second opinion. Another doctor might prescribe something different."
"Like a straitjacket and a padded room?"
"Don't go getting yourself all upset, darling."
"Upset? I passed upset on Tuesday. I'm on the way to frantic now."
"I can see that. Why don't you get dressed? I'll take the kids next door, and then I'll come back and drive you to the hospital."
"What hospital did you have in mind, Danvers State Insane Asylum?"
"Of course, not. I'm going to take you over to Emerson Hospital, to the emergency room."
"I didn't know they treated basket cases at the emergency room."
"Sweetheart, please! You're only making things worse. I'm trying to help you get well."
Loralee's shoulders slumped in a gesture of resignation.
"You're right. I can't go on like this anymore. Maybe a psychiatrist will help."
"That's my girl," Richie said with relief. "Go ahead and get dressed. I'll be back in a few minutes."
* * *
Richie was leaving his neighbor's house and walking back home across his lawn when he saw his wife emerge from the front door with her pocketbook and keys in hand. When Loralee turned and saw her husband approaching, she ran toward the car and got in behind the wheel.
"What are you doing?" he called. "I'll drive."
Richie heard the engine start and saw the car back down the driveway.
"Loralee, where are you going?"
His voice rose in fear, but his wife ignored him and proceeded to put the car in gear and drive down the street without him.
"Loralee! Come back!" Richie shouted as he watched the car's rear lights diminish in size as his wife drove away.
Three hours later, two officers from the Concord Police Department brought him the tragic news: Loralee was dead. She had died instantly when her car went out of control and she struck a tree on Lexington Road.
* * *
Richie Perrillo stood on the curb, looking at the house he had once shared with his wife. Try as he might, he could not bring himself to go inside. His three children, dressed in funereal black, stood beside him as they watched Kristin Huberman, the real estate agent, hammer the FOR SALE sign into the front lawn.
"Are you sure you want to sell the place, Dad?" Jon Jon asked.
"Yes. I could never live here again, and now that old Mrs. McKinney is gone, I don't want to go through all the trouble of finding another tenant. I only kept the house this long because I didn't want to put her out."
Belinda, the youngest child, had no recollection of living in the house, nor did she remember her mother. That was understandable since she was only two months old when her mother died and Richie moved his family to a new home in Marlborough. Now she was twenty and attending college. She had not known Mrs. McKinney very well, but she went to the old woman's funeral because she felt her father needed the support of his family. With the house in Concord now empty, it brought back all the painful memories associated with the place.
The realtor reached into her briefcase and took out a contract.
"Here's your copy of the agreement, Mr. Perrillo. I'll phone you the minute I get an offer."
Richie's eyes misted when he saw the real estate agent's car drive away. It reminded him of the last time he had seen his wife alive.
"Why didn't I phone the doctor and ask for his help?" he asked with despair.
"Dad, don't do this to yourself," Natalia said, putting her arm around her father's shoulders. "It was an accident. It wasn't your fault."
"She was so upset that night," he argued. "I should never have left her alone."
"Natalia is right," Jon Jon added. "Stop blaming yourself for Mom's death. You couldn't possibly have known she was going to drive off in the car. You were being a good father by seeing to your kids—just like you've always done."
"I suppose you're right," Richie sighed.
"Come on," Belinda said, gently tugging on her father's arm. "Let's go get something to eat."
"Yeah," Natalia agreed. "Let's go to The Colonial Inn—my treat."
As Richie Perrillo and his children got into the car and drove away, none of them looked back at the house. If they had, they would have seen through the nursery window the familiar face of the woman they had loved, a shadow of a wife and mother who was still desperately trying to hold on to the memories she cherished and reclaim the life she had lost.
Salem likes to relive his college memories - like the time he entered a goldfish swallowing contest and then had to squeeze into his letterman's sweater.
