Friendly. Meaningless conversation. Small talk, like people do. “It’s not like having a full time job, but it’s plenty.”
He raised his eyebrows, maybe teasing? “So, you were harassing Mrs. Thompson’s daughter?”
Harassment is an exaggeration.”
Grijalva nodded. “What would you call it?”
“There was a creepy guy hanging around the gate between the ball fields and the park. The girls obviously thought he was all that and a bag of chips.”
Grijalva rested his back on the wall of the house. “So you broke it up.”
I rubbed the pain starting in my temple. “I meant to, but a citizen distracted me. When I turned back around, they’d all disappeared.” He seemed relaxed enough, the only thing missing was a beer. Maybe he’d be like Patricia and give me the benefit of the doubt. “A smarmy guy, way too old, panting after three cheerleaders. It tripped alarms.”
Grijalva wrote in his book. “So you did what?”
“I searched for the girls and when I spotted them, there were only two.”
He nodded and waited.
“So I went after them.”
His face fell. “You chased them down?”
“I was worried the creep took off with the third girl.”
“But he didn’t?”
The cement of the porch under my feet looked as gray as my mood. “No. She’d gone to get her car.”
Grijalva balanced his notebook on his knee. “So, why is Mrs. Thompson upset?”
I didn’t look at him. “Maybe because when I was talking to them, the cheerleading sponsor came over and suspended them from the squad.” I still stared at the cement. “Or, maybe because that night, they TPed my house.” I paused. “It could be because as soon as I cleaned it up yesterday I went to the school to talk to the girls and Megan drove off.” A beat. “But it’s probably because after she blew me off, I followed her home.”
Grijalva whistled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
I finally looked him in the eye. Dark, intelligent eyes that gave nothing away. Chasing the girls down because of harmless vandalism would seem crazy, but I didn’t know how to tell him why I was worried. “Something about the whole thing didn’t seem right so I wanted to make sure the girls were okay.”
Grijalva’s face remained expressionless. “What made you think it was off?”
The pain in my temple throbbed and my fingers started to tremble. Hot Tamales at the scene wouldn’t make sense to him. “Does it matter? The fact is, I checked on the girls and one of them is missing.”
“You checked on them?” Did he think I was a stalker?
Arguments raged inside me. I should shut up about my intuition, save myself embarrassment. But if I was right and Cali was in danger, I couldn’t keep quiet. “I think maybe one of the girls might have hooked up with the guy later. You need to follow up.”
Grijalva raised his eyebrows at my directive. “Because?”
“When I saw Megan Thompson at school yesterday, she was with only one of the girls. When I asked her if she’d seen Cali, she lied. Jen, the other girl, told me Cali hadn’t been at school and when I went to Cali’s house—”
He held up a hand. “Wait a minute. You went to Cali’s house, too?”
I ignored his interruption. “She wasn’t there. Her neighbor said she hadn’t been home the night before.”
He took that in, though I couldn’t tell what he thought. “Tell me about the encounter with the guy and the cheerleaders.”
I spared a second to close my eyes, knowing I would sound lame. With a dry tone, I related the whole incident, including a description of the guy, and as much information about the girls as possible, down to the Honda Civic.
He leaned his back on the house, impassive face. “Why do you think there’s danger?”
I couldn’t tell him about Frank’s warning. I shrugged. “Intuition.”
He seemed to accept that. “If it was those girls who TPed your house, how would they know where you live?”
“I can’t answer that. Maybe the girls followed me home. Maybe they’re smart enough to get my address from the Rangers, like Mrs. Thompson.”
Obviously, I hadn’t convinced him of my sanity. His smile was anything but sincere. “Sure.”
I jumped up. “Forget it.”
He didn’t move but spoke with force. “Sit down. You didn’t call me here, remember?” He said it quietly, no anger or violence behind it.
I sat.
He tapped his pen on the pad. “You’ve got no evidence or proof but you think this Cali might be in trouble with a smarmy guy you saw at the ball park?”
I watched him, not bothering to respond.
He stood up. “Okay.”
Mouth dry, I croaked, “Okay?”
He flipped his notebook closed. “I’ll look into it. The department is stretched thin because of Zoey Clark’s disappearance, but I’ll do some checking.”
Even though I dreaded the answer, I had to ask. “Do you have any news on her?”
He tucked the notebook in his shirt pocket. “Afraid not.” He didn’t need to add that time was running out for good news.
Grateful not to be dismissed, I thanked him. “Don’t expect to get any cooperation from Megan or her mother. They are pretty good at deflecting and lying.”
He snickered. “They come by it naturally.”
“What do you mean?”
He tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket. “Megan’s daddy is Jim Thompson. You might have heard of him.”
My blank stare didn’t seem to put him off.
He explained, “Jim Thompson is the Pima County attorney. That’s why the department is following up.”
That was exactly the kind of favoritism Mom worked so hard to avoid. She’d always explained that she had to be extra tough on me so we couldn’t be accused of nepotism. “But you’ll check it out? I don’t know Cali’s last name but I know where she lives.” I told him about the lime tree. Not the bandana.
He stood. “I’ll check into it. Meanwhile, don’t contact any of the girls again.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a card. This time, his face lit up. “Just in case you lost the last one I gave you.”
He drove away and I stared at his card. What would happen if I called him to set up a hike? My heart lurched and sent flutters into my stomach. I’d better talk to Tara first. And definitely wait until I’d made it through tomorrow.
I plopped onto the bench as he climbed into his cruiser and drove off. The sun burst over Sherilyn’s house, shooting arrows onto my covered porch. I closed my eyes, praying for the sunshine to sanitize me, to burn through my skin, straight into the shriveled bits inside me.
At some point, a cheerful tone broke through to me. “Hey, Jamie, the truck has amazing Sonoran hot dogs.” Sherilyn intruding again. She stood in her cutoffs and tank top, holding silent Kaycee’s hand.
Sherilyn had chased away the dire images so I owed her at least an effort. “Oh, yeah, the taco truck. How’s the moving in coming along?”
She bounced with energy I only half-remembered having. “Everything’s off the truck. Kitchen’s all unpacked. I need to ask you if you can watch Jackson.”
“I’m…I’m on my way out. Sorry.”
Sherilyn wasn’t easily put off. “He’s sleeping and we have to return the moving truck. Won’t be more than fifteen minutes. Jackson cried all night and just now fell asleep. If I move him, he’ll wake up. The little guy really needs to sleep.”
The U Haul roared to life. The man inside rolled down the window. “Babe, I’ve got Cheyenne. See you there.”
Kaycee tugged free of Sherilyn’s hand, took three steps to stand nearly touching me. She peered up at me and tilted her head, as if she could hear my thoughts. Her pudgy hand patted my knee.
I closed my eyes and the memories flipped in vivid color.
Two-years old and wispy blonde hair escapes from pigtails messed from too many tumbles.
; Her face Kool-Aid stained, peanut butter on her breath, standing sweaty and triumphant in her soccer uniform.
So few years later posing for pictures in a party dress, too expensive and grown up for eighth grade graduation.
Later still, her geometry book open on the kitchen table, that last theorem left unsolved.
I was careful not to touch Kaycee when I stood. “Sorry. I can’t.”
Sherilyn ignored my protest. She shoved a baby monitor in my hand. “It’ll work from here, just not in your house. If you want, go on over to our place. Help yourself to the Diet Cokes in the fridge. There’s nothing else in there. We’ll be right back.”
Sherilyn snatched Kaycee in her arms and spun away. Making fast time with such short legs, she crossed the street to her well-used, mud-colored 4 Runner and strapped Kaycee in the back seat.
“It’s only a sleeping baby safe in his home,” I muttered.
I turned the volume up on the monitor as far as it would go and stared at the house across the street.
15
If Sherilyn knew about me, she’d build a fence around her house, string it with concertina wire, and rig it with sensor lights. The plastic monitor grew slippery with my sweat.
“She said the baby would sleep. A few minutes. They’ll be right back.” My own voice startled me.
I needed a few moments to breathe and process. An hour or two to write in my journal, talk to Maggie, get some perspective about Cali. Steel myself for tomorrow. I’d kept myself shrouded from life, and now it felt like it was rushing at me at breakneck speed. As soon as Sherilyn returned, I’d take some time to sit by the pool, then go see Tara. We’d be fine. It was time for me to take hold.
The phone in my back pocket erupted, the jangle so unnerved me I dropped the monitor. I checked the caller I.D. Phone pressed to one ear and retrieved monitor to the other, I steadied myself before pasting on a smile. The outward sign I hoped would transfer to my voice.
“Good morning.” I sounded cheerful, perky almost. That should satisfy her.
I must not have been convincing because Mom’s tight concern pulled her words close. “I got your text last night that you’d taken a pill and turned off your phone. How are you today?”
I paused to listen to the monitor and kept working my way up Sherilyn’s driveway. “Good. I slept great last night. Ate a big breakfast.” My stomach clenched at that. I had to swallow the clutter in my brain before adding false vivacity. “Already hot here. How’s the weather in Buffalo?”
Mom’s silence stretched. “Jamie.” The word studded with disappointment. “You know what Tara says. Face the sadness when it comes.”
“Well. You know.” Mom hated when I sounded unsure. “The new neighbors across the street have a little girl. She’s got the softest white hair. Reminds me….”
“Oh, Jamie. You can’t fall apart every time you see a blonde girl.”
“I’m not falling apart.”
I’d made it to Sherilyn’s front porch, out of the blazing sun. I squinted into the front window, trying to see between the slats of the blinds. Boxes, a couch piled with toys and blankets and pillows, furniture and moving mess. Would the baby be in a bedroom, in a crib they’d set up first thing?
Keeping a high note in my voice, I said, “I’ve got some plans for today. Going to spray for weeds. Weird how they pop up in the gravel yards around here when it’s so hard to get anything to grow in the desert.”
Mom sighed. “You don’t have to try so hard, Honey. It’s a tough time. Not always the happiest for a lot of us, to be honest.”
I slipped along the front of the house, checking windows. I’d probably missed part of the conversation since I concentrated so hard on hoping she wouldn’t bring up tomorrow’s date.
I knew it was coming. Talking about it only made it worse. Bright and cheerful. “Actually, I’m babysitting.”
An edge of surprise shot back. “Babysitting? Honey, do you think that’s a good idea?”
Frank said, “Hell no it’s not a good idea. You can’t be trusted to watch a child.”
The baby grunted in his sleep and I froze. Distress? A gas bubble? Nothing. When I felt certain he was safe, I spoke. “He’s sleeping. I’m outside with a monitor.”
“You sound stressed.”
“I’m good. Really. They’ll be home in a couple of minutes.”
After last year, I made a plan to get through. I would keep busy. Today I had the tournament and tomorrow I’d taken an assignment at the horse races at Rillito Race Track. But maybe Mom was right. Why tempt fate? I could stay home, work on my mosaic, take a pill if I needed.
The worry in her voice was the same as always. “I appreciate you trying to move on, but pushing this hard isn’t good.”
Despite feeling wobbly and a little overwhelmed today, I was a long way from falling apart. But Mom knew me so well she could see my cracks, maybe better than I did. The phantom lilac smell, the missing bandana, and the obsession with the gray sedan might be signs I was losing it again. “I’ll see Tara later today.”
“I’m proud of you, Jamie. Last year, you didn’t handle this well at all.”
I considered the monitor grasped in my hand and fought memories of last year. And the year before. And the worst one, four years ago. “Thanks.”
Terrible things happened, but not every time. That’s what Tara told me and what I wrote day after day in notebooks scribbled into and piled in the empty bedroom. Most of the time, things worked out.
Only sometimes, they didn’t.
I made my way back to Sherilyn’s front porch, to the sweet relief of the shade. “Thanks for calling.”
“I’ll be working all day tomorrow so don’t worry about calling.”
“Okay.” Should I go back to my house or hang out here until they returned?
One more sigh for good measure. “I’ll go ahead and wish you a happy Mother’s Day now.”
My knees buckled and I propped myself against the stucco of Sherilyn’s house.
16
Mother’s Day. I’d tried to prepare for it, but the words still hit me like bullets.
A memory exploded with full force.
Her braces give her face a different profile but she’s still so pretty. Milk and flour make paste on her sleep shirt that hikes up well past her knees. We just bought that shirt a couple of weeks ago and will need to shop for new pajamas again already. She’s growing so fast. Three big pancakes fill a platter usually reserved for Thanksgiving but it’s probably the fanciest plate she could find. It sits on a cookie sheet decorated with dandelions because we had no bed tray and we hadn’t planted our garden yet.
Her little face is nervous while I cut the syrupy mess, crisp on the outside, gooey on the inside. When I’m able to swallow and declare the breakfast delicious, she jumps on the bed, upsetting the tray. “Happy Mother’s Day!” Beautiful, delicious, love.
I blinked away tears and recalled Tara’s calm direction about then and now. Then was gone. Now I needed to live.
“Glad you didn’t wish that bitch a happy day,” Frank said.
“Stop it.” The monitor burned in my hand. Jackson was a boy. Bald. Not a blonde girl.
“If that nitwit had half a brain she’d see you’re not fit to keep a child safe.”
I clutched my phone. Mom hadn’t meant to explode a Molotov cocktail into my brain.
With help, I’d effectively blocked the images from the grocery store displays. I didn’t watch much TV and never shopped the malls. My isolation helped buffer me. But it hadn’t slipped my mind completely. It’s why I got so worked up over girls I shouldn’t care about.
Frank’s voice pounded through to me. “How stupid do you have to be to let this blindside you?”
Maggie spoke in her comforting way. “Don’t listen to him, dear. You didn’t deal with it well last year but you’re better now.”
Frank again, “If you call igniting a box of photos ‘dealing with it’ then no, she didn’t deal so hot.�
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My grip on the conversation loosened. I ground my teeth while Frank and Maggie escalated, along with the Chorus, who ratchetted from their usual whispers to muttering.
“Everyone. Stop it.” I closed my eyes in the shocked lull and listened to the monitor. The voices hadn’t awakened the baby.
“I know it’s a bad day. Last year I wasn’t strong enough but I’m better now,” I said.
Frank’s harsh laugh boxed my ears. “You think so?”
Concentrating on my right hand, I willed my fingers to relax around the monitor. I focused on hearing my breath enter my nose and exit my mouth. Finally, I answered Frank with confidence. “Better. Yes. Getting stronger.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
Frank knew what talking to him meant. “It’s better than screaming,” I said.
“Jamie?”
I whirled around and the monitor crashed into the gravel. Sherilyn stood on the walk, only fifteen feet away. Her husband climbed out of their 4 Runner. I hadn’t heard them drive up.
Sherilyn eyed the front window I’d been peeking into and tilted her head to the side, sizing me up. “Who are you talking to?”
17
Frank shouted obscenities that made me cringe.
Sherilyn’s husband bent into the backseat unlatching Kaycee. Cheyenne kicked the back door open on the passenger side and trundled out, apparently needing no help to free herself from restraints.
How much had Sherilyn heard? “No one. It’s a bad habit of mine. From living alone.”
She nodded, keeping her appraising stare. She bent to retrieve the monitor. “Slept right through it, huh?”
The man hoisted Kaycee to his shoulder. Cheyenne marched to me and put her hands on her hips. She gave me a disapproving stare.
Sherilyn pivoted sideways and shouted. “Donnie, this is Jamie.”
His smile opened up as if nothing inside him needed hiding. He briefly waved.
Sherilyn tucked the monitor in a back pocket of her cutoffs. “Soon’s we get organized, we’ll have you over for a cookout. Give me a day or two.” She acted as if I was any regular person.
The Desert Behind Me Page 9
