The Latchkey Girls

by Leigh Irwin

  “Dad! Stop it!” I screamed.

  He didn’t even seem to register my voice. I watched him grab Mom by an arm and haul her to her feet. Her eyes were closed, and her head lolled loosely. Blood poured from her nose, dying her blouse crimson. He cocked his fist once again, and slammed it into her face, even harder this time. I watched helplessly as Mom toppled over the railing and fell to the patio, barely missing the lounge chair where I’d just been sitting.

  “Dad! What have you done?” I screamed, running to Mom’s side.

  I bent over her still form, trembling. Her eyes were open but vacant, their lively green sparkle gone. A puddle of blood was forming under her head, and more blood ran from her nose and ears. Her head and neck rested at an impossible angle, arms flung wide, and one leg lay crumpled under the other. There was no chance she had survived.

  I staggered to my feet, sobbing, and tore my cellphone out of my back pocket. I managed to dial “911” before collapsing onto my knees on the grass. With the phone still to my ear, I threw up until there was nothing left, then fell onto my back, panting. I heard thundering steps somewhere inside the house, and managed to lift my head just as Dad sprinted out of the house and across the patio. The terror on his face was something I’d never forget. He ran right past me, across the backyard, and as I watched, he disappeared into the canyon below.

  Chapter 23

  Sirens screamed, the sound at first far away, then closer and louder before it was again silent. I shuddered and stood up, then moved unsteadily toward the house, my eyes downcast. This couldn’t really be happening!

  With a trembling hand, I pulled the front door open and half-stumbled down the front steps, just as two police officers approached. I vaguely noticed that in addition to the police, firemen and paramedics had arrived, clogging the street with their vehicles. It seemed every neighbor on our street was gawking at the spectacle. A couple of news vans were also making their way down the hill. To my left, Emma’s house stood silent and dark. A policeman busily cordoned off our cul-de-sac with yellow crime scene tape. I sank to the curb, my legs refusing to hold me up any longer, and covered my face with my hands.

  There was a light tap on my shoulder and a man’s voice said, “Miss? Are you okay?” I looked up slowly. A young, Black policeman stood directly in front of me, and another, next to him, had squatted down in front of me. He peered at me with concern, his short-cropped blond hair glinting in the fading light.

  “My mother’s dead,” I said dully. “She’s in the backyard.” The second policeman quickly motioned to the back of the house, and paramedics with a gurney rushed past us, accompanied by two more police officers.

  “Is anyone else home?” the policeman asked gently.

  “My dad’s gone.” It was all I could say before bursting into tears again.

  A moment later, I looked up, focused on the sound of familiar voices somewhere beyond the emergency vehicles. Pam and Emma were arguing with a policeman who was trying to keep them behind the crime scene tape. I sprang to my feet, sprinted between the collection of cars and trucks and ducked under the tape. Emma and Pam engulfed me in their arms, and I clung to them, sobbing.

  I thought the questions would never end. Pam sat next to me at our kitchen table, two detectives across from us. Pam informed them that she was my attorney and temporary guardian. They looked at each other doubtfully, and the more vocal of the two insisted that she was required to call in Child Protective Services, since I was a minor. My last reserve of strength drained away. I rested my head on the table while Pam and the detectives argued back and forth before the detectives finally relented. That issue resolved, they turned their attention back to me. They covered the same ground repeatedly, until I was dizzy with fatigue and hunger. Finally, well after 8:00, they left. I felt hollowed out, devoid of all emotion. I sat listlessly at the kitchen table while Pam moved through the house, closing and locking windows and doors.

  A police helicopter was hard at work, searching the canyon with a spotlight that pierced the night and danced throughout the canyon. Its route took it directly over our house, and the noise from its rotors was so loud that my ears hurt. Then the sound gradually faded as it continued its steady circuit.

  “Sam, let’s grab a few things from your room for tonight,” Pam said, rejoining me. “You’ll be staying with us for the time being.”

  She peered at me as if she wasn’t sure I’d understood. I stood slowly, and she followed me upstairs. I stopped in front of my dresser in a daze. It was as if my mind were enveloped in thick fog that precluded all thought and feeling. Pam sighed and gently led me to the bed, where I sat while she bustled about, gathering up pajamas, clothes and my toothbrush. She stuffed everything into my backpack, slung it from a shoulder and guided me out of the house.

  The manhunt wasn’t called off until late that night. Dad remained at large. He was either still hiding among the heavy brush clogging the canyon, or he’d worked his way downhill to a paved road and somehow escaped. Against all odds, he’d eluded the helicopter, searchers and police dogs.

  Chapter 24

  “Come here,” said Emma tearfully, rushing to greet me as soon as Pam opened their front door. She hugged me and took my backpack from Pam. We went upstairs to Emma’s room, where I collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Emma lay next to me, saying nothing for a long time.

  “I can’t believe any of this. It’s like a nightmare that never ends,” I said. The police helicopter whirred loudly overhead, still circling the canyon. I just wished it would go away.

  Pam brought us a sandwich and glass of milk, setting a tray on Emma’s desk and closing the door behind her. I didn’t think I could eat, but I was wrong. I wolfed down my food. Emma took small bites of her sandwich, leaving more than half uneaten. I curled up on Emma’s bed when she left to take the tray downstairs and was asleep in seconds.

  I awoke the next morning to bright sunshine, and squinted across the bed at Emma. She was sound asleep, softly snoring. Then the pain hit me again, and I remembered: Mom was dead and Dad had killed her. I gasped, waking Emma, who sat up in alarm.

  “Sam, what is it?” she asked.

  “Everything felt completely normal when I first woke up, and then I remembered,” I said, tears soaking the pillow. Emma reached for me across the bed and stroked my cheek.

  “I know. And I am so, so sorry.”

  The day passed in a blur. Pam tried her best to keep the news from assaulting me, but she couldn’t save me from myself. I was drawn to the nearly constant news coverage on my phone like a moth to a flame. Late that afternoon, Dad was arrested at Los Angeles International Airport.

  A fellow employee had recognized him in the international terminal, despite his pathetic attempt to disguise himself with a baseball cap and sunglasses. The employee called the police. A swat team swarmed the airport and closed the terminal for several hours while they searched for him. Details were sketchy, but it seemed he’d planned to flee the country. After a forty-five minute search, he was found in a supply closet and taken into custody. His passport, a wad of cash and a first class boarding pass to London on British Airways were all he had with him.

  Seemingly every news outlet and half the city were on hand as Dad was led to a police car in handcuffs. Head bowed and flanked by two beefy police officers, he was quickly shut into the back and the car raced away. People shouted and jeered at him, and it was all caught on film. The scene was replayed ad nauseum by all the news outlets.

  The story of the Chinese spy who murdered his wife was the biggest draw for several days. Contradictory feelings warred within me: anger, fear and sadness, a whirling mixture that left me unable to function. I didn’t move from Emma’s room and barely got out of bed for the next few days.

  James texted me repeatedly, each time sounding more frantic, but I couldn’t summon the will to respond. He called too, but I let it go to voicemail. The same with the influx of phone calls and emails from friends. I know Emma talked to
them for me, and I appreciated her shielding me. Accepting their well-intentioned condolences was more than I could manage.

  Monday arrived and school began again, but I wasn’t there. Emma left with her dad, closing the bedroom door softly after giving me a long, sympathetic look. I turned over in bed and went back to sleep. It was the only way I could escape reality and my feelings of guilt. If I hadn’t insisted that we give Mom the contents of the filing cabinet, she’d still be alive. I didn’t think I could ever forgive myself.

  Pam stayed home that day, working from the study. She’d not left me alone for a second since I’d fled up the street to Emma and her on that awful night. I turned over in bed when I heard a knock on the door. Pam strode in, looking determined.

  “Sam, we need to make the arrangements for your mom’s funeral,” she said. “It’s on Thursday, and we can’t put it off any longer. I’m sorry.” She sat on the bed and gazed at me, a mixture of concern and something else I couldn’t readily identify.

  “I’ve also arranged for you to see a therapist, beginning tomorrow.” That was it: she was afraid.

  “I don’t want to. There’s nothing anyone can do,” I said, feeling my stomach clench.

  “I know you feel that way now, but I’ve talked it over with your pediatrician, and she thinks it’s important, something you really need to do. The sooner the better.” I looked into her eyes, surprised at her firm tone.

  “And there’s something else.” She hesitated and took a big breath. “You need to get out of this bed, take a shower and get dressed. I know that’s not what you want to do, but it’s time to start rejoining the world.” She stared me down. I was angry, even though I knew she was right, and I turned away from her and pulled the covers over my head.

  After a long moment, she said, “We’re leaving in half an hour. Our appointment at the funeral home is at 4:00.” She patted me on the back, then stood and left, closing the door softly.

  I really didn’t want to move. My legs felt dead, and I had a horrible headache. But I also couldn’t afford to alienate the few people I still had in my life, especially Pam, who was now the closest thing I had to a parent. I climbed out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, and did as Pam directed.

  The following day, Pam announced we were going out for lunch. There was no point in arguing with her. She picked a nice restaurant along the Hermosa Beach pier and even made a reservation. The day was cloudy and cool, but in spite of the weather and my depression, it felt good to be outside. People strolled, fishermen fished and I realized that, for once, no one cared who I was or what my problems were. The revelation lifted my spirits; there would be no one to give me awkward sympathetic looks or point and stare at me.

  “Thanks for getting me out of the house,” I said once we’d been seated and ordered iced tea. “I don’t know what I’d do without you and Emma. You guys are my lifeline.” I couldn’t include Keith. I’d put off even thinking about that handwritten piece of paper, and I dreaded opening that can of worms.

  Pam smiled, took a sip of her tea and then set the glass down firmly. “James wants to see you, you know,” she said. I looked away uneasily and focused on the water and shoreline beyond the restaurant windows.

  “I know. And I do want to see him, but I’m afraid I’ll fall apart and cry like a baby. I don’t want to scare him off,” I smiled ruefully.

  “Sam, I know you, and I know you’ll find your way through this. But you can’t keep avoiding everyone who cares about you. There’s nothing wrong with him seeing how much you’re hurting.” She paused and looked deeply into my eyes. “He may be just what you need right now.”

  Pam glanced up at the waitress who had suddenly appeared and smiled at her. We ordered quickly, and she hurried away. I hoped I’d be able to eat. Over the last few days, my appetite had nearly disappeared, and the thought of food still made me queasy.

  “I know you’re right, but everything’s just so hard. How am I supposed to get through this? I know people mean well, but I hate the thought of them struggling to comfort me, when I know there’s nothing anyone can say or do to make things better,” I said, looking down at the linen napkin in my lap and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. Pam took a sip of her iced tea and set the glass down carefully.

  “I’m glad you agreed to see the psychologist today. She can help you develop strategies to get through this and the other challenges that you’ll be facing. We’re here for you, and so is James and all your friends. Maybe it’s time to let people back into your life. They really can help.” She smiled at me, and I felt some of the unbearable weight I’d been carrying slide off my shoulders. I hoped she was right.

  Once again, I was hungrier than I’d thought, and I finished my fish and chips in record time. Pam worked her way through the largest seafood salad I’d ever seen. It looked like an entire garden had sacrificed itself for that one salad. Even after she’d eaten all she could, the bowl still looked full. She drove me to the psychologist’s office and waited while I went in.

  “Hello Sam. I’m Dr. Anderson. Come on in,” a tall, thin raven-haired woman said, opening the door to the waiting room. She smiled and nodded at Pam before showing me into her little office, waiting for me to decide where to sit. I chose a huge, overstuffed chair, and she settled onto the couch across from me. I glanced around her office, noticing the pictures on the walls, plants on the window sill and a desk, overflowing with stacks of files. I looked everywhere but at Dr. Anderson.

  “So, Sam. I understand you’ve just been through a very traumatic incident.” I looked at her reluctantly, wondering what the hell I was doing there. This couldn’t possibly help. Then I burst into tears.

  Chapter 25

  Mom’s funeral was set for 11:00 on Thursday morning. I dragged myself out of bed, dreading the day to come. Thanks to Keith and James, my bedroom furniture and all my belongings now resided in a guest bedroom just across the hall from Emma’s. I’d be living with them indefinitely, and I knew Emma and I couldn’t go on sharing her room forever. But I missed her presence in the middle of the night, when I awoke and my agitated thoughts kept me from sleeping. It was a huge relief that I had no need to go back to my house, although I still felt unmoored and disoriented. Where was my home anyway?

  My new bedroom was on the upstairs corner of the house, with a panoramic view of the ocean. My window looked directly down on their swimming pool, now covered for the winter. Unless I leaned out of the window, which I couldn’t do without removing the screen, I couldn’t see my house at all. I hoped out of sight would gradually become out of mind.

  As Keith drove us into the parking lot next to the church, it was clear that my parents were still popular with the media. I was shocked at the spectacle of news vans, reporters and a large collection of the merely curious that had fanned out into the street in front of the church’s wrought iron gates. A security detail stood guard, making sure that only those invited for the service were admitted.

  Another guard rushed us from the car into the church. We entered through a side door just as the church bell tolled, and were shown to seats in the small side chapel. Dazed but dry-eyed for once, I glanced into the main sanctuary. Mom’s casket, flanked by multiple enormous flower arrangements, was directly in my line of sight at the front of the church. I watched the minister walk to the pulpit, where he paused and looked solemnly, first at us, and then at the rest of the mourners. There was a long pause. The silence seemed both profound and somehow permanent. I closed my eyes and willed the day to end.

  James sat next to me, holding my hand, with Emma on my other side. Pam, next to Emma, sniffled into a wadded up handkerchief, and Keith sat next to her, looking sad but also nervous. The church was filled beyond capacity, overflowing with Mom’s closest friends and friends of both my parents. I’d only included James and Emma.

  I can’t say I remember much about the service, except that it seemed to go on forever, the minister’s solemn intonations punctuated here and
there by organ music and several prayers. Afterward, we left the same way we’d arrived. As we drove away, I noticed the crowd had thinned, but still a couple dozen reporters and onlookers gawked at us silently as we passed by.

  I’d insisted that the burial be even more private than the service, not wanting to confront any more people than absolutely necessary. The gravesite was located on a steep slope that overlooked San Pedro and the coastline south, although a thick mist clouded the view on that day. The gaping hole in the ground startled me, making it all too real again, and as I sat, I felt my legs trembling. The same group that had flanked me at the church, plus the minister, were the only ones present. The minister faced us, cleared his throat and spoke again. Then James took my elbow and urged me to my feet. I walked to Mom’s casket, my entire body trembling. I’d chosen her blond wood casket, and someone had placed a huge spray of white flowers on it. Tentatively, I reached out and rested a hand on the top of the casket, feeling the cold wood, dampened by the mist. I wiped my hand dry on my raincoat, idly gazing at the wet handprint I’d left behind. I stood there for several minutes, watching beads of water collect and slowly drip down the casket and onto the grass below, as mist fell softly and silently around us. I felt nothing. No sorrow, no anger, nothing but emptiness.

  “John Graham, husband of Janet and father of Samantha, was arraigned today and charged with the murder of his wife. Bail was set at $1 million.”

  I watched the short video over and over on my phone, furtively with my door firmly closed. I’d promised Pam to stay away from news reports, but I couldn’t resist. The latest one incorporated the original footage of Dad being led into the police car at the airport. After he was shut inside, the camera panned from the news vans through the gawking crowd. Suddenly, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before in my countless viewings of that footage. I squinted at the crowd scene repeatedly to be sure, but there was no doubt in my mind. Keith was there, standing at the edge of the crowd. I needed to talk to Emma.