by Anthony Tata
Keeping me off balance.
The thought circled through her mind like a hawk seeking purchase atop a mountain peak. Bad thoughts about her mother did not come to her naturally, if ever. The same held true for her grandmother. Speaking of which . . .
“Mom, I thought Nina was sick.”
“Doctor released her. She is sick, but they need to do more tests, and you know how expensive those damn hospitals can be.”
“She looked fine to me.”
There comes a time in every young woman’s life where she begins to see herself apart from how she was raised. More to the point, she begins to analyze the rearing process. She begins to transform from girl to gatherer. It is mostly an instinctual progression, natural that is, as she begins to intuit that one day she will have children of her own; and thus she is moved to review her own upbringing.
What had she missed? A week ago, she would have blithely responded to herself, if she had even thought of the question, with a straightforward, “Nothing.” Her father’s will, which caused her to examine at least a portion of her relationship with him, had put a chink in the armor that her mother and grandmother had wrapped around her.
Her mother eyed her, causing the car to awkwardly negotiate a tight corner as they rolled through the countryside.
“Don’t get smart with me, Amanda. I’m trying here. The least you could do is meet me half way.”
Amanda looked at her mother with a full turn of her head. She wanted to say something, but she refrained.
Suddenly the car pulled over into a gravel section beside the highway. For a brief moment, Amanda thought her mother was stopping to scold her, not wanting to perform two challenging tasks simultaneously.
“There.” Her mother nodded with her head past the passenger side of the car. Amanda looked to her right and saw the long driveway and split-rail fence framing the perfectly tended lawn that fed at least a quarter mile up to the beautiful Jeffersonian mansion.
Jefferson. Monticello. The memory was immediate and visible. Her father had taken her to Charlottesville when she was nine. They had toured Thomas Jefferson’s home, with the perpetual motion calendar, the vineyards, and the beautiful rotunda. She remembered it so vividly that she began shaking.
“What’s going on, Amanda?”
Her mother’s voice was shrill, fingernails on a blackboard, against the serene images of her walking hand in hand with her father through Jefferson’s immaculately designed boxwood hedgerows and vineyards. She remembered him putting her on his shoulders so she could see over the rows of grapes and their symmetrical beauty.
“Amanda!”
She had begun crying. “Nothing, Mom. It’s beautiful. I think it’s beautiful, and I’m just so happy for you, because I know that with the five hundred thousand dollars we’ll be able to afford this house.”
Amanda felt her mother’s icy eyes upon her, cold and hard, but quickly giving way to warmth and love.
“I’m just happy for us, you know, Mom.”
Her mother reached across the polished mahogany gear shift and hugged Amanda, awkward as it was. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Of course I understand, Mama. Why do you think I’m going through all this bullshit?”
“Well, I don’t like that word, but I do like your attitude.”
“We’re a team, Mom. The three musketeers, remember?”
“All for one . . .”
“And one for all.”
“I just need you to be really sure, you know, committed here on this one.”
“I’ll be there for you, Mom.”
They had remained silent the entire trip back. Cycling through Amanda’s mind were the images of the African children from the photos, lost and forgotten in a world that cared more about Tiffany jewelry than human suffering. The thirty-minute drive back to the house gave her time to process her thoughts. Still dominant was her disbelief that her father had been dead for less than two weeks, yet her mother had already picked out a million-dollar home.
Pulling into the driveway of the house, Amanda decided to ask her mother a question. “Can we really afford that house, Mom?”
“Well, if we all pitch in, we can. We already have a buyer for our house here.”
“Really, when did this happen?”
“Well, homes around here sell quickly premarket. We’ll get about four hundred thousand for it. Plus, with your five hundred thousand, we’ll be able to take out a three-hundred-thousand-dollar mortgage.”
“What’s Nina doing?”
“All her money is tied up in long-term CDs. She’d pay a huge penalty right now if she cashed out, but she’ll be there for us, as always.”
“Well, I’m glad all of this is working out for us.”
Her mother smiled warmly and placed her hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “Why don’t you head on up to your room and we’ll talk more about this later.”
Amanda walked mindlessly up to her room, passing through the foyer. Nina still stood against the doorjamb as if she’d never moved. She lifted a hand in the direction of her grandmother, as if to say Hi.
As she closed and locked her door, she heard Nina say, “So, how’d it go?”
Setting down her book bag next to her computer, she logged on and changed all of her security passwords and defaults. Likewise, she changed her screen saver from “No Dad” to “Good to Go,” which scrolled slowly across the monitor during periods of inactivity.
She began to feel her energy return. Something was stirring inside her. A magnetic pull, as if from far away, was directing her. She closed her eyes and saw the image of her father in his army uniform, weapon at his side, crooked grin and bright eyes smiling at her.
Putting her head into her hands, she took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. Then she sat straight up, energy restored, momentum turning after the diversionary road trip with her mother. It was uncanny, she thought to herself, how every time she began reconnecting or thinking or even remembering something good about her father her mother or Nina was right there to sweep it away. There was always a bigger toy for Christmas, a better trip for vacation, or a tighter hug following a crisis.
It was time, however, to begin to gather—to review her own life through her own lens. There were things that didn’t make sense, but they were gaining clarity. That much was certain.
From her purse, she pulled a thumb drive that Jake’s father had handed to her when she’d gone to his house. While she had spoken to Jake just the one time, his father, ever the lawyer, had moderated the exchange of the flash drive, ensuring she received it and that Jake had delivered it. Apparently, Jake had gone back into her dad’s house after the NCBI agents had taken her to the airport, to retrieve the portable memory device. He had seen it on the desk in the guest bedroom. She stared at it for a long time, wondering what it might contain. Taped on it was the inscription:
Amanda: Just in case . . . I Love You, Dad
CHAPTER 50
Spartanburg, SOUTH CAROLINA
Tuesday Morning
Amanda woke up with an impossible migraine. With time of the essence, though, last night she had mapped out her plan.
She quickly dressed in a pair of jeans and a tight green T-shirt that said “SMILE” across the front. It was the first thing available. Style was less important than speed. She slipped on some clogs and moved quickly to her car before her mom or Nina could stop her momentum. She heard them call over her shoulder, but continued on, waving over her back as she had done before. She was making a munching motion with her hand, like a gator mouth yapping.
In the Mercedes now, she sped to the Charlotte Hospital, found a parking spot and was knocking on Riley Dwyer’s room when a nurse came up to her.
“Can I help you, dear?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m a friend of Miss Dwyer’s. I need to just make sure she’s okay.”
“Well, she’s feeling better. Let me see if she’s taking visitors.”
Momentarily the nurse reappeared and held
the door open for Amanda.
She stood about ten feet from the bed; her jaw would have hung to the floor had the mandible allowed such an extension. Riley Dwyer was purple throughout her face and neck, her right arm was in a cast, and her eyelids appeared shut.
“Com’ere, kiddo,” is what Amanda thought she heard Riley say.
She moved closer to Riley, almost fearful that moving too close might hurt her. Though the idea was illogical, it seemed possible given the nature of her injuries.
“Well, you look . . . better.” She didn’t know what to say.
“Fanks for comin’.” Again, almost unintelligible.
“You’re welcome, Miss Dwyer.” She fidgeted for a moment, picking at her fingernail.
“Whasson yer mind.” The words came out tinny and hollow, not fully pronounced, but recognizable nonetheless.
“Riley, I mean, Miss Dwyer, I need a lawyer. Do you know a good one?”
Riley lay still for a moment, not that she had much choice in the matter. Her beautiful auburn hair was splayed across the back of the pillow like a translucent orange fan growing from a coral reef.
“Write,” she mumbled and tried to make a writing motion with her hand, but winced in pain.
Amanda retrieved a pen and paper from her small book bag.
“Harlan Woxworth.”
She shook her head. “Woxworth. Woxworth.”
“That’s what I said.”
Riley shook her head again and sighed in frustration.
“Oh, Foxworth?”
She shot Amanda a thumbs-up with her left hand. Then she pointed to the counter.
“What? You want me to get something?”
Riley nodded.
“I don’t see—oh, gotcha,” Amanda replied. She stood and grabbed Riley’s purse. She fished a day planner out of it. Thumbing through the address portion, she found the phone number.
“Okay, now more importantly, did Jake do this to you?”
She shook her head.
Amanda sighed. “I knew it. Can you tell me who did this? A clue? Anything?”
Riley was drifting off to sleep as the nurse came in and touched her arm, indicating it was time for her to leave. As they reached the door, she heard a muffled word: “Write.”
Amanda looked back over her shoulder. “What did you say? Did you say, ‘write’?”
Riley nodded and made a writing motion with her left hand.
“Okay, okay, what do you want me to write?”
Riley was unresponsive, though her hand was pointing at the newspaper at the foot of the bed.
CHAPTER 51
Charlotte, NORTH CAROLINA
The nurse pulled her away, and Amanda found herself heading back toward her car. She punched in Mr. Foxworth’s phone number, got a young-sounding assistant, and asked if he could see her on short notice regarding the death of Colonel Zachary Garrett.
A minute passed to two as she negotiated her car out of the parking lot in the direction of North Carolina on I-85, where she would find the attorney’s office.
“This is Harlan,” came a strong, authoritative voice.
“Mr. Foxworth, my name is Amanda Garrett, and my father’s been killed in Afghanistan. He left me a will with some complicating issues, and I need someone I can trust. My father’s girlfriend, Riley Dwyer, who is lying in a hospital right now with her face beat to a pulp, told me to call you.”
“I’m sorry about your father. What about Riley? Is she okay?” Genuine concern shrouded his words.
“I think she’s going to recover, but right now she’s not okay. Can you see me today? Now?”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“No. I’m starving.”
“Meet me at Starbucks off Piedmont.”
After a twenty-minute drive, she nosed into an empty space at Starbucks. As she stepped through the doorway she scanned left and right, then picked out her mark. He looked nice enough, bespectacled and probably in his mid-forties. He had a round, friendly face and a receding crop of dark hair. He was hunched over a newspaper.
“Mr. Foxworth?” Amanda asked, tentatively.
“Yes, please have a seat,” he replied, looking up at the teenager.
Amanda sat in the metal chair opposite him. He looked down at his paper and up at her. “Have you seen this?”
For the next five minutes Amanda read with horror the story in the Charlotte Observer. She read it several times over and then put her head into her hands.
“Is this true?” His voice was somehow comforting, as if he didn’t believe any of it. He was probing what she might think.
“Who knows? I don’t know. I mean, no. How could it be?”
She watched him take a bite of a muffin and place it back onto the napkin.
“Want something? Coffee?”
“No, thanks. Suddenly lost my appetite.”
She checked the byline of the story. “Who the hell is Del Dangurs?” she asked.
“I’ve seen some articles by him in the past and have never been very impressed. He does book reviews and some commentary on other light-weight trivia like the dating scene and so forth. This is a bit out of his lane.”
“Out of his league.”
She watched him study her as he held a half of a blueberry muffin in his hand. He turned the paper around and looked at it again. “Well, how can I help you? Other than the obvious.”
She finally decided to eat something. She ordered an egg sandwich. As soon as it arrived, she realized how hungry she really was. She was still stumped about where to begin. With just a few days to go until her eighteenth birthday, she knew she needed to move quickly if she was going to pull it all off. Her plan involved more than simply getting the money. Her realization of what had been taken from her spawned new goals that she fully intended to achieve.
In between bites, they discussed what had transpired and what Amanda had in mind.
“I think I might be able to help you,” the attorney said after listening to her story. “Let me make some phone calls and I will be in touch with you. Cell number? I’m assuming you don’t want me calling your home phone?”
He handed her a Mont Blanc pen from his shirt pocket, which she used to scribble her phone number on a napkin. Folding it, she handed both the napkin and the pen back to him. “Just the cell. The quicker the better.”
“I’ll be in touch shortly.”
Amanda was late for school, and the parking lot was nearly full.
She walked through the main hallway, lockers standing erect like a cordon of soldiers welcoming her arrival. She was beginning to piece everything together now and hoped over the next few days she would be able to resolve the final few issues that still confounded her. Her departure from Riley Dwyer’s hospital room, however, still tugged at the back of her mind. Write. Newspaper.
And then it occurred to her that the article Foxworth had shown her might bear some relation to Riley’s attack. But what?
“Hey, Garrett, you got a second?”
Amanda stopped and turned. The hallway was empty save the phalanx of wall lockers and Principal Dan Rugsdale. She noticed he did not look happy and cautiously approached him. He remained motionless beneath the fluorescent lights. Though she had not thought much about the principal in the past, she noticed his determined stare.
“Yes, sir?” she asked sheepishly.
“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Her principal’s request hung in the air. His eyes were unflinching black marbles.
“Sir, I’m—” she began, only to be interrupted.
“Hi, Dan. I thought you were in North Carolina at that convention.” It was Mr. Dagus to the rescue. Then, before Mr. Rugsdale could answer, he went on, “Amanda, do you have that project I asked you to work on at home the last few days?”
Thinking quickly, she broke the icy staring contest with Rugsdale and looked at Dagus, summoning the best acting skills she could muster.
“I do. That’s why I was late this morning. I appreciate s
o very much both of you giving me this time to grieve the loss of my father and to finish up my high school experience.”
“Len, I’d like to talk to you when you’re done with Miss Garrett,” Rugsdale said with an irritated edge.
“Sure.”
Dagus or Rugsdale had given her that break because her father had died. She knew she was close to validation, but had never believed she was quite there. Regardless, the majority of the students who had not been so lucky raced to classrooms for the next final exams. Conversely, Amanda's big chore today was to finish the final layout copy of the Venture.
Rugsdale turned and walked toward the administrative offices. Once he had reentered the glass door, Amanda wilted and leaned into her teacher. “Thanks for saving me.”
Dagus caught her and then held her away quickly, as if sizing her up. “No sweat. I know it’s been tough for you lately.”
Amanda stepped back. It was actually good to see him. He had been such a reliable friend and mentor over the past couple of years. She sighed, the stress still overwhelming her. They walked into the classroom together, she following his lead. He sat at his desk and simultaneously pulled down his laptop screen as he crossed his legs. She noticed a small digital camera connected to his laptop.
Amanda sat in the chair across from his desk, laying her book bag on the floor.
“So, how are you managing?”
“Wiped out, you know?” She leaned into her hands with her elbows propped on the desk. Sunlight blared through the open windows, casting huge rectangles on the floor. “You were right. This sort of caught up on me.”
“By ‘this,’ you mean your father’s death?”
She nodded as she stared at him.
“Well, I hope what I said didn’t make it any harder.”
“Please. It sort of woke me up. You’re, like, the only sane person in the entire drama.”
He nodded at her approvingly. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
