A basket of dinner rolls was passed around the table. When it reached Morgan’s mother, she took two and set the basket next to her plate.
From the next chair, a sweet-looking old lady who wore a pink dress and a dark hairnet over her white hair said, “Pass me the rolls, please.”
Morgan started to reach for the basket when her mother slapped her hand. “I’m not done with those.”
“There are plenty of rolls, Mom,” Morgan said. “They won’t run out.”
Morgan heard Belle Trees behind her. “Go on, Betty. Pass the rolls.”
Betty Holiday pushed her chair back and stood. She picked up her glass of water and carefully poured it on the head of the woman who’d wanted the rolls. “I said, I’m not done.”
Before Morgan could comprehend what had happened, the pink-dress woman turned over her chair and took off blindly, holding her head and screaming. Next, Betty picked up the basket of rolls and threw it at Belle Trees. A crash came from the other end of the room and Morgan looked in time to see the blur of the pink dress as the old woman lost her balance and fell across a folding table covered with pumpkin pies.
Morgan looked back at her mother, who seemed confused. Several people, including four family members, hurried to the aid of the pink-dress lady. Belle Trees had her hands on Betty’s shoulders. “Sit down, Mrs. Holiday. Finish your dinner.” Belle then looked at Morgan and said, “Watch her. I’m going to try to reach the doctor again.”
Morgan and her mother ate quietly while the rest of the people at the table glared at them.
At home that evening, Morgan dug out a fifth of apricot brandy that Henry had given her for Christmas several years ago and broke the seal. Instead of calling David this time, she’d just have a couple of drinks. Late that night she fell asleep on the couch, and in the morning she woke to a hammering pain behind her eyes and a taste in her mouth unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The apricot brandy sat open on the coffee table, half-empty.
*
Celia Morning felt unusually calm. “Walls don’t mean anything to you, do they?”
“I come for Kitty.”
“You need to get out of my house.” Celia hoped she sounded firm.
“I’ve come for my girl.”
Kitty said, “I’m not going with you.”
Celia touched Kitty’s shoulder. “Use the phone in the kitchen and call the police.”
The little man watched as Kitty left the room, then he stood. “The land lines won’t work.” He retrieved an orange box cutter from his pocket. When he thrust it toward her, she could see makeshift prison tattoos on the backs of his fingers. “Just let me take my girl and your problems will be over.”
“Look,” Celia said. “I know enough of her story to realize you don’t want me to talk to the police about her.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Celia wondered if Kitty had left through the back door, though she’d be easy enough to find with the powdery snow on the ground. A soft tapping at the front door startled her. Then she heard a woman’s voice. “Mrs. Morning, it’s the police.”
A lamp shattered as Curry shot past her and out through the kitchen. Celia opened the front door. An African-American woman in a police uniform stood before her.
“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Morning,” the officer said. “Your neighbor called and reported a prowler.” She looked past Celia into the living room. “Is everything all right in here?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I did see a man. But I’m all right.”
The policewoman turned and called to someone in the driveway. “She’s okay. Said she saw a man too.” She turned to Celia again. “May we come in?”
“Yes, sure.” Celia stepped aside.
Both officers stomped the snow off their boots on the porch and followed Celia inside. “Here, let’s talk in the dining room. I’m afraid I have a mess to clean up. You startled me. I got up quickly and knocked over a lamp.”
“Are you here alone?” the female officer asked, looking around.
“Yes. My kids are out of town. At their grandmother’s for Thanksgiving.”
They seated themselves at the dining-room table. The male officer was young and looked as if his uniform was a little too big for him. He wore a gold wedding band and, when he took off his hat, he revealed a shock of black hair. The female officer took off her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair. “I’m Officer Thompson. My partner,” she jerked her chin toward him, “is Officer Byerline.”
“Celia Morning.” Celia pulled out a chair at the end of the long cherrywood table and sat.
“Do you know who the prowler could be?” Thompson asked.
Celia shook her head. “Why would I?”
“Ex-husband or boyfriend?”
“I’m a widow, Officer Thompson.”
Byerline was doing the writing. When she said the word “widow” he wrote furiously.
Thompson again. “So you’re alone here?”
Celia’s throat was dry. She nodded. “Yes. Alone.”
“Would you mind if we looked round?” Thompson asked. “We want to make sure no one got in.”
What could she say? She didn’t want them to catch Curry because she’d already made up her mind about him. She wondered where Kitty was and once again told herself that the girl had gotten out the back. Maybe she’d return when it was safe. At least Kitty would know Celia was on her side.
“Mrs. Morning?”
“I’m sorry. Yes, of course, please look around. I sure don’t want to be left alone with a stranger in the house.”
She followed the officers from room to room, turning on lights as they checked each one and all the closets on the first and second floor. When she turned on the light to the basement, she knew something was wrong because a cold draft surprised her. She hesitated on the landing, and Officer Thompson and Byerline drew their weapons and held them out in front of themselves as they descended the stairs. A few moments later Officer Thompson was at the bottom of the steps looking up at her. “Come on down. You’ve got a broken window in the laundry room. Looks like someone might have come in that way.”
Celia slowly descended the basement stairs. The top of the washing machine was covered with broken glass.
“How long have you been home, Mrs. Morning?”
“I went out earlier to get some fast food,” Celia said. “I don’t usually have it when the kids are home. So it’s kind of a treat when they’re not around.” She was saying too much and made herself stop. It would be okay to seem nervous under the circumstances, but she didn’t want to overdo it.
Byerline said, “You probably scared him off when you pulled in.”
“What’s in that room over there?” Officer Thompson shined her flashlight at the little room that Kitty had used.
Celia shrugged. At the same time she wondered if Kitty was hiding in her own room, so she said, “I fixed up a small bedroom down here for my younger brother when he’s in town.”
“Where is he now?”
“Afghanistan,” she lied. She didn’t have a brother and sincerely hoped they wouldn’t check. These days when someone said the word “Afghanistan” people seemed to take on a different tone. No one wanted to be accused of not supporting the troops.
Immediately, Celia felt guilty about the lie. What was she turning into? She’d paid to have a man killed and here she was ready to put the money together for another one. She might be able to tell herself that the justice system had had their shot at Woods and Curry. But right now, her head was starting to hurt as the weight of it all pressed down on her.
Celia rubbed her temples as Officer Thompson crossed the large main room and pulled open the door to Kitty’s room.
“Is there a light in here?” Thompson asked.
“Find the string in the center of the room.”
Thompson located it with her flashlight and the room filled with harsh light. “Nothing in here.”
Byerline touched Celia’s arm and she jumped. �
��You okay?” he asked.
“I’m a little stressed. My head’s starting to hurt. I haven’t had anything to eat since this morning.”
Officer Thompson was standing in front of her. “Looks like you’re alone for now. We have some tools in the trunk to cover that window, so no one will get in. But if he did it once, he might try again.”
Tears started flowing from Celia’s stinging eyes.
Officer Byerline tried to reassure her. “They don’t usually stick around once the police have been here. You’ll be safe for the night.”
“Let’s go back upstairs,” Thompson said. “Officer Byerline can nail that window shut while we finish the police report.”
Celia followed the woman up the stairs and toward the dining room. Thompson said, “You have a nice place here.”
“Thank you.”
“He may have been watching for a while. You wouldn’t believe the calls we got from people who came home after the power outage to find themselves robbed.”
“Really?”
Officer Thompson sighed and shook her head. “What kind of thief goes to work in six-degree temperatures?”
“Indeed.”
About forty-five minutes later the police car pulled away from the front of Celia’s house. Every light in every room was on. She started to turn them off and changed her mind. In the kitchen she picked up a cold French fry and chewed it. The grease made her stomach lurch so she gathered the fast food and dumped it back into the white bag. She turned toward the kitchen sink and stopped. The trash can was sitting next to the refrigerator instead of under the sink where it belonged. The hairs bristled on the back of her neck, but she couldn’t stop herself from crossing the kitchen and pulling the lower cabinet open.
Kitty was curled up in the space that would have been close quarters for Timmy, her face streaked with tears. Celia held her hand out and said, “Come here. You’re safe now.”
Kitty slowly turned her legs and then, holding Celia’s hand and the edge of the sink, pulled herself to a standing position. She looked at Celia pleadingly. “He’ll be back. He’ll never give up.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m hungry. Are you going to throw that stuff away?”
“We’ll get more.” Celia went to the hall closet and pulled out one of her old wool coats, then grabbed her down-filled one from the back of the kitchen chair. She handed the wool coat to Kitty and put on her own.
“Where are we going?”
“To get a motel room. A nice one.”
“What about food?” Kitty asked.
“It’s not ten yet. Surely one of the fast-food places is open. Let’s go.”
Kitty put the wool coat over her shoulders and held it closed with a trembling white fist. It was much too large, but for now that didn’t matter. Celia grabbed her purse and keys.
“What about the lights?” Kitty asked.
“The hell with the lights. Let’s go.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sophie liked to put up Christmas lights early—especially the ones outside. By Saturday morning, most of the ice from the storm had melted into mud puddles. Lois was installing a new battery in the truck. They could have afforded to get a mechanic to do it, but despite her age, Lois still seemed to want to take care of the small repairs. Earlier when Sophie had seen Lois gather the tools from the kitchen drawer, her blood pressure had shot up.
“Where are your tools?”
“These are the family tools,” Lois said.
“No. The family tools went the way of your tools.”
“Where’s that?”
“How the hell would I know?” Sophie said. “They should be in your toolbox.”
“And where’s my toolbox?”
“Damn it, Lo.”
Lois changed her tone. “Aw, sweetie, I’ll put these back. This job should only take ten minutes. Why don’t you go read the paper and don’t think about the tools?” Lois spied a familiar box. “You’re about to start putting up lights. Good. Go ahead and get started, and when I’m done with the truck, I’ll help you.”
“I’ll need the hammer.”
“I’ll have it to you in a jiffy.”
That had been an hour ago, and Sophie was still working alone. Pounding in tacks with one of Lois’s cowboy-boot heels, she was probably making more progress than she would with Lois helping. She heard a motorcycle approach and turned to see Ruby, in red earmuffs and mittens, on the back of a Harley. Nothing sounded exactly like a Harley. Lois would say they taught that in Lesbian 101.
The engine cut off and, over the silence, a man said, “Miss Long?”
Sophie squinted to see him better. Many of her students still addressed her with some measure of respect. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket and a baseball cap on backward. When he removed his goggles, she could see he was black. The only black student she’d ever had was a few years younger than Ruby, a boy named Donald Smith.
“Is that you, Donnie?”
“Yes, Miss Long.”
“Donnie. You’re over thirty now. I think you should call me Sophie.”
“Thank you, Miss Long.”
Sophie laughed. “How the heck are you?”
“Good. Seeing you, even better now.”
“Aw, you always were a charmer.”
“Not always.”
Sophie flashed back to the day Harriet Allen had come running into the classroom screaming that Donnie Smith was in the play yard holding a knife on Sister Ann. Donnie had transferred in to Sophie’s fifth-grade class before the Christmas holidays, and she didn’t know him well. She left her sandwich and thermos of soup on her desk and hurried after the little girl. When she went through the school doors she could tell something was very wrong. Most of the children were out there, yet it was quiet. They all seemed to be watching something around the corner. Sophie hurried past them and pulled up short. Sister Ann had her back to the building’s brick wall and Donnie was about four feet from her, holding a nasty-looking knife.
Sophie heard footfalls behind her and the words, “What is it?” Then the young second-grade teacher covered her mouth to stifle a scream.
Sophie said, “Get the other children inside.” She didn’t hear a sound (although there must have been some) and suddenly the playground was empty.
Sophie started to close the distance.
“Don’t take another step, Miss Long.” The boy’s voice trembled.
“Put the knife down, Donnie.”
“I can’t take no more of this,” he called over his shoulder.
Sister Ann’s face was contorted, and tears and mucus dripped from her chin. Sophie said, “You’re scaring Sister Ann. Please, Donnie, put the knife down.”
“She won’t help me. She’s on their side. My auntie told me to talk to y’all, to tell you what’s going on. Auntie don’t know how it is here. I’m alone.”
Sophie remembered Ruby a few years before complaining about being alone because of the color of her skin. Had the kids teased her too? “You are not alone,” Sophie said. “You have me.”
Donnie nodded toward the principal. “She told me to stop being a baby—to grow up, to be a man. So that’s what I’m doing.”
Sophie had closed the distance between them. Her heart pounded as she whispered, “Put the knife down, Donnie. I’ll help you.”
He turned around suddenly and thrust the knife toward her. It startled her but she stood still and managed a smile. “Give me the knife.”
Donnie offered her the knife handle first. She took it slowly and he collapsed on the ground with ragged sobs. The second-grade teacher rushed past her to Sister Ann.
The following morning in Sister Ann’s office, Sophie, Donnie, and the principal, with a priest to mediate, discussed Donnie’s expulsion.
The priest asked, “Do you want to go to school here, Donald?”
The boy shrugged.
Sister Ann said, “We should have called the police. He would be in a detention center
by now.”
Sophie said, “Did you want to hurt Sister Ann, Donnie?”
The boy looked at the floor and shook his head.
Sister Ann told Donnie to wait outside. When the door was closed, she said, “We can’t have a boy like that here. We just aren’t equipped for him. It isn’t fair to our other students.”
The priest nodded in agreement.
“I’ll tell you what would not be fair to the other students,” Sophie said. “To let them go through school and believe that they can bully others who are different from them. To let them believe that they are superior to—”
“Now wait a minute,” Sister Ann said.
“I won’t wait a minute. Things are changing. If we send these children out in the world as ignorant about race as they are now, we do them a disservice. Public schools were ordered to integrate years ago.”
“We are not a public school,” Sister Ann said.
“I’m well aware of that,” Sophie replied. “But think about it. How can these children be good Catholics and hate such a large segment of the population without reason?”
The priest cleared his throat. “The boy needs to be punished, Miss Long.”
“Then let’s talk about punishment, not expulsion.”
Sister Ann pulled herself up straight. In an icy tone she said, “Thank you, Miss Long, for sharing your thoughts. We’ll let you know what we decide.”
Sophie stood and left them. In the corridor she sat next to Donnie, put her arm around him, and patted his shoulder. “How are you doing?”
He leaned against her and wept.
In the end Donnie was suspended for a week, and for thirty days he had to stay after school and clean all the blackboards. He actually cleaned them the rest of the school year. When another student was punished, they cleaned together. In seventh grade, Donnie was elected class president.
Now here he stood before her. She opened her arms, and he came forward and gave her a quick hug.
Ruby said, “Don gave me a ride home from the Saturday noon meeting. He’s moderating this week.”
Retirement Plan Page 17
