The Right Side

by Spencer Quinn

  “Why, LeAnne,” she said, fastening the top snap of her housecoat, “this is a surprise.”

  “Where’s Mia?”

  “Asleep in her room. Did . . . did you want to meet her? I’m sure that can be arranged. Why don’t you—”

  “We need to talk. You and me.”

  Coreen glanced past her, down the street. Her hair was unbrushed, and she looked older than before.

  “When’s he coming back?” LeAnne said.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “To see his—well, our—lawyer, I believe.”

  “About what?”

  Coreen drew back. “Family business.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to talk about.”

  “My goodness,” Coreen said. “I appreciate your friendship with Marci, very much. But I really don’t see—”

  “Is it about changing the custody arrangement?”

  “We’re still discussing the ins and outs, if you must know. But he really does seem like a changed man to me. And he is her father, after all. Blood is thicker than water.”

  “Don’t tell me about blood.” LeAnne pushed past Coreen and entered the house. Goody hurried by, got in front.

  “Just a damn minute,” Coreen said. “You can’t just walk in here and—”

  LeAnne whirled around. “This is nothing compared to what I can do. Close the door.”

  Coreen, eyes wide, closed the door.

  “Let’s go into the kitchen,” LeAnne said.

  They went into the kitchen.

  “Sit.”

  Coreen sat at the table. LeAnne went to the counter, filled two mugs with coffee from a pot that smelled fresh brewed. She handed one to Coreen.

  “I like a little cream,” Coreen said.

  LeAnne fetched cream from the fridge. She sat opposite Coreen, aware that the morning light from the window was shining directly on her bad side, and glad of it.

  “Thank you,” Coreen said.

  LeAnne nodded. She felt Goody getting comfortable under the table. “Do you remember what you said last time I was here?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “You said . . .” But it was gone. Sitting in the car, waiting for dawn, LeAnne had not only remembered the phrase but had also gone over and over it in her mind. It was the whole fucking key to getting to Coreen to open up.

  Coreen’s eyes narrowed. Down below, Goody pressed against LeAnne’s foot.

  “You . . . you . . .” Then she had it! “You asked me to tell you what kind of a mother and grandmother you were, for not doing better. Remember that?”

  Coreen’s eyes filled with tears. Her mouth opened in a lopsided way, like some kind of breakdown was coming.

  “Save the waterworks,” LeAnne said. “There’s no time. This is your one chance to be the very best kind of mother and grandmother. Is that what you want?”

  The tears overflowed, but Coreen made no sound.

  LeAnne poured more cream in Coreen’s mug. Creamy coffee slopped over the rim. “Did Max know she was prone to nightmares?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “That was Marci, letting him know in no uncertain terms. She blamed the nightmares on . . . on how Max had treated her.”

  “Are you saying Mia witnessed the beatings?”

  Coreen looked down. “Maybe once. But when she was very little.”

  “And now Mia wants to live with him?”

  “At least some of the time. As I mentioned, he seems quite changed and—”

  “Spare me. Here’s what you need to know. Mia was never in that shed on the other side of the vineyard, not for a single goddamn minute. Max had her in a cabin east of the swamp from night one.”

  Coreen put hand to her chest. “Those old hunting cabins? They’re all condemned.”

  LeAnne waved that aside. “And Mia did not dream up the secret mission. She heard about it through her window the night of the funeral, just as she said. Do you understand, Coreen? He’s got her believing Marci’s coming home someday, but only if she doesn’t breathe a word.”

  Coreen stopped crying. Reddish patches appeared on her face, a mottled combination of confusion, humiliation, anger.

  LeAnne rose. “Don’t interfere.”

  LeAnne walked down the hall, Goody behind and then in front. Goody stopped at the first door and stood there, highly alert. LeAnne turned the knob, glanced down at Goody, and gave her the quiet sign, finger across her lips—which made no sense, since she hadn’t taught Goody any signs, plus Goody probably couldn’t or wouldn’t learn them—and opened the door.

  The room was dark, and at first LeAnne couldn’t see a thing. Her eye seemed slow to adjust, maybe just worn out from having to do all the work alone. Standing blindly in a backlit doorway to a darkened room was a bad move, made you an easy target: a faceless silhouette in a frame. But this wasn’t that kind of mission. LeAnne was about to step forward when she heard a soft sound, like movement beneath bed covers, followed by silence, although not the silence of nothing going on—this was an intent kind of silence.

  Then came a child’s voice: “Mom?”

  LeAnne felt along the wall, found a switch, flicked it on. A pigtailed girl was sitting up in bed, squinting against the light, looking thinner than in the Missing Child poster.

  “My name’s LeAnne. Your mom and I were friends in the army.”

  Mia squeezed her eyes shut, opened them, took her first good look at LeAnne. She shrank back.

  “Your grandma’s in the kitchen. She knows I’m here.”

  “I want her.”

  “In a minute. She’s pretty upset right now.”

  Mia shrank back a little more.

  “On account of how you’ve been treated,” LeAnne went on. She took a step into the room but left the door open.

  Mia raised her hands. “Don’t hurt me.”

  “That would never happen. I look bad, but you shouldn’t be afraid. I got wounded in the war, that’s all.”

  Mia turned from the sight of LeAnne’s face, and her gaze fell on Goody.

  “This is Goody,” LeAnne said. “She’s friendly, in her own way.”

  “She’s big.”

  The hair rose on the back of Goody’s neck. She sniffed once or twice, then headed straight for Mia. LeAnne was just about to grab her when Goody paused, one paw still raised. The hair on her neck flattened back, and she rested her chin on the covers of Mia’s bed, coal-black eyes soft and almost docile.

  “You can pet her if you like.”

  Mia reached out, slow and tentative, and gave Goody one light pat on the nose. Goody made a sound LeAnne had never heard from her, almost a purr. LeAnne crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed, her unruined profile angled Mia’s way. LeAnne raised her feet so Mia could see.

  “These are your mom’s shoes. She gave them to me in the hospital.” Was that strictly true? LeAnne knew she didn’t quite have the facts on that episode. Did it matter? “War’s a nightmare,” LeAnne said. Her voice cracked. She took a deep breath, got hold of herself. “Not the dreaming kind, but real. You’re in one of those real nightmares right now. We’re going to make it stop. Don’t you want that?”

  Mia shook her head.

  LeAnne saw where one of Mia’s knees pressed against the covers and rested her hand there, very lightly.

  “There is no secret mission. Your mom was very strong and brave, but she died in the hospital. All the rest of this is just your father making trouble.”

  Mia tilted up her chin, a miniature expression of Marci-like defiance. “That’s what he said they’d say.”

  “They?”

  “Anybody who found out.”

  “Found out what?”

  “About . . . about the mission.” Mia shifted her knee away, out from under LeAnne’s hand. “The coffin’s full of rocks.”

  LeAnne gazed at Mia, anger rising inside. But letting it out would be the worst thing she could do. �
��Didn’t your mom tell you to comb those pigtails out at night?”

  “All the time.” Mia started to cry.

  LeAnne reached out to console her, but Mia still shrank away once more. “Get dressed. We’re going for a ride.”

  “Where?”

  “To see the proof. Don’t you want to know for sure?”

  Mia started getting out of bed. LeAnne thought she heard soft, retreating steps in the hall.

  Mia sat in the passenger seat, Goody in back. After a few minutes, Mia noticed the stuffed dog, lying on the console. She picked it up. “How did Ruben get here?”

  “A long story,” LeAnne said. “But Ruben has your smell on him—that’s how Goody knows you were in that hunting cabin.”

  Mia gazed down at Ruben, touched the little hole where his missing eye had been.

  “The commando outside your window was your father. Don’t you get that by now?”

  Mia didn’t answer. LeAnne turned into the gravel parking lot at the cemetery.

  “Did this commando say your father would be taking care of you until your mom came back? And then you’d all be together?”

  No reply. Goody rose up over the seat back. She snatched Ruben out of Mia’s hand and withdrew. LeAnne parked the car, got out, took the spade from the trunk.

  Cpl. Marci Cummings. Daughter, Mother, Patriot. She gave all.

  LeAnne and Mia stood before the stone. Goody lay in a flowerbed nearby, on her back with all paws raised, tranced out.

  “You’ll have to brace yourself for this,” LeAnne said, although she had no intention of doing any actual digging: wouldn’t her willingness to do it be enough to get the message across?

  “What do you mean?” Mia said.

  “Make yourself strong inside.”

  “How?”

  “Good question,” LeAnne said. She tipped over Marci’s stone. It fell with a thump on the soft grass. Mia flinched. LeAnne rolled up the strip of new sod for the second time. “Won’t take long,” she said. “The coffin’s not even two feet down.”

  “How do you know?”

  LeAnne turned to her. “Because I did this already.”

  And that information should have done it. Mia looked at LeAnne and at the tipped-over stone. She didn’t say a word. LeAnne waited and waited, then finally dug up a small spadeful of dirt. Down at the bottom of the hole she’d made lay a fat worm. It wriggled around.

  “Stop,” Mia said.

  LeAnne gazed at Mia. The expression on the kid’s face reminded her of soldiers she’d known, in shock after their first firefight. She scooped up the little dirt pile and dropped it back in the hole. It was a windy day, clouds racing across the sky like things were running late.

  “Help me get it all back together,” LeAnne said.

  Mia came forward, a bit like a sleepwalker. She unrolled the strip of sod and patted it into place with her hands. Then the two of them lifted the stone and walked it back into its setting.

  “How about we have a thought for her?” LeAnne said.

  They got down on their knees. LeAnne found she actually couldn’t think about Marci at that moment, so she just watched the cloud shadows hurrying across the graveyard. Then they rose and walked back to the car, Goody on her right as usual. For the first time—and maybe late in the game—LeAnne wondered if Goody was intentionally protecting her blind side. She glanced down at Goody’s face, found no answer. Meanwhile, over on the left, Mia wiped her eyes on the back of her forearm and took LeAnne’s hand.

  In the parking lot, LeAnne got Mia into the front of the Honda, Goody in back with Ruben, and was putting the spade in the trunk when the expensive-looking sports car came barreling up. It squealed to a fishtailing stop, and Max sprang out and marched toward her, jaw jutting out and red in the face.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said.

  “It’s done,” said LeAnne. “Get lost.”

  “Out of my way. That’s my daughter.”

  Max strode around toward the side of the car. LeAnne got there first, blocked his path, holding the spade in both hands. A spade was not a good weapon, but LeAnne raised it horizontally like a pugil stick, metal end on her left.

  “I’ll shove that down your throat,” Max said.

  Inside the car Mia started to scream, and Goody went crazy, barking and howling and clawing at the glass. Max came at LeAnne, huge and very strong; even at her best she would have been no match for him in any fight that was all about strength. But fights never ended up being only or even mostly about strength—her face was living proof. Max grabbed for the spade. LeAnne faked left, once, twice, fakes Max bought both times, jerking his head away from the blade, meaning that after the second fake his momentum was in the direction that she was dealing from for real, dealing with the end of the wooden handle. It cracked hard against his temple, like sounded punctuation, and he staggered back. That was when LeAnne drove the blade into his chest, right under the breastbone, but not with all her power. She refused to let herself kill him, no matter how much she wanted to. She was all through with that. Max let out a whoosh of air and sat down hard, in pain and showing it. Things quieted down in the car.

  LeAnne stood over Max, hefting the spade, maybe not such a bad weapon after all. He looked up, clutching his chest. “Don’t,” he said.

  A huge, powerful guy, but essentially soft—a familiar type. The truth was that her own daddy, although a much nicer man, also belonged in that category. LeAnne tapped the blade on Max’s head, a nice firm tap.

  “How’d you swing the alibi?”

  His eyes shifted; he didn’t answer.

  She tapped his head again, now with some force. Max cringed as the blade came down and cried out when it struck.

  “The night after the funeral,” LeAnne said, glancing at the sports car. “You drove that baby up from Seattle, got Mia in the cabin, raced back in time to be seen at breakfast?”

  She raised the blade high.

  He looked up at her, saw what she was capable of, and nodded. “Something like that,” he said.

  “Not perfect,” said LeAnne, lowering her weapon. “But good enough for the sheriff.”

  “I think I’m bleeding inside,” Max said.

  “I doubt it.” LeAnne was wondering about Sheriff Cosgrove. Any point in calling him, getting the law involved? Probably, except she didn’t feel like it. At the moment, in this parking lot, she was the law, and why not?

  LeAnne turned her back on Max, tossed the spade in the trunk, climbed behind the wheel, and drove away. Somehow Goody was now in the front passenger seat with Mia squeezed in on the console between them. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” LeAnne said.

  “I mostly just heard it,” Mia said.

  “Goody was in the way?”

  Mia nodded.

  LeAnne patted her knee. “You good?”

  “No.”

  “Better, at least?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it,” LeAnne said. “But not too much. The whole scheme was all about him and his needs, not you and yours. Now you’ve got to put him out of your mind.”

  “How?” said Mia.

  LeAnne nodded. “Maybe that’s pushing it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  LeAnne was on a bit of a high after all that, a feeling she’d almost forgotten existed, at least for her. Harvey took her to dinner at the Bitterroot Café. They drank apple martinis made with local apples and white wine from local grapes. Between the main course—crab legs for LeAnne, pork chops for Harvey—and dessert, Harvey handed her a small gift-wrapped box.

  LeAnne opened it up. Inside lay pearl earrings.

  “They’re beautiful,” she said. “But you shouldn’t have.” Not least because it was a little on the early side.

  Harvey beamed. “Aren’t you going to put them on?”

  LeAnne went into the bathroom, tried on the earrings. Because of something about the light or the mirror, the earrings seemed to turn the damaged par
t of her face pearly. She returned to the table.

  “Wow,” said Harvey. “I hope you like them.”

  “I do.”

  The waiter poured the last of the wine. Harvey raised his glass. They clinked.

  “Here’s to jewelry,” he said.

  LeAnne laughed.

  “The truth is I’ve been saving them.”

  “Oh?”

  “For the right occasion,” Harvey said. “Even if I didn’t know it consciously.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They were for Marci, originally. Her birthday. But she left before . . . but the separation intervened.” His eyes opened wider, like he’d just been struck by a thought. “You don’t mind that, do you?”

  LeAnne shook her head. “I’m proud to wear them.”

  Harvey drove her back to cabin six at Shady Grove. She invited him in. Goody went into the bathroom, slurped water from the toilet, and didn’t come out.

  LeAnne started feeling nervous, and Harvey seemed nervous, too. She poured vodka from a bottle she’d bought somewhere, sometime. Soon she turned down the lights, and later, just before they got into bed, switched them off completely. Darkness was the only way for this, at least in the beginning.

  Harvey started out just right—cautious, gentle, attentive. In fact, amazingly attentive, as though he knew exactly what was going on inside her. And to her surprise, there was a lot going on inside her. LeAnne pulled Harvey on top, drew him in, felt all kinds of passionate feeling rising and rising in him. He was proving to be a deeply emotional man, and as this encounter went on—and blissfully on—she got swept up in deep emotions herself, until he finally came, murmuring, “Oh, Marci.”

  Not long after that, he fell asleep, perhaps unaware of what he’d done. But LeAnne was glad it had happened, and later in the night, when he got up to leave—the next day being a school day—she kissed him good-bye.

  LeAnne packed up, laced on her red shoes, got Goody walked, watered and fed, and checked out of Shady Grove. Then she called on Coreen, leaving Goody in the car.