“When did this happen?” I asked.
“A week ago, Thursday.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” I asked, meaning it.
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“How is she?”
Maggie sighed. “They moved her to rehab on Sunday.”
“That’s good, right?”
She nodded, but looked like she wanted to cry. “They think she’ll be able to come home in a couple of months. Her speech is getting better every day, and she can walk with a cane if someone holds onto her, but she has to relearn so much. Getting dressed, washing — stuff she took for granted — now seems insurmountable. I’ve been to visit her every day. Gary,” her ex-husband, “and I are both on her health care proxy, but so far I’ve had to make all the decisions so far.”
“Didn’t he come up to see her?” I asked, more than a little surprised.
She shook her head. “He says he can’t leave work.”
“I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t, either. Lily asks for him every day. I think he’s decided that she might die and he wants to remember her as she was.”
“What does Brian say?”
She shrugged. Brian was now her ex-husband’s husband. “That Gary’s a shit if he doesn’t get his ass up here. He told me he’d get him on a plane this weekend or kill the sonuvabitch.”
“Will he?”
She managed a laugh. “Damn right.” She reached for her beer and took a healthy sip. I did likewise.
She set the glass back down and nestled against me once again.
“What about Holly?” I asked. I hadn’t even noticed that she had once again attached herself to my leg. She looked up at me with sad dark eyes.
“I’ve got her in doggy daycare when I’m at work. She misses Lily something terrible.” The dog usually spent the day with the old lady, keeping her company, and Lily let her out into the yard for comfort calls. “But the home allows pet visits. I’m taking her back on the weekend. It’ll help cheer Lily — make her work harder on her rehab so she can come home faster.”
I reached over to stroke the soft hair on Holly’s head. She let out a doggy sigh of contentment.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call after your accident,” Maggie said softly. “I wanted to. I should have, but I was just so overwhelmed by Lily’s situation that I didn’t think I could take on one more thing. And Brenda did say you were okay, anyway.”
“Yeah. I am.”
Maggie chewed on her lip for several long moments. “She’s really upset with you.”
“I know. As I said before, I really can’t talk to her about what’s bugging me, because … I’m really not sure I understand it myself. It hurts to know Brenda thinks I’m a racist.”
“Are you racist?” Maggie asked, with one eyebrow raised inquisitively.
“I never thought so. But it was a couple of black guys who jumped me.”
“And Da-Marr is black.”
“Yeah, and just about the right size and age, too. But it’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the trouble; I haven’t been able to pin it down. He’s trouble — and he’s headed for even bigger trouble.”
“But you don’t have a clue what.”
“Yeah, and that scares me even more.”
The CD stopped and we sat there in deadly silence.
I wondered if I should tell her about my adventure with Sam earlier in the day. I glanced at the clock. We still had ten minutes before the pizza was going to be delivered. But instead of talking about Jack Morrow, I chose another subject.
“I went to church today.”
She pulled back and looked at me with surprise. “You? Church?”
I gave an ironic laugh. “I needed someone to talk to.”
“And you went to church? I need a drink to digest that news,” she said and grabbed her beer, taking a gulp. She turned back to look at me. “Who did you talk with?”
“A priest. I went to confession.”
“They don’t do confession anymore. But as you haven’t been to church for decades, you probably didn’t even know that.”
“I didn’t, and it hasn’t been decades since I went to church. I went eighteen months ago.” The day Richard was shot. I hadn’t been in a hurry to return during the intervening time, either. Until that morning.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
I shook my head. “I guess I didn’t think I would. I’d just figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. When I took that tumble off the ladder, I kind of had a near-death experience.”
“With the white light and everything?” she asked incredulously.
I nodded.
Maggie sobered — if that was possible for someone who sounded as depressed as she did. “I know you won’t want to talk to a counselor — ”
“You got that right.”
“But Father Mike at my parish is a pretty good guy.”
“I don’t want to talk to yet another old fart in a dark suit.”
“He’s not old. In fact, he’s younger than me.”
“I didn’t think anyone was called to the priesthood these days.”
“You thought wrong. I could call and ask him to talk to you. I’m not saying he’ll have any insight, but he won’t bullshit you, either.”
I shrugged. “If you want.” I took another hefty sip of my beer.
The doorbell rang — saved by the bell. The pizza was early, and Holly jumped to attention, barking a warning. I really didn’t want to discuss the subject any longer.
I got up and went down to retrieve the pizza, giving the guy a nice tip. By the time I got back upstairs Maggie had retreated to the kitchen and had plates and napkins set out on the table. I plunked the box in the middle, grabbed a couple more beers from the fridge, and sat in my usual chair. Sharp knife and spatula in hand, Maggie opened the box and separated the pieces, doling out a fat slice for herself and giving me the smallest. She knew I wasn’t likely to eat more than that anyway.
Holly settled between us, looking hopeful. Maggie took her seat and looked down at the dog. “You’ve already had your dinner and you didn’t share it with me.” Holly looked away, duly chastised. Maggie took a bite of her pizza and set it down on the plate again. She chewed and swallowed before speaking. “Are you in a hurry to go home tonight?”
“Not especially, why?” Was I going to get lucky?
“Just wondering,” she said and cracked open her new beer, pouring it into the glass before her. “I kind of don’t want to be alone.”
“Just kind of?” I inquired.
“Yeah.”
I shrugged. “I could stay and keep you company for a while.”
“That would be nice.” She smiled at me — like she hadn’t done in way too long, then she reached across the table and clasped my hand. “About what you said before….”
My mind raced. “What?”
“About us … and moving on from the past. Do you think we could really do it?”
“I’d like to try.”
She squeezed my hand harder. “Me, too.”
Chapter 10
Richard stared blankly at his computer screen, trying to concentrate on a recent JAMA article on the cost effectiveness of bariatric surgery but found he’d read the same paragraph four or five times and still hadn’t absorbed the content. He looked over the top of his reading glasses. Brenda hadn’t said a word in hours, patiently working on her latest needlepoint project while Evelyn sat on the other end of the couch, knitting and talking at her. He frowned. It seemed almost impossible to have a decent conversation with the woman, who only appeared to enjoy the sound of her own voice.
Richard stared at the screen once again wishing Evelyn would find something else to do in the evenings. He missed his quiet time with Brenda. But, like them, Evelyn wasn’t a big fan of cop shows or reality programs and had joined them in his study — intruding on his sanctuary.
&
nbsp; Was he being too hard on Evelyn? The woman had had a brilliant career helping at-risk kids to not only improve their academic test scores, but actually graduate high school and go on to college, lifting them from the stranglehold of poverty and putting them on the road to success. She was good at that, but she wasn’t much good at being a big sister.
Ha — that from the guy who’d neglected his own younger brother twenty odd years before. Well, he was making up for lost time — they both were, even if things were a bit strained at the moment.
It was no use trying to finish the article. He removed his glasses, closed the document, and powered down the computer before getting up to join the ladies, taking the wing chair adjacent to his wife. He watched as his sister-in-law pulled at the skein of fine, pale-blue yarn. “What are you working on, Evelyn?”
“A baby cap. The women from my church knit them for the preemie babies at Children’s Hospital. I’ve got a bigger one made for Betsy Ruth to wear home from the hospital. I meant to give it to you before now, Brenda, but goodness knows somehow it slipped my mind.”
Brenda looked up from her work and smiled. “Thank you, Evie.”
“Looks like you’ll be done with that piece before the baby comes,” Richard said, indicating the needlework canvas where bunnies hopped against a green and yellow background.
“Maybe,” Brenda said, noncommittally.
“That was a very nice pillow you sent me for Christmas,” Evelyn said, and yanked on the yarn once again. “It sits in a place of honor in my guest bedroom.”
Did she ever have houseguests? Would anyone but her ever see it?
“I’m glad you liked it,” Brenda said. “This one will go in the baby’s room, on the glider.”
“Just where is that child going to sleep? There’s no crib in the nursery,” Evelyn said.
“We’ve got a cradle in our room. She’ll be with us for the first few weeks. The crib was supposed to be delivered last week, but there was a mix up. It should arrive either tomorrow or the next day.”
“You’ve left it rather late to do all the things that need to be done.”
“After what happened last year, I didn’t want to jinx things just in case….” Her voice broke, and she left the sentence hanging. They’d lost their first baby just eleven months before.
“Well, you’ll soon have a full house — perhaps too full,” Evelyn said, and looked over her glasses at Richard.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“If there’s one thing I learned in all my years in education, it’s that a child must be prepared for self-sufficiency when he or she goes off into the world. It seems to me your brother could use a push for independence. A thirty-seven-year-old man should not be sponging off his relatives.”
“Jeff is not sponging off us. He more than carries his weight around here,” Richard said.
Evelyn shook her head sadly. “You’re an enabler, Richard. Just as affirmative action crippled weak individuals in the past, you’ve taken away your brother’s incentive to find meaningful work, to take responsibility for himself.”
“Evelyn, Jeff suffered a devastating head injury only eighteen months ago. And while his recovery has been remarkable, it’s by no means complete.”
“He doesn’t appear to be suffering any ill effects.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
“Yes, they can. I submit that your brother has been deceiving you for quite some time. You’ve given him a comfortable home — ”
“The apartment has been there since this house was built. It was used by caretakers who worked for my grandparents.”
“I understand you paid for serious upgrades before your brother moved in. A new furnace, central air conditioning, new appliances — ”
Richard shot Brenda an angry glare, and she had the decency to look guilty for supplying her sister with so much information. “I know you mean well, Evelyn, but this is my family business.”
Evelyn schooled her face before she got up from the couch, suddenly towering over him. She was a couple of inches taller than her youngest sister. “I’ve said my piece on the subject. I won’t bring it up again. Good night.”
“Good night,” Brenda called.
Richard didn’t say a word until he heard Evelyn climb the stairs to her room. “I know you’re angry at Jeff, but did you have to drag Evelyn into our personal business?”
Brenda set down her needlepoint. “Jeffy living under our roof is my business, too.”
“What do you want me to do — kick him out? Where would he go? How would he support himself?”
“I never said he had to leave.”
“But you’d like it better if he did?”
“Of course not. I’m just angry that he hasn’t shown my guests the kind of respect they deserve.”
“Has he been rude to Evelyn?”
“No, but he hasn’t been at all friendly to Da-Marr.”
“And we’ve been over why.”
Brenda stuffed her needlepoint project into a canvas tote. “It’s time for him to get over the mugging. It happened, he’s better. He should move on.”
“Would you be that callous about a woman who’d been raped?”
“Don’t even compare the two,” she warned.
“Why not? They’re both traumatic, life-altering situations.”
“Now you’re trying to make me the bad guy.”
“And you’re doing the same to Jeff.”
Brenda pursed her lips, and he could see she was close to tears. “Look, no one says Jeff has to like Da-Marr or that Da-Marr has to like him. Why don’t we just ask both of them to stay out of each other’s way?”
“If that’s what you want, then you do it. I don’t need the aggravation right now.”
“I know, and I’m sorry we’ve had to deal with this. I’ll talk to both of them tomorrow.”
“Be my guest.”
Silence descended, hanging heavy between them.
Richard spoke first. “Just how long are Evelyn and Da-Marr going to stay?”
“I’m not sure. Evie bought a one-way ticket for both of them. She said she’d go home when she was sure I could handle the baby.”
“It seems I have a lot more confidence in your abilities than your sister does. You are a nurse, for chrissakes.”
“Yes, but not a pediatric nurse.”
“And how many first-time mothers are?” he muttered. “It’s getting late. We should probably get ready for bed.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” Brenda said, and struggled to get up from the couch. Richard helped her to her feet. “I’ll be glad when my old center of gravity returns.”
Richard followed Brenda out and switched off the lights before they started for the stairs. “Where’s Da-Marr?” he asked.
“I think he went to his room to watch TV.”
“Are you sure?”
“No, but what else is there for a young man to do around here?”
They climbed the stairs. The lights were on behind the two guest rooms, and Richard could hear at least one TV blaring. Somehow, knowing Da-Marr was tucked in for the night made him feel better, but he was smart enough not to mention it and rile Brenda once again.
It was almost midnight when I arrived home from Maggie’s. I swear, I drove the entire way there with an idiot grin on my face. We’d had sex a few times since her fling with her ex-fiancé, but it wasn’t satisfying and we hadn’t really reconnected until now. We were back in sync and I reveled in it.
I hadn’t stayed the night because she had to get up and go to work at what I now considered an ungodly hour, so it made more sense for me to just go home. She assured me she didn’t mind. Besides, I needed to feed Herschel.
Richard’s house was dark as I pulled my car into the garage and hit the button to close the overhead door. Lost in thought, I got out of my car and opened the door to the stairwell. Shuffling up the stairs, I paused and listened. A faint pounding seemed to shake the walls like a ghetto
wagon going by, only this wasn’t out on Main Street. This was closer — inside my apartment. Every muscle in my body tensed as I grasped the door handle and gingerly tried it. Locked. I fumbled with my keys and opened the door. The room was dark, just the way I’d left it, but rap music thumped on my stereo. The sweet, acrid odor of marijuana wafted at me. It took every bit of courage I had to turn on the light.
With his feet propped up on my coffee table, Da-Marr lay sprawled across my couch, his glazed eyes staring at the ceiling.
“How the hell did you get in here?” I demanded.
Da-Marr looked up at me, a stupid grin plastered across his wide face. “The door was open, man.”
“The hell it was.” Either he was good at picking locks or, more likely, he’d never returned Brenda’s key ring to the kitchen rack where she kept it.
He struggled to sit. “I can’t listen to my music over there. They listen to classical shit. Not even R&B.”
“I don’t care what your excuse is. You’re their guest, not mine. Now get the hell out.”
“Aw, man.” Da-Marr staggered to his imposing six-foot height.
I backed up a step, flashing onto the night I was mugged. The baseball bat slamming into my skull.
Adrenalin pumped through me as I stumbled into the doorframe and caught hold of the jamb before I fell down the stairs.
“Fucking pussy.” Da-Marr pushed past me, saying nothing more as he trotted down the steps.
The door to the driveway banged shut. I slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the deadbolt. What good was that against a key? I strode across the room, grabbed one of the dining chairs and hauled it across the floor, shoving it under the door handle.
Hands shaking, I somehow managed to hang my jacket in the closet before I crossed the room and backed the music down to a more tolerable level. Then I hit the first of the stereo’s programed buttons. More rap. Hit the second button. Same station. The fucking little — correction, huge — bastard had reprogrammed every button to the same station. I smacked the power button, plunging the apartment into silence.
I looked around the room as a different kind of panic filled my gut.
Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) Page 8
