Speak of the Devil

by Shari Shattuck

  At first Leah was uncertain that it was him. Then she saw the large woman, who was wrangling three other children, go and sit next to him. She seemed to be pleading with him, but he shook his head, and the woman, looking not a little frustrated, gathered the rest of her brood around her, and they set off for the long line waiting to be served dinner on paper plates just outside in the parking lot.

  As the woman passed her, Leah heard her say to one of the other kids, “He doesn’t want to. We’ll bring him a plate.”

  Glancing around as though she might be caught on videotape, Leah started across the room, zigzagging her way between the rows of cots and mats on the floor. When she came level with Tyler’s, she stopped and stood shifting her weight from foot to foot as she struggled to think of something to say.

  But it was the boy who spoke first, raising his eyes fearfully to see who was hovering over him. He saw her looking, if possible, as terrified as he felt, and he mustered a small smile.

  “Hi,” he said in a tiny voice. “I remember you. Do you have to stay here too?”

  “Uh, no,” Leah said falteringly. “I came to try to help, but I don’t think I’m making much of a difference, but I’m okay.” She realized with ironic amusement that he was making her feel better. “How about you?” she asked softly as she sat next to him.

  Tyler’s eyes glazed again and dropped to the blanket he had twisted in his fingers. “I’m fine,” he whispered.

  Leah knew she wasn’t supposed to ask, and she was well aware that she might be crossing a line by doing so, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Who is that lady you’re here with? Is she an aunt or something?”

  For a few seconds Tyler didn’t respond, and then he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “I have to stay with her for a while.”

  “How do you know her?” Leah asked.

  He shrugged, just a tiny up and down of his frail shoulders. “I don’t. A lady from the hospital brought me to her house. She’s a foster lady. She said I have to stay with her.”

  Leah felt her heart crack painfully open and the blood that leaked from it saturate her stomach in a queasy, angry rush. She raised one arm instinctively to put it around the boy’s shoulder, but her own inhibition as well as a sense of propriety stopped her.

  “Tyler,” she said softly, hoping beyond hope that she was not asking too much from this fragile child, “where is your grandfather?”

  His body went rigid, as if he were trying to refuse it any free will, but she watched the quivering shake his frame, and this time she could not restrain herself from placing a hand on the center of his back and rubbing it softly. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you.” Leah wanted to sew her own mouth shut.

  “He . . . he . . .” Tyler struggled to get it out. “He got burned, and they said he breathed in a whole lot of smoke, and that’s really bad, I guess, and he . . .”

  “Shhh. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” Without thinking, Leah drew Tyler’s trembling body up against hers and encircled him with her arms. Then she began to move, rocking gently back and forth, and without realizing it, Leah began to hum, a low note that Tyler could feel in his own pain-drenched body, and very slowly, it worked its way inward until, at last, it reverberated against the dense core of his tortured heart, nudging it back to life.

  The foster mom returned with her bickering children in tow, bearing a plate for Tyler, but after exchanging a sympathetic glance with Leah, patiently went about feeding the other kids without interrupting the releasing of grief.

  Leah kept up the soft, vibrating hum, and after a long while, Tyler’s sobs softened, the aching lightened, and still wrapped in a stranger’s arms, the broken boy fell asleep.

  Chapter 52

  Leah was back on the serving line in the cafeteria when Weston came in, his face smeared with black soot and exhaustion. She left her post to greet him.

  “Hi there,” she said shyly.

  He looked at her the way a person does when they spot someone they know in an unlikely place, with that space in their brain that can’t quite connect the person with the location. It was a fleeting look, and then he glanced down at the dirty apron she was wearing and smiled.

  “Well, well, look who’s here being of service,” he said, and Leah found she was stunned at the level of pride she felt. It was nice, actually, just being here, one of a hundred faceless people, no glory, no profit, just a group of citizens banding together to help in a bad situation. She had always felt annoyed at the prospect of giving time for “nothing,” and now she discovered that she was actually getting something: She felt like she was contributing.

  “Oh, I’m being of service, all right,” Leah said blandly. “I’m serving up mashed potatoes by the ton. How is it out there?”

  She was immediately sorry she had asked when his expression darkened beyond the soot on his face. “Brutal.”

  She tried to be positive. “Maybe it’ll rain. The news said there’s a chance, only about ten percent, but a chance,” she said, and his shrug told her eloquently that that would be nothing short of a miracle. “You want something to eat?”

  “Anything,” Weston replied, and she saw the fatigue that weighed down his movements and seemed to blur the edges of his usually formidable physique.

  “Sit down. I’ll get you a plate,” she said firmly, her newly awakened nurturing gene dialing in like a strong signal on a radio. “You want pork loin or lasagna, or both?”

  “Both. Where did all this food come from?” he asked, seeming to notice the long line of tables laden with cakes, salads, and casseroles as well as the steaming plates of food for the first time.

  “We brought it,” Leah said, and the word we seemed to turn her inside out. She felt again that surge of . . . not pride really. More of belonging. Her community had done this, had cared, and that made her feel she was a part of something worthwhile. Embarrassed by the wetness that came inexplicably to her eyes, she walked quickly to the buffet line and began to fill a plate with everything she thought Weston might like.

  It was nice to have someone to take care of, she thought as she piled tuna salad on top of some greens. Tyler’s pale, pinched face kept interrupting her thoughts and bringing with it a rending, suffocating sensation. Who would take care of him? She felt strangely compelled to help him, but she didn’t know how. She didn’t even know what would happen to him. Fighting back tears, she backed away from the table and ran into something solid.

  “Leah, I’m sorry.” It was Sterling carrying in a huge box. Behind him, several other men, equally burdened, were trailing through the crowd on their way to the kitchen. Following the train backward, Leah could make out Rowland just outside the double doors, supervising the unloading of a rental truck the size of a moving van.

  “What the . . .” Leah exclaimed.

  “Who knew opportunistic exploiters could be philanthropists too?” Sterling said with a sly grin. “Rowland called me to ask about the local stores, and we just went and bought out the entire meat and vegetable sections at Vons, and did a run to K-B Toys for the kids.” He was smiling incredulously now. “Who knew?” he repeated.

  “But, but . . .” Leah stuttered, trying to find the words to express the Taser-stun reaction that was surging through her body. “He lost the development. They let it burn—it’s gone. He must be . . . uh, furious.”

  Sterling raised his eyebrows and nodded. “You would think so, but all I’ve seen is gratitude for the people who did what they could and are fighting to save the rest of the town. Gotta go.” He hoisted the heavy box a little higher and moved on toward the kitchens.

  Leah carried the plate to Weston in a stupor. She could not compute Sterling’s news. The stocky figure of Rowland in her periphery vision seemed to pulse for attention, try as she might to ignore it. Weston thanked her for the food, and she sat down beside him and stared down at the table.

  “I thought it was him,” she said.

  “Thought what was him?” Weston aske
d between huge forkfuls of lasagna.

  “I thought it was Rowland Hughs who was setting the fires, trying to scare people into selling their land so that he could put in a road that would make phase three permissible.” She looked up at Weston, who wasn’t really getting her ramble but was getting that he didn’t need to, that this smart woman was working something out and he was the sounding board.

  “I thought he was the arsonist, or at least that he was paying someone to do it. I even pretty much accused him of it yesterday morning.” Weston frowned and Leah went on quickly. “I was trying to get him to confess to me by making him think I could help him. When he denied it, I thought he was bluffing, trying to cover.” She stopped and forgot to breathe in for a long beat.

  Weston had turned to watch the parade of expensive goods being brought in and the Red Cross supervisor thanking a protesting Rowland Hughs profusely. “Him?” he asked, his eyes still following the procession of donations, and when Leah nodded, he added, “Good cover.” But he didn’t say it unkindly.

  Then, as though the sight of someone being generous had unleashed a new flood of thought, Leah leaned intently toward Weston. “Listen, there’s a little boy here. He’s with a temporary foster mom. I met him yesterday morning, and his grandfather was hurt in the fire.”

  Weston’s head came up, and he let the fork rest, forgotten, on his plate. “I know—I picked them up. It was bad. How’s the old guy?”

  Leah realized that she didn’t know. “I, uh, I’m not sure. I thought that he was dead.” She paused as Weston dropped his head and sighed with obvious feeling. “But I’m not sure now that you mention it,” she hastened to add. “I mean, nobody told me that exactly. I just assumed. Can you find out?”

  Weston looked up at her and formed his question with his strong mouth very slowly: “Why?”

  A spurt of anger flared in Leah. “I’m not being one of those vultures who just want to hear bad news,” she retorted hotly. “I want to know if the boy needs help, and what will happen to him.”

  Weston seemed unruffled by her indignant reaction. “Well, if the grandfather is deceased, or physically incapable of caring for the boy, and he has no other family that’s willing to take him—or capable to take him—he’ll become a ward of the court and be placed in temporary foster homes.”

  “You mean he’ll be adopted?” Leah asked.

  “No,” Weston explained. “He’ll go into the foster care system. That means he’ll be shifted every few months—up to two years max—from foster home to foster home, unless he becomes adoptable and—here’s the catch—someone wants to adopt him.” He looked sad. “Which is unlikely. The number of kids his age out there on the adoption list is pretty staggering, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh.” The tear in Leah’s heart separated further. “That poor little boy,” she whispered. “That’s horrible. And you know this is true because?”

  “My family was a foster care provider, remember? I told you on the Ferris wheel.” Weston suppressed a yawn and resumed eating, more slowly, as though he were too tired to chew. His eyes were crinkled at the edges. “It used to really bite when the kids had to leave. They’d become like brothers and sisters to me, and then one day, someone from social services would come, and they’d be gone. I never really knew where they went. Sometimes I’d get a letter or two, but they’d fizzle out.”

  “Why didn’t your parents adopt them?” Leah asked incredulously.

  Weston smiled. “They did adopt two—both my sisters. But we couldn’t adopt all of them, and most of the kids weren’t available for adoption. Their parents were still around, maybe in prison or rehab, and they hadn’t relinquished legal custody. And so my folks just did what they could within a very flawed system.”

  Once again Leah found herself regarding Weston as though he were some anomaly, the kind of person you read about in Time magazine or see on Oprah, the kind who made her cry hopeful, private tears, but whom the cynical part of her could never quite buy. He certainly seemed to be one of those rare, hard-to-find, truly good people. That thought caused her a stab of guilt about someone else. Slowly, she turned to look directly at Rowland. An apology was owed.

  “You get some sleep,” she said to Weston, and surprising herself yet again, she leaned down and kissed his sweaty, filthy forehead without the slightest hesitation.

  He caught her hand as she turned to go and gave it a squeeze when she looked questioningly back at him. “Thank you for helping with all this,” he said earnestly, and then he released her and turned back to his meal.

  Thinking that her efforts compared to his were like a crayon stick figure next to Monet’s haystacks, she crept almost apologetically across the cafeteria and out the door to where Rowland was signing some paperwork with the driver of the truck.

  She stood, uncertain of what to say until he noticed her with cold, distasteful recognition; she resisted fleeing only by grabbing her own moxie by the scruff of the neck and hanging on tightly. “Mr. Hughs?” she began. “I’m afraid I owe you an apology.”

  He had begun to turn away, but he looked back and she sensed again that innate quality of decency in him. The hard expression softened into that of a shrewd person who was willing to listen, but it had better be good.

  “Yesterday morning I said some things to you that were misleading. I was operating under a misconception that you and your development might be responsible for these fires, and I was trying to trap you into admitting it. It was wrong. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.” Leah found that both her voice and her hands were shaking, just like when, as a small girl, she’d been forced to confess something to her unforgiving father. She dropped her eyes to the pavement and muttered again, “I’m sorry. I know you lost the development, and I’m really grateful for all your generosity.”

  She glanced up, forcing herself to make eye contact before she beat a hasty retreat, but his look of open sadness held her fast.

  “I know,” he said with a huge sigh. “I can understand why you would have thought that. I asked around about you, and it was pretty obvious that you were not in the bribery game as a rule. You’ve got a champion reputation as a hard worker and an honest person.” He grinned a little. “That must have taken some balls, young lady. I salute you.”

  Leah was stunned, as much by being told she had balls as by his obviously resentment-free forgiveness. “It, uh, was a little scary,” she confessed.

  Rowland sighed again, and the despondent expression returned. “I’m insured for the construction. I mean, I’ll take a hit, that’s for damn sure. The profit margin will plummet. But it’s Susan I’m sad for.” He was shaking his head. “That woman has worked so hard on this deal, and now the whole thing is gone.” Rowland put his fingers against his thumbs and then extended them suddenly. “Poof! Just like that. She won’t lose much, but she won’t make a penny of profit either, and she’s really poured her time and effort into this for over three years.”

  Leah thought about her meetings with Susan Hughs, her intensity and focus on getting the deals done in spite of any obstacles. She realized now that Susan hadn’t just been working for a salary or the enrichment of her husband and their company; she’d seen this deal as “The One” that would put her over into real wealth, guarantee her security, make her somebody—independent of her husband—and a force to be reckoned with. All of those were tangible things that Leah easily grasped.

  “I’m so sorry,” she told Rowland. “I could see what it meant to her, and I get it. I really do. Believe me,” she said. “Where is Susan anyway?”

  “She’s home, trying to salvage her back and her sanity. She’s the one who organized all this, the food, the toys, and transporting it. Hired the drivers, recruited the grocery stores—all that from flat on her back. She’s planning on coming in tomorrow to help out.”

  “Wow.” Leah was impressed. “That’s pretty amazing of her, of both of you, considering you guys don’t even live in this neighborhood.”

  “No,” Rowland said
, and they both turned to look at the eerie red glow where the fires beyond the black ridge of hills illuminated the low ceiling of smoke that divided the valley from the sky. “No, we never got that chance.”

  Chapter 53

  Everything about the morning was ashen gray: the sky, the ground, the very air. Joshua stood on the edge of his porch, and his eyes were drawn to the one thin strip of color in the dirty-laundry landscape, a faint carnelian glow at the very edge of the horizon.

  Joy came out of her house and came over to stand silently beside him. Neither spoke for a long moment, just watched the ash fall, like lethal, intermittent snow, flurries of death, remnants of living things, environments, habitats.

  “It’s scary,” Joy said in a voice as vulnerable as the fragile, dried buds of flowers that would crumble with the softest of pressure.

  “I know,” Joshua said. And he was so intent on his sorrow for what was lost and would still be lost that it was a full minute before he realized that she had placed her hand in his and was leaning against him. It was another minute before he worked his arm around her and then pulled her up against his chest. She came gratefully, snuggling her head in by his shoulder and wrapping her arms around the small of his back. The fit was perfect, and for a long time they stood, perfectly still, untouched by anything outside them and glad to have found that something so new could be so familiar.

  But soon the sound of movements in the kitchen behind them peeled open the soft opaque walls of their private cocoon, and feeling exposed, they pulled apart.

  “I’ve got to get ready for school,” Joy mumbled and hurried away. Joshua watched her go with furtive, hopeful glances, but she did not look back to confirm or acknowledge the spiking leaps of his heart.

  His thoughts spun and in an effort to keep up with them, Joshua turned quickly and went into the kitchen. His mother was making coffee; her smile gave him no clue as to whether she had witnessed the melding on the porch.

  “Sterling’s on his way over with Jenny. We’re going by her shop to pick up some supplies and then back to the high school to help out making breakfast before I go into the salon. You want to come?”