by J. A. Jance
Dave lurched over to his smoking table—a cheap white resin table and matching chair. His one ashtray—a heavy brass one that had once belonged to his ex-father-in-law—sat there, waiting for him. Pulling the overflowing ashtray closer, he lit up and then leaned back in the groaning chair, gazing up at the sky.
Sitting there, he remembered how, when he was a little kid growing up in Phoenix, it was still possible to see thousands of stars if you went outside in the yard at night. Some of his favorite memories stemmed from that time, standing in the front yard with his folks, staring up in the darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the newly launched sputnik as it shot across the sky. Now the haze of smog and hundreds of thousands of city lights obscured all but the brightest two or three stars. And if there was space junk up there, as Discover magazine said there was, it was invisible to the naked eye from where Dave Thompson was sitting right that moment.
He was still smoking and staring mindlessly up into the milky white sky when a car pulled into the APOA parking lot. Headlights flashed briefly into the private patio that separated Dave’s quarters from the building that housed the dormitory.
Shit, Dave thought. Who’s that? Most likely one of the students. There was no law against being drunk on the patio of your own home, but finding the APOA’s head instructor in that kind of condition wouldn’t be great for trainee morale. He meant to get up and go inside, but as footsteps came toward him across the parking lot, Dave froze in his chair and hoped that not moving would render him invisible.
Within moments, he was sound asleep.
Joanna pried Jenny out of the pool a minute before the ten o’clock closing time. After a quick trip to the nearest 31 Flavors, it was ten-thirty by the time they made it back to their room, where Jenny was delighted to find that the covers on her bed had been turned back. On the pillow was a gold-foil-wrapped mint and a letter addressed to her in her mother’s handwriting. She tore open the envelope. Then, munching on the mint, she sat down cross-legged on the bed to read the letter. She looked at her mother who had settled on her own bed, textbook in hand.
When she finished Joanna’s letter, Jenny sighed, refolded the letter, and returned it to the envelope.
“Mom,” Jenny said. “Did you ever think your classes here would be this hard?” Jenny asked.
Welcoming the interruption, Joanna closed the book and put it down on the bedside table. “Not really.”
“And do they make you do push-ups and run laps, honest?”
Joanna smiled. “Girl Scout’s honor,” she said.
“That’s no fair,” Jenny grumbled. “I always thought that when you got to be a grown-up, people couldn’t make you do stuff you didn’t want to do.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Joanna agreed.
Suddenly Jenny scrambled off the bed and charged over to her suitcase. “I brought something along that I forgot to show you.”
After pawing through her clothing, Jenny came back and sat down on the edge of her mother’s bed. She was carrying two pictures. “Look at this,” she said, handing them over to Joanna. “See what Grandpa found?”
One was the picture of Joanna taken by her father, the one in her Brownie uniform. The second photo, although much newer and in color, was very similar to the first one. It was a picture of Jennifer Ann Brady, dressed in a much newer version of a Brownie uniform, and standing at attention near the right front bumper of her mother’s bronze-colored Eagle. In the black-and-white photo, a nine-year Joanna Lathrop posed in front of Eleanor Lathrop’s white Maverick. In both pictures the foreground was occupied by the same sturdy, twenty-five-year-old Radio Flyer, and in both pictures the wagon was loaded down with cartons of Girl Scout cookies.
As soon as she saw the two pictures side by side, Joanna burst out laughing. “I guess pictures like that are part of a time-honored tradition,” she said, handing them back to Jenny. “Where did you get the second one?”
“Grandpa Brady got it from Grandma Lathrop.”
“That figures,” Joanna said. “She probably has drawers full of them. I’ll bet somebody takes a new picture like that every single Girl Scout cookie season.”
Jenny didn’t seem to be listening. She was holding the two pictures up to the light, examining in them closely. “Grandma Brady thinks I look just like you did when you were a girl,” Jenny said. “What do you think?”
Joanna took the pictures back and studied them for herself. It was easy to forget that she, too, had been a towheaded little kid once upon a time. The red hadn’t started showing up in her hair until fourth or fifth grade—about the same time as that first traumatic haircut. This picture must have dated from third grade or so since Joanna’s hair still hung down over her shoulders in two long braids.
“Grandma Brady’s right,” Joanna said. “You can tell we’re related.”
“Yes, you can,” Jenny agreed.
“Did I ever tell you about the first time Grandma Lathrop took me out for my first haircut?” Joanna asked.
Jenny frowned and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, get back in your bed,” Joanna ordered. “It’s about time you heard the story of your mother and the pixie.”
“I know all about pixies,” Jenny said confidently. “They’re kind of like fairies, aren’t they? So, is this a true story or pretend?”
“This is another kind of pixie,” Joanna said. “And it’s true, all right. Believe me, it’s not the kind of story I’d make up. And who knows, once you hear it, maybe it’ll make you feel better about what happened to you when Grandma Lathrop took you to see Helen Barco.”
Joanna told her haircut story then. “See there?” she asked as she finished. “It may not make you feel any better, but at least you’re not the only kid it’s ever happened to.”
“I still hate it, though,” Jenny said.
“I don’t blame you.”
Despite Jenny’s fervent pleading, Joanna nixed the idea of watching even one video that night. “Tomorrow morning will be plenty of time for E.T.,” she said, reaching up and turning out the lamp on the bedside table between them. “Right now we’d both better try to get some sleep.”
“Good night, Mom,” Jenny said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Jenny. Sleep tight.”
And they did. Both of them, until the sounds of police and aid-car sirens brought them both wide awake sometime much later. Joanna checked the time—one o’clock—while Jenny dashed over to the window and looked outside.
“What is it?” Joanna asked. “A car wreck?”
Jenny peered down at the flashing lights and scurrying people far below. “I guess so,” she said, “but I can’t tell for sure.”
Joanna climbed out of bed herself to take a look. In the melee of emergency vehicles and flash lights, she caught a glimpse of a blanket-covered figure lying on the ground.
“It looks like someone hit a pedestrian,” she said, drawing Jenny away from the window. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”
But instead of crawling into her own bed, Jenny climbed into her mother’s. “I don’t like sirens,” she said softly. “Whenever I hear them now, I think of Daddy. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” Joanna answered.
“Do they make you feel like crying?”
“Yes,” Joanna said again.
For some time after that, Jenny and her mother lay side by side, saying nothing. At last they heard another siren, that of an ambulance or aid car pulling away from whatever carnage had happened on the street below. As the siren squawked, Jenny gave an involuntary shudder and she began to cry.
Joanna gathered the sobbing child into her arms. When the tears finally subsided and Jenny breathing steadied and quieted, Joanna didn’t bother suggesting that Jenny return to her own bed. By then the mother needed the warmth and comfort of another human presence almost as much as the child did.
Soon Jenny was fast asleep. Joanna lay awake. The fact that Jenny associated sirens with Andy�
��s death jarred her, although it shouldn’t have. After all, would she ever be able to see a perfect apricot-colored rosebud or her diamond solitaire engagement ring without thinking of the University Hospital waiting room, without thinking about Andy dying in a room just beyond a pair of awful swinging doors?
Jenny was, after all, a chip off the old block. The resemblance between mother and daughter went far beyond the eerily striking similarity between those two photographs taken twenty years apart.
What was it Jim Bob was always saying? Something about the apple not falling far from the tree.
Remembering that last little proverb should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. Not at all, because if it was true, then there was a fifty-fifty chance Joanna Brady would end up being just like her mother—tinted hair, lacquered nails, lifted face, and all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was probably only natural that since Eleanor Lathrop was the last person Joanna thought about before falling asleep, she was also the person who awakened them the next morning. When the phone rang, dragging Joanna out out of what had finally turned into a sound sleep, it was a real challenge to find the phone.
The room at the Hohokam was, after all, the third room she had slept in that week. Bearing that in mind, it wasn’t surprising that she came on the phone sounding a little disoriented.
“Hello, Mom.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Eleanor said.
“Same to you,” Joanna mumbled, stretching sleepily and glancing at the clock. It said 7:15. Jenny was still huddled under a pile of covers that was only then beginning to stir.
“It took so long for you to answer, I was afraid I had missed you altogether,” Eleanor Lathrop said. “I was about to try Jim Bob and Eva Lou’s room.”
“It’s late for them. They’re probably already down at breakfast.”
“I’m glad I caught you, then. You’re the one I wanted to talk to. I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“About coming up to Phoenix for Thanksgiving,” Eleanor announced. “Just for tonight, of course. I couldn’t stay any longer than that. What time are you planning on eating?”
“Five. Right here in the hotel dining room.”
“Good. If you’ll add two more places to your reservation, that’ll be fine. And we’ll need two rooms there as well. I’d prefer to be in the same hotel, but if they don’t have rooms, someplace nearby will be just fine.”
“Wait a minute,” Joanna interjected. “Two dinner reservations. Two rooms. Who are you bringing along, Mother?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s a surprise.”
“Mother,” Joanna objected, “you know I don’t like surprises.”
“A surprise?” Jenny said, sitting bolt-upright in bed. “Grandma Lathrop’s coming and bringing a surprise? What kind of surprise, something to eat?”
“Jenny, hush. I can’t hear what Grandma is say‑
Jenny dove out of bed and began pulling on her clothes. “Of course, I’ll reserve the rooms, Mother. It’s just that ... No, the dining room is plenty large. I’m sure it won’t be any trouble to add two more places to the dinner reservation.”
Fully if hurriedly dressed, Jenny was already making for the door. “Wait a minute. No, Mother, not you. I was talking to Jenny.” Joanna held the mouthpiece at arm’s length. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“Down to have breakfast with the Gs. The sooner I eat, the sooner I can go swimming.”
“Wait for me,” Joanna said. “We can go down together.”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to.”
Sulking, Jenny switched on the television set, flipped through the channels with the remote, then settled on the floor in front of an old Roadrunner cartoon.
“Sorry, Mother,” Joanna said, returning to her phone conversation. “What were you saying? Yes, I’ll get on the room situation right away. But I’ll need a name, for the reservation. Hotels require names, you know.... All right. Fine. I’ll put both rooms under your name.”
In the interest of holiday spirit, Joanna tried to keep the irritation out of her voice. For weeks her mother had refused every suggestion that she come along on this Thanksgiving weekend outing. Now she was going to show up after all, at the very last minute, at a time when making room and dinner reservations was likely to be reasonably complicated.
Not only was Eleanor coming herself, she was bringing along an undisclosed guest. Read boyfriend, Joanna thought.
“What time do you think you’ll get here? Around three? We’ll try to be down in the lobby right around then. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding us. If we’re not in the lobby, try the pool. See you then.”
Joanna put down the phone and turned to her daughter. “The surprise is whoever Grandma is bringing along to dinner.”
“Who’s that?” Jenny asked, her eyes on the television set.
“She didn’t tell me. If she did, it wouldn’t be a surprise. But my guess is it’s a man.”
“You mean like a man who’s a friend, or a man who’s a boyfriend?”
“I don’t have any idea, but I do have a word of warning for you, young lady.”
“What’s that?”
“Just because this guy, whoever he is, is showing up for Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t mean Grandma Lathrop is going to marry him. In other words, you are not to mention the M word. Do you understand?”
Jenny nodded. “Okay,” she said. “Now can we breakfast? I’m starved.”
The Bradys were already at a table when Joanna and Jenny wended their way through the tables.
“Well, look here,” Jim Bob said. “We’ve already read the paper and had two cups of coffee. It’s about time you two slugabeds showed up. Where’ve you been?”
“Talking to Grandma Lathrop,” Jenny said, slipping into the chair next to her grandfather. “She’s coming here for Thanksgiving dinner after all, and she’s bringing somebody with her.”
“Really, who?” Eva Lou asked.
Jenny shook her head. “She wouldn’t tell us, not even Mom. She says it’s a surprise, but Morn thinks it’s a man.” Jenny added, rolling her eyes, “She’s afraid I’ll use the M word and embarrass everybody.”
“M word?” Jim Bob asked. “What’s an M word?”
“Never mind, Jimmy,” Eva Lou said. “I’ll tell you later. Will there be enough room for everybody, Joanna? You already said those two friends of yours would be joining us.”
“Remind me. After breakfast I need to stop by the concierge desk and add two more places to the dinner reservation.”
Just then a harried waitress stopped by the table slapping an insulated coffee carafe down on the table next to Joanna. Pulling out her pencil and tie pad, she focused on Jenny. “What’ll you have this morning, young lady?” she asked.
Once the waitress left with their orders, Joanna poured herself a cup of coffee and turned to her mother-in-law. “How’d you sleep?” she asked,
Eva Lou shook her head. “Fine, up until one o’clock or so. Then all those sirens woke me up.” The busboy appeared, bearing a pitcher of ice water. “What was that all about, anyway?” Eva Lou asked, turning a questioning eye on him. “All those sirens in the middle of the night?”
The busboy shrugged. “Some lady fell out of a truck right in front of another car. At least that’s what I heard. There were still cops outside when I came on shift this morning.”
“More than likely it’s a fatality accident, then,” Joanna put in. “They take a lot longer to investigate than nonfatal ones.”
The pained look on Jenny’s face at the mention of the accident caused Joanna to drop the subject. After breakfast and with both room and dinner reservations safely in hand, Joanna and Jenny set off on a walking excursion to the APOA campus.
From the sidewalk outside the hotel lobby, Joanna pointed directly across Grand Avenue. “See there?” she said. “That’s the running track right there on the other side of the railro
ad. And the first building you see on the other side—the long one—is the dorm.”
Jenny immediately headed for the street, but Joanna stopped her. “We can’t cross here. We’ll have to walk down to Olive and cross there.”
“How come?” Jenny asked, looking up and down the street. “There’s not that much traffic. We could make it.”
“Maybe we could, but we’re not going to. This must be right about where that accident happened last night. Let’s don’t tempt fate.”
They started up Seventy-fifth along the APOA’s outside wall. Jenny looked longingly back at the few strands of barbed wire that separated the back of the APOA campus from the railroad tracks. “Couldn’t we go that way?” she asked, pointing.
‘Why not?” Joanna returned, with a shrug. “It looks like a shortcut to me.”
Mother and daughter were both old hands at negotiating barbed wire. Moments later they were striding across the running track heading for the back of the dorm. Joanna had known there was a patio of some kind between the dorm building and Dave Thompson’s unit on the end of the classroom
building. What she hadn’t realized was that it was a walled fort. The only way to reach Joanna’s room was to go around the far end of the dorm.
Lulled into a sense of well-being, they ambled around the corner of the building. Once they could see the parking lot, Joanna was startled by the number of cars parked haphazardly just outside the student lounge at the dorm’s opposite end.
Joanna and Jenny had barely started down the breezeway when a woman, a stranger, erupted out of Leann’s room and marched toward them, tripping along on three-inch-high heels. She was tiny—five foot nothing, even counting the heels. Her small frame was burdened by a voluptuous figure that easily rivaled Dolly Parton’s, although a well-cut wool blazer provided some artful camouflage. Also like Dolly, this woman believed in big hair. A glossy froth of coal-black hair blossomed out around her head like a cloud of licorice-flavored cotton candy.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still moving forward. “No one’s allowed in here at the moment. You’ll have to leave.”
