Suspicion of Innocence

by Barbara Parker

  "Since when can't I fix my own daughter breakfast?" Dave folded the paper into quarters and laid it on the neat stack already beside his empty plate.

  "I didn't say you couldn't. It's just that you usually hand her a bowl and a box of cereal."

  There was only half a cup of coffee left in the pot. Gail poured it into a mug, then moved Karen's beach bag out of the chair opposite Dave and sat down. She stole a piece of French toast off Karen's plate and kissed her cheek.

  "It's sunny outside. I'm afraid you'll fry like an egg. Is there any sunscreen in your bag?" Karen was going to the beach with some girls from her Brownie troop.

  "I don't know. Daddy packed it for me."

  Dave began to stack the dishes. "Yes, Gail. Sunscreen and a change of clothes and two towels. I've got everything under control. Marilyn's coming by to pick her up in ten minutes."

  "I'm impressed," Gail said. She poured a little milk into her coffee, then noticed Dave had on his Metzger Marine pullover. "You're going to the marina this morning?"

  "Yeah, I've got a few things to do."

  Dave dropped his silverware on his plate and lay his and Karen's juice glasses on top. The muscles in his arms were taut, the skin burned a ruddy tan. He had been outside with the men this week, he had told Gail, replacing the teak decking on a sailboat, stripped to the waist, sawdust on his hands instead of ink.

  She said, "I hope you plan to be here by the time Karen gets back."

  "I'm not sure."

  Gail looked at him. "Remember I told you I'm going to work today? That's why I needed to get up early."

  He took the dishes to the sink. "I might not be back until later. Why don't you pick her up at Marilyn's?"

  "Because Marilyn isn't a baby-sitter." Gail glanced at Karen, who was dredging her last bite of French toast through a puddle of syrup. "All right. I'll be home by three. Marilyn wouldn't bring the girls back before that."

  The phone rang on the wall beside the refrigerator. Dave picked it up.

  Gail daubed at a spot of syrup on Karen's pink T-shirt. "We could rent a video tonight. The Little Mermaid.”

  "Mom." Karen gave a little sigh. "That is such a stupid movie."

  Dave held the phone out. "Gail. For you."

  "Who is it?"

  "Says his name's Jimmy Panther."

  Wincing a little, Gail got up. She had thought about calling him during the week but had never managed to do it.

  "Good morning, Jimmy."

  "Hi, how are you?" His voice was deep and resonant even over the telephone. "Your mother gave me the number. I was wondering if you found that clay deer mask at Renee's place."

  Her eyes automatically went toward the counter separating the kitchen from the family room. She had taken the mask out of the cardboard box to show Karen and had left it there all week.

  "Yes, I did find it. I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you."

  "I'd like to come pick it up. It would take me an hour or so to get there, though."

  "We're just going out. I could leave it on the porch. It's a safe neighborhood."

  "No, don't do that." There was a silence, then Jimmy Panther spoke as if thinking aloud. "I can't make it later today. Or Sunday. Maybe Sunday night."

  Gail said, "This might be better: I could bring it to you tomorrow afternoon. Sell us a couple tickets on your airboat. My daughter has never ridden on one, and it's been years since I have."

  "I'd be glad to. Look for Everglades Adventure, about four miles past Krome Avenue on the Trail. However, you don't pay. This will be my favor. Your daughter's name is . . . Karen?"

  "Yes. How did you know that?"

  "Renee told me."

  When she hung up, Dave turned around from the sink. "What did the Indian want, his deer mask back?" Gail had told him about her conversation with Jimmy Panther.

  "Yes, I'll take it out to him tomorrow. I didn't ask if you wanted to go along because I thought you'd be playing tennis."

  "Correct. I am."

  Just as well, she thought to herself.

  She picked up the mask from the counter. Someone had dropped Oreo crumbs on it. She brushed them off, then sat back down at the table. The deer's long face was delicately formed, its round eyes slanting upward.

  "It looks real old," Karen said.

  "It probably is." Gail slid a forefinger around the crescent on its forehead. "An old Indian woman made it, maybe when she was just a girl."

  Dave came to get Karen's plate. "I wouldn't be surprised if he bought it at a souvenir shop. Turn it over, see if it says 'Taiwan' on the bottom."

  Karen looked. "It doesn't say that. Is Jimmy Panther his real name?"

  "I don't know," Gail said. "I don't know much about him at all, except that he was Renee's friend." Dave was rinsing off the dishes with the sprayer. Gail asked, "Have you ever seen this mask before?"

  "Not before you brought it home." Dave spoke over his shoulder. "She did tell me a story about him, though. She said they were walking downtown by the river, going across a parking lot, and Panther stops right in the middle of all that asphalt and kneels down and listens. He says he can hear his people weeping. Says that's where a bunch of them were murdered by the Spanish three hundred years ago."

  Gail said, "You never told me this."

  "No. Renee said to keep it to myself. I guess it doesn't matter now."

  Their gaze held for a moment before he turned back to the sink to load the dishwasher.

  What else had Renee told Dave during all those Monday lunches? How much woe had he poured out to her? Or had they only laughed? Dave might have told Renee his favorite jokes before Gail heard them. They would have sat in the back of whatever restaurant they'd gone to, whispering, the waiter pretending not to notice only one of them wore a wedding ring. Dave would have paid the check in cash and put his sunglasses on as he left. Whether or not they had slept together was beside the point: there could be more intimacy in words than sex.

  And knowing this, she had thought of Anthony Quintana more than once, not meaning to. He had called her on Friday. They agreed to meet on Monday to sign the stipulation of settlement in the Darden case. They could look at the draft over lunch, Anthony had said. And then he said he would take her to a Cuban restaurant. Cuban but as far from rice and beans as Paris from French tries. Had she ever been to Yuca in Coral Gables? No? But surely she knew it had been recommended by the New York Times'? No? He explained how the name, which meant cassava, was also an acronym—young urban Cuban-American. Not that he himself was so young anymore, at forty-one, but the food— And here he sighed. Then said she really ought to know these things. She lived in Miami, after all.

  Gail jumped a little when someone knocked loudly at the kitchen door. Karen whirled around in her chair. Her elbow grazed the mask, which slid toward the edge of the table. Gail barely caught it. "Karen!"

  "Polly's here!" Karen flew to the door.

  Polly's mother, Marilyn, wearing a long beach shirt and sandals, pushed her sunglasses up into her frosted hair.

  "Hi, everybody."

  "Where's Polly?"

  Gail said, "Karen, go brush your teeth."

  "Mom, I have to leave!"

  Marilyn came in. "It's okay. I'll wait." She had perfect nails and a tan Gail suspected she maintained at a salon. She spoke as if divulging a great secret. "Guess who's going to be forty years old? Ryan. He's so gloomy. I want to give him a surprise party next Sunday afternoon. Can you come?"

  "We'd love to." Gail looked at Dave.

  Dave crossed his arms, leaning on the counter. "Well, if Gail says we're coming, I guess we are."

  Marilyn looked uncertainly from one of them to the other.

  Gail said, "We’ll let you know. Our schedules are crazy these days."

  "Oh, I understand about that." Marilyn made a quick smile.

  No one spoke.

  Then Karen came running back in. Dave swept up her beach bag and pulled her into a hug. "Bye, princess. You be a good girl for Daddy." He
held her tightly, his eyes closed.

  Karen squirmed. "Daddy, I gotta go."

  He bent to kiss the top of her head. "Love you."

  "Love you too. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom."

  The kitchen door slammed behind her. Through the window Gail could see her running across the grass, climbing into Marilyn's new minivan, three or four other girls already inside, bouncing up and down.

  Gail turned around. "Why did you say that to Marilyn?"

  Dave let a few seconds go by. "Gail..."

  She started across the kitchen. "I have to go to work."

  "Wait. I need to talk to you."

  She turned around.

  He flexed his fingers, then folded his arms. "I've been thinking I might stay out at the marina for a while."

  "Why? What do you mean?"

  "There's this cabin cruiser. The owner's flying back to New York for the summer and I told him never mind the dockage fee, maybe we could work something out."

  Gail only stared at him.

  Dave said, "You know how we've been lately. Not that it's anybody's fault. It just happens. Relationships have their up moments and their down moments. Maybe we need to clear out the cobwebs, see what we've got."

  She crossed the kitchen to stand in front of him, where he leaned against the counter. "I don't understand."

  "Maybe we need a break from each other. It could do some good." He exhaled, hands on his hips, as if he were trying to catch his breath. "Come on. Don't make this hard, okay?"

  "Dave, my God!" She laughed. "What are we supposed to tell Karen, Daddy's gone to find himself?"

  "I don't know. Tell her I'm working."

  "You tell her."

  There was no reply.

  "Dave, this is ridiculous. I know we've got problems, but we won't solve them that way. Running off to the marina? I can't believe you'd do that."

  "What, is this a big surprise to you?"

  "But you never said anything." Gail pushed her hair back with both hands, then let them fall to her sides. "All right. I know things aren't great. But we're both at fault. We never see each other. I come home, you're lacing up your tennis shoes. When do we talk?"

  He laughed wearily. "I can't deal with this anymore."

  "Have you even tried?" Gail waited, then said, "We don't have to let this happen."

  "Gail—" Dave turned around and leaned on the counter, head dropping level with his extended arms. "I feel like I'm going to die. I can't move. I can't breathe."

  "It's Renee, isn't it? You've been like this ever since the funeral."

  He lifted his head, smiling tightly. "You mean I'm depressed or something? It'll all go away?" "We could see someone," she said.

  "What, a marriage counselor?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you really want to?"

  Gail hesitated. "I think it would help."

  ''Do you really want to?'' His blue eyes fixed on her.

  "We should."

  After a few seconds, Dave picked up his coffee mug from the table, checking to see if he had any left. "I'll tell you something I've figured out lately. Don't do things you don't want to do."

  Gail had thought—usually during one of their protracted silences—that she would be just as happy single. She had even—in an angrier moment—thought of his sixteen-foot open boat exploding in a ball of flame and sinking into the Atlantic. But reality was different.

  She sat down sideways in a chair. "Will you be here this weekend?"

  "I don't know." Dave ran water in his mug, then wedged it into a rack in the dishwasher. "I'll probably take some stuff down there this morning. How about if I come over Sunday for dinner?"

  "All right."

  "Or we could all go out if you'd rather." Gail swung her foot, legs crossed. "How long have you planned to do this?"

  He closed the dishwasher and seemed to concentrate on the buttons. "I should have talked to you before about it. I know that. I'm sorry."

  "You made love to me last night. The first time in two weeks."

  He seemed unsure of how to respond. "I care about you, Gail. I always will."

  "Knowing what you would say to me this morning."

  He took his truck keys out of his pocket. "I'll give you a call tonight or tomorrow."

  "Fine. But let's not plan on Sunday dinner."

  He wasn't looking at her. "Then Karen can go with me if you don't want to go."

  "Maybe you can explain all this to her."

  "I'm not worried about Karen," he said. "She's okay. She'll be okay no matter what happens. Don't you think she's smart enough to see what's going on already? If we force ourselves to stay together for her sake, we'll end up hurting her even worse."

  "What pop psychology book did you get that out of?"

  "Look. Don't make me the bad guy. I'm not going to walk out on you. I'm going to keep on running the business and paying what I can on the household expenditures. I want to see Karen as much as possible. I expect us to work out a reasonable arrangement."

  After a few seconds, Gail said, "You've been talking to an attorney. Who?"

  "I don't think you need to know that."

  "Who?"

  Dave considered, then said, "Joseph Erwin."

  She laughed out loud. "Joe Erwin? He's a divorce lawyer with screws for teeth. I hear he charges ten grand to take a case. What did you have to pay him for a consultation?' '

  Dave's voice was low, menacing. "Don't make me fight with you, Gail."

  "That's what Joe Erwin does. Why else did you choose him? What did he advise you? Wait and see if you'd get any more money for the marina before you left? It was my money that started the marina, so don't think you're going to blithely walk off with it."

  He yelled, "You love it, don't you? Controlling people. I know what you're doing. Punishing me for being friends with her."

  Gail yelled back, "Friends? You met her for lunch for two years. You lent her money. You knew it was wrong because you hid it from me. You had a wife and a mistress, but you didn't have the guts to sleep with both of us."

  He leaned on the table, his face inches from hers. "Gail. Fuck off. Go fuck yourself."

  Gail's chair fell over backward when she stood up. She was shaking. "I don't care what you do. Leave. Go to hell. When I get back from downtown I don't want to see anything of yours here."

  "I'll move my things when I get ready to move my things." He followed her out of the kitchen, walking beside her through the living room. "Don't touch anything. And don't try to take the marina, Gail." She could feel flecks of spittle on her cheek. "Don't try it. I'm warning you."

  She whirled on him. "Speak to your damn attorney on Monday. I'm not going to discuss this with you."

  Dimly, as if from a far-off place, she heard the doorbell chime—long, stately tones. "I'm not here," she said, going toward the bedroom.

  He screamed after her. "What am I, your fucking maid?"

  She went into the bathroom and slammed the door, sponged off her face with cool water on a hand towel. She sank down onto the toilet lid, gasping, her forehead on her crossed arms. She heard the doorbell chime again. After a few seconds, she raised up and saw herself in the mirror. Without makeup her eyes looked indistinct. Her permed hair was still flat from sleep, her skin blotchy.

  There were three sharp raps on the bathroom door. "Gail. You've got company."

  ''For God's sake— ''

  "It's that cop."

  She opened the door. Dave held out a calling card between two fingers. It said, Frank Britton, Metro-Dade Homicide.

  Dave was behind her when she walked into the living room. He kept going, through the dining room toward the kitchen.

  Britton stood up from the end of the sofa. The garage door slammed and his head swiveled in that direction, then back to her.

  "Good morning, Ms. Connor," Britton said. He was wearing the usual nondescript sports jacket and polite expression. At his feet was a cardboard box, and on top of that, a thick accordion file, its flap folded ove
r and secured with a cord.

  She nodded, not in the mood to return his smile. "Sergeant. I'd offer you a cup of coffee, but I'm getting ready to go downtown."

  "Sorry for the inconvenience on a Saturday. I left a message at your office I'd be by."

  "You did? I missed it. It was one of those weeks."

  "I know how it is." He motioned to the sofa as if she were the visitor and he the host.

  She didn't move. "I really am in a rush. What have you got, Renee's papers? If you could just leave them—"

  "No, I can't do that. We need to go over a couple things. If not now, then I'm going to have to ask you to come out to headquarters. Sorry for the bother."

  He used a smile and a touch of regret, she noticed, to soften the rough edges. She didn't have to talk to him at all, but it would be easier to talk than argue.

  She said, "All right. I'll fix us both some coffee."

  The half cup she had poured herself earlier was cold and the pot was empty. She busied herself refilling it. Water, filter, coffee grounds, tablespoon. Neat measurements, channeling her thoughts. She observed her own hand holding the spoon. Not a tremor. The storm Dave had produced raged far beneath the surface. Britton's visit would keep it there for a while longer. After he left she would go to her office and bury herself in work for several more numbing hours. And then decide what to do. Probably call Charlene Marks. Ask if she'd mind doing a divorce for a friend. Gail took a sudden breath, her heart stopping, then starting again with a thump.

  Britton had put the accordion file on the table. He remained standing, hands in his pockets, watching her.

  Gail said, "How do you take your coffee?"

  "Black, thanks."

  She took another mug from the cabinet over the coffeemaker and placed it next to hers. Mismatched, she noticed idly. Hers with a Far Side cartoon, the other a souvenir of the Coconut Grove Boat Show.

  He said, "You and Renee had the same father, didn't you?" When she looked at him, he explained, "You're a lot taller."

  "Five-nine. Not that tall. Our father was over six feet," Gail said. "Renee took after our mother. Sergeant, do you want to sit down?"

  Glancing toward the table, Gail noticed the overturned chair and started to cross the kitchen to pick it up. "Sorry." She wondered how much shouting he had heard before he pushed the doorbell.