“Hey, Jeffrey,” I said. He and his buddy were back to the hacky sack. “You like working here?”
He looked at his friend, who shrugged at him.
“No English,” he said, with no accent I could hear, and they both went back into the kitchen and shut the door behind them.
I wondered at how Jeffrey had forgotten his English in the two minutes after Garrett had asked him to walk me to my car.
TWELVE
I parked at the bakery and looked down at my hand. It hurt. Times like this, I almost wished I could still rely on crack cocaine as a painkiller. I sighed, and made my way to the back entrance. My phone’s battery had died in the car before I could read my texts. Darren was probably apoplectic by now.
I’d been gone for nearly two hours. Time flies, et cetera. I was going to be reamed out for leaving, and even more for ignoring my phone and not having it charged. I hoped my busted hand would garner me some sympathy, but that would probably only work on Marta. Mama Estela would likely look at the wound and sniff, and tell everyone in her rapid-fire Spanish that she had done worse to herself slicing onions. More than anything, I wanted ten minutes to myself, to process what had happened before facing the fray. But, I reminded myself that I was an adult, not a teenager, and further, I was, more than anyone else under this roof, responsible for the reason why we had to live under such tight security.
I let myself into the back door and was very surprised that Rosen was not standing sentry. And that from upstairs, I could hear laughter. Uproarious laughter. And there I’d been, picturing them apoplectic with worry over me. I started up the stairs.
“Danny, get up here,” Darren called down. Of course, they’d all seen me come in on the monitors. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Eighties movie night. Molly Ringwald probably just got asked to the prom, or something. “Just a second,” I yelled up.
Something didn’t feel right. There were too many voices up there. Even from the ground floor, I could hear all the laughing. More than a John Hughes movie would warrant, that’s for damn sure.
I took the first set of stairs two at a time, and met Marta, who was coming out of her kitchen with two big bowls of popcorn, heading up to the boys’ floor herself.
“I made popcorn!” she said, beaming. God bless Marta. I’ve always loved people who state the obvious. Then, looking at my hand, “What happened to you?”
I waved my bandaged right hand in the air. “Nothing to worry about.”
“That’s what you always say, and usually I worry anyway,” she said. “Usually I have a good reason with you.”
“That about sums it up,” I said. I took one of the bowls from her and followed her up to the floor Fred shared with the boys, and where most of the movie nights happened. They had the sixty-inch TV and all the tech gear. On the one occasion I tried to zone out in front of their TV on my own, I fiddled with a universal remote until I’d managed to turn on the sound system full blast but nothing else, and I had to get one of the boys in to get everything going for me. This, supposedly, was progress.
We walked down the hall, and I was both relieved and puzzled at how festive they all sounded. Then I thought that Michael Vernon Smith must have been caught, and everybody was celebrating.
That, or this was what the atmosphere was always like when I wasn’t around.
“Look what the mouse dragged in,” Marta said. She was picking up English idioms, but she usually got them a little muddled.
“I come bearing popcorn,” I said, but stopped short in the doorway.
Darren, Rosen, Matty, Luke, and Eddie. Check. Mama Estela with a beer in her hand, sitting on a hard wooden chair from her own kitchen: one of her quirks. Check. Paul Belliveau, looking very jolly.
And Fred.
I shoved the bowl I was holding at Rosen, who was closest, and ran over and hugged my brother-in-law.
“You’re alive,” I said. “What did he want? Did he give a statement?” I said to Belliveau.
“I don’t know what you think you saw, Danny,” Fred said. He grabbed my good hand, raising his eyebrows at the bandages on the right.
“Tell you later,” I said. “What the fuck, Fred?” Mama Estela shook her head and muttered to herself, and I shot her a look. I was sure she said much worse in Spanish, but she never failed to express her disapproval of my language.
“It wasn’t him, Danny,” Belliveau said kindly.
“No. What? It was him,” I said. I looked at Fred.
“Danny, I ran into my old friend Cliff King from when I was trading,” he said. “Remember we used to teach courses together, back in Boston?” Before his ship had come in, and he’d packed them all off to southern California. “He’s got a condo here now. He wanted to show me what he’s working on. He was really excited to run into me – he might want me to come on board! It’s – well, you must have seen me get into his car.”
“Cliff,” I said. “Not…”
“No, Danny,” Fred said gently. “I would never have gotten into a car with him. I would— No.”
“You said you only saw him for a couple of seconds,” Darren said. “And, Danny, we only just found out that Smith flew into Toronto. He was in your head.”
“I told Rosen Cliff could look like Smith, I guess, from certain angles. Age is about right, and the nose.” I looked at Rosen, who nodded.
“It’s good news, Auntie,” Luke said. He put one arm around me, and helped himself to a handful of popcorn with the other hand. “Fred’s not dead.”
“Hey, that’d be a name for a band,” Darren said. “Fred’s Not Dead.” He and Matty started playing air guitar, while I stood in the middle of the room. I looked at Belliveau.
“Did you already make all those calls?” I asked. “To the FBI and so on?”
“I did, but I corrected it. Don’t worry, they were glad to know he flew into Toronto. It’s the first lead they’ve had on him since – well, since what happened to you all in Maine.”
“So let me get this straight,” I said, to no one in particular. “It wasn’t Michael Vernon Smith I saw in that car, but Fred’s old friend Cliff.”
“King,” Fred added.
“Thank you, Fred. Cliff King.” I sat down next to Rosen. “I dragged Paul down from his cottage early and had him alert law enforcement all over North America that one of the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted had taken my brother-in-law. I worried everyone to death and made a total ass of myself.”
“That’s one way to look at it, Beanpole, yes,” Darren said, grinning, enjoying himself immensely. Luke kicked his uncle’s foot.
“That’s not nice,” Luke said, and Darren looked at me quickly.
“Ginger,” he said quietly, and I nodded. She was the only Cleary who didn’t enjoy torturing her siblings as much as the rest of us did.
“No, it’s not,” Belliveau said. “Danny, don’t worry about bringing me down early. You got me out of going to a barbecue at our neighbors’ cottage tomorrow, and for that, I’m grateful.”
“He is still in town, this man,” Rosen said. “Let’s not become too complacent.”
“No,” Fred said. “Rosen is right. It was an honest mistake, and, Danny, if I had been kidnapped or whatever, taken by Smith, you might have saved my life. So thank you.”
I felt like crying. Everyone else seemed happy and relieved that it wasn’t Michael Vernon Smith I’d seen. And I knew I should be relieved: Fred was safe here with his family. I was glad about that. But for a few hours I’d thought that we were close to all of this being over.
“Auntie, what did you do to your hand, anyway?” Matty said.
“Ah,” I said. “Somebody get me a glass of wine, and I’ll tell you all about it.” Marta started to get up, but I was glad to see that Fred motioned for her to stay seated, and he went. He did seem in quite a good mood. He was buoyed by seeing an old tech friend, and the prospect of having something to do, some work again. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t the only one under this roo
f who felt like their life was in a holding pattern.
The boys went back to playing the Xbox with their headphones on. There was a strict rule that if they were playing while there was an adult in the room, they had to at least protect the rest of us from the godawful noise of alien invasions, or whatever. Belliveau stood and took his suit jacket off and draped it over the arm of the couch he was sitting on. “You put on a suit,” I said. “You keep suits at the cottage?”
“This is an old one,” he said. “I kept it in the closet up there for emergencies like this. It’s a bit snug, though. I think the drycleaner must have shrunk it.” He winked at Marta, who blushed. Mama Estela cackled, and then stopped herself. She pretended not to understand English most of the time, but none of us believed it for a minute.
“Stay here tonight,” I said. “Have a drink. There’s no point in driving. We have tons of room.”
He paused for a minute. “I would love to,” he said. “But I doubt anybody has anything I can change into, and if I don’t get these trousers off soon, I’m going to cut off my circulation.”
“I probably have some pajama pants you can wear,” Darren said, but Marta stood up.
“No,” she said. “Wait here.” She bustled out of the room, her cheeks still flaming. I hoped she wasn’t harboring a crush on Paul Belliveau. He had the kind of marriage that seemed unbreakable.
Marta was probably lonely, I thought. She was only a few years older than I was, definitely under forty. I knew her husband had been some kind of no-good who’d run off when Eddie was a baby. I had no idea if she’d had anyone else in her life since, down in California, but she definitely wasn’t getting out much here in Toronto. Once again I was humbled by what Rosen and Marta and her family had done for us, for the boys. The sacrifices they had made. In respecting their privacy, I hadn’t asked much about their lives. But I realized they might think that I just didn’t care, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
While the others chatted, waiting for Marta and Fred, I thought about Dave. He’d be here soon, sometime in the next day or two. My quiet life was suddenly in upheaval, but that was good, I recognized. Being surrounded by people can drive me crazy, but it also did something to soothe my soul. And I knew I owed Dave. Not just for everything he’d done helping get this place set up, but for abandoning him when he lay in a hospital bed. When I’d been in hospital in Nova Scotia, he was at my side. Then when he needed me, I’d run off like a scared rabbit.
I really wanted that wine. My hand was throbbing. I was about to get up and go searching for Fred when he returned, balancing a full goblet of wine, followed by Marta, who had a plastic bag in her hand. She handed it to Belliveau.
“These will fit you,” she said. Paul pulled out a pair of Roots sweatpants and a t-shirt with an image of a moose on it. Both looked larger than anyone in our house, and in fact looked too big for Belliveau. “I send clothes home to Mexico sometimes,” she said. “Canadian things. For my brother.”
“Oh my goodness, I can’t take these,” Belliveau said. He started stuffing them back into the bag.
Mama Estela got up and pushed the bag back into his hands. “You wear,” she said. “My son… too many things.” She waved in whatever direction she thought was south. “You wear,” she said again.
I glanced at Darren, whose eyebrows were threatening to fly off his face. I took a careful sip of my wine and tried not to laugh. Seems the Garcia women were equally enamored of Paul Belliveau.
A few minutes later, Paul came back, looking infinitely more comfortable, if slightly ridiculous, clutching a plastic bag that obviously contained the clothes he’d removed.
“Very Canadian,” Rosen said. He looked as though he was trying not to laugh. “Nice moose.”
“I thank you, Ms. Garcia,” Paul said to Marta, bowing slightly. She went pink again. “I’ll replace them as soon as possible, for your brother.”
“Pfft,” Mama said. “Edgar,” she said, referring to Marta’s brother. “Too many things.”
“Looks like you’re staying,” I said to Paul. “No excuses now.”
“Appears not,” he said. “So. Perhaps now you’ll tell us what you got up to tonight.”
I glanced at the boys, who were still playing their game. It might be hard to tell parts of the story without it being clear that the bar I’d gone to was a strip club. And Fred’s strip-club secret was definitely now out.
I told the story quickly. Rosen patted my knee when I got to the part where I took on the frat boy swarm.
“Nice place you’ve been hanging out at, Fred,” Darren said. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His knuckles were white. “Jesus. That’s sexual assault. Danny was assaulted.”
“Did they phone the police?” Belliveau wanted to know. He looked incensed. He was protective of me, having saved my life once upon a time.
“No. They did give me the option, but I didn’t want to be stuck there all evening with statements. I thought we had bigger fish to fry.” I shook my head. Not only had I mobilized half the law enforcement in town for a case of mistaken identity, but I’d also let a bunch of wannabe rapists get away without having to deal with the law.
“So you didn’t get a chance to talk to Zuzi?” Fred said. Everyone was silent for a beat.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Darren said, and then glanced at the boys. I knew he didn’t want them to witness him losing his temper at their dad, but he looked pissed. “Danny was attacked by a bunch of guys at this place, who knows what kind of damage she did to her hand, and all you can think of is your little stripper friend?”
I looked at Marta, who was watching, wide-eyed. I knew she probably didn’t want her son to hear this either.
“No, I didn’t get a chance to talk to Zuzi, but I think I may have seen her,” I said. “I reckon I’ll have another shot.” I told them about Garrett’s job offer.
“Huh,” Darren said. “You’re not thinking of doing it, are you?”
“Maybe,” I said. “I did get the feeling that there’s something weird going on there.”
“Leave it to the police,” Belliveau said. “Danny. Fred. I know you’ve been, uh, entangled in these kinds of things before. But you’re not the police, and you’re not trained to deal with this.”
“Danny will have a better chance of finding things out by working there, being on the inside, than the police will by rushing in,” Fred said. “I don’t want the police involved.” My hackles had risen, and, had we not been surrounded by the entire household and Paul Belliveau, who had driven three hours on a weekend for what turned out to be nothing, I would probably have succumbed to the urge to tear a strip off him. He didn’t want the police involved? Since when did he get the deciding vote on what actions I took, after I’d had my hand torn up defending myself in a situation I never would have been in, if not for him?
I took a long sip of wine, trying my best not to take my anger out on the stem of the goblet. I’d had enough breaking glasses for one evening.
“Fred, the police are already involved. I am police. I don’t put that aside when I’m not on shift.” Belliveau was glaring at Fred.
Marta got up and crossed the room to her son, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Time to get ready for bed,” she said. She motioned for him to take off his headphones. “School is starting soon, and you will have dark eyes down to here.” She tapped the end of his nose. Eddie groaned but got up. I don’t know whether it was Marta’s influence or his grandmother’s, but the kid never argued when he was told to do something. As she and Eddie walked past Mama Estela, Marta grabbed her mother’s hand and pulled her up. “You too,” she said. “Come downstairs now, old woman.” Mama made a show of sighing, but she stood and picked up her chair.
“I’ll do that,” Belliveau said, leaping up.
“Okay,” Mama said, much to our surprise, and put the chair back down. Belliveau shot me a smile and followed the Garcias out of the room,
carrying their dining-room chair in front of him.
We all sat silently for a minute. Luke and Matty had taken their headphones off, and Matty actually shut off the TV. I took a deep sip of my wine and closed my eyes. I was tired, and felt like a fool. I was vaguely worried that if I did see Fuckface Smith somewhere in the next few days nobody would believe me, now that I had proven myself to be some kind of hysterical neurotic. I wondered if I’d see him everywhere now, bagging groceries when I was doing my shopping, or sitting next to me on a bar stool.
“Your hand is bleeding,” Luke said. “Auntie, look.” Yup. Blood had soaked through the bandages on my palm. I sighed.
“So it is,” Rosen said. “Come down to my kitchen. I am better equipped for first aid.” He looked at the glass of wine in my left hand. “Alcohol thins the blood, you know. Probably you shouldn’t drink.”
“Probably you should mind your own beeswax,” I said, but I smiled at him. “Boys, do you want to help Rosen patch me up?”
“I’ll pass,” Luke said. Like his mother before him, he didn’t share the Cleary fascination with all things bloody and disgusting. “I’m going to bed to read.”
“Me too,” Fred said. “I’m getting old.” Getting the shit kicked out of them does tend to make a person feel their age. I should know. In another day’s time, I knew my body would be protesting every time I lifted a cup to my mouth. Belliveau came back in, and Fred offered him the spare room on their floor. They shook hands, fences presumably being mended. For now, at least.
“I’ll come,” Matty said. I was hoping that Matt would go to medical school one day, that his lack of anything approaching squeamishness would lead him into a real profession, rather than a life like mine.
We walked the two flights down to the main floor, Rosen, Darren, Matt, and I. Darren had his arm slung across my shoulders, and when we got to the bottom of the stairs, he pulled me in and kissed my cheek. Matty was happily chatting away to Rosen ahead of us, and Darren whispered in my ear.
Unhinged Page 10
