Crosscut

by Meg Gardiner

  Phil’s boots tolled behind him again. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Coyote is a professional killer and he apparently has backing. You cannot imagine how these people think, how little ordinary morality affects them, or how far they’ll go.”

  No. Jesse shook his head, clearing it. What was he thinking? Grab Evan and hold her tight, that was what mattered. Keep her from all of this, her and the baby.

  He felt Phil standing behind him. “I know you want to protect Evan. I’d expect no less from you. If you want to marry my daughter, it’s essential that I know how deeply you’ll commit yourself to doing that.” He stepped into view. “But you can’t do it by yourself. Not with all your fast talk and determination. Not even with your Glock.” He loomed over him. “Jesse, face it. You can’t equalize things.”

  Phil was staring at him, not at the wheelchair, but he got the message. He was never going to take down a killer like Coyote. He held Phil’s gaze.

  “Have you already asked her yourself?” he said.

  Phil glanced out at the beach. “No. I shoot straight, and most of the time she’ll take that from me. But I can’t ask Evan this. She would turn against me.”

  “You son of a bitch. And you think she won’t turn against me?”

  “I tried. I stopped by her house before I took her to the airport. But we got off on the wrong foot and I . . .” He looked regretful. “Never in a million years could I convince her to end it. She’s every inch as pigheaded as I am. Especially when the subject concerns you.”

  He looked worn. “You’re the only person who can possibly persuade her. You’re the man she loves.”

  “It would drive a stake through her heart.”

  “I know you want this child, but the pregnancy might kill her. Are you going to take that gamble with her life?”

  Fucking shot to the head. He leaned on his knees, his vision pounding.

  “Do whatever it takes, but get her to have a termination. I mean whatever it takes. Tell her you don’t want it. Threaten to break up with her. But get her to do it now, before Coyote finds out.”

  Phil looked out the window. “She can get the abortion pill. She can do it quietly, in a doctor’s office. It’s still early enough.” Weariness came over his face. “Son, I’m sorry. It’s simply not meant to be.”

  “She’ll refuse.”

  “She’ll resist. And you know why? Because of you.”

  Jesse looked up. Phil walked back to the kitchen, pulled over a chair from the table, and sat down. Leaning forward, he clasped his hands between his knees.

  “The reason she won’t listen to anybody else about the baby is because of you. She thinks this is your one shot at fatherhood, and she won’t give it up.”

  The electricity spread and sank through his skin.

  “It may never be safe for Evan to have children. But for you she’ll risk South Star burning her up, and Coyote coming at her like a wild dog. Unless you stop her.”

  Phil’s voice dropped. It sounded sad and genuine and deeply frightened.

  “So I need to hear an answer from you. The most honest truth you’ve ever told.”

  Jesse looked at him.

  “How much do you love my daughter?”

  Jesse heard the front door shut. He heard Phil’s rental car start up and pull out. He sat at the kitchen table. Sunlight stretched across the house, screeching off the windows and the Coke bottles in front of him. The waves crashed outside, relentless, effortless, mindless. So fucking simple. He stared at nothing.

  He backhanded the bottles to the floor and put his head in his hands.

  24

  The priest was florid with the heat and the weight of it all. At the altar inside Holy Cross Church he stood and spread his arms for the final blessing.

  “The Lord be with you.”

  The stricken and angry family and friends of Kelly Colfax lumbered to their feet. The television camera at the back of the church focused on the pallbearers taking their places, Kelly’s brother and Scotty Colfax’s burly friends from the high school football team. The priest raised his hand and gave the final blessing. I made the sign of the cross, hearing him say, “Go in peace,” and replying, “Thanks be to God.”

  The organ rang out, a tender melody played full throated, and Kelly’s casket was carried past. Scotty struggled down the aisle after it, supported by his parents.

  Never had celebrating Mass left me so desolate.

  Walking outside, I shielded my eyes from stark sunshine. TV news vans lined the curb, sprouting satellite dishes and antennae. The crowd was dense. Tension bled into the air. I looked around.

  Where was Jesse?

  Milling through the crowd, I turned on my cell phone and checked voice mail. There was nothing new, just the one message.

  “Ev, I’m not going to make it to China Lake. Something’s, it’s . . . I’ll, ah.”

  His tone sounded so thin.

  “Tonight’s just screwed. In the morning . . . yeah, I don’t know. I’ll have to call you back.”

  Uncertainty was not one of his traits. People bumped their way past me. I replayed the message. The frayed edge in his voice was unmistakable.

  Abbie swarmed through the crowd. “Woman, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

  She wrestled me into a hug. Behind her Wally wedged his way between people. He was crammed into a brown suit and looked like a dog that had been run hard and left in the heat without water. Dark circles rimmed his eyes.

  “Your article made me cry all over again,” Abbie said. “Just like this funeral.”

  Putting the phone away, I kissed Wally’s cheek. “How you doing, chief?”

  He sort of shrug-nodded. “Yeah, well. But it’s good to see you.”

  Abbie pushed her glasses up her nose. “You going to the cemetery?”

  I nodded, scanning the crowd for Tommy. He and his colleagues were among the congregation. They would conduct surveillance at the graveside service as well. They had arranged for Kelly’s family to leave mementos on her grave: photos and a teddy bear. They were hoping that Coyote wanted to collect further souvenirs of his work.

  Abbie linked arms with me and swept me toward the sidewalk. I leaned close to her and lowered my voice.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “This afternoon, when I get that piece of Detroit crap metal back from the auto shop.”

  I glanced around again. Abbie frowned.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  Jesse. But I knew he wasn’t here. I put on my sunglasses.

  “Tommy. He wants me front and center.”

  We walked a few more steps, pulling away from Wally. Abbie’s voice dimmed.

  “Wally’s close to a heart attack. The state his office was in after the police finished—seeing where Ceci died, it’s just too much. I don’t know what he’s going to do about the practice. He can’t bring himself to set foot in the building.”

  I looked her over. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  She held her breath for a moment, standing straight, and then slumped. “Yeah. He’s scared shitless for me and the kids. Once I get up to his dad’s place, he’ll be able to ease down a little.”

  “Good.”

  She looked at me. “Sometimes I think you’re lucky, not having kids to worry about.”

  The wind raked my face. It was dry and hot, and I felt weak. Abbie froze.

  “Evan, I didn’t mean . . . Shit, sorry, I’m a blundering idiot sometimes.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Should I tell her? Keeping it in was killing me. This was supposed to be joyous and instead it was an ache, a secret that I couldn’t bear hiding away. The throng flowed around me, a stream of sober suits and best dresses.

  “What?” she said.

  “I can’t stand this anymore. I—”

  Ten feet away, moving like a sharp stick among the meandering and spaced out, I saw a familiar figure with silver spiky hair.

  “Mom?”

  She
turned. Pulling off her sunglasses, she came toward me at blitz speed, arms out.

  “There’s my girl.”

  “You should have told me you were coming.”

  Her embrace felt abrupt and rigid. She smoothed my hair off my forehead, leaning back and gazing at me with overt apprehension. She looked elegant in a dark suit and turquoise blouse, but she was all elbows and nerves.

  “It seemed the worthy thing to do, to honor one of your classmates under these circumstances.”

  She glanced blankly at Abbie. Abbie was probably an inch taller and sixty pounds heavier than when Mom had last seen her. Then it clicked.

  “Well. Look at you.”

  Back in high school Abbie had not been one of Mom’s favorite people. Thanks to an ounce of dope in Abbie’s pocket when I was pulled over on a traffic stop, I got busted for possession and earned a juvenile record. Mom drew up like a prickly plant.

  Her protectiveness annoyed and touched me in equal measure. “Water under the bridge, Ma.”

  She pursed her lips, glancing at me sharply.

  “Abbie’s now a civic and cultural booster. She even drives a minivan. She has a lovable husband and three freakishly intelligent kids. We would all do well to emulate her.”

  Mom’s expression tightened. Her eyes went both bright and dark, and for a moment she seemed to look right into me. Boom, like thunder, I felt it through and through. She knew.

  Abbie tossed her hair out of her eyes and waved to Wally. “Walls, over here.” Her expression brightened. “Mrs. D, you have nothing to worry about. I’m no longer a bad influence on Evan.”

  I couldn’t break from my mother’s gaze. A coruscating pain took me, not in body but spirit. This should have been the happiest moment imaginable, to share with her the joy, to see her light up at the news of my pregnancy. But the look on her face, the tension in her grip, sank me.

  I felt blood pouring down my nose and running onto my upper lip.

  “Ugh.” I pressed my hand to my nose.

  Mom put her hand on my shoulder. “Tilt your head back.”

  Abbie fished a wad of tissues from her purse. Muttering thanks, I pressed them to my face.

  Mom took my arm. “The heat and dry air always did this to you. Let’s get you out of the sun.”

  “It’s okay.”

  She looked at Abbie. “Did you drive?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to the cemetery; do you—”

  “Let Evan sit down.”

  Abbie’s expression turned to alarm. “Is something wrong?”

  Through the tissues I barked, “No.”

  For a long moment my mother and I stared at each other. Her brittleness seemed more than worry or even disappointment. It seemed like a kind of grief.

  Tommy’s voice cut through the crowd. “There you are. We’re going to head out.”

  He walked up and saw the tissues shoved under my nose.

  “It’s nothing,” I said, adding absurdly, “You remember my mother, don’t you?”

  With equal absurdity he shook her hand, all gracious formality, before gesturing toward the parking lot. “Come on; I have a first-aid kit in the car. We’ll put a cold pack on the back of your neck.”

  But he didn’t turn to go. He stared straight at my hand, his expression mixing surprise and chagrin.

  Abbie’s eyes went round behind her specs. “Holy smoke.”

  I mumbled through the tissues, “Yes, it’s a bloody engagement ring.”

  “Did they dig that out of South Africa with a backhoe?” she said.

  Tommy smiled. “Some damned detective I am. Congratulations, Rocky. Don’t punch anybody with that hand.”

  Abbie grabbed me and laughed too loud for the mood of the crowd. “My hell, you lucky girl. Mrs. D, isn’t this the best?”

  She and Tommy turned to my mother, and shut up. Mom didn’t look happy. She looked harrowed. I felt the bottom dropping out of everything.

  The vehicle crested the rise and rolled down the hill outside China Lake. The road was a black arrow in the heat. Mountains sliced the horizon, cutting earth from cyan sky. The wind, buffeting the truck, called a welcome. Coyote licked his lips.

  He would not miss this opportunity.

  Opportunity had slipped away from him in Canoga Park. He ran it through his head again, assessing the cause, walking back the cat. He had set it up with care. He had frightened the target out into the open, drawn her into range, and been prepared to take her. He had put Valerie Skinner in that coffee shop, waiting and alone. And then Delaney had called the police.

  Wild card—that was why opportunity had eluded him. His chance evaporated because he had failed to account for the wild card. A China Lake woman had outflanked him. That would not happen again.

  He touched his chest, wishing for his amulet. The nature of the hunt, the urgency of the mission, had required him to leave it back at base. He longed for the reassurance it gave.

  Sage and yucca sheared past the truck. Delaney was a wild card, but he could turn that to his advantage. She could be useful to him. Her newspaper article contained sufficient facts to tell him that she was still dipping her hands into the knowledge stream.

  According to the China Lake school district’s online attendance records, the Hankins and Chang children were absent from class. They were beyond his reach. But Delaney, he felt certain, knew where the children were.

  He needed that information. He would not take Delaney until she provided it to him. And once she did, he would take them all. He would seize the opportunity, today.

  Mirages writhed across the highway. The sky vibrated blue. A sound, a thirst, built in his throat.

  Coyote sings here. Coyote was born here. South Star, god of the underworld, had spit him forth bleeding and burned, breathing the smoke, impregnated with shrapnel, and had sent him out to hunt.

  And now he was back, for the last time. The people who caused his pain, his alienation and disavowal, would finally die here. Carpe diem, canis latrans. Coyote would seize the day—by the throat.

  25

  The cemetery was ratty. A row of eucalyptus trees formed a leaky windbreak against the encroaching desert. A groundskeeper riding a lawn mower tossed his cigarette butt onto the lawn. That did it. Two hundred years from now, I don’t want crabgrass and sand crawling across my name. I don’t want visitors glancing idly at a neglected marker, wondering, Who was that? Scatter my ashes on the wind. Find a mountaintop and sing “The Dance” by Garth Brooks and send me back to the earth as dust.

  We followed Abbie and Wally across the grass to the grave site. He put his arm across her shoulder, and she leaned against him for a moment, resting her head. The sun bore down like a weight; wearing a black suit had been ill considered. Tommy was eyeing the graveyard like a hawk. Excusing himself, he veered away to the edge of the crowd.

  I took Mom’s arm. “You know, don’t you?”

  For a second she gazed at the pallbearers carrying Kelly’s casket toward the grave. Her pace slowed and she looked at me with suppressed anguish.

  “I found the receipt for the early pregnancy test,” she said.

  My throat tightened. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

  She turned to me. “Sweet girl, I’m not angry, and I’m not disappointed.”

  She hadn’t called me that since I was about fourteen. The tightness in my throat worsened and my eyes began to sting.

  “Mom, I know it’s a shock, but this baby is an extraordinary gift.”

  She looked as though she couldn’t begin to find the words to explain how many things were wrong with what I had just said. I fought the tears away.

  “What happened to saying that I should hold on to Jesse?” I asked. “To telling me I should give him your love and that you think we’re building something strong and—”

  “Evan, that’s not it at all.”

  “It kills me that you aren’t happy.”

  She took hold of my arms. “I’m frightened out of my wits for y
ou.”

  I blinked against the bright sunlight. “That’s it? Oh, Mom, I’m scared too. Some of my classmates . . .” My voice caught. “They had pregnancies that . . .”

  I couldn’t bring myself to say it, not here in a graveyard, not in relation to a life I was creating. Mom’s eyes were full of pain.

  “You know about those children, don’t you?” I said.

  “I talked to your dad about all of this.”

  “All of this?” I stepped back. “God, he knows I’m pregnant? What did he say?”

  “Ask him yourself.” She nodded across the scraggly lawn. “There he is.”

  Beyond the grave and the assembling crowd, I saw my father striding toward us. I shrank inside.

  “You two have been tag-teaming me all week long,” I said. “What are you going to do, tell me not to rush into things? That’s what Dad said yester—”

  Yesterday.

  I exhaled. No wonder I’d felt as though he were picturing me walking up a church aisle in an immaculate white dress. Don’t do anything rash. He didn’t just mean marriage; he meant, Don’t jump into a shotgun marriage. Damn him and all his unspoken subtext.

  Rounding the mourners, he walked up, touched Mom’s elbow, and pecked her cheek. His face looked as strained as hers: dry, windblown, and tough as cactus.

  “Angie. You’re looking great.”

  “Philip.”

  He spread his arms and waited for me to step into his embrace. I hugged him, feeling nervous and outmaneuvered. At the grave, the priest adjusted the purple stole around his shoulders and beckoned to stragglers.

  “Come on,” I said.

  I avoided Dad’s eyes. Linking arms, we walked together to the grave.

  The priest raised his hand to offer a final blessing. In the front row Scotty Colfax sat slumped like a sack of rice. At the edge of the crowd Tommy stood watchfully. I saw other police officers among the crowd, people I recognized from the station. I held on to both my parents, feeling rough.

  None of us spoke. We didn’t need to. The tension was a choking vine.

  At the final amen, people began heading to their cars as fast as decorum allowed, eager to escape the heat. Dad led us toward the parking lot, shading his eyes to peer at the horizon. Hazy with distance and altitude, the Sierras thrust into the sky.