by Laurel Dewey
“When I was 14.”
“Why did you start?”
“Because whiskey tastes better with a cigarette.”
“Huh?”
“It was just something to take off the edge.”
“What edge?”
“An edge is like a feeling, you know? Feeling edgy. Irritable. Frustrated. Edgy.”
“Like you’re feeling now?”
“Yeah. Exactly like I’m feeling now.” Jane sucked in another dose of nicotine.
“So, I guess it doesn’t work.”
“What?”
“You said you smoke to take off your edge. But you’re still feeling your edge. So I think the smoke stopped working. Maybe if you stopped smoking—”
“Look,” Jane said, leaning forward, “rule number one: don’t hassle me about smoking. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Jane peered around the room once again, zoning in on the liquor cabinet.
“You keep looking over at Daddy’s liquor cabinet.”
“I am observing the room. Period. Don’t keep staring at me.” Jane took another drag on her cigarette. “Don’t you have some toys you can play with?”
“I’ve got my Starlight Starbright but it’s not dark enough yet to use it.”
“Is that all you have to play with?”
“It’s all I want to play with.”
“I see,” Jane said, leaning back into the couch. Emily mirrored Jane as she, too, fell back into her chair and crossed her arms.
“Well, I guess this conversation is over,” Jane surmised, observing Emily.
“What do you mean?”
“Your arms told me.”
Emily looked down at her arms folded across her chest. “What’d they say?”
“You’re cutting me off. You’re feeling defensive.”
Emily thought about it. “What’s defensive?”
“It’s like you’re building a big wall around yourself so no one can find you.”
Emily slowly uncurled her arms. “What does this mean?”
Jane looked across at Emily who was almost sharing her identical pose. “That’s what you call ‘mirroring.’ It’s that I look like you and you look like me.”
Emily carefully observed Jane. “Oh, yeah . . . Is that good?”
“Well, you changed your position to mirror mine, so that means you’re trying to make me feel more comfortable.”
Emily considered the idea. “Is it working?”
Jane looked at Emily and felt a slight smile come up on her lips. “Maybe.”
“What does this mean?” Emily slid her index finger down to her tummy and gently poked it again and again.
“You’re telling the pitcher to throw a fast ball,” Jane said with a deadpan expression.
Emily smiled at the joke. “It means I’m hungry. Would you please fix me some scrambled eggs?”
“Eggs?”
“Yeah, eggs.”
“Okay,” Jane said, getting up and heading toward the kitchen. Emily quickly followed behind her. Jane opened the refrigerator and found a carton of eggs that Chris bought. Setting the carton on a nearby counter, she contemplated what to do.
“Mommy and I made eggs every morning on our camping trip! I’ll get you a bowl,” Emily said, opening a cabinet and removing a white bowl.
“Okay.” Jane awkwardly grabbed an egg and broke it over the bowl, landing most of the yolk on the table. “Shit,” she said under her breath.
Emily opened a drawer, pulled out a towel and diligently sopped up the mess. “Try it again,” Emily said quietly, her eyes pinned onto the bowl.
Jane cracked another egg against the bowl and the same thing happened, this time knocking some of the yolk onto her hand. “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Jane grumbled. Emily quickly swept up the residue. “I’ll try it this way,” Jane said, slamming the egg against the inside of the bowl, scattering tiny flecks of the smashed eggshell into the broken yolk.
“You got to pick those things out,” Emily said, looking into the bowl.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah!” Jane said, digging for pieces of the eggshell.
“This isn’t the way Mommy does it.”
“Look, it’s been a long time since I made scrambled eggs and I’ve pretty much forgotten how it’s done.”
“Don’t you cook at your home?”
“Not really.”
“How do you eat?” Emily asked, astonished.
“I know how to put food in a microwave and I’ve got Domino’s on speed dial.”
“Are you joking?” Emily said seriously with a semi-shocked look on her face.
“No. How does a pizza sound?”
“How about a sandwich?”
“Pizza.”
Emily held her fist in the air. “Rock, paper, scissors. If you win, pizza. If I win, sandwich.” Jane rolled her eyes and held out her fist. “Okay, on three,” Emily instructed. Jane and Emily brought their fists up and down in unison as Emily counted it out. Emily made the form of a pair of scissors and Jane kept her fist clenched. “Rock crushes scissors,” Emily said, defeated. “Pizza.”
Jane rifled through the nearby phone book until she found the number for a pizza parlor. Pulling the cell phone from her jacket pocket, she dialed and rattled off her order like a seasoned pro. Emily slid onto one of the kitchen chairs and watched Jane intently. She noted that Jane’s navy blue pants were wrinkled, her denim shirt had a spot on the pocket and that her tan leather jacket looked as old as her leather satchel. Jane removed her jacket, tossing it on a chair. Emily immediately eyed Jane’s shoulder holster and black pistol. “No anchovies, right?” Jane asked Emily, lowering the phone.
“Huh?” Emily said, still in awe of Jane’s pistol.
“Never mind.” Jane lifted the phone, continuing the order. Emily crept out of her chair and worked her way around the kitchen table toward Jane. She stood next to Jane, her eyes on the same level as Jane’s Glock. Jane snapped the phone shut and looked down at Emily, just in time to see Emily’s hand reach up toward her gun. “Hey!” Jane said brusquely. “Don’t you ever touch that!”
Emily was taken aback by Jane’s voice. “I just wanted—”
“I don’t care! You never touch my gun! That’s rule number two! Understand?” Emily nodded. “Let’s just sit down and wait for the pizza.”
Emily took a seat. Jane lit another cigarette off the ember that was dying and crushed out the old one in the sink. She took a deep drag and sat across from Emily. “I need to ask you a question,” Emily said quietly.
“What?” Jane said, sucking in another good drag.
“Did you ever kill anybody?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“Well, did you?”
“No,” Jane stressed.
“Could you kill somebody?” Jane sat back in her chair, surprised by the question. “I have to know when they come back to get me—”
“No one is coming to get you!”
“But they are—”
Jane was incensed. “Who told you that? Martha?” “Nobody told me. I . . . I just know.”
Jane leaned forward. “No one is going to get you,” she stated with conviction. Emily remained silent, not buying Jane’s reassuring statement. “Look, you’ve got two cars out front and a black-and-white out in the back circling the alley every half hour—”
“You didn’t answer my question? Could you kill somebody? ”
“That’s not a question a nine-year-old should ask!”
“Nine and a half.”
“Oh, shit—”
“You’re not gonna answer my question, are you?”
“No, I am not.”
After about a minute of silence, Emily spoke up. “How old are you?”
Jane took a drag on her cigarette. The smoke curled out of her nostrils as she leaned across the table toward Emily. “I’m 35 . . . and one-quarter.”
“You’re older than my mommy,” Emily replied reflectively.
&n
bsp; Jane felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She sat back in her chair, nervously filling her lungs with more smoke. “Look, kid,” Jane said in a subdued voice. “You’re safe. Okay? No one is coming to get you. I would never let anything happen to you . . . Ever.”
Emily sized up Jane and liked what she saw. “Okay.” A thought crossed her mind. “Do you know what Venus looks like in the sky?”
Jane wasn’t prepared for the sudden shift in conversation. “Do I . . . huh?”
“It’s real pretty,” Emily said, standing up and taking Jane’s hand. “Come outside. I’ll show you!”
“We’re not going outside.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so. You stay in the house with me unless I say differently.”
“But I can’t show you Venus from in here—”
“I said you’re not going out and I mean it!”
“My mommy lets me go out on my bedroom roof and look at the sky—”
“Well, that’s not right. I saw that roof back there. You could slip and fall!”
“I never slipped.”
“Listen to me, Emily. You do not go outside of this house unless you are with me. That’s rule number two.”
“No, it’s not. Rule number two is don’t touch your gun. Rule number three is don’t go outside.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass. You’re not going outside. Understand?”
Emily appeared genuinely defeated. “You say ‘understand’ a lot.”
“I said don’t be a smart-ass!” Jane felt her nerves fraying.
Emily leaned closer to Jane, speaking in a whisper. “Are you scared?”
“You already asked me that question. I told you I’m not scared. What’s to be scared of?”
“Things,” Emily said quietly, almost in a confidential way. “Like when people yell at each other but you can’t see them. And they yell louder and louder . . . and you can’t make them stop.” Emily turned away from Jane and looked off to the side as if her words triggered a mental picture in the distance. The front doorbell rang and Emily jumped, grabbing instinctively on to Jane’s arm. She quickly came out of her daze. “The pizza’s here.”
Chapter 11
“Stay here,” Jane instructed Emily. “I’ll get the pizza.”
Emily slipped into the chair and watched Jane leave the kitchen.
Jane pulled her wallet out of her leather satchel and opened the front door. There was Chris, holding the pizza. “What the hell are you doing?” Jane said, irritated.
“What are you doing ordering a pizza, for Christ’s sake? It’s a fucking crime scene! You can’t have a pizza guy delivering to a place with fuckin’ yellow tape surrounding it!”
Jane stepped outside and shut the front door part way. “Keep it down?”
“What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing. Give me the goddamn pizza!”
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing!’ ” Chris said, pulling the pizza carton away from Jane. “Dammit, Jane! Don’t be a cunt!”
A bolt of hot rage shot through Jane as she lunged toward Chris, grabbed the pizza and slammed the door in his face. Jane stormed into the kitchen, still steaming from Chris’ remarks.
“Who was that?” Emily asked.
“Nobody!” Jane said, flipping open the pizza carton and grabbing a piece of pizza. “Here you go.”
“Aren’t we gonna use plates?”
Jane let out a sigh. “Where are they?”
“Behind you, second cupboard from the right.”
Jane brought down two plates and slapped pizza slices on both of them. She sat down to eat when she caught Emily looking at her. “What is it now?”
“We need napkins. I don’t want to get sauce on my jumper.”
“You’re a little hothouse orchid, aren’t you?”
“Huh?”
Jane got up and grabbed the roll of paper towels near the sink. She tore off several pieces, stuffed them into the collar of Emily’s shirt and placed the roll on the table. “That should take care of any major spillage.” Emily looked down at her impromptu bib, not knowing what to make of it. “Eat your pizza, Emily.”
Emily took a bite of pizza and looked at Jane’s bandaged hand. “Are you gonna tell me what happened to your hand?”
“It’s not important.”
“You told me in that little room that you got hurt in the line of duty. What does that mean?”
“It means it happened while I was working. Like right now. This is called being on duty.”
“It is?” Emily sounded surprised.
“Yeah. What’d you think this was?”
“I thought we were having dinner.”
Jane realized she’d backed herself into a corner. “We are . . . and I’m also working at the same time.”
“Did you hurt your hand in a kitchen trying to fix food?”
Jane looked at Emily, thinking she was being a smart aleck and then realized she was serious. “No, I did not.”
“Did you hurt it—”
“Look, kid,” Jane said, putting down her pizza slice and sitting back in the chair. “There are certain things you don’t need to know and this is one of them.” Emily looked deep into Jane’s eyes, not saying a word. “Did you hear me?” Jane asked, agitated.
“You were scared when that happened, weren’t you?” Emily said softly.
Jane was jarred by Emily’s words but tried not to show it. “Can we talk about something else?” she said with less of an edge.
“Okay,” Emily said, taking a bite of pizza. “Guess what my middle name is.”
“I have no idea.”
“Just guess.”
“Bertha.”
“Bertha? No! Guess again!”
“Why are we doing this?”
“Are you gonna try to guess my middle name?”
“I’m going to have a headache soon if this continues.”
“Grace.”
“What?”
“Grace. That’s my middle name. E.G.L. Those are my initials. Grace is my grandmother’s name. Mommy says she gave me the name so that I take a part of my grand-mother with me everywhere I go.”
Jane took a bite of pizza. “Anne.”
“What?”
“Anne. That’s my middle name.”
“That’s pretty. I like it.”
“It’s my mother’s name.”
“Where does your mommy live?”
“She’s dead.”
Emily’s eyes lost some of their luster. “When did she die?”
“A long time ago. I was ten. Just a little older than you are right now.”
“How did she die?”
Jane felt her stomach tighten. “Cancer. But I told people she killed herself.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Jane said quietly, “That’s exactly what she did. She hated her life. She made herself sick so she could get out.”
Emily thought for a second. “We have a lot of things that are the same. Your mommy died when you were little, just like me.”
“That’s one thing, Emily. That doesn’t mean we have lots of things.”
“I think we do.”
“You have no idea what you’re saying.” Jane looked Emily straight in the eye. “You don’t want to have anything else in common with me.” Emily observed Jane carefully. “You finished with your pizza?”
“Yeah.” Jane ripped off several feet of paper towels and wrapped the uneaten pizza in it. “Do you have kids?” Emily asked.
“No,” Jane said, opening the refrigerator door.
“Do you want to have kids?”
Jane jammed the pizza into a vegetable bin. “It doesn’t matter whether I want them. I don’t have them today and I won’t have them tomorrow.” Jane slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Isn’t it time for you to take a nap or something?” Jane lit a cigarette.
“You don’t babysit, do you?”
“Never.”
“So you don’t k
now any games?”
“No.”
“You like to play cards?”
“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re ready for five card stud.”
“How about board games?”
Jane grimaced.
“Pleeeese . . . ” Emily begged.
Jane let out a weary sigh. “What’s the board game?”
“I’ll get it!” Emily jumped off her chair and ran into the living room. Jane reluctantly followed her and sat down on the couch. Emily opened up a wooden trunk that was wedged across the far wall near the fireplace. After rummaging through the trunk, she brought out a large white box with blue stars across lid. She slammed the trunk shut and ran across to the chair opposite from Jane. Emily opened the board game on the coffee table that sat between them and arranged the playing pieces. “The game’s called ‘Think!’”
“‘Think?’ What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know. It belongs to Mommy and Daddy. I just liked the box cover.” Emily proudly held the cover up to show Jane. “It’s got stars all over it!”
“What about Monopoly? Or checkers?”
“Mommy and Daddy don’t have those.” Emily was quickly separating the colored pieces and sliding Jane’s share across the coffee table.
“So, what’s the point of this game?”
“I’ve only seen Mommy and Daddy play it when A.J.’s Mommy and Daddy were over here.”
“Who’s A.J.?”
“She was a friend from school. She doesn’t live here anymore.”
“I see.” Jane might have engaged Emily more but she found herself fixating on the taste of whiskey. Normally, after dinner, she’d down a beer or two, followed by a shot or more of whiskey. Her eyes trailed over to the Lawrences’ liquor cabinet.
Emily was deeply engrossed in setting up the game board. “You roll the dice and that tells you how many squares you can move on the board. But first, you have to answer one of the questions from this deck of cards.” Emily gathered together the deck and placed it in the center of the board.
Jane quickly turned her attention back to Emily. “What kind of questions?”
“I don’t know.” Emily picked up the instruction booklet. Jane examined the board, trying to understand the direction of the game. “This looks ridiculous. It goes in a circle. There’s no ‘Lose a turn’ or ‘Go to jail’ squares—”
