“Not to me,” she said softly.
“Then who?”
“Friends,” she said. “In college.”
I frowned. “They told you?”
She sipped her scotch and continued to stare at the TV. Her voice was a monotone. “They had to. I was the only person they knew who could afford to help them.”
Afford, as in money. She paid for abortions. It was my turn to take a drink. “That still doesn’t explain how you know so much. You didn’t have to go with them, did you?”
“It wasn’t all of them at once,” she said, and there was something in her tone, a deep thread of anger, maybe. Something I couldn’t identify. “Just over time. You know. Sex and the Single Girl. Everyone was being so modern. Only there was no pill then and no one was thinking about the consequences.”
“Still, you knew how to fight with the doctor—”
“Because a friend of mine died,” Laura snapped. “Died, in the emergency room, because she was alone and too sick to make her stupid confession. The nurse told me later, when they called me because my number was in Susan’s purse.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, but Laura didn’t hear me.
“So from then on, I went with my friends if they needed my help, and most of the time I gave them enough money to go to England, where abortion was legal. But I started acquiring knowledge, because I ask questions, and doctors talk to me, like Rothstein did.”
I finished my drink in a single gulp and resisted the urge to wipe off my mouth. “Marvella seems to know, too. I find that strange.”
“I don’t,” Laura said. “It’s self-defense. Doctors don’t listen to women, so the only control we have is to know what they can do to us and try to prevent it. That’s why I couldn’t leave Valentina. It had nothing to do with guaranteeing her bill.”
Her hand was wrapped so tightly around her glass that her fingernails had turned blood-red.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know. I—”
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Why should you?”
“Because I know what it’s like to be ignored,” I said quietly.
She closed her eyes, her lashes brushing her still-stained cheek. Then she turned inside my arm, and kissed me. There was need in that kiss, and exhaustion, and a desire for comfort.
I put both arms around her, pulling her close, not breaking off the kiss. Somehow she managed to set her glass down, and get mine as well.
This conclusion wasn’t quite the way I had it planned when we left for Sherman House. Then I had hoped for fun and joy, and instead, we were impatient with need and fear and a sense of our own mortality. Eventually we moved from my springless couch to my springless bed, and long after we’d spent our passion, we held each other through the short, and for me, almost sleepless, night.
* * *
The next morning, I let Laura sleep an extra half an hour while I cooked breakfast and got ready for the day. I had to leave early to pick up the kids for school. Franklin Grimshaw and I shared that task, and even though Jimmy had been staying with them for Easter, I didn’t want to give up my day.
Besides, I missed him.
I woke Laura with a makeshift tray of scrambled eggs, coffee, and toast. She gave me a bleary grin. I kissed her, then apologized for having to leave. She waved me away, saying that she understood.
The Grimshaw house was only a few blocks from the apartment, but it seemed like a world away. Instead of a neighborhood of apartment buildings like I lived in, the house stood in the center of a block of single-family dwellings.
The Grimshaws rented it from Laura’s firm, Sturdy Investments, for an amazingly low price. When Laura had found them the place last fall, she had had to fight to allow them to live there. The management team at Sturdy had a vested interest in keeping rents high.
That was one of the many reasons that Laura staged a legal fight to reclaim her inheritance from her father. Now, as Sturdy Investments’ largest shareholder and its new Chief Executive Officer, Laura was doing her best to reform the company.
Her problem was that she had to make changes slowly, so that she wouldn’t destroy Sturdy’s profitability, and invite a stockholder lawsuit. Unfortunately, as I feared and as she was discovering, much of Sturdy’s profitability depended on its slumlord policies and its shady business practices.
Laura would be at this for years.
Still, she was able to do a handful of small things, like finding the Grimshaws a new home at a reasonable price. Together, she and I were investigating each property Sturdy owned. Her theory was that if she rebuilt the properties, made them comfortable homes with modest rents, the company would have a solid foundation instead of a shady one.
I hoped she would have the time to fulfill that dream.
I parked in front of the Grimshaw house. It was old and large, and with the converted attic space, had enough bedrooms for all five Grimshaw children, their parents, and Malcolm Reyner, the eighteen-year-old that the Grimshaws took in last fall.
A “Happy Easter” sign with some radio call letters, done by childish hands, decorated the picture window. Some green plastic Easter grass littered the wraparound porch. Three pairs of mud-covered shoes—none of them Jimmy’s—sat on the mat beside the front door.
I felt a twinge of regret. Perhaps I should have been part of Jimmy’s first real Easter, even though religion and religious holidays made me uncomfortable. It was part of being a family, and I had left that part of my duties to someone else.
I knocked on the door, then pushed it open. The odors of fresh coffee and toast greeted me.
“Hello!” I called.
Silverware clattered against plates in the kitchen, and Norene, the youngest, cried, “Uncle Bill!”
I walked through the dining room, which still contained remnants of the holiday—an Easter lily surrounded by seven partially empty Easter baskets, Easter cards, and more green plastic grass than I had ever seen in my life.
I had barely made it past the table when Norene caromed out of the kitchen and wrapped herself around my legs. She was six, and had more energy than I had ever had in my life.
“Uncle Bill!” she cried again. “The Easter Bunny was here.”
“I see that.” I detached her from me as gently as I could, then crouched. Her face was smeared with jam and her two braids were already twisting loose. She wore a plaid school dress with bright red tights, and in her left hand, she clutched the strangest stuffed bunny I had ever seen.
She shoved the bunny at me. “See what I got?”
I took him from her. He was 18 inches tall and sturdy, with white fur that had miraculously avoided the jam—at least so far. He wore striped blue pants and a paisley shirt, and had a self-satisfied expression on his little rabbit face.
“Wow,” I said, not knowing quite how to respond. “I didn’t know the Easter Bunny brought stuffed animals. I thought he just brought eggs and candy.”
“The Easter Bunny was quite profligate this year.” Franklin Grimshaw stood at the door to the kitchen. He was still in the middle of breakfast because one napkin was tucked into the collar of his white dress shirt, and the remains of another napkin still decorated the belt which held up his dark pants. The napkin accented his slight pot belly, and made him look his age.
We had met when we were young men. It still startled me to see Franklin’s thinning hair and his growing paunch. I recognized the aging in him better than I did in myself.
“Apparently,” Franklin said, his tone dry, “Mr. Bunny believed that because we live in such a fancy house, we’re rich enough to spoil the entire crew.”
“Franklin!” his wife, Althea, said from the kitchen. I could feel her disapproval half a room away.
Norene was reaching for the bunny. I crouched, handed it to her, and hugged her. “Better go finish breakfast, honey,” I said.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She ran back into the kitchen, braids flying.
“I think the Easter Bunny’s
extravagance was more my fault than anything,” I said to Franklin.
I was flush for the first time in nearly a year, and I had given Althea fifty dollars to cover Jimmy’s Easter expenses, including new clothes for church and his share of the meals and candy.
“I don’t care whose fault it is. I just don’t like setting up the expectations for next year.” Franklin swept a hand toward the kitchen. “Had breakfast?”
I nodded. “I just came for the kids. Am I early or are you guys late?”
“I think you’re early,” Franklin said. “It has to be some kind of record.”
I glared at him as I headed toward the kitchen. He grinned and followed.
The coffee pot sat on top of the stove. Boxes of cereal littered the table, along with a large plate of toast, two containers of jam, and some peanut butter. A half-empty pitcher of orange juice sat beside a full pitcher of milk.
Norene sat on her special chair at the far side of the table. Her sister Michelle, whom we all called Mikie, sat next to her. The Grimshaw children were stairstepped, with about two years between all of them. Keith was Jimmy’s age. Lacey, who would be thirteen soon, was the oldest girl, and Jonathon, at fourteen, was the oldest boy.
Lacey’s and Jonathon’s places were empty. Malcolm sat at the foot of the table, shoveling giant spoonfuls of Cheerios in his mouth. He waved at me, like an oversized two-year-old.
“Where’s Jimmy?” I asked.
“Upstairs getting his stuff.” Althea was standing at the counter, mixing some cinnamon and sugar together. She was wearing a full-size apron over a dark blue dress, fancy clothing for her so early in the day. The dress slimmed her, but she would never be that slender girl I had met when she was first dating Franklin.
Apparently, she had somewhere to go this morning, just like the rest of us. She smiled at me, then frowned ostentatiously at Franklin, probably for his remarks about the Easter Bunny.
Althea set the cinnamon sugar mixture on the table. I took a piece of buttered toast, spooned some of the mixture on it. The Grimshaws had introduced me to this treat last summer, and I had become addicted to it.
“How was the parade?” I asked as I took a bite of toast. The butter mixed with the cinnamon and sugar added the right amount of flavor. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate quickly nonetheless.
“Crowded,” Althea said.
“Hot,” Franklin said at the same time.
“Cool,” Keith said.
“Too long.” Lacey said from behind me. She was wearing a sweater that showed every curve of her developing body, a skirt that barely covered her knees, and boots.
“Nope,” Althea said when she saw her.
“Mom, it’s—”
“No boots, no short skirt.”
“But, Mom—”
“Disagree one more time, and I’ll dress you myself.”
Lacey sighed heavily and stomped back up the stairs. I heard a thud and an “ouch” from above, and then Jimmy stepped into the kitchen, dragging the small suitcase we had packed for him on Saturday.
He glared at me. “You’re early.”
“I missed you too,” I said, and went over to hug him.
He moved away from me as if I were going to burn him. His eyes had deep shadows under them, and there were lines around his mouth.
Even here, then, where he was surrounded by people he loved, he hadn’t slept well.
“How was Easter?” I asked, and then realized I shouldn’t have. Jimmy had been raised mostly on his own. His mother, a sometimes-prostitute, would take off for months at a time. She had never identified his real father, and his older brother, who had cared for Jimmy initially, found drugs and gangs a lot more interesting. Because of that experience, Jimmy often had strange and sometimes offensive opinions about everything from Christmas to basketball.
He glanced at Althea, who was watching him closely. Then he said, “Look what the Easter Bunny left me,” and shoved his left arm at me.
On the wrist, he wore a silver watch with a large face.
“Wow,” I said, feeling as at a loss for words as I had been when I saw the rabbit. No wonder Franklin was a bit out of sorts. I’d never seen this kind of stuff at Easter. It seemed like a mini-Christmas.
“Nifty, huh?” Jimmy asked. “It winds itself.”
I took a closer look. The watch was nice. “Too bad it’s impossible to thank the bunny.”
“I did my best.” He glanced at Althea again. He knew who was responsible, just like he had at Christmastime. Only then, he had been willing to play along. Apparently Santa Claus was still cool to a fifth grader, but the Easter Bunny was not.
“Mikie got a bunny just like mine, only a girl,” Norene said, her mouth full of toast. “And Keith got a watch too, and Lacey—”
“Your Uncle Bill doesn’t need the full rundown,” Althea said, and put her hand gently on her daughter’s head.
“All I want to know,” I said as I stood, “is if there’s any candy left.”
“Yes,” Mikie said, twirling her own pristine braid. “But we can’t have any until after school.”
“We’re already rationing it,” Malcolm said with a smile. “It’s in little pouches in the cupboard, all labeled.”
“Except Jimmy’s,” Norene said.
“Where’s yours?” I asked him.
“Suitcase,” he said, and patted it. Then he grinned, as if pleased that he didn’t have to suffer the same rules as everyone else. I had a hunch he had lorded that point over everyone.
“Let’s put your suitcase in the car, and then we have to get moving.” I directed that last to the kids still sitting at the breakfast table. I caught Althea’s gaze. “You’ll have to tell Lacey that I don’t have time for the full makeover. She’s going to have to leave when we do.”
Althea grinned at me, revealing that the pretty, fun-loving girl I had met all those years ago was still very close to the surface.
I reached for the suitcase.
Jimmy shook his head. “I got it.”
“Smokey?” Franklin had taken the napkin off his shirt. Althea made a slight hand motion around her waist and he pulled the last of the other napkin out of his belt. “Can the suitcase wait until the others are ready? I’d like a word.”
Jimmy’s face closed up. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Your decision,” I said.
Jimmy shrugged.
I asked, “Did you remember your books for after school?”
He blinked and then looked frustrated. Clearly he hadn’t remembered to pack everything.
Malcolm stood, his cereal bowl empty. “I’ll help you, Jim.”
Jimmy gave him a grateful glance, but said, “It’s okay. Me and Keith can get it.”
“I’d like to see what Mrs. Kirkland has you reading anyway,” Malcolm said, and came around the table.
“Okay.” Jimmy set the suitcase down and went up the stairs two at a time. Malcolm followed him.
Franklin led me down through the second of the three doors that were off the kitchen. This one led down a small hallway. Off the hall was the house’s only bathroom, and a cozy office.
We went inside the office, and Franklin closed the door.
“Jim had a rough weekend,” Franklin said without preamble.
“He didn’t start a fight or anything, did he?” I asked. Just before Christmas, Jimmy and Keith came to blows over the meaning of the holiday.
“Nothing like that.” Franklin leaned on his desk. I leaned on the door. “Saturday night, he snuck out of Keith’s room, and was sitting alone in the living room, crying. I found him, and offered to call you, but he wouldn’t let me.”
I nodded. “He hasn’t slept well since we left Memphis. And all spring, the nightmares have gotten worse. Usually he wakes me up and we watch a late movie together or read a book until he falls back to sleep.”
“I think he was afraid to turn on the television or a light here, afraid he would wake someone up.”
“Did he wake you
?”
Franklin grinned. “My bladder woke me. One of the perks of being middle-aged.”
I smiled in return. Sometimes I thought there were no perks to turning forty, which was what I had done this year.
“Anyway, I think it was good the lights were out. I sat with him on the couch, and he talked to me.”
I frowned, just a little. Jimmy wouldn’t tell me about the nightmares. He never had.
“He’s afraid they’re going to get him,” Franklin said.
“Who?” I asked.
“They,” Franklin said. “The police, the FBI, whoever. The fact that he nearly got found last summer, and all this publicity about the anniversary have really upset him.”
“I know,” I said.
“I’m not sure you do.” Franklin crossed his arms. “He’s got it in his head that there are assassins out there, murdering everyone associated with King’s death.”
Franklin was the only person in Chicago, beside Laura, who knew why Jimmy and I were here.
“I’ve never lied to him,” I said. “He knew his life was in danger when we left Memphis. And I’ve impressed on him the need for secrecy.”
“I know,” Franklin said. “But he thinks that these people are all powerful. He’s afraid they’re going to get you.”
“Why would he worry about that now?” I asked. “We haven’t had any problems like that since September. I don’t think anyone knows where we are, and the more time we put between us and the assassination, the better chance we have of never being found or identified.”
“I know that, and you know that, but he’s still just a little boy,” Franklin said. “It took me a while to get it out of him, but the problem is the news.”
“What?” I asked.
“Grace Kirkland has had them read a newspaper every day as part of their homework. Jimmy’s been reading the Defender—”
“Because that’s what we get,” I said, aware that he had this homework. I thought it was a good assignment. I approved of everything Grace Kirkland had done so far.
The parents in the area had hired her to take care of the children after school and to give them some one-on-one attention. The school they attended was underfunded, badly managed, and had a student-teacher ratio that made it impossible for the teacher to do much more than baby-sit.
Stone Cribs: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 9
