No wonder, she thought. I sure didn’t get much sleep last night.
Last night. The hallway. Her glimpse into the master bedroom. All those men. All that blood. The upside-down head...
She sprang up and hurried across her bedroom, grimacing, gritting her teeth. The bottoms of her feet felt raw, but the padding of bandages and socks helped. Her good Reebok running shoes would cushion her feet even more.
In her closet, searching for them, she remembered that she had worn them to Evelyn’s house.
They’d been brand new. Bright white with pink laces, so soft and squishy and cozy inside, and it had been wonderful how they made each step feel springy.
Gone. Burned.
She felt the loss as a tight lump in her throat.
Silly, she told herself. They’re just shoes.
She slipped her feet into her moccasins, instead. As she left her room and walked down the hallway, she realized she had also lost her Eeyore socks.
My Eeyore socks.
Losing them hurt. Her eyes stung. She knew it was silly to cry over lost socks, but they’d been a gift picked for her specially by Dad and they’d been Eeyore, Pooh’s poor, melancholy friend who always, always seemed to be the victim of life’s unfairness. You had to feel sorry for him. You wanted to comfort and protect him.
If only she’d worn her Tigger socks to Evelyn’s yesterday. She wouldn’t have minded—not much, anyhow—Tigger getting burned. But poor Eeyore ...
She stopped thinking about her socks when she found Andy asleep on the living room sofa. He was covered to the shoulders with a blanket. All she could see of him was the shape of his body curled under the blanket, and the light brown hair on the back of his head.
He looked very small.
He looked very alone.
He’s got me, Jody told herself.
I saved him. All by myself, I saved him. He’s only alive today because of me.
She realized he wasn’t just Andy, Evelyn’s pesky little brother, anymore. Because she had saved him, he was now a lot more than that.
Like my own brother.
That’s what she thought for a moment as she stared at him. She had no brother, so she didn’t know how she might feel toward one. But the notion that he was now like her own brother seemed off. Somehow wrong.
Not like he’s my brother, like he’s my child.
The idea seemed outlandish. But somehow right. This was probably nothing at all like being a real mother, but she was the cause of Andy being alive just as surely as if she had given birth to him.
Whatever might happen to him from now on, whether good or bad, would only occur because she had led him out of the house last night.
How weird.
Weird, but nice.
Jody went to him. She bent over him and looked down at him sleeping. His breath made quiet sounds. Gently, she stroked his hair.
“You and me, kid,” she whispered.
“Careful you don’t wake him,” came a whisper from behind her.
The voice in the silence startled her, but it was a good and comfortable voice. She looked around and saw her father under the arched entryway to the dining room. A comer of his mouth was stretched sideways. His usual smirk, but not really a smirk. Not a reflection of his attitude, at all, but the permanent effect of his encounter with a .22 caliber bullet that had penetrated his skull. The bullet had done remarkably little damage. Its scars were hidden under his hair. On its way through his brain, however, the little slug had rewired the right side of his face. When he was serious, he seemed to be smirking. When he was happy, his face wore a big, lopsided grin that made him look quite goofy.
To Jody’s way of thinking, the bullet had improved her father’s appearance.
According to a book she had read, everyone in the world looks like either a pig or a weasel. One or the other. But her father didn’t fit the pattern. The animal he resembled was a gorilla.
Before the shooting, he’d looked less like a cop than like a creep you might see on the television show, America’s Most Wanted.
Which had never seemed fair at all.
Though he’d looked downright thuggish, he was more sensitive and compassionate and gentle and sweet than any man Jody had ever known. So the bullet had come like an artist from God to correct a mistake, to give his mouth a cheery upward turn.
Some people seemed to think that the constant smile made him look eerie. Not Jody, though. She considered it a major improvement.
The street lizards had dubbed him “Smiley.” His nickname among the boys at the station was “Kong.”
He was standing under the archway with a can of Bud in one big hand.
He wore baggy, tan shorts, white crew socks, and blue Nike running shoes. His T-shirt was neatly tucked in beneath the waistband of his shorts.
Yosemite Sam, emblazoned on the T-shirt, had both sixguns drawn and blazing. Parts of the hombre were hidden from sight, however, by the leather straps of a shoulder holster. The holster, flat against the left side of his ribcage, held his 9 mm Browning.
The sight of the Browning gave Jody a hot, squirmy feeling.
Normally, she felt comfortable about firearms. They were part of her father’s job. No big deal. She even had her own .22, and loved to go out shooting with it.
But Dad didn’t normally carry while having a beer in the late afternoon in his T-shirt and shorts in his own home.
That was eerie.
She reached down to pat Andy’s hair again, then thought better of it. Let him sleep. The more he slept, the better.
She turned away from him and walked slowly toward her father. She tried not to hobble. She tried not to wince. Dad couldn’t stand pain—not when it belonged to Jody.
“We can talk in the kitchen,” he whispered.
She walked behind him through the dining room and into the kitchen. She walked; he swaggered. The swagger, like his smirk, had nothing to do with a macho attitude. The swagger had a lot to do with a high-speed chase that had ended in a collision. Though he’d regained full use of his legs, the nature of their stride had been changed forever.
“Get yourself a Pepsi,” he said.
She opened the refrigerator door. “Want another beer?”
“Sure, why not?”
She pulled out a cold Pepsi for herself, a Bud for him. She carried them to the table, where Dad had already seated himself with his back to the wall.
He always sat with his back to a wall.
In college, he used to sit with his back to the wall. Jody’s mother had often told about it. The first time she’d seen him, he’d been sitting with his back to a wall in the student union, drinking a Pepsi and reading an 87th Precinct novel by Ed McBain. Here was a guy who looked like a grouchy ape, and was therefore no doubt a mindless jock, reading a book. Not a textbook, either. A mystery. Reading it, seemingly, for the joy of reading. Intrigued by the shocking contradiction between his appearance and behavior, she’d gone to his table, sat down, and introduced herself.
Kate Monroe.
Jack Fargo.
Jack Fargo. Who had, among other things, two lists of heroes. Fictional heroes and real life heroes. At the top of his fiction list was Steve Carella. His real life list was headed by James Butler Hickok.
Hickok, who always sat with his back to the wall.
Except once. Once in Deadwood, while playing poker, while holding aces and eights, he’d violated his rule. Jack McCall had plugged him from behind and killed him.
According to Mom, Dad had actually said, “If Wild Bill had followed his own rules and kept a wall to his back, he’d be alive today.”
“But he might be too old to know the difference,” Mom had quipped, and they’d both suddenly cracked up laughing. By the time the laughter had stopped, according to both of them, they knew they were in love.
The “back to the wall” principle had been so much a part of Jody’s life that she’d gotten into the habit, herself. Except when Dad was around. Then, he got the wa
ll seat. And that was fine. Jody never felt the need to have her back protected when he was nearby.
She sat down, slid the Bud across the table to him, and snapped open the top of her Pepsi.
“Did you sleep all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“How’s it going?”
“Okay, I guess.”
“You got banged up pretty good.”
“I’ll say.”
“The doctor says you’ll be fine, though.”
“Yeah, he told me.”
“Anyway, we still need to keep an eye on things. You’ve got to let me know if anything’s wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“Like if you get dizzy spells, blurred vision, headaches, any sort of unusual pains or bleeding. Just don’t keep something like that to yourself.”
“Okay.” She took a drink of the Pepsi. It was cold and sweet, and tasted great.
“And if you remember anything else about last night, tell me right away. I know we gave you a pretty good grilling, but sometimes people remember little details later on.”
“They haven’t caught anyone yet, have they?” She knew it was a stupid question. If suspects had been taken into custody, Dad would’ve told her so immediately.
“I’m afraid not, honey.”
“Anything?”
“Not yet. So far, about all we’ve got is what you and Andy told us.”
“Is his uncle still coming?”
“He’s on his way.”
Jody tried not to let the hurt show. From the look on her father’s face, however, she did a lousy job of it.
“I know you went through a lot with him, honey.”
“I don’t want him to go away.”
“You want him to be safe, don’t you?”
“Sure. But why does he have to go to Phoenix? It’s so far.”
“He’ll be a lot safer there. And he’ll be with family.”
“What if they’re not nice to him?”
“The guy sounded fine on the phone.”
“He might be a child-beater, or something.”
“I’ll check him out.”
“Check him out how? You mean look him over?”
“That, too. But I’ll put in a call to the Phoenix PD and see if they’ve got anything on him. Just to be sure, all right?”
“Okay.”
Dad took a swig of beer. He stared into Jody’s eyes. “It sounds like you saved Andy’s butt, honey.”
“Yeah, sort of. But we sort of helped each other, too.”
“Your mother would sure be proud of you.” As he said that, his eyes filled. “So am I,” he added, then quickly turned his head away. “Why don’t you go and get Andy up? Maybe he oughta take a shower or something. And we oughta eat. I don’t know. Go on.”
Chapter Fifteen
In the living room, Jody gave Andy’s shoulder a gentle shake. He rolled onto his back. He yawned and blinked up at her, looking groggy and peaceful. Then, he remembered. Jody saw him remember, saw his eyes change.
She almost told him, “It’s all right.” But that would be a lie, so instead she crouched down beside him and kissed him under the eye.
“Why don’t you get up now.” she whispered. “Dad thought you might want a chance to take a shower before your uncle gets here.”
“The nurse said to leave the bandages on for a day or two. Didn’t he tell you that?”
“Yeah, guess he did.”
“They’d get all soggy if I took a shower.”
“Well, do you want to wash up? You can wash around the bandages.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Jody eased the blanket away, and he sat up slowly. He was bare to the waist of his jeans. He had bandages on one shoulder, both arms, his chest, his belly, his sides and back. Where there were no bandages, he had plenty of bruises and scrapes. Still, he looked only about half as damaged as Jody. She supposed his knee made up for that, though. X-rays at the emergency room had shown no fractures, but the twist to his knee was a lot more severe than any injury Jody had sustained last night.
She helped him up, and hung on to him. He stood on one leg. Carefully, he lowered his other foot to the floor. He put some weight on it. “Oooo.”
“Bad?”
“Not real good.”
“Maybe we should’ve got you some crutches.”
He reached up behind Jody’s back and clamped a hand on her shoulder. “You’re better than some old crutch.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
Side by side, they made their way across the living room and down the hallway to the bathroom. She lowered him onto the toilet seat. Stepping back, she said, “Just a second.” She left him there, took a washcloth and towel from the hall closet, and returned. “Can you get around well enough to ... take care of stuff?”
He looked up at her and blushed. She felt her own skin go hot. “Gosh,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Well. No. But if you need help, yell. Okay? And you can specify whether you want me or Dad.”
He was still red, but now he laughed. “Okay.”
Jody left him in the bathroom and shut the door. Then she went to her bedroom and made a selection of clothes: plain white socks, white cotton underpants, and a pair of faded blue denim shorts that she’d worn almost daily for two summers, but which were now too snug and ought to fit Andy just fine. With a quick search of her closet, she found the bright red blouse that always went so great with the shorts. It had been slightly too large for her, last summer. Now, it would probably fit just right. But she wanted Andy to have it, even though it might be a bit too large for him.
She had to crouch and scurry around at the back of her closet to locate her old pair of Keds. They’d been white and beautiful, once. Now, they were grimy but otherwise okay except for a broken lace on the right shoe. She remembered when it had snapped. She’d done a quick fix with a square knot, but never gotten around to replacing the lace.
She took a package of fresh white laces from her bureau drawer, then sat on the edge of her bed and stripped out the old laces. While threading a new one through the eyelets, her gaze wandered over to the collection of clothes beside her.
Dad shouldn’t mind, she thought. It’s mostly old stuff except for the socks and undies.
Undies! Oh, my God. What was I thinking of!
She knew what she’d been thinking of; she’d seen Andy last night pulling up his jeans and glimpsed his bare butt. So she knew he wasn’t wearing undershorts.
But he doesn’t know I know, she told herself.
It would embarrass the daylights out of him, me giving him some undies to wear. Especially a pair of mine.
Jeez!
She snatched them off the bed and hurried to her bureau. As she stuffed them into the proper drawer, she heard the bathroom door open. She pushed the drawer shut.
“Andy? In here.” She suddenly remembered his knee. “Wait. I’m coming.”
Before she could take a step, he called, “No, I’m okay. I’ll make it.” She heard him hobbling up the hallway.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll make it. You stay there.”
“Okay.” Jody went to her bed, sat down and resumed lacing one of the shoes.
Seconds later, Andy stopped just beyond the doorway and pushed a hand against the frame to hold himself steady. His hair was matted down, dark and slick. Where he’d been smudged and streaked with filth, he was clean. He looked in at Jody. “See? Made it. All by myself.”
“The champ.”
“Yep.” He smiled, but it only lasted a moment. Then he looked grim again, as if he’d again remembered last night.
Jody finished with the laces of one shoe and started on the other.
“What’re you doing?” Andy asked.
“I’ve got some stuff for you to wear. If you want it, anyway. Come on in.”
He looked uncertain. “You sure it’s okay if I come in your room? I mean, your dad won’t yell at me or
something, will he?”
“You’ve gotta be kidding.”
“I mean, you’re a girl.”
Jody rolled her eyes upward and sighed. “Jeez, kid. Sure, I’m a girl. But you’re twelve years old.”
“Twelve and a half.”
“Oh. Okay. Anyhow, Dad isn’t gonna care. Just leave the door open.”
Andy nodded, then stepped into the bedroom. He glanced from the clothes to Jody, then returned his gaze to the clothes. “I don’t get it,” he said.
“They’re for you. You don’t have anything to wear but those jeans. All your other stuff is ... you know. Anyway, my dad’s clothes would all be way too big for you.” She shrugged.
“But these’re yours.”
“Hey, who’s gonna know they’re girls’ things? Nobody’ll know if you don’t tell.”
His upper lip lifted slightly. He kept staring at the clothes.
“Don’t worry, they’re clean.”
He met her eyes, and let out a soft laugh. “It isn’t that.”
“You mean you’re not afraid of my cooties?”
His smile widened. “No.”
“Don’t you like the stuff?”
“Yeah. Sure. But it’s yours. I saw you in this red shirt last summer. And in the shorts, too. You looked so ...” He stared down at the clothes and swallowed. “You can’t just give them away.”
“Okay, I’ll lend ’em to you.”
“Lend them?”
“Sure. You keep them till the next time we see each other.”
“What if we never ... ?”
“Hey, don’t be a dope. We’ll see each other again. So you can have the stuff till then.”
Frowning, he picked up the blouse. He studied it. “Are you sure? It’s such a neat shirt. You’re the one who oughta be wearing it.”
“Put it on, Andy.”
He swung it behind his back, wrestled his arms through the sleeves, and pulled its front together. He started to work on fastening the first button. And stopped. And ducked his head for a closer look. “Hey, something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“I don’t ... Is it inside out?”
Jody could see that the big, twin pockets were exactly where they belonged. “No, it ...”
“The buttons are on a funny side.”
“They are?” She got up from the bed, stepped closer to Andy, bent down and studied the situation. “No, they’re right where they always ... Oh. Woops. I forgot. Guys wear their buttons on the wrong side.”
Endless Night Page 12
