Dead Ringer
Page 25
I drive over to Izzy’s house to pick up Matthew. Izzy, Dom, and Sylvie are all seated in the living room, and Juliana and Matthew are on a blanket on the floor. The TV is on and the kids are mesmerized by the colorful characters of SpongeBob SquarePants and the denizens of Bikini Bottom.
I put a finger to my lips when Izzy sees me. I don’t want to disturb this tableau, but I do want to speak to Izzy, and to Dom, though not on the same matter. I wave a hand toward myself and nod toward the kitchen. Izzy gets up and comes toward me, and then Dom sees me and does the same. By some tacit agreement, we all three move into the kitchen.
“Is it okay to leave those three in there alone?” I ask them.
“It will be fine,” Dom says. “Sylvie is having a very lucid day today, and they love SpongeBob. Besides, they can’t go anywhere. The front-door dead bolt is locked, and I have the key.”
“I spoke to Arnie today,” Izzy says. “He said you left the office on the pretext of your sister having a crisis? I’m guessing that wasn’t the real reason.”
Izzy knows me too well. “No, it wasn’t. I went back up to Eau Claire to do some digging around. I wanted to get a better feel for Caroline Helgeson, what she was like, how she lived her life, how she behaved when she was with Ulrich, that sort of thing.”
“And?”
I slide onto a bar stool at the island as Dom sets out a platter with raw veggies and some dressing or dip, low-cal, no doubt. Izzy sits next to me and we both start out with a carrot stick dipped in what turns out to be ranch dressing. If it is low-calorie, it’s good.
“None of it makes any sense. Everyone I talked to, everything we know about her, indicates that she and Ulrich were good friends, even though the romantic angle didn’t play out for them. I didn’t get the sense that there was any animosity between them at all. And some of the locals clearly didn’t like me poking around.”
I fill him and Dom in on my encounters with Pete Hamilton and Cory Llewellyn, leaving out the part where I got stuck between two saddles and imitated a horse’s ass with a toilet paper tail. Then I add in the information about the gold threads. Dom listens raptly, though he periodically walks over to the door of the living room to check on its occupants.
“Why did you go up there with Brenda?” Izzy asks when I’m done. “Why didn’t Hurley go with you?”
I hesitate to answer, mainly because I don’t know the answer. “He hasn’t been answering my calls today.”
Izzy’s brow furrows at this; Dom gets an all-knowing look on his face.
“What are you two kids fighting about?” Dom asks.
Izzy looks at him with surprise.
“Well, it’s obvious that they’re fighting about something,” Dom says with a Captain Obvious tone. He walks over and pats my hand. “How about some ice cream while you tell me all about it,” he says in a calm, soothing voice. He walks over to the fridge and takes out a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia, one of my favorites. The guy knows my weaknesses.
I pop the lid off the ice cream and look around for a spoon about the same time Dom is getting a bowl out of the cupboard. The container says it contains four servings, which is a laugh. Within minutes, I have half the container emptied into the bowl and Dom serves himself a few scoops.
“Has Izzy told you I’m pregnant?” I ask Dom.
“Not exactly,” he answers, shooting Izzy an odd look.
“He guessed it,” Izzy says. “When we came home from that trip to Eau Claire, one of the first things he said to me was ‘Do you think Mattie might be pregnant again?’ ”
I spoon some cherry goodness into my mouth and give Dom a curious smile. “How can you tell?”
“It’s something in your face. You look . . . richer, creamier . . . I don’t know how to describe it. I just know it when I see it.”
“Really?” I say, intrigued by whatever it is that Dom sees. I run the back of my free hand over my cheek and wonder if my ice-cream fetish might be paying off in the complexion department.
“And, of course, there’s the bigger boobs, too,” Dom adds. “I take it you aren’t happy about the pregnancy?”
“I’m not unhappy about it, not really,” I say. But no sooner do the words leave my lips than I start doubting them. Both Dom and Izzy give me looks that suggest they’re doubtful, too. “Okay, let me clarify. I’m happy about having another child with Hurley . . . in theory, but I’m also afraid. Afraid of what it’s going to do to my life, to our relationship, to my sanity, to my body. I feel taxed to the max a lot of the time as it is, and that’s with me working only part-time.”
“And how many hours have you put in this week?” Izzy asks.
I give him a look of annoyance. “I know, I know, but this case is unusual. It’s an exception. That’s going to happen sometimes. I need to have flexibility for things like that, and I don’t know that I will, once we add another child to the mix.”
I pause and draw a deep, shuddering breath, then spoon more ice cream into my mouth. Dom peeks into the living room and then returns to his spot across from me at the kitchen island. “I think I’m just overwhelmed,” I say finally. “Hurley is great at sharing the child-rearing duties, but not much at the household stuff, like vacuuming, dusting, and laundry. And if this child is a girl, I’m not sure if he’ll be as attentive as he is with Matthew.”
Dom looks skeptical. “I don’t think that will make much difference.”
“It might,” Izzy says. He is sitting at the table, eyeing us enviously as we chow down on our respective bowls of ice cream. He gets up, walks over to a drawer, takes out a spoon, and comes over to sit next to me. I slide my bowl toward him and he digs in. We both look at Dom, waiting for him to object or chastise, but he does neither.
“There are studies that show gender preference exists in parenting,” Izzy says. “In general, mothers tend to spend more time with their daughters than with their sons, and with fathers, it’s the other way around. If you do have a little girl, you might give her more attention than you do Matthew.”
“No way,” I say as our spoons momentarily collide in the bowl. “I couldn’t possibly love another child more than I do Matthew. If anything, I’m afraid I won’t love another child as much as I do Matthew.”
“I think nature has a way of working it all out,” Izzy says.
“Does nature have a fix for my marriage?”
“I think you’re on your own for that one,” Izzy says.
“Have you talked to Hurley about this stuff?” Dom asks. “He’s always struck me as a reasonable guy. If you tell him you need more help around the house, I’m sure he’ll find a way to do it.”
“But he already works full-time, more than that. It’s not fair to ask him to do more if I’m only working half the time that he is, is it?”
“It’s absolutely fair to ask,” Dom says. “The help doesn’t have to come from him. Not directly anyway. You can hire someone to clean your house and do your laundry. That way, you have more time for the kids.”
For the kids . . . plural. The sound of that phrase both excites and frightens me. Technically, we’ve been a kid-plural house for some time already, but I’ve had little to do with Emily’s upbringing. She’s more of an asset than a liability.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to have another kid.”
In a surprise move, Dom tosses his spoon in the sink and hands the remainder of his dish to Izzy. “You already have two,” Dom says. “Adding a third to the mix doesn’t make a big impact after that. You’ve done the hard adjustment already.”
“Except Emily counts more on the help-us-out side of the equation as opposed to the be-a-burden side.” I hear what I just said and feel instant remorse. “Not that Matthew is a burden,” I add quickly. “But he is a handful at times. I mean, there are good things, too. Oh, hell, this isn’t coming out right at all.” I drop my spoon into my empty bowl and run my hands through my hair. “I’m a terrible mother. How can I possibly think I can parent another child?”
“He does?”
Dom nods.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He said his mammy was the best one in the whole world.”
I give Dom a doubtful, suspicious look. “He just popped that one out for no reason?” I ask skeptically.
“Not exactly. We were watching something on TV—I don’t remember what exactly—but the character was talking about how great a mother he had. And Matthew suddenly turned and looked at me and said his mammy was the best one in the whole world.”
“There you go,” Izzy says. “Little kids are known for telling the truth.”
“Yeah, so are yoga pants,” I say. “That doesn’t mean the truth is pretty.”
Dom cocks his head to one side and gives me the stink eye. “Girl, you’re making this thing a lot more complicated than it needs to be. Quit your whining, get your pregnant ass home to that gorgeous husband of yours, and have a talk with him.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go. Now. Get a move on.” He snatches my ice-cream bowl from in front of me and drops it in the sink.
I gather up my son and his accoutrements, leaving Izzy in the living room with Juliana and Sylvie. Dom walks me to the back door, and just as I’m about to leave, he leans over and whispers in my ear. “My advice? Have sex first. Then do the hard talk. Pillow talk seems to soften the blows.”
“Got it,” I say with a smile.
He doesn’t smile back. In fact, he looks very serious. He wags a finger in my face and then says, “And don’t ever tell Izzy I said that, okay? It’s our little secret. We girls need to stick together.”
I mime locking my lips and tossing the key. Matthew hears this last statement from Dom and he repeats it to me. “Yeah, Mammy, we girls have to stick together.”
Dom slaps a hand to his chest and gives Matthew a look of amused adoration. “He’s such a funny kid.”
I’m not sure if he means funny ha-ha or funny weird. I’m about to ask and then decide I don’t want to know.
On the drive home, I notice there is a black SUV on my tail, though it stays some distance back. I’m not too worried about it, until I hit the country roads and it’s still there. My gut is screaming at me that I’m not being paranoid, that this is a matter of some concern. For a moment, I’m tempted to stop my car sideways in the middle of the road and wait for the SUV to come upon me. But I have Matthew in the car.
As I pull into my driveway, the car drives on past. I get a brief glimpse of the driver as it goes by: male, receding hairline. That’s all I can discern, and he seems utterly uninterested in me. I think about turning the tables and pulling back out onto the road and following him, but again, I remember that I have my son in the car. If it was just me, I might risk it, but I won’t take any chances with Matthew.
CHAPTER 25
It’s nearly five by the time I get home. Hurley isn’t there, but Emily is, and Johnny is with her. The two of them are seated at the kitchen table doing math homework. Matthew is excited to see Johnny and he runs over and hurls himself at the boy.
“Hey there, little man,” Johnny says.
“I’m a big man,” Matthew protests. He bends his arm in a classic Popeye pose and squeezes his upper arm through the sleeve of his jacket. “Feel my muscles.”
Johnny obliges and looks suitably impressed. “Wow, good work there, little man. You’ll be beating me at arm wrestling any day now.”
“I beat you now!” Matthew says.
“I don’t think so, buddy,” Johnny teases.
Matthew climbs down, doffs his jacket, and then climbs up in a chair across from Johnny. “Let’s go,” he says, kneeling on the chair and leaning over the table. He plants his right elbow on the tabletop and wiggles his fingers.
“If you insist,” Johnny says with a shrug. He puts his right arm on the table, his elbow some distance back in order to be able to grab Matthew’s hand. “You do the count. I’m ready when you are.”
Matthew repositions himself a little, his butt wagging the way Hoover’s does when he’s about to get a treat. “One, two, three!”
Matthew strains with his entire body. Johnny puts on a good show of struggling, though it’s obviously an unfair match. He lets Matthew think he’s pushing him down a little ways, but then he gains some strength and pushes back, making Matthew’s arm go down. Desperate, Matthew grabs Johnny’s wrist with his other hand and puts his full body weight into it.
The door to the garage opens and Hurley walks in just as Johnny says, “Hey, isn’t that cheating?” with a smile and a wink at Matthew.
Matthew barely spares his father a glance, fully focused on taking down Johnny’s arm, and rather than greeting anyone, Hurley walks over to the table and watches the ongoing spectacle for a few seconds, a scowl on his face. Johnny smiles at him, but when he sees the look on Hurley’s face, his smile falters.
Suddenly Matthew lets go of Johnny and cries out, “Owie, owie, owie!” He pulls his arm back, cradling it in a bent position against his chest, kneeling back in his chair. Tears well up and course down his face as he starts to sob. “Owwwwii-ieeee.”
I hurry over to Matthew and run my fingers along the length of the arm he’s favoring, feeling for any irregularity from his hand up to his elbow, and then from there to his shoulder. All feels normal. There is no obvious swelling or deformity, but he clearly doesn’t want to move the arm and cries out if I try.
“What the hell did you do?” Hurley snaps, giving Johnny a thunderous look before turning to me. “Did he break Matthew’s arm?”
“No, it’s fine,” I say, but Hurley’s anger is already built up to the point that he’s past reason.
“Get out of here,” Hurley says to Johnny. He doesn’t yell it or raise his voice at all, but the low timbre of the words is even scarier.
“Dad,” Emily whines. “Don’t.”
Johnny gets up and sidles past Hurley with a wary look, like he’s expecting to get punched any moment. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he says, his expression horror-stricken.
“Hold on,” I say, my voice louder than intended, though it’s probably necessary at this point to get through to Hurley. “Matthew’s arm isn’t broken. He subluxed his radial head.” Everyone looks at me like I just spoke in tongues. “He has a nursemaid’s elbow. It’s a common injury in little kids and one I can fix if you’ll just calm down and give me a minute.”
Everyone freezes in place and stares at me. Realizing I have the moment, I turn to Matthew, take the hand of the injured arm in one of mine, and then grab his upper arm with my other hand. I do a quick manipulation: straighten, rotate, flex.
“Ow!” Matthew hollers as I feel a pop in his arm near the elbow. His eyes widen and then he slowly straightens his arm. Looking surprised but wary, he bends it again, and when that doesn’t hurt, he tries several other moves.
“Better?” I ask him.
He nods and looks at me with awe. “Thank you, Mammy.” He flings himself at me and wraps his arms around my neck, though he’s still a bit tentative with the one that was hurt. He hugs me tight with his good arm and I do the same.
I glance up at Hurley, who still looks angry. It seems he’s in a mood, so I figure it’s best if Johnny leaves for now.
“You guys will have to take a break from the arm wrestling for a while,” I tell Johnny. “Give his arm some time to heal.” Johnny nods his understanding, a spastic motion that makes him look like a jack-in-the-box that’s just flipped its lid. I look over at Emily and make a side motion with my eyes toward the door. She catches my meaning immediately.
“Come on, Johnny,” she says, gathering up the books on the table. “I can’t do this anymore today. My brain is mush and we have all weekend still. You should head home. Your mom said dinner was at seven.”
“She also said you’re invited,” Johnny says. He looks from Emily to Hurley, swallowing hard. “Can she come to our house for dinner?”
“I think that will be okay,” I say to Emily with an almost imperceptible nudge of my head that says, “Go, get out now.”
Once again, Emily gets my meaning and she and Johnny make quick work of disappearing. Hurley says nothing, but he walks over to the fridge and takes out a beer. He twists the cap off, tosses it at the garbage bin, and misses. The cap skittles across the floor and Tux suddenly appears from the living room, barreling into the kitchen and swatting at the cap. Rubbish’s attention is caught by the motion and he joins the fray, the two of them playing a game of cat hockey.
Hurley shakes his head in disgust and walks out of the room, heading upstairs.
I’m still holding Matthew, and I feel his little body vibrate as he starts to giggle over the cats’ antics.
“Those cats are pretty silly, aren’t they?” I say to him.
And then my son does something so unexpected, it takes my breath away. He leans back ever so slightly, looks me straight in the face, sandwiches my face between his tiny hands, one on each cheek, and says, “I love you, Mammy.” Then he kisses me on the lips, releases his hold, and hugs me again for all he is worth.
It’s the best feeling in the world, one that fills my soul with love and joy, my eyes with happy tears. “I love you, too, Matthew. More than anything in the world.” I bury my face in his neck and inhale his little-boy scent, feeling his hair tickle my face.
How could I not want more of this? My heart is bursting with love. Surely, there is enough in it for another child, maybe even more than one. I need to make amends with Hurley, to bring peace to the household and our relationship. I’m about to go upstairs, and attempt to do just that, when my cell phone rings. It’s from my sister, and I set Matthew down to answer it.