by Deanna Chase
“Oh.” I ran my teeth over my lower lip. “Well, is there some connection between the locations? Other than the nature of the attacks, I mean.”
“At the moment I’ve been unable to find a connection, though I intend to do more research this evening. As for your review of the Church archives, perhaps you can see if any of the Church relics hail from any of those locations.”
“Okay. No problem. I can do that.” I frowned, hoping I could do that. My frown deepened as another thought occurred to me. “What about the girl? The Hunter? It sounds like she was on the case. So why didn’t Forza send her here? I mean, if she already had a bead on the situation, why wait until demons start crashing through my windows? And why keep her out of the loop?”
“She’s dead. She prevailed against Goramesh’s minion, but she was mortally wounded in the process. She died six hours after telling her story to her alimentatore.”
He spoke without emotion, but his voice was too tight, too controlled, and the story ripped my guts out. “She was yours,” I whispered.
“She was, indeed.”
“How old was she?”
“Eighteen.”
I closed my eyes, my throat full of tears, as I mourned that girl I’d never known. That girl who—once upon a time—could have been me.
I thought of Timmy and Allie and Stuart, and fear settled over me, cold and clingy. It still could be me.
At eighteen, death hadn’t scared me. But leaving my kids alone in the world? Not being there when they needed me most?
I buried my head in my pillow and cried.
It’s amazing what a few demons will do for one’s level of piety. I confess I’d been less than diligent in making sure we all went to Mass on Sundays, but this morning I rustled everyone up, and we managed to make the eleven o’clock service.
Allie had surprised me by not protesting too violently when I hauled her and Mindy out of bed at nine. Mindy had taken a pass on joining us, and although Allie’s expression had turned wistful at Mindy’s plans to do nothing but “veg out” on the last day before school, in the end my daughter came willingly (willingly being a relative term where fourteen-year-olds are concerned). Even Stuart hadn’t protested too much, though he had insisted on taking both cars so that he could head to the office immediately following the service. Now that the Mass had ended, I kissed him good-bye, then sent Allie off to get Tim from the nursery while I hung back, wanting to talk to Father Ben.
I’d called Delores earlier that morning, and she’d been so ecstatic that I was ninety-nine percent certain she would have already snagged Father Ben and relayed the good news.
I loitered in front of the annex while he did the meet-and-greet routine with all the parishioners. When the crowd cleared away, he saw me and his already bright smile doubled in intensity. Nothing makes Father Ben happier than an enthusiastic volunteer.
“Kate, I was hoping I’d see you. Delores told me you’re going to start going through the in-kind donations.”
“Absolutely,” I said. Honestly, I wanted to tell him the truth, but I’d been too well trained to break Forza’s strict rules. “I wanted to pitch in with more than just typing. I mean, I know there’s quite a lot of work to be done.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” he said.
“Always happy to help.” I sounded way too perky for someone offering to sit in a dark room and wade through dusty boxes probably filled with spiders. I couldn’t seem to rein in my tone, though.
Fortunately, Father Ben either didn’t notice or didn’t find my enthusiasm odd. Then again, even if he did, why comment? As it was, he was about to pick up a slave laborer. Why insult her by telling her she’s nuts?
We arranged a time to meet on Monday, and were just wrapping up our conversation when Allie and Timmy scrambled up. (In all fairness, Timmy was doing the scrambling. Allie was tagging behind him, her face a familiar mix of irritation and amusement. I knew that expression; it used to be mine.)
“Mom! Grab him, already!”
I reached out and managed to snag my runaway munchkin with a quick shift to the left “Gotcha!”
He erupted into peals of giggles and went limp, falling to the ground and squealing, “No tickling, Mommy,” when he very clearly wanted desperately to be tickled. I complied, managing to avoid flailing feet as I caught him in one big tickle extravaganza. While he squealed, I scooped him up and let him hang upside down as I said good-bye to Father Ben and promised to see him in the morning.
Only after Allie and I were heading toward the car—me with a limp bundle of boy—did I realize that I could hardly spend the day plowing through church records with a toddler clinging to my thigh. I could barely sit down long enough to check my e-mail without Timmy throwing a fit. Several hours in a basement expecting him to behave just wasn’t feasible.
I frowned, considering my options. I could count on Laura to watch him once or twice, but unless I was extremely lucky (doubtful considering the direction of my luck lately), I wasn’t going to find the answer by Wednesday.
Bottom line? I was going to have to find a day care, not to mention pay for it. That was something I couldn’t keep secret from Stuart, and the thought of discussing it with him made my stomach hurt almost as much as the idea of leaving my baby in someone else’s charge during the day.
Allie must have caught my expression as I was strapping Tim into his car seat. She frowned, then started to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Then, being fourteen, she changed her mind again. “Mom?”
“Yeah, hon?”
“Oh, nothing. No big.”
I could tell from her voice that it wasn’t nothing, but in a particularly bad mommy moment I pretended to be too caught up with my toddler to notice. I gave Tim’s straps a tug, handed him his sippy cup and Boo Bear, then trotted around the van to the driver’s side. By the time I slid behind the wheel, Allie was already buckled in. She looked fine, but she was picking at her fingernails, peeling away the purple glitter polish she and Mindy had so carefully applied last night.
Damn.
I dreaded answering questions that I didn’t want voiced, but at the same time, I couldn’t really assume this was all about me. For all I knew, Allie had a deep and desperate crush on one of the altar boys.
I waited until I’d maneuvered the winding road that led from the cathedral back down to the Pacific Coast Highway. Then I headed north toward our neighborhood, the Pacific Ocean on my left and my daughter—moody and quiet—on my right.
“Anything you want to talk about?”
Her shoulders lifted. “Uhdunna.”
I thought about that for a second, then interpreted it as I don’t know. Ah-ha! Progress.
“Are you worried about school tomorrow?”
Another shrug, this one accompanied with an “I guess.”
It was an opening, and I grabbed it. I was pretty sure school wasn’t on her mind at the moment but since I didn’t have any other leads, I jumped in with both feet. “You’re going to be fine. You have, what three classes with Mindy? And most of your junior-high friends are going to Coronado. Give it a month, and you’ll forget you were ever worried.”
Behind us, Timmy was carrying on a serious conversation with Boo Bear. I glanced toward the backseat and he flashed me a sleepy grin, then pulled the bedraggled bear closer. I didn’t need to look at my watch to tell it was getting close to naptime.
“I know,” she said, still picking at her fingernails. “It’s not that.”
“Boys?”
“Mo-ther!” She arched her back and tossed her head, letting loose a sigh of exasperation. Now, this was the kid I knew. “It’s not like I always think about boys.”
“That’s good to know,” I said. I kept my eyes fixed on the road, afraid that if I looked at my daughter, I’d crack a smile. “I’m very happy to hear that.”
From the corner of my eye, I could see her shaking her head, completely annoyed by the pain-in-the-butt who was her mother.
&n
bsp; I was out of options, so I kept my mouth shut over the next few miles. At least she wasn’t brooding anymore, so I counted that as a minor victory. Unfortunately, if she really wasn’t worried about school or boys, then that left family. Or some other completely unrelated problem that I knew nothing about.
Neither possibility appealed to me.
Timmy’s soft snores drifted to the front of the van, and I realized I’d missed my window of naptime opportunity. I should have gunned the van all the way home and gotten him into his crib right after Mass. Now that he was asleep, this was it. Never once had I managed to transfer him from the car to the house without waking him, and once he wakes up, he’s good to go for the rest of the day.
I love my little boy, but I love him even more after a two-hour nap. Trust me. Fifteen-minute naps result in rampant crankiness. And that goes for both toddler and Mommy.
I considered my options, then tapped the brakes as we approached California Avenue, the main east-west thoroughfare that divides San Diablo. I made a right turn and headed east following the road as it cut through the canyons before leveling out when we hit San Diablo proper.
“Where are we going?” Allie asked. I understood her confusion. Our house is in a subdivision off of Rialto, the road just north of California Avenue. While the city planners should have put in a few more cross streets, they didn’t, making it impossible to get to our house from the avenue without going through half the town and then doubling back on Highway 101.
“How does the mall sound?”
She eyed me suspiciously. “Why?”
“Tim’s asleep. We go home now, and we’ve got Terror Toddler on our hands.”
“So you’re just going to let me shop while you sit in the van with Tim?” From her voice, I could tell she was expecting a punch line.
“Either that or we can stay in the van together, and you can drive it around the parking lot until Tim wakes up.”
That got her attention. “No way! Really? You’d let me drive the van?”
“Slowly, in a parking lot, with me in the passenger seat. But yeah. Under those conditions, yes, you can drive the van.”
The legal driving age in California is sixteen (with an adult in the passenger seat), but kids can get a learner’s permit at fifteen, so we’ve got eleven months to go. I’d already told Stuart that I wanted Allie licensed up and comfortable behind the wheel as early as was legally possible. While I’m not crazy about the idea of my daughter manipulating three thousand pounds of metal while going sixty-five miles an hour, I’m resigned to the fact that eventually, yes, she will be a licensed driver. I figure practice makes perfect.
My current plan to go joyriding in the half-empty mall parking lot wasn’t exactly legal, but I didn’t care. Timmy would get to finish his nap and Allie would have a blast. Besides, I drove all over Rome at fourteen. Allie’d had a different kind of life (thank God), but she was still a competent and responsible kid.
At the moment my competent and responsible child was gaping open-mouthed at me. “Who are you, and what have you done with my mother?”
“Very funny,” I said. “Very original.”
“You really mean it?”
“No, I’m lying to you in a pathetically involved scheme to torture you throughout your adolescence so that when you’re older you can write a tell-all book, make a million dollars, and retire comfortably. But I’m doing it all for love.”
“You’re weird, Mom.”
“So I’ve been told.”
We’d reached the mall entrance, and I turned in, passing the Grecian columns that in my opinion look positively ridiculous in the California coastal landscape. The developers, however, hadn’t bothered to ask my opinion, and the whole mall was built around some ridiculous Olympian theme.
As I’d expected, the parking lot near the food court was full, but the lot that faced the south entrance was mostly empty—just a smattering of cars near the doors and a few farther out, most likely employees. I pulled into a spot, left the engine running, and got out. As I walked around the van to the passenger side, Allie lifted the armrest, then scrambled into the driver’s seat and settled herself behind the wheel. As I slid back inside, she was busily adjusting her mirrors.
“Good to go?” I asked.
“Yeah. This is great. Mindy’s going to be so jealous.”
“Let’s focus on operating the extremely heavy motor vehicle and worry about gloating later, okay?”
“Sure, Mom,” she said, perfectly happy.
I unfastened my seat belt and turned around, facing backward so I could check out Timmy. I leaned all the way over, reaching out to grab one of his straps. I gave it a little tug, just to make sure. He was in tight and seemed down for the count. I readjusted myself in the seat and, as I was fastening my seat belt, caught sight of Allie rolling her eyes.
“Parental license,” I said. “Even if you’re the best driver on the planet, I’m allowed to worry.”
She didn’t even bother to respond, instead reaching down to crank the engine. Since the van was already idling, the Odyssey didn’t take too kindly to the maneuver, spitting back a growling, gear-burning kind of sound that made my daughter jump.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I do that all the time.”
Attempt number two went smoother, and she pulled forward, a little hesitant at first, but then getting into a groove. “Not bad,” I said. “I think you’ve done this before.”
Her grin was wide, and I knew she was proud of herself. “Not recently,” she said. “And you’ve never let me drive the van.”
That much was true. Before we bought the Infiniti, Stuart and I used to occasionally let her drive the old Corolla around the high school parking lot. But until the new-car smell faded, I doubted Allie would get much of a chance to drive Stuart’s pride and joy.
I pointed her toward a wide-open area, and she drove in circles for a while, then laid out a few figure eights, and finally put the van in reverse and started to drive a straight line going backward.
“Show-off,” I said, but I know she could tell I was proud.
She brought the van to a stop, then shifted again, accelerating until she reached a twenty-mile-an-hour cruising speed. Her eyes were fixed on the road when she spoke, so softly that at first I didn’t even realize she was talking. “Daddy used to let me drive.”
“What?” I’d heard the words, but I hadn’t quite processed them.
“Daddy used to let me drive,” she said, this time more loudly. Defiant, almost, as if she were daring me to challenge her.
I tugged at the shoulder strap of my seat belt, pushing it away from my neck as I turned in my seat. “When did he do that?” My voice was measured, but my heart was beating fast, and not just from the mention of Eric. I’m not sure how I knew—her tone maybe, her mannerisms—but we’d moved on to whatever had been bothering her earlier. This was it. Mom was on deck, and she had to get it right.
“When I was little. About six, I think. He used to put me in his lap. He’d do the pedals since I couldn’t reach, but I got to steer. He said it was our little secret.”
“Eric,” I whispered with a little shake of my head. “You nut.” Eric loved to share secrets like that. Little things that only he and you had. Our marriage had been like that—three months before our official retirement we’d been married in a small church in Cluny. We’d told no one, but those months before our “real” wedding had been precious.
He did other little things, too. Secret notes, anonymous presents. Those memories had always been special, but after Eric died, they became cherished. And I’d always been a little sad to think that he’d died before he could share secrets with his daughter.
But he hadn’t. I should have known that Eric would never have gone and died without leaving one or two special memories for Allie. That just wouldn’t be like him.
“Mom?” She tapped the brakes, slowing to a stop.
I realized I was crying and brushed a tear away. “Sorry, sweetie.
I just always loved your daddy’s secrets. I’m glad he shared one with you.”
Her lips pressed together, and for a second I thought she was going to cry, too. When she didn’t I realized that the corner of her mouth was twitching just slightly, and that her cheeks were a soft shade of pink. I knew then that the driving was only one secret and I fought my own smile as I said a silent thank-you to Eric. He’d left us unexpectedly, but he’d still managed to leave a little legacy for his daughter.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back, then tentatively tugged her hand away. When she started picking at the nail polish again, I realized we hadn’t yet gotten to the meat of things. I stayed quiet. Sooner or later she’d tell me what was on her mind.
When she started to shift the van back into drive, I realized it would probably be later. But then she let go of the gearshift, leaving the van in Park and the engine running. “Does he have something to do with this? Daddy, I mean?”
Not a question I’d expected, and I was grateful she’d spoken to the steering wheel rather than to me. “With this? What’s this?”
“You know. The self-defense stuff. And Mass. You haven’t dragged me along in a while, and then all of a sudden …”
No dummy, that kid of mine. “What makes you think it has something to do with your daddy?”
“Dunno,” she said, even though she obviously did. “I mean, I’m super-psyched about the kickboxing stuff, but …” She trailed off with a shrug.
I squinted at her, trying without success to read my daughter’s mind. “What?”
“You used to do all that stuff with Daddy,” she said. “But yesterday you were doing it with him.”
My chest tightened and I raised my hand to my throat. “You remember that?” My voice was barely a whisper. Eric and I used to spar a bit when Allie was Timmy ‘s age, maybe a little older. As she grew up, though—and as we became complacent living demon-free—we’d fallen out of the habit. Chasing a toddler was exercise enough, and we were having too much fun being parents to keep up with our training.
“Sorta,” she said. “I remember sometimes you guys would let me play, too. I had my own sword and everything.”
