“I forgot about it,” Martin said. “Come out on Saturday and meet Carmen and Christy. Christy is coming for her birthday.”
Crook added, “And the ex-wife and the sister.”
“Awkward,” Sandra answered. She almost laughed. “No thanks.”
Then Crook stepped closer. He said, “If Hauk operates on an internal clock like most rapists, he will be back to see you soon. Do not be afraid. He will want the money, and he will want you to bring him to it. Can you do that?”
Martin watched Sandra think this through. After a few minutes, she looked at Crook and said, “Yes, I can do that.”
Chapter Fifteen
Vehicles of every make and model filled with teenagers drove slowly up and down Main Street while Sandra waited at a side street stop sign. Religious Education was over and they would risk a few turns before going home. Watching the kids she knew go past was annoying. Why was this fun? What did they know? They were all stupid kids.
Then her throat tightened. She knew she would never have fun again. She spent her Wednesday night with three old men planning revenge. She stopped short of hating her school-mates. She stopped herself. It was not Kirby’s fault that he existed and it was not their fault that she feared for her life. She had to stay calm.
The street cleared and Sandra crossed. Sandra took side streets to her fastidious white, two story house on the corner. She entered into the kitchen from the garage. Her mom and dad watched the ten o’clock news and Sandra heard the familiar voice from the TV as she opened the kitchen door. She considered taking the stairs directly to her room to avoid but it crossed her mind that she should say goodbye, no, not goodbye just goodnight.
She went to sit on the footstool in front of her mother’s chair. She had no words to say, but she allowed herself to soak in the warmth. Her mom reached out her hand and stroked her hair.
“Your teacher called that you did not attend class tonight. She mentioned that you have not attended since your return. Your father and I were wondering if you have an explanation for that.”
Sandra stiffened. Her whole body turned into a taut wire ready to snap. She answered without looking at her dad who leaned forward in his chair and went so far as to turn the TV off. She did not look at her mother either though she wanted to shake her mom’s fingers from her hair. She said, “I have better things to do on Wednesday night. I hang out with friends.”
She knew her mother was trying not to cry. “Why are you crying, Mom?” she asked and the anger spilled out in her voice.
Her dad, always so defensive, said, “We are trying to understand.”
“Don’t,” Sandra told him. “You can’t understand. Give it up and leave me alone.”
Her mother dropped her hand as though burned. Sandra reached for the remote and turned the TV back on. She stood. At the doorway, she turned and said, “Goodnight.”
As she brushed her teeth, she considered how little her parents had actually nagged her. She considered how desperately they were trying to understand. Well, she told herself in the mirror. They can’t. They can not ever, not ever know anything about it.
As she lay in the darkness, she thought about the baby. Only as long as no one suspected a baby was she safe and how could they not? How could her mom and dad not suspect a baby? How could Hauk not suspect a baby? He just didn’t care unless he could extort something. Did Hauk know Crook was at the farm?
Did her parents believe her story of camping, of falling down the rocks where Bill Bendix found her? Yes, Sandra thought, they choose to believe her. Deputy Carl wrote down the story. His shoulders all hunched and his lips pursed like some freaking bird ready to pounce. The search ended.
She thought perhaps when the time was right, she would tell her mom. Then she thought no. She would never tell. It would go away if Hauk were dead. Hauk would protect himself by getting rid of her if he could. She needed a preemptive strike. Would he hurt the baby? Was Kirby a threat? Sandra decided he did not give a rat’s ass about the baby, only her.
Her thoughts ran in circles as the hours ticked by in the dark stillness of her room. She watched the morning light fill in the spaces around her furniture until the light rested on her quilt in a long rectangle. It was time to get up and go to school. Only at basketball practice did she forget for a few blessed hours.
Meanwhile, she stayed low-key and quiet. She talked sparingly with friends, and avoided all social activities. Everyone knew she did not have a steady boyfriend. That might partially explain why they did not put two and two together. The change in her was not obvious because the change had actually begun last fall. Her friends already adjusted to the shake of her head. No, she would not go. Even her best friends accepted that Sandra wanted to be left alone.
Her religion boiled down to a single constant low rumble of desperation. Sometimes she felt close to slipping, to giving up, telling that Hauk had touched her. Then on the very verge of cracking, she crawled back from the precipice while gripping the rosary in her pocket.
As she showered and dressed, dried her hair, she heard her mom downstairs. She wished for the old days when she ran the steps and gulped breakfast and talked with her mother in the natural chatter that now was absolutely impossible.
Well, she thought, nothing bad is going to happen today. I have a plan. I will be the bait and Crook will be the hook. When Hauk was gone her life would be normal again.
Chapter Sixteen
Late Saturday morning the words, “Daddy, you’re better!” rang through the kitchen as Christie ran for Martin’s leg. Christie’s birthday cake with seven candles sat on a lace cloth in the middle of the table. Carmen was two steps behind Christie and was forced to shove her sister in order to get her own spot at Martin’s waist. Carmen would not be five until November.
When Martin turned from the stove, adjusted his children and looked up, he looked square into the deep green eyes of Nancy. His stomach lurched and his mouth went dry. Nancy held her lethal stare and the angry set to her jaw.
What had he done? He forced himself to carefully set the potato masher on the stove. Then he jerked his eyes away from the gravitational pull of his ex-wife. Martin bent down to lift both girls in his arms. Carmen grabbed his hair for support. “Daddy is some better, but not all better,” Martin told Christie.
“You can talk,” Carmen commented on this fact with eyes showing an awareness that cracked Martin’s heart.
Martin struggled to a kitchen chair and sat down, adjusting his daughters onto his knees. He asked Christie about pee-wee softball and Christie informed him that it was T-ball.
“I am the best player. You will not want to miss seeing me next year.” Her expression and tone were both admonishing and wounded. He held the sturdy, strong little girls for several minutes without talking, and they allowed this.
Maureen entered the kitchen, arms full of bags and boxes. She chatted quietly, like in a hospital wing, as Nancy helped to sort things and place a salad here and dessert there. Then the two women sat on chairs at the kitchen table, and looked at the renovated white cupboards and butcher block countertop, the level crème walls, and new sink and appliances.
Even a brown and yellow-stripped curtain with tie backs hung on the new kitchen window. “The kitchen looks very nice,” Maureen said.
Christie wanted to look at the house, and Martin released her. Carmen was happy where she sat, but Christie ordered her to come along.
“Stay off the scaffolding,” Martin warned them and found his voice choked. Since Wednesday evening after the Revenge Club meeting, he had been emotional, almost weepy. In comparison to months of struggle to find any feelings at all, this sudden turn baffled him.
He was close to his memory now: the memory that paralyzed him. He felt it hovering. He could almost touch it, but when he reached out, it moved away. He was afraid of his memories and glad to focus on other things.
He smiled at the two women in his life. Nearly the same age, both women were strongly attractive. All resemb
lance ended there. Though Nancy graduated cum laude from Minnesota State University with a degree in economics, she never held a job in her life. Her work was house, home, and family, and second to that was being beautiful and perfect in all things.
In stark contrast, Maureen started working at age twelve as a waitress and had never stopped working. Maureen’s degree was in Computer System Management from South Dakota State, and she was an expert in her field. She never married, nor did she have any children.
Martin knew while Nancy discussed fashion and flower arrangements and went to yoga class, Maureen went to work in the school gymnasium as a statatician.
Still, the women got along well when they had to be together. His sister made concessions to get along with Nancy because Maureen loved him. Nancy made no concessions and was blissfully unaware that concessions existed. At one time he loved that about her.
The two women sat like vultures. He had written to Nancy as a courtesy that he had a son. Martin knew they hovered in wait to see Crook and, even more so, Kirby. At least Nancy would now believe Crook was real, as real as Kirby.
However, Martin had no intention of discussing either Crook or Kirby. What was Cook or Kirby to Nancy? Martin did not think about what Nancy felt regarding a new baby in the family. He had too much to think about for Nancy to fit inside his head at all.
Christie’s birthday marked a near two-year anniversary since the divorce. The divorce was blurry and unimportant in his memory. When he tried to touch it like an old bruise, he felt nothing there. The divorce was necessary because she had to protect financial interest and because she could not stand to be around him. He did not care then, and if the facts be known, he did not care now.
It was three years ago that he sat at his kitchen table and opened the St. Paul newspaper. Before his eyes was the picture of a young man lying dead as the result of a construction accident. The accident occurred in the building of the new Brewer’s baseball stadium in Milwaukee.
He was not prepared to see that picture. The angle of the picture was from overhead like looking down from a hay-mound onto the milking-stanchions below.
Within days of seeing that picture he had rolled into a tight ball, a deaf and dumb ball. His next real memory was Crook knocking with his knuckles on Martin’s head. Nancy disappeared during that time. He recalled fighting to keep Carmen and Christie in his mind, but he couldn’t. He suffered a mental collapse. Only Maureen stayed in his mind because she had always been there. She had been in his life before Joe died.
Martin heard Nancy’s voice now and looked up. He forced his thoughts away from his past. Later he would have to think about it, think it all through, but not now. Now was Christie’s birthday party. The memories tightened his chest and made his hands shake. It was not so easy to focus away from them once they started.
Suddenly Martin did not want to be around Nancy. She looked skinny and ratchet-faced and nasty, the way she waited to see Crook and Kirby.
He did not want to see Nancy because she was a mirror of his previous self. A surge of rage toward Nancy that he knew to be unreasonable filled his chest and tightened his arms. He stood, left the women as they sat and went to retrieve his daughters for dinner.
“Time to eat,” he said to Carmen and lifted her onto a chair.
The five of them sat at the six-foot table. Martin and Christie sat on one side facing Nancy and Maureen who sat in front of the window. Carmen had an end all to herself. Martin felt better, focused on his family. He watched Nancy place cloth napkins neatly under Carmen’s and Christie’s plates. No one talked other than the careful politeness of “please” and “thank you.”
Maureen smiled across the table at Christie. She had suffered from Martin’s absence more than Carmen. Sensing that Christie did not enjoy the silence, Maureen said, “It is a big change in the house in four weeks, believe me.”
Martin studied his sister. When he saw the love in her eyes a new surge of warmth suddenly closed his throat.
Maureen said, “We should have birthday cake on the porch. It is beautiful.”
They talked about the house for a long time. Martin’s eyes rested on Maureen who had whimsy in her look, always a little haphazard, always approachable. However, both women had skill at conversation. So, dinner rolled along smoothly and the girls looked happy.
Nancy said, “This table is lovely, Martin. I don’t remember this being in the house.”
Martin told about the table and its source. Then he said, “Crook did the sanding after I showed him how to run the sander. Actually he did a lot of it by hand.”
“Oh, really,” Nancy responded. “You let Crook help. I’m surprised as you were always such a perfectionist.”
Martin knew there was something wrong with Nancy’s tone only because Maureen glanced at Nancy with a quick, worried look. Was it the mention of Crook? He thought it was, so he said, “Crook is a fast learner. He is very scheduled.” Martin paused, fork in hand. “He works well with knives.”
On the counter behind Martin sat three new chess pieces, all perfectly carved, all finished to a gleaming polish. Crook was trying to broaden his horizons and had created knights.
Maureen softly interrupted, commenting on the roast and potatoes, that they were delicious. Then she stood and walked to stand between Martin and Christie. Maureen lightly touched his shoulder. Her hand felt warm and soothing. Maureen stroked Christie’s hair and commented that the girls would do the dishes.
“Where is Crook?” Nancy asked, looking down, hiding her face behind her hair.
“He’s in his room, watching Kirby,” Martin answered. He showed no anxiety on that topic or interest in pursuing it.
However, the kitchen was suddenly thick with silence. Martin had said aloud the word “Kirby” and he saw Nancy stiffen like a post in her chair. Nancy’s reaction baffled him. He said, “Does it matter to you that I have a son?”
Nancy glared at him. She said, “Of course it matters, Martin. It matters to Carmen and Christie.” She paused, breathing slowly. “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”
“I didn’t,” Martin answered.
At that moment Christie returned. “You can sit in the windows, Momma,” she said. Nancy made no answer.
Maureen said, “Show me.”
Martin and Nancy sat looking at each other in the silent kitchen. Nancy said, “Join the real world for a minute, Martin.” She slammed her fist on the table and Martin jerked upright. She had his attention.
She said, “It all matters. Your lawyer will not allow a final financial settlement until you are capable of input.” She spoke slowly and distinctly, accenting each word. Martin felt offended by her manner.
Nancy continued, “As it stands now I am guardian of your money though your lawyer watches like a hawk. If there is another woman in your life and if there is a new child in your life, that matters. Think about the money!”
“Oh,” Martin said. He sat back in the chair and tried to think about the money. He thought Kirby would soon need a real crib. He thought Crook would need some new clothes. He dressed very hospital. Martin nearly reached for his pocket to pull out the spiral notebook to make a list, but he did not. Nancy meant something more in her words.
“How much,” he asked.
“Millions,” Nancy said. “Between the money you made and the way I invested it we are comfortable. It is complicated to separate yours from mine. The lawyers are licking their lips.”
Martin found it extremely difficult to continue with this conversation. He had one point to settle; after that the lawyers could take care of it. “None of this includes the farm?” he asked.
Nancy shook her head. “Not other than the inordinate amount of money you’re spending on it.”
“I have money to spend,” Martin said.
Nancy nodded. She pushed away from the table.
Martin also stood. His head hurt. He walked slowly through the house, preferring to think about his work. Only the porch, kitchen and a new ba
throom where the laundry used to be were actually livable. The children could run under the scaffolding through the living room and dining room, or up and down the staircase in the foyer. Crook’s room upstairs was the one formerly occupied by Joe because of the door to the bathroom. Martin installed a semi-kitchen with a hot plate and refrigerator and sink. It was temporary, until Martin could re-do the walls, but it was clean and functional.
After a minute, Martin heard Nancy say, “Be careful climbing around, Christie, you will get dirty, and watch your sister.”
“Not likely she will get dirty,” Martin answered to no one. “Crook is a compulsive neat-nik. Everyday he cleans through those rooms like they were a surgery.” A vision of Crook removing beer cans, grumping and swearing, crossed his mind. Martin smiled. He wanted his coat and thought to go upstairs and get it when Christie found him and took his hand.
Martin took the girls for a walk. The grove was turning colors, and Martin showed them the old garden spot and apple orchard. He showed them the tree and the bench and his hiding place.
Martin thought as they walked through the high, scratchy weeds around the orchard how Nancy had loved him when they were both newly out of school. He had completed graduate work and she had her Bachelor’s degree. Hadn’t she loved him? “No,” he said aloud, “She loved how slick and beautiful I was.”
Realizing he said the words aloud he glanced about for the girls. They looked at him from the apple tree and then returned to their work at hand which was throwing rotten apples at each other.
Martin and the girls returned to the house with quiet feet. All three of them knew their raggedy appearance would not go unnoticed. They entered the kitchen to see Maureen and Nancy facing each other at the kitchen sink. Had they not seen them walking to the house?
The women were engrossed with their own words. Nancy said with cold scorn, “That was the man I married. I do not know this ridiculous man with his pencil and notebook and lists.”
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