Rawlins went directly to a small closet at the back and rifled through some shirts and pants while Todd just stood there, overwhelmed. This was the shadow of Zeb's life, his few possessions, his pathetic home. So just how was Todd related to all this, if at all?
Todd spotted a black canvas suitcase against the wall, lifted it, noted that it had some weight to it, then took the bag and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Unzipping it, he found a makeshift dresser: socks and underwear filling one side of it, some T-shirts and a pair of jeans in the other. In a small side pouch Todd discovered a manila envelope filled with papers. Looking inside that, the first thing he found was a color photograph.
“No doubt about it, this is Zeb's place,” he said, studying the picture. “Here's a photograph of Ribka and him.”
Rawlins had returned to the kitchen, where he was opening the one overhead cabinet, and asked, “Anything else?”
“Just a sec.”
Peering into the envelope, Todd spied a stack of papers, which he dumped onto the mattress. It was a file of sorts, Zeb having gathered all of his important papers together. There were a couple of letters postmarked Santa Fe—hadn't Janice said that was where his mother lived?—some photos taken somewhere in the mountains, his birth certificate, a couple of old grade-school report cards, his social security card. And finally a blood-donor card, which Todd studied carefully. It was from a blood bank in Santa Fe, and it listed not only Zeb's blood type as AB but that he had twice given blood. The last time had been three and a half years ago, which Todd figured would have been just prior to Zeb's reunion with his father in Colorado.
“Nothing really in the kitchen or bathroom,” said Rawlins, having gone over them a second time. “How about you, find anything?”
Todd stared at the blood-donor card, realizing that it could hold the answer to the most pressing question on his mind. Did he even dare mention it to Rawlins?
“No, nothing,” said Todd, stuffing everything except the donor card back in the envelope.
“Not even any telephone numbers?”
“Nope.”
“Then where did he sleep last night?” asked Rawlins. “I mean, he had a baby with him, and I'm just assuming or rather hoping that that was his own kid, that he somehow got her back. You don't suppose he knows someone else in town, do you?”
“I have no idea. Maybe we should stop by some of the shelters.”
“That's not a bad idea.” Rawlins checked his watch. “Shit, I have a deposition downtown in twenty minutes. Can you give me a lift? I think we found everything here that we're going to, don't you?”
“Yeah,” replied Todd as he got up, for he'd potentially discovered far more than he'd hoped for. “Let's go.”
27
Like the roar of an approaching jet, the deep, steady rumbling grew with each moment, and Janice was glad for it. She recognized what the sound meant: liberation. There was, however, no aircraft aiming right for her house or even approaching the nearby airport. Instead, Janice turned around at the kitchen table where she sat and saw the top of a huge blue truck barreling down her alley. The plows were out in full force, and quite obviously they were making good progress. At least now she'd be able to get her car out of the garage. Thank God for small miracles.
Less than ten minutes ago she'd walked in the door after meeting Pat, and the phone had been ringing. She'd charged in, grabbed the cordless phone, and dropped herself at the breakfast table. It was Todd, calling on his car phone to explain that they'd been to Zeb's apartment, not found him there, and that now he was taking Rawlins downtown to the police station. Todd then went on to say he was going to swing by his house, pick up some clothes, and head back to her place in little over an hour. Refusing to go into it over the phone, he said there was something they needed to talk about.
No shit, Sherlock, she thought, still seated at the small marble table.
Wearing her coat, not to mention her Sorrel boots, beneath which had already formed a good-size puddle, she tried to figure out a course of action. Todd was going to come back, and what was she going to do? Of course she was going to tell him she'd just met with Pat. She had to. Somehow she'd thought she might be able to mediate a solution to all this, but after seeing Pat she realized it wasn't possible. So she'd report all that to Todd and…and then, well, she couldn't put it off any longer. She simply had to tell him that which she'd been avoiding for so long, namely that Pat might be Zeb's real father.
She bowed her head, shook it. How had this turned into such a mess? Where were Zeb and Ribka? Were they all right?
She stared down at the phone in front of her. Come on, damn it all, ring! Come on, Zeb, call me! The phone, however, just lay on its side on the small marble table as if it were dead.
She thought back to last night when the intruder had broken in and taken Ribka, and Janice castigated herself for not having been tougher, fought harder. She'd promised Zeb that nothing would happen to Ribka, that she'd guard her with her life. Yet she'd failed. If he didn't already, surely Zeb would hate her for this. God, she'd really and truly blown it. What kind of mother was she? What kind of grandmother? She could take care of no one, protect no one, she thought as her eyes began to bead with tears. Whatever confidence Zeb had been hoping to find in her, she'd lost. He gave her a second chance, and she'd ruined it. Oh, shit, she thought, staring at the phone, she'd be surprised if Zeb ever spoke to her again.
Suddenly the phone rang.
She jumped in her chair, and at first she couldn't believe it. Then she lunged for the handset.
“Hello?” she said, unable to hide the desperation in her voice.
“It's me.”
Her voice immediately started trembling, and she asked, “Zeb?”
“Yeah.”
She bit her lip, could barely speak. Yes, that was his voice. Just get a grip, Janice.
“Thank God. Are you—”
“You've got to come get us,” he interrupted.
“What?”
“You've got to pick us up.”
“Sure. Of course. Anything. Anywhere. Do you have Ribka? Is she with you?”
“Yeah, I've got her.” He hesitated, then asked, “You didn't…you didn't just give her to that guy, did you?”
“What?”
“Paul, this guy from The Congregation, had Ribka. I snuck up on him—that's how I got her back. But…but you didn't just give him to her, did you?”
“No! God, no!” She put her hand to her chest. “Zeb, believe me, please. He broke in and—”
“So I can trust you?” he asked bluntly.
“Absolutely.”
“He didn't hurt you, did he? Are you all right?”
“What?” said Janice. “I'm fine. But what about Ribka? What about you? You're not hurt, are you?”
“No, but listen, we're at a phone booth in front of a gas station. It's cold. And something terrible just happened. I'll tell you all about it, but you gotta come get us now, right now.”
“I've already got my coat on.”
Zeb gave her the address, and within seconds Janice was out the back door, tearing through the sun and snow to her garage.
28
Todd drove into the dark, cavernous garage of his condominium building, removing his sunglasses so he could see. After he'd parked in his stall he headed to the lobby to check his mailbox, which he did in a daze, taking the staircase down and past the security desk, couch, and several chairs, then crossing to the bank of boxes at the far side. All he could think about was Zeb's blood-donor card. What should he say to Janice?
As Todd lifted his key to his mailbox a figure stepped around the corner and said, “Hello.”
Todd barely looked up and replied, “Good morning.”
He was in no mood to talk about yesterday's storm or today's sunshine, whether any of the snow would melt or if there was another blizzard on the way, and he reached into his box and grabbed a handful of mail. All he wanted to do was gather some clothes and head ba
ck to Janice's, for they had more than a few things to discuss.
“I recognize you,” said the voice of the nearby stranger.
It wasn't so much the voice but the manner of speech that gave Todd's heart a jolt. He stopped still. The guy had an accent, a very slight one, didn't he? Or was it the tone, was that what seemed familiar about it? Either way there was something unmistakably familiar about the voice, and Todd turned slowly to the side. A man was standing there, hair thinning and graying at the temples, face pale. His body none too thin, the face slightly round. White shirt, narrow tie, sport coat. He knew the voice, but not the guy, not really.
The man smiled just a bit and continued, “But you don't recognize me, do you?”
Todd's heart began to beat altogether too quickly. This man, this would-be stranger, echoed to the past, and Todd stared at him, saw a double image, one from the past hidden beneath this present vision. Oh, shit, he thought, staring at him. It couldn't be.
Todd cleared his throat and asked, “Pat?”
“Very good.” He nodded and grinned slightly.
“What…what are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk. Can we?”
“Sure.” Nearly too stunned for words, Todd started to lead the way toward a sofa in the lobby. “Have a seat.”
“I was hoping we could talk privately. Perhaps in your apartment?”
“My apartment?” asked Todd, unable to hide his hesitation.
“Don't worry,” said Pat, sensing Todd's concern. “I mean you no harm. There are just a few things, well, we need to discuss.”
“Okay.”
Yeah, there were a few things, thought Todd. Like why Janice had called him. Like why he was now in town. Like what had really happened over twenty years ago.
Dear God, thought Todd as he headed toward the elevator, Pat a half step behind. Unbelievable. It was in fact Pat. The last time he'd seen him had been that fateful December at Northwestern—Pat had been some skinny kid caught up in the mysteries of sexuality and of death. And now, Todd realized as he stole a glance, here he was more than two decades later, the epitome of a middle-class, middle-aged man.
Entering the elevator car, Todd pushed the button. As soon as the doors closed and the lift started moving upward, he couldn't hold it in.
“You know, I've never forgotten about what happened. That was one of the worst times of my life.”
Pat, his face serious and grave, looked up and asked, “What?”
“I mean…I mean what happened at Northwestern. You know, when Greg was killed and all the crap that happened afterward.”
“Oh, that.” He shook his head. “I've put it all behind me. Forgotten it. Much more important matters these days, you know.”
It jarred Todd. He stood quite frozen as the elevator carried them upward, thinking, am I crazy? Didn't something truly awful happen, which not only left one guy dead, but altered both Todd's and this guy's lives? Of course it did. More than once over these long years Todd had thought that if it hadn't happened, if Greg hadn't spied on them that night, so much for both Todd and Pat would be different. The incident had driven Todd further into the closet; and wouldn't Pat have finished his education at Northwestern instead of fleeing his life at the university?
Instead, it was as if Pat and Todd had been in some huge car accident together, and Pat was not only saying no big deal, but dismissing its significance in the course of their lives.
Nearly at a loss for words as they got off the elevator and started for his apartment, Todd said, “God, Pat, I'm just so…so shocked to see you.”
“Until this morning no one's called me Pat for years. I go by Rick now, but you can call me Patrick if that makes you more comfortable.”
Okay, thought Todd, as he unlocked the door and ushered the way in. However you want it.
Strolling past Todd, Pat entered the sunny living room and glanced around. “Nice place.”
Todd halted on the edge of the room and then watched as Pat surveyed the black leather couch, the glass dining room table, and then crossed all the way to the sliding glass door of the balcony. As the sun poured in on him he peered out, obviously eyeing the frozen white image of Lake Calhoun.
“I understand last year was pretty rough for you,” said Pat, staring out, his back to Todd.
“What can I say—I'm out of the closet now.”
“What?” Pat turned around. “Oh, yes. I understand. You're open about being homosexual.”
“And you?”
“And me what?”
What was with this guy? Didn't he recall what they had done, how intimate they had been? Pat had not only begged for sex, in the case of their basement encounter he'd forced it to happen.
Todd asked, “Are you out of the closet or in?”
“Me, homosexual? Heavens no. That was a phase I was going through, back then, you know.” He shrugged and looked right at Todd. “Lying with another man is a mortal sin. It's against Scripture. I worked on all this, studied very hard, and prayed very hard too. And it paid off. The Lord Jehovah had mercy upon me.”
Todd stared at him. “What are you saying?”
“I've since been sexually rehabilitated.”
“Rehabilitated? What does that mean?”
“It means the demonic spirits were cast out of my body.”
“Pat, what are you talking about?”
“Simply that homosexuality is not the will of Jehovah, and through devotion and study I've been cleansed.”
Todd didn't know what to say. “Gee, and all I tried was electric shock aversion therapy.”
“Yes, well, my hands, my mouth, my anal canal—all of them were cleansed of ungodly deposits of semen.”
“What?”
Pat glared at him, then said, “Perhaps you don't know, but I was married for a long time and we have a son.”
This was crazy. Fucking crazy, thought Todd. And to make it even weirder, at the very same time Todd was aware that Pat or Patrick or whoever this guy was looking him up and down. Checking him out. Their eyes met, and Todd's heart clanked.
Squinting into the glaring light, Pat turned away from Todd and looked back to the view of the oval lake. “Janice was right, you are looking quite well.”
“You talked to her, didn't you? I know she called you last night.”
“She called, and I just saw her, actually. In fact, I came right here after we met.” Pat started to say something, stopped, then continued. “Todd, I came to see you today because I need your help with something.”
The only thing that might have surprised him more than this visit was this request. And rather than pleasing Todd, a slow sense of dread began to fill him. This, he knew, wasn't going to be pretty.
“And what's that?” asked Todd.
“Then you'll help me?”
“What do you want me to do?”
Pat smiled. “You haven't changed much—still the cautious one, still waiting for others to make the first move.”
“Perhaps. And I suspect you're just as manipulative, as driven to get whatever you want.”
“I'm sure that's not meant as flattery.” Pat cleared his throat. “Anyway…I imagine you're aware that many years ago Janice had a baby.”
As if an enormous bookcase had just fallen over, everything crashed still inside Todd. He had a glimpse of the truth, and suddenly he was short of breath. It couldn't be, he thought. Yet…yet it made sense. Too much sense. All too easily it would explain why Janice had avoided telling him.
Pat was staring at him, a wry grin upon his face. “Ah, so you didn't know that Zeb was my son.”
Todd went over to the couch and dropped himself down. Janice and Pat had screwed? He could barely imagine it, the two of them in bed together.
His voice by no means as strong as he would have liked, Todd said, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You want details?” Pat smiled. “Before I devoted my life to God, Janice and I—how shall I put it?—enjoyed carnal pleasur
es.”
“I can't believe it.”
“Oh, yes. And from that union our son was born. When Janice decided to abandon the child, my new wife and I decided to adopt him.”
There could have been other guys, maybe the entire proverbial football team. It was possible. But it wasn't, not really. First of all Todd knew Janice, knew she wasn't one to throw herself around.
“When?” demanded Todd, feeling betrayed.
“When what?”
“When did you and Janice have sex?”
“Um, let me see, it was that week I left Northwestern.”
“You mean right after Greg was killed?”
“Yes, I suppose that's correct. I suppose it was just after he died. Right, that's when Janice and I drove out West.”
Sure, thought Todd. They were talking about a few days in a woman's cycle. Either Janice had been fertile when Todd and she had slept together, or she had been a few days later when she'd slept with Pat. It was that simple.
Suddenly Todd was jumping to his feet. “God damn it!”
He stormed across the room, stopped at his coffee table. There were a couple of magazines. A book. Just as he'd felt at Janice's, he wanted to hurl them across the floor. Smash them. Throw them at Pat. He wanted to open the balcony door, hurl something right out the window and over the edge. Janice had been his girlfriend. Pat, his secret lover. And those two, the two people he'd been the most intimate with, had actually slept together?
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