by Merry Jones
‘I hope they do it soon. Lou’s out driving in this.’
‘He’d call if he had a problem, Ma.’ Unless, of course, the mob had snuffed him.
Vivian met her eyes, and Harper saw her mother’s alarm. They both knew where Lou was; presumably, he was out meeting the guy who was going to loan him money so he could pay back the mob guy who’d taken a hit out on him. Vivian had reason to worry, and not just about slippery roads. But Harper couldn’t think about that right then; the only thing on her mind was food. Hungry yet again, she went to the kitchen counter, opened the drawer with the take-out menus. Rifled through them until she found one for Napoli’s pizza.
‘Why don’t you call him?’ Sty suggested.
‘He told me not to. He doesn’t want interruptions while he’s doing business.’
‘Business? Today? In this storm?’
Vivian nodded, chewing her lip.
‘What kind of business is he in?’ Evan ignored Sty’s scowl.
Vivian looked at Harper, who was studying the list of optional toppings and hadn’t even heard the question.
‘Well. He does a few different things.’ Vivian stood, began collecting empty cocoa mugs. ‘This is a finance deal, I think.’
Sty glared at Evan who sneered back.
Harper picked up her phone, punched in the number. Decided to be cordial. ‘Anyone else want pizza?’ The call was ringing.
‘You’re ordering pizza?’ Vivian fretted. ‘What about Lou?’
‘Ma. We don’t know when he’s coming back. I’m not waiting.’
‘But he should be back any time now. He bought food.’
‘So? Wait if you want. But I’m not, and Lou’s not here to cook his food—’
‘No problem. We’ll cook it,’ Sty stood, rubbing his hands together.
‘Napoli’s.’ The guy had a Brooklyn accent. ‘Hold a sec.’
‘Seriously. Nobody’s delivering pizza on these icy roads.’ Sty raised his eyebrows, waiting for approval. ‘And Evan and I are quite accomplished in the kitchen. It would be our pleasure.’
‘No, really.’ Harper shook her head. It was time for the boys to go. ‘It’s okay.’
‘Why that’s lovely of you,’ Vivian spoke at the same time. ‘Lou went to the supermarket yesterday.’ She opened the refrigerator, gesturing for them to join her. As Harper waited on hold, her countertops filled with chicken breasts, fresh garlic, baking potatoes, olive oil, lettuce, walnuts, apples, cheese, and she gave up, disconnecting the call. Soon, the kitchen smelled of sautéing garlic. Dishes clattered and commotion reigned, and, despite the tantalizing aromas and her mounting appetite, she once again marveled that she had nothing to say about what happened in her own home.
About halfway into the meal, Harper stopped chewing long enough to tune into the conversation. It took a few more minutes for her to realize that Vivian had begun pointedly to ignore her. Not speak to her unless it was absolutely necessary. Not even look at her except with disdain. When she asked her mother to pass the rolls and Vivian ignored her, even Evan noticed it.
‘Here, I’ll get them.’ He reached across Vivian to get the basket, glancing from mother to daughter with caution.
‘So,’ Sty tried to stimulate conversation. ‘The storm seems to be letting up.’ He nodded at the sliding doors to the deck.
‘Maybe Lou will make it back soon.’ Vivian knitted her eyebrows. Her food was almost untouched, but she’d emptied most of a bottle of wine. ‘I thought he’d be back by dinner.’
‘He’s probably being cautious.’ Sty sprinkled pepper on his potato. ‘In these conditions, he’s probably moving slowly. Did he go far?’
‘He’s fine, Ma.’ Harper’s tone was flat and final. She slathered butter on a sourdough roll. ‘Stop worrying.’
Vivian turned to Sty as if Harper hadn’t spoken. ‘What have you boys been doing for fun now that it’s winter break?’
Evan cleared his throat.
‘Not much. I’m pretty boring, I’m afraid,’ Sty said. ‘But Evan’s been busy with his singing group, doing community performances.’
‘Really?’ Clearly, Vivian wasn’t listening. Her mind was elsewhere, with Lou.
‘Retirement homes, hospitals, malls. Places like that.’ Evan swallowed wine.
Vivian stared into the air, not touching her food. Not responding.
‘How nice.’ Harper answered for her.
Evan smiled awkwardly.
‘In fact,’ Sty served himself salad, ‘a few nights ago, when Evan returned from a performance, he found you and the police combing the woods under boom lights. It appeared to be quite a circus, right, Evan?’
Evan looked at his baked potato.
Harper stopped chewing. ‘Were you both there?’
‘Oh, no.’ Sty glanced at Evan. ‘I was out, at a social engagement. But Evan told me about all the commotion. What exactly were you looking for? Detective Rivers mentioned an assault?’
‘I saw a fight.’ Harper watched his reaction. Sty was looking at Evan with a faint smirk. As if he were taunting him.
‘A fight? Because we – well, Evan and I – obviously, we’ve talked about it. And we’ve come up with a theory. Tell them, Evan. Or should I?’
Evan shrugged sullenly. Licked his sore lip. Refilled his wine glass.
‘Our theory was – oh, wait. Have you been following the news? Because our theory involves a recent news story. Coincidentally, a young man went missing – what was his name again, Evan?’
Evan glowered, didn’t answer.
‘Sebastian Levering,’ Harper said.
‘Yes. That’s it. So you’re aware of the story? Well, are you also aware that he was last seen on the very same night that you summoned the police here? So here’s our theory: We think that there’s a connection between his disappearance and whatever you witnessed in that patch of woods out back.’ He put his fork down and leaned over his plate. ‘We think that you might even have actually witnessed his abduction.’ He looked at Harper, waiting for her to respond.
Harper dabbed her mouth with her napkin, concealing her expression. She had the distinct sense that Sty was playing with her. Or maybe with Evan. Either way, he was clearly amusing himself with this conversation. And with this topic.
‘Well?’ He grinned. ‘What do you think? Is our theory credible?’
Harper swallowed chicken. ‘I have no idea. I saw a fight, that’s all.’
‘But couldn’t Sebastian Whatever-his-name-was – couldn’t he have been involved in the fight?’
‘Good God, Sty. How would she know?’ Evan squeezed the stem of his glass. ‘If she’d seen that kid, she’d have told the police, wouldn’t she?’
‘That’s precisely what I’m asking.’
‘You’re asking her what she told the police?’ Evan’s jaw tensed.
‘Like I said, I told them I saw a couple of guys fighting.’ Harper tried to sound light. ‘But the police didn’t find anything, so they assumed it was just some kids messing around, drinking too much.’ Well, they assumed that at first, anyway. She thought of the key she’d given Rivers, wondered if it would unlock Sebastian Levering’s door.
Evan and Sty were still silently watching each other. Exchanging ugly glares.
‘What, Evan? You look upset. You’ve told me that I should be more spontaneous. So I’m trying; I’m making spontaneous conversation. I thought you’d be pleased, but apparently, I’ve offended you.’
What was he talking about? Spontaneous conversation? Maybe Evan was tired of Sty constantly dominating the conversation. Or maybe it was something else – something to do with the topic of Sebastian Levering. Again, Harper pictured the fight, the naked guy struggling in the cold, being dragged off into the woods. Maybe it really had been Sebastian. Maybe the key would fit his door.
Maybe Evan or Sty had been involved.
Sty sipped wine. ‘Well, it’s just a theory. Actually, they’ll probably find that young man alive and well very soon. Disappearances li
ke his aren’t uncommon. Thousands of people go missing every year; most turn up unharmed on their own. In fact, statistically speaking, he probably simply ran away.’
They sat quietly for a few minutes, eating. Except Vivian. She hadn’t eaten a bite, hadn’t said a word, wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. She drank wine, checked the clock, kept sighing and fidgeting.
‘Dinner was delicious,’ Harper felt the need to speak, compensating for her mother’s silence. ‘How did you guys learn to—?’
‘Oh – shh! Listen!’ Vivian sat straight. ‘Is that a car? Is it Lou?’ She bolted out of her chair, flew to the window.
Harper followed. Outside, a truck lumbered up the street, plowing and spreading salt. No sign of Lou.
‘He’s all right, Ma. Relax. He’ll be back soon.’
Vivian’s only response was the quiver of an eyebrow.
Harper went back to the table and, with the boys, began clearing plates. But, shoulders sagging, Vivian stayed at the window, watching the street.
Evan was on his second shot. The bar of the Pixel Lounge in Collegetown wasn’t crowded, only a few lonely losers who had no place to go for Christmas week. It had taken him the better part of an hour to walk there, but he’d refused to go back inside the fraternity. Not just because of the room freshener smell. Mostly because, if he had to spend another minute with Sty, he’d kill him. The thought of Sty, their fight and his smugness afterwards, his arrogance – and that taunting conversation at dinner – as if daring the motorcycle chick to put it together. Evan gulped his whiskey and ordered another. His stomach churned, his chest burned – his fingers tightened, aching to dig into Sty’s throat.
Sty. Evan had him figured out: Sty needed to feel that he was in control. It was that simple. He was all about being in charge. And now that Evan was rebelling, he was beginning to come apart. Like that conversation at dinner about the kid and their so-called frickin’ theory? Suggesting to the motorcycle chick that she might have witnessed the kid’s abduction? What the hell was he doing? What happened to being careful and not deviating from his all holy Plan?
No. Evan was done. Finished. Walking away. Literally. After dinner, he’d kept walking, gone right past the fraternity. And Sty had been frantic.
‘I’ll spray more air freshener. Besides, you’re up on the third floor; you won’t smell a thing.’
Evan kept moving down the street.
‘Where are you going? It’s a skating rink out here; you’ll fall on your ass. Come on, Evan. Come back.’
But he hadn’t gone back. No way was he going to obey Sty. He’d slipped and slid all the way across campus to Collegetown, deciding that he was done, finished. He would help Sty dump the kid, simply for the sake of self-preservation. But then, to hell with him.
Maybe he’d kill him. He stared at the warm glow of bottles behind the bar. Thinking about sneaking into Sty’s bedroom, slitting his throat. Watching his eyes open in surprise.
‘It looks like some kind of fairy land out there, doesn’t it?’ The guy slid onto a stool beside him, even though there were plenty of empty ones. Invading his space. He ordered a beer. Put a twenty on the bar.
‘Glad I have my Jeep,’ he told Evan. ‘It can take the ice. Otherwise, I’d be holed up down by the lake. Man, I had to get out of there. Cabin fever.’
‘Trust me. I know what you mean,’ Evan nodded. ‘This whole week, I’ve felt like the last guy on earth, all alone in a fraternity house.’
‘Yeah?’ He shook his head, pulled his jacket off. ‘So you know what I’m talking about. It gets weird being alone in the dark and cold – I lost power. Ice must have pulled the wires down. So I can’t even watch the tube. Shit, I can’t even see where I am.’
‘Well, no worries, man. You made it here. Let me buy you a drink.’ Evan patted the guy on the back. Looked him over. He wasn’t skinny like the first kid, but he wasn’t exactly a lumberjack, either. No question: With the element of surprise on his side, he could take him. Besides, he was experienced now. Knew how to avoid mistakes.
Evan smiled, asked the guy why he was still in town. Found out his room-mate was away until next semester; his parents newly divorced and, to avoid choosing between them, he wasn’t going to see either of them.
So no one would be looking for him for a while.
Evan told him he’d lost both his parents in a car accident. That going home wasn’t an option. They stared at the bottles together. Evan ordered shots.
He pictured Sty, the look on his face when he’d find out what Evan was doing. Evan almost laughed out loud, imagining it. No question, this move would shift the balance of power, would teach Sty a lesson so that, maybe, he wouldn’t have to get his throat slit.
The guy’s name was Steve. Evan figured he was about 5’ 9”, weighed about 160. He was kind of scruffy, hadn’t shaved lately. Other than that, he’d make a perfect Christmas gift.
Ice coated the sidewalks and street, the snow on the ground. It glazed the trees, making their branches crystalline. It hung from eaves, coated parked cars. Under the streetlights, it made the night glisten.
Harper gazed at the ice from her bedroom, its beauty lost on her. Its only effect on her was to make her feel even more imprisoned. She longed to escape, take off on her Ninja, roar through the streets, feel wind slapping her face. ‘Not for a while.’ She patted her tummy, reminding herself that she wasn’t alone, not the only one imprisoned. In fact, the baby had it worse, had no diversions. No television, no phone.
‘It looks like fairyland out there,’ she told it. Slumping against the pillows, she turned on the television. Thought of Lou, wondered if he was driving around on slippery streets. He had finally called and talked with Vivian for a long time. Afterwards, Vivian had seemed calmer, but still wouldn’t talk to Harper. Wouldn’t even say where Lou was or when he’d be back.
‘Is he okay, Ma?’ Harper had asked.
Vivian had turned her back. ‘What’s it to you?’
Harper had refused to argue. ‘Is he on his way home?’
‘All you need to know is that Lou has taken care of business, just as he promised. He has the money to pay back his client, so you won’t be inconvenienced any more.’ With that, Vivian had retired to the guest room, leaving Harper without as much as a goodnight. Punishing her.
Harper refused to feel guilty. What did her mother expect – that she would welcome a criminal into her home, even with bombs flying and hit men after him? No. The man had lied to her – even about his name. He had hidden a gun in her house. The list of offenses went on and on. She had no reason to feel the slightest bit of guilt.
So why did it bother her that Vivian wouldn’t speak to her?
Stop it, she ordered herself. You’re taking a stand. Defending your home and unborn child. Setting standards. It’s Vivian, not you, who’s in the wrong.
She looked at the television, then out the window. Felt rotten. Despite everything, Vivian was her mother, her blood. Right or wrong, they should at least be on speaking terms.
Except that she wasn’t the one not speaking to the other. Didn’t she have to draw a line? Was it wrong to insist that Vivian respect her – or at least not endanger her?
Right or wrong didn’t matter; Vivian would never understand those subtleties. Couldn’t see beyond her own needs.
Even so.
Harper’s mental argument went on. At one point, she got out of bed, walked down the hall to the guest room, even raised her hand to knock. But she froze, unable to bring her knuckles to the door. She stood there for a moment, then returned to her room, got in bed and stared sleeplessly at the television or the stack of dissertation materials – the papers and books piled up beside her computer.
At some point, she dozed off, television still on. So the sounds of tires cracking ice and a car engine didn’t rouse her at first. But when a car door slammed shut, she opened her eyes, sat up and looked outside. Lou was back.
‘You’re still up?’ He closed the front do
or. ‘Where’s your mother?’
‘In bed.’ Harper sat on the stairs. ‘She was worried about you, driving in this.’
He nodded, smiling. ‘I talked to her. She didn’t need to worry. I’m all right.’ He set a duffel bag on the floor, unbuttoned his coat. Moved lightly, almost dancing, to the closet. ‘Well, you can relax now, Harper. My old pal Ritchie loaned me the money so I can pay Wally back in full, with interest and a margin for error. All I got to do is let Wally know so he’ll lay off us. Maybe you and your mother will make up and we can stay the way we planned. Everything’s gonna be fine.’ He looked up the steps past Harper, then at the satchel. ‘You know what? I think I’ll do that right now.’
Now? It was one in the morning. But Lou didn’t seem to care. He took out his phone, placed a call. Walked into the living room to talk privately, but his voice got louder, less cheerful. ‘Really? Well, you tell him he’s not getting a red fucking nickel unless he backs off.’ Silence for a moment, as he listened. ‘Bullshit, Rita. You tell him this: tell him what goes around comes around.’
Harper eased down the steps, listening.
‘He crossed a line with that bomb . . . You don’t? Well, you do now. He had a damned bomb thrown in the house . . .’ Another pause. ‘Warning? I didn’t need a warning. I already was getting his money – he had my word. Really. Well, neither is his mother’s. Guess what – you tell him this: He messes any more with my girl or her family, he better put his affairs in order. You bet I mean it. He’s not the only one with connections. I got his money. So tell him to lay off. Whenever he wants. Fine.’
Lou dropped the phone into his pocket and turned around, cursed when he saw Harper at the door.
‘You shouldn’t ease drop.’
Ease drop?
Grumbling, Lou walked past her to the plastic-covered window. ‘You could get in trouble.’ He moved a curtain and peered out of an undamaged pane.
‘What just happened, Lou?’
‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’ He looked up the street and down before stepping away.
‘Bullshit. Who were you talking to? Was it Rita, that woman who called?’
Lou licked his lips, avoided Harper’s eyes. ‘She’s an old friend. Wally and her – they’re off again on again. She says Wally won’t take the hit off me until he’s got the money in his hands. After that, he says he’ll back off and leave you and Vivian alone. And maybe – get this – maybe he’ll even let me live. Asshole. As if he’s some big-time Al Capone. Needs to get his balls kicked.’
