With Brianna in the lead, Nellie plodded on. Her feet were too heavy. It wasn’t until she’d reached the edge of the giddy pack that she understood.
The bike had been hoisted almost to the top of the flagpole. Bucky stood below, holding on to the rope, which Rodney kept grabbing at without daring to get too close, the way you’d try snatching a stick from a roaring fire. Roy sat on his bike, black satin shoulders hunched, staring at the ground.
“Sorry, Freak!” Bucky howled with each of Rodney’s fearful attempts. “You had your chance and you blew it!”
“Give it to me!” Rodney grunted, head down like an abused dog.
“All I wanted was a ride,” Bucky said, smirking as he wound the rope around the pole cleat.
“No, you took it. You just took it, that’s what you did,” Rodney said, his dull voice breaking.
“Aw, c’mon, Bucky,” a boy finally called.
“Okay, I’ll trade you,” Bucky told Rodney. “Gimme your jacket.”
“No!” Rodney crossed his arms, hugging himself.
Two younger boys next to Nellie and Brianna laughed nervously.
“Jesus, you gotta give me something.” Bucky’s leering eyes scanned his audience, savoring their attention, their uneasiness. It wasn’t the bike he wanted or even Rodney’s misery, but this, control over everyone, their disapproval all the more exhilarating for him. “Fair’s fair, right, Nellie?” He smiled at her.
Maybe if her glasses hadn’t been so smudged she might have acted sooner. Or maybe because they were so smudged everything around her was blurred enough so that when she stepped forward, all she could see was shape, a featureless outline on brittle paper, the pages so fragile, the old, turned corners would crumble in her fingertips.
“Give him his bike.”
“Oh, okay, Nellie. Sure, whatever you say.”
“You feel really important, don’t you?” Fear and loathing—she could smell both in his nasty breath.
“Go fuck yourself, okay?” The excitement of his breathing pounded in her own ears.
Just as she touched the rope, he unwound it from the cleat, then shoved her out of the way. The bike fell onto the concrete pad in a crash of mangled metal parts.
“What the hell’d ya do that for?” he laughed. “You wrecked it!”
“You jerk!” she yelled, storming back at him.
Reaching out, he snatched off her glasses. “You’re fuckin’ cross-eyed!” he howled, staggering with laughter.
She grabbed for her glasses, but he danced back, ducking and weaving, dangling them high over her head, laughing as he told her to stop, please stop, because she was just going to get hurt. And with that she lunged at him. He swung back, punching her so hard her head shook with the jolt and her arms dropped to her sides. A shrinking pinprick of light gleamed through the end of the long, narrow tunnel.
“Leave her alone!”
“Jesus,” someone said.
“Oh, my God!”
“Nellie!” Brianna screamed.
Rodney Shelby was lifting her to her feet. Brianna was trying to put her glasses back on her. Bucky pushed his way through the shocked children. They’d never seen such a thing before. Roy was rocking back and forth on his bike.
SHE WAS ON the couch. Henry kept pressing a bag of frozen peas against her cheek. Her father ran into the house. Ruth had called him at the store. She was afraid Nellie had a concussion. She’d looked it up in their medical encyclopedia and Nellie had all the symptoms.
“You’re falling asleep again. Don’t! You can’t!” Henry told her again, his bony shoulder pressed into hers. Ruth said he had to keep her awake. Every time her eyes closed, he’d nudge her and call her name as if she were in another room or outside. She’d never felt so strangely, distantly weary.
“She got in a fight,” Ruth whispered. “Bucky Saltonstall.”
“What do you mean, a fight?” her father asked.
“A fistfight!”
Looking stunned, her father sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. He removed her glasses, then with two fingers lifted the lids in each of her eyes and peered closely. She smiled with his touch.
“Nellie, what on earth is going on? You had a fight? You hit someone?”
“It wasn’t her fault!” Henry said. “She was just tryna do the right thing.”
“Since when is hitting someone the right thing?” her father asked, but he was looking at her.
“When someone hits you first because you’re tryna help somebody?” Henry’s voice quavered. “That’s when!”
“But this keeps happening, doesn’t it, Nellie?” her father said, shaking his head. “And every time it get worse, doesn’t it? Every single time.”
“Dad!” Ruth said, coming into the room. “You don’t even know what happened. And besides, look at her, she’s so out of it.”
She was trying to stand up. Her legs were still wobbly so she had to sit down. Her head ached, but things were starting to clear. She knew what came next. Her father told Ruth to call her mother at the salon and tell her he was taking Nellie to the emergency room.
“No,” Nellie said, standing up again, this time managing to stay on her feet. “That’s not where I’m going.”
“Come on, hon.” Her father had his arm around her on their way to the door. He called back for Ruth to get her sister’s jacket. A light snow had begun to fall, the first of the season. Ruth asked if she and Henry could come. He wanted to—she said he was crying. All right, her father said. Go back in and get him.
“No,” Nellie said. “Nobody can come. Not now.”
“All right,” her father called after Ruth. “Nellie’s right. We’ll do this. We’ll be right back. Tell Henry I’ll call from the hospital and let him know what’s going on.”
He was looking over his shoulder and backing out of the driveway when she said she had to go see Detective Des La Forges. He thought she wanted to report her injury to the police. White flowers were falling. Lacy petals melting on the windshield. Snowflakes.
“But first let’s make sure you’re all right, okay?” he said as he turned on the wipers.
“Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”
He drove slowly down the street, trying to avoid bumps and potholes. “And then after, we’ll figure out what to do. Probably the best thing—and I’m sure Mom’ll say the same thing—is to call his grandparents. They should—”
“No, that’s not why. I have to tell him about Mr. Cooper.”
“Nellie!”
“I know, and if I’m wrong, then … then that’s okay.” Her eyes wanted to close. The swish of the wipers back and forth, back and forth was making her stomach queasy.
“Oh, Lord, Nellie, please, let’s not—”
“I’m just gonna tell the truth, Dad, that’s all.” Her tongue felt stiff.
He kept driving, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. They were two blocks from the station. The closer they got, the slower he seemed to drive. So far, they had stopped at every yellow light. The next one was turning yellow when he suddenly sped through it. He drove past the police station.
“You’re not gonna take me?” She was stunned.
“Nellie,” he pleaded. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”
Springvale Hospital was another mile ahead. With every blue H sign they passed, her thoughts became clearer. He didn’t have to come with her. No one did. She could do this by herself.
“Here we go,” he said, turning into the emergency room parking lot.
He had parked and was coming around the back of the car to open her door, but she was already out and walking away from the hospital toward the street. He hurried after her, insisting she go back and see a doctor. He kept trying to reason with her. She wasn’t thinking straight. The most important thing was her health, making sure she was all right, and that’s all he was trying to do here, he explained, protect her, keep her safe. That’s all he’d ever wanted. She did know that, right? And not just her, but all of them. “Your mother,
Ruth, Henry.” He was growing breathless. “This whole thing, it’s all been so … ugly. And what’s the point? Why on earth would you put everyone through all of that again? Especially your mother!” He took her arm and stopped her. “Why?” he demanded so desperately she didn’t know what to say. “Don’t you know what this will do? Don’t you care?”
She didn’t answer—just kept walking with a dizzying sense of elation. He kept pace, both of them silent now, the only sound from cars whizzing by on their way home from work. It was suppertime. Her stomach was growling. For the first time in weeks she was hungry, but not for food. She felt bad for her father. She had a jacket on, but he didn’t. His shoulders and the top of his dark hair were skimmed with snow. Odd, she thought, how it melts when it hits the ground, but doesn’t on his head. Her glasses were wet.
Gripping the railing, she walked up the front steps of the police station with him close by her side. He pulled open the door and held it for her. Instead of what she expected, policemen milling around a large room, they were met by a glass partition. Behind it a woman with spiked orangey blond hair spoke to them through a grate. She asked her father why he was here. She didn’t even look at Nellie, who recognized her as the parking meter lady.
“To drop off an accident report or file a complaint?”
“Is Detective Des La Forges here?”
“Sure, but he’ll wanna know why.”
“We’d like to speak with him, that’s all,” her father said and the woman rolled her eyes.
“Name, please.”
“Benjamin Peck. And this is my daughter, Nellie.”
“Oh yeah, sure!” the woman said. “From the hardware store. Hey, I heard you’re closing. That’s too bad.”
“Thank you,” her father said.
“Yeah, jeez, what am I gonna do now every time I need a key made?”
“Buck Buster’s, on State Street—they make keys,” her father said.
“Yeah, that’s where I went last time. Only cuz your machine was broke,” she added, then pushed a button on her console to tell the detective he had people waiting to see him.
Detective Des La Forges looked thinner than the last time Nellie had seen him. And sure enough, he was telling her father that he’d lost twenty pounds and had never felt better. Well, he certainly looked great, her father said. Soup and salad, the detective explained, for both lunch and dinner. And three fruits for breakfast. Any three he wanted. With yogurt. Low-cal, of course.
“Sounds easy enough,” her father said.
Detective Des La Forges nodded, then peered at Nellie. “Everything okay?” He pointed to her face. “Looking pretty bruised there.” He looked back at her father. “That why you’re here?”
“Is it? Is that why?” her father asked gently, hopefully, as if to give her one last chance, then before she could answer, he said, “No. No, it isn’t. We’re here b … b … because Nellie wants to … she wants to talk to you about something.”
“Sure,” the detective said, looking at her. “Anytime, I told you that. Even when it’s over, people still have questions. A trial—there’s just so much information, it can be confusing.”
“It’s not about the trial. It’s something I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, but I didn’t.” She took a deep breath to contain the whirling dizziness.
Des La Forges held up his hands. “Stop right there. No explanation, no apology needed. That was a heck of a lotta pressure for a kid, and you did a good job. You got a little off course there, maybe,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the desk. “But then you rallied.”
“Thank you,” Nellie said. “But that’s not what I want to talk about.”
“Oh. Sure. Go right ahead then. So what’s going on?” He flashed her father the quick smile of a commiserating parent.
“My father doesn’t think I should tell anyone this, but the thing is, I don’t think one man’s life is more important than anyone else’s. And I know not telling the truth is just as bad as telling a lie.” She wondered if she was making sense. Afraid she was slurring, she tried to speak more slowly. “That day, when Dolly died, well, there was another person there that day, at our house. It was afternoon, about one o’clock. And he didn’t want me to see him. He was, like, trying to squeeze back into the lilacs. And his face was scratched, but it couldn’t’ve been from the bushes, I know it wasn’t.”
“Who? Who was it?” the detective asked.
“Mr. Cooper,” she said.
“Huh?” the detective shook his head.
“Andy,” her father said with halting gravity, as if he were exposing his own daughter as well. “Andy Cooper. Nellie, she came out and saw him. Looked like he was trying to hide.”
“Andy Cooper! I don’t get it. What’s the connection?”
“Mr. Cooper was Dolly’s boyfriend,” she said certain now that she was going to have to go through everything all over again.
The detective looked stunned. “How do you know?”
“Because I used to see him there sometimes. And because I just know, that’s why.”
THE SNOW WAS falling faster as they walked back to the hospital parking lot. When she told her father she didn’t need to see a doctor, all he did was nod. He was upset. The most he’d said was to warn her about the slippery sidewalk and wonder how much snow would fall tonight. There hadn’t been anything on the news. When they got in the car, he turned on the heat but not the wipers, then sat looking at the windshield and its snowy stare back. He took a deep breath but instead of speaking, groaned.
“Don’t be mad at me. Please, don’t,” she begged in a small voice but knew he wasn’t angry. He was disappointed, once again, painfully disappointed in her, and couldn’t begin to hide it.
“I’m not mad. Why would I be?” He tried to smile but only looked sadder. “You did what you had to do, what you thought was right.”
“Maybe they’ll prove it wasn’t him, and then—”
“No, Nellie, that’s not it.” He closed his eyes a moment and then he looked at her. “You see, even when you were a baby, I knew how very special you were. And how … how good I’d have to be as your father. But then …” He kept nodding. “The time came when you needed me most, and I let you down. I failed you. And that, that’s the worst thing, the worst thing of all.”
“No, you didn’t!” She couldn’t bear seeing him so distraught. “You just didn’t know, that’s all. I mean, I’m just a kid and I say all these things and—”
“No, I knew. I knew something was going on. And Cooper, he knew I knew. I’d seen him coming out of there a couple times. But neither one of us said anything.”
“Why not?” She sank back against the door.
“Weakness.” He shook his head in disgust. “Such an easy companion. Always tells you exactly what you need to hear. I couldn’t stand the thought of letting your mother down again, the way I always have, so I just told myself, ‘No, that’s not what it is, it can’t be. Impossible.’ Even after, when you told me, I didn’t want to hear it. I couldn’t.”
“But why?”
“I wasn’t good enough, strong enough.” It almost seemed like a question, the way he looked past her, tilting his head, puzzled and ashamed. “I wanted to be. But I wasn’t.”
Yes, you were! You were! she wanted to reassure him, instead, cried, “But why? Why weren’t you?”
“Because it wasn’t just you I couldn’t hear it from, it was me. I stopped listening to what’s in here,” he said, hand pressed to his chest. “I wanted to keep believing that everything I’d always believed in still mattered, that everyone was good and decent, so I started making excuses for myself and everyone else, and then, it was just easier to look the other way and tell myself that as long as I did the right thing, as long as I led a good life, everything would be all right in the end.”
“But all those things you said, Dad, all those things you told me, and the whole time … I mean … poor Max!” she sobbed.
“I know. But I kept th
inking, what if it was. What if it was Max, how could I do that to the Coopers? What right did I have?”
“But it wasn’t up to you, Dad. Was it?”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” he groaned, leaning his forehead against the wheel. “I’m so, so sorry.”
They both were. But what she felt most keenly in the cavelike closeness of the snow-covered car was the great expanse between them. The one fixed point in her life, and he was a blur. If she hadn’t known her own father, who then could she know?
Chapter 27
THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED MOVED SLOWLY. NELLIE WANTED to be hopeful for Max, hard though with such uneasiness, such dread in the house. She could tell that her father was relieved, but now whenever he tried to be upbeat, it seemed thin and forced. Especially with her mother, whose initial shock had given way to fear. Of everything, Charlie dying, another trial, their future.
Mr. Cooper had only been questioned. He hasn’t been arrested, Nellie’s father had to keep reminding her mother. “Who knows how this’ll play out? We just have to be patient, that’s all,” he said.
“Oh, sure, Ben, sure. If he did do it, then he goes to jail. And if he didn’t, then he’s really going to want to do business with us, right? And if he did it, but they can’t prove it, then what? We’ve gotta always be worrying about this killer who hates us? Especially Nellie?” The butcher knife chopped in double time on the cutting block.
Her mother was dicing celery for the turkey stuffing. Thanksgiving was two days away, and she’d been really busy at the salon with all the last-minute appointments, so she was trying to prepare as much of the food ahead of time as she could. This year Lazlo would be bringing his sweet potato and marshmallow casserole that they all loved. Aunt Betsy and Uncle Phil were also coming, but because Aunt Betsy was a terrible cook, she was only ever asked to bring canned cranberry sauce and bakery rolls, which she inevitably had some big story about—how the first bakery had been closed, and the only other decent one was way up in Mountcliff, then after creeping through bumper-to-bumper traffic, the parking lot was full and the only spot she could find was two blocks away, which meant she’d had to walk through just the worst gale force wind, and once she got inside, she’d had to wait in line for almost an hour, only to get them home and find one bag three rolls short, so, believe it or not, back she’d gone. Every year was a new version of the extraordinary effort it took to buy two dozen snowflake rolls, which always left Nellie conflicted, guilty if she ate one, guilty if she didn’t.
Light from a Distant Star Page 35
