“But you didn’t have to shoot him.”
“Leave me alone, Chloe. I’ve had enough of you.”
Trace shut his eyes and laid his head against the tattered cushion of the sofa back. After a while, his breathing grew more regular. The Vicodin seemed to finally be taking effect.
Chloe eased herself off the sofa and went into their ugly green bathroom, where she put her face in her hands and cried silently. Trace didn’t like her to cry. He said tears were girly and stupid. Sometimes Chloe couldn’t help it, though. She tried to keep from crying when Trace could see her.
What would happen to them? It was all such a mess. Everything. And it wasn’t her fault. It really wasn’t. She hadn’t shot anyone. She hadn’t even known Trace planned to rob the store.
But she hadn’t pulled out her cell phone and called 9-1-1 right away, either. She hadn’t even tried to save the customer as he lay bleeding to death. Instinctively, she’d aligned herself with Trace. And as much as his words just now had hurt her, she loved him. Trace was all she had.
The pain was making him crazy. That was it. When he was better again, they’d come up with a plan.
After a while, she splashed her face with water and dried it with a towel. Her eyes were red, so she loaded them with eyeliner. In the mirror, she looked like a kid who’d gotten into her mother’s makeup, but it was harder to tell she’d been crying.
She checked on Trace again. At first she thought he’d fallen asleep, but then she noticed he’d sort of drift off before jerking back into a vacant-eyed stupor. His skin was waxy and pale, his forehead hot. He breathed heavily and his shoulder had started to bleed again.
Trace needed help. Needed it badly.
If he saw a doctor, he’d end up in prison. If he didn’t, he might die. She didn’t want Trace to die. Even now, knowing what he’d done. He’d done it for her and the baby. He cared about her. He cared more for her than anyone had in her whole life.
Chloe couldn’t let him die.
She thought of Janet, a woman who used to work at the Craft Connection with Chloe. Janet had a brother who’d been in trouble with the law, but he’d also been a medic in Iraq. Chloe had gone with Janet to the brother’s a couple of times for parties. She hoped the guy still lived in the same ground-floor apartment in the flatlands of Berkeley. And that he wouldn’t shoot her for ringing his doorbell close to midnight.
*****
She tiptoed into the bedroom and grabbed the money she’d hidden under the paper lining of her bureau drawer. She left Trace a note in case he woke up, then she got in the car and drove to the brother’s apartment building. He was still awake. She could tell from the flickering light of the television through the drapes. Shaking, Chloe rang the bell. She couldn’t even remember the guy’s name.
“Yeah, who is it?”
“Chloe Henderson. We met at one of your parties. I used to work with your sister.”
The door swept open. The scent of pot wafted from inside the darkened room.
Jerry, that was his name. Janet and Jerry.
“What do you want at this hour?” Jerry’s large, partially clad frame loomed in the doorway. Either he’d forgotten he was wearing only his boxers or he didn’t care.
“I. . . “
He took an unsteady step forward. “You looking for company?”
Chloe shook her head. “A doctor.”
“A what?” Jerry laughed. “Does this look like a clinic to you?”
“You know people. And you were a medic in the war.”
“Go to the hospital if you’re sick.”
“Please, my boyfriend needs help. He’s been shot.”
Jerry rubbed his eyes and belched. “Take him to emergency. They got to treat him, money or not.”
“He was, uh, involved in something. Something that might get him in trouble if we go to the hospital.”
“What’d he do—deal drugs? Jack a car?”
“Something like that.”
Jerry narrowed his gaze. He seemed more alert than he had when he opened the door. “Why should I help you?”
Chloe felt tears threaten again. “Because I’m scared and I don’t know what else to do.”
“You got money?”
She reached into her purse for the hundred dollars that was her rainy-day stash. Food money for when things got really tight.
Jerry sneered. “A hundred? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Please. It’s all I’ve got.”
He tilted his head and gave her an appraising look. A slow smile spread across his face. “It’s not all you’ve got, sweetheart. Not hardly.”
“It is. Really.”
But Jerry wasn’t listening. He reached out a hand and began kneading her breast.
Chloe froze.
Jerry slid the hand down the front of her shirt and dipped into her pants, next to her skin. “You’ve got plenty to offer, sweetheart. And I just might be interested.”
Chloe backed away, shaking. A sour taste rose in her mouth.
“Up to you. You want to help your boyfriend or not?”
Chloe swallowed. She could do it if she had to. She’d done it before when her stepfather used to slip into her bed. She’d done it many times. All she had to do was close her eyes and take her mind to that safe place far away.
But the words that came out of her mouth were, “I’m pregnant.”
“You don’t look pregnant.”
“Four months.”
Jerry shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me.”
But it bothered Chloe. It seemed a very wrong thing to do.
She bit her lip. “What about a blow job?”
“You want my help or not?”
“A blow job and the hundred dollars.”
He seemed to think about it, then pulled her inside the apartment and reached for his zipper. “That’ll work for a down payment.”
*****
Chloe saw the morning sky outside her bedroom window beginning to lighten. She listened to Trace’s breathing, which was more regular now, and steady. Earlier, Jerry had dressed the wound and helped her move Trace onto the bed.
“Your boyfriend still ought to see a doctor,” he said.
Before leaving, he’d handed her a fistful of pills. “Remember, all I got so far was the down payment. Don’t think I won’t be looking to collect the rest.”
Chloe hadn’t slept at all. But she’d crawled onto the bed next to Trace, pulled the blanket over them both, and tried not to think about Jerry. About what she’d done and what would happen when he came after her to collect.
Now, with the dawn, Chloe got up quietly. She went downstairs to grab the neighbor’s newspaper. If she read it carefully she could put it back before the old woman went out to retrieve it.
Chloe found the headline she was looking for on the front page of the second section: “Store Robbery Leaves One Dead and One Critical.”
So the customer had survived. The immediate relief Chloe felt was short-lived. What if he could identify them?
She began reading in a whisper. “An Alameda County Assistant District Attorney is in critical condition after being shot in a convenience store robbery that left the store clerk dead.”
Her head began to spin.
Oh, God. A district attorney. Could things get any worse?
Chapter 5
In the morning, Diana showered and dressed, going through the motions by rote. She felt as though her body was made of spun glass. She moved stiffly and awkwardly, and when she looked in the mirror, her skin looked dull and blotchy, and there were dark circles under her eyes. She looked like a Halloween mask of her normal self.
She called the hospital again and spoke with the head nurse in ICU. Roy’s condition was unchanged, and no, the nurse didn’t have any other details. The doctor would be in later that morning and perhaps Diana could talk to him then.
No change. Was that good or bad? Diana tried not to dwell on the array of horrible outcomes that were possible, but the
y buzzed around her head like pesky flies at a summer picnic.
Roy had to pull through. He simply had to. He wouldn’t let her down by dying. He’d always been someone she could count on. That was one of the things she loved about him. Roy was solid and responsible.
She woke Jeremy by kissing his cheek, as she did every morning, then sat down on his bed and stroked his forehead. “You were pretty sleepy last night,” she said. “Do you remember my carrying you into the house?”
“Sort of.” He rubbed his eyes. “Is Daddy home yet?”
“Daddy’s had an accident,” she told him, working to keep her voice even. “He’s still in the hospital and I need to go there again this morning.”
Jeremy propped himself up on an elbow. “Is he hurt bad?”
Diana had known she would need an answer to this question, but she’d yet to come up with one. How did you prepare a seven-year-old for the fact that his father might not live?
“Pretty bad,” she said, smoothing the cowlick at his left temple. “I’ll know more after I talk to the doctor. You’re going to stay with Allison again, okay?”
“Today’s a school day,” Jeremy said. “Why can’t I go to school?”
“Do you want to go to school?” That thought hadn’t crossed Diana’s mind.
“Shouldn’t I go? It’s what I’m supposed to do.”
Her dear, sweet boy, Emily’s polar opposite. Emily rebelled at everything; Jeremy followed the rules. Like his dad. And maybe it made sense to keep his day as normal as possible. “It’s up to you,” she told him.
“Can’t I go to the hospital with you?”
“Not this morning, honey. But soon.”
“I guess I’ll go to school then. Tell Daddy I hope he feels better soon.”
“I’ll do that. Now get yourself dressed and I’ll fix breakfast.”
*****
Later, after she’d taken Jeremy to school and spoken with both his teacher and the principal to make sure they understood the situation, she drove to the hospital in the thick of the morning commute. It took her well over an hour, including twenty minutes of virtual standstill at the Bay Bridge toll plaza.
Her cell phone rang as she pulled into the hospital’s parking lot.
“How could you not call me?” Emily shrieked. “My stepfather is shot and I have to hear about it from my friends! How do you think that makes me look?”
It seemed to Diana the better question was, how did it make her feel. But maybe that was what Emily meant. “I’m so sorry, Em. I was at the hospital until late last night and I’m on my way back there now. In fact, I just pulled into the lot here. I didn’t want to wake you and I figured I’d have a better idea how things were going in a few hours.”
“You had to know I’d hear about it.”
“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have called you. I really am sorry.”
“You didn’t think about me at all, did you? You forgot all about me. You always forget about me.”
Diana had learned long ago that arguing with Emily was a no-win situation, and she truly did feel bad about not calling. Emily was understandably scared and upset. Roy might not be her real father, but he’d been more of a constant in her life than Garrick. Still, it irritated Diana that there wasn’t a word of sympathy from Emily.
“I said I was sorry.”
“What happened anyway?” Emily asked. “Why was he even in the Bayview? Isn’t that a really dangerous part of the city?”
“I’m as confused as you.”
“Is it bad? Is he going to die?”
“I don’t know that either. He’s in . . . pretty bad shape, though.” Diana couldn’t bring herself to say “critical.” “I hope to talk to the doctor soon and I’ll call you then. I promise.”
“Yeah, well I won’t hold my breath.”
“Honey, I know you must feel—”
“I’ve got to go, I’ve got class.” The phone clicked off.
“And I’m holding up pretty well,” Diana remarked into the dead phone line. “Thanks for asking.”
*****
At the door to the ICU, Diana paused to take a breath, then she shut her mind to everything but her concern for Roy. She mentally bathed him in a healing white light and willed herself to think only positive thoughts.
After speaking briefly with the duty nurse, she went to Roy’s bed.
She found the machinery surrounding Roy—with its beeps and bleeps and pulsing graphs—intimidating. She was afraid she’d inadvertently disturb something and set off alarms. She edged in next to the IV pole and touched Roy’s shoulder.
“Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”
She didn’t expect a response, and she didn’t get one. But she’d read somewhere that it was good to talk to patients even when you thought they couldn’t hear you.
“Jeremy wanted to come visit,” she continued, “but I told him not yet. Soon though. He says he hopes you feel better.”
Diana smoothed the sheet under Roy’s arm. “And Emily’s worried, too. We all are. We love you. You can’t leave us. You know that, don’t you?”
And then she fell silent because she felt like an idiot talking to herself.
“I can’t stay long,” she told him finally. “That’s the rule in ICU. But I call the hospital all the time to check on you. And I’m going now to find the doctor.”
Roy’s lips twitched slightly. Had Diana imagined it or had his mouth really moved?
“Roy? Can you hear me?” She put her hand in his. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”
Roy’s hand was cold and limp. But after a moment, Diana felt a faint pressure on her hand. Did she imagine it?
“Roy, sweetheart. Are you there?”
Gently, she squeezed his hand and felt him squeeze back. A tremor of joy pulsed through her veins.
And then Roy’s eyes fluttered open.
“Not . . .” His parched lips barely moved, but he was trying to talk.
“Not what?” she asked, leaning her ear close to Roy’s mouth to hear.
“He . . .”
She waited a moment. “He? Who, Roy?”
“Not me.”
He. Not me. Diana struggled to understand.
“You and who, honey?”
“Mia.” His eyes had closed again, but Diana could see the movement beneath the lids. He was breathing more rapidly. “Mia,” he said again.
“Who’s Mia?” Len’s tasteless comment from last night came instantly to Diana’s mind. She hated that an affair would be the first thing she’d think of.
“Who’s Mia?” she asked again.
But Roy’s head had rolled to the side, and his breathing was once again regular. His moment of consciousness had passed.
*****
Diana hung around the nursing station until she was able to corner the doctor on duty that morning. A different doctor this time but just as young. He wasn’t particularly interested when Diana told him about Roy squeezing her hand and speaking.
“Nonresponsiveness is a funny thing,” he told her. “A slight physical response doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“But it must mean he’s getting better.”
“It might. No two people in similar situations are alike. Your husband could wake up tomorrow, or six months from now, or never. It’s fine to be hopeful, but I don’t want you to have false expectations.”
Diana wasn’t someone who always saw the glass as half-full, but Roy’s responsiveness, however fleeting, had given her renewed hope. The doctor’s words rekindled her despair.
“But physically, he’s doing better?”
“He’s stable,” the doctor said. “That’s all we can say for now.”
Diana held her tears until she was outside on the street. And she waited until they’d passed before she called Emily.
The phone rang straight to voicemail. Diana left a message saying Roy’s condition was stable but that it was too soon to know what was going to happen. And she added, “Tak
e care of yourself, honey. I love you.”
It was the way she ended every message she left Emily. Diana had no way of knowing if her daughter even listened to her messages all the way to the end. Emily wasn’t big on follow-through.
Diana wondered if there was anyone else she should notify. She’d already talked to Roy’s boss, Alec Thurston. He’d assured her that his office was working with the SFPD to solve this “horrific crime” as quickly as possible. Diana doubted there was much they could do to help, but the fact that Roy was an assistant DA meant that the investigation wouldn’t fall between the cracks.
Diana had no family to call, aside from a sister in England she rarely spoke to. And Roy had no family at all, at least none he was in touch with. He’d never known his father, and his mother had died when Roy was nineteen. As for Diana’s friends and coworkers, they’d probably heard that Roy had been shot and would offer words of sympathy, but that was the last thing she wanted right now. Pulling herself together enough to respond was more than she could manage.
Except for Allison. Diana and Allison had shared so much over the years that Diana was as comfortable with her as she was with herself. Maybe more comfortable, because where Diana tended to be filled with self-doubt, Allison had a way of putting things in perspective.
As though Allison had read her mind, Diana’s phone rang and Allison said, “Are you at the hospital?”
“Just leaving.”
“Is there any improvement in Roy’s condition?”
“Nothing definitive. He squeezed my hand and mumbled a few words, but the doctor says it might not mean anything.”
“How are you holding up? No, wait. Let’s not do this over the phone. How about I meet you at your place in say, an hour.”
“Thanks. I may need a shoulder to cry on.”
“That’s why you have me.”
*****
Later, when they were settled at Diana’s kitchen table with mugs of coffee and a plate of blueberry scones Allison had brought, Diana recounted her morning’s visit to the hospital.
“He said what?” Allison asked, breaking off a piece of scone and dunking it in her coffee.
“ ‘Mia.’ At least I think that’s what he said. He also said something like ‘he, not me.’ I have no idea what that means.”
Lying With Strangers Page 3
