"Davida Eversong knows a lot of people, Pete," Morrison said. "We're talking a seven-figure burglary on top of a rape. That's a lot of case for you, Marge, and Hollander to handle. I'll pull in a couple of dicks from Burglary."
"Fine," Decker said. "They know the fences better than I do. Just..."
"Spit it out, Pete."
"I want freedom to call the case as I see it. Not that I want to step on any bigwig's toes, but if that happens, I don't want to have to worry about it."
"You do your job, Pete," Morrison said, "and I'll do mine."
Business out of the way, Decker checked himself out on a Code Seven and took off for the safety and normalcy of home sweet home. Lunch at his ranch had started out as a once-a-week affair. Over the last five months he'd increased his visits to three times ¦ a week. The food was better and the amenities were terrific. And despite Rina's occasional weeping spells and flare-ups, she was wonderful company. Whether they talked or just sat around, he never felt as if he had to entertain her. Their conversations, as well as their silences, were natural. God, how he just loved to watch her putter around the house. Rina was a great putterer.
He parked the unmarked in the driveway, whistling as he walked through the door. The living room was still neo-western macho, but Rina had prettied it up with lace curtains and throw pillows on the suede couch and buckskin chairs. Throw pillows with frilly little borders. Yep, he was definitely married. He suddenly noticed that the place was eerily quiet, not even a bark from the dog. He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.
"Anyone here?"
"We're in the boys' room, Peter," Rina called out.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Ridiculous to worry, but he couldn't help himself. Then he processed the we part of Rina's message. We're in the boys' room. The boys' room had been his study.
He went inside. Sammy was dressed in his pajamas, head propped up on a pillow, covers pulled up to his waist. A slight blush tinged his cheeks, his brow was moist. His light-brown hair was mussed and crowned by a brown leather yarmulke. He smiled.
but it seemed forced. Tucked under the blankets, he seemed much younger than his twelve years, much more vulnerable. He and Rina were playing cards, a discard pile set out on a bed tray. She was dressed in a cream-colored cotton maternity dress, the red scarf around her neck giving her face a splash of color. Her hair was braided and knotted and partially covered by a gold mesh net. Gold loops hung from her earlobes. How a woman could look so beautiful in simple clothing, without the benefit of makeup, was beyond him.
Rina was good enough to eat. But with Sammy home, the prospects of romance in the afternoon were nil. Decker walked over to his stepson and felt his forehead, then his cheeks.
"Not feeling too good?"
Sammy shrugged.
"Can I get you anything, son?"
"I'm okay."
"Do you want lunch?" Rina said. "It's a little early."
"I'll fix myself something."
"No, you sit. I'll get you a sandwich."
"Where's Ginger?"
"Being flea-bathed and groomed, poor thing. Hot weather comes and you know how she suffers. I should pick her up as long as you're here. Do you mind keeping Shmuli company?"
"Do I mind?" Decker sat on the edge of the bed. "It would be my pleasure."
Sammy smiled weakly.
"We can call this round a draw, Shmuli," Rina said. "What do you think?"
"It's fine, Eema."
Rina gathered the cards and fit them back into the box. "I'll be back. Turkey sandwich okay?"
"Perfect."
Decker smiled and patted his son's warm hand. "Just woke up like this?"
Sammy nodded.
"Well, you take care of yourself. You gotta drink, Sam. You drinking enough?"
"I'm floating away, Peter."
"Good." Decker put his arm around the boy's shoulders. He sensed a certain amount of stiffness. "Is my arm too heavy for you?"
"I don't want you to catch anything." Sammy pulled away. "I told Eema she shouldn't get too close, either. You know, with the baby and everything."
Decker kissed his cheek. "Don't worry about me. I've got great powers of resistance."
But Sammy held his distance. Decker knew that this was normal. Stepfathers don't take the place of real fathers overnight. Or even over a period of three years. Had it been that long since he had first met Rina? He had been assigned to a rape case; Rina had been a witness. They'd both come a long way since then.
Rina then came into the room with a turkey sandwich and a mound of coleslaw on a paper plate. She was also carrying a pitcher of pale-looking orange juice.
"This is for you." She handed Decker the plate and placed the pitcher on the nightstand. "And this is for Sammy. Make sure he drinks, Peter."
"We've already been over that, Eema."
"See you boys later." She kissed her son on the forehead, then Decker on the lips, tapping his head before she went out the door. Her subtle way of reminding him to put on a yarmulke before he ate.
"Bye," Decker said. He and Sammy waited in silence, hearing Rina walking around the house. A few moments later, the door closed and Decker turned his attention to the boy.
"How's it going, kiddo?"
"You can eat, Peter. Don't let me stop you."
"I've got to wash first. Happen to have a kipah I can borrow?"
"Top drawer on the right."
"Thanks." Decker fished a Batman yarmulke out of the dresser and bobby-pinned it to his hair. He got up and washed his hands, ritually, in the kitchen sink. Then he sat back on the bed, said the blessing for breaking bread, and took a bite of his sandwich. "Hungry?"
Sammy shook his head.
"Sure?"
"Positive."
"Is the flu going around at school?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"Well, you and your brother've been doing okay, considering what's going on. A new baby coming around in a few months has to be a little stressful."
"I don't think that's stressful. Not for me anyway."
"It's a change."
"Yeah, I guess."
Decker took another bite of his sandwich. "I'm hoping the baby won't impact too much on you and your brother's lives. After all, there'll be a big age difference between you guys and the baby."
Sammy paused. "The same as between you and Eema."
Decker stopped chewing. A second later, he forced himself to swallow the bolus. It went down like a lead weight. "Yeah. About the same difference."
Sammy said nothing. This was not going to be a routine lunch.
"Our age difference bother you, Sam?"
"Not really."
"A little?"
The boy shrugged.
"It bothers me a little," Decker said.
Sammy didn't answer.
"You can't help who you fall in love with. And I'm thrilled to be in love with your mother. But sometimes our age difference bothers me. Especially since Eema doesn't seem to be aging at the same rate I am." Decker shifted his weight. "The difference is sometimes pretty noticeable. And I could see where that might embarrass you—"
"I'm not embarrassed," Sammy retorted.
"Good." Decker hesitated. "I can't say that I'm honestly not a little bit embarrassed by it sometimes. I get a lot of ribbing at the station house."
Sammy cocked his head. "They tease you?"
"It's good-natured."
"Marge teases you?"
"No, not Marge. She's decent about things like that."
"But it bothers you when the others do it?"
"Sometimes it does. As a matter of fact, I think it bothers your mother, too. She blushes a little every time someone mistakes her for my daughter instead of my wife."
And blushes a lot when someone mistakes her for Cindy's girlfriend. God, was that horrible. All three of them had felt like sinking into the ground. The look on Cindy's face. Not a damn thing he could have done to fix it, but that hadn't made it any easier.
look my age and then some. It's a natural error."
"Would you like it better if she was older like you? I mean not old, but closer to your age?"
"I like Eema just the way she is. And I'm glad she was young when she had you and Jakey because young mothers have a lot of energy. Sometimes, I wish I were a little younger so I'd have more energy."
"You have energy."
"Not too bad for an old guy."
"You're not that old, Peter. You know, most of the kids in my class have dads around your age. Eema was just really young. Both of them were... Eema and... you know, Abba was young, too... when I was born."
Decker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Do you wish I was as young as your abba?"
"No, no, no. Not at all. I didn't mean that."
But the boy's voice was cracking and it wasn't from hormones. The pain was palpable.
Decker said, "You know what I wish, Sammy?"
Sammy didn't answer.
"I wish..." Decker took his stepson's hand. "I wish that you were having this discussion with your abba right now. I swear to God, I wish that he was here instead of me."
Sammy broke into tears, folding against Decker's chest. Holding him tightly, Decker let him cry it out. The boy was developing into adolescence, a decent layer of muscle enveloping his shoulders and arms. Yet, sobbing so bitterly, he seemed so frail.
"I can't remember him so well anymore, Peter. I try and try, but every day the memories just get more and more... cloudy. I remember things I did with you, but I can't remember the things we used to do together." The boy broke away, dried his red eyes on his pajama sleeves. "Sometimes... sometimes... you know? I think I remember things." He sniffed and dried his eyes again. "I think I remember them very clearly. But then I'm not sure if I remember them because I heard Eema talk about it. Or I actually remember it 'cause it happened. And I feel terrible about it 'cause there's nothing I can do about it. It's only four years ago. God, at this rate, I won't remember anything by the time I'm twenty."
"Sure you will."
"No, I won't."
Okay, Decker, just back it up. "You were young when he died."
Too young. Way too young. "Sammy, what do you think about this? Why don't you write down whatever you do remember about your abba and show it to your mother. See if she remembers it the same way you do."
"That would upset her too much."
"No, I don't think it would."
"Yes, it would. I know it would, Peter."
Decker felt relief. It was good to see the kid arguing with him. There was nothing as scary as a preteen with no spunk.
"Well, write it down anyway and show it to me. And if I think the timing's okay, I'll show it to her. How about that?"
Sammy shrugged.
"Up to you, kiddo." Decker looked down at his partially consumed lunch. His stomach was churning, his shoulder was throbbing, and he felt a headache coming on. He fished a couple of Ecotrin from his pocket and swallowed them dryly. "Just think about it."
"Okay." Sammy paused. "It wouldn't bother you? I mean for me to... you know, talk about my abba?"
Truth be told, it did bother him and he felt petty because of it. But he was mature enough not to let his smallness get in the way of his stepson's well-being.
"Sammy, you and your brother talk about your abba all you want. As a matter of fact, I'd like to learn about your abba, too. But sometimes I feel funny asking your mom about him."
"I could understand that."
Decker nodded in agreement. Father-son bonding. All right!
"You know what, Peter?"
"What, big guy?"
"I feel sort of guilty that I don't call you Dad."
Oh, boy. "Do you want to call me Dad?"
"Kind of. But it doesn't... you know, come easy. Not that I don't think of you as my dad. I want you to know that."
"Whoa, you are really going through a lot of changes."
"Tell me about it."
"Sam, I don't care what you call me. If you want to call me Dad, please, go ahead and call me Dad. But certainly don't feel guilty if you'd rather call me Peter."
"I think Yonkie would like to call you Dad. We were discussing—I don't want you to think we talk a lot about you behind your back."
"I talked a lot about my parents behind their backs."
Sammy smiled. A genuine one this time. "Anyway, when you and Eema first got married, Yonkie was asking me, like what do we call him. And I... I knew I couldn't call you Abba. And I felt weird calling you Dad. So Yonkie said, if I wasn't gonna call you Dad, he wasn't gonna call you Dad, either. But I think he wanted to."
"Why don't you—?"
"I know, I know. Talk it over with him. Talk, talk, talk. I don't know."
Decker stroked the boy's hot cheek. "Do this. Call me Dad for a week. Better yet, call me Dad for a month. After a month, if you still feel more comfortable calling me Peter, go back to Peter. Or Akiva. My Jewish name's pretty personal to me. It could be our special name, if Dad doesn't seem to feel natural."
"Akiva. That's not bad. I didn't even think about that. Okay, I'll try Dad. If not... Akiva."
"Great."
Sammy looked at the half-eaten sandwich. "I ruined your appetite, didn't I?"
"Nah..." Decker made himself pick up the sandwich and take a bite. "See?"
"Nice save... Dad."
Decker laughed.
"You know?" Sammy turned serious. "Remember we were talking about how you were a little embarrassed about Eema looking so young?"
"I should remember it. The conversation took place about five minutes ago."
Sammy punched his shoulder—his good one. "Sometimes—I mean this is gonna sound real weird. But a lot of times, Eema gets mistaken for my older sister. Even when she's... even now."
Decker nodded. Apparently the word pregnant didn't come easy to him, either.
"I don't mean this to sound like an insult," Sammy said, "but I'm really glad you look old... older. When I'm around you, people know you're my dad. We go to the baseball game, everyone knows you're a dad taking his kids out to the game. I'm proud that Eema looks so young and pretty, but sometimes a kid wants his parents to look like parents, know what I mean?"
"You bet. Don't worry, Sammy, no one is ever going to mistake me for your brother."
"Well, I'm happy about that."
"So am I," Decker said. "Really."
"I never told you this, Pete— Dad, but most of my friends' fathers are, you know, like doctors or lawyers or businessmen."
"Uh-huh."
"The kids at school think it's real neat that you're a detective."
"Real exotic, huh?"
"Yeah, exactly. Like you do what they do in the movies we're not supposed to see. I tell them that it's not like that... except for that one time..."
"That was an exceptional circumstance." Chasing an errant teenager and a psycho cross-country. Do a favor for someone and get yourself shot. Still, he'd brought the teenager back to the family in one piece. That was worth it all. He shifted his weight again. "Don't worry. It won't happen again. You're right, Sam. My job's not like the movies."
"Yeah, I tell my friends you mostly just investigate. Interview people and make a lot of phone calls... push pencils—"
Decker burst into laughter.
"Isn't that what you always say?"
"Word for word."
"I don't think they believe me. Maybe it's because they all know you were... you know, shot. Baruch Hashem, you're okay. You are okay, right?"
"I'm great."
"Were you scared?"
"I was scared when it was happening, sure. But I'm not scared now."
"Realty?"
"Really."
"Not even a little?"
"Nope." It was the truth. His concern was saved solely for the people he loved, not for himself.
"The kids at school..." Sammy fingered his co
vers. "They ask me about the incident. I wish they'd shut up about it."
"It gets on your nerves."
"Yeah, I don't like to think about it. That's why I tell them your job isn't like that normally. But they still ask me questions.
Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet Page 15
