Take Another Look

by Rosalind Noonan

  “Can I just point out that Olivia is two years older than the other girls?” Trish held up two fingers, as if to drive home an elementary point. “You’d expect her to set a better example for our daughters.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Linda objected. “Age isn’t everything.”

  “And you were hosting, Pete . . . Linda,” KK’s mother piped up. The only black team parent, Cora Dalton usually was treated with deference by other parents, who were afraid of appearing racist in their primarily white community. “Not that I blame you. Kids are going to do what they wanna do. But I’m surprised you two didn’t hear these five little lovelies sneaking out the door. If there’s one thing our girls are not, it’s quiet.”

  “Olivia’s room is in a separate wing, and our house is forty-five hundred square feet,” Linda explained. “We didn’t hear a thing.”

  Show-off, Jane thought.

  “But I assure you, this is the last time we’ll be hosting any of your girls overnight.” Linda’s mouth puckered in a sour expression. “We don’t harbor juvenile delinquents.”

  “Are you calling my daughter a JD?” Hands on her hips, Cora stood her ground.

  “These are good kids,” Jane intervened. “Good kids who made a poor choice by going out for a stroll after dark.” She looked toward the officer working behind the reception counter. “What’s the story on getting out of here? Do we need to sign them out?”

  “Not until we figure out an appropriate team punishment.” Pete’s voice boomed; he would not be ignored.

  “Hold on a second, Mr. Pete Ferguson.” Cora was on fire now. “You are not the coach of my daughter’s team. If there’s going to be a team punishment, then Carrie Enderly is the one who is going to make that decision. For now, you figure out your own daughter’s punishment, and I will deal with my child. No one else is going to mess with how I raise my daughter, Mr. Pete Ferguson.”

  Cora’s speech took them all by surprise. As a city council member and major contributor to the school district, Pete Ferguson usually got what he wanted in Mirror Lake. Cops and teachers, car dealers and restaurateurs were used to handing this man a proverbial sundae with all the fixings. If Jane hadn’t been a schoolteacher herself, and thus compelled to tolerate this difficult man, she would have applauded Cora’s defiance.

  “I’m with Cora. I’m taking Sydney home.” Trish peeled off from the group and went over to the precinct desk.

  Norio Suzuki spoke up, the voice of calm. “Cooler heads will prevail after we all get some sleep.”

  “Amen to that.” Jane left the group and followed Trish and the cop to the room where the girls were being held. Olivia was twirling in a desk chair while Emma, Sydney, KK, and Harper were huddled on a low-slung couch, dozing together. All the girls wore the same type of pajamas: colorful cotton boxers topped by a baggy T-shirt. With Sydney stretched across the other girls’ laps, the sight was almost comical.

  “Wake up, sleeping beauties,” Trish called. “Time to go home.”

  Based on Harper’s moan and sullen expression, Jane could tell that she had her parenting work cut out for her.

  “Bye!” The girls mustered enough enthusiasm for a round of hugs. “I love you!” they chimed brightly. Was it Jane’s imagination, or was the contact with Olivia stiff and forced?

  Wishing for a complacent daughter like Emma Suzuki, Jane told Harper to hang out while she took care of the paperwork. One form promised a follow-up call from a social worker; the other threatened a court summons if Harper was caught breaking curfew again. Jane took her time reviewing the legalese. Let the others clear out before them; she’d had her fill of Pete Ferguson for now.

  When the coast was clear, Jane went out to the main desk and handed the form to a thin female officer with a dead-fish stare.

  “We could have charged them with trespassing,” the woman said proudly. “When we came up on them, they were hiding in someone’s bushes. Private property. But we decided to go easy on them.”

  “I see.” Jane shoved the pen into a cup on the desk. “Well, thanks for that.”

  When she turned, Harper stood behind her, annoyance seething in her pretty blue eyes. “Let’s go, honey,” Jane said blithely. With one hand on her daughter’s back, she guided her out the double doors of the precinct.

  “I hate cops,” Harper carped before the door had even swung shut behind them.

  “Don’t say that. They’re doing their job. They keep us safe.”

  “That lady cop was obnoxious. She said there was graffiti at Palisades, and she blamed us for doing it, and we didn’t go anywhere near the school. Oh my God, they are so ridiculous. You should have seen them trying to track us down through the neighborhood with those spotlights. It was like a chase scene on TV. Like the hoods of L.A. or something. You’d think we robbed a bank or something.”

  Jane let her daughter vent as they headed up the street. The car was parked behind the precinct, but Jane had already decided that they would head over to St. Olaf’s, a French bakery on the town’s main square that would be opening any minute now. If she didn’t address this now, Harper would scowl at her every time she brought it up over the next few days.

  “You did break the law,” Jane pointed out, “even if it is sort of a lame one.”

  “It’s so lame. We have constitutional rights. They can’t lock us up in our own homes just because we’re kids.”

  Oh, yes, they can, Jane thought as she motioned Harper to turn onto the cobblestone street leading to the square. But now was not the time for a constitutional debate; it was time for Harper to accept responsibility for her actions and learn that laws were not to be broken on a whim. “Why were you walking around so late at night?”

  “We had to get out, Mom. There was no air! Olivia’s house is so nice, but the rec room where they wanted us to sleep has a musty smell, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted some fresh air, and once we all got out, Olivia said we should go for a walk. She does it all the time. Did you know there’s a spot on the top of a hill near Palisades that they call the roundabout? It’s kind of high up, and there are no trees around, so you can see the stars really well.”

  “Yup.” Jane knew the spot. Years ago it had been known as a place for kids to park and fool around until the cops stepped up their patrols. “Let’s stay on track here. Mr. Ferguson said you were the instigator.”

  “That is so not true. I swear, it’s not my fault, Mom. I wanted to step out, just to the yard, but Olivia said we should go for a walk. She’s the one who got us into all this trouble.”

  “And you think she’s afraid to tell her father the truth?”

  “Duh. Wouldn’t you be?”

  “He is a little scary.”

  “He’s such a liar, just like his daughter.”

  “I thought you were happy to be on the team with Olivia.”

  “That was when she was going to play shortstop. Now all she can talk about is playing catcher.” Harper hugged herself, rubbing her arms for warmth. Despite the pale sky, the cool of night still held the town in its grasp. “Why is she trying to steal my position? That’s so unfair.”

  “I don’t know, Hoppy.”

  “I wish she would move to another town. If she wants to play catcher so bad, she should go to West Green or Hazel Grove.”

  “That’s not going to happen. You know the Fergusons are firmly rooted in Mirror Lake.” Everyone gushed over their palace on the lake. “They have a lot of power in this town.”

  “What am I going to do?” Harper whined.

  “You’re going to figure out how to play on the same team with her, and stop worrying so much. We talked to Coach Carrie, and as far as she’s concerned, you are the team’s catcher. Olivia’s just going to have to accept that.” Jane hustled her daughter past the majestic clock at the center of the cobblestone square and thought of the supreme joke of time. Years could fly by without a ripple, and then, when you least expected it, time exploded around you like popping corn, making a
few seconds stretch into an eternity.

  The clock chimed a muted ping that announced five thirty. You had to hate yourself to be up at five thirty on your day off. Or maybe you just resented the person who tore you from a soft blanket of sleep.

  “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.” Harper shivered. “Where is the car?”

  “Back that way. We’re going to grab some coffee and pastries from St. Olaf’s first.”

  “What? I don’t want anything.”

  “But you love their chocolate croissants.”

  “I just want to go to bed. I want to go home. You can make your own coffee, Mom. I’m so tired.”

  You weren’t tired a little while ago when you and your friends sneaked out of the Fergusons’ house. When you took a stroll to the park. At four a.m. In your shorty pajamas. When you ran from the cops and dove into someone’s garden for cover.

  Jane knew she wasn’t allowed to say any of these things; as the grown-up in this relationship, she had to take the high road. Biting back the bitter response, Jane trudged ahead toward the amber light of the bakery window, a beacon of comfort in the early morning chill. She tugged on the thick, bronze handle, but the bakery door didn’t budge. “They’re not open yet.”

  Through the glass, a girl in a white uniform held up her hand, showing five fingers. “She wants us to wait a few minutes,” Jane said.

  “I don’t want to wait.” Harper spun away from the door with a whine. “I’m so tired.”

  “Here. Come sit.” Jane put her arm around Harper’s shoulder and guided her across the square toward a bench. “Do you want my jacket?”

  “No. Someone might see me.”

  “It’s a black leather jacket. It’s not that uncool.” Jane slipped off her jacket and gave it to Harper.

  Handling the garment as if it might burn her, Harper let it rest on her bare knees as she huddled on the bench, cold and a bit pathetic looking in her summer pajamas. Funny that it was okay to be seen wearing boxers and a baggy T-shirt, but beware the leather jacket. Jane longed to sit down beside her daughter and hold her close, working up some warmth between them. A few years ago Jane would have been allowed to snuggle in public, but now Harper would be mortified. That was normal—age appropriate—and yet Jane missed the old days.

  It was going to be a beautiful September morning in Mirror Lake. Jane stared off at the cobalt swath of lake in the distance, the green patch of park and trees in the foreground. In another hour or so, vendors from all over Oregon would be setting up carts and booths to sell their wares at the town’s Saturday market. Cheese and lavender, organic fruits and vegetables, designer cupcakes and homemade condiments.

  “Remember when we used to go to the Saturday market in the summer?” Jane said. “You were so cute, sneaking samples from the cheese lady. I would always buy a block of cheddar from her, but you didn’t eat it at home. When I asked you why you liked it so much at the market, you said: ‘Everything tastes better when it’s free.’”

  “Mom!” Harper winced. “That is so embarrassing.”

  Jane understood; sometimes it was hard to embrace your past.

  Pulling her hands into the warmth of her cotton sweatshirt, Jane crossed her arms and breathed in the fresh smells of morning. Already the plaza was coming alive with city workers. A man in coveralls and an orange vest was power-washing the paving stones where the market would be set up. Another man was blowing the plaza clean of debris. On the square, a city truck crept from one lamppost to another to water the lush hanging baskets of flowers that decorated every street corner from spring through autumn. Yes, a well-to-do suburb like Mirror Lake could be a bit uppity at times, with power-hungry parents and overly zealous cops, but Jane was grateful for the good life she had found here.

  “Okay, they’re open.” Harper was off the bench and moving across the square. “Come on.”

  After they settled at a small table within range of the huge, warm ovens, Jane initiated the essential conversation points. “Here’s the thing that disturbs me the most about this morning . . . last night. You are refusing to accept responsibility for your actions.”

  “But it wasn’t my fault.” Harper paused to lick a glob of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. “I told you, Olivia was the one who—”

  “That is exactly what I mean. I don’t care what Olivia or Mr. Ferguson or the man on the moon did. I care about you, Harper Ryan. You made a bad choice. You broke the law, and you got caught.”

  “What do you expect me to do about it now?”

  “I want to hear that you’re sorry. That you realize you made a mistake. That it won’t happen again.”

  “I already said that.”

  “No. You didn’t.” Jane faced her daughter, refusing to cower from the fury in Harper’s eyes. Why did Harper get herself so worked up over an apology?

  “Fine.” Harper scowled down at the table. “I’m sorry, okay?”

  “And you realize you did the wrong thing. Because if you break curfew again, we’ll have to meet with the juvenile court.” As it was, Jane would be hearing from a county social worker. “I need to know that you’re taking this seriously, Hoppy. If this happens again, you could have a permanent police record. It could affect college and your future jobs.”

  “Okay, yeah. I’m not that stupid. I won’t break their stupid curfew again. But I can’t believe how mean those cops were to us. Especially the lady. I mean, she checked our hands for spray paint to see if we did the graffiti. And she took our cell phones and looked at our texts. Isn’t that a violation of our privacy?”

  “Sounds like it,” Jane agreed. “But I think it’s probably covered under the search and seizure law.”

  “Then it’s a stupid law.”

  Jane took a long sip of her latte, trying to gather patience. “We need to respect the law, plain and simple. That’s what makes a society functional. There are rules designed to protect people, and we follow them. I wish you would stop questioning authority.”

  “But Mr. Healy said we should always question authority.” Mr. Healy had been last year’s history teacher. “He said that’s what democracy is all about. If people don’t keep the government in line, it’ll get all corrupt and everything.”

  “Part of challenging authority is taking action to enact positive change.” Jane maintained a calm, steady tone. “Are you going to pursue changing the youth curfew?”

  Harper groaned. “I don’t care about the stupid curfew. I just want to go home. Can’t you see how tired I am?” Her phone buzzed, and Harper brightened as she checked the text message. “Oh my God. Emma says her parents are grounding her. They’re talking about two whole weeks. Except for softball. That’s so overboard.”

  “It sounds like an appropriate punishment.”

  “What?” Harper’s periwinkle eyes registered shock. “Am I going to be grounded?”

  Jane wrapped her hands around the warm cup as she floated the possibility. Grounding had never been an effective punishment for Harper, as the punishment had only served to make her glum, depressed, and angry. This was a girl who needed outdoor activity and social interaction. Besides, two weeks of restriction would keep Harper from the back-to-school picnic, which was a big event for the entire high school. Held at a park on the lake, the picnic featured competitions in and out of the water as well as a popular local deejay. Last year, Harper had talked about it for days afterward.

  “I don’t think it would serve anyone to ground you now,” Jane said. “But I hope you learned your lesson.”

  “I did. Thanks, Mama-dish.” As Harper tapped a text back to Emma, Jane smiled over the silly nickname that had stuck since grade school. When things were good, Harper called Jane Mama-dish, and Jane called her daughter Hoppy, a name that three-year-old Harper had coined for herself and for the little stuffed rabbit that had accompanied her everywhere. Harper still took that rabbit to bed with her.

  The texting activity picked up as Jane finally got around to eating her croissant. By
the time she finished, Harper was lobbying to go over to Emma’s house after she changed clothes at home.

  “I thought Emma was grounded,” Jane said.

  “She is, but she’s allowed to have visitors, and I told her I’d come over to make her feel better.”

  Jane sighed. “We’ll see. Personally, I think you should get some sleep before the game. You need to be in Sherwood at two.”

  “I’m not tired anymore,” Harper insisted, though her pale face with shadowed eyes belied the claim. She looked up from her phone and tilted her head. “I have a question, but you may not want to hear it.” She tilted her head, suddenly shy. “Why don’t we ever talk about my father?”

  The croissant was suddenly dry in Jane’s mouth. It took some effort to swallow and speak. “We can talk about him. It’s always been hard for me, but time has passed. As they say, time heals wounds.”

  What a lie. The wounds had throbbed like crazy after she’d watched the documentary recommended by Detective Alvarez. Although the story of Lester and Doug Dixon was spellbinding, the horror of their gruesome crimes had haunted Jane for days. Even Luke had squirmed on the sofa when the program had uncovered the grisly method the men had used to dispose of the young women’s bodies.

  According to Frank’s uncle, Doug Dixon, the first murder had been a crime of opportunity for Frank’s father. It had happened in the summer of 1970 in rural Ohio, a state still reeling from the shooting of thirteen students at Kent State and the war that had divided the nation. Lester had picked up a hitchhiker, a “flower child,” whom he viewed as an ingrate, not worthy of life. He drove her to his brother’s trailer, where Doug helped him tie her up and subdue her by pressing rags dampened with paint thinner to her nose. The two men took turns raping the young woman, and then they killed her and used a hacksaw to cut her body into pieces. As the family owned a concrete business, they found it easy to dispose of the debris beneath porches and patios that they poured throughout the community.

  Doug Dixon claimed that he had been dragged into a life of crime by his brother, Lester. “Once we pulled it off with the first girl and it worked, we just kind of fell into it again. I mean, it was so easy. Those hippie girls, they were easy targets. Lester kept grabbin’ ’em, and I helped him, and that’s how it went till that one got away.” The fourth victim, Audra Wilks, had escaped from the trailer while the men were off at a bar drinking, and that had ended their crime spree.