A Spider Sat Beside Her

by K E Lanning

  Knitting her brow, she replied fiercely, “That is something I won’t do. If I allow them to use me as a tool against innocent people, then I’m as bad as they are. Can’t you understand that what the government is doing to the Eskimos, they could easily do to the rest of us next year or even tomorrow?”

  Her father glanced around and then said, “People are starting to stare. Let’s go out onto the terrace.”

  They moved outside and then, like boxers in a ring, slowly turned to face each other.

  His eyes glistened as he stared at her for a moment, and then he threw the first punch. “Lowry, you’ve failed at your marriage, but don’t bring everyone else down with you.”

  She sucked her breath in at this gut blow. He is just so loving.

  A white anger burned inside her, fueled by the years of malevolence he had served up to her. As if shaking off the final accoutrements of childhood, in the instant she faced her father on the terrace, she shed the collar he had placed around her neck after her mother’s death.

  Lowry straightened her spine as she turned to him like a cannon training its sights and met his piercing look.

  Her lip curled, and with an almost bizarre joy, she hissed, “My relationships, whether failed or not, are none of your business. You may technically be my father, but honestly, you’re no parent to me, and from now on, you will not speak to me disrespectfully, or I’m walking out.”

  The revelation of her hatred of him surprised even her, but there was no stopping now. “I’ll not sanction your aggressive behavior toward me by allowing it to happen.” She pointed her finger at his chest, snarling, “Do you understand me?”

  She saw the shock in his face. Lowry had never stood up to him to this degree. Usually, she tried to smooth things over, but never again would he dominate her. With her arms folded in defiance, she stood still, refusing to back away. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling as she watched him digest her serving of insurrection. Would you like that with or without spit in your eye?

  He grunted, shook his head peevishly, and then walked to the railing, refusing to look at her. She stood her ground as he clutched the rail with fury, his head thrown back dramatically, staring off into the darkness like a spoiled child refused a toy.

  Slowly, his shoulders relaxed, and he turned back toward her, his mouth taut. “Well, aren’t we just full of ourselves?” His lip twitched into a sneer. “You were always a brat.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  He snorted with a grudging smile on his face, and the tension between them eased. But she couldn’t let her guard down since he hadn’t gotten his way. She may have drawn the first blood, but the war was not over.

  He paced in front of her, but she stood still, watching him maneuver for a better position to attack from. He stopped, and his face softened as he held out his hand toward her. “Look, Lowry, believe it or not, fighting the Ameradan government is not healthy for you either. Can’t you see that?” Her father moved close, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re young, and this type of thing could throw your future away.”

  Lowry raised an eyebrow at his sudden metamorphosis into a caring father.

  She snapped, “I didn’t go after this fight—it came to me—but I’m not going to lie for anyone. And if I lie in court, I could be prosecuted for perjury, which would definitely affect my future.”

  He stepped away from her, with his lips curled into a snarl. “But you have no real proof. Just crazy, circumstantial evidence that some primitive tribe in Colombia had anything to do with this. Nor does Nick. You could be slandering a totally innocent group of people.”

  “I know, but my gut tells me that something doesn’t smell right, and I’m not participating in this farce. I’ll tell the court what I know, but not what I don’t know about the Inuit on trial.”

  He wagged his finger at her. “Well, I’m not going down the tubes with you; it’s your party. Just don’t say that I didn’t warn you—you’re playing with some heavy hitters.”

  “Don’t worry; tomorrow I’ll tell the Attorney General that you tried to persuade me to trot out the party line, so you’re safe.” Lowry threw her hands up in the air. “It’s hard to believe they’re getting away with this—isn’t there a saying that you can’t fool all of the people all the time?”

  “That was before social media.” He gazed at her with a sigh. Lowry blinked at a flicker of real concern in his eyes. His shoulders sagged, and he said in a soft voice, “Whatever you do, Lowry, please be careful. I may not be the best father in the world, but I do love you.”

  A sad smile crossed her lips. Her father wasn’t a bad man, just a weak one adrift in a sea of vices.

  “I know you love me.” She returned his gaze. “But I have to do what’s right—not for Nick, nor against you, Dad.”

  Her father shook his head and then exhaled. “Why can’t you just be mediocre like the rest of us?”

  “For some reason, I’d rather die than be mediocre.”

  “Well, these folks we’re dealing with might accommodate you.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Lowry lay awake that night in the hotel, unable to fall asleep with the remnants of the day churning in her mind. She shifted under the sheets and then, with a sigh, gave in to her sleeplessness and stared up at the ceiling. Nothing like being a pawn in a farcical trial that had sucked her family, and all of its interminable baggage, into its vortex.

  The blinking light of the smoke detector on the wall mocked her as she fluffed up her pillow again. She listened to the traffic in the busy street below her room, and the noise of a wreck wafted up to her, followed by the voices of the drivers yelling at each other in the darkness. It reminded her of a night years ago, when she was sixteen, and the fight between Lowry, her father, and Nick—and the last time her father had struck her.

  ***

  Lowry quietly opened the back door to the farmhouse outside of the mining town in Antarctica and crept into the house. She eased the door closed, and with her head spinning, dizzy from the effects of too much bourbon and coke, she sank onto the bench near the door. Unsteadily, she kicked off her boots and, clutching the arm of the bench, shoved the boots underneath it. Lurching into a standing position, she propelled herself toward her room, using the wall as a much-needed crutch.

  Halfway down the hall, she fell over her giant Saint Bernard, Ollie, who was patiently waiting for her in the hallway.

  The dog yelped, and Lowry whispered, “Ollie, shh!”

  Ollie licked Lowry’s face as she lay on the cold stone floor, waiting for the walls to stop swirling. She staggered up and resumed shuffling to her room but hesitated as the hall reached the living room, where her father sat illuminated by a dim lamp. Her bedroom was farther down the hall, just past no man’s land. Could she make it across without him noticing?

  “Lowry?”

  Shit. “Uh, yes, Dad?”

  “Come here.”

  She approached him slowly, trying to stand up straight, but sober enough to realize that he might be farther down the drunk lane than she was. Yep, a glass of scotch in his hand with a half-empty bottle sitting next to him. “Yes, Dad?”

  Duff swirled the scotch in his glass. “One of the mine managers just called and said someone saw our hover hit a fence near town.” He glanced up at her. “Is that true?”

  Exhaling, she muttered, “Yes, I’m sorry,” staring at the floor.

  Duff got up, strode over, and stood in front of her, his bloodshot eyes staring into hers. “And you were going to sneak around me and go to your room without saying a thing?”

  Lowry shrugged. “I was going to show you tomorrow. I thought you were asleep in the chair.”

  Duff’s lip curled. “Liar!” He sniffed the air. “And you’ve been drinking—perfect.”

  Lowry swallowed hard. Usually, he was a mellow drinker, but the combination of alcohol and any type of stress was a recipe for disaster. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Um, yes, I did have
a drink at the party.” She bit her lip and mumbled, “And I’m really sorry about the hover, Dad. I’ll pay for any damage.”

  “You bet you will.” Duff’s mouth twisted as he paced the floor. “I’m already having to deal with the miners’ strike led by my own brother.” He shook his head. “And now my daughter gets drunk and wrecks the hover.” He faced her. “And then you creep in, thinking that I wouldn’t find out about the hover, didn’t you?” His eyes bulged in a drunken fury.

  Lowry kept her face still and calm, but her lip quivered.

  Her father threw up his hands. “Nick decides to defy and embarrass me in front of my friends and constituents. Almost all of the miners go on strike, disappearing into the hinterlands for weeks. And the mining company is all over my back about it.”

  Her father shifted back and forth on his feet, rubbing his hand on his forehead. Then, like lightning drawn to metal, he pivoted back with his arm outstretched and slapped her full in the face.

  Lowry slammed onto the couch, her face throbbing with pain. She screamed up at him, “Dad, stop!” as she held her cheek.

  Rage twisted Duff’s face as he lunged at her, grabbing her arm, and jerked her back up to face him. He grasped her shoulders and screamed, spittle showering her face, “I don’t need more stress right now—can’t you see that?”

  “Leave me alone!” Lowry shouted, swaying on her feet. “Stop shaking me. I feel sick.” She held her hand over her mouth, swallowing the bile percolating from her stomach.

  Disgusted, he released his grip and turned away from her, his drunken madness assuaged.

  The front door banged open, and they froze in place at the sound of footsteps.

  Nick bounded into the room, his face pinched with anger, and went straight at Duff. “I saw you through the window. You hit her, you cowardly bastard!”

  Nick dived into him and knocked him into the side table, Duff’s glass hurtling through the window with a crash. Then Nick hauled him back up and punched him squarely in the face. With a grunt, Duff fell to the floor, but sprang back up and popped his elbow into Nick’s stomach. Nick groaned and dropped to his knees. Smiling through bloody teeth, Duff started to punch Nick in the face, but Nick leapt forward, knocking Duff’s legs out from under him. Duff fell back onto the reading chair, hitting the seat with his back.

  “Son of a bitch, Nick!”

  Huffing, Nick leaned over his brother, jabbing his finger in his face. “You piece of shit . . .”

  Duff kicked him in the groin, and Nick fell back on the rug. Duff grabbed the lamp and leapt on top of him, swinging it at Nick’s head.

  Lowry jumped at them, shoving her hand between the lamp and Nick’s head. “Stop fighting!”

  Her father halted his swing in mid-arc and shot a glance at her, but he turned back to Nick with a scowl on his face. Breathing hard, the brothers stepped away, staring at each other in the dim light.

  With clenched teeth, Duff put the lamp down, and the wavering lampshade cast flickering shadows across the room. “That’s my favorite lamp. I wouldn’t want to break it on your noggin.” He cocked his head at Lowry. “It’s her fault; she got drunk and wrecked the hover.”

  Lowry shook her head. “It’s not wrecked. It was really minor. The road turned, but I didn’t.” She looked down, confused by the vacillating light from the lamp—either she or the room was swaying. “But I did get drunk.”

  Nick turned back to Duff, with a snarl on his face. “Even if she did get drunk and wreck it, that’s no excuse for slapping her or any other woman. If you ever touch Lowry again, I swear to God, I’ll beat you senseless—do you understand me?”

  Duff glared at him, and they stood facing each other until Duff shrugged and turned away, picking up the side table and setting it back in place. He rubbed his jaw, opening his mouth to make sure it still worked. Then he gestured with his head at the broken pane and snapped at Nick, “You going to pay for that window?”

  “With pleasure.” Nick brushed his hair back out of his face. Exhaling, he turned away from Duff and walked over to Lowry. He turned her face to the light, examining the red mark on her cheek. “Are you okay, hon?”

  Lowry trembled as a tear made its way down her face. “I’m okay.”

  Duff glanced at them, frowning as he shoved a handkerchief into the window to block the wind.

  Nick brushed her tear away and hugged her. He kissed her forehead and then walked her toward the kitchen. “Better get some ice on that, and then get to bed.” He turned back to Duff, his lips tight. “I need to talk with your dad about the strike.”

  Lowry went into the kitchen and opened the freezer door. She strained to hear their words over the clink of the ice cubes as she filled the ice pack. Holding the cold bag to her injured cheek, she skirted toward the door, listening to their argument.

  Nick growled, “First thing I want to talk about is you—I know we grew up in a bad situation, but Duff, can’t you put it behind you for Lowry’s sake?”

  “Put it behind me?” Duff guffawed. “The only way I can ‘put it behind me’ is with a shot of whiskey.” He paused, and his voice became harsh. “Don’t ever lecture me again, Nick. You don’t understand half of what I went through.”

  Nick replied, “I will promise you this: if you ever strike Lowry again, you won’t get a lecture from me. You’ll get a beating from me that will bring back fond memories of our loving father.”

  The living room fell into silence, but Lowry knew the discussion was not over. She dug in a kitchen drawer, found an ibuprofen, and swallowed it with a glass of water.

  That’ll help my hangover in the morning, too. She shifted the cold pack back onto her face and quietly crept back to her listening post.

  Nick said, “What I came over here for was to discuss the strike—we have a real issue, and we need you to be part of the solution. Duff, as you know, the mining company is illegally bringing in paroled convicts to work the mines, taking positions normally filled by paid workers. There’s a veiled threat to reduce wages, and the regular miners know they can’t compete with slave labor. They’ve protested for weeks with no response from the management.” His boots pounded as he paced the floor. “Instances of theft and drug dealing have been documented, but what finally prompted a full-blown strike by the miners was that one of their wives was raped by a convict.”

  “That wasn’t proven.”

  “Wasn’t proven by the manager of the mine, who didn’t try to bring him to justice.” It was quiet for a moment, and then Nick continued. “You have to talk to the UN and put pressure on the mining company to get rid of these convicts.”

  “Me?” Duff replied.

  Lowry heard the twinkle of ice hitting glass. Ah, the familiar sound of another glass of Scotch whiskey on the rocks.

  Duff snorted. “I can’t run afoul of the management down here.”

  “You’re the elected representative of the people. You’re the one who needs to step up and solve this issue, Duff.”

  Lowry edged closer to the living room, the pain in her face easing with the cold pack and medicine.

  “If you don’t, then I’ll do it, but it will make you look like a paid crony of management. That wouldn’t look very good come next election, Duff.” Then Nick’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want those convicts around Lowry.”

  Duff exhaled. “Okay, but let me discuss this with the management, and maybe the threat of contacting the UN will be enough to get the convicts out of here. Frankly, I don’t like them any more than you do.”

  “We’ll give you twenty-four hours, but after that, I’m getting in touch with the UN.” Nick walked back toward the front door. “I’m hiding out somewhere since I don’t trust the management, but be assured that we’ll be watching.” The sound of his footsteps stopped momentarily, and his voice rose. “Duff, I want those convicts on a ship out of here by the end of the week.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The next morning, Lowry sat in the reception area of the newly c
onstructed Department of Justice building, waiting for her meeting with Elliott Halder, the Attorney General of the United States.

  An odd—and in this instance, welcome—distraction was the spectacle of Halder’s secretary, a character study in curiousness. The receptionist nervously looked in a small mirror, patting her heavily made-up face with oil-absorbing tissues.

  The secretary noticed Lowry observing her. “Oh, I just can’t keep the oil off my face!”

  She finished fussing with her make-up and then arranged the photos on her desk. A spasm darted across her face as she turned to Lowry, picking up a photo of a young man in camo with an assault rifle.

  “This was my boy, Henry—he was killed in the war.” She pointed to the small dog beside him in the photo. “Dexter is dead, too.” With her mouth pinched into a brittle smile, she placed the photo back down on her desk, her hand lingering on the frame. Then her face brightened as she flipped her hair back with her hand. “I don’t like little dogs. Do you?”

  Lowry started when the receptionist’s phone buzzed, closing the curtains on the show.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll tell her, sir.” The receptionist motioned to Lowry. “He’s ready for you.”

  They walked down the long corridor, and Lowry kept her distance from the receptionist as if her peculiarity might be contagious. The woman opened the door and ushered Lowry in to a well-appointed corner office.

  Elliot Halder looked up and said, “Thanks, Sheila.” He tilted his head. “And please, no interruptions.”

  “Yes, sir, and you’re most welcome, Mr. Halder!” Sheila turned on her heel and swept past Lowry with her head thrown back and her eyelids blinking rapidly, saying, “It was certainly nice meeting you, Ms. Walker.” She strode dramatically out of the room, and Lowry breathed a bit easier, but then she pivoted toward Mr. Halder.