The Cheater

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  As the attorneys droned on about who gave what to whom, Anne had trouble keeping her eyes open. She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and she hadn’t had a chance to go to the drugstore this morning for more diet pills.

  A few moments later, she began to lose control. She tried to force the memories back, but they refused to be denied.

  She sloshed through the melting snow to her house, her arms locked around her chest to keep out the cold. Because all she had was a lightweight coat, she hadn’t been allowed to go outside for recess today. She’d wanted to tell her teacher that she was used to the cold, but Daddy would whip her if she told anyone at her school that she walked home alone. The school bus dropped her off about six blocks from where she lived. The other kids’ mothers picked them up. She didn’t understand why her daddy didn’t come and get her, since he was usually at home. He told her he had something called a warrant, so he couldn’t be out running around. She asked her mother what it was, but she never told her.

  In her hands was a brown paper sack. Other kids had cute lunch boxes and pretty clothes. Inside the sack was a picture she had colored for her momma. She wanted a new pair of shoes for Christmas, but her daddy told her Santa Claus got stuck in a chimney and died. Last year, they didn’t have any presents or even a tree.

  Her toes were crunched and some days her feet hurt so bad, she cried all the way to school. She never cried when she was home. If she did, her daddy would whip her with his black belt. Reaching her house, she opened the creaky gate and continued to the porch. Her daddy’s black truck with the dent in the side was parked in the driveway. Her momma was always screaming at him to “get off your butt and get a job.” Daddy yelled back that he couldn’t get a job because of the warrant.

  Her momma worked as a waitress at Good Eats Café. Every night she came home with a bag full of coins. Anne liked to watch her counting at the kitchen table, and sometimes Momma let her stack the coins. Each coin had a different stack. There was a stack for pennies, nickels, and one for quarters. Every now and then Momma brought home some dollars, which she hid where no one could find them. Daddy said she spent that money on her medicine. Anne didn’t know why, because Momma didn’t look sick. Some nights she would make lots of phone calls, then go out in the car late at night. When she came back, she ran into the bathroom and closed the door. Once she had seen Daddy sticking a big needle into her momma’s arm. He got really mad at Anne and made her swear she wouldn’t tell anyone about her mother’s medicine. She prayed to Jesus every night that He would make her momma well.

  Her daddy watched TV all the time and drank Budweiser. He drank one can after another. When he ran out, he would call her and make her bring him another “cold Bud.” If she didn’t get it to him fast enough, he would grab her by the shoulders and shake her. She didn’t know why he liked beer so much. She had sipped one once when they were out of milk and it tasted so bad, she’d spit it out of her mouth.

  The kids in the neighborhood made fun of her house. A lot of the shingles had fallen off, and their yard was full of junk. When her daddy took out the trash, there were so many Bud cans, they would fall out of the top. Daddy just left them scattered all over the yard. The rest of the stuff her momma said belonged inside of cars. She said her daddy was trying to sell it to make money. But no one ever came to look at the car stuff.

  They’d moved here when she was in kindergarten and her daddy had stopped working. She liked the house they’d lived in before much better. On Saturdays when it wasn’t too cold, she tried to pick up some of the Bud cans and put them back in the stinky trash cans. The stuff that belonged inside cars was too heavy for her to carry.

  She heard a woman’s voice and thought her momma had come home early. Her teacher had put three gold stars on her picture, and told her to be certain she showed it to her parents. She had colored a beautiful blue house with a green yard and pretty white flowers.

  She burst through the door to her parents’ bedroom, wanting to show her daddy the picture. She stopped breathing when she saw the naked woman in the bed with her daddy. Both her daddy and the woman sat up, pulling the sheet over them. What was Mrs. Murphy from down the street doing in the bed with her daddy, and why had she taken off her clothes? She turned and ran as fast as she could. Her daddy had been doing something nasty to Mrs. Murphy. She’d seen Momma and Daddy doing nasty things before and her daddy had whipped her for coming in their room when the door was closed.

  She made it to the living room, then tripped and fell on the floor. Her daddy caught her by the heels and held her upside down. She cried so hard she was afraid she was going to throw up, then her daddy might make her lick it up with her tongue like he had one time when she’d puked while he was whipping her. He threw her onto her back and slapped her in the face.

  “You fucking little brat,” he shouted, spit flying out of his mouth. “If you say anything to your momma about what you saw, I’ll fucking kill you. Now get to your damn room where you belong.”

  She raced to her room and hid in the closet, clutching the torn picture. Finally it got dark and she stopped crying, thinking it wouldn’t be long until her momma came home. Looking at the pieces of her picture, she hoped she could paste them back together.

  She fell asleep, then woke up and crept into the living room. Her daddy was on the sofa drinking a Bud, but the TV wasn’t on, and Bud cans were all over the floor. She wondered why he wasn’t watching TV like he always did. He was just sitting there smoking a cigarette. He wasn’t even listening to the radio or reading the newspaper.

  She guessed Mrs. Murphy had gone home. Mr. Murphy probably wouldn’t like it if he knew she was doing nasty things with her daddy. “Where’s Momma?” she said from the doorway.

  “She pulled a second shift.”

  He stared at her for a long time, a look on his face that she’d never seen before, not even after he drank all the Buds in the refrigerator. “We’re going for a ride.”

  His eyes scared her. “Are we going to get Momma?”

  “You know what would happen if you told her what you saw today, you little bitch? She’d toss my ass out on the street. Where would I go, huh? I ain’t got no money and it’s too cold to live in my truck. I’ve got warrants, understand? If the police find me, they’ll slam me in jail.”

  “I won’t tell, Daddy,” she said, whimpering. “Please, cross my heart and hope to die.”

  “You’d like it if I was gone, wouldn’t you? I know about snot-nosed kids like you. You’ll tell your mother the minute she walks in the door. You run crying to her all the time.”

  She didn’t say anything because he was right. She loved her momma. Her momma never hit her or called her dirty names. Her momma cooked her meals and tucked her in bed at night. If Daddy was gone, it wouldn’t be so bad. She hoped he took all the car parts with him, then maybe the grass would grow in the spring and she and her momma could plant pretty flowers. “Want me to get you a cold Bud, Daddy?”

  “No,” he said, crunching the beer can in his fist. “Get your damn coat.”

  “I’ll wait for Momma here.”

  He came over and got on his knees in front of her. “Do you remember where we used to live, pumpkin?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “We lived in a brown house. And there were lacy white curtains on my windows. The old lady next door had a bunch of cats.”

  “What was the name of the city we lived in?’”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Do you remember the state?”

  She wasn’t scared now. Daddy was playing a game with her. “I know it was far away. I got carsick. We just kept driving and driving. Then we had to sleep in the car at night.”

  “Is that all you remember?” He stroked a hair out of her face. “This is very important, sweetheart, so don’t lie.”

  “I was just a little girl. I don’t remember.”

  His face changed. His skin was twisted, the way it got when he hit her momma. She started walking backward when
he caught her, tucking her under his arm like a sack of potatoes. She kicked and screamed but he wouldn’t put her down. When they got to his truck, he went to the back and returned with a rope, tying her to the seat.

  “Why are you doing this, Daddy? I’ll be a good girl, I promise. I’ll never come in when the door is closed and I’ll bring you cold Buds really fast. The rope is hurting me. Please, please, aren’t we going to get Momma?”

  “It’s too late,” he mumbled under his breath, balling up his fist and slugging her.

  TWELVE

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 28

  VENTURA, CALIFORNIA

  “Your husband called, Judge Forrester,” Lily’s assistant said when she entered her chambers a few minutes past noon. “He said he was going in to a meeting, but would try to get back to you later this evening.”

  “Thanks, Jeannie.” Lily hoped Bryce had closed the deal. She enjoyed seeing him happy. Sometimes she didn’t give him enough credit. Any type of sales was difficult. She was about to send Jeannie to the cafeteria to get her a sandwich when Chris Rendell appeared in the open doorway.

  “I’m not interrupting you, I hope.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Starving.” Exercise made most people hungry, but it worked the opposite with Lily. She had more of an appetite when she didn’t work out. With Bryce out of town for the remainder of the week, she hoped to be able to spend more time at the gym. He’d been anxious that morning, which was unusual, so she knew it must be an important trip for him. Bryce had taken so much time getting ready, she’d had to drive him to the airport.

  “I felt bad that we had to cut our conversation short the other day,” Rendell told her. “I thought we could go to Murray’s. You know, my treat.”

  Murray’s was a local steakhouse. Lily had never gone there, as she didn’t eat red meat. Every restaurant had chicken these days, though, and she could make this her big meal of the day. When Bryce was away, she typically snacked. She never went to a restaurant alone, and it wasn’t worth the effort to cook for one person. “How could I pass up an offer like that?” she told him, darting into her office and removing her robe and picking up her handbag. When she returned, she asked, “Should we go in separate cars?”

  “Not unless you have to be back right away.”

  They rode the elevator down to the parking garage. Lily noticed Judge Paciugo’s new black Mercedes, as well as another judge’s BMW. She was somewhat surprised when Rendell walked over to an older-model Volkswagen Bug and opened the door for her. Once Lily was inside, she peered out the driver’s window, eager to see how he could squeeze his tall frame into such a small space. He had it down to a science. He compressed his body at the waist, then effortlessly slid inside. To accommodate his long legs, the seats were pushed back all the way and touched the seats in the rear.

  “I’ve never been into cars,” Rendell said, turning the key in the ignition. “I bought this about fifteen years ago when I was living in Salt Lake City. As long as it keeps running, I intend to keep driving it. The gas mileage is terrific.”

  Lily was truly within his space now, and she didn’t experience the pleasant feeling she generally did when around him. Instead, the interior of the car had a strange, almost frightening atmosphere. The only comparisons she could think of were being locked inside a closet or at a crime scene. When he wasn’t looking, she glanced in the backseat. Unopened mail was scattered around, and there were several crumpled fast-food sacks, one with the distinctive McDonald’s logo. She couldn’t imagine Rendell going to McDonald’s, but then again, Bryce was still hooked on Big Macs. When he got sick of upscale restaurant food, he headed to the golden arches. She checked Rendell’s waistline and didn’t notice a bulge. He was several inches taller than Bryce, which helped. They parked and walked toward the front door of the restaurant.

  The interior was dark, as was common in many steakhouses, but there was a distinctive Old World charm. Instead of candles, each table had its own small lamp, which gave it an intimate, romantic feel. A waiter in a white coat with Italian features saw them and rushed over. “Follow me, Judge Rendell,” he said. “Your table is ready.”

  “Thanks, Roman.” He flashed a smile. Once they were both seated, he asked, “Would you like a cocktail or a glass of wine, Lily?”

  “A Coke will be fine,” she answered, placing her napkin in her lap.

  He ordered a glass of merlot. “How’s the Stucky trial going?”

  “Tedious and sad. Ronald Abrams did the autopsy. He testified today. He was amazed the boy lasted as long as he did with the amount of drugs they were pumping into him.” She picked up the menu, then dropped it back on the table. “God, I wish I could strangle these people and be done with it. Do you ever feel like you’re going to lose it right there in the courtroom?”

  “All the time.”

  Although felony crimes weren’t tried in the misdemeanor court where Chris was assigned, all preliminary hearings were. A preliminary hearing was similar to a mini-trial. The purpose was to determine if there was reasonable doubt a crime had been committed and the defendant had committed it. If such was found, the defendant would be held to answer in superior court. Lily said, “How do you handle it?”

  “I go home and cry.” He looked embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. “I’m concerned about you, Lily. Is everything okay in your marriage?”

  “Wait a minute,” she answered, leveling her gaze at him. “You’re asking me about my marriage when you refuse to divulge anything about your personal life other than the fact that you’re a Mormon. Are you married? Do you have a family? Are you gay? Honestly, some of us are so curious, we’ve given thought to swiping your personnel file.”

  He let out a long sigh. “I never realized anyone was interested.”

  Lily locked her arms over her chest. “Don’t tell me you’re blind to the way women fawn over you, Chris. If you announced that you were single, there’d be a line all the way around the courthouse.”

  “Ah,” he said, a tentative smile on his face. “So . . . what do you think?”

  “My guess is you have a gorgeous wife and a houseful of picture-perfect blond, blue-eyed kids.” She paused, rethinking her statement. “You don’t keep any pictures of them in your office, but in our line of work, perhaps you’re afraid someone might try to hurt them.”

  His eyes drifted downward. A cloak of silence fell over the table. When he spoke, his voice cracked with emotion. “My wife and daughter were . . .” He stopped speaking and took a drink of his wine. “The three-year anniversary of their death is tomorrow. A semi truck hit them head-on. Sherry, my wife, was taking Emily to see her grandparents in Sacramento. Emily’s birthday is next week. She would have been seven.” He stared at a spot on the wall. “I guess that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.”

  “God, I’m so sorry, Chris,” Lily said, leaning forward. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I feel terrible. Forgive me, I’m a foolish woman.”

  “No, no,” he said, swallowing hard. “I can’t keep this bottled up inside me forever. I need to talk about it. It’s just that nothing bad had ever happened to me before. I guess you could say I lived a charmed life. I did great in school. I married a wonderful woman, and she gave me a wonderful daughter. Emily seemed to be following in my footsteps. The teachers suggested we put her in a school for gifted children. Sherry and I were active in the church. I was convinced God would protect us from anything evil and ugly.” He gritted his teeth. “When the accident happened, I completely changed. Nothing anyone said could console me. I became furious with God. Honestly, I went insane. I even gave thought to killing the driver of the truck.”

  “Was he under the influence?”

  “No,” he told her. “That’s the hardest part to accept, you know. It was an accident, just a lousy traffic accident. Sherry and Emily weren’t killed by a murderer, or an act of God like a hurricane or an earthquake. The truck driver was tired, the roads were
wet, and the tires didn’t have enough tread. How can I explain this to someone who’s never gone through it?”

  Lily didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything. She could tell he was uncomfortable talking in a public place, but the restaurant was crowded and people seemed to be absorbed in their own conversations. When the waiter brought their food, Rendell just stared at it, the same tortured look on his face. She took a few bites of her roasted chicken, then placed her fork on the edge of her plate. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier. The smell of red meat sometimes makes me nauseous.” She forced a smile. “Maybe I’ll pick the restaurant next time. Can you have them box up your food?”

  He gestured for the waiter, looking relieved. When the man came over, he handed him his credit card.

  Their eyes linked and lingered. Lily felt connected to him, as if he’d peered deep inside her and seen the terrible things that had happened in her life. Once he signed the bill, they both stood to leave. As they made their way out of the restaurant, Rendell placed his palm in the center of her back to guide her through the narrow walkways between the tables. The warmth of his hand penetrated her blouse. She caught a scent of his aftershave, something with a hint of lime. The odor made her think of gin and tonic, her favorite drink.