Sally sighed, picked up the aid from the floor and wiped it with a tissue. “Here Mom, let’s try again.” This time Sally kept her hands close, in case the aid dropped. Ferrell got the aid installed and gazed at Sally.
“Hello, Mother,” Sally smiled and tried once more.
“Who are you?” Ferrell asked in a quieter voice.
“I’m Sally, your daughter, remember me?”
“I have a daughter?”
“Yes, you do.”
“How come you never come see me?”
“I come to see you a lot, Mother. I was here just last month for your birthday, remember?”
“My birthday? When was that?”
“Last month, Mother.”
“No, I don’t have birthdays, no more birthdays.” Ferrell shook her head and pointed to the ball game. “That’s my team you know,” she crowed like a little girl.
“Yes, they are good, aren’t they? What do you say I push you down the hall to the sun room where we can talk? Would you like that, Mother?”
“You know where it is?”
“Yes, I do. The sun room is nice, and quiet. We can talk.”
“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ve never been there.”
“Yes, you have, Mother, you’ve just forgotten.”
“Oh. I wish I could remember things,” sighed Ferrell.
Sally took hold of the wheelchair and pushed her mother down the hall to a visitor’s area, hoping it would be quiet. They were in luck. No one else was around. Sally pushed her mother into a pleasant spot and pulled up a chair. Sitting next to her mother, Sally took the woman’s hand.
“Who are you?” asked Ferrell.
“I’m Sally, your daughter—Sally Millecan.”
Ferrell squinted at her. “That’s a lie, you’re not my daughter.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m your daughter, Sally Millecan,” she said patiently. She expected this kind of thing and took no offense. There could be times when Ferrell had periods of lucidity and other times when she was lost. Sally lived and hoped for those few lucid times.
“You’re not my daughter. I know my own daughter. Her name is Sally Miller,” Ferrell insisted.
This fantasy happened sometimes. Sally just took it in stride. She laughed, “Oh yes, Mother. How could I forget? My name is Sally Miller, just as you said.” She squeezed her mother’s hands in hers.
Ferrell nodded in satisfaction and joined in the laughter. “I guess I ought to know my own daughter’s name, don’t you think?”
“Would you like to play some cards, Mother? Or can I read to you?”
“No thank you. I guess I’ll go back and watch the ball game, now.”
“Sure, Mother. I’ll take you back.”
“Thank you. I’m a little tired.”
Ferrell was asleep by the time they reached 301B. Sally positioned her in front of the TV, turned the ball game on mute and lovingly tucked the lap-robe around her mother. Should she remove the hearing aids? Maybe not this time, but she would leave a note at the desk.
Driving back to the airport, she replayed the visit in her mind, pondering why her mother insisted her name was Miller, not Millecan. Probably a name from some soap opera her mother saw. There was no explanation for these things, but it nagged her. Sally wished she had had time to bring up the subject of her 21st birthday. Maybe it would have prodded her mother’s old memories. So many things were lost in time, details about her birth and childhood that only Ferrell could tell her, if only she could remember.
These visits never seemed to take as long as planned. Sally’s flight back to Seattle didn’t leave until five o’clock. There was time to drive by the house where she spent some time growing up, in one of the Vancouver neighborhoods. They had moved around several times. Sally wasn’t even sure of all the places they had lived. She had so many questions.
She had to circle around several times before she found the place. A lot had changed. The houses were almost alike, but she remembered it as one of her favorite times. At least it wasn’t a tiny apartment in a crowded high-rise tenement, like some of the places they had lived. Those all ran together. This house was better. It had a yard with a tree she could climb, a back porch and a swing. She had her own room with a window looking out over the back yard. Also, she loved the school, only three blocks away. She could walk to school with friends, such as she had. Should she go up and knock on the door? No, there wasn’t a good reason to do that. What would people think? It was not a fabulous house, anyway, just a special memory to her.
They never stayed in one place long enough to keep friends. Sally never knew any aunts or uncles, or grandparents. Her mom said they were dead and Sally accepted that, but it was lonely for her mother. Not that Sally lacked for friends. She made friends almost as quickly as she forgot them when they moved on.
Would there be anyone who remembered her? Any teachers? She felt almost like a person without a past. But, that wasn’t true. It was out there somewhere. There was just so much she would never know or understand. For instance, why did they always live in Canada when Sally was born an American? Was her mother a citizen? Someday she would have to find out, but where to start looking?
Surely the nursing home would know. Maybe she could go online and find something. Sally made up her mind to do some digging—for what she wasn’t sure.
Paradise Valley-Officer McGillicuddy
A couple of days had passed since Nan and Nate Goodrich’s son, Rob, had the confrontation with the Totten kid. Nothing more had happened and so Rob felt relieved. So far, he hadn’t heard from Totten’s lawyer on an accusation of assault. Thank goodness, no cop had come knocking on the door. Rob’s dad would not be pleased if that happened.
Rob was busy getting ready to fly to Italy, his other friends were occupied with their lives and girl-friends, and so Rob put it out of his mind until some odd things started to happen. It wasn’t anything you could put your finger on. Maybe his cell phone would ring and no one would be there, or strange lights would shine in his bedroom at night.
With a list of things to pick up at the mall, Rob left the house by the front door. Keys in hand, he glanced at his car parked outside in the driveway. Oh my God! What on earth? Rob took off on a run. Something was spattered all over his car. Rob reached out a finger to touch it and then he backed off. The odor was horrific. All over the ground were broken egg shells. Someone had rotten-egged his car. Oh no! Rob gasped and looked around for help. No one was nearby. And then he saw the house. His heart sank. Eggs were running down the bricks. He ran his hand through his hair, then slumped his shoulders, sighed and shook his head when the realization hit. This was vandalism, requiring more professional cleanup than Rob could do on his own. He had to get help.
Slowly Rob moved away from the disaster and sank down to sit on the porch step. His mind went over the alternatives. What should he do? He hated it, but there was only one right thing to do. Rob sighed, drew out his cell phone and dialed 911.
“You have dialed 911. If this is an emergency press 1, if not, press 2.”
Rob pressed 2.
“What is the nature of your problem? Please press 1 for police, 2 for fire, 3 for illness or injury, 4 to return to the main menu for emergency.”
Rob pressed 1.
“Paradise Valley police department. How may I direct your call?”
Rob was happy to hear a real person.
“I need to report vandalism to my home and car, please.”
“One moment, sir, and I will connect you with a duty officer.”
“Sergeant Draff, how may I help you?”
“Hello?” said Rob.
“Hello, go ahead, please.”
“Hello Sergeant. This is Robert Goodrich, 2010 Willow Avenue. I just discovered that someone has rotten-egged my car and the bricks on my parents’ house.”
“Rotten-egged your car and house—is that correct?” asked Sergeant Draff, smiling to himself.
“Yessir.”
“Is it so
mething you can clean up yourself?”
“No, it is extensive, Sergeant. Not just one egg--dozens. The car is covered, and the house … well I haven’t looked closely, but I know it will require professional people to clean it up.”
“Is there any further damage?”
“I don’t know. I just discovered it and called you right away.”
“All right, sir, I have your report.”
“Is that all you can do?”
“Do you wish to file a complaint?”
“I might,” said Rob thinking of Jeff Totten.
“I have a patrol car on the way. Can you wait right there?”
“Yes, I’ll wait. How long will it be?”
“Just a few minutes. Don’t leave.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“That’s all. Thank you.”
“Goodbye, then.”
“Goodbye.”
Rob hung up, thinking What should I do? Geez, he hated to call Mom. He took a deep breath and blew it out through his lips. Gotta do it. I’ll call the house phone first. Rob dialed the number and waited while it rang four times.
“Hello?” Nan sounded breathless.
“Mom, it’s me. Sorry to bother you.”
“What? Honey, you’re no bother. Is something wrong?” She knew he had left to go shopping.
“Well no, I mean yes, a little.”
“What happened Rob?”
“Well, I found some damage to my car, and so I had to call it in. Didn’t want you to be surprised.”
“What damage? Call what in? Call who? Where are you?”
“I’m right here, Mom, on the front porch.”
Nan hung up the phone without saying goodbye. She dashed for the front door, threw it open and stepped outside.
Rob stood.
Nan gasped. She came to a halt beside Rob. “What happened? What is that junk all over your car? Is that paint?” She started forward down the sidewalk.
Rob stopped her. “Mother, please, stay back.” He took her arm, and gently tried to pull her back.
Nan turned toward him. That’s when she saw the house. Both hands flew to her mouth as she gasped, “Awwoh!” She turned toward Rob with tears starting to form.
“It’ll clean up, Mom,” said Rob.
“B-but,” she shook her head, “What? Why?”
“Someone threw eggs on it, Mom … on the house and on my car.”
Nan turned to look more closely at the damage.
“Don’t go up there, Mom.”
“Why not?”
“We need to wait for the patrol car.”
“What patrol car?”
“I called the police,”
“You did?”
“Yeah, I had to report it, Mom, for the insurance company.”
“Oh.” Nan crossed her arms and started to rub her bare skin.
Rob put one arm around her. “You’re shivering, Mom. Why don’t you go inside? I’ll wait for the patrol car.”
Nan paused for a moment. “You’re right, Rob. I am a little chilly. I’ll get a sweater,” she said and turned toward the door.
Rob tried to dissuade her. “Mom, you don’t need to wait with me. I’m okay. It’s just a simple vandalism report. You go on with your work or whatever you were doing. I’ll take care of this.”
Nan hesitated.
“Go on in, Mom. I’ll be fine.” Rob wasn’t eager for her to overhear his conversation with the cop.
Nan took another look at the damage, slowly turned and went back inside. Rob could see her peeking out the window and hoped she would leave. Maybe if he sat down, she’d get bored. Rob returned to the steps, plunked down and rested his head on his hands.
It was another ten minutes, or so, before the marked police car arrived. Another couple of minutes passed while the officer spoke to dispatch and appeared to be writing on something. At last a uniformed policewoman emerged from the vehicle and walked around Rob’s car, snapping pictures. Rob stood quietly, waited and watched while she took more pictures of the house. He couldn’t help but notice her long blond braid hanging below her officer’s cap and her neat round bottom encased by a smart dark-blue uniform. A gun was holstered on her right side, and a communicator was attached to one shoulder. She spoke quietly as she walked around. Rob realized that she wasn’t talking to herself. She was either reporting her observations or merely recording them. He could imagine what she was saying as she looked the house and neighborhood over and then turned toward him and spoke a few sentences while gazing directly at him. Finally she stepped forward.
“You reported an incident of vandalism,” she stated.
“Yes, officer, I called in a while ago,” he glanced at his watch and added, “About twenty minutes, I guess.”
“And your name is …?”
“Robert Goodrich.”
“Age?”
“Nineteen.”
“Address. Occupation?”
“This is my home,” Rob stated, wondering why there were so many questions, “but I am attending State University.”
“Student,” she said as she wrote. “Why are you home?”
“This is summer break. I’ll be here for a few more days until I leave for a term in Italy.” What would it take to break this woman’s professional demeanor?
“Thank you for coming.” Rob smiled as broadly as he could, considering what was happening.
She looked up from what she was writing. “It’s my job,” she stated without cracking a smile. “And now, you reported this as vandalism. What led you to make that statement?”
“Well, no one in the family would do this.”
“Is that so?” she said as if she doubted it. “No arguments, no one in the family was upset about something?” She wrote rapidly.
“Of course not. What are you inferring?”
She merely gazed directly at him. “We make no judgements. I’m here to investigate a complaint.”
“Of course,” said Rob, “and doing a great job, I might add.”
She stopped.
“And your name is?” asked Rob.
“McGillicuddy. Officer McGillicuddy.”
“Thank you, Officer McGillicuddy. Very nice name.”
She chose to ignore Rob’s attempt to flirt. She had seen it all. “And now, Mr. Goodrich,” she said, with the emphasis on Mr., “do you have any idea why someone would do this?”
“No,” Rob answered, choosing to keep his opinion to himself. Wasn’t it obvious?
“A neighbor, maybe? Does anyone have a grudge?”
“On my folks? No, of course not.”
“This is your car, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Not your parents’ car?”
“It’s my car, in my name. I use it at school. But, as I said, I’m home for a couple of weeks.”
“Well then, who has a grudge against you?”
How did she know? Rob looked away. She waited for his answer, as seconds mounted. A full minute passed. Rob started to sweat.
“Who did this?” she prodded.
“Well … I can’t be sure, can I? I didn’t see anyone.”
“Umm-hmm …?”
Rob didn’t know how much to say.
“See here, Mr. Goodrich. I’m a busy person. Lot’s worse stuff going on all day long. But, it’s not Halloween. You aren’t a teenager playing pranks.”
“I didn’t do this!”
“All right, but I believe you know who did and what it’s all about. And, if we don’t stop this now, it could get worse. This is just the start. We don’t want this person who has a grudge to get bolder, do we?”
Rob drew in a deep breath and blew it out.
“Think about your family. You have parents?”
“Yeah, Mom and Dad.”
“Okay, brothers, sisters?” She watched him closely for his reaction.
“One sister.”
“I see. Is this about your sister?”
Rob looked up sharply and dropped his mouth open.
“Your sister then. Tell me. Did your sister do this?” The officer was fishing.
“Absolutely not!” Rob exclaimed.
“And then, it was about your sister,” Officer McGillicuddy stated. This guy was easy. His face gave him away. She placed her hand on his arm. “All right, Rob. We’ve got time. You are going to sit right down and tell me what happened with your sister and this guy who has a grudge.” She took his hand. “Come along with me,” she said and led him over to the cruiser. She opened her door and invited him in. “You sit right here in the driver’s seat, and I’ll go around.”
Rob took the door handle and waited, in astonishment, to see what she would do. McGillicuddy walked around to the other side, opened the door and took the passenger seat. “Get in,” she invited.
With some reluctance, Rob got into the driver’s seat. His face must have registered his concern. “What for?” he asked.
“We’re not going anywhere,” she assured him. “See, I’ve got the keys.” She reached up and turned off the communicator. “No one is listening. Now, tell me about it.” She had dropped the cool demeanor and was all warm and inviting, now—his best friend.
“Uh.”
“Off the record, Mr. Goodrich. May I call you Robert?”
“It’s Rob.”
“Okay Rob, I’m all ears.” She smiled.
“Um, well …“ Rob looked around as if to make sure everything was turned off, “there is a guy who dated my sister. She’s only sixteen and he’s older. He got fresh with her and she ran into the house. Now he is spreading lies about her all over town. Well, he was until …”
“Until you decided to do something about it,” she nodded sympathetically, as if it was all right.
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” he grinned sheepishly. Rob wasn’t going to admit anything to a cop.
“And now this person who was spreading lies about your sister is paying you back, I see,” McGillicuddy surmised.
Rob was silent.
Nate Page 5
