"What were you doing?"
As they sorted through the first few folders, identifying what was in them and how the folders were set up -- by topic and year, with the oldest stories in the back of the folder -- Natalie related what she had seen and heard and her assessment of people and attitudes in Tabor Heights. Max offered commentary on some of the more easily identifiable people. The binder book vandal wasn't among them.
"Which means if I keep talking to people, I'll eventually run into him," Natalie said with a groan. Max laughed. She did give her some pointers on how to identify the man in time to avoid him.
"I'll give you one of the bags the paper carriers use, with our logo and name on it. He hates us so much, he'll just glare at you and walk away, and won't come within twenty feet of you."
"Creep repellant!"
They were still chuckling about it as Natalie bundled up the first armful of folders -- in the promised paper carrier bag -- and they headed down the stairs. Most of the noise and activity of the newspaper office had faded. Max explained that most of circulation and advertising had left already for the day, and the stringers for the paper would be gone, as soon as they had uploaded their articles for the next paper into the system. Natalie was surprised to see Rose standing with a distinguished, white-haired gentleman, looking dapper in black suit pants, scarlet vest, and crisp white Oxford shirt, and talking to Brock. Then she remembered what Tommy had said, about Brock being the bookkeeper for the newspaper, part-time. In moments, she was being introduced to Andrew Coffelt, the owner of the paper. From the way he kept Rose's hand tucked into the crook of his elbow and patted it with his free hand, Natalie suspected a December romance between them. She nearly laughed aloud to realize that momentary pang in her chest was envy.
Her next overwhelming emotion was relief, when Brock offered her a ride back to the Mission, where she had parked her car.
"Do I look as done-in as I feel?" she asked, once she had carefully set her newspaper bag on the back seat of his car and slid into the passenger's seat.
"A smart man doesn't admit something like that." He winked at her and turned the key in the ignition. "Nikki remarked that your car was parked out back and you were walking around town, so I put the two together. Besides, I wanted to ask you if you remember anything more about those two guys hassling Franky." He shrugged. "Sorry. Not quite a full-fledged white knight yet."
"That's okay. I should have thought of that, myself." She waited until they were out on the street. She knew the newspaper was a little more than a mile away from the Mission, across town, but her feet were presently insisting the distance was more like ten. "I'm pretty sure I gave you everything I heard. Sorry."
"Don't be. We wouldn't know there was a threat, if you hadn't told us. If it comes down to it, could you look at some mug shots and identify Chuck and Simon?"
"Definitely." Natalie closed her eyes, summoning up those sullen faces to her memory. She would be unable to forget what they looked like, until the matter was settled and the threat removed.
Brock didn't have much information, but on the short ride back to the Mission, he was able to reassure her that the coordinator for Franky's rehabilitation was working on the situation, contacting the right authorities and getting the problem taken care of in such a way that the young man's parole wouldn't be damaged. Natalie told herself to be grateful, relieved, and to leave it all in the hands of those who knew how to handle these sorts of complications. Despite knowing that was the smart attitude to have, she couldn't shake her uneasiness over the situation, until she walked into the office and heard the news about Claire and Paul expecting a baby.
Funny, how good news like that could drive away the darkest shadow of threat.
Not until later, when Tommy talked Natalie into helping him make dinner and give Claire the night off, to celebrate, did another thought occur to her. This would be the perfect time to try to reunite Jonas Donnelly with his children. Or, it could be the worst possible time. From some things Tommy let fall, Claire had been having a rough month or so before her pregnancy was diagnosed. Despite what the doctor said, about her condition improving as time went on, it was easy to see Tommy was worried. He didn't strike her as a worrywart or pessimist, so Natalie thought about the kind of strain Claire could face at the thought of coming into contact with her estranged father. The man had run out on his family, after totally destroying his Christian testimony. Natalie could imagine quite easily that Claire and Tommy would never want anything to do with their father, no matter how genuine his reformation proved to be. Did she dare bring up the subject? Would they feel compelled by guilt to give the man a second chance, when their true heart choice was to cut him out of their lives forever?
Of course, that was after she admitted that she not only knew them from her childhood in Owens Forge, but she remembered who they were before she ever showed up in Tabor Heights, and hadn't bothered telling them. That wouldn't do much to convince them to trust her, to trust her father when he vouched for their father.
"Hey," Tommy said, giving her a cheesy grin, "stop worrying. I do know how to cook, believe it or not."
"Hmm?" Natalie's face warmed as she looked around the big kitchen and realized she had spaced out, caught up in her swirling thoughts. She had backed herself into a corner by not being open and honest from the moment she came back into Claire and Tommy's lives.
Looking down into his grinning, handsome face, she felt like she would choke from the pressure that suddenly enfolded her. No, she decided a moment later, it was like being smashed down to the floor.
"Do you ever read those really dumb stories, where someone keeps a secret and it ruins their whole -- well, their whole friendship with someone?" Her face flared hot as she kept herself from saying "romance" just in time.
"No. Who wants to read dumb stories? Come on, Nat, move it or lose it. I need help with the salad. I mean, I am personally averse to chopping up vegetables. Professional courtesy, y'know?" Tommy's face sobered when she just stared at him. "Okay, something's really bothering you, if you couldn't catch a joke like that."
She almost said, "what joke?" but caught herself in time.
"Sorry. There's this -- there's something I should tell you. Before we get any closer." She choked again. Yeah, she wanted to get a lot closer to Tommy. And it wasn't just her childhood crush rearing its head and stealing her vocabulary. "I figure, why torment myself wondering if you'll hate me? Get it over with." She shrugged. "Before I spend time making a dinner you might not let me eat."
"Uh huh. Step into my office." He slid across the kitchen to the back door. He had it open and slid down the ramp before Natalie could figure out what he was doing.
Some of the pressure rose from her shoulders as she followed him, tugging the door firmly closed behind her.
"Okay." Tommy turned sharply when he reached the patio and faced her as she came down the ramp. "What's such a big deal you think I'd kick you out before we eat?"
"My dad knows your dad."
"Uh huh." He didn't freeze up or glare at her, but the utter stillness that washed over him made something clutch at her heart.
"They go to the same church. He says your dad is a great guy, a real servant. He's making up for messing up so bad when you were a kid," she hurried to say, when she caught a flicker of something she thought might be anger, a protest, a denial, cold in his eyes.
"What do you know about when I was a kid?" he asked, his voice just a little too calm for her comfort.
"The thing is, Dad says he's trying to find out where you and Claire went, and nobody is telling him." Except my dad, but I'm not going to admit that until I know how you feel. "Either the people at the church don't know, or the ones who know don't believe he's reformed and they're hiding you. Protecting you."
"That's a good thing, I think."
"Tommy… I know it's none of my business, but Claire's pregnant and this is probably your dad's first grandchild."
"No, the Jerk has some, but he's
probably keeping them away to punish him, too," he muttered.
"Who's--"
She froze, realizing that the strange mottling among the shadows in the trees in the backyard wasn't shadows or leaves turning color far too soon. Those were faces. Familiar faces.
"Who's that?" Tommy said.
She snapped out of the frozen moment and realized he had turned to look where she had been staring. The faces were gone.
"You saw them? Enough to pick them out in a police lineup?" she whispered.
"Let's get inside." He didn't wait for her to follow, but spun his wheels and hurried up the ramp to the back door. Natalie felt as if something slimy cold, with prickly tentacles, tried to climb down her spine. She glanced over her shoulder, afraid she would see those faces peering at her from somewhere else in the yard, and closer to her.
Chuck and Simon.
"Those two guys hassling Franky?" Tommy guessed, as soon as they were inside and he had shoved the door closed and locked it.
"I'm pretty sure." She sagged into the nearest chair at the table. "I'm glad you saw them too. Maybe you were going to accuse me of faking it to distract you."
"Let's save that conversation for later, okay? Now isn't the time to spring the idea on Claire. It might never be, but…" Tommy shrugged. "Go find Paul, would you?"
When she came back with Paul, Tommy had the chicken strips, peppers, onions and corn sautéing in a deep skillet. She pulled out plates and set the table while the two of them told Paul what they had seen. Then they discussed the situation, what it might mean that the men giving Franky a rough time were here at the house.
"They said something about using your wheelchair to smuggle stuff, right?" Paul said. He started out by looking at Tommy, but turned to Natalie as he finished.
"Maybe they're getting a look at the chair to see what they can do with it?" Tommy nodded slowly, his eyes half-hooded as he visibly thought it over. Natalie finished setting the table and came over to the counter where he was working, chopping olives and lettuce and tomatoes. "Franky said something interesting the other day, right after we met you. He was asking about you, where you came from, because he said you looked familiar."
"Me?" She backed up two steps. "I have never seen Franky before, or those other two."
"Then you have an evil twin somewhere who hangs out with dumb crooks." He managed a grin. "Or maybe you're the evil twin."
"Ha ha." She played with the idea of upending the bowl of shredded lettuce on his head.
"So maybe they did see Natalie at the club the other night, and they're checking her out?" Paul shook his head. "I'm not sure which explanation is better. Or worse."
"The thing is, they're here, in town. And they must want something." Natalie stole an un-chopped olive. "Maybe they're looking for Franky, and they can't find him so they think he might be here. They figure he hangs out with you."
"He's in Columbus," Tommy muttered, nodding. "Let's hope that's all it is."
"At least we have warning," Paul said. "I'll call Brock and pass the word on. Maybe we should talk to the police, too."
"Might be good."
"Let's not talk about this. Anything that happened in here. Claire doesn't need to know about it."
"Absatively," Tommy said slowly, meeting Natalie's gaze. She nodded that she understood -- nothing about Chuck and Simon, and definitely nothing about her bit of news about their father.
Later, as the five of them sat around the table, enjoying the fajitas and laughing at Sammy's excitement, Natalie said a silent prayer of thanks that Tommy hadn't asked the logical question: Just why had she been talking to her father about him and his family, and how had they made the connection that her father knew his father? She decided to be amused, rather than irked that Tommy still didn't recognize or remember her.
Then again, with all the awful things that happened in Owens Forge, he had probably blocked all memories from before he was twelve years old.
*****
Tommy insisted on teaching Natalie a card game some friends of his had made up in college, just to keep her at the house a little longer. While Claire put Sammy to bed, Paul fussed in the kitchen, making coffee and clearing up the last few plates after their dessert. He decided to be amused, rather than irritated, when Natalie used the opportunity to ask about the preparations for the accessibility awareness walk scheduled for that weekend.
"Tomorrow is for organizing," he said, only sparing half his attention for the card game. "Putting together the information packets, getting the volunteers paired up with their handicaps."
"Like who's going to be in a wheelchair, who gets a walker, who gets a white cane?" she asked.
"Yeah. Who gets goggles for limited vision, who gets an arm tied behind their back. Ought to be a riot, watching people figure out how to steer a chair for the first time. Kind of like putting me behind the wheel of a car."
A little chill raced up his back when Paul didn't react to that line. Tommy felt guilty for giving him something new to worry about. No one deserved to have his high-flying buzz from learning about a coming baby crash and burn so soon after getting the news.
"Anyway," he continued after a moment of silence. "Saturday is when we hit the streets. Literally. We figure a lot of people will be off work and out running errands or just playing all day, so we'll be more visible."
"I hope you'll let me join in the fun, not just stand around and watch."
"You won't be allowed out if you don't pretend to be a gimp. Right, Paul?"
"Yeah, right." Paul gave them a thin smile and walked out of the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," Natalie murmured.
"For what?" Tommy grinned, pleased more than he thought possible that she seemed to be thinking along the same lines as him.
"I feel like I brought trouble on your family, even though I know it isn't me. If anybody, it's Franky, but even he didn't do anything."
"Well, if you think about it, he got involved in the wrong crowd. That's what led up to all this."
"I know, but…" She shrugged and frowned at her cards, her gaze flicking across them. She looked up, eyes wide with guilt, when Paul came back into the kitchen with Claire.
"You can't just wander around, either," Tommy said as the other two settled down at the table with them. "No simple handicap for you." He grinned when his sister sighed loudly. "I figure you'll learn the most in a chair. What do you think, Claire?"
"Oh, she'll have the time of her life, no doubt about it." Just the slightest trace of sarcasm touched her voice.
"Any special precautions?" Natalie asked.
"Bring a pillow -- and not for your head."
"For my -- oh." She grinned, and Claire winked at her.
"Hey," Tommy whined, "warnings aren't fair! Remember the first time you spent a whole day in a chair, Paul?" He waited, his smile fading, as Paul stared into his coffee cup. "Yo -- Earth to Paul."
"Hmm?" Paul jerked a little, and quickly put down his cup. "Sorry. It's been a long day."
"I think that's my cue," Natalie said, getting to her feet and summoning up a smile for everyone.
*****
The dashboard clock read after nine p.m. when the front door of the house, four driveways away from the car, opened. Chuck nudged Simon, who was busy texting one of their many business partners across the country. The other man sat up and narrowed his eyes as several figures appeared in the spill of light from inside the house. No details were visible beyond silhouettes that gave a general idea of genders. A man in a wheelchair stayed in the doorway, while a man and a woman came down the steps with a second woman. The couple stayed at the bottom of the front steps while the woman continued down the driveway to a car parked on the street. The streetlight was a dozen feet away from her car, but it cast enough light for Simon to get a good look at her features.
His eyes narrowed as Natalie waved to the couple, identified by his sources as Paul and Claire Hunter, sister and brother-in-law to the wheelchair comedian Franky seemed to be s
pending a lot of time with lately.
"Definitely, I know her," he muttered, after Natalie got into her car and the ceiling light kept her features illuminated.
"Yeah," Chuck grunted. "I'd like to get to know a bod like that, too."
"Not that, you -- I know her from somewhere. Something feels wrong here."
"Like what?"
"If I knew, I could do something about it. We're gonna have to keep an eye on her, just like good old Franky."
"Only got so many eyes." He grunted when Simon's cell phone rang. Natalie pulled away from the curb and he half-listened to the phone conversation as he waited a ten-count before pulling out after her.
"Yeah?" Simon glanced at Chuck and mouthed, 'Ricky.' He frowned. "Again? Well, don't worry about that. We got a new plan." He shook his head, his frown deepening as he listened to their contact at the veterans hospital. "Hey, don't worry. You still get your share. You're our inside man." He banged his fist on the armrest, but kept his tone light. "No, I'm saying nothing until everything's set. I'll call you." He nodded a few times. "Yeah. Sure. You're still in the loop, man. Wouldn't cut you out for anything. Best inside man we got. Uh huh." He snapped his phone closed and stared out the windshield as they followed Natalie down one street and over two more, before she pulled up in front of a big, old-fashioned, three-story house. "We gotta get a new inside man."
"Hey, we got old buddy Franky," Chuck sneered.
"Yeah, but for how long? He's scared, and he knows he owes us. How long does that last?"
Friday, September 18
Tommy wheeled through the old gym just before noon and watched with mixed awe and satisfaction the organized chaos of volunteers setting up for the orientation, training, and then the actual accessibility awareness walk. The gym was essentially arranged as an assembly line to put together the information packets that afternoon when people came in after school and work. Long rows of tables stretched the length of the room, parallel with the front of the stage. Boxes of papers and plastic bags were stacked everywhere, with racks of chairs waiting at the end of every row, to be set up as soon as the assembly line work was done. Nodding, pleased, and a little relieved and guilty that he couldn't really participate in the assembly of the packets, he rolled on to the weight room that had been temporarily set up in a former utility room. When the senior center part of the Mission expanded, the weights would be moved into a room adjacent to it, to encourage the seniors to work on muscle tone and improve their health with exercise more extensive than working puzzles, and playing shuffleboard, bocci, or Bingo.
Wheels (Tabor Heights Year Two) Page 14
