The back screen door swung open and Mama walked outside. A pair of mismatched oven mitts covered her hands as she carried a still bubbling dish of enchiladas to the table. “Time to eat,” she said. “Two or three of you go get everything else. Wylie, would you mind bringing me something from that cooler?”
He smiled and grunted as he leaned forward, shoved his hand to the bottom of the ice, and grabbed a can.
Amara placed her palm on his back and whispered, “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a drink.”
“Not what I meant, and you know it.”
“Don’t thank me for doing what I love.” He glanced at her and his smile evaporated. “It’s been a rough couple of days. She’s been dreading tonight. I think telling everyone is worse for her than the cancer itself. She’s terrified that y’all will have to take care of her.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her. If it comes to that, we’ll be happy to—”
“She asked me to marry her.”
Amara’s mouth fell open as a wave of dizziness washed through her brain. “What? When?”
He patted her knee. “I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t ask ‘why’ too. We’ll talk later. No mention of this to anyone, right?”
She nodded as his smile returned and he wandered off toward her mother. Could her world get more confused? Thoughts ricocheted in her mind as they jockeyed for priority. Mama’s cancer. Haley Bricker and her dog. The computer problems at the retirement center. The anonymous phone caller who knew all about her. Starsky. Liam Walker and Matias Lucero. And Wylie, her new stepfather?
Her pulse quickened as the thoughts combined into a muddy mixture. She pressed her drink against her forehead and closed her eyes. Focus. Prioritize. Tonight was about Mama. Get the facts on her health and make sure there was a plan to move forward. She was the priority.
Amara whispered a prayer for peace and stood. One of her nephews bumped into her as he ran toward his designated spot at the kids’ table, his “sorry!” barely audible over the cacophony of voices from those already gathered under the mesquite tree. She settled onto the only open space at the end of the bench and scooted until most of her rear was on the seat. Wouldn’t be long until they’d need to add more seating, though Mama always liked it better when everyone was squeezed together. Said it made the table look full. She was right.
Wylie tapped a spoon against a glass and cleared his throat. “After dinner, we’d like to go inside for a, um, brief discussion. Everyone is welcome, including grandchildren.” He glanced at Mama. “Especially grandchildren. For now though”—he waved his hands over the table—“your mother has prepared a feast. Eat up!”
Conversations briefly faded as the clanking of forks and glasses and knives and plates overtook the area. Amara chose a chicken enchilada and added a spoonful of rice, a large dose of black beans, and some grilled corn. The meal was, as always, delicious and too much. She surveyed the others seated around her. What would happen when Mama could no longer fix a dinner like this? Would someone else step forward and take over? Should she? It would require a time commitment she wasn’t sure she could make.
But the time excuse was a cop-out. She loved her family, but spending time around them drained her. Her favorite activities outside of work were primarily solo ventures. Workouts on the Muay Thai bag. Long jogs around parks. Visiting Dad’s grave. All things that recharged her. Planning, preparing, and presenting a meal to her family required skills she didn’t have and didn’t want. Was that being selfish? She’d help Mama in every possible way, of course. Whatever it took to get her through this battle.
A poke on her arm startled her and she peered at her brother seated next to her. “Hello? You with us? Mama’s talking to you.”
Amara raised her head and nodded. “Sorry.”
“You’re not eating,” her mother said. “What’s wrong?”
“Just, um, just thinking about some things I need to take care of. Not very hungry anyway.” She straightened and smiled. “It’s delicious though.”
Mama stared at her for a few seconds before standing. “Help me with something in the kitchen for a moment.”
She followed her mother inside and the two stood so they could peek out the window into the yard. Neither spoke and, after a moment, Amara sniffled as tears filled her eyes. Mama pulled a paper towel off the roll and handed it to her. “I know about the calls,” she said. “Wylie told me. Your anonymous one and his call to you after my appointment.”
What? Why? “He wasn’t supposed to. That information is confidential and concerns an ongoing investigation. If I thought you were in any danger because of it, I would have told you. Made certain you were safe.”
“Confidential? You told Wylie. He’s no longer a police officer.”
She placed a hand on the counter. “I needed to know if the information was valid.”
“Are you in any danger?”
How did a cop answer that? No more than usual? “No. And I don’t want you to worry about any of this. The call, the cancer, any of it. We’ll get through it.”
Mama faced her and brushed her fingertips on Amara’s cheek. “Is that what you think I worry about? My life is gathered around those tables in the backyard. You too, of course. I am blessed beyond words. Everything else comes and goes.” She shrugged. “Or it doesn’t. Do not mistake my meaning. The cancer is not good and I will fight, but my strength is my family. You want to help me get through this? I will tell you the same thing I am saying to the others later. If I need help, I will ask for it.”
“You can’t expect us to act as if nothing is different.”
“No, I cannot.” She gestured out the window to the rest of the family. “But there is my joy and I will not allow cancer to take it from me. You understand?”
“Mama, you’re not being realistic. It’s selfish to not let us help you. We’re a part of this now, whether you like it or not. We can’t put on happy faces and pretend everything’s okay.”
A long sigh flowed through her mother’s lips. “I did not ask for happy faces. I understand what is about to happen. One way or another, the cancer will consume my life. The treatments may work or they may not. I cannot ask you not to worry, but you should have no guilt.”
“Guilt? For what?”
“For the times to come.” She hooked her arm through Amara’s. “For the nights you work late and think you should be with me. For the weekends you spend home alone instead of visiting me. For the dates you go on—you do still go on dates?—and remember halfway through the meal you haven’t called me in a while. That guilt does not come from me.” She poked a finger into Amara’s chest. “Do not allow it in there. Your life is yours. Do not change who you are or what you do. That is what would truly hurt me.”
Outside, the family began the process of stacking plates and cleaning up. Soon, everyone would head inside. Amara squeezed her mother’s arm. “Wylie told me you asked him to marry you.”
“That man cannot keep a secret.”
“Tell me about it. Kind of soon, isn’t it?”
Mama shook her head. “Maybe for someone your age. I know he loves me.”
“And you love him?”
“I would be happy to share my life with him.”
Amara took a step backward. “That’s not what I asked. Do you love him?”
“I think so.” She wiped her palms on a dishtowel. “It’s difficult. Your father was the love of my life. I will not experience that again. Wylie and I are comfortable together. We enjoy each other.” She winked. “Very much.”
Heat flashed through Amara’s face. “Mama, are you and Wylie, you know, together?”
“Is that a question you truly wish me to answer?”
No. Emphatically no. “So when’s the wedding?”
“He has not given his answer yet. There are things he must consider.”
“Such as?”
“I do not know. Perhaps you could speak to him?”
Amara’s stom
ach rumbled as she watched the crowd outside finish their clean-up work. She drummed her fingers on the counter and cleared her throat. “I wouldn’t know what to say. I think this is something you two should settle.”
Mama nodded, then pulled a slip of paper from her pocket and read from it. “I have Stage 3 breast cancer with a six-centimeter tumor that has spread to three lymph nodes. Tomorrow morning, I begin six cycles of chemotherapy, once every twenty-one days, and then my doctor will reevaluate my situation. That may mean further treatment, a lumpectomy or mastectomy, and radiation. He feels my prognosis is good.”
She folded the paper and ran her hand along the crease. “That is what I am telling everyone tonight.” Her voice quivered. “I expect it will be emotional.”
Amara wrapped her arms around her mother. “Why are you telling me now?”
“Because it is you I worry about most. Everyone else here will go home with family. They can talk and cry and be together. You will be alone in your apartment. If that is by choice, fine. But no matter your decisions or personality or history, there are times it is not good to be by yourself. You need to learn that.”
Same thing Starsky said. The two separated as the back door opened and the family filtered into the house. Amara took a stack of plates and began rinsing them at the sink as her mother piled them into the dishwasher. “I could spend the night here,” she said. “You don’t need to be alone either.”
“That is exactly what I need. After I tell the rest of the family, my talking is done. Whatever Dios has planned for me, my life will change. I must come to peace with that, and I cannot if others are here.”
“So I shouldn’t be alone but you should be? How does that make sense?”
Mama closed the dishwasher and straightened. “I will be by myself because I choose to be. I am not convinced you can say the same.” She took Amara’s hand. “My sweet baby. Can you look your mother in the eye and promise her you are happy?”
Amara looked toward the ceiling to keep the tears from dripping from her eyes. “I love my job, Mama.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. You are a detective. What would you say your answer means?”
That I’m being evasive. Avoiding the question for some reason. Maybe because I don’t know the answer.
Or worse, I do.
30
Amara’s alarm clock jolted her awake at five the next morning and skyrocketed her pulse. Her late-night desire to rise early and stop by the gym on the way to work had seemed plausible at the time. Not so much now. The discussion with Mama and the family meeting left her drained. And that was before Wylie cornered her as everyone was leaving.
He wanted to marry her mother but feared she only asked because of the cancer. Not in a selfish way, but in a “I know you want to marry me and my time might be short so let’s do this” sense. Yes, he knew she loved him and he loved her too. And yes, he’d take care of her, married or not. But what if she changed her mind once the treatments were over? Everyone’s emotions were out of whack and maybe it wasn’t the time for spur-of-the-moment decisions. Was he being fair to her if he accepted her proposal? And what about her kids? What would they think? Would Amara put out feelers? Oh, and bounce his thoughts off her mother while she was at it?
Matchmaker or go-between or arbitrator. Whichever she was, it was a job she didn’t want. Why couldn’t they simply talk to each other instead of acting like a couple of middle schoolers passing “do you like me? check yes or no” notes? After finally getting away from Mama’s and returning to her apartment, she’d spent nearly an hour on the phone debriefing with Starsky. He’d asked a few questions, but mostly he listened. At one point she tried to lighten the mood by wondering if this was what therapy was like. He responded by saying that he didn’t know, but if it was helping her, he’d stay on the phone all night. Her talking had dwindled until the seconds of silence stretched into minutes and her yawns could no longer be stifled and they said goodbye.
It seemed as if they’d just hung up when her alarm went off. She lifted her head, paused, and let it fall back onto the cool pillow. Sleep was more important than the gym. Another thirty minutes would make all the difference. Big day today. She’d go by the retirement community to get more details on their computer problems. If, as she suspected, there was some commonality between what happened there and the outages at the water park, that would be a major lead. A connection that might point to the teenagers’ online activities and source of income.
She let loose a wall-shaking yawn. Why was her bedroom so bright? She flopped her arm over her eyes and licked her dry lips. Morning breath was in full force today. She stretched and turned toward her clock. Eight thirty? She’d fallen back asleep. Her heart pounded as she hurried to the bathroom. How many years since she’d overslept?
Her reflection frowned back at her. Saggy skin and puffy eyes and Edward-Scissorhands hair. The quick shower and smidgen of makeup barely dented the damage. Might need her oversize sunglasses. And a hat.
Fifteen minutes later, after checking on Larry and telling him not to look at her like that because she had enough guilt in her life right now, she was in her car headed toward Green Horizons Retirement Community. Breakfast consisted of a dry granola bar and bottled water, an apt punishment for her tardiness.
She opted against phoning ahead, reasoning that in a facility so large, surely someone would be there she could talk to about the incident. She’d need to tread carefully though. A woman had died the night they experienced the problems, and anyone in management would be wary of potential lawsuits. If Amara spooked them by trying to tie the death to the computer outage, whether that was the case or not, there was a good possibility she’d be shown the door, or worse, referred to their legal department.
The radio hushed as her cell’s ring echoed through the car’s speakers. A local number popped onto the display, not that that meant anything lately. She pressed the button on the steering wheel to connect the call. “Hello?”
“Detective Alvarez?”
“Yes.”
“This is Nicole Walker. Liam’s mother. We spoke briefly yesterday.”
The skin on Amara’s arms tingled. “Right. How can I help you?”
“I spoke to my son last night. He, um, he said he doesn’t know anything about that boy’s death.”
Yeah? He’s lying. “And you believe him?”
“I do. He’s, uh, got no reason to lie to me.”
“Interesting. If he’s involved, I’d say he has every reason to lie to you.”
“If you have evidence to the contrary, let’s hear it. Otherwise, I choose to believe my son.”
Time to tighten the screws. “That’s your decision. I hope you can live with it.”
“Meaning what?”
“Your son is withholding information regarding the death of Zachary Coleman. I’m certain of that and I think you are too. Look, all I can do is go where the case leads me, and right now, there’s an arrow pointed straight at Liam. He’s not the only one, and I’m not saying he killed the boy, but he knows something.”
“Even if he did have information, why would he share it with the police? You’ve already made up your mind that he did something. No wonder people are scared of cops.”
Especially guilty people. “Are you sure it’s me he’s frightened of? If someone did kill Coleman, they’re still out there. Maybe Liam is involved in illegal activity and maybe not. I’m going to find out, and when I do, I’ll meet with the DA to discuss the charges. Your son has an opportunity to be seen as helpful in the investigation. That’s a sign of remorse for any wrongdoing. Judges and juries like that.”
“This isn’t easy, Detective.” A voice in the background announced that a patient was on the way to her room. “I couldn’t sleep last night worried about Liam. If he has done something, I want to mitigate the punishment as much as I can.”
“Then the best thing would be for him to come forward. The sooner the better.”
“I don’t want to
lose my son.”
“I understand. Neither did the Colemans.”
An iciness crept into her voice. “I have to go.”
The call disconnected. Not even a goodbye? Amara stopped as a light turned red. Had she pushed the woman too hard? Everything she’d said was true. Liam, Matias, and Haley were somehow involved. She might be a long way from being able to prove that, but the day would come. The truth always came out.
Except in the large percentage of homicides in which no one was ever charged.
The light cycled green and she continued her drive to the retirement village. Should be there in another ten or so. Right about the time Mama would be getting her first chemo treatment. The doctor said it would take around four hours and any side effects wouldn’t kick in until the third or fourth day afterward.
Maybe she should take Mama and Wylie to dinner tonight. Hash out this whole marriage thing so she could cross it off her to-do list. That would mean getting to bed later, but tomorrow was Saturday. Unless something broke on the case today, she’d let everyone stew over the weekend. Otherwise, sleep in, hit the Breakfast Bodega, and make up for the lost workouts with a weekend of exercise interspersed with quality time with Larry. And no family meal tomorrow night since they’d just done one. A chance to find two or three movies to veg out with, either alone or invite Starsky over.
Alone sounded good though. Less talking. Less human interaction. Less cleaning to do. Less emotional effort.
More excuses to avoid her mother’s question.
31
Amara pulled into a visitor’s parking spot at the main building and texted Wylie to ask how Mama was doing. Two seconds later, he called to remind her how much he hated typing texts. Her mother was fine, he said, but freezing. Cold enough to hang meat in that room. She had a blanket but would know to dress warmer next time.
Amara mentioned taking the pair out to dinner that night, and he immediately became suspicious. She assured him it was simply a chance for a quiet meal after a rough week. He hemmed and hawed, but eventually caved after she swore there’d be no discussion about the marriage proposal since that would be awkward for everyone. And to ensure she didn’t bring it up, he insisted she bring a date.
Network of Deceit Page 16
