by Lynne Hugo
“Are they fuckin’ nuts? That’s what they’re callin’ us? Us and what army?”
Gus shrugged. “We just do what we’re told.”
“You’re the sheriff. Tell ’em no. Anyway, what’s the point? We got no problem. When we got a problem, we’ll call ’em, and they kin be our force magnifiers if they wanna.”
Gus shook his head. “Not the way it works, man. Y’know.”
Billy sighed. His face and neck were like tanned hide, and deep wrinkles fanned from the outside corners of his eyes. Gus used to tell him that his hat was part of the uniform and to put it on, but Billy didn’t like how it felt, and Gus had given up. “Yeah. Stupid,” he said.
“Stupid,” Gus agreed. “But we’re gonna do a good job. This is big.”
“Beatin’ the bushes. Don’t even know nothin’.”
“Feds say you don’t know these people.”
“Right. So . . . ?”
“Makes it better and worse.”
“Whatever.” But Billy said it with a head shake.
Gus shrugged and put both palms up. “Whatever,” he agreed. He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses against the chest of his shirt. After setting them back on his face, he sighed. “Whatever,” he repeated. He was tired of this already. “Look,” he said. “Not gonna be a whole lot longer, best I can tell. We won’t get a lot of heads-up, but I do know the Feds got a private contractor for a detention facility in Elmont. Gotta mean something’s goin’ down soon.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah. Not like I’m on the list to know from them. Got it from Jake Rego.”
Billy’s face was blank.
Y’know, over t’ Dwayne County.” Impatience crept into Gus’s voice, incredulous that Billy didn’t recognize the name. He was talking about chief of corrections at the county jail.
“Oh. Duh. Huh . . . not enough space there?”
“Dunno. Guess they figure there’s not gonna be.”
“When you think they’re gonna let the ‘force magnifiers’ in on the grand plan?” Billy made air quotes with his fingers and mocked the words.
“At the last possible moment.”
Billy shook his head again, muttering, “Damn . . . damn.”
Gus nodded. “Damn.”
Billy turned and left Gus’s office without further comment. It had already been an unusually long conversation for him.
Gary
Gary found himself thinking of Gracia at odd times, like while he was showering, or in the church study staring at his laptop, daydreaming instead of working on his Wednesday night Prayer and Praise message. She’d come into his mind when he drove past the elementary school and had the old familiar Cody grief suffocate him, remembering how Nicole used to take Cody to the playground there even before he was in kindergarten, and how Cody had begged him to go, too. He should have gone with them, way more than he ever had, not left it to Nicole to teach the boy how to ride his bike without the training wheels, which she’d also done.
Now, along with Cody and Nicole, he’d see a little girl on the playground. A flash of red ribbon in dark hair, though he didn’t know where that picture came from, but there she was on the swing, then upside down on the monkey bars, then skipping into a crowd of children when he’d lose sight of her, too. It was bizarre and made him think he was losing his mind—as bad as his mother!—the way he wanted to pull over, get out, and run to catch her up in his arms. Not that there was really anyone there. The playground was empty, for heaven’s sake. But he had this unbearable feeling: He couldn’t lose any more. Not Gracia, too.
And then he reminded himself to get real. His job was to find Rosalina and give that baby back to her mother. To save his church. That was what God wanted. And really, not that it mattered, but it was what Gary wanted, too.
He had to pay attention. Another payment was due Brother Zachariah, and he didn’t have the money put together. If the Prayer and Praise message was deeply inspiring, maybe the Brothers and Sisters would come through with extra. Concentrate, he told himself. Stay focused. And pass the collection baskets twice, once after Prayer, and again after Praise. Brother Zachariah couldn’t keep covering him. He was risking his own ministry, as he kept pointing out. And there was Gary’s sin, Gary’s grievous sin complicating the entire situation. Brother Zachariah kept pointing that out, too. But Gary didn’t see anything he could do except wait for Gus’s help. He’d tried everything; the homeless shelter in Elmont, the churches—adding to his sin list were all the lies he’d told about why he was looking for someone named either Rosalina Lopez or Rosalina Gonzalez or Rosalina Anything. For that matter, she could have made up any name, so his search was as vague and ill-defined as the questions he’d posed, and although he’d started out determined, he’d stuttered himself to a dead end.
The truth was that he was exhausted. He was out of information, ideas, money, and hope. And now he had to finish a sermon. It had already taken him days, way too long.
When he’d drafted the message, given up old words without shine, Gary allowed himself a break. He couldn’t help the way his mind drifted to whether Gracia was awake or napping, how the memory of her whole hand clutching his forefinger came to him. The light was waning, and a shaft of Indian summer sun slanted through the window. Gary rotated his chair to stretch his legs and took it in: how dust motes were dancing on it there, behind him like angels, an otherworldly beauty. It could be a Sign. He sat staring at the movement for a few minutes, then closed his eyes.
Maybe it was a Sign. From Jesus to him. Or, it could be dust in the air. That’s what his mother would say. “Son, dust and sunlight are natural, and nature is beautiful, that’s all.” Gary’s eyes were wet as he waited, testing the thoughts.
No, he whispered, when the weight of the death of his son, the weight of guilt and regret, all that could never be undone, the cruelty of such a world was not endurable. Don’t take Jesus away from me. It has to be a Sign.
Chapter 23
CarolSue
We hadn’t seen Gary in several days, which was unusual because he’d been coming around often, to help out. That’s what he said, anyway. Louisa thought he was spying on her, and I can’t say that the notion was entirely crazy as he did seem to ask a lot of questions about what Gus was up to. “Why should he care?” Louisa muttered. “Unless he’s trying to catch us napping. Like it’s any of his business.” The idea lit her fuse.
“I don’t think he has a clue about that,” I said to mollify her. And I really didn’t. I thought it was something else, but I couldn’t offer her any ideas. I went back to folding Gracie’s clothes on the couch. The baby was asleep, and I wanted to get the laundry taken care of before she was up again. I’d noticed that she wasn’t sleeping as long, so if I wanted to put my own feet up for a while and maybe close my eyes, too, I needed to get this done.
“It’s not like we’ve had any opportunity, anyway,” she went on. “If Gary’s looking, let him. Ha! He’ll find some cold sheets.” That was what was really pissing my sister off. Gracie being at the house wasn’t such an issue only because Gus wasn’t available, so I was thrilled that he was all busy with whatever special assignment was happening at work, while Louisa was more and more crabby about it. I knew that as soon as Gus’s schedule was back to normal, I would have to make some other arrangement for Gracie and me. I was going to need to deal with Gary, too. The longer he wasn’t around, the longer I could avoid it, quite all right with me. I spent my days loving that baby.
We got around to agreeing that special tea was in order because much as Gary thought he was a big help, Louisa agreed that he was underfoot when he did come. Mainly, he hogged the baby while I got stuck doing bottles or laundry or picking up around the house. I’d have much rather he did those things and leave Gracie to me. Louisa was usually outside with the girls and Rosie Two. Jessie was most often right by me, although she did love dashing around the yard when Louisa was out there, and sometimes she’d amuse herself by chasing the barn kitt
ens, Peace and Plenty, which got Marvelle all annoyed and uppity. Al Pelley, the bandy-legged hired man who used to work for Harold and Louisa, now contracted to plant and cut the fields, had started harvesting the corn, which had reached full dent. Louisa liked to drive him insane by instructing him how she wanted certain areas left for the deer. But then he was off and away on the combine and we could hear it in the distance like the earth turning on its axis toward winter, but slowly, slowly, the sun still warm, still gilding the air and leaves.
Overall, it was sweet, good time when the men weren’t around. Does that sound terrible to say? Louisa and I laughed a lot and we shared the delight of Gracie. I’d go out to sit in the Indian summer afternoon with her and we’d talk to the baby and to the girls and each other. Louisa would claim they all talked back to us, even though, of course, she alone knew exactly what they were saying. (I, though, had a lock on Gracie’s opinions and she gave me that. Good thing for her she did, too.) Really, it was the couple of weeks that Gus wasn’t around that created an interlude when time stopped. I know Louisa missed him. I didn’t, though it felt like a time of waiting, but couldn’t have said for what, and I didn’t want time to start again. I wanted to cling to Gracie, and in a strange way, then hang on to my sister, too, not knowing what the future held for us. But if I had to choose between them, my sister and Gracie, my heart was already packed.
So, as I said, I thought Thursday would be another of those delightful afternoons to savor. We’d agreed on special tea and cookies for our afternoon snack. I’d have ginger snaps and Louisa would have a couple of the bourbon balls that were Mom’s recipe. We’d made and frozen those last week when we’d been talking about Mom’s greatest hits but gotten into an argument about whether we could have them at the same time we had special tea, based on the total amount of bourbon we’d be consuming, meaning would it be safe because of the baby there?
“CarolSue,” Louisa had snorted, all superior. “The entire recipe has a third of a cup of bourbon and makes four dozen balls. How much bourbon is in each one? Do you think you could eat three and remain upright with that tablespoon of Wild Turkey in your tea?” Well, that was just unfair. She knows perfectly well I can’t do fractions.
We decided to have tea outside because it was so lovely. Louisa had decided that it was time to start reading Little Women out loud to Gracie, which I thought sweet but silly, because even though Gracie was clearly brilliant, even I didn’t think that a book without a single picture was really going to interest her all that much. But my sister is quite set in her ways. You should see her wardrobe, which hard as I try, I’ve hardly been able to update since the eighties, but how she dresses is beside the point right now. (Still, really? At the moment she’s in rolled-up jeans and an old shirt of Harold’s she absolutely will not part with, and she couldn’t have combed her hair this morning because it looks more like a place for the chickens to roost than their own coop does. I’m waiting for Sarah and Abigail—who are young enough to produce eggs—to discover that my sister’s head is better than their laying box. Go ahead, picture it!)
Anyway, it was shaping up to be all us girls out in the sun for tea and talk, and it started out just like that. Louisa’s chrysanthemums were bright—she had yellows, pinks, rusts, oranges, and a deep purple—around the sunny edge of the yard. The coop was off to the far side, the door open now, as it always was during the day, and the girls strutted about, peacefully pecking here and there for bugs. Gracie had had her bottle and was content, playing on a blanket in the dappled shade of one of the maples. It still had most of its leaves, and they were gold-tinged scarlet. Now and then, one of them would float down near Gracie, who tracked it intently. I had sunscreen and a hat on her, and she was surrounded by her toys, watching the girls and waving her arms and legs with excitement when one of the barn kittens, half-grown now, came near. Marvelle settled herself like a disdainful sentry under the unused extra table, swishing her tail now and then, but watching. Jessie outdid her, of course, by curling up on the side of the blanket itself where Gracie’s flailing hand could actually touch her back, which became Gracie’s apparent goal.
Louisa and I poured our tea, settled into lawn chairs with the tea and plate of cookies between us on the table Harold had fashioned from a cut tree trunk topped with a piece of slate. We tilted our faces to the sun and soaked in contentment. After a few minutes, Louisa opened the book. She’d read a few lines and then explain to Gracie what was going on. I let her rattle on; the baby was absorbed in trying to grab Jessie’s coat anyway.
Have I told you enough that you’ll understand the disruption, the disappointment, when Gary suddenly showed up? He came around to the backyard unannounced, no phone call ahead. And that was only the beginning, but I’ll get to the rest later. His voice was overly loud and hearty when he called, “Oh, there you all are!” and every one of us startled because none of us had seen him coming. Jessie jumped up and barked, Gracie started to cry. Louisa and I both whipped up, unsure what was happening in spite of the fact that his voice should have been instantly familiar. It was just so unexpected an intrusion into the lighthearted space we’d created.
“Oh . . . Gary, it’s you,” Louisa said. She didn’t sound thrilled. Since Gus wasn’t available and the garden was finished, so she didn’t need my assistance for that, Gary’s “help” just got in our way. It was much more fun for both of us if he didn’t show up.
“Well, of course it’s me, Mom. Had my Wednesday night service last night—had a hard time getting that done this week, sorry I wasn’t around to pitch in—but here I am now. Want me to take the baby?”
“No!” I barked, then realized how that had come out, and he hadn’t even been talking to me. “I mean, thanks, honey, but she’s fine right now.” Actually, she was fussing since he’d scared the bejesus out of her, but I knew I could settle her back down if he’d just go away. “Let’s let her be until she needs something. Why don’t you take the afternoon off? We’re doing fine here.”
I’d probably gone too far. He was taken aback.
Gary edged closer to Gracie, still on her blanket, and started rummaging in a plastic bag he held. “Um, well, actually, I brought a couple of things for Gracia, uh, just stuff I got off one of my good internet sites.”
“Oh. That’s so nice,” I said, while thinking uh-oh. I’d seen the stuff he’d ordered for Louisa from that internet site he liked so much. When she knows he’s coming over, we have to drag it out of closets and out from under beds and put it out so his feelings aren’t hurt.
Gary sidestepped me and got to the baby. Down next to her he went and started nuzzling her. Well, she did stop fussing, but don’t all babies like attention? Then he pulled what looked like a Barbie doll out of the bag. “It’s a Mary doll,” he said proudly. “I wasn’t sure about the boobies, but that’s the way it came, and the internet guaranteed authenticity, so it must be all right. I just didn’t think the Jesus action figure was a good toy for a little girl, you know? She doesn’t need to be throwing over money tables in the temple yet, but the temple that comes with it is like a big dollhouse. You should see it.” Then he shook his head sorrowfully. “But it cost too much, too.”
Louisa and I caught each other’s eyes, daring the other to speak. I was the first to fold. “Uh, yes, that was probably . . . a . . . good call, Gary,” I stammered.
“Oh, and here, I picked these up, too,” he said, waving his arm back and extending a small box to me. I was closest to him, but he was speaking to both me and Louisa. “They’re just little kid Band-Aids with Jesus’s picture on them. In case she ever gets a boo-boo.”
I must have looked baffled, or Louisa did.
“To remind her to stick to Jesus.” Gary rolled his eyes and filled in what he clearly thought should have been daylight obvious. “Just keep them with her stuff that we got her.”
I finally remembered how to speak. “. . . Okay.”
Gary, sprawled on the blanket, turned back to Gracie, making fart noises
into her stomach and the baby let out belly laughs. Louisa and I looked at each other, both of us speechless until—exactly like Gary had—she rolled her eyes, picked up the pot of special tea, and refilled both our cups to the top. She passed me the cookies. I skipped right over those useless ginger snaps and went for the bourbon balls.
“Gary,” I said. “You might as well know. I’ve decided I want to keep Gracie myself. To raise her. Obviously, whatever you’re doing isn’t working out. I love her and I can do it.”
Gary’s head snapped up from where he had it buried in the baby’s stomach to make her laugh. He rolled over and sat up, staring at me as if I suddenly had three heads.
“Whoa there, Aunt CarolSue. She has a mother, and I . . . I just asked you to take care of her for a little while. I’ll be returning Gracia to her mother.”
“Well, then, where is her mother, and why haven’t you done that all this time? I think there’s something you’re not telling us. I think you haven’t the slightest idea who her mother is or where. That’s what I think. So I’m telling you, I’m here and I’ll take her for my own.”
Gary shook his head. His hair, which is dark blond and curly, actually sort of jumped, he was so adamant. “I mean, she has a father, too,” he said. “I imagine, and you don’t have the right to just start claiming other people’s baby.” His face was getting red, and his eyes, which are the same round hydrangea blue as mine—Louise always says that—looked like they were going to pop out of his head.
