Jeffrey glanced at the keys hanging on the board behind her and figured maybe three rooms were checked out. 'Been busy lately?'
'Listen, asshole. I don't make the rules.'
He laughed, taking out his wallet. 'How much is it?'
She scratched her neck, calculating how much she could get off him. 'A hundred bucks.'
'How about twenty?'
'How about fifty?'
Jeffrey paid her the money, though he seriously doubted the cash would ever make its way into the register. Judging by the woman's appearance, he guessed he was looking at one of those rare things: a meth addict who had made it past her thirties.
The woman asked, 'How's the girl doing?'
'Lena?'
'Yeah, her.'
'She's okay.'
'Right,' the woman said. She took out a bag from under the counter and pushed it toward Jeffrey. 'Here's her shit. Go on and get the fuck out of here.'
He studied her face for a moment, the arrogant tilt of her chin. Slowly, he said, 'She's at St. Ignatius for a few more days.'
'Great. My tax dollars at work.'
'You pay taxes?' She gave him an eat-shit look that he should have been used to by now. 'You know, your daughter looks at me the same way sometimes.'
'I ain't got a daughter.'
'Lena looks just like you.'
Angela Adams grunted, giving up. She had fifty bucks in her pocket and a need in her veins. 'Got her head up her ass just like me. Didn't recognize her own mother standing right in front of her.'
Jeffrey had barely made the connection himself between the oil painting that he'd seen hanging over Hank Norton's living room couch and the woman standing in front of him. Something about the tilt of her chin had given it away – even after all these years, she had that arrogant challenge in her eyes. Angela had been beautiful once, but meth had taken that from her, just like it had taken her away from her young daughters.
Still, Jeffrey tried to be kind. 'Sometimes you don't see what you're not looking for.'
'You think I don't know what I look like?' She picked at the edge of the laminate. 'Hank doing okay?'
Jeffrey felt another piece of the puzzle click into place. 'Hank was with you the whole time he was missing. Wasn't he?'
'Stupid fucker should've known better. Didn't last no more than a coupl'er three days before we were ready to kill each other.' She picked at the sore on her neck. 'Bastard just walked off one morning. I guess he turned up at his house.'
'He's cleaning up,' Jeffrey told the woman. 'All the meth is out of his system.'
'He's always looked after them.' She caught herself. 'Her.'
'We found the birth certificate you filled out with Hank's name on it.'
'Did she see it?'
'No,' Jeffrey said. 'It got lost in the shuffle.'
She gave a rueful laugh. 'Dumb fuck that I was – I figured it'd make it easier for him to take the girls, keep them safe. I nearly got him arrested.' She started picking at the sore again. Blood trickled out. 'I was the one who got Hank hooked. Did he tell you that?'
'We've never really talked about it.'
'When Cal was killed – that's their father – I just couldn't take it. Pregnant, fat, miserable, alone. Then, I had a toothache on top of everything else. I went to that stupid bald fuck Fred Bart. He told me he had something that could take the edge off.' She glared at Jeffrey as if he'd challenged her. 'I made my choice.'
'Lena would want to see you.'
'I been in and out of jail the last twenty years. You think a cop wants a con for a mother?'
Jeffrey certainly hadn't wanted his own father, but then you didn't get to choose your parents. 'I've known Lena a long time. She'd want to see you.'
'You think she wants to see this?' Angela demanded, rolling up her sleeve.
Jeffrey winced at the damage the needles had done to her skin over the years.
'I work here,' Angela said. 'I make just enough money to keep myself going. I don't need nothing in my life that makes it complicated.'
'I'm not sure Lena would agree.'
'Yeah, well ...' She pushed her sleeve back down. 'I don't really give a fuck what you think, asshole. Get the hell out of my face.'
She walked around the counter, heading toward the door. Jeffrey expected her to leave, but she stopped.
He tried, 'You're her mother. Nothing will ever change that.'
She kept her back to him, her hand on the glass door. 'You wanna know what kind of mother I am?' She shook her head, disgusted. 'I promised I'd leave them alone, but I was broke, twitching so bad it hurt. I went over to the house, begged Hank for some money. He gave it to me, and I—' she took a deep breath. 'I was backing up the car, not looking where I was going, and I ran right over her, right in front of her sister and that pudgy little girl from up the street. You know about that? You know I blinded my own daughter?'
Jeffrey couldn't fathom that kind of guilt.
'Cops banged me up the next day for holding. There was some other stuff on my sheet – some bad checks, a couple of priors. The judge came down on me hard. Me and Hank, we figured the girls would be better off thinking I was dead instead of knowing what I really was.'
'Still—'
'Mister, giving up those babies was the only good thing I ever did in my life. Don't take that away from me.'
She pushed open the door and walked out, leaving Jeffrey alone with Lena's things.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lena sat in a wheelchair beside Hank's bed, holding his hand with her good one. His skin was dry, his fingers like sticks that wouldn't bend. He wouldn't look at her, wouldn't return her grip. At first, she thought he was mad, but she was slowly beginning to realize that he was ashamed. If he was talking to her, he would've said something about his own pride ruining him. He had been almost arrogant about his recovery from addiction, but it had only taken one needle to get him hooked again. His body was ravaged from the drugs he had taken. The ones the doctors had prescribed were doing their best to counteract the withdrawal, but there was nothing they could really do for his depression.
Mostly, the two of them just stayed like this, Lena holding his hand, Hank staring out the window, until the nurses came and told them both to get some rest. Lena didn't talk much because there wasn't really anything to say.
'Doing okay?' the nurse asked, coming in to check all the tubes and machines Hank was hooked up to. She was a nice woman, but her cheerfulness grated and her voice was loud enough to wake the dead.
'Fine,' Lena told her, coughing.
The nurse shot her a look of concern. 'Did you do your breathing exercises this morning?'
'Yes, ma'am,' Lena answered.
She smiled, patting Hank's hand. 'See how good your niece is being, Mr. Norton?' Her voice was even louder when she talked to Hank, probably because he never responded.
She asked Lena, 'How's your hand doing?'
Lena held up her right hand, which was tightly bandaged. 'Doing okay. The doctors say I should be able to get full movement back.'
'Of course you will,' the nurse said, relentlessly positive. 'Just a few more minutes with your uncle, okay? You both need to get some rest.' She wagged her finger in warning. 'I'll check up on you!'
The door snicked closed, and Hank mumbled, 'Sure is damn loud enough.'
Lena felt so relieved to hear him speak that she couldn't respond.
His voice was rough when he asked, 'You really doing those exercises, girl?'
'Yes.'
'I never could tell when you were lying.'
'Me, either.'
Hank took a deep breath and let it go slowly.
She said, 'Tell me about my mother.'
He smiled. 'Which story do you want to hear?' He thought she was playing the old game Sibyl and Lena had made up when they were little.
'The true one, Hank. The one where she lived.'
His eyes watered all the time now, so she couldn't tell if he was crying. 'She always loved you gi
rls. That never stopped.'
'She blinded Sibyl.'
If he was surprised, she could not tell. His face was still turned away from her. 'She came to the house looking for money. She was out of her mind with grief when it happened. I got her out of there, took the blame when the cops rolled up, said it was all my fault. I couldn't let you hate your own mother like that. I wanted you to love her, love the memory of her.'
'What happened to her?' Lena asked. 'How did she die?'
His head jerked around. He was obviously shocked by the question. There was almost panic in his eyes, as if he could not decide what to tell her.
'It's okay,' she soothed. 'I'm not blaming you. I'm not angry. I just need to know the truth. Just tell me the truth.'
Hank's throat visibly tightened. He pressed his lips together as if to force back the words that wanted to come. He had never been a man to dwell on memories, maybe because none of his were good.
'Hank, tell me,' Lena coaxed. 'Tell me this one time and I'll never ask you again. I think after all this time I deserve to know how my mother died.'
He stared back at the ceiling as if to collect himself. When he finally answered, he spoke so quietly she could barely hear him. 'Car accident.'
'Fred Bart told me that she's in a better place.'
Hank was quiet again, thinking it over. 'Losing your daddy, and then hurting your sister like that ...' He swallowed, obviously fighting with his emotions. 'I'm a selfish man, Lee. You're all I have left and I can't ...' His voice caught. 'I can't lose you.'
Lena tightened her grip on his hand, willing him to understand that she would never leave him again. 'When I saw you at the house, you told me that man, Clint Jones, killed my mother.'
'He dealt to her,' Hank said. 'He dealt to both of us.'
Lena sat back, trying to reconcile the image she'd had in her head for all these years of Angela the angel with this new one of Angela the drug addict. Had her mother been as bad as Hank? Had her arms been as marked, her features as ravaged? Lena shuddered at the thought, almost wishing she'd never been told.
'Meth is just ...' Hank shook his head. 'You die the minute you take it. The person you are, the person you were gonna be – that's gone the second the liquid hits your veins. You're dead from that moment on.'
'How did it happen? How did she die?'
He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling with each breath. He would not look at her when he said, 'She went over Taylor Bridge too fast and hit a telephone pole. Snapped her neck. The doctor said it must have been instant.'
Lena had been called out on her share of single-car accidents. Invariably, there was a dark story behind them.
His fingers wrapped around her hand. 'She would've never left you if she'd known how sorry I'd turn out to be. She thought I would take care of you.'
'You did,' Lena told him. 'You did the best you could.'
'Don't forgive me,' he said. His hand was weak but he held on to her as tight as he could. 'Don't ever forgive me.'
Lena couldn't stop herself. Not after all that had happened, all he had done for her and Sibyl.
He glanced at her, then looked away quickly. 'Better get now before that nurse comes back. Makes me wish I was back in a damn coma.'
'All right,' she said, letting his hand slip from hers. Neither one of them had ever been good at talking about their feelings. 'Call me if you need me, okay?'
Lena shuffled out of the room, feeling more tired than she'd thought herself capable. The doctors had told her the reason was because she wasn't getting enough oxygen. Lena thought it was because all she did was lie around the hospital all day with nothing to do but feel sorry for herself.
Her room was right next door to Hank's and she could hear the phone ringing from the hall. Lena hastened her step, snatching up the receiver mid-ring.
'This is a collect call from an inmate in Coastal State Prison,' an automated voice informed her. Lena didn't sit on the bed so much as fall. She waited for the recorded voice, her heart thumping against her ribs as she heard, 'Ethan Green.'
Lena crooked the receiver between her shoulder and ear, pressing the button on the phone to accept the call.
There was silence, nothing but a soft beep every three seconds to remind them that time was passing.
He said, 'How you doing?'
Lena glanced around the room, feeling like someone was watching her. 'Why are you calling me?' she demanded. 'I don't want to talk to you.'
'That why you accepted the call?'
'I'm hanging up right now.'
'I heard about what happened.'
Her hand had been hovering over the phone, ready to hang up, but she stopped at his words. Of course Ethan had heard about what happened. His network would have fed him the news before the media even knew about it.
'That toothache I had when you saw me?' She knew he wasn't expecting an answer. 'Don't worry about it,' he told her. 'I got some medicine. It doesn't hurt anymore.'
She thought about Fred Bart, the way the dentist had smiled with his nasty little teeth before he set Charlotte on fire. She spoke before she could stop herself. 'Good.'
'Nobody hurts my girl. You got me?'
'Nobody but you,' she reminded him.
He chuckled lightly. 'That's right, Lee. Nobody but me.'
Her breath was coming up short. Her hand was still inches from the hook, ready to hang up, but she couldn't make herself do anything but listen.
'I'm gonna write to you,' he told her, his voice soft, coaxing. 'I'm gonna write to you and you need to write back, okay, baby?'
'No,' she said, a begging quality to her voice. She tried to be stronger. 'I don't want you in my life anymore.'
'You think it's that easy? You think you're ever going to get away from me?' He laughed again, humoring her. 'I'm gonna be out of here before you know it, Lee. Then we can start over. Just you and me. Okay?'
She shook her head, words failing her.
'Sleep tight, baby. I'll be thinking about you.'
Lena hung up the phone, still hearing his voice, sensing his presence in the room. Who would get to her first – Ethan or Harley? Both men always settled their scores. Neither let anyone get the upper hand. Would she be beaten to death or wake up a couple of weeks from now with some stranger sticking a needle in her arm, telling her not to struggle, that it would be easier if she just gave in? Lena hoped it was the needle; hoped to God that she would never have to see Ethan Green ever again.
She looked up at the ceiling where shadows danced against the white tiles. Ethan was still there – filling every part of the room, every part of her soul. She lay back in bed, his dark presence hanging over her, until exhaustion won out and she finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
TWENTY-NINE
Sara sat on the front porch, talking on the phone to her mother. Jeffrey had called half an hour ago and said he was just crossing the Grant County line, but she wasn't going to feel safe until he was home. He had told her he needed to talk to her about something, and Sara guessed it was the same thing that had been bothering her for the last few days. She couldn't keep going on like this. Something had to give.
Her mother sounded exasperated. 'Are you listening to me?'
'Yes, Mama,' Sara lied.
'He told me that he'd fixed the automatic sprinkler. Half the plants are dead.'
'I'm sure he didn't do it on purpose.'
'We've been home less than a week and he still hasn't offered a credible explanation.'
'I'm sure he meant to fix the sprinkler.'
'Sara,' Cathy began, and Sara braced herself for a lecture. Surprisingly, her mother offered, 'Do you want me to come back over? I can be there in five minutes.'
Sara loved her mother, but Cathy had been with her practically twenty-four hours a day over the last week. She needed time alone to think. 'Jeffrey will be home soon.'
'You sound so distant. Is it the lawsuit?'
'No,' Sara answered, but the word brought a sour taste to
her mouth. Buddy Conford had called two days ago to tell Sara that Global Indemnity was settling with the Powells. The parents would get two million dollars for their son's death, barely enough to cover Jimmy's hospital and lab fees. Buddy had tried to make a joke about how rare it was that an insurance company was actually paying off somebody's medical bills, but Sara hadn't been in the mood for humor.
'If it's not the lawsuit, what is it?'
'Mama ...'
Obviously, she'd had enough. 'Sara Ann Linton, I am your mother, and I know when something is bothering you.'
Sara let out a stream of breath between her teeth.
Cathy cut straight to the heart of the matter. 'Did you hear from the adoption agency?'
'Yes,' she said. The social worker had left a message on the machine that morning while Sara was at her parents' house. She'd come home to find the red button flashing, but had let three hours pass before she pressed play. It was the same thing that kept her from checking the mailbox or listening to the voice mail on her cell phone. Sara had waited so long to hear that there was a child out there for them, but now that the moment was at hand, she could not bring herself to reach out.
'And?' Cathy prompted. 'What did she say?'
'She said that they have a nine-month-old boy,' Sara answered. 'He's mixed race, Asian and African-American.'
'Oh, honey, that's wonderful!'
'Is it?' Sara asked, feeling like her heart was going to break. Just saying the words had conjured up the creamy skin and wiry hair – the way his little feet would curve into the palm of her hand. 'What am I going to do, Mama, stay up with a baby all night while I wait for the phone to ring so some stranger can tell me my husband's dead?'
'Stop being ridiculous,' Cathy snapped. 'Cops have families, Sara. Plumbers have families. You take a risk every time you get behind the wheel of a car or go to the post office. You can't put your life on hold because you're scared of something that might happen.'
'Jeffrey's so stubborn,' she argued. 'He never listens.'
'Welcome to marriage, honey. I'm sorry we can't organize you a parade.'
Sara put her hand to her neck, tried to coax the words that needed to come. 'What if ...' she tried. 'What if ...' She dropped her head in her hand, finally voicing her darkest concern. 'What if I can't take care of him, Mama? What if he gets sick or injured and I can't ...'
A Grant County Collection: Indelible, Faithless and Skin Privilege Page 119
