Side(H)arm

by James E. Abel

  “Yeah, she mentions it once in a while.”

  “Well, about a month ago, I called her and asked her how everything was going. Out of nowhere, she just started crying. No matter what I said, I couldn’t get her to stop. It broke my heart. Jordan, she’s in terrible pain. She went on about how the kids at school treat her like an outcast, how you two aren’t talking any more. Jordan, she thinks you blame her for Casey’s death!”

  “That’s ridiculous. I never said anything like that. Besides, I take her to see a grief counselor every week. She’d tell me if there were any problems.”

  “Dr. Conley, right? Molly told me about her. She seems to really like her.”

  “Exactly. So, if Molly was struggling, wouldn’t I hear about it from her?”

  “I thought about that. But my bet is that Molly’s holding back with her. You know, telling her what she thinks she wants to hear.”

  “And why would she do that?”

  “Maybe she’s afraid that if she opens up to Dr. Conley, it’ll get back to you and then, I don’t know.”

  “What, and then I’ll take it out on her? That’s a bunch of crap. In fact, let’s go in and find out!”

  Jordan took a step toward the house when Jenna grabbed his arm with all her strength and said, “Don’t you dare!”

  Jordan stopped in his tracks, startled.

  “Please, Jordan, that’s the worst thing you could possibly do right now. Please?”

  “Okay, then what do you suggest?”

  “Let Molly stay here with me for now.”

  “What, in Dad’s new house? He just thinks he can do whatever he damn well…”

  Jenna interrupted, yelling, “Damn it, Jordan, it’s not about Dad. It’s about the whole family. Can’t you see we’re just trying to help?”

  Jordan didn’t know how to react. His little sister had never raised her voice to him before.

  She continued, in a much softer voice. “So, let us. Let me. Please? Heck. How many times did you help me growing up? Remember Bobby Thompson?”

  “You mean Stinky? You knew about that?”

  Jenna laughed and said, “Yeah. He wouldn’t come within fifty feet of me after you got done with him.”

  Jordan smiled and said, “Well, I told him a hundred.”

  The tension finally gone, they both laughed.

  “So, let Molly stay here tonight with me. She can help me explore the new house. It’ll be a good change for her, and I’ll have some company.”

  Jordan wasn’t so sure. It showed on his face.

  Jenna asked, “What? She’ll be fine.”

  Jordan paused and looked out to the ocean, watching the waves gently rolling to shore under the full moon.

  “Casey used to bring her down here all the time to paint.”

  “We can do that, too. Where do you keep her painting supplies?”

  “They’re in Casey’s craft room back at the house. I haven’t, well, I haven’t gone in there since…”

  “I understand. I’ll find out from Molly what she needs and then stop by the house sometime to get it.”

  “So, Jen, what’s the game plan after this weekend? Molly still has school, you know.”

  “Yeah, we can work that out later. For now, at least she can stay here on the weekends. I think she could use a…”

  “Yeah, I know. A mother figure.”

  “So, what do you say?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go inside and let her decide.”

  Chapter 22

  I used to love spending time on the beach with my mom. She taught me how to take the sounds and the smells of the ocean and turn them into beautiful colors on canvas. But it wasn’t the same without her, not even with Aunt Jenna’s help. And then I met some new people.

  A broad stroke of dark purple paint slashed across the canvas. Molly, paintbrush in hand, was outside Jenna’s house, down by the dunes, painting on a beautiful day in mid-March. Jenna walked out with a glass of lemonade, set it down, and glanced over Molly’s shoulder.

  “Mind if I take a peak?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Jenna was unsettled by what she saw. The bright colors and precise style of Molly’s old paintings had been replaced by broad aggressive strokes, with much darker colors.

  Jenna couldn’t assess the painting on its technical merits, but she was troubled by the mood.

  “That’s really nice, honey but…don’t you think it’s a little, you know…dark? I mean, I really like it, but just take a look out there,” as she pointed out to the ocean, “It’s such a beautiful day.”

  “I know. But I’m tired of painting the same old stuff. I wanted to try something different. What I’d really like to do is to try using some of Mommy’s old oil paints. They’re still back at our house. Can we go get them?”

  “We’ll see, honey. Let me talk to your dad first.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Molly’s voice had an edge to it, but Jenna understood. Jordan hadn’t stopped by all weekend. He had spent it continuing his search through pictures of every known felon in the states of Georgia and South Carolina. He had already closed out hundreds of dead ends.

  Later that afternoon, Molly went for a walk on the beach. She walked along the water’s edge and headed south, toward the inlet where Lazaretto Creek meets the ocean. When Molly got near the inlet, she saw a group of older kids about thirty yards in front of her. She stopped in her tracks and watched as they took turns hurling seashells at a group of seagulls huddled together on the beach. Molly turned for home when the gang’s ringleader, a fifteen-year-old girl, started sprinting toward her. She had cotton candy blue hair that was cut tight to her scalp on one side, up to about two inches above her ear. The rest of her hair was slicked down and combed over to the other side where it almost reached her shoulder. She had a pretty face, but it already showed the wear and tear of a tough life.

  Molly heard the girl with the blue hair call out, “Hey, there. Hey, you. Wait a second.”

  Molly hesitated, and then stopped and waited for her.

  The girl reached her and asked, “Aren’t you the girl I saw out by the dunes painting a little while ago?”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  The girl noticed Molly glancing back at the rest of the kids and said, “Don’t worry about them. They’re not really hurting those dumb birds. It’s a game we play to see who can make the most of them fly away. And then we add that to how many times they squawk to see who wins. Wanna play?”

  “No, thanks. I need to get home.”

  “Well, my name’s Blue. What’s yours?”

  “Molly.”

  “So, Molly, do you live up there? That’s a really nice place.”

  “Just on the weekends.”

  Blue turned toward her friends, who had drifted over and were now closing in.

  “Hey, guys, come over here and meet Molly. She’s a rich kid!”

  Blue waited until they had all gathered around Molly before continuing.

  “So, you wanna hang out with us for a while? We could use your help.”

  A couple of the kids started to chuckle, waiting to see what Blue had up her sleeve.

  Molly asked, “What do you want?”

  “Well, you’re a painter, or should I say artist, so I thought you’d like to meet another artist. I hear he’s really good.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Blue pointed away from the ocean, up toward Tybee Creek where it broadened out and met the inlet.

  “See that cabin up there?”

  Molly looked in the direction Blue was pointing and said, “I think so.”

  “An old man lives there. A couple of months ago, I saw him carrying all sorts of paintings inside.”

  “So?”

  “So, I figured that you’d like to meet him, maybe check out the paintings.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “No. But if you go up there and knock on his door, I bet he’ll let you in.”

  “H
ow does that help you?”

  “My daddy used to tell me that all painters like to…well, you know what weed is, don’t you?”

  Molly lied. “I guess so.”

  “Well, my dad told me that painters and musicians, they all smoke weed. So, we were hoping that you could go in, look around for his stash, and grab it. It’ll probably be in a clear bag or maybe a brown paper bag, and it looks like ground-up weeds. That’s how it gets its name. Right guys?”

  The gang nodded, murmuring and smiling amongst themselves.

  “No. I’m not doing that.”

  “Hmmm. And I thought we were gonna be friends.”

  Molly started to turn away when Blue grabbed her arm and said, “Wait. Hold on.”

  Blue turned toward the smallest, dorkiest looking kid and said, “Hey, Jimmy, show Molly what a joint looks like.”

  Jimmy reached into his back pocket, held up a joint, and said, “Like this!” as all the other kids laughed.

  “Maybe you could just see if the old man has any of those things laying around and grab a couple. What do you say Molls? If you help us, we can all be friends!”

  “Sorry, but I’ve really gotta go.”

  Molly turned and started to walk away when Blue called out, “What’s the matter, little girl? Running home to your mommy?”

  Molly made an abrupt stop, whipped around, and stared Blue in the eyes. The other kids stopped laughing.

  Five minutes later, Molly approached Raymond Wilkins’s cottage as her new friends watched from a distance. She moved as close as she could without leaving the public access walkway that ran past the house. Then she ran up to the door and knocked. There was no answer, so she turned away. When she did, she saw Blue wildly motioning with her hands to try the doorknob. Molly turned back around, knocked again, and then slowly tried the doorknob. It turned. And then the heavy wooden door fell open, pulling the doorknob out of her hand as it banged against a wall. It startled Molly, but she held her ground and peeked inside. When she did, she was instantly captivated by the mysterious, cluttered world of Raymond Wilkins.

  Shards of light, streaking through the slats of an old window blind, brought life to the vibrant colors and textures of dozens and dozens of beautiful oil paintings that were scattered throughout the room. Molly felt like she had stumbled onto hidden treasure as her eyes darted between seascapes, scenes of old fishing boats, marinas, and dilapidated fishing piers. That was how she so desperately wanted to paint. The paintings were like her mom’s, but even more beautiful. Some of the paintings hung on the walls, not with the formality of a well-planned presentation, but as a rushed attempt to find them a place to put them. Other paintings stood four and five deep on the floor or leaning against the walls, wherever Raymond had found a place to put them.

  Molly pushed the front door closed, forgetting all about her assignment. She worked her way through a narrow path between unopened cardboard boxes to get a closer look at one particular painting that really caught her eye. She had just about reached it when she heard a car’s tires crunching on the mixture of sand and shells just outside the door. And then she heard the car door close.

  Outside, as Raymond walked toward his front door, he saw Blue and her friends pointing at him and laughing. Hmm. He opened the door, entered the house, and quietly put down a small bag of groceries on the table.

  “Hello! Is someone in here?”

  Raymond stood still and listened.

  “I’ll ask again. Is someone in here?”

  And then, he heard the faint squeak from a floorboard down the hallway. He walked over to the window and yanked open the blinds with one quick pull. Sunlight streamed into the room. He turned and walked back to the front door and closed it. He stood in front of the door and crossed his arms. He was now the guardian of the gate to freedom, all five-foot-six-inches of him. He spoke in a commanding, deep baritone voice.

  “You can come out now.”

  Nothing. The second time, he raised his voice.

  “I said, you can come out now. I’d hate to have to call the police.”

  Seconds later, Molly timidly peeked around the corner from the small hallway that led to Raymond’s bedroom.

  “So, what have we here? An intruder? A burglar? State your business, young lady.”

  Molly walked forward and stood at the entrance to the hallway.

  “I…I’m Molly.”

  “I didn’t ask you your name. I asked what you are doing here?”

  Molly looked pathetic, a mix of guilt and fear.

  “I don’t know. I just heard that you had paintings in your house, and, and…”

  “And what?’

  “I’m an artist too.”

  “No, you’re not. Artists don’t break into people’s homes. That makes you a thief, or an intruder, not an artist.”

  Molly bristled and said, “No. Thieves take things, and I would never do that!’

  “But you are an intruder, aren’t you?”

  Molly’s eyes dropped to the floor.

  “Yes, sir. I guess so. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, now we’re getting somewhere. So, what do you think?”

  Molly got a puzzled look on her face.

  Raymond continued.

  “Of my paintings?”

  “Oh…I like them. A lot.”

  “Hmmm. Well, get out of my house before I call the police.”

  Raymond stood aside and pulled open the door. As Molly ran past him, he yelled, “And don’t come back!” slamming the door behind her.

  Chapter 23

  Jordan looked at the students scurrying around with their wild hair styles, body piercings, backpacks, and dangling ear buds and turned to Tommy and asked, “Remind me again, why are we here?”

  Tommy smiled and, pointing to a nearby shop said, “Coffee! They’ve got the best coffee in town over there—and the cheapest. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Here happened to be a park bench just outside the SCAD Museum of Art—the Savannah College of Art and Design. Its campus sprawls throughout the city and it’s one of the best schools of its type in the world. Jordan was sitting there, watching students walk past, when he caught a glimpse of someone he thought he recognized. It was Raymond Wilkins, but he disappeared into a sea of students heading into the museum, and Jordan quickly put it out of his mind.

  Tommy returned with coffee in hand, sat down, and started slurping it up. Jordan turned to him and said, “I need to run something by you.”

  Tommy, watching a couple of pretty young co-eds walk past, asked, “Right now? With all these pretty girls walking around?”

  “Yes, right now. I need your help.”

  Tommy focused on Jordan and said, “Okay. Fire away.”

  “I had a long talk with Molly, about a month ago.”

  “And?”

  “And she told me some things that she didn’t tell Sanders.”

  “What’s that?”

  “She saw him.”

  “Oh my God! Really? What exactly did she see?”

  “We keep this to ourselves, understood?”

  “Of course.”

  “It was a man—with long hair and a tattoo on his arm. Not sure which arm, but it was a tattoo of a man’s face. Putting the pieces together, I think he was fairly young, maybe mid- to late twenties because he was wearing a hoodie with cut-off sleeves.”

  “You sure we shouldn’t take this back to Sanders?”

  Jordan grimaced and said, “No fucking way!”

  “Okay, okay! Just thought I should ask. So, how can I help?”

  “Well, I’ve been going crazy checking databases, looking at mugshots, you name it. So, I was hoping that…”

  “Officer Nichols!” Their conversation was interrupted by a voice Jordan recognized, calling out from about twenty feet away.

  Jordan turned to see Dr. Conley walking toward the bench.

  Crap.

  “Dr. Conley! What brings you out this way?”

  She held out a c
up of coffee and said, “Best coffee in town!”

  Jordan nodded and, glancing at Tommy, said, “So I’m told.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Tommy, perhaps glad for the interruption, quickly stood up and pointed to his seat.

  “Here, you two talk. I’m going back for another cup.”

  He gave a polite nod to Karen, turned, and walked away. Karen glanced in Tommy’s direction and asked, “That’s your partner, isn’t it?”

  “Yup. That’s Tommy. Sorry, I should have introduced you.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Karen went to sit down next to Jordan, tugging at her tightly fitting skirt as she did. Jordan felt a twinge of guilt as he let his eyes stray down to take a peek at her long legs.

  He refocused and said, “I know. I owe you a call.”

  “Yes, you do. For over three weeks now.”

  He sheepishly nodded in agreement.

  “Look, Officer Nichols, I’ll get right to the point. We’re finally making some progress with Molly’s CBT, but she’s going to need some help from you if we’re to be successful.”

  “Woah. What the heck is CBT?”

  “It’s cognitive behavioral therapy, which you would know if you hadn’t ignored all my calls and made me chase you down over here.”

  “I thought you came here for the coffee.”

  “That’s irrelevant. What you need to know is that Molly needs more support at home. She feels like she’s losing you.”

  “What do you mean, losing me?”

  “She’s been staying with your sister, is it Jenna, for a while now, right?”

  “Mostly just weekends for now, but, yes. Jenna’s here to, you know, replace Casey in a way. And besides, Molly loves Jenna.”

  “I know, and I’m not questioning your motives. I’m just trying to let you know what Molly’s feeling.”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “She tells me that you never stop in to visit her on weekends. While she won’t quite admit it, I get the impression that when she’s at home with you, you two are not interacting. Am I right?”

  “I guess. Maybe we should be talking more but, frankly, when I do try, she doesn’t seem to want to. It is a two-way street you know.”

  Jordan had struck a nerve, and she jumped on him saying, “Really! You do realize that you are the adult in this situation, don’t you?”