Danielle’s eyes stayed on the yard. “I guess.”
“Great,” Crockett replied, taking a seat in the swing beside Satin. “They’re in the bottom bin of the fridge. Help yourself.”
The girl stayed rock still for a moment, then sighed, stood, and began to amble slowly to the rear of the porch. When she reached the sliding glass door, Crockett, gazing out over the yard, spoke up again.
“Grab me one too, willya, Danni?” he said. “I think I’m gonna blow off the coffee.”
Another sigh rippled through the air, and the sliding glass door opened and closed. Satin patted Crockett on the knee.
“Well done,” she said.
“Thanks. It was that or pull her head off. You think I made the right choice?”
“Time will tell,” Satin said. “I’m gonna do my level best to stay out from between the two of you. I’m not objective. I can’t be. She wants help, and you’re it. Handle her anyway you like. If you can’t deal with her, say the word and she’s gone.”
“She’s just freaked out,” Crockett said. “Maybe she’ll settle down.”
The sliding door opened and closed behind him, and Danielle walked into his field of vision from across the porch to his right.
“Here,” she said, and tossed a Coke in his direction, causing the can to spin rapidly backwards, end over end.
Crockett caught the spinning can with some difficulty, crossed the porch in four strides, removed Danielle’s Coke from her hand and replaced it with the one she’d thrown to him. His actions caused her to stumble backward a bit, and she fell into the chair nearly turning it over. Crockett sat in the swing looked at her. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. He laid a moment or two of dread on her until he finally spoke.
“Lady,” he said, “I don’t give a shit how you make a buck. I don’t care if you’re a stripper or dancer or showgirl, or whatever they’re calling it these days. It’s all values...what you’ll do for ten dollars and what you’ll do with ten dollars. And the vast majority of us will do whatever it takes to get that ten bucks if we need it badly enough. I make no moral judgments. I have no right to.”
Crockett took a sip of his Coke and continued.
“I know very little about your relationship with your mother. I don’t care about that, either. My relationship with you is what makes a difference to me, and that begins right here and right now. You’re here because Satin, a woman who I respect and love, says you are worth my effort, and that’s good enough for me. The question is, is it good enough for you?”
Crockett’s query hung in the air like a cluster of gnats for a long moment while Danni stared blankly into the distance. The girl was motionless. At length, her answer wafted across the porch.
“Maybe,” she said.
Crockett chuckled, stood up, and advanced to the porch railing as he, too, stared into the distance.
“Young woman, I got enough baggage of my own that I drag around with me every day of my life, and I am damn sure not gonna carry yours, too. You can take advantage of my help or not, but knock off the control bullshit. I don’t wanna see you naked, I don’t want a lap dance, and I don’t want to visit a hospitality cubicle. You do what you do, kiddo, to have power over men. On the high side of those footlights, you are in command. You can direct their attention, you can manipulate their emotions, and those poor slobs don’t even realize you’re the one running the show. You stand on that stage and you lie to those fantasy fevered dummies. That’s what you get paid for. The problem stems from the fact that you are also lying to yourself. And that, Danielle, can get real expensive.”
Crockett paused for another sip then turned to face her.
“So now,” he went on, “is where we see if you have any balls. I will take care of your difficulty with the large Mister Train. I will have him off your back in just a few days, a week or two at the very most. Until that happens, you will stay here. You will not go to work, you will not go see friends, and you will not party. You will have your own room and bath. You will have use of the kitchen. You will treat yourself with respect and me with civility. You will speak well of your mother, or you will not speak of her at all, and you will regard this place of mine as a truth zone. You will not lie to me for any reason. If you do, the deal is off. In return, we will seriously discuss how to get your life turned around. We will talk about your past, if necessary. We will discuss school and employment. We will try to figure out what you’d like from life for yourself and your daughter and how to best go about getting it. We will talk about your wants and needs and those of your child. Deal?”
For the first time since the episode began, Danielle actually locked eyes with Crockett.
“Why?” she said. “Why you wanna do all that?”
Crockett held her gaze for a moment before he spoke. “Because your mother is my best friend,” he said, “and in five years, I don’t want my best friend to have to raise her granddaughter because her daughter is a meth whore.”
Danielle turned her back to him and didn’t speak.
“Sorry, champ,” Crockett went on. “I told you this was a truth zone. Who knows? Maybe after we get to know each other a little bit, I’ll do it because I think you’re worth all the trouble. You didn’t answer my question. Deal?”
Danielle turned to her mother. “What about you?” she said. “What do you get out of all this?”
“A clear conscience,” Satin said. “I’ll know that I did everything I could to help you. Whether you accept the help isn’t under my control. I told Crockett you had a problem. Everything else he came up with himself. This is between the two of you. I’m just a bystander.”
“Deal?” Crockett said.
Surprisingly, the girl answered right away. “Deal,” she said.
Crockett smiled. “You may have some balls after all.”
“I don’t got nothin’ to wear or anything. Not even a toothbrush,” Danielle went on. “I’m gonna need some stuff.”
“And I’m gonna need your car keys,” Crockett said.
“My keys? Why?”
“Because I don’t trust you yet, and you cannot leave here unless you’re going away for good. You already led the locomotive to Hartrick. I don’t want you bringing that man-mountain out here, too.”
“What about my clothes and shit?”
“Take it up with your mother,” Crockett said, opening the sliding glass door. “I’m just housing. She’s logistics and supply.” He went inside and closed the door behind him.
*****
Martha returned to herself shortly after dawn the next morning. Now that the funeral and all of the attending customs had passed, her attitude was somewhat improved. She was rather surprised to find the death ritual even more distasteful when applied to herself. Smiling at her candor, she moved to the edge of the pond. The Koi were becoming active. She sat on the grass and let them come to her to vie for attention. As she had done so many times before, she extended her hand to the fish, partially underwater. The Koi responded in their usual way, shouldering against each other in an effort to reach her hand and pluck pellets from her fingers. She could not feel them. The fish, even though they received no reward and could almost certainly not feel her, did not give up but continued their quest for both food and fingers. Martha played with the water.
How odd. Martha couldn’t really feel the water either. She knew it was there; she could see it. And, it seemed to offer a small bit of texture as she passed her hand through it. Martha wondered if the resistance was real or merely a product of a lifetime’s training and association on how water should feel. One thing; it certainly didn’t feel wet. She immersed her arm to the shoulder, enjoying the sensation of water that left her dry. The fish, faced with such an unusual development, pulled back a bit. Excited, smiling, and thinking there was no fool like an old fool, Martha eased herself over the edge of the surround stones and down into the clear water of the pond.
Her first instinct was to hold her breath, but she had no breath. Remindin
g herself that she could not drown, Martha allowed herself to sink in the depth of the pool. The water was nearly five feet deep, and she settled slowly to the bottom. The fish, frightened by an intrusion even more massive than the pond maintenance people’s twice monthly visits, vanished. Enchanted, Martha moved about the floor of the pool using her hands to direct her horizontal body from place to place.
There was significant debris here and there, deposited by delicate gravity in depressions of the liner. Looking through the restraining netting that kept the fish away from the plants, she could see they were doing well for early in the season, a couple of lilies already pushing growing pads to the surface. Martha glided among the stones and stems, occasionally spotting one or two of the Koi hiding behind rocks or sulking along the perimeter of her vision. It was amazing to be there, in the water with her beloved fish. With nothing else to do and all the time in the world, Martha arranged herself in a cross legged seated position, sank to the bottom of the deepest point, and waited for the fish to get used to her.
Cheryl yawned her early morning way into the living room to find the girls in a disagreement over the television remote. It seemed that the Doodlebops were a little unsophisticated for Sarah’s growing tastes. Mandy, tenacious in her appreciation of Doodlebopping, was opposing Sarah’s attempt to extricate the remote from her grasp.
Cheryl ignored them long enough to start a pot of coffee. When the decibel level reached ear damage level, she approached her daughters. Mandy, flat on her belly with the control clutched against her chest, had managed to squirm her way two-thirds under the coffee table. Sarah, her sister’s left ankle firmly in hand, was attempting to disentangle Mandy from her position of resistance.
“All right, kidlettes!” Cheryl shouted over the din. “Who’s helping with pancakes this morning?”
“Me!” Sarah shouted, releasing Mandy’s ankle and launching herself into the kitchen.
“I want to!” Mandy protested.
“Too slow, Joe,” Cheryl said. “You get dressed and promise to be careful and stay away from the water, and you can feed the fish while Sarah and I make breakfast. How’s that?”
The television remote control forgotten, Mandy wormed her way out from under the coffee table and began to search for her shoes.
Sarah was briskly stirring the batter before Mandy located her footwear and presented her feet to mom to get the laces tied. Cheryl obliged and gave her youngest daughter a double handful of fish food from the cabinet.
“Now just go out and toss that into the pond,” Cheryl said, hoping she had even a small amount of Mandy’s wandering attention. “Then come back inside for breakfast. After we eat, we’ll all go outside and feed them some more. Okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Mandy said, her eyes wandering to the sliding door.
“And don’t go next to the water. Stay back and toss the food to the fish. All right?”
“Uh-huh,” Mandy said again, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“And be careful. That water is way over your head.”
“I know, Mom.”
Cheryl smiled at her daughter’s frustration with Mom, the obstacle.
“Go,” she said, and watched Mandy carefully cross the yard to the pond, dropping fish pellets along the way, her Levi skirt an inverted blue jean bucket, rigid and unbending around the little legs that carried her to the fish.
Cheryl put the griddle over two of the stove burners and turned them on, all the while watching out the back door as Mandy knelt by the pond and tossed the remaining fish pellets into the water. As the griddle heated, she saw Mandy looking into the water and waving. Waving? She’d never waved at the fish before. She was also too close to the edge. As Cheryl opened the door to shout a warning, Mandy leaped to her feet and headed for the house as fast as those short legs could carry her. She exploded into the kitchen, flushed and excited.
“Mama!” the child blurted, big-eyed and panting. “Gramma out there!”
“What?”
“Gramma out there with da fish!”
“Oh, honey, no,” Cheryl replied, her heart wrenching in her chest. “Grandma isn’t here anymore.”
“Uh-huh! She with da fish!”
Cheryl kneeled in front of her daughter and took the girl lightly by the shoulders. “Sweetie, Grandma’s gone. She’s with God now. She’s not here. I’m sorry.”
Mandy put her hands on her hips and looked at her mother.
“Mom,” she said, “Gramma inda wadder.”
“No, baby.”
“She is! Gramma inda wadder with da fish.”
Cheryl stood up. “That’s enough, Mandy,” she said, her heart going out to the child.
“She is, Mom. I saw her.” Mandy peered at her mother with big eyes and nodded solemnly. “She wave at me.”
“Amanda, go wash your hands and get ready for breakfast.”
“Mom…”
“Now, Amanda.”
Mandy looked at her mother with tear-filled eyes and turned away toward the bathroom. She was right, and she’d show ‘em. Her mom and Sarah. She’d show ‘em.
When Mandy tossed what was left of her fish food burden into the water, the koi ignored Martha’s presence and rushed to gobble up the floating pellets. Looking up through the water, Martha could see little Mandy crouching near the edge of the pond. She eased a bit closer to the child, enjoying the fishy perspective of her great granddaughter. Then something unexpected happened. Whether it was caused by the magnifying and refractive properties of the water, her own etheric displacement of liquid, or some other phenomenon, she could not say, but Mandy saw her. The girl’s eyes got big, her mouth dropped open, and she smiled. Unable to restrain herself, Martha waved. Mandy waved back, clambered to her feet, and shot toward the house.
Oh, my. This could be trouble. Martha had always had a very special connection with Amanda. Not that she neglected Sarah. Martha was ever vigilant to share time equally with the girls and showed no favoritism; but, truth be told, Mandy was her favorite. Almost from the time the child was born, she and Martha were drawn to each other. If anybody in the world could see her, it would have to be Mandy. She could imagine the child in the house attempting to convince her mother that Grandma was sitting in the bottom of the fishpond. Poor Mandy. And poor Cheryl. Having to deal with an opinionated and headstrong child who witnessed something totally impossible in the back yard. Lord. Now what?
Mandy wouldn’t eat. Normally she would have battled a buffalo for her portion of pancakes and bacon, but not this morning. She sat at the table, head down, refusing her food, obviously very upset with her mother.
“Honey,” Cheryl said, “you love pancakes. I even warmed up the syrup. C’mon. Have some.”
“Don’t want any.”
“You’ll be hungry later.”
“No, I won’t.”
“How ‘bout some bacon?”
“Don’t like bacon.”
“Since when?”
“Since now!”
“I see. Maybe you should go sit in the living room for a while and think about why such a great little girl should be behaving so badly.”
Without a word, Mandy squirmed off her chair and stomped into the other room. Cheryl stifled a smile at her daughter’s explosive footsteps. Mandy could be a real handful when she wanted to be. Her natural sweetness and loving attitude balanced her temper and single-mindedness fairly well as a rule, but this whole thing with seeing Martha could work out to be a problem. Maybe she should talk with a psychologist or something. Or just leave it alone and draw as little attention to the fact that Mandy believed she’d seen her grandmother as possible. Cheryl was munching a bite of bacon and considering other alternatives, when she heard the front screen door slam. Dammit, Mandy!
When Cheryl reached the front porch, Mandy was nowhere to be seen. She hurried back through the house to the patio door in time to see a running Mandy cross the last ten feet to the pond, peer down into the pool for a moment, then jump in.
With a cry, Cheryl bolted out the back door toward the pond as fast as she could run. Halfway across the yard, she saw Mandy leave the water with a great splash, fly six or seven feet to the edge of the pool, and crash on the grass. Four seconds later she was at her daughter’s sodden side as Mandy lay on her back, totally drenched, coughing. Using her shirttail, Cheryl wiped Amanda’s face and held the girl to her as Mandy coughed and wheezed. When she’d settled down a bit, Cheryl backed off and looked at her.
“You okay?”
Mandy nodded vigorously but did not speak.
“Sweetheart, as much as we’ve talked about the pond and deep water, why in the world would you…”
“To see Gramma,” the girl said a tiny voice. “Gramma inda wadder, Mom.”
“Well, you’re lucky you didn’t drown. If I ever see you near the water again, I’ll…” The mental image of Mandy leaving the water, flying through the air and landing on the grass overwhelmed Cheryl for a moment. She looked at her daughter and pushed some hair back from her damp forehead.
“Mandy,” she said, “that water was way over your head. How did you get out of the pond?”
“Gramma throw me out.”
“Your great grandmother. In the pond.”
“Uh-huh. I told ya, Mom. Gramma inda wadder!”
The world spun for a moment, and Cheryl struggled for balance where she sat in the grass. The child comforted the mother.
“It’s okay, Mom,” Mandy said, giving her mother a hug. “Gramma save me.”
In the depths of the pool, Martha McGill hugged herself as she trembled. My God. What had she done? And how had she done it?
*****
CHAPTER FIVE
Crockett made coffee, then retrieved some mushrooms and zucchini from the fridge, chopped them into bite-size pieces, put the chunks in a plastic bag, poured some Japanese stir-fry sauce over them, and returned the bag to the fridge for the goodies to marinate. He then rummaged in the deep freeze for a moment and produced three six-ounce salmon steaks, which he placed in cool water to thaw. Finishing those chores, he put fresh towels and washcloths in the downstairs bath, made sure the toilet and sink were clean, verified that the downstairs bedroom had unsullied linen, cleaned the kitty litter, put down fresh water for Dundee and Nudge, and went through the rest of the ground floor, straightening the place up a bit. Those chores finished, he put some butter in a small plastic bowl to soften, added a couple of squirts of lemon juice and some chopped dill, freshened his coffee, and returned to the porch. Back outside, he opened his old Weber grill, removed the rack, and began to scrape the sludge off with a wire brush.
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