Blood Wounds

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  We both knew everything had changed and we both knew I wasn't supposed to say so. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," I said. "Love you, Jack."

  "Love you right back," he said, the way he had for all the life I could remember.

  I hung up, used the bathroom, and climbed into bed. A large gray cat jumped onto the foot of the bed, so I shifted over to give him some space.

  There was a table lamp next to the bed, and a pile of old high school yearbooks. The most recent one, almost twenty years old, was on top. Pryor High School had a graduating class of forty-two seniors that year, so it was easy enough to find Mom's picture.

  Terri Doreen Penders

  It was a formal yearbook picture, and Mom looked subdued, unsmiling. Her hair was long and straight and her gaze seemed to focus outside the frame of the picture, as though she was staring at something far away. Her future maybe, or any place that wasn't Pryor.

  It was fascinating to look at Mom's picture, see her as she was when she was just a year older than me. But I was even more intrigued by the quote under her picture.

  Don't look for me here, it said. It's there you'll find me.

  "I'm not looking for you," I whispered as I put the yearbook down. "I'm looking for me, Mom, and I have to look here."

  Eleven

  THE CLOCK BY THE BED said 5:25, but my body told me it was 6:25 and time to get up. Curly was on Texas time and snored gently by my side.

  I turned on the lamp and pulled out the oldest of the yearbooks. It took a long time before I found a shot of Budge, but there he was on the football team.

  That was the only picture of him from his freshman year, and he had a helmet on, so I couldn't really see him. I pulled out the next year's yearbook and looked some more. He was back on the football team, but he'd made the basketball team as well, so I had a chance to see his face, his body.

  He looked like the other boys in the yearbook, grimy and uneasy. I jumped ahead to his senior year and found his formal picture.

  Dwayne "Budge" Coffey

  They listed his sports teams, but there was no quote. Maybe they didn't have quotes that year, or maybe Budge wasn't the quotable kind. Instead there was a brief description of him:

  Budge is one of the most popular boys in school, especially with the girls.

  I stared at the picture, trying to see why he was so popular. A quick survey of the other boys showed Budge was one of the better-looking ones, but he wasn't stand-out handsome. There were at least two other boys in his class who I thought were better-looking.

  He'd stared sullenly into the lens, looking straight at it, not like Mom with her faraway glance. His downturned mouth, so similar to mine, gave no indication that he even knew how to smile.

  But there was something about his eyes, a little narrowed, a little untrusting, that reached out to me, his daughter who hardly remembered him.

  If I didn't know him, if I didn't know what had become of him, would I have stared into those eyes and thought about the pain they could inflict? Would I have said, "Those are the eyes of a killer," or would I simply have thought he was squinting, uncomfortable posing for the picture?

  If I hadn't known he was my father, would I have looked at the picture and seen myself in it?

  Jack had kept his yearbooks, and Brooke, Alyssa, and I had looked at them once or twice, giggling at the dated clothes and hairstyles. Jack had told us stories about his high school, and he even had a couple of his trophies on display in the den. I knew more about his past than I did my mother's, and until a few days ago, the only thing I'd known about Dwayne Coffey was his name. And even that wasn't accurate, since he went by Budge.

  I went back to Mom's yearbook and looked up Faye. She'd gained fifty pounds over the years, but there was still the same kindness in her eyes.

  Mom had held on to the one good thing about Pryor, I thought, putting the yearbooks back on the nightstand and preparing myself for what the day might bring.

  Twelve

  PAULINE AND FAYE were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping their coffees. They looked like they'd known each other for years.

  "There's orange juice if you want," Faye said. "I'm not a big breakfast person, but there's sweet rolls in the freezer and bread in the fridge for toast, and strawberry jam. I have eggs if you want me to make you some."

  "Toast sounds fine," I said. I opened the refrigerator and pulled a couple of slices of white bread out of the package, then dropped them into the toaster. Faye showed me where the plates and glasses were, and I poured myself some orange juice.

  "I thought about making you some big fancy breakfast," Faye said. "But that's for company, not family."

  "This is fine," I said. "I'm not big on breakfast either."

  "We all should be ashamed of ourselves," Pauline said. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it sounds like none of us eats it."

  "If God wanted me to eat a big breakfast, he would have made the day twenty-six hours," Faye said.

  We laughed. It felt so strange to hear laughter, like hearing a song you knew sung in a foreign language.

  "We were discussing your plans for the day," Pauline said. "Faye's arranged for you to see a lawyer."

  "It wasn't much of an arrangement," Faye said. "Sam Whalen's my boss and I schedule his appointments. I cleared a space for us this morning, figured we'd get that over and done with first thing."

  "Why do I need to see a lawyer?" I asked. "No one's accused me of anything."

  "No, of course not," Faye said. "Besides, Sam's not that kind of a lawyer. Oh, he helps folks with their DUIs, drunk-and-disorderlies, but he's more your everyday kind of lawyer. Wills, real estate, divorces."

  "Is he the only lawyer in town?" Pauline asked, helping herself to another cup of coffee.

  "There's always two lawyers in any town," Faye said. "No point being a lawyer if you don't have another one to argue with. But Sam's the best, and what he doesn't know, he knows how to find out."

  "I still don't see why I need a lawyer," I said, pulling the toast out and spreading jam on it. "I was hoping to do things today. I want to go to the cemetery where Mom's parents are. Maybe meet my great-grandmother, the one that raised Budge."

  "Oh, sweetie," Faye said. "You can't go knocking on Mavis Coffey's door and introducing yourself. Her grandson just died and her three great-grandbabies. The last thing she needs is another shock, even if it's the good kind of shock."

  "Besides," Pauline said, "Faye has to work, and you have no way to get around."

  "So I see this lawyer and then what?" I asked.

  "Willa," Pauline said sharply.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I just ... well, I don't know what I thought, but this is so important to me. Being here and seeing things and learning about my families. Mom won't talk about anything. I guess I wasn't thinking. I guess I don't belong here any more than I belong back home."

  "Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Faye said. "It isn't becoming. And start facing reality. This town right now, it's radioactive. I'm not saying everybody here dies peacefully of old age, but we're not used to little children being slaughtered and we're not used to reporters showing up on our doorstep, asking all kinds of questions that make us feel like it's our fault Budge Coffey went crazy. Now Pauline's gone way out of her way to bring you here and I'm taking time off from work, and Sam's rearranged his calendar so he can see you, and we don't expect much from you in return except a little politeness. You think you can do that for us?"

  "I'm sorry," I said, feeling my cheeks blush with embarrassment. "I mean it. I really am. Please forgive me."

  Faye shook her head. "Willa, sweetie, we all love you and we want to help you get through all this, but you're not the only one suffering around here. Mavis Coffey may be a mean old witch, but even she doesn't deserve this kind of pain, and you may not know Crystal's family, but I do, and they're good, decent folk. Everyone in town is grieving for them. We knew those sweet little girls Budge slashed to death, and he killed us a little b
it along with them. So stop dreaming about family reunions and people showing you the love. I'll show you plenty because I've known you since before you were born and your momma is closer to me than my own sister, but to everyone else, you're Budge Coffey's daughter. The lucky one. The one that got away."

  "Look," Pauline said, "I don't have to go to Santa Fe. I'll stick around here for the week, if it's all right with you, Faye. The sofa will suit me fine, and then Willa will have company while you're working."

  "No," I said. "Pauline, you should see your friends for a few days. And, Faye, you're right, and I really am sorry. I haven't been thinking about anyone but me. I'll see the lawyer, and then I'll do some schoolwork. I brought stuff with me, and it'd be a mistake for me to fall too far behind."

  "Good," Faye said. "That's settled. Now eat your toast and get dressed, and we'll go to Sam's and see what's what."

  Thirteen

  "SAM, THIS IS MY GODDAUGHTER," Faye said an hour later, "Willa Coffey. And this is her friend Pauline Henderson, who came with her from Pennsylvania. Willa, Pauline, this is Sam Whalen, the best lawyer in Maynard County."

  "She has to say that," Sam said. "I sign her paycheck."

  "It's true anyway," Faye said. "I wouldn't be bringing Willa to you if it wasn't."

  Sam gestured for us to sit down. I took the chair opposite him, and Pauline and Faye sat on either side of me.

  "It's very nice of you to see me," I said. "Faye thinks it's a good idea for me to have a lawyer."

  "Everyone should have a lawyer," Sam said. "Otherwise we lawyers would go out of business."

  We all laughed, but it wasn't like this morning. It was a polite laughter.

  "Faye's told me a bit about your situation," Sam said. "And of course, I know some of the rest. Your momma married a man named McDougal when you were a little girl, but he never adopted you. That right?"

  "He would have if he could," I said, "but..." And suddenly I didn't know what to call him. Dwayne? Budge? My father? "He couldn't," I finished. "I feel like Jack's my father, though."

  Sam nodded. "You're a lucky girl that way," he said. "But as far as the government's concerned, you're Dwayne Coffey's daughter, for better or worse."

  "What does that mean, exactly?" Pauline asked.

  "Well, for one thing it means Willa's entitled to Social Security benefits," Sam said. "Assuming Dwayne held on to a taxpaying job long enough to put in to the system."

  "He worked at the tannery," Faye said. "On and off since high school, and steady since he got sober and found God. That would have been six, seven years by now."

  "Well, it won't be much," Sam said. "But Willa's entitled to whatever the benefits are."

  "What about Trace?" I asked. "Will I be sharing with him?"

  "Trace's Dwayne's boy," Faye said. "Dwayne never married his momma, if that makes any difference."

  "No difference at all," Sam said, "as long as Dwayne is listed on the birth certificate as his father. Is he older than Willa or younger?"

  "Older," Faye said. "He must be eighteen by now."

  "Then he's probably too old for the benefits," Sam said. "Eighteen's the cutoff unless you're still in high school. Now, you'll need your birth certificate. Did you bring yours with you?"

  I shook my head. "My mother must have it," I said.

  "If she doesn't, she can certainly get a copy," Sam said. "We'll need Dwayne's death certificate also." He wrote something down on a piece of paper.

  "Should I be asking for the Social Security?" I asked. "I mean, I didn't know him. Dwayne. I haven't seen him since I was four."

  "You're entitled to it," Sam said. "As long as Dwayne paid in to the system. No reason to turn down money the government owes you."

  "When the adoption goes through, the Social Security will stop, right?" Pauline asked.

  Sam nodded. "So Jack might want to hold off until Willa's eighteen," he said. "Or graduates high school. It's waited this long, it could wait a couple more years."

  "I'm not sure Jack will see it that way," Pauline said. "But it is something to consider."

  "Now, I don't know if Dwayne left a will," Sam said. "He wasn't my client, but I'll ask around. If he did and he left everything to his wife, then most likely what there is will be divided equally between Willa and Trace."

  "There couldn't be that much," Faye said. "He and Crystal had a cute little house, but the bank probably owns more of it than they did."

  "Was Dwayne a veteran?" Sam asked.

  Faye shook her head.

  Sam wrote veteran on his pad and crossed it out. "That way I'll remember not to look into it," he said. "Social Security'll make a payment for funeral expenses. Do you know who's going to be making the arrangements?"

  "Most likely Mavis Coffey," Faye said. "But you know, the way Budge died, I don't think she'll be making much of a fuss."

  "I don't want his money," I said. "Maybe Trace could get it."

  "It's going to be more headaches than money anyway," Sam said. "First his debts'll have to be paid off. The house. The car. The charge cards. We need to check if the house is still officially a crime scene. If Willa can get in, she might want to take a memento or two."

  "There's nothing I want," I said.

  "We should still make an inventory," Sam said. "Crystal might have left behind some trinkets."

  "I don't understand," Pauline said. "Wouldn't Crystal's things go to her family?"

  "Depends on her will," Sam said. "Assuming she made one, and it won't surprise me if she didn't. But if she left everything to her little girls, or if she never got around to making a will, then as long as one of those little girls survived her, that child inherited whatever there is. If the court determines Krissi was the last in her family to die, she'd be regarded as Crystal's heir and Willa and Trace would then inherit from her."

  "Have you seen an autopsy report?" Pauline asked. "Do they know for sure that Krissi was alive when Dwayne left Pryor?"

  Sam shook his head. "I'm going by what I saw on TV," he said. "If the autopsy's been released, I haven't heard about it." He wrote another note.

  "What are you saying?" I asked. "If Krissi was still alive when Budge left, then Trace and I inherit Crystal's things?"

  Sam nodded. "It goes from Crystal to her daughters, and from her daughters to you and Trace," he said. "Unless Crystal made a will leaving everything to someone else, her parents or her sisters and brothers. For that matter, we should check to see if the little girls had anything. Sometimes people give babies bonds or a little bit of money. That'd go directly to you and Trace, since there's no will involved."

  "That's sick," I said. "My father killed them. Crystal and the girls. I never once laid my eyes on them and my father stabbed them to death, and I'm supposed to take their jewelry and their savings accounts?"

  "There's no difference between your taking them and Trace," Sam said.

  "It is different," I said. "Trace knew them. They're nothing to me. I didn't even know they existed until I heard they were dead. How can I possibly be entitled to their things?"

  "It's the law," Sam said. "Same as Social Security. The law's there so we know what the rules are. Without rules, we'd run around fighting each other, not caring what anybody thinks. Sometimes rules can seem arbitrary, and sometimes unfair, but they give us our boundaries, and we need to respect them."

  "My father didn't follow the rules," I said. "He was a monster. He broke all the rules. He killed his children. There's blood everywhere because of him. How can the rules be right if, thanks to him, I get money or jewelry or anything?"

  "It isn't a question of right and wrong," Sam said. "Of course what Dwayne did was wrong. And if you and your mother decide you shouldn't take anything, then you can refuse your inheritance and it can all go to Trace. But I'd be remiss as a lawyer if I didn't tell you what your rights are. And as your lawyer, I'm going to make sure to find out what there is to inherit, and that it goes to you, for you to decide what to do with. Once you know what there is,
what you're legally entitled to, you can decide whether to give your share to Trace or to Crystal's parents or to anybody else you want. But the rules have to be followed, Willa. That's just the way it is."

  "Is there anything else?" Pauline asked.

  "With all those reporters around, someone might want to talk to Willa," Sam said. "Maybe even make her an offer for her story."

  "Her parents would never approve of that," Pauline said. "Never."

  "Willa, do you feel the same way?" Sam asked.

  "There's nothing I could tell," I said. "I'm here for my sisters' funerals. I don't know anything about Dwayne, about any of them."

  "If any reporters come sniffing, we'll send them to you," Faye said. "And you can tell them to go to hell for us."

  Sam grinned. "That's one of the things lawyers do best," he said. "All right, Willa. You'll ask your mother about your birth certificate and I'll see what I can do about getting copies of Dwayne's death certificate, and find out if they've determined when Krissi died, and if Dwayne or Crystal made out wills. Do you have any questions?"

  "Did you know him?" I asked. "Dwayne. I was wondering if you'd ever met him."

  "There are three ways people know each other in this town," Sam said. "School, church, and bars. Dwayne was pretty well known in all those places, so yeah, I knew him, like I know a lot of people around here. I knew Crystal too. I went to school with her mother. There's nobody here who isn't grieving, Willa. But none of that is your fault. Dwayne had his reasons. God had His. You're here because you need to be here, to pay tribute to those sweet little sisters you never had the chance to know. Trust me to do what I do best, looking out for the interests of my clients. Faye here will see to it that I do my job, so you'll have one less thing to deal with. All right?"

  "All right," I said, rising from the chair. "And thank you. I know I'm driving everyone crazy. I don't seem to be able to stop myself. Back home—well, I'm a different person back home. Quiet. Nice, I think. But the past few days, I feel like I don't know who I am anymore. So I keep saying the wrong thing and doing the wrong thing, and I can't help it. I'm really sorry."