The Daughter She Used To Be

by Rosalind Noonan

  “You were a great den mother,” Craig said. His hands were huge paws on the armrests of the chair.

  As Mary Kate remembered, he had played college football. “Are you still working at the high school?”

  “Bayside High. I’m a football coach and PE teacher.” He picked up a magazine from the table. “I’ve got a small apartment in Bay Terrace, and Tracey is still in the house in Fresh Meadows.”

  She nodded. She had forgotten that Chris’s parents had divorced when the boys were in high school.

  “Are you and Tony still in the same house?”

  “I am.” She held her breath, starting to hesitate, then realized she had to start saying the words to make it real. “Tony moved out. We’re separated.”

  He didn’t seem fazed at all, which helped Mary Kate breathe easy again.

  “And Conner is living back home?”

  “Right. He transferred to Queens College. I was worried at first, but he’s doing well.” She looked at the online profile for the Schiavones. “And whose insurance are we using today?”

  “Let me get you my insurance card.” As he leaned forward to remove his wallet from his back pocket, she noticed again that he was a big bear of a man. She supposed that worked to his advantage when he was trying to supervise huge classes of teenaged boys in the school gymnasium.

  She scanned the card, then explained that they would be filing the claim electronically.

  “You’ve really updated old man Parsons’s operation,” Craig said.

  “I can’t take credit for that. I just keep it going, and it’s a lot easier without paperwork. We can store everything on the computer now.” Mary Kate felt a surge of pride in talking about her work, and she realized that Tony had never asked her about her day, let alone any of the details of what she did in Dr. Parsons’s office.

  “Are you a hygienist, too?” Craig asked.

  “Naw. Just a bookkeeper and receptionist.” She didn’t have medical training, and though the hygienists made more, Mary Kate didn’t aspire to their jobs. It would be kind of gross and depressing to have to stare into people’s imperfect mouths at stained and chipped teeth all day. “And you know what? I’m happy with that. I’m a little OCD, so I keep the office organized, and the social aspect of working reception keeps the day moving.”

  “It’s great that you found something that works for you.” When he looked over at her, his smile was warm. She noticed his eyes were that mossy shade of green. An unusual color, and it suited him well. Craig Schiavone was actually a handsome man.

  And he was smiling at her. Was he flirting?

  “You know, while I’m here, can you see if I’m due for a checkup?” He tossed the magazine back onto the coffee table and moved to a chair closer to her desk. “I think I got one of those cards in the mail a while back, but you know how that goes.”

  She clicked on his profile and smiled. “You’re a bit overdue. It’s been over two years.”

  “Really?” He rubbed his jaw. “Oops. We’d better schedule an appointment.”

  She clicked the mouse to open the calendar, wondering if he was really just trying to come up with a reason to see her again. Or was that just wishful thinking? “What works for you?”

  “Let’s see.” He looked down at his phone, one of those new ones that had a computer screen. “Next week is busy, and so is the one after that. Basketball season is wrapping up. What do you have two weeks out? Late afternoon, early evening, say ... end of March?”

  She felt a stab of disappointment that she’d have to wait two weeks, but then that was silly. He might even be remarried. She would have Conner ask Chris. He chose a Tuesday night, and Mary Kate printed a reminder for him. When she handed it to him, she noticed that he didn’t wear a wedding ring. It was hopeful.

  As they chatted on about the last few years, getting updates on the other kids, Mary Kate felt a ray of hope. She had always thought Tony was it for her, but now she wondered.

  New possibilities would be nice.

  Chapter 36

  Thursday dawned cold and gray. Bernie’s internal clock got her up at six, and one look at the frost on the small square of grass in her backyard sent her right back to bed. A few hours later she had coffee and cereal, went for a run in the park, and showered. She tried to relax, but expectancy hung in the air, as if she were waiting for the phone call or the event that would change her day.

  After a failed attempt to concentrate on a novel, Bernie surrendered any thought of real relaxation and decided to head over to her parents’ house. “All roads lead to the roost,” her mom liked to say.

  She locked the door of her place, the ground-floor apartment in a two-family house owned by her parents. Keesh had once accused her of mooching off her parents while pretending to be independent, but she’d pointed out that she paid the same rent as the upstairs tenants, Candy and Chuck Wolf.

  The walk to her parents’ home took her through a cluster of garden apartments and a few blocks of stores. As she passed the post office, the pharmacy, and three different pizza places, she envied the people who strode by her on a mission. That was New York City; millions of keyed-up people with someplace to be, and they were perpetually ten minutes late. How strange not to have a job to be late for anymore.

  She arrived at the house to find only Sarah there with Grace and Indigo’s daughter Tasha.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” Bernie gave Tasha a big hug. “I heard the great news about your mom! How’s she doing?” Word that Indigo’s paralysis was fading had been the only good news to travel through the family lately.

  “She’s good.” Tasha’s fingers squeezed the heart-shaped buttons of her sweater. “She says the doctors torture her every day now, but she’s getting better.”

  “Physical therapy,” Sarah said. “It’s hard, but your mom is pretty determined, isn’t she?”

  Tasha nodded. “She wanted to walk by tomorrow because she has to go to court.”

  “The grand jury hearing?” Bernie asked. The Queens DA was probably relying heavily on Indigo’s testimony.

  Tasha shrugged. “Some court thing. She told the nurse, and the nurse told her she was crazy. So she still isn’t walking yet.”

  “I guess it takes time,” Bernie said as Tasha went back to the floor in front of the television, where she and Grace were working on a school project, coloring a map of New York State.

  “Where is everybody?” Bernie asked, hanging her jacket on the hook by the door.

  Sarah explained that Peg was on an outing with Maisey, and Sully was at the Cup with the glass installer. “And here I am, leading a life of leisure,” Sarah said, sitting with one knee bent on the sofa. The television was on, and half a cup of tea sat on the coffee table.

  Bernie was about to tell Sarah that she was joining her club, but she stopped herself. What the hell would she say? She needed some semblance of control or direction before she told her story.

  A commercial on TV gave way to the handsome face of Rich Willis, a young African-American on-air personality known for his propensity to date celebrities.

  “Next on News at Noon, our in-depth report on Peyton Curtis, the suspected Coffee Shop Killer whose case will go to the Manhattan Grand Jury tomorrow.” Energetic Rich mellowed to concerned Rich. “We’ll see what family and neighbors have to say about him, and we’ll hear reaction in the community to his arrest.”

  Bernie stared at the TV, riveted, as they cut away to a commercial break. The media had been running something on Curtis every day, but this sounded like a more thorough interview.

  But Sarah frowned, concerned. “Girls, why don’t you take your project into the back room?”

  Tasha sat up and started to gather crayons.

  “Why can’t I see this?” Grace asked.

  “You’re too young.”

  “Other kids at school see news reports about him. They all talk about it, and I feel stupid ’cause I’m the only one who doesn’t know. And it’s my story, Mom. Not theirs.”


  “Honey, I’m afraid it’ll be too upsetting.”

  Grace’s lower lip curled in indignation. “I’m not a baby.”

  Sarah sighed. “Tash, you can go into the dining room if you want.”

  “She already saw a picture of the man,” Grace said.

  When Sarah turned to Tasha, she nodded. “Yes, ma’am. My gramma told me to look at the bad man who shot my mom. She said he had the devil in him.”

  “She may be right about that.” Sarah looked back at Bernie, who shrugged. “Okay. If you want, I’ll let you watch.” She sank back onto the sofa beside Bernie. “But it’s probably a huge mistake,” she muttered.

  Juanita Perez, one of those reporters with the ability to sling a smile then burn serious in the next second, posed the question of whether Peyton Curtis was “a boy who fell through the cracks or a monster in our midst.”

  “Curtis remains hospitalized from a bullet wound,” the bright-eyed reporter said. “Homicide charges will go before the Queens Grand Jury tomorrow, but tonight we take a look at the man who police say is behind the March second murder of three New York City police officers in a Flushing coffee shop. Peyton Curtis remains in critical condition in an area hospital, but News Four spoke with friends and family who know him.”

  A black woman in her twenties wearing a red polo shirt, obviously a store uniform, looked down as she spoke. The banner beneath her read: CURTIS’S SISTER GWEN MAHEWS.

  “I don’t believe he killed those people,” Gwen Mahews said. “Peyton’s gentle. He’s not the kind of person to hurt anyone.”

  The reporter’s voice-over said that Curtis’s sister questioned his ability to commit such a crime because of a disability he’d had since he was a child.

  “He got hurt a long time ago,” the sister said. “Back when he was little. He never walked right after that, and something was wrong with one of his arms. I don’t even know if he could pull a trigger.”

  The report then featured a teacher who’d claimed to have had Curtis in class when he was in junior high. The man remembered Peyton Curtis as being the victim of bullies who picked on him because of his physical disabilities.

  “Really?” Sarah squinted at the television. “That was, like, twenty years ago. Would a teacher really remember the specifics of a student profile twenty years later?”

  “It’s possible, but improbable,” Bernie said.

  Next they showed a photo of his mother, Yvonne Curtis, who was holding a paper up, probably to block her face from being photographed.

  “Curtis’s mother, who declined to be interviewed, says she has been threatened by neighbors in the Blair Houses. Curtis says vandals recently painted the words Cop Killer on her door.

  The camera lingered on the door, where someone had painted COP KILLHER in bloodred paint. Bernie shuddered at the obvious threat.

  Grace was sitting up straight now, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Who did that to her door?”

  “We don’t know,” Sarah said. “But it was the wrong thing to do.”

  “How will she get the paint off?” Grace asked.

  “She’ll probably scrub it with soap,” Tasha answered.

  “Maybe she’ll just paint over it,” Bernie said.

  “Why don’t they leave that woman alone?” Grace asked, her eyes glued to the TV.

  Bernie tried to explain that the woman’s son was accused of killing Grace’s father, along with the other two cops. “I know, but the woman didn’t do anything,” Grace pointed out. “They should leave her alone.”

  “You’re right,” Bernie said. “You’re absolutely right.”

  Juanita Perez went on. “No one is claiming responsibility for the vandalism, but some neighbors say they are upset because tenants like Peyton Curtis and his mother, Yvonne, give a bad name to housing projects.”

  “Many of us here at the Blair Houses, we’re hardworking people,” said a woman in a wool coat. She stood in front of a brick building, her breath wisps of white air. “People like us, we have jobs and children to raise. We go to church on Sunday and do the right thing. But it’s people like that monster who give all the rest of us a bad reputation.”

  The report ended with mention of a possible death penalty if Curtis was found guilty.

  “Well, I’m glad that’s over,” Sarah said, turning to the girls. “Any questions?”

  Both girls shook their heads and went back to their homework, but Bernie noticed that they were subdued.

  And the news report had left her feeling unsettled, too. She felt haunted by the profile of Peyton Curtis, disabled and bullied as a child. Gentle, his sister had said.

  It was not at all the profile she’d been hoping for. She wanted her brother’s killer to be a man she could resoundingly despise.

  That evening at the dinner table the mood was different, and for once Bernie felt relieved that there would be no cop talk. All her life she had been a cop’s daughter, out to get the bad guys, lock them up, and throw away the key, as Sully always said. Things had seemed so simple. Now, as she shook a bottle of salad dressing, she wished for a return to simplicity even as she knew it could not happen.

  Sully took his place at the head of the table, but his blue eyes seemed tired and vacant. Although he didn’t stumble or slur his words, Bernie suspected that a bottle had been part of his afternoon activity. He seemed distant as he listened to Tasha’s accounts of how her dad made eggs differently. The girls talked about the boy at school who had his own iPad. Maisey bragged about the free cookies she got at the store with Nana. Sarah talked about her meeting scheduled with the payroll and benefits section at One Police Plaza. The police matter was the only thing that caught his attention.

  “They’ll take care of you,” Sully said. “You and the girls, you’ll be fine. You’ll never have to work another day in your life. Unless you want to, of course.”

  “I might ask for something part-time at work.” Sarah put her fork down, her meat loaf still untouched. “I mean, the girls will be at school. What would I do all day?”

  You got that right, Bernie wanted to say. She’d had one day off and already she’d run out of things to do.

  “Well, I’m happy to have the girls here anytime.” Peg added a spoon of corn to Maisey’s plate.

  “Hey!” Maisey complained.

  “Eat,” Peg said. “If you need me, I’m here.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah picked up her fork and broke off a piece of meat. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  “Family takes care of family,” Sully said quietly, rotating his beer glass on the place mat.

  “What’s the death penalty?” Grace asked as she lifted a dill pickle spear.

  Sully swallowed, lifting his chin. “Where did that come from?”

  “We watched a news report on Peyton Curtis,” Bernie said.

  “Did you?” Peg looked down at Grace. “And they said he’s getting the death penalty?”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice.” Sully’s malicious grin made Bernie look away.

  “Is it the penalty you get when you make someone die?” Grace asked.

  “Not exactly,” Bernie said, treading cautiously. “The death penalty is when the government takes a person’s life to punish them for their crime.”

  Grace’s eyes opened wide. “You mean the government kills them?”

  “They get executed,” Tasha said with a chilling sureness.

  “Do they shoot them, like Daddy?” Grace asked.

  “No, honey,” Sarah said without looking up from her plate. “The prison doctor gives the criminal a shot that makes them go to sleep.”

  “And they never wake up,” Sully finished. “It’s the only way we can be sure that bad men like the one who killed your daddy won’t have a chance to hurt other people.”

  “But Peyton Curtis is disabled,” Grace said. “Did you know he was bullied? It’s not right to pick on someone who’s hurt.”

  “But sweetheart, he’s a monster, a cold-
blooded killer,” Sully said gently. “It may seem a little harsh right now, Gracie, but you’ll understand it when you get a little older.”

  Not true, Bernie thought. The older you get, the less you understand. The lines begin to blur.

  Grace put her pickle down and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “No, Grandpa. I won’t ever kill a person, not even a bad man. God put it in the Ten Commandments, and it’s wrong.”

  Sully raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Pipe down, darlin’. Nobody’s expecting you to break one of God’s commandments. That’s why grown-ups take care of these things.”

  “If he’s guilty,” Bernie added. “I mean, it’s looking that way, but the charges haven’t even gone to the grand jury yet.”

  Sully frowned. “Bernadette, is there any doubt in your mind of that man’s guilt?”

  “Always. That’s the way our court system is structured, Dad. Innocent until proven guilty.”

  “I got enough proof.” Sully waved a hand, gesturing to the distant universe. “You got Indigo and Padama testifying tomorrow. The DA asked me to be there as a backup. They got a handful of eyewitnesses, customers who were in the shop. What more do you want, Miss ADA?”

  Wounded, Bernie pressed a hand to her chest. “Dad ... I’m just saying that we need to let the justice system run its course.”

  “Not enough time in the world to wait around for the lawyers and the judges and juries. By the time they get around to executing this animal, I’ll be dead.”

  Bernie was aware of the silence. She and Sully held the rapt attention of everyone at the table, Maisey included, but she couldn’t back down. “And what’s the alternative, Dad? What are you suggesting?”

  “I’m just saying, it would save a lot of money and grief if they let this fella die in the hospital. Just let him go.”

  “Kill him?” Bernie echoed Grace’s earlier words.

  “Alrighty, then.” Peg was on her feet. “It’s too much for a dinner conversation, talking of these things.” She began clearing dishes away. “Why don’t you girls come into the kitchen and help me with dessert?”