The Reckless Oath We Made

by Bryn Greenwood

“Maybe he’ll start stalking you,” I said.

  “Please. He was all business. Didn’t even try to flirt with me. He’s in love with you.”

  She didn’t believe me that we’d never had that kind of relationship, and I was sorry I’d let her joke about him. Yes, he was weird, but he’d rescued LaReigne, Marcus, and me, and never asked for anything in return.

  Now he’d rescued me again, standing there in the middle of my mother’s wrecked house, and all I could think of to say about him was “It’s complicated.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Dottie

  My late husband was tall and handsome, the sort of man who draws women’s attention everywhere he goes. Our girls both took after Leroy in their own way, LaReigne because she was beautiful and Zhorzha because she was tall. In fact, she was taller than her new boyfriend and both of the federal marshals who came to talk with us.

  Mansur, who did most of the talking, was an older black man, quite stout around the middle. Smith, who didn’t talk much, was a younger white man, wearing a suit like a bowl of oatmeal. They introduced themselves but didn’t offer to shake hands. Not that Zhorzha gave any indication that would be acceptable. She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, prickly as a cactus.

  The marshals started out very polite, letting me know how concerned they were about finding LaReigne safe. They were polite until I started asking questions.

  “There is very little information I can give out right now, because of our investigation and ongoing security issues at the facility,” Mansur said.

  “Well, goodness, I’m not asking you to tell me how they broke out or where the secret tunnels are. Imagine!”

  “The fact is, we didn’t come here to brief you. We’re hoping you might be able to tell us something about your daughter that will help us find her.”

  “What do you think we can tell you?” Zhorzha said. “My mother just wants to know something. Is—is LaReigne alive?”

  “We have no reason to suspect that she’s been harmed,” Mansur said.

  “Well, thank you for that,” I said. Zhorzha snorted and turned her back on the marshals.

  “Did she ever talk to you about the inmates she volunteered with?” Smith said.

  “I asked her if it was safe,” I said. “These aren’t men like my husband. He was a good man. Of course, yes, he was involved in that robbery, but he was not a violent man.”

  “Did she ever mention these men to you?” Smith asked. “Tague Barnwell. Conrad Ligett?”

  “Which is the younger one? The handsome one?”

  Zhorzha scowled at me, but with regards to LaReigne, it was certainly a valid question. She’d never been interested in homely men, and why should she be when she looked like that?

  “Barnwell is in his thirties. Ligett is in his forties,” Mansur said. “I’m not sure I would describe either of them as handsome.”

  “Well, Ligett is bald,” Smith said, which was at least useful information. I couldn’t imagine LaReigne falling in love with a bald man, and, after all, that’s what they were insinuating. Why would they question us unless they thought LaReigne was involved somehow? And why would LaReigne be involved unless there was a handsome man? That’s the kind of girl she was. She got that from me.

  “Does the name Craig Van Eck ring any bells for you? He’s serving a life sentence for murdering a police officer and his family,” Mansur said.

  “Yes, he was a friend of my husband’s. He had flowers sent to me after Leroy passed away.” I’d never asked why Craig was in prison. He was Leroy’s friend; that was enough for me.

  “What did these guys do? Barnwell and Ligett,” Zhorzha said. “Why were they in prison?”

  “They’re both serving life sentences for that shooting at the Muslim student center five or six years ago.” Mansur looked at his notebook as though he needed to look that up, whereas I knew it perfectly well from watching the news. They’d mentioned it dozens of times.

  “So the prison let her volunteer with murderers?” Zhorzha paced into the kitchen, and when she came back she stayed behind my chair, where I couldn’t see her. Her breathing sounded sniffly, like she was trying not to cry.

  “Did she ever talk to you about these men?” Apparently that was the only thing Smith knew how to say.

  “I recognize the name Tague. Not the other one,” Zhorzha said. “And she talked about a few of the volunteers. This woman named Molly. LaReigne stayed at her house a few times, when she had a headache and didn’t want to drive home at night. So you’re telling me you don’t know anything yet? Two prisoners can escape, and there’s no surveillance footage or anything?”

  “Actually,” Mansur said. “We have surveillance footage. It shows your sister driving away with the escapees and the other volunteer.”

  “So you at least know the make and model of the car they’re in?” I said.

  “Ma’am, it was her own car. That’s one of the reasons we’d like to know if she ever talked about Barnwell or Ligett.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Zhorzha said. “Yes, she knew the one guy. Yes, she talked about him. That doesn’t mean she helped him escape.”

  “Miss Trego, you understand, we have to follow all possible leads. There are—”

  “That’s fucking bullshit. Why aren’t you out looking for my sister?”

  “Zhorzha, there’s no need for that kind of language,” I said. “Don’t be such a hothead.” Just as she was about to open her mouth and spill out another heap of curses, the door to the garage opened, and Gentry came stomping into the room.

  “My lady,” he said. “These knaves outragen thee?”

  “I’m fine. I just lost my temper,” she said.

  I’d thought it was charming at first, but it was really too much that he talked that way in front of the marshals. There was a time for that sort of thing, and this was not it. Still, he stood in between her and the marshals, looking uneasy but defensive. Zhorzha was overdue for a man who wanted to protect her.

  “And who is this?” Mansur said.

  “A friend of mine, who also doesn’t know anything,” she said.

  The four of them stood in the middle of the living room, Zhorzha towering over the three men. She may have gotten her height from her father, but I don’t know where she got her red hair or her temper.

  “Mrs. Trego,” Mansur said. “Like you, our goal is to get LaReigne back safely, and recapture two dangerous men. If you or your daughter think of anything that might be useful, and, obviously, if you hear from LaReigne, definitely give us a call. Here’s my card.” Instead of handing it to me, he tossed it onto the side table.

  “We can show ourselves out,” Smith said, but Gentry followed them to the door, and I heard him bolt it after them.

  Once they were gone, Zhorzha went out to the garage and brought Marcus back inside.

  “I think we’re going to go now,” she said. “Give Grandma a hug, buddy.”

  “Who are all those people outside, Grandma?” he said, as he climbed up on my lap.

  “Oh, some people who want to talk to me, but I don’t feel like talking to them right now.”

  “Why not? When’s Mommy coming home?”

  “Soon, sweetie,” I said, but it broke my heart to tell him that same old lie.

  CHAPTER 7

  Zee

  All I cared about was getting past the reporters, and getting Marcus out of there. Gentry piggybacked him out the front door and down the street to where his truck was parked behind my car. Before I realized what he intended, he’d opened the truck’s passenger door and lifted Marcus in. The reporters were already coming, dragging their equipment with them, so I got in after Marcus, while Gentry went around to the driver’s side. With the doors closed and locked, I tried to think clearly, and I thought about Gentry’s horrible family.

  “I think I’ll ge
t a motel room for me and Marcus,” I said.

  “I would that ye comen with me. That I might keep you safe.”

  “I don’t think I can take your family right now.”

  “Nay, my lady. ’Tis well,” he said. “I spake with my father. Ye two aren welcome.”

  Before I could answer, he started the truck and backed it down the block, leaving the reporters behind us. Gentry drove, not to Miranda’s house, which was down off Harry, but to one of those twisty neighborhoods northeast of Rock and Kellogg.

  I wondered if maybe Miranda had won the lottery, right up until we went inside, and a woman who definitely wasn’t Miranda came to meet us.

  “My mother, Lady Charlene,” Gentry said. “Mother, this be Lady Zhorzha. And her nephew, Master Marcus.”

  “It’s so lovely to finally meet you, Lady Zhorzha! We’ve heard so much about you.” The woman put out her hand and I took it, but I was too confused to say anything.

  First of all, she was the only person to ever pronounce my name right the first time.

  Second of all, Gentry had apparently traded in his old family for a new one. Because Miranda was a scrawny white woman with bleached hair. This version of his mother was a black woman in reading glasses with white hair pulled up on top of her head with three big curls the size of Coke cans.

  While I was trying to figure all that out, the realization kicked in that Gentry’s new mother said my name right, because they’d heard so much about me.

  “You’re his mother?” I said. I didn’t know what kind of look I had on my face, but Charlene started laughing and squeezed my hand tighter.

  “Oh, I forgot you must have met Miranda. You didn’t tell her, Gentry?”

  “Nay, my lady,” he said with his chin tucked down almost to his chest.

  Of course, he hadn’t told me anything, because he hadn’t spoken to me in two years, except to order food. Did Charlene not know that? She couldn’t know that, could she?

  “Miranda’s his biological mother. A few years ago, he decided he wanted to try having a relationship with her and his half siblings. That would have been close to the same time he met you.”

  “Oh. I did not know that,” I said. It was the only polite thing I could think of. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

  “Aunt Zee.” Marcus pulled on my arm. “I gotta go.”

  “Could we use your bathroom?”

  “Lord, yes. Here I am keeping you standing in the foyer. Come all the way in. Bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right,” Charlene said.

  The house was one of those long 1950s ranches. Left off the foyer was a great room with a vaulted ceiling, a fireplace, and sliding glass doors onto a patio. On the right was the hallway to the bedrooms. We went down the hall, wrestling Marcus out of his backpack along the way. I got him through the door and found the light switch, but when I went to step outside and close the door, he was standing there with a sad look on his face. The front of his blue jeans was a lot darker than the rest.

  “Oh, fuck,” I said, because I was the worst aunt in the world. He started crying.

  “I’m sorry, Aunt Zee.”

  “No. I’m sorry. It’s okay.” I got down on my knees and hugged him, wet pants and all. Then I backtracked to the hallway and grabbed his book bag. We got him cleaned up and into dry pants.

  When we came out of the bathroom, Charlene was waiting in the hall.

  “Is everything okay?” she said.

  “Just a little accident. Could I get a plastic bag?”

  Before I knew what she was going to do, she reached out and took Marcus’ wet pants from me. In her bare hand, like a woman who has raised boys.

  “Let’s just run these through the washer.” I followed her down the hallway, with Marcus coming after me all hangdog. We passed Gentry at the kitchen counter with a whole row of knives laid out in front of him. Marcus stopped to look.

  “Don’t you sharpen my knives down to nothing. If you’re feeling anxious, you sharpen your own knives,” Charlene said. “Gentry, are you hearing me?”

  “I hear thee, my lady,” was his answer.

  “If it’s too much trouble, we can go,” I said, once I was alone with her in the laundry room. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “Do you have somewhere else to go?” She started the washer and pitched Marcus’ clothes in.

  I had money for a motel room, but for how long? And what if I needed that money for something else?

  “Not really,” I said.

  “Well, I’d say that answers that.”

  “I’m sorry.” I may not have peed my pants in her house, but I kind of felt that way.

  “The words you’re looking for are thank you.”

  “I’m sorry. Thank you.” I thought she’d said it to scold me, but she laughed and patted my shoulder.

  “That was close. And you’re very welcome.”

  In the kitchen, Gentry was sharpening knives while Marcus watched.

  “Now that you’ve sharpened my knives, shall we cook dinner?” Charlene said.

  “Gladly,” Gentry said.

  “Can I help with something?” I said.

  “Oh, no. He’ll have these knives so sharp you’d likely lose a finger. Besides, I cannot imagine he would permit the lady Zhorzha to dirty her hands with scullery work.”

  “You can call me Zee. Everybody does.”

  “Well, I have it from the lady’s mouth then.” Charlene leaned in close to me and fake whispered, “Most people actually call me Charlene, not Lady Charlene.”

  Gentry made a few more swipes across the whetstone, until Charlene reached out and tapped her nail on the counter. He immediately laid the knife down and started scratching the back of his neck.

  “We’re going to make some chicken stew. Do you like herbes de Provence, Marcus?”

  “What is that?” I was glad he seemed interested in Gentry and his knives, because up til then he’d just looked sad and confused.

  “Well, we cheat and put in some spices the people in Provence don’t use, but it’s a nice stew with chicken and potatoes. Do you like chicken and potatoes?”

  Marcus nodded.

  “Good. Why don’t you sit up here and have a snack while I wash vegetables?”

  “What can I do to help?” I said, after I got Marcus seated on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

  “Not a thing, hon. Do you want a Capri Sun?”

  “Yes!” Marcus said.

  “What about you, Zee?”

  “Water’s fine for me.”

  Charlene set three pouches on the countertop anyway. I put a straw in one for Marcus, one for Gentry, and then one for myself.

  “I thought so,” she said. “You sit here and have a snack while Gentry tries to impress you.”

  I took the stool next to Marcus, where Charlene had laid out a plate of cheese, lunch meat, and crackers.

  Marcus and Gentry took a sip out of their straws, so I took one, too, trying not to smile like a dope. It was my favorite thing, that first night staying with a friend, when everything was new, and everyone was being polite, and I could sit there drinking my Capri Sun and wait for someone to feed me and give me a place to sleep. It was pathetic, but those were some of my happiest memories.

  “Thou needst not tell me again. ’Twas of no matter the first time and groweth less so with each telling,” Gentry said, and he sounded pissed off.

  “You can finish that conversation later,” Charlene said. “Right now, you have work to do.” She opened the fridge and handed Gentry an entire chicken wrapped in plastic.

  He laid a couple of knives out next to the cutting board. Rearranged them. Nodded. Then he eviscerated that chicken. Took every bit of meat off the bones, and cubed it up. That went into a big skillet with oil to cook, while Gentry got out a clean cutting bo
ard and another set of knives. He started with onions and garlic, shucking them and dicing them to go in with the chicken.

  Charlene stood at the sink washing vegetables: potatoes, carrots, peppers, zucchini, celery. Once she had a pile of potatoes accumulated, Gentry carried them to the counter. He peeled them with a paring knife, faster than my mother could with a peeler. Round and around, so that most of the peels came off in one piece. The carrots he stripped with the flat of the blade. He cored the peppers, took the ends off the zucchini and the celery.

  “Go ahead, show off,” Charlene said.

  Gentry lifted his head and smiled. He took the first potato and halved it, halved it again lengthwise, then cubed it. All in about five seconds. He went through the rest of the stuff like he was a goddamn Cuisinart, until there was an avalanche of vegetables on the counter. By then the chicken was cooked, and everything went into a big Crock-Pot with seasonings. If I was supposed to be impressed, I was. And convinced that Charlene was his real family. Miranda and her monsters may have been his biological mother and siblings, but they were strictly Taco Bell people.

  “What did you think of that?” I asked Marcus, but he was sitting there like an owl.

  “I see somebody who needs a nap,” Charlene said. “Actually, I see three somebodies who need naps. Gentry, get some sheets and help your lady make up the guest room.”

  The phrase your lady made me uneasy, like I was there under false pretenses, but I was too tired to deal with any of it. I got Marcus by the hand and followed Gentry down the hallway to the guest room. He opened the closet and said, “Which thee liketh best? Blue or green?”

  It struck me as a really funny thing to ask, but I said, “Green.”

  While Marcus stood in the middle of the bedroom, Gentry and I made the two twin beds with green sheets. All those years of sleeping on people’s couches and floors had done a number on my bed-making skills. Mine ended up looking slept in from the start, but the one Gentry made for Marcus had hospital corners.

  “If thou needest aught, I am in the chamber next,” Gentry said as he bowed. Then he went out and shut the door.