“Just like old times,” I said to nobody in particular, because Mom and Emma weren’t paying attention to me.
Mansur came out of the house, carrying a single cardboard box, and started talking to the cop who was in charge of the van. She was wearing some kind of a paper jumpsuit and writing on a clipboard.
I walked toward them, but Mansur shook his head and gestured for me to stop.
“What is this?” I held up the search warrant.
“Miss Trego, I do need you to stay back.”
“Will you tell them to be careful, Zhorzha?” Mom yelled.
Mansur walked back toward the house before I could say anything else. The cop in the paper suit started rubbing something that looked like gauze pads on the boxes that were lined up.
It went on for another hour at least, like watching ants evacuate a den. I stayed where Mansur had stopped me, no closer, no farther. When the sun came up over the roofline I was still in the shade, but it hit Mom and Emma full in the face. I walked back to them, planning to ask Mom how she was doing, but it was a stupid question. She was standing in front of her house in her bathrobe, watching the police drag all of her shit out on the front lawn.
“I can’t do this again, Leroy,” she was saying under her breath. Over and over.
I put my hand on her arm. Her skin was clammy. Emma stood there like a mannequin, like I’d been doing for the last hour. I turned around and walked toward the front porch, so that a cop who was carrying out more boxes had to dodge me.
“Ma’am, you’ve been told to stay back,” he said.
“And I told you that my mother needs to sit down.” I didn’t know if I’d told that particular cop, but I’d told one of them, and they hadn’t done a damn thing about it.
I made it all the way to the porch, but the cop on duty there put out his hand in this way I recognized. This badge-wearing Toby way, so I knew he wasn’t afraid to hurt me. The Tobies of the world, they all end up as thugs or cops.
“I want to talk to Mansur,” I said. “Right now.”
“Will you tell him?” the Toby cop said to one of the box-carrying cops.
I waited at least five minutes. Then I put one foot up on the bottom porch step.
“Ma’am. I will cuff you, if you don’t stay back,” Officer Toby said.
“Tell Mansur he better go ahead and call an ambulance, because if he leaves my mother standing out there in the sun any longer, she’s going to need one.”
“He’s coming. You can tell him yourself.”
When Mansur finally came outside, he was empty-handed, but now he didn’t just have an ink stain on his dress shirt. He was covered in dust and cobwebs and all the other things that were hiding in the corners of my mother’s house.
“Miss Trego. I would—”
“Do you see my mother out there? Standing in the sun?” I said. I stood up on the second-to-top step so that Mansur and I were eye to eye. If Officer Toby touched me, I was going to deck him, and to hell with the consequences. “She hasn’t eaten breakfast so her blood sugar is probably rock-bottom. She has high blood pressure. And phlebitis. And lymphedema. I told them she needs a chair. Something that will hold her. If you’re going to keep at this, you need to bring her recliner out here, so she can sit down.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Trego,” Mansur said. “Of course, we can arrange that.”
“Can you arrange it before she faints and you need a hydraulic lift to get her up off the ground? I’m not kidding. You need to get her chair or an ambulance.”
“My apologies. We’ll get her chair.”
It took them another ten minutes to clear the front hall, but finally two cops came out carrying her recliner. They staggered down the front steps and carried it to a patch of shade under the ash tree. In another hour, they’d have to move it again to get shade, but in the meantime, Mom was able to sit down. She slumped forward and put her elbows on her knees, panting.
“Do you want me to get you something to eat?” I said.
“No. I’m okay.”
“I don’t think you are.”
“What about some water?” Emma said.
“Miss Trego.” Mansur again, coming across the lawn toward me. “Could I ask you to come inside?”
It was that or argue with Mom, so I went with him. I still had the search warrant in my back pocket, so I took it out and unfolded it.
“Are you serious with this shit?” I said. “Components for improvised explosive devices? Do you think my mother is building bombs?”
“We have reason to believe that associates of Ligett and Barnwell may be planning to use pressure cooker bombs in a repeat of their attack on the Muslim student center. So far we’ve recovered three pressure cookers.”
“Oh my god,” I said. “My mother is a hoarder. I bet she has three bread machines, too. She has five goddamn microwaves, even though only one of them works.”
“Miss Trego, if you’ll help us with something, we can finish this more quickly.”
They’d cleared the front hall and half the crap out of the kitchen. I could see the hesitation marks—like a suicide attempt—where they’d been trying to decide what to do in the front room and the sunroom. Where they wanted my help, though, was in the hallway to the bedrooms.
“Do you know what’s in this room?” Mansur said, pointing to the first bedroom door.
“Like specifically or do you mean in a—a—” It took me a second to get the word. “In an archaeological sense?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, I don’t know exactly what’s in there, but most of it dates to about 1999 to 2002. It used to be the guest room, but Mom started filling it up with craft projects and books after my dad went to prison.”
Mansur took a couple of steps backward and pointed at the next bedroom door. I laughed, because I was in danger of crying. I shifted all my weight to my right foot, and the pain in my hip sobered me up pretty quickly.
“That used to be my bedroom.”
“Do you know what’s—archaeologically speaking, can you tell me what’s in there?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. The cops had managed to get the door open about four or five inches. Most of what I could see were cardboard boxes and plastic bags, but at the bottom, there was a swatch of purple-striped fabric that I thought was a hand-me-down nightgown from Emma.
“Miss Trego?”
“Um, 1993 to 1999, it’s mostly my stuff. Clothes and stuffed animals and books and things like—you know, when the feds searched the house in ’99, after the bank robberies, they were convinced the bookcase in my room was a hidden door or something, because it was built in. So they got in there with pry bars and tore it off the wall.” I wanted to unload on Mansur. Dump absolutely everything on him, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it without crying, and fuck him. Fuck him and Officer Toby. I wasn’t going to cry.
“1999 to maybe 2004, it’s a mix of my clothes and shoes, plus romance novels and my mother’s craft projects, and then by 2005, mostly her crap. Dolls and quilts and dishes and stuff.”
“What about after that?” Mansur said. He was shining a flashlight into the gap in the door. With the room piled up to the ceiling no daylight could come through the windows.
“I’d guess nobody’s been in there for at least five years. The last time I could actually get in there to sleep was 2007. That’s where the bed is, archaeologically. Hey, if you’re gonna excavate, somewhere in there is this really sweet Dusty Rhodes action figure my uncle Alva gave me. I would love to get that back.”
Mansur turned and gave me a blank look.
“You know? Dusty Rhodes. The wrestler. The American Dream?” I said.
“I see.” I don’t think he did see, though. He went back to shining his flashlight into my room. “Which one was LaReigne’s room?”
“That one. She moved
out in 2005, so Mom filled her room up first. I doubt there’s anything in there that’ll help you. Unless you think she was plotting to make bombs with white supremacists back in 2005. That’s why you’re here, right? You think LaReigne met up with these guys’ friends or something? You don’t see how stupid that is? Nobody comes here. Except me and LaReigne.”
“And your nephew and your boyfriend and—”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and yesterday was the first time he’d ever been in the house,” I snapped. “Look around. Do you really think terrorists could meet here and build bombs? God, I can’t even find a place to sit down when I come over. You did this to her.”
“I did this?”
“You cops, searching the house. That’s what fucked her up.”
“It certainly wasn’t us,” Smith said. He’d been lurking in the hallway behind us.
“Yeah, you’re so different from the marshals who searched it back then. What about after you’re done pawing through all her shit and swabbing it for whatever? You’re gonna leave it out on the lawn and it’ll be my problem how to get it back in the house.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’d be a good idea if you didn’t bring it back in here,” Smith said.
“Fuck you, you fucking judgmental motherfucker.”
I had totally lost it, like I had flames shooting out of my head. I turned around and walked toward the front door, the first time in years I’d been able to do it without climbing over a bunch of shit.
Mansur came after me and, as I was about to step outside, Officer Toby said, “Marshal, that other search warrant you’ve been waiting on just came.”
I knew what it would be, even before he said it. What else was there to search? They’d searched the apartment. They’d searched Mom’s house. Of course, my car was next.
“How long are you going to take it for?” I said, when Mansur asked for the keys.
“It won’t be too long.”
“A day? Two days? You know, I have things to take care of.”
“Let’s say two days. Max,” Mansur said. I put the keys in his hand and he passed them to the cop who’d brought the warrant. Just like that I was homeless, jobless, carless. Fucked.
I went outside and walked across the lawn to Emma and Mom. Emma had gotten Mom a bottle of water from somewhere, and when I reached them, she said, “Do you want some water, Zee? I’ve got more in my car.”
She put her hand on my arm, so I knew she wanted me to come with her, but she didn’t say anything until we got to her car. When she popped the trunk, this chill went down my back. Because they’d found LaReigne’s car, and now they’d found a body. For all I knew, it was LaReigne, and I could see it. I could imagine her dead and stuffed in the trunk of her own car.
Of course, all Emma had in her trunk was a case of bottled water and a roadside kit. She passed me a bottle and, when I reached for it, both our hands were unsteady.
“Can you do me a favor?” I said, trying to shake that chill.
“I only came because Aunt Dot sounded hysterical. She didn’t know where you were, and I didn’t want to leave her alone. That’s it. I can’t do anything for you. This is all too much.” Emma started crying, I guess because she was freaked out about the police. She said, “Please, don’t call me again. I won’t answer the next time. And please, don’t drag my mother into this.”
“Who’s dragging your mother into anything?” I squeezed the water bottle until the plastic crackled in my fist. It was weirdly satisfying and it made me feel less shaky.
“I just don’t want my mother getting upset. You know she’s not in good health,” Emma said. “I’m sorry, but we don’t want to be involved anymore. Nothing personal, but we don’t want to be part of the Trego family mess anymore. It’s too much.”
I didn’t believe Aunt Shelly’s health had anything to do with her not coming to see Mom. They hadn’t seen each other in years. They’d had a huge fight at Uncle Tim’s funeral, over some family heirlooms Mom thought she should have. They’d gone to Uncle Tim and, after he was dead, his wife, my aunt Shelly, refused to give them to Mom, because Emma had just as much right to them as me or LaReigne. One of those stupid fights that aren’t even about anything important, but that ended with Aunt Shelly cutting off all contact except for the family Christmas letter. That was Mom and Aunt Shelly both. Some great-great-grandmother’s wedding china was more important to them than actual family members.
I couldn’t blame Emma. If I had the option of walking away, wouldn’t I? Mom’s neighbors were standing out on their porches, and pretty soon reporters would show up, because who could resist watching a six-hundred-pound woman being publicly humiliated in front of the giant trash heap that was her home? Why would Emma want anyone to know we were her family?
“Yeah, well, thanks for coming anyway,” I said.
“Sure. I hope everything turns out okay.”
“I guess you’ll hear about it on the news, one way or another.”
“I’m sorry.” She stood there all wet-eyed, like she was going to hug me. In case that’s what she was thinking, I took a couple steps backward and held up the bottle of water.
“Thanks for this.” Then I walked back to where Mom was sitting in her recliner. She straightened up a little.
“Where’s Emma?”
“She had to go,” I said. As pissed as I was, I didn’t want Mom to know that her brother’s family had written us off.
When the tow truck came and loaded my car, Mom was so fixated on the cops carrying things out of the house that she didn’t notice. I was glad for that.
We’d been there another hour, and Mom had finished her bottle of water and half of mine, when she started coughing. I checked my pockets, and then the pockets on the recliner, but all I found was the TV remote and a bunch of romance novels.
“Mom, where’s your inhaler?”
She couldn’t stop coughing long enough to answer me, so I patted the pockets of her bathrobe, but all I found was tissues and Mentholatum. I’d had the inhaler in the house. I’d taken it out of her hand. What did I do with it? I couldn’t remember. Did I give it back to her? Did I lay it down somewhere? That was an amateur move. I knew not to set anything down in her house.
I crossed the lawn and, before Officer Toby could sneer at me, I said, “You need to find her inhaler. How much stuff have they taken out of the front room? Her side table, have they moved that?”
“Do I look like I know? I’ve been standing out here.”
“Then I need to talk to somebody who does know. It’s an asthma inhaler. Do you—”
Mom stopped coughing. Just stopped. I turned to look at her, and even from that far away, I could tell something was wrong. Her face was bright red and her mouth was open, but no sound was coming out.
“You need to call an ambulance,” I said.
“What’s the—”
“Call for an ambulance. Right now!” I pulled his radio off his shoulder and put it in his hand. Then I ran back across the yard. When I got to Mom, she had her hand over her heart.
“I can’t breathe,” she said. “I can’t breathe.”
CHAPTER 14
Gentry
’Twas as tho my heart lay upon the table aside my bed, for I woke an instant ere my phone buzzed.
If you’re not sleeping, I need a favor, was Lady Zhorzha’s message.
I answered I am awake, my lady, and a moment after, she called me.
“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” she said. “I just—my mother had a—I don’t know. Maybe a heart attack. They’re taking her to the hospital, but the police impounded my car.”
“Shall I fetch thee?”
“If you don’t mind, yeah, that would be great.”
“Gladly,” I said. I had bathed ere I lay down to sleep, so I rose, dressed, and went straightaway to the dragon’
s lair. There, a great many of the sheriff’s men gathered all ’round the dragon’s hoard that they had heaped up under the open sky. I was hard struck to see it and confounded, for what hoped they to gain of such a thing?
Near hand upon the road stood the ambulance, and beyond weren the knaves and scoundrels that came upon the first day. They had come again to inquire and stare.
In the midst of it all, the lady dragon lay upon a cart, and a physician spake sharply and pressed upon her side. My lady was there, and I think much wroth with the sheriff’s men, most especially the one called Mansur.
His deputies weren armed like soldiers, and he commanded that they should clear the knaves that the physician might take the lady dragon to the hospital. I joined them, for there was one qued who would make an image of the lady dragon as she was put into the ambulance.
I pushed him hence, but a deputy laid his hand upon my arm and, tho it me liked not, I retreated not.
“I come for Lady Zhorzha Trego. She called for me.”
“Jesus Christ! Will you let him through?” my lady called to the deputies. To Mansur, she said, “I told you she wasn’t well. This is your fault.”
“Miss Trego. I need you to calm down and—”
“Do not tell me to calm down. Whatever happens to her, it’s on you.”
“All I’m asking you to do is come inside for a few minutes and have a calm discussion with me,” Mansur said.
“To hell with you.” She turned to me, and the heat of her gaze fell full upon me. “Gentry, will you give me a ride over to Wesley?”
“My lady, I stand ready.” I beckoned her accompany me, for the ambulance prepared to depart.
“Please, Miss Trego,” Mansur said. “If we go in and talk right now, I’ll give you a police escort to the hospital as soon as we’re done.”
“You could give me a police escort right now, but instead you’re playing this game.”
“Miss Trego. I do not want to take you down to the police station to have this conversation. I would really rather—”
The Reckless Oath We Made Page 9