Under the Ice

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  I laughed nervously. Her sudden change in mood unnerved me. “Okay. I’m headed home soon, anyway. I’ll probably crawl back into bed as soon as I get there. And you should high tail it back to the department and keep everyone in line while I’m gone.”

  She laughed. It was a bit too shrill, with hints of hysteria. “Okay, boss. But they wouldn’t dare step out of line. I’ve got ‘em trained too well.” She climbed back into her car and backed down Joe’s driveway.

  Inside, Joe peeked around the bedroom door. “What’d she say?”

  “She’s worried, Joe. Just like we all are.”

  “Is she mad?”

  “Um. Yeah. A little. But she’s more worried than anything. I think it would be good if you gave her a call when you’re feeling up to it. Just to ease her mind. She loves you, Joe. And she misses you.”

  His face crumpled. He covered it with both hands. “I miss her, too. But I’m so confused. I’m all screwed up.”

  I looked hard at him, trying to see if his eyes were red. “I hate to ask this, but it’s not booze, is it?”

  He snorted and looked at me as if I were nuts. “Hell, no. I’ve been dry for years.”

  I sighed with relief and tried again. “Is it flashbacks?”

  He walked over to the couch and collapsed onto the plaid cushions. He didn’t answer right away.

  I followed and sat beside him.

  “Sort of. I can’t stop seeing her face. And then the other day—that woman under the ice…” He shivered. “I really lost it. It was déjà vu.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes. The refrigerator whirred in the background.

  “What about some professional help? Are you willing to try that?”

  He sighed, reached for an empty soda can on the coffee table, rotated it between his hands, and then put it back down. “I don’t think so. I’m not up to going anywhere right now. I’ve gotta lay low for a while. Besides, I’ve had a bad back before. I know what they’d tell me to do.”

  Bad back. We’re using that excuse again. “Joe?”

  His eyes beseeched me. I knew it was time to stop. I’d pushed enough today. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  He got up as if to walk me to the door. Somehow I knew he couldn’t wait until I left.

  “Will you answer the phone when I call next time?”

  He hesitated. “I’ll try. If I don’t pick up, leave a message, and I’ll call you later.”

  I walked toward the door and opened it. “Joe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I’m here for you, man. I’m not going anywhere. If you need me, call me.”

  He nodded reluctantly. “Okay. Thanks. But... I don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why you’d go through so much trouble.”

  I was confused. “What do you mean? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  He rubbed one hand over his forehead and sighed. His eyes looked haunted. “Yeah. But I can’t figure out why. Why the heck would you hang out with a killer like me.”

  I stared at him. “Seriously?”

  “Never mind. It’s stupid. I’d better let you go.”

  I decided to drop it. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He was silent. I backed out of the door. A red squirrel chattered above in the spruce, as if to mock me. My tired brain fitted words to the sounds.

  Help him, it said.

  Chapter 16

  When I returned home, it was almost noon. The kitchen was a madhouse. Johnny had spread matchbox cars all over the floor and zoomed them up and down four spaghetti boxes that were laid end-to-end. They crashed into an empty tin can. Marion clung to Mrs. Pierce’s leg, crying. Celeste had pulled out the pots and pans from the cupboard on the far side of the kitchen and was banging a saucepan against the cabinet door with a huge grin.

  Mrs. Pierce stirred a large bowl with a wooden spoon. Her wispy gray hair had come loose on the sides, and she looked flustered. She set down the bowl and patted Marion’s head to appease her.

  “There you are. Heavens, Gus, I was worried about you.”

  “Didn’t mean to worry you, Adelaide. I went over to check on Joe. Can I help with anything?” I felt awful, as if my fever had gone back up, but guilt won out. She needed help and I needed to offer.

  “Heavens, no! You’re still sick, Gus. Look at you. I’ll bet your fever’s up again.”

  She wiped her hands on her apron, picked up Marion with the speed and strength of a twenty-year old, and walked briskly to my side. “Let me see.” She laid her hand against my forehead. “Ah ha, just as I thought. You march right back upstairs, young man. Into bed with you.”

  Johnny looked up from his cars and giggled. “Opa! Mrs. Pierce told you to go to bed.” He laughed, delighted at such a crazy turn of events.

  “I know, and I’d better listen, huh?” I knew she was right. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I was about to turn toward the stairs when the landline rang. I grabbed it.

  “LeGarde residence.”

  There was a click and a buzz. Louder, I said, “Hello?”

  “Yeah,” a voice said. “Is Shelby there?”

  The voice belonged to a mature man.

  I tensed. “Excuse me?”

  “Shelby. Is she there?”

  “Ah, no. She’s... ” I was going to say grounded, since she wasn’t allowed to take calls until the end of the week, but I hesitated. “She’s in school now. This is her father. May I ask who’s calling?”

  He hesitated. Finally, he spoke up. “This is Greg Robinson. I’m Shelby’s father. And what gives you the right to call yourself her father, you self-righteous son of a bitch?”

  The man’s voice had turned stony cold. A chill ran down my back. I’d adopted Shelby, but wasn’t about to bring that up to her jailbird daddy.

  “Uh, sorry. I think of Shelby as my daughter, but I realize you’re her—” I was going to say “biological father,” but changed my mind, afraid I’d tick him off. “I realize you’re her father.”

  “That’s right. And don’t you forget it, you son of a bitch. When I get out, I’m coming to get her. She’s not happy with you people. She’s not happy at all.”

  “What? Where’d you get that idea?”

  I could hear the smirk in his voice. “From her, of course. I just got her letter.”

  Her letter?

  Oh, God. She’d written to him?

  “Greg. Listen. Shelby’s a teenager. She’s rebelling. You know, she wants to stay out late, keeps breaking curfew. It’s nothing big. Just normal teenage stuff. Please don’t worry.”

  “I want to talk to her. I’ll call back Saturday. Tell her I’ll call at ten in the morning.” He wasn’t asking.

  “I’ll tell her. But she might have a school event. She’s active in lots of clubs, you know.”

  “No,” he answered coldly, “I don’t know. I know nothing about my own child, thanks to Camille. I haven’t even seen her since the accident. So you make sure Shelby’s there, LeGarde. Got it?”

  Now he’d pissed me off. “We’ll see.” I hung up.

  Mrs. Pierce stared at me. Her jaw dropped. “Was that...?”

  I nodded. “Don’t tell Camille. I want to be the one to break the news. Okay?”

  She nodded quickly. “Okay.”

  I turned and walked up the stairs, dreading that conversation. My wife had been haunted by memories of this jerk since they’d hauled him off to jail years earlier. As much as she tried to live her life, be happy, and look forward, his specter was always there, floating like black grease on water, just under the surface of her consciousness.

  No. Tonight would not be fun.

  Chapter 17

  When the household finally settled down, I joined Camille in the bedroom, where she’d been reading. I broke the news as gently as I could, but it unleashed a torrent of fear.

  “He called here?” My wife’s eyes bored into mine. She turned chalk white and tossed her book onto the nightstand. “How
did he get our number?”

  I took her hands in mine. “I don’t know. He called earlier, but I didn’t want to tell you in front of the whole family.”

  “Greg? Called here?” she repeated in disbelief. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Did they let him out of jail?”

  I reached over and began to knead her shoulders. “I don’t think so. Anyway, weren’t they supposed to warn you when he’s released?”

  “Uh huh.” Her voice trembled. Her eyes glazed over and she retreated into a world that didn’t include me. We both knew the day would come when the legal system would release her ex-husband. He’d been jailed for five years now, and his sentence would be up in April. The restraining order would be reactivated when he was released. He wasn’t allowed within five hundred feet of Camille.

  But of course, the order didn’t include Shelby. At least not yet.

  “You’d better call your lawyer.”

  “I know. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”

  “What about Shelby? Do we tell her he called?”

  Fire blazed from her eyes. “No! I don’t want him speaking to her. I don’t want him knowing her, or ever getting within a hundred miles of her. My God, Gus, I can’t stand the thought of him hitting her, like he hit me.” Her face crumpled, and she began to sob.

  I held her and murmured in her ear. “We’ll protect her, honey.”

  The anger I felt toward her abusive husband was palpable. I’d always longed to get my hands around his neck, but now that I’d spoken to the creep on the phone, the sensation was hotter, more feral.

  What about all that Born-Again Christian talk?

  A little over a year ago, Greg was one of the suspects when a psychopath threatened Camille. He’d been dismissed when the law discovered how well he’d behaved in prison, and particularly because he was reportedly leading a new Born-Again Christian group in his cell block.

  He sure didn’t sound very religious today. Even called me a ‘son of a bitch,’ I thought, as my wife continued to weep on my shoulder.

  Her whole body spasmed. The pain went deep, much deeper than the physical hurt she’d endured. I handed her the box of tissues from the nightstand.

  “How did he know our number?” she repeated. “It’s unlisted.”

  I waited a few minutes to answer. Finally, when she’d expelled the worst of the anguish, I told her about Shelby’s letter. She froze and stared at me with disbelief.

  She wrote to him?” she said. “She actually wrote to that monster?”

  “Honey, relax. You have to realize she’s reaching out for someone, anyone, who can help her escape from us. We’re her evil, strict parents. She probably did it in a fit of anger. I’m sure she didn’t expect him to answer. He’s never contacted her before, has he? Letters? Phone calls?”

  She shook her head briefly. “Never.”

  “Don’t worry, then. Maybe he’ll let it go when he can’t contact her. I’ll just tell him she’s at a basketball game or something.”

  “Basketball?”

  “It sounds plausible, doesn’t it? For a Saturday, this time of year?”

  She ran her hands nervously through her hair and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I guess so.”

  “Okay. Tomorrow’s Friday. We’ve got a day to talk to your lawyer and get things straightened out. Saturday, I’ll stall him. And maybe we ought to see a counselor—you know—to get an idea how to handle this whole thing with Shelby. How honest we need to be, that sort of thing.”

  “Good idea,” she sniffled, throwing back the covers. She padded to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, and returned to bed. “I’ll set something up for next week with Bob. I’ll see if he can fit us in.” When she wasn’t counseling teens at the high school, Camille worked at the County Mental Health office. Bob Mallory was one of her colleagues.

  She smoothed her hair back and slid under the comforter. I opened my arms to her and she snuggled against my chest.

  “Hold me tight, Gus.”

  I pulled her to me and kissed the top of her head. She sighed deeply and seemed to relax, just a little. We lay like that until she fell asleep an hour later and rolled onto her pillow. I stayed awake much later, fretting over the two newest problems in my life.

  My friend was going off the deep end, and an abusive jailbird was on the prowl for my stepdaughter.

  How could it get any worse?

  Chapter 18

  My office is on the first floor of the Wilson building at Conaroga University. It’s five miles north of our house, which is nestled in the farming community of East Goodland. The rolling fields and woods sprawl over the west ridge of the Genesee Valley and the residents’ lives are intimately linked with Conaroga. The schools, shopping, and medical facilities are all located in the village.

  Although my colleagues often snicker at the Wilson’s ancient heating system, archaic electrical network, and drafty windows, I find our building with its massive mahogany doors, marble floors, and elegant banisters to be beautiful. The stately antique stands as a unique and solid citizen, situated among its eclectic neighbors and newer structures.

  My energy hadn’t returned by Thursday, but I pushed through my morning classes, including an eight o’clock class on Symphonic Structure and a ten o’clock beginners’ class on Piano Skills. By noon, I was ready to give it up and go home to bed, but forced myself to stick it out. I finished the last bite of a chicken and walnut salad I’d picked up at the college cafeteria and flipped to the next story in the book I brought in for lunchtime reading. Entitled Ham Loaf Hawaiian, it was a hilarious romp through the sixties that reminded me of my own childhood memories. I didn’t want to disturb Maddy, who fumed at her desk, tapping her long, pink fingernails and frowning at the monitor.

  I turned a page and played with the final bit of feta cheese in the bottom of the black plastic bowl.

  Maddy dialed the phone. She listened for a few minutes and then snorted and replaced the old-fashioned desk phone on its cradle for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  “He’s still not picking up?” I was almost afraid to ask. She’d been miserable all morning.

  She stood abruptly and glared at me. The clothes she had on today were even more bizarre than her usual ostentatious outfits. She wore a black and yellow crepe pantsuit, accented with yellow plastic bangle earrings and bracelets. Large yellow polka dots danced along her arms and legs. Her three-inch heels matched the shiny black patent leather belt pulled tight around her ample waist. A yellow fake flower was pinned over her left ear, nestled in her hair.

  “No, he’s still not answering.” She angrily rearranged the items on her desk and walked to the window. She stared outside for a long time, and then turned to me. “Have I lost it, Gus?” Desperation filled her eyes.

  “What do you mean, Maddy? Lost your mind?”

  She huffed, walked to her desk, pulled out her compact, and powdered her nose. “No! I mean, lost it. You know, my... appeal.”

  She surprised me with that one. “Oh, Maddy. That’s crazy talk. You’re a very attractive woman and Joe loves you. He’s just confused. He’ll get through this. I’m sure of it,” I fibbed. I wasn’t sure about anything. Especially when faced with my friend’s bizarre behavior and Shelby’s antics of late.

  She skirted around her desk and trotted toward me. “Could you call him again, Gus? Please? He picks up when you call. I just need to know he’s okay.”

  Although she looked healthy on the outside, there was something unsettling about my dear mother-in-law. She seemed a little bit broken.

  I tried to allay her fears. “Of course I’ll call. But he doesn’t always pick up for me, either.”

  She pushed the phone toward me. I grimaced. “Now?”

  She nodded. “Please?”

  I dialed. “Joe? Pick up. It’s me.”

  The answering machine came on and started its message.

  “Joe? Are you there? Come on, buddy. It’s Gus.”

  I was about to
hang up when he finally answered.

  “Hi, Gus.” He sounded funereal. I’d never heard him that depressed.

  “How’s the back?” I said, easing into the conversation.

  He answered, just as glum as before. “’Bout the same.”

  “You coming to dinner Sunday? I’m making your favorite, those little sweet and sour meatballs over orzo. I’ll even make them with real hamburger, instead of ground turkey, if you like. I’m baking black beans with red peppers, wax beans, and salad. Maddy’s bringing her famous peach cobbler.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Joe? Are you up for it?”

  “I’m not sure, Gus. I’ll have to see how the back is by then.”

  Maddy’s expression was hopeful. I shook my head to indicate that it wasn’t going well. Her face fell.

  “Have you called Doc Mattson yet?” I said.

  “No. I know what to do. I don’t need that old bird bugging me, anyway. He’s too nosy as it is.”

  Doc Mattson was involved in the Alcoholics Anonymous program that Joe attended, acting as their medical consultant and Joe’s personal sponsor. I decided that even if Joe wouldn’t call him, I would. I knew it wasn’t his back, and Joe knew that I knew.

  “Suit yourself. By the way, Maddy’s been trying to get you all day. She says hi.”

  Maddy grimaced.

  “Ah. Okay. Say hi back. Tell her I’ve been lying down a lot today.”

  “She misses you, Joe.”

  There was silence. Finally, he responded. “I know. Tell her I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

  The line went dead. He’d hung up on me.

  Chapter 19

  “I’m going over there!” she snorted through tears. “Are you coming, or are you going to stay here and read your darned book?”

  I froze beneath her withering glare. I wanted to help, but wasn’t sure going to Joe’s again was the best course of action. She slammed her desk drawers and put her things away.

  “Let me call Doc first.” I said. “He knows Joe really well. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”