Covenant

by Ann McMan

  “Does that mean you’ve given up on the single-wide that came furnished with a divorcee and three kids?” Lizzy shook her head. “I thought that sounded like a sweet deal.”

  “Yeah?” Avi’s tone was doubtful. “Maybe if you’re into Sam Peckinpah movies.”

  Lizzy was undaunted. “It’s an acquired taste, I’ll admit.”

  “Well, I think I have a solution that can save you from the nomadic life.” Syd warmed to the drama of her announcement. “The remedy came to me this afternoon from on high . . . literally.”

  “So, don’t keep me in suspense,” Avi said. “What is it?”

  “It’s the upstairs apartment—meaning, upstairs above the library.”

  “That’s right.” Maddie slapped a palm against her forehead. “Why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

  “Probably because it was too obvious. And it’s perfect for you, Avi. I actually lived there when I first came to Jericho. We only use it now for storage. It’ll be easy enough to relocate the inventory that’s up there.” She shot a look at Maddie. “It’s mostly copier supplies. I’m sure the county would love to have the revenue—if you want me to pursue the possibility for you.”

  Avi was in transports. “Are you kidding? It sounds perfect.”

  “Do you want to go see it, first?” Syd asked.

  “I don’t think I need to—especially not if you lived there.”

  “It’s pretty Spartan,” Maddie cautioned. “As I recall, it has a dorm-sized fridge and a Barbie stove.”

  “Gee, let me think about it.” Avi raised and lowered her hands in imitation of a scale. “A spartan apartment above a library—or one room in a single-wide that comes furnished with three kids?”

  “Don’t forget the divorcee,” Lizzy added.

  “I’ll contact the library board. Now,” Syd took hold of Henry’s hand, “we need to be on our way. We have to stop by Food City on the way home.”

  “We’re out of cat food,” Henry explained.

  “So, we’re all agreed?” Syd pointed at Lizzy. “Tacos. Tuesday. Be there.” She waved at Maddie. “Aloha, baby cakes. Don’t stay too late.”

  They left. Maddie could hear Henry chattering all the way down the hall.

  “Tell me the honest truth about something.” She faced Avi and Lizzy. “How worried do I need to be that Syd appears to be the last person on the planet who still watches Hawaii Five-O?”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Byron and Celine were relaxing on her patio with glasses of wine. Dorothy was inside, practicing the elusive Beethoven sonata. Celine was doing her best not to listen in too closely. She thought it had been significant that Dorothy had announced her intention to work on the piece after they’d finished dinner. That was a change. Normally, Dorothy would retreat to her room to read.

  Byron asked Celine if she’d made their plane reservations for the New York trip.

  “In fact, I did. I thought it made sense to take an early evening flight on Friday, instead of heading up Saturday morning. That will allow us a full day for sightseeing, since Dorothy has never been to the city before.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. Any thoughts about where all you’ll go?”

  “I have a few. Dorothy specifically asked if we could tour the Steinway factory.”

  Byron smiled and cocked an ear toward the music coming from inside the house. “That one’s not hard to figure out.”

  “No. But it will be a challenge to figure out how to get us in there. They only do tours on Mondays.”

  “Do you know anyone who can pull some strings?” Byron amended his comment. “Wires?”

  “Good one. I do have one contact I can try. Maybe we can get in if we don’t ask for a full-blown tour, but just to see the suite where they present the finished pianos to buyers for demonstration. That’s what I’m hoping for. The factory is all the way up in Queens, so it’s a twenty-minute cab ride, minimum. I thought we might do that later in the day, before the concert.”

  “How long has it been since you’ve been back to the city?”

  How long had it been? Eight years? Ten? Many . . .

  “A long time. It’ll be an experience for both of us.”

  “Gonna lay some demons to rest?”

  Celine smiled. “Or maybe unearth a few new ones. It could go either way.”

  The music slowed. Then stopped. Then restarted before stopping again.

  Dorothy was still struggling with articulation during the key transition.

  Byron snapped his fingers. “You weren’t going to listen, remember?”

  Celine met his eyes. “I know. It’s . . . a disease.”

  “No. I wouldn’t go that far. It’s more like a control thing.”

  “Control?” Celine was surprised by his comment. “What makes you say that?”

  “Because it’s the same way I get whenever Charlie talks about her father being back in town. I pretty much want to go get him and drag his useless ass to the county line.”

  “Well, unlike me, you’ve at least resisted temptation to interfere.”

  Byron didn’t reply.

  “Byron? You have stayed out of it, haven’t you?”

  He finished his wine. “Define ‘stayed out of it’ for me.”

  “Oh, no. Byron . . . what did you do?”

  “What makes you think I did anything?”

  “Don’t kid a kidder. The same thing that makes you so certain I’m fighting an impulse to rush into the house and help Dorothy master that transition.”

  “Right. I get it.” He stretched his long legs out and crossed his ankles. “Maybe I had a . . . chat with Manfred.”

  “A chat?”

  “That’s what I call it. A chat.”

  “So I suppose you just ran into him in the normal course of a day?”

  He studied her with narrowed eyes. “You know, the county should hire you to conduct those inquest interviews. I predict they’d wrap the investigation up in record time.”

  “Don’t obfuscate.”

  “Okay, so maybe I went and found him.”

  “And where was he when you had this chat?”

  “Bone Gap. He and his common law wife were having some kind of solitary praise-fest in the church there.”

  “Praise-fest?”

  Byron shrugged. “They were at the altar, speaking in tongues.”

  Celine was shocked by his admission. “And you interrupted that?”

  “No, I did not. I sat down quietly at the rear of the church until they finished.”

  “I guess that’s something . . .”

  “Hey . . . you have to agree that Manfred’s actions getting on that bookmobile and accosting Roma Jean and the kids couldn’t go unacknowledged. I had every right to go and caution him. In fact, I had a responsibility to do so.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  “And that man’s piety is about as deep as the wine in this glass.” He held up his empty wineglass. “Mark my words: Manfred Davis is an unredeemed charlatan, and he’s up to no good.”

  “You may be right. But Charlie is an adult—as you’ve said yourself, many times. With a good head on her shoulders. Why not trust her to resolve this situation?”

  “What makes you think I don’t trust her?” Byron’s tone was sharp. It was unlike him to react to anything so defensively. He seemed to think better of his comment almost immediately. “God. I’m sorry, Celine. I have a hard time staying impartial when it’s something that has the potential to hurt her. She’s already been through too much in her young life.”

  “Don’t I know it?” When Dorothy’s stuttering piano performance resumed, Celine inclined her head toward the sound. “Equal in all things, it appears.”

  Byron refilled their glasses from the bottle that sat in an ice bucket on the table between them. It was nice—a sparkling rosé they’d sampled and liked on a recent visit to a winery in North Carolina. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. There had onl
y been a modest chance of a storm this evening, but it appeared the odds were improving. Celine scanned the clouds gathering over Buck Mountain.

  “So much for our hiatus from the rain.”

  “Buddy will be happy for the benefit to all his little plants. But I don’t think this will amount to much. I predict it’ll blow in and move on as fast as it came up.”

  “Maybe Manfred Davis will do the same thing?”

  “Maybe.” He clinked rims with her. “Here’s to exorcising old demons, whenever they rear their nasty little heads.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me on that one.” She sipped her wine. It had a nice, dry palate that was lovely with its berry overtones. “You mentioned the inquest. Are the interviews nearly completed? It seems like they’ve been going on for weeks now.”

  “Nearly. I think they have only a few more to finish. One subject is proving to be . . . elusive. And that’s slowing the process down.”

  “Really?” Celine was intrigued. “Are you able to elaborate?”

  “Not really. But the good news is that I think I stumbled across the reason for it—and it’s completely un-sinister. The examiners don’t appear to me to be finding anything suspicious or chargeable—beyond the fact that the man was pretty universally despised.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “It really is. The truth is that we may never know what actually happened to Watson.”

  “I don’t know how much that will help Dorothy. I fear she is still riddled with guilt about hitting her father with that piece of driftwood.”

  “She was only protecting Buddy.”

  “We both know that—but I don’t think she believes it. It’s not something I can exactly coerce her into talking about.”

  “Well, there is one thing related to Dorothy that we’re going to have to figure out how to share with her.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “Yeah. It seems Watson had no immediate family—and left no will. Typical. He also left behind a ton of debt—so much so, his estate will be assessed to pay it all back. There will be next to nothing left for Dorothy’s care or education.”

  “That’s demonstrably unfair for her, but hardly surprising, given who he was.”

  “Yeah. It gets worse. The county is going to seize his property and sell it at a public auction. And since the land is the only thing of real value—and they’re persuaded nobody will ever want to live in his house—they’re going to have the fire department burn it down.”

  Celine was aghast. “Burn it down?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Byron . . .”

  “I know. We have to tell her. And we have to allow her the chance to get anything she wants out of there.”

  “I had already determined that I’d like to manage Dorothy’s living expenses—including college. No matter what way an ongoing custody arrangement unfolds. But this? How on earth do we tell her about this?”

  “I honestly have no idea. I guess it’s possible she’ll be relieved.”

  There was another rumble of thunder—closer this time. Celine watched the swirling cluster of dark clouds advance toward them. She felt overwhelmed by her sad realization that Byron’s suggestion about how Dorothy might respond to this news was more than a remote possibility: it was a certainty.

  Byron seemed to have another thought. “How did her therapy session go?”

  “I have no idea. She said very little about it, except to mention that Avi was nice and that she had artwork like mine.”

  “That kid doesn’t miss much, does she?”

  “That kid doesn’t miss anything. She reminds me a lot of David at her age. I mean, in those rare instances you can see beneath Dorothy’s cloak of . . . damage.” She thought about her comparison. “Maybe damage isn’t exactly the right word. David certainly had his share, too. But Dorothy seems more resigned to hers. Not in the sense that she chooses it—but more in the sense that she’s so used to living with it, she’s learned to accept it like a second skin she cannot shed.”

  “Damn . . .”

  “I told you: still waters run deep.”

  “Celine?” Byron took hold of her hand. “That’s the last thing you need to explain to me.”

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  “So, we wanted to share this idea with you, James—so you could take the time you need to think about it.”

  Henry and James had finished their regular FaceTime chat a few minutes ago, but Maddie and Syd asked if he could stay on the line a few minutes longer so they could talk over something with him. He agreed right away, and Maddie feared he might think there was some problem. She wanted to set his mind at ease right away—as soon as Henry ran off to feed Before. In as few words as possible, she summarized their thinking that instead of adoption, they should consider a continuing joint custody arrangement.

  James had been surprised, but didn’t seem unhappy at the suggestion.

  “Okay. But why would you want to do it this way?” he asked. “I know you wanted to be sure you’d be taking care of Henry permanently—that I wouldn’t change my mind and want to take him back again.”

  “That’s still true,” Syd explained. “But you’re Henry’s father, and you’re a good one, James. Henry needs to have you in his life in all the ways he’s been used to—that you’ve both been used to. We don’t want to interfere with that.”

  “I don’t know that I did such a good job with him before I reenlisted. You both know that. Henry wasn’t getting what he needed from me, and I knew I’d never be able to do better by him.”

  “You did the best it was possible for you to do, James. Nobody could ever ask for more than that. Henry knew it—and we knew it, too.” Maddie wanted to drive home the message that they were invested in James remaining involved in Henry’s life—as a co-parent. “We believe adopting Henry, changing that fundamental understanding he has—and you have—would just end up confusing him. He needs to know his daddy is still . . . well. His daddy.”

  Syd was nodding energetically. “It’s really that simple.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” James sounded overwhelmed by their suggestion. “I guess I don’t get why you’d be willing to do this.”

  “Because, James.” Maddie spoke softly to him. “We sincerely believe the four of us are a family. You matter to us as much as Henry does. And, as Henry would be the first to point out, families stay together.”

  He smiled. Maddie thought his eyes looked watery. That didn’t surprise her—she was near tears herself.

  “Take the time you need to think it over, okay?” Syd smiled back at him. “We’re not going anyplace.”

  James nodded. “Thank you both for considering this. I really appreciate it.”

  “It seems like the right thing for all of us, James.” Maddie knew they needed to let him go. He’d already stayed on the call longer than his lunch break allowed. “Let’s make a date to talk again soon.”

  James agreed, and they signed off.

  “I think that went very well.” Syd seemed genuinely pleased. “Don’t you?”

  “I really do. I’m surprised he was so unprepared for the suggestion.”

  “That’s our fault, I think. We were so adamant with him about our conditions when he first asked us to take Henry on permanently.”

  “I know,” Maddie agreed. “But I think we were right to let him know the decision had to be binding. What if he’d reenlisted in the army and it didn’t work out? We couldn’t risk Henry getting bounced around again.”

  “James doesn’t want that any more than we do.”

  “Agreed. We’re both more confident about that now.”

  “These decisions are always so fraught with legalities. Your mother with Dorothy. Us with Henry. None of it is uncomplicated.”

  “It shouldn’t be, Syd. Not when you’re dealing with human beings. Especially when those human beings are children.”

  “I know. Still . . .” Syd didn’t complete her thought.

  �
�Still . . . what?” Maddie asked.

  “I was just thinking about how much simpler it was with David and your father. When it became clear that David was better off staying here, his parents allowed it to happen. No drama and no legalese.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say there was no drama. Far from it, in fact.”

  “What kind of drama?” Syd was intrigued. “No one has ever said much about how those arrangements actually happened. I assumed it was a gradual transition.”

  “It was gradual, but it wasn’t uncomplicated. Phoebe was a wreck about it—even though she realized David was a lot safer being out of their house.”

  “But she had to know how horribly her husband was treating their son?”

  “Oh, she did, all right. But nobody called those things by name back then, Syd—especially not in a closed, rural community like this one. David’s father was an unabashed cretin who couldn’t accept the fact that he had a gay son. He wanted nothing more than for David to disappear—so he wouldn’t be reminded of his implied failure as a parent. And as wonderful as she is now, back then, Phoebe had to walk a tightrope between her love for her son and her own struggles with his emerging sexuality. As parents, they had no context to understand what they understood to be David’s ‘choices.’ And, sadly, they had little curiosity or support for the concept of broadening their perspectives. All Phoebe knew was that David would be safe and cared for here with my father. And she decided it was better to keep him here in town, where she could still be involved in his life, than to leave him to his own devices. His father, on the other hand, just wanted him gone—and he didn’t care much where he went as long as he was out of his sight.”

  “That’s unconscionable. There are too many people like him—and like Charlie’s father.”

  “I wholly agree with you on that.”

  Syd’s frustration reached a boiling point. “I don’t understand how any parent could violate their sacred obligation to love and care for their children. It’s the most basic covenant we make.”

  “Covenants are broken all the time, sweetheart.”

  “Well it’s criminal, and they shouldn’t be. Not ever.”

  “You know what?” Maddie put an arm around her. “Henry is blessed with a great dad, and an equally great mom.”