by M. P. Cooley
We spilled out onto the sidewalk twenty feet down from the crowds, and Hale led us at a rapid clip across the street. From a distance, I saw Bernie talking with Susie, who served me coffee every morning. She had come from work and was still wearing her Dunkin’ Donuts uniform.
My father stopped in the middle of the street, shaking off Hale’s grip. “Oh, God. Susie was a juror at his trial.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Susie wailed, and Bernie hugged her close.
A car approached, and we hustled to the far side and scaled the steps of the parking garage. Hale packed my father and me into my car.
“You gonna be OK?” Hale asked, watching my dad the whole time.
“Yes.” I gripped the steering wheel harder to calm the shaking in my hands. “I think so. Let’s meet up in a few hours, once everyone is settled.”
Hale tapped the top of my Saturn. “Well, call me if you need to change plans. Everyone would understand.”
I rolled up my window, gliding down the ramp to the exit, out onto the street and past the line of news vans, toward home.
“What did Bernie say?” I asked. Dad didn’t answer, rubbing his glasses on the hem of his sweater. I repeated the question, talking louder. No response.
“Dad!”
He jolted. “What?”
I felt guilty for shocking him. “Bernie. What did he say to you?”
My dad put his glasses back on. “I apologized. He wouldn’t accept my apology. He said that faced with the same situation—a missing mother and child . . . the blood evidence . . . that he would have sent the guy away for life.” His voice dropped, his words scratched and faint. “How does someone do that?”
“Do what?” I asked gently.
“Forgive. Something like that.” He struggled to find the words. “Forgive the person who sent you to prison for thirty years and destroyed your life.”
We turned the corner onto our block and I stopped. The reporters hadn’t chased down my dad at the courthouse because they had the second brigade in place to jump us at our house. I made a U-turn. I didn’t know where we would go, but it wouldn’t be home. Out of Hopewell Falls would be best. Maybe Hale’s house?
My phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, and I was going to let it go to voicemail when my Dad grabbed it out of my hand.
“Your mother,” he said, hitting send and saying hello. I had no idea my mother had my number and was stunned Dad knew how to use a cell phone.
“You were right,” I heard him say, “it was a huge mistake.” He dropped his head back on the rest. “It’s on the news already?”
I listened as my father avoided answering questions about what happened, his replies getting shorter and shorter until he was down to “Yeah” or “No.” I was about to suggest he hang up when he said a complete sentence: “That’s a great idea. I’ll let June know.”
He mashed the face of the phone, ending the phone call by hitting all the buttons. “I’m going to your mother’s hotel. The Kelly Suites. She’s got a room in her name. We’ll be untraceable.”
I had to admit it wasn’t a bad idea. We drove to the hotel, parking in the back and taking the stairway up to the second floor. I scrutinized the hotel. I liked it. Her room and the parking lot weren’t visible from the street and my dad—and my mom, I suppose—could come and go as they pleased.
“Come in, come in,” Mom said. The room smelled sweet and spicy—not the quasi-floral scent of commercial disinfectants, but the sandalwood incense that had always been her favorite. The TV was off, but the cup of tea in front of the sofa gave away the fact that she had been watching. She was willing to brave the cancer-causing rays TVs supposedly gave off for something this important.
“I chose this place because it has a full kitchen,” she said. “Restaurants are so unhealthy.” She pointed to a pair of doors at the far end of the living room. “There are two bedrooms with two beds each. You could all stay if you wanted.”
“Maybe for a few hours,” I said. “I have to go to the station for a bit.” I didn’t want to tell my dad, but Hale and I were planning to re-interview Theo and Nate Bazelon, trying to get more information about why their mom might have dyed her hair, changed her name, and fled across the country. “I’ll pick Lucy up after school and then swing by and get Dad.”
“Gordon and I can get her, bring her over here,” she said. “I have a pool. It’ll be an adventure.”
“Real nice adventure,” Dad said, dropping into a blue and pink pastel chair that sat in the corner. He took off his glasses and began cleaning them.
“Did you eat lunch, Gordon? How about you, June?” Mom went to the fridge and pulled out food: hummus. Bread. A daikon radish.
“I have to go,” I said to my mom, and then dropped my voice, mouthing to my father: “You OK with her?”
“I’ll be fine.” He blew nonexistent dust off the lenses and put the glasses back on, frowning.
“You know that’s your old pair, right?” I said. He took them off and examined them before propping them on the table in front of him and closing his eyes.
“Gordon, where can I pick up a bathing suit for Lucy?” my mother called from the kitchen. “Is there still a Caldor around?”
“The Gap,” he said, keeping his eyes closed.
“I don’t approve of their child-labor practices. Do you have a Costco?”
I left the two of them to fight out the labor practices of the different retail outlets and went to meet Hale.
CHAPTER 16
DARIUS WATCHED THE VENTILATOR INSTEAD OF LUISA, STILL unconscious in her hospital bed. The oxygen reservoir rose and fell, shallow but steady, and Darius took a few breaths, matching his wife’s slow pace. We sat in silence for a moment, the machines pinging and chirping like a flock of birds. He took another slow breath and finally answered our question: “What is your wife like?”
“Louann wants to leave a light footprint on this earth. She makes others feel loved and special.”
Elda sat near Luisa’s head, her gnarled hand gripping Nate’s. “Luisa was never one to grab attention.”
“Louann.” Nate pulled his hand away. “Mom’s been Louann longer than she was Luisa.”
“Well, actually,” Elda said, and then a sad smile crossed her face. “I’m sorry. If you prefer Louann, I’ll do my best. Anyway, from the day she was born, Lou . . .” She looked to the two men, checking to see if the nickname was acceptable. It was. She continued. “Well, Lou kept her light tucked under a bushel basket. I’d have to push her to wear lipstick, and at school assemblies she would go mute.”
This was the third question Elda had answered instead of Darius. If I was going to get answers out of him rather than her, I’d need to talk to him alone.
“Darius, I’m worried we’re disturbing Lou’s sleep. Would you mind talking to us in one of the waiting rooms? Just for a minute.” I had learned from Elda’s error, but it was an easy one to make—“Luisa” almost came out of my mouth. I was less focused on the woman she’d been in New Mexico and more concerned with the person she’d been thirty years ago when she made the decision to fake her death. She’d obviously planned it carefully, lining up new identities and going someplace where no one would ever find her. And despite the sweetness Darius and Elda described, it took a certain ruthlessness to stay lost even as your husband was sentenced to forty years in prison.
Darius didn’t protest our request, but Nate objected. “I can come, too.”
“Your mother needs a friendly face by her side,” Hale said.
Nate wasn’t willing to give up so easily. “Theo said he was going to grab lunch and that was over an hour ago. He’ll be back soon.” His lip quirked, a half frown. “He didn’t take off, did he, Darius?”
“Your brother’s fine, and you will be too.” Darius stood in front of Nate, placing his hand first on Nate’s neck and then resting his hands on his shoulders, the outline of a hug, before speaking to Elda.
“Will you be OK, ma’am?”
She gripped Nate’s hand again. He grimaced.
“I’ll be fine,” she said.
A lounge at the far end of the hallway was usually empty, and we went there. Today there was a guest, Theo curled up in the far corner of a green vinyl couch. The TV was off, and he stared straight ahead at an egg-yolk-yellow wall.
Darius sat right next to Theo. “How you doing, young man?”
“Not so bad,” Theo said. The dark shadows under his eyes gave away his lie. “They here to arrest Mom?”
“Absolutely not,” Hale said.
“Oh. You gotta wait until she wakes up?”
“No, Theo.” I took one of the chairs at the far side of the room and dragged it close, sitting a few feet to Theo’s left. “We’re still putting together the story of what happened to your mother. And I’m pretty sure the reason she was kidnapped a few weeks ago and burned is closely related to why she left Hopewell Falls way back then. I’m here today to ask Darius some questions about her early days in New Mexico. You too, if you’d agree.” Theo nodded absently at this, which I took as a yes.
I decided to start with Darius, asking him a bit about his history.
“I went on a vision quest,” Darius said, “back in the sixties. Why a black kid from Chicago was going on a vision quest is a story for another day, but I came out of that with a mission to get in touch with nature. I discovered I had a way with desert plants, and I figured starting a nursery was a way to honor the forces of the universe and make a little cash. Did OK for myself.” Theo was watching Darius intently, and I hoped he was catching the storytelling bug.
“Then Lou showed up,” Darius said. “Here’s this little bitty thing, pregnant and chasing a three-year-old, who comes to me begging for a day’s work so she could feed herself and her boy.” He smiled at Theo. “The two of you were living in a Ford Pinto, you remember?”
“She called it camping, so I thought it was fun,” Theo said. He pulled his hands inside the sleeves of his fleece jacket, despite the room’s being almost stifling. “She loved that car. Held onto it for years. Strangers would come up to us, telling us it was a deathtrap, and she’d thank them for their concern and roll her eyes.”
“I gave Lou a job repotting plants for the day, this one underfoot the whole time.” Darius patted Theo’s knee. “She did excellent work, and I invited her back the next day. And the day after that.”
Theo picked up the story. “And then you gave her a full-time job, with benefits.”
“And two days later Mr. Impatient was born,” Darius said.
Theo smiled. “You wooed her with health insurance, smooth operator.”
Darius nodded. “Your mother’s and mine has been a slow romance. We’re not officially married,” he explained to Hale and me. “Common law, though. She didn’t want to be formal about it, despite my numerous requests.”
“You were winning her over,” Theo said. “Any day . . .” But he suddenly frowned, reaching out and touching Darius’s arm, a comforting gesture. “But of course, that would have been bigamy.”
I didn’t want Theo to dwell on the legal ramifications of marriage between Luisa and Darius. “Theo, are there any other details about your life in Hopewell Falls you remember, other than the house?”
Theo described images, memories from a kid’s eye view. “A woman who smelled like lilacs made red Knox blocks with me, letting me sweeten the gelatin. She wasn’t very tall, and she kissed me too hard.” Natalya, I thought. “Men who smelled like cigars, talking loudly. In a foreign language.” He paused. “My father is Ukrainian, right?”
“Born here,” I said. “He has brothers, though. Maybe you are remembering them.”
“And I lived in a house with a yard I thought went on forever and ever. I remember walking outside and being surrounded by green. For years, Mom, Nate, and I lived in these shitty apartments in New Mexico, places filled with people who weren’t staying long—students, military, sometimes illegal immigrants. I kept the memory of the yard. I just didn’t know where it was.”
I thought of his career choice—park ranger—and wondered if he liked having miles of green space.
“I tried to get her to move in with me,” Darius said, as much to Theo as to us. “I tried to pay her more, but she never took it. She always wanted to live simply.”
“Did that ever change?” I asked.
“A bit. She liked having a garden, liked planting, for fun, creatively.” Darius threw his arm over the back of the couch, settling into the story. “I had her design my yard. She did a beautiful job, and it got her and the boys over to my house, which I loved.”
“Over the years, did Lou ever go out of town?” I asked. “Any unexplained trips?”
“She didn’t travel much,” Darius said. “We went to Peru last year. And either she or I would go to a trade show every year. Those could be anywhere.” He frowned. “She wouldn’t go to the one in New York City and got sick the year it was in Boston.”
Those cities might have been a little too close to Hopewell Falls for Luisa’s comfort. “How about people contacting her? Phone calls she avoided, or any odd people showing up?”
Both men shook their heads, but I pushed.
“Even after you got famous, Theo?” Hale asked, and Theo rolled his eyes.
“Not me.” Theo nudged Darius with his shoulder. “You hear of anyone?”
“Only the lovelorn, begging me to put in a good word with Nathaniel. And even they were rare. Me and Louann preferred to leave the spotlight to the boys.”
Theo frowned. “But now that you say that . . .” He stood, Darius’s hand thumping to the couch as Theo got to his feet. “She got angry when we saved that CEO’s life. She didn’t want him to die, but she hated how quickly it went from a story about a rescue to a story about me and Nate.”
“I remember when you got that idiot off the top of the mountain,” Hale said. “The news channels went from 24-7 coverage of the CEO to 24-7 coverage of you and your brother. You two came across like guys I’d invite to a barbeque.”
“That’s almost word-for-word what the producers of Global Adventures said, kept going on about our likability factor in the eighteen-to-thirty-four age group. They really pushed for us to be on the show.”
“Why did you agree?” I asked.
Theo blushed. “A million dollar prize.”
As we talked about the case, Hale typed a message into his phone, paused, and sent another. I continued to question them about the media or odd contacts but kept getting the same answer. They didn’t know anything.
Nate skidded into the doorway. Theo and Darius were up, Darius rushing toward the door.
“Nate? Your mother?” Darius asked.
“No, there’s no change. But I couldn’t take another minute with the old woman. She told me to call her ‘Nana.’” He had a frantic look in his eye. “Elda Harris is not my grandma.”
“I’ll go back,” Darius said, stopping short of the door. “I want to hear about Louann’s childhood from Mrs. Harris, find out where Louann got that wicked sense of humor.”
Theo sat down, and Nate slumped next to him. “Where the fuck have you been?”
“Don’t start,” Theo said, crossing his arms and glaring at his brother. I was worried that Theo would stop answering questions, so I threw one at Nate, asking him if he had any idea that his mother had another identity. Considering he was in utero when everything happened, I didn’t expect much of a response, but he had one.
“My mother always said she was from Philadelphia. No family alive. She moved away after our father died.”
Theo scoffed.
“Anyway,” Nate said, “I did the great American road trip after college and asked about places to go, not just tourist attractions but places she loved, her childhood home, or my father’s grave. She spaced, couldn’t think of a thing, until a couple days later she comes back to me and lists things like a tour guide—Liberty Bell, the Rocky Steps, the Mummer Museum, cheesesteak. I figu
red the family stuff was too painful.”
I was stumped. Nothing the three had said gave any indication that they knew Luisa . . . er, Louann . . . was on the run. We weren’t going to get anything.
As we were leaving, Theo stopped us. “Are we obligated to talk to Bernie Lawler?”
“Has he contacted you?” I asked.
“Not him, but his lawyer,” Nate said. “Who’s our aunt, right?”
“She invited us to come to the courthouse today, but the whole thing . . .”
“Too many cameras,” Nate said.
It was interesting to hear the two brothers discuss their feelings about their father. The more the brothers talked, the more their opinion melded into one. It was the same connection that came through in their TV appearances, where the two were so tightly bonded they communicated with a look, responding as one.
“And I’m not sure whether I even want a reunion with our . . . father. With the aunt and uncles,” Theo said. “They’re not family. Not really.”
“But aren’t you curious?” Nate said. “Don’t you want to meet our father, find out who we are?”
“Bernie Lawler didn’t have anything to do with making us who we are,” Theo said. “And my mother? Until I hear the real story from her own mouth, I’m not passing judgment.”
The two men agreed to contact us if they thought of other details. We followed the brothers down the hall to Luisa’s—no, Louann’s—room. Despite being several inches shorter, Nate threw his arm over Theo’s shoulder, causing Theo’s knees to buckle.
“Come visit Mom,” Nate said.
“Gimme a minute,” Theo said.
“That’s what you said four hours ago.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Yup. And I’m likely to tell off the old lady if you’re not there to sigh and tell me to be tactful. C’mon.”
“OH, THERE YOU ARE!” WE HEARD ELDA CALL TO THEM. WE made a fast exit.