“I don’t have a problem.”
“You haven’t been at all friendly to Da-Marr.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that statement, and continued to fold my laundry.
“You never told me about the people who mugged you,” Brenda said.
My gaze remained on the bath towel I folded. I didn’t want to be having this conversation.
“Were they black?”
I didn’t say anything. My silence was answer enough for her.
I could feel her anger building.
“I’m sorry, Jeffy, this black face just doesn’t rub off. And I can’t take responsibility for what other people of my race do, just the way you can’t for those white boys who steal their parents’ guns and blow people away in schools, movie theaters, and coffee joints.”
“I didn’t ask you to take responsibility.”
“And you can’t blame Da-Marr for what happened to you.”
I folded the last washcloth, gathered up everything, turned, and walked away.
“Don’t ignore me — and don’t stalk off in a huff.”
But I did leave without another word. I didn’t understand exactly what it was I felt, but I knew I couldn’t discuss it with her.
I trudged up the stairs, emotion swelling within me once again. It was fear — and even worse — the growing fear of having to face that fear.
I hadn’t yet arrived at a place where I was ready to deal with it. And after my experience with Dr. Krista Marsh, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to explore what I felt with any kind of so-called qualified health professional. And I’d never get past the guilt I felt for the pain I’d caused Grace Vanderstein at Krista’s manipulation.
The rain was just a drizzle as I crossed the driveway for my apartment. Brenda’s car was still among the missing, and Richard’s was gone, too. Had Brenda loaned her car to Evelyn? Aw, who cared?
I trudged up the stairs to my apartment and let myself in. Herschel was waiting for me behind the door and gave a yowl. “No treats right now, buddy.” Instead, I dumped the laundry basket on the breakfast bar and headed to the bathroom. I grabbed a dose of my migraine meds and downed it with some water, and then stood for a long time before the medicine cabinet’s mirror studying the haunted expression on my face, wondering what I should do next. I didn’t have to work that night, but I didn’t want to be alone, either. And I certainly wasn’t prepared to spend another evening with Evelyn and Da-Marr, even to placate Brenda.
The truth was, I loved Brenda. In fact, I felt more for her than a brother-in-law should. Why couldn’t she understand what that beating at the hands of a couple of young thugs had cost me? Okay, typical macho things like maybe my manhood. Eighteen months later, I still had these stinking, often crippling headaches, and probably always would. That limited my ability to work, to support myself. I was dependent on Richard and his generosity, and I hated it.
No, she couldn’t understand all that those punks had taken from me. And I could never begin to tell her, either.
I wandered into the living room and stood there for a few minutes, soaking in the silence. When I had one of my skull-pounding headaches, silence was a welcome respite, but right then I felt antsy. I knew better than to seek out my psychic mentor, Sophie Levin, until the wee hours; she simply was not available until then. That left me only one person I knew I could trust, and even that was tenuous.
I sat down on the couch and once again, Herschel was there, but it wasn’t his comfort I needed. I reached for the telephone that sat on the end table.
I dialed the number and waited to see if voice mail would pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Maggs.”
“Oh. It’s you.” She didn’t sound angry. She didn’t sound happy, either. She sounded … indifferent?
Okay, so we hadn’t been on the best of terms since the spring. Not that we’d fought, either. What we hadn’t done was talk much about her infidelity. I hadn’t wanted to confront her about it — just in case she decided to dump me for good, but not discussing it kept us from going back to the way things had been before her sister had instigated our breakup.
Wasn’t it ironic? She and Brenda both had a bossy older sister, and both of them seemed content to let them rip their lives to pieces. Irene had done that last spring; Evelyn was doing it now. Were Maggie and Brenda in contact with one another, comparing notes?
“Are you busy tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?” Maggie asked, sounding resigned. Well, at least she hadn’t told me to fuck off.
“I dunno. How about a pizza? I could really use some company, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be with.”
“Really?” Was that hope in her voice.
“Yeah, really.”
“I’d like that. Why don’t you come over around seven?”
“I’ll be there.”
Neither of us said good-bye. I hung up the phone and sank deeper into the back of the couch. Herschel settled onto the couch beside me in perfect contentment; I wished I could tune into that emotion with such ease.
I hadn’t been lying to Brenda. I did have more on my mind than Da-Marr and Evelyn, and even Sam and his quest to find Morrow’s hidden millions. I hadn’t called an allergist. I suppose I’d have to get a referral. It might take weeks — months — before I could even get an appointment. And then there was that whole near-death thing that kept hovering at the back of my mind.
I could have died.
The way things were going, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
Stop it.
I’d had that thought far too often back in May — not my doing — and abruptly got up from the couch, startling Herschel. I stepped over to the window overlooking the driveway. The rain had started once again, pelting the glass.
Brenda’s car rolled up the driveway and pulled up behind my car, effectively blocking me in. Da-Marr got out, his expression smug. I took a step back, not wanting him to see me, but it was already too late. He glared at me for a long moment before he turned and sauntered for the house.
That kid gave me a very bad feeling, and it had nothing to do with psychic insight.
The better part of Richard’s day had been spent on the telephone dealing with insurance agents who shunted him from one department to the next. But when he’d set the receiver down for the last time, it had been after a conversation with the claims adjustor who’d just finished assessing the damage to the still-unchristened Betsy-Ruth. He liked the name. He was really going to enjoy that boat, or at least if Brenda finally came to like the boat he’d be better able to enjoy it.
He’d planned to pour a celebratory Scotch in the solitude of his study — that is until Brenda dragged him into the kitchen while Evelyn prepared dinner. While Brenda hadn’t said so, he could tell Evelyn’s presence had completely unnerved her. But there was something else going on with her, and he knew they weren’t likely to discuss it in front of their houseguests.
Richard poured himself a drink and settled at the table next to Brenda while Evelyn yammered on about the difficulties in raising the funds for a new roof for her church. Richard had a feeling Brenda would be writing a generous check to that institution before the end of the visit. Why couldn’t the woman just ask for a donation? Why did she feel she had to guilt them into contributing? Feeling stubborn, Richard ignored the not-so-subtle hints.
He reached for his glass and drained it before he got up from the table to retrieve more ice from the freezer. He tried to ignore Evelyn’s disapproving glare.
“Do you really feel you need that?” she asked.
Richard managed a smile. “Yes. Today I do.”
“I wouldn’t mind a glass of wine. A big one,” Brenda muttered from her seat at the table where she’d been sitting on her hands, no doubt to keep from clenching them. “It’s been eight long months since I tasted the grape.”
“We’ll have champagne when the baby’s born,” Richard said.
�
�You will not,” Evelyn said, her fierce glare now pinned on Brenda. “Not if you’re going to breast feed that child.”
Richard poured himself another Scotch, slopping it onto the counter. He waited for the rebuke.
“Perhaps you’ve already had enough,” Evelyn said, and swooped in with a piece of paper towel.
“I can get it,” Richard said, fighting to keep his tone neutral, but Evelyn ignored him. He retreated back to the safety of the table.
Outside, Brenda’s car pulled up and he watched as Da-Marr got out, turning to look up at Jeff’s apartment. It occurred to him that the kid had been gone an awful long time just to get a spark plug, but he wasn’t about to interrogate him.
The outside door banged shut and Da-Marr trudged into the kitchen.
“Hang up that coat, young man,” Evelyn ordered, and Da-Marr dutifully turned around and shucked his jacket before he returned to the kitchen. Evelyn checked on the pot roast simmering on the stove. “Wash up for dinner. It’ll be ready in five minutes.
Without saying a word, Da-Marr headed for the bathroom.
Richard threw a glance at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even six. They normally didn’t eat dinner until at least seven, but since Evelyn’s arrival they’d been on an eight, twelve and six o’clock meal rotation. Didn’t the woman understand the concept of spontaneity?
Da-Marr returned and, without a word from Evelyn, went to the cupboards to collect dishes, and then set the table. She had him well trained.
“You were gone an awfully long time, Da-Marr,” Evelyn said with an edge to her voice.
Da-Marr gave her a wide grin. “I went exploring, Aunt Evelyn. I got the new spark plug for the lawnmower, but then I drove around just to see what I could find. Sorry, Cousin Brenda, but the gas tank needs to be filled.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Brenda said, sounding weary.
“If it don’t rain tomorrow — ”
“Doesn’t rain,” Evelyn automatically corrected him.
“ — I’ll cut the grass,” Da-Marr finished. He turned to his aunt. “Can I help you with anything, Aunt Evelyn?”
“No, dear. You sit right now. Brenda, do you have an electric knife?”
“It’s in the cupboard to the right of the sink.”
Da-Marr took what was usually Jeff’s seat. “Hey, Richard, when can we go out on that boat again?” he asked, sounding keen for a new adventure.
“Depending on the weather, tomorrow or the day after.”
“Does the weather really matter when you’re driving it from inside the cabin?” Da-Marr asked.
Richard shrugged. “I guess not.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it does. The river could be terribly choppy,” Brenda said, annoyed.
“Why do you want to drive that boat anyway?” Evelyn asked, plugging in the electric knife.
Da-Marr shrugged. “I sure as hell ain’t gonna get the chance to do it once we’re back home.”
Richard had to bite his tongue not to ask just when that happy day would be.
“Da-Marr!” Evelyn called sharply. “Please do not swear in my presence.”
Thoroughly chastised, Da-Marr hung his head. “Sorry, Aunt Evelyn.”
Evelyn transferred the roast to a waiting serving platter and began to cut the meat into thin slices. “Will someone please strain the vegetables?”
Brenda made to get up, but Richard motioned her to sit and got up to help. “That pot roast sure smells good,” he said, trying to sound jovial.
“Brenda told me how much you enjoy home cooking and I made it especially for you.”
“That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’m so glad Brenda invited me to come and look after the two of you and the baby, for surely you need it.”
Richard opened his mouth to refute her assessment, but a warning look from Brenda made him back down. Somehow they’d managed to survive together for almost nine years without outside interference; why did Evelyn intimate that Brenda wasn’t capable of managing a home, let alone a dinner? She was a nurse, a respected researcher, and was the kindest, most generous woman Richard had ever met. Sharing these past few days with Brenda’s oldest sister had given Richard a whole new insight into how a teenaged Jeff must have felt when their mother had thrown Richard’s success at the young boy who’d grown up without the same advantages and security. Being made to feel inadequate was something Richard had experienced far too many times. To endure it from a guest was even harder to swallow. But for the sake of family harmony — Brenda’s family harmony — he was willing to do so.
Richard strained the water from the pot of lima beans and dumped them into the waiting serving bowl before setting them on the table.
Seconds later, Evelyn set the gravy boat and an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. Next came the platter of meat. She set it down, too, before taking her seat. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. “Dear Lord,” she began. Da-Marr bowed his head, but stared at the potatoes, looking ready to pounce as soon as the prayer ended.
Richard tuned her out and reached for his glass, but a stern look from Brenda kept him from that last mouthful of Scotch.
Thoreau said, “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”
At that moment, Richard understood exactly what he’d meant.
Chapter 9
It was already dark when I got out of my car with a cold six-pack of beer and walked around to the front entrance of Maggie’s house, noting that the lower portion of her duplex was dark. I was later than I’d planned, thanks to having to move Brenda’s car to unblock my own.
Though I had a key, I rang the bell and waited. I could hear the sound of barking. A minute later, the door opened and there Maggie stood, looking tired after a long day at work. Looking beaten. Looking better than anything I’d seen in a long time.
“No pizza?” she asked flatly as her dog Holly nosed past her. I could see her tail already wagging.
“It’ll arrive in about half an hour. Can I come in?”
She shrugged. “I guess.” She stepped away from the door and started back up the steps to her second-floor apartment. Holly waited until I was inside and had locked the door before she threw her golden retriever body against me in greeting, looking up at me with adoring eyes, before following Maggie back up the stairs. I liked the dog’s greeting better.
I recognized Maggie’s favorite new-age CD playing softly in the background. We ended up standing in the center of her living room. “I come bearing gifts,” I said and offered her the beer.
She took it from me. “Thanks. Want one?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
She nodded and went into the kitchen to fetch a couple of glasses. I took off my coat and sat on her couch. A plate with the remnants of a pound of Watson’s chocolate-covered sponge candy sat on the end table. So, she was having one of those kind of days.
Maggie returned to the living room carrying two glasses of beer, each with a tall foamy head. She set them on the coffee table and sat beside me, but not too close. Holly, however, pressed herself again my left leg, resting her head on my thigh.
“Don’t be a pest, Holly,” Maggie chided.
“She’s fine,” I assured her.
“So, how have you been?” she asked, not really sounding all that interested.
“Not so good. It turns out I’m allergic to bees. I got stung and almost died the other day.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
So, she’d talked to Brenda. Apparently, my almost leaving this earth hadn’t made much of an impression on her.
We sipped our beer. Maggie’s gaze seemed focused on the carpet. The silence felt awkward. I thought we’d gotten past that. It was time to clear the air.
“You know, Maggs, if it was just up to me, we’d both forget that May ever happened and could go back to the way it used to be between us.”
“Well, it isn’t up to you, and it really did happen, and I’m the
world’s biggest shit to have treated you that way,” she said and still wouldn’t look at me.
“If I can forgive you, why can’t you forgive yourself?”
Her eyes widened and she turned to face me. “Looks who’s talking about forgiveness?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She took another sip of her beer but didn’t answer.
And then I understood. She’d spoken to Brenda after Brenda had spoken to me that very afternoon.
“I can’t talk to Brenda about what happened to me back in the city.”
“I guess I can see why.”
“I kind of hoped I’d be able to talk to you, but I can see now that nothing I have to say would make any difference.” I nudged Holly aside and stood, grabbed my coat from where I’d left it on the other chair and donned one of the sleeves.
“Wait.” She sighed, looking distinctly unhappy. “This isn’t the way I meant for things to go.”
“Would you like me to come back in through the door and we can start over again?”
She said nothing.
I shrugged into the other sleeve, walked to the door, and out onto the first step, closing the door behind me. Then I opened the door and walked back into the living room. She’d moved to stand where she’d been when I’d first arrived.
“Hello, Maggie,” I said and walked right up to her and planted a tender kiss on her lips. I was surprised when she wrapped her arms around me and returned it. I pulled back. “I’ve missed you, lady. Where’ve you been?”
I felt her slump in my embrace. “It’s been a terrible couple of weeks.”
“Let’s sit down and you can tell me all about it.”
I shucked my coat and took my former seat; she settled beside me, this time leaning her head on my shoulder like she’d done hundreds of times before. “Lily had a stroke,” she said, her voice breaking.
Lily. Her ex-mother-in-law. Her beloved mother-in-law who lived in the bottom apartment of her duplex. I sometimes wondered if she loved that old lady more than her own mouse of a mother. I can’t say I had a very good opinion of most of Maggie’s family. Her sister Sandy and her husband and kids were all right, but her older sister, Irene, rode roughshod over the rest of the clan and apparently had her entire life and they continued to let her do so.
Dark Waters (The Jeff Resnick Mysteries) Page 7