As Inez continues to walk the shore, dozens of seagulls squawk overhead. She pays them little notice. Their sound is as much a part of Everett as the sulfur stench that belches from its troubled lumber plants.
The story she’s heard is that John D. Rockefeller and other investors thought the Great Northern Railroad would end here in Everett. Instead, Seattle got that honor. At some point Rockefeller pulled out. And now Everett isn’t famous for much but smelling bad. Still, when Inez married Raymond and he bought the house on Rockefeller Avenue, it had sounded rich to her.
Inez has to watch her step, since here and there the shore is littered with the remnants of cigarettes, beer bottles, and other garbage. For a public beach, though, it’s actually pretty clean. The tides have left their own litter, too—dead jellyfish, an occasional dried-up starfish, and a lot of purple mussel shells.
Inez spies some kelp—giant pieces of seaweed that resemble snakes. Venus always managed to find a long slimy strand of kelp to bring home and use as a whip to scare neighborhood kids. Until it would start to stink and Inez made her throw it out. Oh God, she misses that Venus—the bratty but funny girl who could have matured into an amazing young woman.
She thinks of Venus’s father, Joe, and how different their story would have gone if he hadn’t died. In retrospect, it seems to Inez like she hardly took time to properly mourn Joe. Perhaps because Venus demanded so much of her energy. Or perhaps because she met Ray so soon after.
Venus had been five at the time, and she looked a lot like Joe. Even though she had Inez’s strong nose, she got Joe’s wild black curls and starry blue eyes.
Of course, Joe adored Venus, doted on her, never resented getting up in the night with her. Inez had been a bit jealous at times of his devotion to his baby girl, the way his tolerance for her spread out beneath every cranky mood or tantrum like an enormous blanket of love that Venus could never crawl far enough away to escape.
It had hurt her more than once to be the brunt of Joe’s irritation or on the receiving end of his annoyance—only to witness him moments later gently shushing their screaming toddler with the kind of ridiculous tenderness that meant Venus could do no wrong.
Ha. Venus could do no wrong. Oh, the irony. And how impossible it seems to her now that Joe’s little princess could so quickly morph into such a difficult child and then an angry teen and then…And then Inez was nobody’s mother.
When she reaches a large piece of driftwood, she sits down on it and runs her fingers through the sand, which is soft this far from the water. It brings to mind the sandbox Leo disappeared from. Tears threaten, but Inez holds them at bay. It’s too cold to cry.
She zips her coat higher and settles in to watch the waves. The monotony of the tide is somehow reassuring. She closes her eyes and prays for Venus to forgive her. Prays for Leo to come home. She recalls how the Inez of six years ago wouldn’t have been caught dead praying—for anyone.
It wasn’t that she’d been some kind of committed atheist. Or that she’d had some terrible experience at church, although her dad’s Greek Orthodoxy had left her cold. It was simply that she never thought the concept of God had much going for it. She figured religious people just wanted to feel superior.
But all that changed in the space of a week when she lost everything that mattered to her. Even in the early throes of grief, Inez had understood that when you lose as much as she had—her entire family—you also lose your chance to enjoy the kind of casual disregard for God that regular people can enjoy.
Almost immediately, all the questions about life and death and God and meaning crowd in—the ones that have no real answers and yet you can’t stop asking them over and over, like how could a good God let this happen? But, then again, how could she turn her back on God when—if he existed—he might guide Leo home if she prayed hard enough?
At first, anger at God seemed the only way forward. But it takes a lot of energy to keep your dukes up against an invisible being who won’t fight back. So while Inez often mocked Shirley’s simple faith in God as a loving “higher power,” she came to envy it, too. Not because she thought Shirley’s trust was necessarily well placed, but because it seemed to bring her so much comfort.
Soon, the question for Inez became: What does one do with a God you are exhausted from hating but can never forgive?
And then one morning Inez thought she got her answer. She awoke from a dream about Leo. In it, Leo seemed happy and was talking to her about God. She got out of bed feeling strange, dazed. When she went to shut her bedroom window, before she could lower the pane, a waft of soft, sweet air swept through the screen and into her face. Her soul seemed to let out a small cry as something heavy inside fell away.
She stood there for a while, breathing deeply, feeling relief. Staring out at her blue hydrangeas, damp with dew, she suddenly knew as surely as she knew anything that God didn’t mind if she couldn’t forgive him. He didn’t expect her to. And it didn’t change how he felt about her.
Given this small but stupendous revelation, Inez’s rage began to lessen. She didn’t become religious or start going to church. But she did start praying. She never once gets on her knees—God forbid. She never prays when she doesn’t feel like it—because why bother? She never prays for herself, because fuck herself. But she prays for Leo and Venus many times a day.
It’s not that she trusts God to answer. That jig is up. But she prays as a way to hang on to hope.
* * *
—
WHEN INEZ FINALLY twists around to check on her things—the blanket and wine she left down the beach—she spots what appear to be several teens eyeing her stuff. She remembers her wine, and she worries they’ll grab it and run. That’s what she would have done at their age. She stands up and casually waves at them, hoping a friendly approach will save her pinot noir.
The idea of the kids stealing her wine panics her more than she knows it should. Even though she doesn’t usually drink during the day, today—maybe tomorrow, too—she plans to make an exception.
She quickly strides back down the beach, hoping to seem relaxed. The boys appear to argue and then finally walk away from her spot. As soon as she reaches her blanket, she sees with relief that the wine is still there. She plops down, grateful she remembered an opener, ashamed to realize that if she hadn’t, she would have broken the bottle open on the rocks.
She pulls the cork and revels in that lovely, familiar puff of air being released. As she fills her ruby goblet, she’s conscious of the fact that classy people drink wine from clear wineglasses. But Inez has had these scalloped goblets since before she married Joe. By now they’re like dear friends who have stuck with her through the worst moments of her life.
And tomorrow is guaranteed to bring plenty of those. Shirley and her bowling partner, Marianne, are the only ones aware of her Sunday plans—and they both begged her to let them help. “It is going to be traumatic,” Shirley insisted. “You shouldn’t do something like that alone.”
Of course, Inez knows Shirley is right—it’s probably unwise to tackle something like this without support. But for reasons that are hard to explain, she feels like she owes it to herself, or maybe to Venus, to face the basement alone.
All these years—except for once when the water heater broke, and a few times when she had to retrieve some gardening tools—she has lived as though the lower part of the house doesn’t exist.
But tomorrow it will exist, won’t it? The forthcoming sale makes it so. She’ll unlock and open the door at the end of the kitchen, descend the basement steps, and finally come face-to-face with what she let happen.
Since Tony is hungry and wired and it’s still way too early for bed, he gets directions from the desk clerk to a nearby Denny’s. Afterward, he is driving back to the hotel when he spots a hair salon that looks cheap. He can’t explain why, but he has the sudden urge to lose his pony. Maybe it’s because
he wants to look as clean-cut and as innocent as possible when he’s arrested.
The salon looks closed, but there’s one light on and he can see a woman still in there, talking on the phone. He knocks until she opens the door. “We’re closed,” she says.
“But it’s just a quick thing,” Tony says. “And I bet it would be fun for you to cut off this pony.” He turns his head to show it to her. “I’d tip you really, really well.” He is suddenly desperate to get this done, afraid if he waits another hour he’ll lose his courage.
“Well, I’d get in trouble….”
“Who’s gonna know?” says Tony. He winks at her. “You’d be doing me such a huge favor.”
She finally relents. While Tony loses several years’ worth of his hair, he wonders if this girl could be a source. She says her name is Pamela. She looks too young to be familiar with the case, but he decides to give it a go, because aren’t hairstylists famous for gossip?
When she’s cut off the pony but hasn’t started styling yet, Tony takes a stab. “Remember that case where the stepdaughter shot the stepfather, oh, maybe six years ago?”
“Of course. You’re talking about Venus Black?”
Tony’s blood rushes to his face. So lucky so quickly! “Yeah. That one. I’m looking for her mother, actually. Used to go to high school with her,” he adds, guessing they’re probably near the same age.
“Oh,” says Pamela, grinning. “It’s like that, like maybe you were high school sweethearts?”
“Something like that,” he answers.
“She might still be around,” she says. “I know because I have a friend who used to live nearby and she kept seeing the mom out front, pulling weeds in the rockery. Can you imagine staying after what happened in that house?”
“No,” says Tony, “I can’t.”
To hide his excitement, he compliments Pamela on how well she is doing with his hair. He’d bet his whole wallet that the mother is going by Inez Black.
Now all he needs is an address and phone number. Then he remembers that he doesn’t really want to find her. Why would he be in a hurry to find the key to his family’s undoing?
When Tony gets back to his hotel room, he reluctantly opens a drawer in the bedside table. He’s almost disappointed that there’s a phone book. There’s also a listing for “I. Black.” No address, just a number.
His hands feel sweaty on the phone. He dials the number, feeling like he might throw up. Let it be Ida. Or Inga. Or…It rings four times. Then a machine picks up. “This is Inez; please leave a message.”
Now he knows it’s her for sure. Inez Miller went back to Inez Black.
After talking to Pamela, he realizes there’s a good chance Inez stayed in the house on Rockefeller. When he calls Marco to tell him the news, his brother suggests the obvious. “Why don’t you just assume that she stayed in the house? Call first thing in the morning, pretending to be an interested buyer. It could be the perfect excuse to meet her—if it’s her.”
After he hangs up with Marco, Tony feels kind of sick inside. When he sees his reflection in the hotel window, he’s stunned by the transformation. He knows he looks good—but is this really him? He tries to imagine Tessa’s shock and surprise. He guesses she will love it, since he’s always suspected she wished he were a bit more traditional. None of her friends’ dads have ponies, tattoos, or play with needle guns all day.
He imagines home, thinks of the dishwasher humming and Tessa getting Leo ready for bed. Oh dear God. That world, that predictable, wonderful world of normal problems and family stuff and worrying about Tessa going on dates—and not going on dates—he was about to blow it all apart.
Unless. Unless he meets the mother and she is obviously not a good person—say, a drug addict or someone who looks like she’s hiding a criminal record. It feels cruel to hope for such a thing to be true, but Tony can’t help himself. If she’s a bad-enough character, maybe they could apply to be the foster parents of Leo.
But right now what he needs is to hear the voice of innocence, to know that somewhere in the world life still works the way it should. It’s kind of late, but Tessa will still be up. He sits on the hotel bed by the phone and reads the directions for long-distance calls. She answers on the third ring.
“Hey, sweetie. How’s it going?”
“Dad! It’s going good. I’m so glad you called!” she says, clearly elated to hear from him. “How’s the conference?”
“Well, it doesn’t really get into full swing until tomorrow, Sunday. But I’m sure it will be great. How’s everything going there?”
“Fine, Dad. You’ve only been gone one night. Maureen came over like you said. We watched TV. Leo was upset that you weren’t here, but he didn’t throw that big of a fit. I did your part in the routine. He wouldn’t let Maureen come in his room, said she wasn’t allowed.”
“You’re never going to believe what happened yesterday,” he tells her. “I called you, and Leo answered the phone. You were in the bathroom, he said. And then he just said goodbye and hung up on me. It was hilarious.”
“Oh my gosh! Really? Leo answered the phone?”
“Guess he thought it might be me,” he says. “Pretty amazing, huh?”
“Yeah. But you missed some other big news about Leo,” says Tessa.
“I did?” For a second, he panics.
“Yeah. Leo brought home a note from the orchestra teacher. He wants Leo to play a solo in a concert with the rest of the kids two weeks from Monday.”
So that’s all. Leo has had private lessons for years but never joined the regular kids. “But how will that work?”
“The note says that he’s going to start having Leo come to the class on Monday and practice with them to see if he can get used to it.”
“That’s so cool, honey.”
“Yeah. I think it’s really cool, too.”
“So, what did you have for dinner?”
“Some country fried steak.”
“Mmm. That sounds good. I wish I were there.”
“Me, too. It’s weird when you’re gone.”
“Yeah, I agree. I sure love you, Tessa.”
“Love you, too.”
“Tell Leo I love him.”
“I will,” she says. “Do you think he understands what love is?”
Tony is surprised. She’s never asked this before.
“I mean, he doesn’t ever say he loves us,” she presses. “Do you think he does?”
“Yes, Tessa. I think he does a whole lot.”
“Me, too,” she says. But Tony can hear the faint doubt in her voice.
After he hangs up, Tony thinks about Leo. Thinks about love. Realizes how little he knows about anything.
Sunday morning, Inez is rinsing her cereal bowl in the sink when the phone rings. Probably it’s Shirley, probably still sick, asking again if she can help today.
She picks up. “Hello?”
“Is this Inez Black?” It’s a man.
“Yes, it is. Can I help you?” What if it’s about Leo?
“I hope so. My name’s Tony, and I’m calling about your house. It’s for sale, right?”
“Well, yes,” she says, let down it’s not about Leo. “But it’s not on the market yet.”
“I understand, but is there any way I could possibly come by today and just take a quick look?”
“I don’t think so,” Inez says. “You need to go through my realtor. It doesn’t officially go on the market until next week.”
“I understand,” he says again, sounding a bit hurried. “But the thing is, I have to head back home to California tomorrow, and it will be a couple months before I can make it back up to Washington.”
Inez thinks, California. That’s a good thing. He probably won’t know the story. And what if she doesn’t get any other people who are interes
ted, especially since February is a really dumb time to put a house on the market?
The man continues, “My work down in Oakland is transferring me up here soon, so I’m anxious to find a place for my daughter and me.”
“Oh,” says Inez. A daughter. He’s single. She suspects both these facts would delight Melissa. She claims men are way less picky about dumb stuff like outdated pink bathroom tile.
“Well, then,” she says, trying to stall. “Let me think…” How quickly could she get Venus’s room packed up? For now she could just hang a picture over the hole.
“I suppose I could let you look,” she says. “But it’s not quite as clean as I want it to be. I’m not really ready….”
“I don’t care about clean,” the man says. “Trust me, I can see past that.”
She looks at the kitchen clock. It’s almost 9:00 A.M. If he doesn’t come until late this afternoon…And it might actually help her stay on task and avoid the drama. It will force her to proceed in an industrious, non-emotional way.
“Okay,” she says, her voice shaky. “How about four o’ clock?”
Great,” he says. “Four P.M. I’ll be there. I appreciate this, ma’am.”
After she hangs up, Inez tries to call Melissa but only gets her answering machine.
Then Inez has a terrible thought. What if this guy is a reporter or just a neighbor with a sick curiosity who can’t wait to tour the house where it all happened?
But if this guy really is from California, Inez is going to have a hard time not begging him to buy the house. To avoid the torture of showing it, and before it could even go on the market? That would be such a great thing.
She hurriedly dresses in old jeans and a T-shirt. She puts her long hair in a ponytail. She gathers boxes and cleaning supplies in a bucket. At the end of the kitchen, she stands at the basement door, hesitant to put the skeleton key in the lock. When she finally does, the door swings open with a long squeak, like you’d hear in a horror movie, she thinks.
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