Full Circle

by Susan Rogers Cooper

  And so we began.

  ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

  I was scrambling to get back into the bathroom, the stalker was screaming on the sidewalk, and Grandma was not responding to my pleas of help.

  I shouted for her one more time then saw my sister’s head. ‘What the crap are you doing?’ she demanded.

  ‘Help me get back in! Ingrid’s sitting on the stalker! Call the police!’

  ‘You want me to pull you in first or call the police first?’ Megan demanded, reaching down to grab my arms. ‘And what the you-know-what are you doing outside anyway?’

  Then Grandma was in the room. ‘I called the cops,’ she said. ‘They’re on the way. You need help, Megan?’ she asked.

  ‘No, thanks, Grandma. I think I can handle this,’ she said as she pulled my top half into the bathroom. With one jerk I was on the cold linoleum of Grandma’s bathroom floor, the breath knocked out of me.

  ‘Is Ingrid still sitting on him?’ Grandma asked, she and Megan both ignoring my struggle to breathe.

  I could feel Megan walking over me, not being at all gentle about it. ‘Yeah, she’s still got him. And seems to be enjoying it.’

  ‘She always does,’ Grandma said.

  I felt Megan’s foot on my head as she and Grandma left the bathroom. I gingerly got to my knees, wondering what was broken, and finally managed to get up and look out the window myself. It was a pleasant sight. The man was wiggling and kicking his legs, his arms flailing, as he screamed for help. Unfortunately, lights in the neighborhood were coming on and I was afraid someone would come out and help him. I ran into the living room to Grandma’s coat closet to get the baseball bat. Grandma and Megan were on the front porch, watching him.

  ‘Where are you going, young lady?’ Grandma asked as I ran past her with the baseball bat.

  ‘To make sure nobody lets him up!’ I shouted.

  ‘Good thinking!’ Grandma said and I could hear her and Megan running behind me.

  I got to him just as the first squad car pulled up.

  ‘Mr Chang?’ Grandma said.

  I looked at the man lying on the ground under Ingrid. He was definitely Asian. ‘Well, shit,’ I thought. I couldn’t figure out a way the stalker could fake what appeared to be a middle-aged, five-foot two-inch Asian man.

  ‘Ingrid! Off!’ Grandma said, pulling at the two-hundred-pound dog’s collar. Megan and I helped by pushing from Ingrid’s bottom. She got the idea and began to move as Grandma led her by her collar to the back gate.

  The police officer helped Mr Chang to his feet. Mr Chang turned to Megan and me, as I suppose Grandma’s emissaries at this particular time. ‘What in the cornbread hell was that all about? Cain’t y’all keep that beast locked up?’

  ‘Mr Chang!’ Grandma said as she scurried back to the . . . well . . . scene of the crime. ‘I’m terribly sorry about what happened, but I’ll insist that you do not speak to my granddaughters in such a manner!’

  Yeah, Grandma to the rescue!

  ‘You mind telling me what’s going on?’ the police officer asked. ‘You Mrs Pugh?’

  ‘Yes, Officer, I am and I’m the one who called y’all. Unfortunately it was a misunderstanding.’

  ‘You called the cops on me?’ Mr Chang yelled. ‘Why’d you do such a thing? A man can’t walk down his own street—’

  ‘In the middle of the night!’ Grandma yelled.

  ‘Yes, ma’am, in the middle of the night!’ Mr Chang yelled back. ‘’Sides, its only half-past midnight! How’s that the middle of the night, I ask you?’

  ‘OK, OK, you two. Ma’am, that your house?’ the cop said, pointing at Grandma’s house.

  ‘Yes, Officer, it is.’

  ‘Why don’t we all go in there to discuss this and let the neighborhood get back to sleep?’ the cop suggested.

  That’s when I looked around and saw a sea of people in PJs and robes watching us. There was a slew of ten to twelve-year-old boys hanging to the side where my sister stood in her shorty PJs and no bra. Men, I swear!

  So we all trooped inside, two police officers, Mr Chang and his bag that really did look like that assault rifle the stalker had when he shot at us, and Grandma, Megan and me.

  ‘Please let me explain,’ I said, when everyone was sitting in the living room and a pot of coffee was brewing in the kitchen.

  And I did, leaving out the part where I was actually trying to escape the house when I saw him.

  ‘Coffee’s ready,’ Grandma said when I’d finished, and led everyone into the kitchen where we sat at her large kitchen table with coffee and fixin’s (as Grandma says) and some microwaved frozen coffee cake. Megan and I had coffee – well, half coffee, half milk, like we’d been getting at Grandma’s house since we were six (don’t tell Mom).

  ‘May I ask, Mr Chang,’ I said, ‘what’s in the bag?’

  He put down his coffee cup and picked up the bag, unzipping it. Out came a beautiful mahogany-like stick, the pointy end carved with Asian figures, the tip a gold cap.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ I said.

  ‘Man o’ man,’ said one of the officers. ‘Can I hold it?’

  ‘Sure, just be careful,’ Mr Chang said.

  The officer put the thing in position, at which point I realized it was a pool cue. The prettiest one I’d ever seen.

  ‘Where’d you get this?’ the officer asked.

  ‘It was my grandfather’s. His father had it special made for him when he left China. He paid for his passage with his pool winnings, got to San Francisco, ended up marrying and buying a house from his winnings there. Then somebody figured out he was a shark, and luckily he had enough stashed to get Grandma and my dad and his siblings out of San Francisco to Texas.’

  ‘You a shark?’ the cop asked with a grin.

  Mr Chang grinned back. ‘I play for money occasionally, but mostly I like to enter tournaments and show up the kids. They get so pissed!’

  ‘Hell, man,’ the other officer said. ‘If I saw that cue coming at me, I’d figure shark and crap out.’

  At that point, everyone thanked Grandma for the coffee and cake and got up to leave.

  ‘No hard feelings, Mr Chang?’ Grandma asked, holding out her hand.

  ‘You make a darn fine cup of coffee, Mrs Pugh. Can’t hold a grudge against a woman who can do that,’ he said, taking her hand and bowing slightly over it.

  Grandma walked her company to the door. ‘Come back any time for a cup, Mr Chang,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ he said, tipped an imaginary hat and followed the cops out the door.

  FIFTEEN

  I’m itching all over, but there’s nothing there. My skin is crawling. I can’t stand it! If Bessie were here this wouldn’t be happening! It’s all her fault! Everything is her fault! If she won’t come to me I’ll destroy her! Yes. Destroy her. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

  E.J., THE PRESENT

  I woke up the next morning hungover. It had been a while since I’d drunk that much, and I felt sick as a dog. I crawled into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. It hurt. I went back in the bedroom and looked at the clock. Correction: I woke up the next afternoon. It was after twelve. I hadn’t slept this late since before Graham was born! Speaking of Graham, I thought, panic setting in, where were my kids? Then I remembered: the girls were at Vera’s, but Graham was here – hopefully.

  I bolted out of my room on the first floor – in my mind I bolted, in actuality I walked gingerly – to find Graham in the family room, playing games on TV, the volume blessedly turned low.

  ‘Morning,’ I said, my first utterance that day. I sounded like a frog.

  ‘You and Mrs Luna have fun last night?’ Graham asked, looking at me with what appeared to be pity in his green eyes.

  ‘No!’ I said defensively. ‘We were trying to figure out who this stalker is that’s after your sister! It is no time to be having fun.’ I sat down gently on the couch. That long a speech made me queasy.

  Gr
aham stopped his game and turned to me. ‘So, did y’all figure anything out?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not the new janitor at the church.’

  Graham turned away from me with disgust. ‘Jeez, Mom, great work! Mr Garcia’s son Robbie’s in my AP algebra class. Like the stalker has a robot son or something?’ He shook his head, again in disgust, and turned on his game. And upped the volume.

  ‘We think it’s Thomas Marsh!’ I shouted over the noise of the game. Then thought I might pass out from the effort.

  Graham turned off the TV, looked at me and said, ‘Jeez, Mom, get some coffee or something. You look like sh— Ah, you don’t look so good.’ He went in the kitchen and came back with a Coke. ‘Try this. At least it’s got caffeine. Who’s Thomas Marsh?’

  ‘What?’ I said, gratefully swigging the Coke. Nothing ever tasted so good. All that fizz, and the caffeine, and the sugar. Oh, my God.

  ‘Is that who you said? Tom Marsh?’ Graham repeated.

  ‘Um,’ I said, having consumed at least half of the can of Coke. ‘Thomas. But I don’t think it’s him.’

  Graham let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘You just said you and Mrs Luna thought it was him.’

  ‘Well, until Bess – Elizabeth – rules him out.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘You know, Mrs Marsh’s son,’ I said, holding the still chilly can of Coke to my forehead.

  ‘Oh. That Thomas Marsh,’ he said. ‘I thought you meant Mrs Somebody Else’s son!’

  ‘Don’t get sarcastic with me, young man,’ I said.

  ‘Hey, Mom, I’ll talk to you later, ’K?’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Pick up the girls at Grandma’s house and bring them home first, OK?’

  ‘Mom!’ It was that ‘mom’ that has three syllables.

  ‘Please don’t argue with me, Graham, or I may have to kill you,’ I said, lying down on the couch.

  ‘Great! Put me out of my misery!’ he said, heading for the door.

  ‘Thanks, honey,’ I said to his retreating back.

  ‘Whatever,’ he said.

  ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009

  It was so dark Elizabeth could barely see her hands in front of her face; that is, if she could have gotten her hands in front of her face. But since they were duct-taped behind her back, that was pretty much an impossibility.

  Tommy/Aldon had stopped the car and come to the back, pulling her up on the seat and untaping her feet. ‘We walk from here,’ he said. ‘We’re almost home, Bessie.’

  Now she followed him, or tried to. She could barely see him in the dark, could barely hear his footfalls for the sound of the cicadas coming from the woods, louder than she’d ever heard them.

  ‘Wait, Aldon,’ she said, forcing herself to use that name. ‘I can barely see you!’

  He stopped and she bumped into him. ‘Please untie my hands!’ Elizabeth pleaded. ‘I can’t get my balance with them tied behind me.’

  She could see him now. Definitely not Aldon. No amount of plastic surgery could have changed the shape of his head, the texture of his hair. She may have only been four years old when her brother had been murdered, but she remembered him. She remembered all her family, everything about them. The touch of her mother’s skin, the way her father’s early-morning beard had tickled her cheek when he kissed her, the sound of Monique’s laugh, the feel of Aldon’s hand in hers. Aldon had been a tease, loving to play jokes on his sisters and his parents. Some had been in bad taste, as only a ten-year-old boy could conceive. Others had been just plain funny. Elizabeth had loved to follow him around, take his toys and hide them, elicit his ire, which usually led to running, to laughing, to tickling, to fun.

  This brown-eyed blond was not Aldon. Aldon had looked like their father and would have grown to look even more like him. His build had been a miniature of their father’s – short and stocky with slightly bowed legs. This guy was thin and reedy and, if anything, was knock-kneed. Not Aldon. Aldon’s hand had felt safe and welcoming when she held it; when this guy grabbed her hand to lead her further into the woods, it felt anything but.

  This was not Aldon. Tears sprang to her eyes. This was not Aldon.

  GRAHAM, THE PRESENT

  I’d never before seen my mother drunk or hungover and I have to say, I hope I never do again. It’s not a pleasant sight. I really had no plan other than to get out of the house, so going to get the girls at least gave me a reason. And I thought maybe I should take them to the hospital to check on that chick, what’s her name, the orphan, to see how she was doing after having been shot and all.

  When I got to Grandma’s house they were eating lunch.

  ‘You hungry?’ Grandma asked me.

  Never one to turn down one of Grandma Vera’s meals, I admitted I was. Since this was just lunch, Grandma had out a ham, potato salad, a green salad, deviled eggs, and a fruit salad for dessert. While we ate, they told me about the night before.

  ‘And then it turns out,’ Megan said with delight, ‘that it’s this Chinese guy – with a Southern accent, mind you – carrying a really fancy pool cue in a bag, not the stalker with an assault rifle!’ Which made Megan laugh out loud.

  ‘It wasn’t that funny at the time!’ Liz said, shooting daggers at Meg.

  Grandma said, ‘I thought it was a little funny when you fell out of the window, honey.’

  I nudged Liz with my elbow. ‘Come on, kid,’ I said, ‘that’s kinda funny. Admit it, the whole thing’s kinda funny.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t when I thought it was him!’ Liz insisted, frowning. Then she grinned. ‘But one good thing came out of it,’ she said. ‘Grandma has a boyfriend.’

  Megan jumped on that bandwagon, which got the attention off of Liz and on to Grandma Vera.

  ‘Now don’t you two start!’ Grandma said, blushing. ‘That man’s young enough to be my . . . nephew by a much older sister.’

  Which got the girls to laughing.

  That’s when I suggested they help Grandma clean up – which she of course refused (I knew she would) and they grabbed their stuff and we headed for the hospital to see what’s her face, the orphan.

  BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

  We drove to our house, not slowing down as we passed it, peering at it and the Lesters’ house, then circled the block. Twice more and we figured we could pull into the driveway. Once in the house I went directly to the utility room. There on the shelf was the envelope. I reached up and pulled it down and opened it. Inside was the imitation leather diary with the faux gold lettering spelling out ‘Journal’. I opened the front page. On it, in bright red Magic Marker, were the words ‘PAL PROGRAM’. Willis leaned over my shoulder and we both read.

  Twenty minutes later we parked at the police station and rushed inside to Luna’s desk. I held out the journal. ‘Read this,’ I said. She took the book and read.

  Ten minutes later, she looked up. ‘Jesus,’ she said.

  Willis and I just stared at her. She turned to a uniform at the desk behind her. ‘Get me an arrest warrant. Make it out in the name of Berry Rush.’

  ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

  Graham drove us to the hospital to see Alicia. Her head was bandaged and her ear on the left was heavily taped up with gauze and tape.

  ‘Hey,’ she said as we all marched in. She smiled and said, ‘My first visitors!’

  ‘Your foster mom hasn’t been here yet?’ I asked, a little stunned.

  Alicia shook her head. ‘Oh no. I doubt she’ll be able to get here. She has the younger kids, ya know.’

  Behind me, Megan grabbed my hand and squeezed. I knew just how she felt. But what did one say?

  ‘So how you feeling, kid?’ Graham asked, pulling up a chair next to her bed and sitting down.

  Alicia blushed when he spoke to her. Who knew? Alicia had a thing for my brother. Yuck.

  ‘I’m OK,’ she said, her voice barely audible.

  ‘They treating you OK here?’ he asked.

  S
he nodded her head.

  ‘Where were you shot?’ he asked.

  Alicia looked to me as if for help. ‘She was shot in the head, dumb-butt. Can’t you see?’ Turning to Alicia, I asked, ‘What did the doctors say? Mom said they took you to surgery.’

  She nodded again. ‘Yeah,’ she said, facing me, away from my brother. ‘It blew off part of my ear—’

  ‘Gross!’ Megan said, while I said, ‘Oh, my God!’ and Graham threw in ‘Cool!’

  ‘One of the bikers found the piece and brought it to the hospital so that’s what the surgery was for last night – to sew my ear back on,’ she explained, pointing to the heavily bandaged ear.

  ‘Well, Mom’ll come and find out all about it and get your instructions to take home and all that,’ I said as soothingly as possible, patting Alicia’s hand as I did so.

  ‘But probably not today,’ Graham said. When Megan and I looked at him, he said, ‘Mom and Mrs Luna got skunked last night, and she’s so hungover today she can barely move.’

  ‘Who haven’t you told?’ said someone from the doorway. We turned. It was Mom.

  ‘Sorry, Mom,’ Graham said, getting up from the chair. ‘Need to sit down a minute?’

  She walked over and slapped him on the back of the head. ‘Thank you, son,’ she said, taking his seat. ‘How are you, Alicia?’

  ‘Just fine, Mrs Pugh,’ Alicia said.

  ‘Well, I doubt that, but OK.’

  We spent another half hour with Alicia then headed out. Passing one of those rooms called a ‘family room’ where the doctors tell families bad news, Mom said, ‘Let’s go in here for a minute.’

  I panicked, thinking there was something seriously wrong with Alicia. ‘Oh my God, what is it?’

  ‘No, sweetie,’ Mom said, taking my hand, ‘Alicia’s OK. The doctor said the bullet grazed her skull and took off a hunk of her ear, which they found and have sewn back on. They don’t think there should be a problem with that, and if it comes out looking bad, they can always do plastic surgery. Alicia’s going to be fine.’

  Then she changed the subject. ‘Mrs Luna and I paid a visit to Alicia’s foster mother last night, to tell her what happened.’ Mom seemed uncomfortable, like she didn’t know how to say what she wanted to say. I wasn’t sure if it was the hangover Graham had mentioned or something else.