I followed her into the house. She seemed nervous.
“My husband’s not here,” she said. “I’m not sure if you wanted to talk to him, too.”
“That’s fine,” I said. Even though I wanted another look at him after hearing Hank’s story I knew I would get more out of June without an audience.
“Can I get you something? I’ve just made a fresh pot of coffee.”
“That would be lovely;” I said.
When she went to the kitchen, I looked around the living room, a clean, comfortable place dominated by a large television set in one corner. The couch was covered with the kind of Indian-cotton pattern bedspread I hadn’t seen since the late sixties. There were also large cushions on the floor, covered with the same stuff. The walls were painted deep red, and hung with framed posters. It was a cheery room, and reminded me of places I had lived as a university student. The smell did, too, sandalwood incense not quite masking the marijuana.
June came back into the room, carrying a tray with two pottery mugs of coffee and a matching sugar bowl and cream jug. She put the tray on the round brass table between a pair of armchairs by the window. We sat and busied ourselves with doctoring our coffees, then I put my tape recorder on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I said. “It saves me having to take notes. And it prevents me from misquoting you.”
“That’s fine,” she said, though she looked dubious.
“Did Lucy live here?” I asked.
“No, she moved out a few years ago, into an apartment behind the new mall,” she said.
“How often did you see her?”
“A lot,” she said. “She would come by here or I’d go over there or she’d drop into the restaurant. We were very close.”
“Why did she move out?”
“She wanted her independence.”
“There were no problems, then?”
“Well, she and Dirk really didn’t get along that well,” June said. “Don’t be writing that, though. We just decided it would be better for everyone if she was on her own.”
“You kept up with what she was doing, though.”
“We didn’t have any secrets from each other.”
“Just from your husband.”
“Well, yes,” she said.
I waited for her to go on. Silence is sometimes more effective than a question. Finally, she sighed.
“Dirk is a good man, a good husband. But he was never a father before. Lucy and Ringo and I had been alone for a long time before I met Dirk, and we had our own ways. I trust them both. Lucy was no angel, but she was responsible. I figured that she could make up her own mind. Dirk couldn’t accept that. He laid down a lot of rules that she wouldn’t follow. He treated her like a child, and she couldn’t stand that.”
“He was too rigid,” I said.
“Exactly. He expected too much of her. It was pretty awful before she moved out. I hated the day she left, but I also realized it was for the best. Things have been better since then. Yeah, Dirk’s a bit rigid, but I can live with it. I don’t mind. I prefer a more settled life now, to tell the truth. Besides, he travels a lot, so I can do what I like.”
“He’s a trucker?”
“Yes, long-distance hauler. That’s where he is now. Another one of the drivers called in sick, so he had to take a rig up to Detroit. He’ll be gone a few days.”
“Couldn’t he have found someone else? You shouldn’t be left alone right now.”
“I don’t mind, really. I prefer it, if you want to know the truth. There’s been too much praying going on around here for the last few days. I’ve had to beat off the well-meaning church people with a stick.”
“He is a religious man, I understand,” I said.
“Born-again five years ago, now,” she said.
“And you?”
“I went through the deal for him, because it meant a lot, but I don’t take it too seriously. I figure it’s what Dirk needs to keep himself under control. It has been a big help in his life, and that’s good. As for me, I don’t really need it.”
“What about Ringo?”
“What about him? You mean is he born-again? No. He works for Dirk’s trucking company. You know about that, right? Trucking for Jesus. Kind of embarrassing, if you ask me. Anyway, Ringo just works there.”
“What about his relationship with his stepfather?”
“Dirk was never as tough on him, I guess because he’s a boy. A man. Dirk has different standards for men and women. Besides, Ringo isn’t like Lucy. He just likes working on cars and hanging around with the guys.”
“Your former husband told me he saw quite a bit of Lucy in recent years,” I said. “Did you know about that?”
She looked very surprised.
“Hank Cartwright? No, I didn’t know that. She never told me. Are you sure?”
“That’s what he said. She saw him once a week.”
“I never knew.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Well, yeah. Geez. I mean it bothers me that she never told me. Why did she think she had to keep it a secret? I wouldn’t have minded. Hank’s okay, just a bit pathetic.”
She laughed.
“Can you turn that thing off? I’d just like to talk a bit, not for the interview. Do you mind?”
I switched off the tape recorder.
“I don’t have a lot of women friends,” she explained. “Just people at work, and I don’t like to talk to them about personal stuff.”
“I understand that,” I said.
“What’s funny about her seeing Hank is that she isn’t his daughter,” she said.
It was my turn to be surprised.
“Of course, she didn’t know that. Neither did he, and I wasn’t going to tell either of them. So if she was looking for her father, she was looking in the wrong place. Funny, huh?”
“Does her real father know?”
“That he’s her father? I never told him. Maybe he suspects,” she shrugged. “I never saw any reason to tell him. I didn’t expect him to do anything about it. I wanted to be with Hank back then anyway. Lucy was just a one-night mistake.”
“You’re sure about this.”
“Oh, yeah. I knew when it was I got pregnant, and Hank wasn’t around right then. He was out west for a month.”
We both lit cigarettes.
“I realized I was pregnant after he got back. It was close enough that it could have been his, within a couple of weeks. So I just let him think it was.”
“That’s understandable, if you wanted to be with him.”
“Those were different times. We were all stoned all the time. Sex was no big deal. We weren’t into fidelity.”
“Sex, drugs, rock and roll, and living for the moment,” I said. “Be here now.”
“You got it,” she laughed. “I guess Lucy took after me. Promiscuity runs in the family. She did not give a flying fuck, excuse me, what other people thought. I was just like her at that age. Except Lucy was smart enough not to get pregnant. The pill was harder to get back then. You’re about my age, right? Remember? You had to get your parents’ permission then, and there was no way I could ask my mom that. But Lucy? Hell, as soon as she began to date, I went and got her her own prescription.”
“I remember those days too,” I said. “Major anxiety, once a month.”
“Fun, wasn’t it?”
We laughed together.
“But we were lucky on one thing,” she said. “The worst thing we could catch was a dose of the clap.”
“I know. I’m glad I’m not a teenager these days. Or a parent of one.”
“Lucy and I used to talk about safe sex all the time,” she said. “Not that it did any good. She got herpes anyway. Said she forgot, or they didn’t have any condoms, or the guy liked it better without
.”
“Of course, because they know they’re invincible. Bad things happen to other people.”
Suddenly she began to cry.
“Shit,” she said. “It’s just so damn unfair.”
I watched her pain and cursed myself.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Not your fault,” she said. She got up and left the room, but came back a moment later with a fistful of tissues.
“I should put a box of these in every room these days,” she said, then wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “Every time I think about her, I just start to bawl.”
“It’s not surprising,” I said, feeling useless. “It’s going to take a while.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever get over it. Lucy was everything to me. I don’t know how I will live without her.”
She looked at me quickly.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’m not going to do anything drastic. I’m a survivor. But I don’t expect any happiness in my future.”
The side door banged, and Ringo stood in the doorway, greasy from his work.
“Mom? You all right?”
“Fine, Ringo. Everything is fine.”
“I’m going over to Bud’s for a while, okay?”
“Yes. Just call if you’re going to miss dinner.”
“I’ll be back before then,” he said, then disappeared towards the back of the house. We could hear him going to the bathroom. She rolled her eyes at me, and we both laughed.
“Close the damn door,” she yelled. “We’ve got company.”
Sound of door closing, muffled apology, followed by a flush. Two minutes later, he was out the door.
She blew her nose again, then looked at me.
“I need a beer. Will you have one with me?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“Good. Bring your stuff into the kitchen.”
Chapter 30
We sat at a round oak table by a window overlooking the tiny backyard, framed by hanging plants dangling in macramé. She carried some breakfast dishes to the sink, wiped the table with a dishcloth, and got two cans of beer out of the fridge. Its door was covered with a clutter of postcards, cartoons, and, I noticed sadly, some snapshots of Lucy.
“It’s better in here,” she said. “You want a glass!”
“Can’s fine. I prefer kitchens, too.”
“Let’s get back to the interview, then. Turn on the damn machine and ask me your questions.”
“Tell me about Lucy when she was younger,” I said, setting up the tape recorder. “What was she like as a kid?”
“Same as she was when she grew up,” she said. “Full of mischief. Determined. Once she set her mind on something you couldn’t turn her around, no matter what.
“I remember she wanted a dog when she was little. I wouldn’t let her because I’m allergic. But she kept after me every day. She said she’d keep it out of doors, never let it in the house, never forget to feed it, and so on. She just had to have a pet. So, finally I gave in a little and got her a gerbil. But she didn’t just cuddle it and watch it in its cage. Not Lucy. She called it Rin Tin Tin and trained it to walk on a leash.”
I laughed with her.
“No kidding,” she said. “It was the craziest damn thing. Every night after supper, she’d take it for a walk, just like a dog. I can still see her, eleven years old, setting out with that little fur ball on a leash. People laughed at her, but she didn’t care. And the first thing she did when she left home was get herself that dog she’d always wanted. Did you ever see it? A beautiful German shepherd, just like Rin Tin Tin. She called him Gerbil. He went everywhere with her.”
“I don’t remember seeing him.”
“He got killed by a car six months later. You know the saying, ‘If I didn’t have any bad luck, I’d have no luck at all’? That was Lucy, for a while. But she didn’t let it get her down.”
“What do you know about her relationship with Domingo Avila? Is there anything you know about them that might be a reason for him to, um, do what he is accused of doing?”
“Maybe he was jealous because she broke up with him, but I can’t see why. They didn’t go together very long. It started a couple of years ago in spring training, then again last year when he was playing with the Sunland minor-league team. He was just a kid. So was she, really, but he seemed younger. She was nice to him. She helped him with his English and taught him how to get along up here. She was kind that way.”
“Was there bitterness about their breakup? Did he take it pretty hard?”
“I don’t think there was any problem like that. He got called up to Knoxville and it was over. There was never anything serious between them. At least not on her side.”
“I wonder if you are completely sure that he’s the one who did it,” I tried. She shrugged.
“Troy Barwell says the murder gun was found in the kid’s apartment. He hasn’t got an alibi. I guess the police know what they’re doing. No, I’m not positive, but don’t write that. We’ll just have to wait for the trial. Besides, I don’t really care, you know? Finding out who did it won’t bring her back.”
“But if Dommy’s innocent he shouldn’t be in jail. Whoever really did it should be there instead, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. I just can’t bring myself to give a shit right now. I don’t feel like it’s my problem. Can you understand that?”
“I guess so.”
“Funny, because I can’t,” she said. “What else do you want to know?”
I looked at my notes.
“Aside from her pet, what did Lucy enjoy when she was young?”
“She always loved to write. I already told you that. She wrote stories and poems as soon as she could hold a pencil. She always got A’s in English. She wasn’t quite so good in math and science, but she was a top student.”
“But didn’t she win some county fair science project?”
“Yes. Tri-county fair. That was a long time ago. I’d almost forgotten. She did a genetics project breeding her gerbil. Rin Tin Tin turned out to be a girl. It was pretty crazy around here that year, I can tell you. It was only second prize, but we were real proud.”
“Any other prizes or honours?”
“She was on a part-scholarship at St. Petersburg Junior College. After she finished, she was going to go to journalism school up north. She was saving her money.”
“Was she a joiner? Girl Scouts, that sort of thing?”
“Not really. She wasn’t much for organized stuff. She was on the cheerleading squad, but that was so she could get with the athletes. I don’t know where that came from, by the way. Certainly not from me. I never went out with jocks.”
“Was there someone special? Did she go steady or give you any terrors about early marriage?”
“Not really. She usually went for the lost ones. I used to call them her stray dogs. There was one who is in a mental institution now, poor kid. Not through her doing. I think he would have been in there long before if it hadn’t been for Lucy. But she couldn’t be his nursemaid forever.”
“This was the Bonder boy?”
“Yes. Arnie. How do you know about that?”
“Someone mentioned it. I can’t remember who.”
“Gossips,” she said, shaking her head. “Everyone thinks our business is their business.”
“This wasn’t reported with any malice,” I assured her.
“I know you don’t mean any harm,” she said. “But that was such a difficult time, with Arnie. It really broke her heart. She wasn’t a cruel girl. Just the opposite. But no one understood.”
“I guess his father is pretty bitter.”
“Yes, he’s the one. He’s the only one. The boy didn’t hate her. Just the father. You wouldn’t believe the things he did. He sent her horrible letters and
phoned her at all hours of the day and night. It just tore her apart.”
“I guess it’s pretty terrible to have that happen to your only son, though.”
“Not as bad as what happened to my only daughter.”
I reached across the table and took her hand and we sat in silence for a while. I was comfortable with June, strangely, and she seemed to be with me. After a moment, she got up and got two more beers. We lit cigarettes and looked out the window.
“Nice garden,” I said.
“Thanks, I don’t have time to do enough, but I like to be in it, when it’s not too hot.”
“It must be nice to be able to grow things all year round,” I said. “I have a little garden, too, but last I heard it was covered in snow.”
June shuddered.
“I’ve never seen snow,” she said. “Except once, when we had a storm here five years ago. How can you can stand it?”
“To tell you the truth, I can’t, but I manage, every year. We don’t get a lot of snow in Toronto, anyway.”
“But the cold. You can have it.”
“Yeah, I’m stuck with it. Don’t worry, I don’t go out in it unless I absolutely have to. And you notice I’m not completely dumb. I’ve found a job that brings me here every March.”
She laughed.
“What are you going to do now!” I asked. “Will you go back to work?”
“Next week, probably. I can’t see how hanging around the house is going to help me any. And the gang at work is pretty nice. Plus, we need the money.”
“Is there any place here you can go for help? Anyone you can talk to?”
“A shrink, you mean?” she looked at me sharply. “I’ve had enough of them to last me a lifetime. When I was a kid.”
“I didn’t mean a shrink, necessarily. Maybe a Family of Victims group or a grief counsellor. Maybe a women’s group. Just someone to talk to when you’re feeling lost, someone who will understand. Do you have family that could help?”
“I was an only child, and my parents’ car got T-boned on Highway 19 five years ago by some drunk in a pickup truck. They both died. So I guess I’m on my own.”
Night Game Page 16